#clean skin but where are my belly dots

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

The 14 year old in me just wants to be swimming in the drink while I suck on those Angelical Tits

[baka-bakeneko]

Don't Stop Now - Wade Wilson x Fem! Reader [NSFW]

tags: MDNI, comic version Wade Wilson, quick recovery, dominant Wade Wilson, sub reader, face-sitting, squirting, enthusiastic consent, body appreciation, mating press

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: Round two of marathon s-e-x series; Wade's not holding back now.

a/n: be honest with me rn, are you a fan of wade wilson?

You rolled to belch over your shoulder after Wade grabbed you a beer from the fridge. The two of you had slammed through the chinese food, leaving egg roll crumbs on the bed sheets only adding insult to the damp injury.

Upon stretching your arm out, you noticed a red fabric tucked just under the mattress. Wade leaned over you, ghosting his lips along your stomach and ribcage before planting a firm one just under your right breast.

"Where you goin'?" He asked, his voice a delightful gruff. Your hand touched at the back of his head, only encouraging his action before you grabbed the fabric and pulled it free.

You held it in your palm, staring at the red bunch of fabric with black ovals stitched into it. You hummed at the fabric, wondering what it was before Wade's lips found your nipple and generously suckled.

"Ah," you whimpered, holding his head to your chest before running your fingers down the back of his neck. "Wade, quit."

"Why?" Wade asked as you restuffed the fabric under the mattress. "You love it."

You rolled your eyes, stretching out over the rest of the bed. Your legs melted apart as Wade's hand skirted along your waist, savoring every inch of your bare skin before teasing a finger down to your slit.

You hid a soft wince, your hand going for his wrist. "Hey, easy. I'm rubbed raw."

"So sensitive?" He puled, teasing you as his mouth moved between your breasts. "Are you done for the night?"

The thought was tempting, especially with the chinese food and beer now sitting like a deadweight in your stomach. You grumbled, relishing in the attention of Wade's scarred lips against your skin.

You craned your neck to look at him, tilting your chin to beg for his kiss. Wade smirked, stretching his body over yours to kiss you, catching your bottom lip between his with a tender nibble.

You hummed, rolling your hips up to feel Wade slotted between your legs. His cock began hardening against your stomach, his tip nudging along your belly button.

When he pulled away, you groaned and dropped your head back down over the edge of the bed. Though your body was now too full and elated to keep going, you shifted back onto the bed and reached for your beer over the foot end.

Tilting the can back, you took a long swig as Wade's lips started dotting upwards to your neck.

"I know I get you for a year, but I feel like I'd waste a second," he whispered as he touched your sides.

You shut your eyes and focused deeply on Wade's touch, his burnt fingers tender and trembling. When he got to your shoulder, he paused and held himself there. He inhaled through his nose, exhaled over your skin before pursing his lips with another kiss.

You smiled, finishing off the droplets of your beer then turned to Wade. You kissed his temple, nudged your nose against his forehead.

"I dunno, I feel like I might belch in your face. Not romantic of you to fill a girl full of sodium then ask her to fuck."

Wade chuckled, resting his cheek to your shoulder. "That's where you're wrong. I, for one, would love for you to belch in my face."

You hid a roll of your eyes, leaning to kiss Wade again. You looked over the bed, speckled with crumbs and soy sauce stains against the mess you two made earlier.

Wade's fingers slipped between your thighs, touching at your pussy timidly. You gasped sharply, tilting your head against your free shoulder.

"Let me clean up at least, I can't fuck on food. That's my hard pass."

Wade grinned, shaking his head on your shoulder. "I'm not ruining another set of sheets, waterworks. I'll eat the crumbs off your ass."

You reared up from Wade and onto your knees, shrugging him off of you. Pushing to stand, you leaned over him and kissed his cheek.

"That's sweet," your teeth grazed playfully at his skin, taking a tender nibble at him. "Too sweet."

Wade groaned and rolled onto his back, stretching his arms out over the edge of his bed. You stared at him, his eyes trained on you, and smirked.

Your gaze slowly drifted down his form, taking in each puckered inch of his skin before backing away from the bed. "Stay put, okay? I'll be right back."

Wade nodded, tilting his head back further to watch you from this new angle. "I'll keep your seat warm for you," he teased, reaching a hand out to offer a tender stroke to his cock.

You hid a deep groan, backing into the bathroom again to freshen up. Your hips ached at the thought of spreading for Wade again, but the sluggish trail of yours and his cum was tickling its way down your inner thigh.

Turning around, you marched into the bathroom to pee and clean up as best as you could, taking water from the sink to rinse the sweat from your face.

When you returned, the bed was empty except for Wade now resting in the center of it. The sheets were cleaned to the best of Wade's ability and the chinese food and empty beers were moved back to the kitchen.

"You didn't have to do all that," you crooned to Wade, now sat up on his elbow and resuming the stroke of his cock.

"Kitten wants a clean bed to fuck on, kitten gets a clean bed," he said with a bit of his bottom lip. "Feel better?"

You nodded softly, standing before the edge of the bed. Wade turned his free hand upwards to edge his finger at you, a 'come hither' motion that you could feel in your core.

"Wanna go again?" he asked, his voice a distinct pinch of grit and almost exhaustion.

You cooed at his question, your body ready to cave into his and feel his skin all over yours. You furrowed your brows slightly, tilting your head as you crawled over him.

"Are you tired?" You whispered, pressing your lips to the center of his chest, then another time at the base of his neck.

"N-no, no, I can go again," Wade responded, shaking his head slightly. He flopped onto his back and tilted his chin at you. "Can you?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. "As long as you can."

Wade grinned then, his perfect white teeth gleaming. "Like I'd rather sleep."

You hummed, leaning down to kiss him as you hitched your leg over his waist. "I could go all night then."

A deep grumble emanated from Wade's chest into yours, both of his hands resting at the backs of your thighs. He eased you back an inch, allowed your wet pussy to graze the heat of his cock. Your eyes fluttered at the feeling, arching your hips to get even closer to it, to him.

"Not yet," he whispered, shifting you away from him with a soft wince. "I got a better seat for you." Wade urged softly.

You furrowed your brows, sitting just above Wade's cock.

He smirked and tapped your thighs, instructing you silently to move further up his body. When you shifted a bit further up Wade's chest but stopped, he chuckled.

"Kitten," he purred out, resting two fingers to his chin. "Right here."

Your eyes widened at him. "No, no Wade I can't."

You tried to squirm away the thought, your pussy still betraying your mind.

Wade groaned, his free hand sliding to the front of your hip as his thumb pet at your slit. "You're thinking about it."

You folded your hands up to your chest, holding your palms over your breasts. "I-I can't. I don't want to crush you."

Wade leveled his brows, his smile genuine. "What a hell of way to go if you did. I can see the obit now. 'Wade Wilson ate pussy so hard that his girlfriend crushed his head. His and said girlfriend's orgasms were quoted as: 'awesome', before Wilson died from significant thigh squeezing.'"

You scoffed at his response, reaching to swat his chest. "Now I definitely won't do it, I don't want to be the one to kill you."

Wade hid a deep roll of his eyes, tilting his chin up to elongate his neck with a groan. "Would you please come sit on my face for a minute? If you hate it, I'll eat you out the old fashioned way."

You cut your eyes to the ceiling, dropping your hands to brace his chest. "One minute, okay? I don't want to suffocate you."

Wade was absolutely giddy at your agreement, waiting as you crawled on your knees up to his neck before a shaky breath escaped your mouth. You raised up on your knees, watching Wade level his chin before you rolled your hips forward and grazed your lips to Wade's.

"F-fuck," you whimpered, edging your knees to either side of Wade's head, brushing his ears to your inside thighs. "One minute."

Wade grinned, the bottom of his face disappearing under your hips. "Just let me mouth fuck you."

His hands curled around the back of your thighs, holding you down to his face. Wade opened his mouth and instantly probed his tongue into you, his nose nudging against your twitching clit.

"Yes," you whimpered, instantly folding at the warmth that radiated through you from Wade's hot mouth.

Your hand went for the top of Wade's head, trying to force his wet, morphous tongue further into you as your thighs twitched around him. You tightened your muscles, thinking hard to not meltdown over Wade's neck.

Not to mention he called you his girlfriend. You rutted softly against his open mouth, feeling his lips kiss back at your pussy while his tongue curled in a steady motion inside of you.

"You," you began, looking down to Wade and immediately meeting his gaze. His molten glare shot through your back and you trembled over him. What you wouldn't give to let him have his last desserts, just to show what he was doing to you. "You called me your girlfriend."

Wade cocked a brow at you, rubbing his nose to your clit while he nosily slurped at your juices. Your hand on his head twitched, nudging his face a bit further into you.

You threw your head back with a loud whimper, no longer holding back your noises for Wade's sake.

"Am I...?" you began to ask, only for Wade's fingers to slip into your pussy just alongside his tongue.

You began to see stars, your eyes crossing at the feeling instilled in you from Wade. 'Boyfriend' was moving a bit fast, but this man was definitely on his way to seeing what you thought of him every day you could.

"I'll be yours," you whined, cried to the ceiling as loud as your body would let you. The fluttery feeling along your back soared up and caught you with all the heat just below you. "If you'll be mine."

At that utterance, you rocked your hips once and sealed your fate. Your hands braced your thighs, trying your hardest to stay upright though your strength was fleeting.

You tried to back off of Wade's face but found yourself locked in by Wade's arms around your legs; your thighs twitched, your body convulsing softly at the heat continuing to lash through your orgasm.

It was almost torturous, trying to pry Wade's face from your pussy before your stomach tightened and you contracted just along his chin, effectively drowning him in your wet.

Your vision suddenly went dizzy, still being catered to by Wade's hot, even wetter mouth now. You were ready to tap out, your pussy no longer soft and hot but now throbbing and aching.

"Wade," you mewed, finally gaining an inch to pry yourself off of Wade with your remaining knee strength.

Wade popped his two fingers into his mouth, sucking the essence of you as you unhitched your leg from his head. "Like I said, hell of a way to go."

He sat up on his elbow again as you sat just against his waist. You were convulsing now, leaning into Wade's chest and resting your forehead to his shoulder. The wisps of euphoria in your body made you twitch, curling into the man's beautiful burned chest.

Wade ran his hand down your back, admiring the curve of your spine before wiping his mouth of your juices then licking his palm clean.

"That was..." you tried to say.

"Too hot, even for you?" Wade asked, attempting to finish your statement.

His damp palm reached out and gripped his cock, stroked it slowly. "I was about to cum all over your back if you kept squirming."

You exhaled deeply, your hips instinctively angling to wriggle against Wade's stroking hand. "You should've."

Wade hummed, leaning into your ear to whisper. "I'm saving it for when I'm balls deep in you."

You groaned at the thought, raising your head up to meet his lips. "That was good. I'd love to cum on this face for the next year."

He offered a peck to your lips, his swollen and wet. You could taste yourself from his kiss, intoxicated on sharing spit the same.

His free hand combed through your hair, shifting you to your side before pulling away. "I'd like that a lot."

Wade shifted next to you, his arms curling around your waist with appreciative touches. "Do you want to keep going?"

Your eyes fluttered at his question, loving every time Wade asked. His tone was almost eager but muted, ready to go along with every word you offered him. Slowly, you tempted your knee to Wade's hip, spreading your legs just above his at-attention cock.

"Please," you begged softly, dropping an arm back to the bed and stretching your body out before him.

Wade's brows furrowed softly, dipping his mouth to your chest and taking your nipple between his lips. You flinched at his warmth, your hand returning to the back of Wade's head to hold him close to you.

You whimpered, edging your knee up further.

Wade's tip grazed against your pussy, causing it to flex in response. You angled your hips closer to him, slowly spearing yourself onto his cock.

Your other hand reached out for his shoulder, pulling him closer to you. Wade released your nipple and worked on the other one, taking your breast in his hand to massage it circles as he sank into you.

You angled your hips up to accomodate more of him, releasing a long drawn moan to the entire apartment. Wade chuckled, pulling away from your breast with your nipple tenderly bit between his lips.

When he parted from it, a line of spit twinkled from his bottom lip to your nipple. He leaned into your neck, opening his mouth to lick a thick stripe at the meet of your clavicle.

"Oh kitten, my neighbors are gonna love you," he teased, his hands taking grip of your hips. "I want you to be so fucking loud."

You felt a streak of blush on your cheeks as sweat beaded on your forehead; your arms crossed under Wade's shoulders, trying to hold his hot body close to yours.

You only nodded to his sentiment as he held your hips steady as he pulled out slowly then reversed back. You licked your lips and turned your head in Wade's direction.

Wade lifted his head as he shifted his knees to the bed, driving your hips closer to him until he was fully inside. He rolled his eyes at driving into you, tilting his head back with a low moan.

"Damn, this pussy is insane," Wade groaned, sliding his hands down your thighs to pull up to his waist.

You dropped your hands over your head, watching Wade start a pace as he folded your legs along his sides. Then he leaned back over you and you lost a sliver of your sanity.

"Shit," you whispered, feeling Wade sink deeper into you while the backs of your thighs burned as they were pressed to your chest.

"That feel good?" Wade asked, his hands planted on either side of your head.

You lost your breath, driven to a pant as your hands reached to cradle Wade's face. You stared deeply into his eyes, pulling him closer with your lips parted to breathe against his mouth.

You tried to speak but were silenced by Wade's steady pace, his hips rolling and slapping against you while his cock roused your g-spot.

All you could do was nod along with his strokes, your eyes crossing while you got lost in his fluid movements and accuracy to pleasure.

"Baby," you whispered before Wade's lips, "So good. Go slower."

"I'm going..." Wade breathed down your neck, spotting kisses along your shoulders and between your breasts. "to savor you."

Wade caught your lips in a kiss, molding his tongue along yours while he rocked slowly. A heat built up between your stomachs, your eyes rolling at the tender upscale slope that came with each long stroke.

Your hands curled around his shoulders, edging your knees tighter to your body to allow him further until he was tapping right where he needed to.

"Wade," you moaned, pulling away from his mouth with a soft smack.

Your hands pressed tight between his shoulders, arching your back and rolling your hips to meet his thrusts before you cascaded over.

You reached out to the small of his back, silently willing his hips to stop as your pussy throbbed on his cock and you came with a loud string of moans.

Wade groaned just before you, his eyes trained on your face scrunched in pleasure as he shortened his thrusts to find his own peak.

"I know you got something for me, waterworks," Wade teased softly, ignoring your hand placed just along his back to resume his pace.

You coiled on him, your knees twitching and losing their position close to your chest; he faltered slightly at your still-pulsing pussy and froze, letting it drive him to his orgasm.

"Shit," he began with a low gasp of air. "I almost had you too."

You hid a roll of your eyes, letting your legs fall to the mattress as Wade rested his weight on top of you. "I almost let you, too."

He chuckled lowly, raising his body up on his elbow to peer down at you. "You don't know how badly I want to make you do that...every single time."

Your heart skipped at that, sitting up after Wade. "Please don't, my pussy can't take that."

"Aww," Wade began, kissing at your cheek. He gently pulled out, slipping down your body to between your propped up legs. "Let me apologize?"

You wriggled away from Wade, trying to clench the cum seeping out of you from ruining more of the bed. "Not this time."

Wade smacked his teeth in mocking disappointment. "Damn, maybe later."

You hummed in response, looking around the apartment before finding the same towel from the previous session. You reached for it on the floor, pulling it up and sliding your ass over it.

Wade sat back from you, eyes trained between your legs as it slid down between your lips and met with the towel. He hid a gulp, taking grip of his cock and folding it to his thigh.

"Fuck, that's hot." Wade whispered, hissing at the sight before prying himself from staring and shifting off of the bed.

You watched as he crossed the room to the kitchen, opening the fridge for two more beers then popping two egg rolls into his mouth on his way back to the bed.

"Power snack," he muttered, pulling one egg roll from his mouth and offering it to you.

"How chivalrous," you smiled, taking the egg roll then the beer he offered just the same.

"Gotta keep that energy up," Wade said, chewing through his egg roll before pressing his greasy lips to your temple. "We got all night to get through."

[ipegchangbin]

— marks with sub ! jisung 💭

🏷️ dom!reader, sub!han jisung, petname “baby,” marking (biting), overstimulation

they say that beauty marks form where your lover kisses you. it’s true: you kiss jisung’s cheek often, the mole a reminder of your love.

but he had moles elsewhere.

you toyed with him, getting him to cum twice, exploring his body. you knew you broke jisung with the way he looked at you.

he saw red. red lips, red cock, red skin.

“baby, are you with me?” you asked.

he merely hummed, suddenly panicked and confused, feigning normalcy. all of a sudden, he couldn’t speak.

“i said, baby,” your lips hypnotized him at every syllable, “are you there?”

one of your hands snaked down to cage the head of his sore cock, leaving him writhing and hissing.

“y/n,” jisung whimpered. “h-here—holy…”

as you played with the remnants of cum off his tip, you drew circles around the sensitive flesh with your thumb.

“…fucking…”

lowering yourself down to his hips, you inspected his dick. 

a mole near its base piqued your interest. after all the times you’ve done it with him, you only noticed the small dot just then.

“…shit!”

you squeezed his cock, watching it flush with color. you opened your mouth. were you going to suck him off while he was so, so sensitive?

“holy shit, y/n!”

you bit down on the side of his cock’s base.

sucking on the spot close to his dick, right on the mole, you sunk your teeth down on the skin, cushioning it with your lips.

jisung squirmed, squealed, and thrashed, attempting to take ahold of your head or hands or anything. the hickey shocked him into temporary paralysis. face stained with a rainfall of tears, he tried to hide, but his rush of fear was nothing compared to the addictive chase of release.

unbeknownst to him, he already came all over your face. he only realized it after he watched you lick it.

the sight of your tongue darting out to clean your bottom lip was too exciting. before he knew it, he was hard again.

“oh, you like being bit there?”

“a-ah…?” he mumbled in between heavy breaths.

“i just bit you.”

“where—”

jisung’s body jerked once you kissed the hickey.

“i-it’s right on my…” he paused.

“…i like it.”

you saw red. red eyes, red cheeks, red skin.

“that’s one of many hickeys, baby.” you growled, gulping the remaining cum in your mouth. “i have so much more to give.”

“please, y/n,” jisung huffed as you held his waist close. your face hovered over his belly: your next target, another hidden freckle on its place.

“cover me in them.”

[stevesjockstrap]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

🧁 A birthday present and love letter to @lawrencebshoggoth 😘 how impressed are you that I kept this a secret from you for like three whole days?

Rated E (this is pure filth and I’m not sorry) • read on ao3

Tags: canon compliant except Eddie lives, post s4

CW: implied offscreen bdsm negotiating, dom top Eddie, wax play, food play, knife play, blood play, come play, handcuffs, excessive pet names (one use of daddy), edging, face slapping, choking, (empty) threats of mutilation

If you’re good with all of that proceed under 😏

With his arms handcuffed to the bed frame above him, looking dopily up at Eddie with his blotchy tear-stained face, he wasn’t sure he could love Steve more. Scratches and cuts slowly seeping blood crisscrossed his torso as his chest heaved, Eddie digging a nail into one particularly good cut across his pec to hear him whine and gasp.

Grabbing what he wanted from the nightstand, the click of the lighter had Steve pulling against the handcuffs, making his arm muscles pull and bunch. Eddie wanted to bite them. But not yet.

Lighting the candle on the cupcake before tossing the lighter away, he smirked down at him. “Make a wish, baby boy.”

Steve closed his eyes and Eddie pulled the candle off the cupcake, tilting it slightly. A drip of wax landed above his belly button and his eyes shot open.

“What a nice wish, honey. I’ll make sure it comes true.”

Steve only panted up at him, watching with big round eyes as he continued dotting hot wax from the tiny candle up to his collarbone and biceps.

When the candle had melted down to about half an inch long, he held it in front of Steve’s face so he could blow out the flame.

Scooping a dollop of frosting from the cupcake with a finger, he eyed his canvas for a second before deciding on his placement.

Steve squirmed beautifully as he drew a heart around each nipple and his belly button. But he squeaked and held still when Eddie held the knife up again and scraped the icing and wax off.

He made heavy eye contact as he licked the sugar off the blade.

“Eds- ah!” He cried out as Eddie purposely got a little close to a nipple with the tip of the knife.

Eddie shushed him and brought the treat back to his mouth. “What, baby? Just enjoying my dessert. Here. Maybe you need something in your mouth?”

Grabbing the cupcake again he broke it in half and shoved it roughly into Steve’s panting mouth.

When the icing was mostly gone, he held the knife back to Steve’s left nipple. He threatened coolly, “Maybe I’ll slice your nipple clean off, baby, so we’ll match. What do you think?”

“Please, no,” His voice was as wrecked as he was, begging and pleading for most of an hour for Eddie to touch him or stop touching him. “Pl-please don’t Eds. I’ll-“

Snorting, he traced the point of the blade around the bud. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little boy. You’re all tied up. What could you even do for me to keep this tiny thing?”

Steve’s hips bucked up into his where he was straddling him. Eddie was still in his rough jeans, driving Steve crazy with overstimulation as he drug his naked dripping cock against him. He hadn’t been allowed to come yet. But they both knew he couldn’t hold back much longer.

“I- I, oh fuck, I dunno. Please! Anything! I’ll do anything.”

“Ohh, anything?” He mocked, flicking the knife back and forth on his nipple to watch more tears slide down his cheeks.

“Yes! A-anything,” Steve sobbed, pulling at the handcuffs.

“Okay, baby. I’ll let you keep both nipples…” he stalled, pushing steadily now with the edge of the knife along the side of his puffy skin. “Hmm… let’s go with… you get to keep your perfect little tits- uh huh, they’re tits, honey- if… you don’t come.”

Before Steve could whine again, Eddie spit in his hand and wrapped it solidly around his angry cock, fisting it roughly.

Gasping and panting, it took him a long moment before he could find words to gasp out. “Oh! Oh my god, noooo, Eds! I can’t- I- I’m so close!”

Eddie smirked down into his wide eyes and kept a steady pace with his hand. A few strokes later he abruptly let go.

Steve’s hips jolted up and he let out a pitiful wail.

“Poor little thing, look at him,” he cooed condescendingly. “I thought you wanted me to stop.”

Shaking his head first before changing his mind and nodding, he let out another small noise as Eddie’s hand circled his dick again.

“I know, little Stevie doesn’t even know what he wants. Then he shouldn’t make deals when he can’t hold up his end of the bargain.”

“I- ah- fuuucckkk! Please pleasepleasepl-“

The sound of the slap rang through the room and Steve groaned as he received another quick slap across his cheek.

Continuing to jerk him off with his left hand, Eddie picked up the knife and traced it up over his chest and throat to his quivering lip.

“You’re awfully mouthy tonight, sugar. Stick out your tongue.”

Steve complied immediately, like Eddie knew he would. Precum dripped steadily from his cock and his eyes rolled back as Eddie ran the edge of the knife down the center of his tongue.

“If I didn’t love this fucking tongue so much, little boy, I’d think about cutting it off, too. What do you think?”

“Pl- pluz- E-Eehhh,“ he tried.

Eddie scoffed. “I’ve had enough with the ‘pleases.’ It’s just making my dick harder. Watching you squirm around under me. All the fight out of you yet?”

Nodding shallowly with the knife still against his tongue, his eyes still trying to plead his case for him.

“So so pretty, my messy little toy. Look at you. You’d beg for me to bleed you dry right now. I could hack off a hand and you’d still be hard and dripping for me. You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

Steve writhed as he squeezed tighter around his length, knowing if he wasn’t actually going to cut him his little masochist needed some pain in order to come.

“Go ahead, little one. Come for me. Wanna see you.”

As soon as Eddie breathed the words Steve was shooting between them, pulling tightly at the handcuffs and almost bucking Eddie off of him.

“Oh dear, Stevie. It seems like you came.”

At his small whine, Eddie chuckled and scooped up some of his come from his chest. Steve opened his mouth immediately.

Pushing the come into his mouth, he huffed, “Don’t swallow.”

When most of the come was on his tongue, Eddie leaned forward and made eye contact as he sliced into the skin above Steve’s nipple.

He watched as Steve struggled not to swallow or choke on his own tongue, his cock refilling quickly.

“So good for me, Stevie. Bleeding so pretty. Maybe I’ll let you keep your nipple after all.”

Worrying against the cut and around his nipple to encourage the blood to flow, he collected it and rubbed his fingers against Steve’s tongue, tinging the mess pink.

“Open up, princess.”

Steve widened his mouth and Eddie spit down into the mess. Steve’s hips bucked up uncontrollably and Eddie tsked at him.

“Stay still, slut. And don’t swallow. I need that.” Sitting back, feeling Steve’s eyes on him like a heavy weight, he quickly unzipped his jeans and pulled out his own neglected cock. He repositioned his ass on top of Steve’s hard length. Ignoring Steve’s huff, he calmly ordered, “Now give it here.”

He cupped his palm under his chin and Steve wriggled to follow directions, spitting the concoction into his hand.

Eddie smirked at the sound that came out of Steve as he fucked his cock into the mess in his hand. The combination of their fluids.

“God, you’re so good for me, my little disgusting whore. Huh? Fuck, that’s it. You’re gunna come just from watching me jerk off with your blood and come? Such a good little boy for me. You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? String you up downtown and let everyone have at you? Put your pretty cock in a cage and not let you touch it for a month?”

Steve hips bucked up and Eddie stopped moving completely.

“Are you done? Did I tell you to move? I didn’t think so. You’re taking what I give you. There’s my good boy.”

Steve whined pitifully and pulled on his handcuffs again. He’d have such beautiful bruises on his wrists tomorrow and the blush when anyone pointed them out would be delicious.

“Now, where was I…” Eddie wriggled his own hips down to torture him as he fisted his dick, both of them watching his hand spread the bloody come down his length. “Oh, doing whatever I wanted to my perfect little masochist. Could carve my name into your thighs and lick the blood up.”

Steve made a shocked high pitched noise before his dick pulsed, rocking them as he rode out the aftershocks.

“My beautiful little freak. Fuck, stick out your tongue, little boy.” Eddie stripped his dick quickly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back before remembering he wanted to see his come paint Steve. “Oh shit, fuck. Just like that.”

They groaned together as his come hit Steve’s nose and tongue, settling down in his chest hair.

Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans quickly before using the key on the chain around his neck to release the handcuffs, immediately pulling Steve’s hands down and rubbing them.

“Such a good boy for me. Look at you. All fucked out and perfect,” he murmured to him, kissing across his forehead and cheeks.

As soon as Steve realized he could move his hands again, he whined and tugged at Eddie’s clothes. Desperately wanting the skin to skin that he was denied all night. Eddie chuckled and helped divest himself of the ruined jeans and band tee.

Finally on their sides chest to chest, legs tangled together, Eddie pulled him into a filthy kiss. Licking their combined come out of his mouth and fucking their tongues against each other. He kissed his come from Steve’s nose and chin. Steve’s hands roamed his back and sides, teasing across his scars and grabbing at his ass to pull him impossibly closer.

“Mmm, you’re so fuckin’ hot, Stevie. What’s the matter? You gunna come again? Still so needy?”

Steve gasped and nodded as Eddie kissed and bit down his jaw and neck.

“My insatiable little boy,” he murmured affectionately into his skin.

“Please, so empty. Need you.”

Eddie chuckled as he reached behind him to push on the base of the plug he’d teased into him earlier. “This little thing isn’t enough for you, pretty? Need something bigger? Huh?”

“Y-yes! Pleeaasseee need you to fuck me!”

“Oh, well since you asked to nicely, princess. You need me to fuck you or you wanna bounce on daddy’s dick?”

“Ohhhh fuck,” Steve moaned and his hips stuttered against Eddie’s.

“I think we found our answer,” Eddie smirked. “Go ahead then, baby.”

Steve whimpered when he pulled the plug out harder than necessary and pushed Eddie onto his back.

“Love it when you get all nonverbal and pushy, darlin’. You really need it, huh?”

They moaned together as Steve sank down on his hard cock, settling with a huff. Eddie was momentarily glad he’d teased him so long and used an excessive amount of lube earlier.

Eddie settled back into the pillows and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Mmm, look so good for me, pretty boy. All marked up and desperate. Show me how badly you want it.”

Steve rose up slowly, bracing his hands on Eddie’s chest and sinking back down with a groan. He found a slow rhythm that was driving them both insane. When he circled his hips with a gasp and threw his head back, Eddie grabbed onto his hips to thrust up into him harshly.

“Oh fuck, do that again,” Steve breathed.

They rocked together, quickly setting a new faster pace and Eddie wrapped one hand around Steve’s leaking cock and reached up with the other to grab his throat. Steve clenched his muscles around him and he squeezed around his dick to hear him whine.

“Need me to be a little meaner, baby? I know,” he cooed condescending and watched the shiver that went through him. “Little boy thought he was on top but he’s still being a brat. Guess I should’ve sliced something off of him.”

Steve tried to shake his head but Eddie tightened his grip on his neck.

“Now. Be a good boy and come.”

He bounced a couple more times before coming hard, eyes rolling back and almost collapsing on top of Eddie.

Eddie held onto his hips and thrust into his prone body until he came in his twitching ass.

After a quick shower and bedding change, Eddie let Steve flop bonelessly back onto the bed. He swiped an antiseptic across the cuts and welts on his chest. They could be as gross as they liked but he did not mess around with infections. He hummed at Steve’s little sharp inhales, they both knew he liked the sting of them afterwards.

Cleaning up quickly, he slid into bed behind him and snuggled in, pressing a kiss to his favorite spot on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

Inspired by February steddie microfic ‘edge’ but I knew I couldn’t do it justice with the word count. Then I found out it was someone’s birthday 😬

[sin-sidejob]

Happy 100 followers! I don’t know if you’re okay with writing myc or not but hear me out, afab reader and myc are having a long slow makeout session while his tentacles explores their body 😏🍄

(The fact this got sent in right around or seconds before I posted my other Myc celebration ask is hilarious)

You’re dragging your feet, making your way up the steps of the brownstone Myc owns, minutes away from work over in Alexandria and the equivalent of an oasis to you, a beacon of home and love and hot sex. You’re a simple person.

Unlocking the door and entering the house, popping the alarm system off then back on again while kicking off your shoes fades in a blur. Coat and bag get hung up and keys left in the catch-all dish near the door, your frame languid and dropped in malaise. Brains as fuzzy as a brand new carpet.

“Oh look, my favorite person!” Myc calls from the other room, seeing you enter the main living area from his cushy, oversized bean bag chair. “Fuck you look a mess - do I need to go get my machete back from Glenn?”

"no - wait, you gave him the machete?"

"yeah, and?" He feigns nonchalance, raising flagella in a come hither motion that brings you forth, waving you in like a siren to the sea and lulling you into the safety of his embrace, "he wanted it, better get it back though, I bought that shit brand new."

You make a noise of indignance, a brow raising at his words once he coils himself around you and pulls you closer to him to sit upon his lap and where he sits upon the beanbag chair. "You know you stole it."

"Damn right I did."

You let out a bark of a laugh, sudden and unexpected and get nudged by Myc teasingly who you shove back, nudging him with an elbow as he grunts, shoving you in return before tugging you in closer. Myc’s silent for a moment, a rarity, and rubs the surface of his orb against the top of your head before you break and speak.

"You ever seen a brand new machete?"

“No?”

“Okay see - that’s where I keep wondering if there’s just some secret pre-owned machete market.” You exclaim before his tendril-like flagella brush against your skin, rising at the spot where your shirt has ridden up, growing bashful even though it’s something so regular and frequent between the two of you it’s instinctual, wanting to be touching some part of one another at all times.

Even though he wouldn’t admit it, petulant fuck.

“You never see one clean or without like a decades worth of rust.”

“I don’t like the fact you’re right.” He says, stagnant voice making you giggle and prompting him to twine flagella and tendrils around you, sneaking up your shirt and across your belly. “You never do.” Is muttered into the base of his stalklike neck, breathier than intended but fun nonetheless as you feel him shudder around you and twitch.

“Like that, huh?” You murmur, placing a languid and lazy kiss against him and feeling him speak through, smirking against him. “You can fuck right off.”

“Invitation accepted.”

Your hands move to reposition yourself, Myc’s tendrils acquiescing and helping support your weight while you get settled, thighs around his base while flagella wrap around your arms and thighs, one curling around the slope of your neck. Arms wrap themselves around him on the underside of his orb, allowing you to curl up in his lap and feel him love on you while you get him flushed and literally glowing.

Dotting kisses about his body, you tease with little pecks and airy huffs that he bitches and complains at, still stripping you of your clothing all the while in the most stubborn manner, moaning through curses as you lick a stripe across his surface and chuckle against him, grinding down with a grin.

He can’t kiss back but he more than makes up for it in the way he squeezes and presses you, molding your body like softened polymer clay, baking you in the warmth blooming in your belly as Myc moves a tendril between your legs after you bite at him.

“Gotta’ play fair, doll.” Myc rolls, nudging your nose with a bump of his cap before he pulls your underwear aside and toys with you, getting your mouth open and gasping wetly against his skin. You mark him up with your teeth and soothe the sting with kisses and kitten licks, rocking back and forth against him and whining as he brushes sensitive, well memorized spots.

Pulling back, he takes you in and you’re dazed, pupils blown and face warm and absolutely downright horny. God he loves you.

“Myc,” You coo, trailing a palm up and down a tendril before pumping it in your fist, watching him groan and his orb shift, resembling a freshly shaken snow globe, “you know we never play fair.”

He slots a tendril in you and matches your pace and mocks your moan, mirroring it back in a whiny tone before he rubs the lip of his cap against your forehead, chuckling while he uses his flagella coiled around your waist to fuck himself with you, like a well-loved fleshlight.

“Don’t I know it - It’s so much more fun that way.”

[breadcheekstete]

tæhyung thinks he will be a potential tiger hybrid giving his energetic and curious spirit. just to find a bittersweet surprise at the sight of his newfound fluffy ears.

[ !hybrids // fat tæhyung // side vm¡n ]

his awaited 20th birthday approaches, and as the first born in his family, it's easy to say that his parents and relatives are excited to see the changes in the young male.

th watches his friends reach their final stages and turn into various types of mammals and prays. their bodies changing accordingly to their genetics along their newfound animal features.

he's just a couple of months away from the special day and the changes should start to show on his body. or that's what he expected when his childhood best friend jm became a mischievous and lithe calico cat hybrid. the difference is that he already knew he was a cat, just that his spots manifested a week before his birthday.

and for th… he barely developed a tail and his ears lack color or even signs of future patterns.

anxiety takes the best of him so he relies on stress eating, and it makes wonders to distract his mind from everything and his family's expectations. it even improves his sleep by the end of the week, as he always gets too exhausted after stuffing everything he can find, leaving him in a food coma every time. only waking up to eat and repeat.

but when the weight piles up, his family starts to… talk. and that only makes him eat more, and more past his limits even in jm's house, where he's always welcomed warmly.

he's devouring and licking clean a big serving of chicken, nestled with jm on the older's couch as they watch tv. th catches on his best friend's purring, kneading th's engorged gut through the thick blanket. "you must be a big breed," he says. but not in a derogatory way like his family, but in a fond way. "maybe you turn it into muscle when the day comes."

"i -uUrp, 'scuse me, i guess." he's a bit embarrassed of his deteriorating manners, but he can't help it when jm meticulously massages him anytime he's packed full of food. "you must be the only one that– *hic*-uUURp likes it, though…"

jm's ears perk up curiously and somewhat concerned at his tone. "like what?"

th is too awkward to talk about it, so when jm eyes got rounder and his purring stopped he didn't think twice before gesturing at his belly with an energetic shake. it messes his stomach for all the food he packed and a quiet burp slips out his lips.

he ducks his head, hiding the best he can under the blanket. shit. he's about to apologize (or just leave the country and rename himself as vincent) until he hears it.

jm is purring, loud, with his flushed cheeks and his labored breathing. he's purring at the fact that th changed into this. whatever it is. "y-you really like me like this?" the calico hybrid nods, squirming on the spot with the need to touch and knead again.

and th wants him to.

so th puts the blanket aside, revealing his bloated frame barely contained in his unbuttoned jeans and outgrown sweater, and jm is fast to snuggle him and massage his gut like it's his job. more burps make their way out but jm doesn't seem to care. he's too caught in the younger's appearance to care about anything else to be honest. "whatever you become, you'll always be my big, lovely teddy bear."

th hugs jm by his waist and hums on his hair. a bear… it would be so befitting to his body now, it would be… wait a minute. 

that's when th realizes, he is becoming a bear. is common to have various breeds of hybrids in a family even when there's a dominant type that remains for generations. but there was another hybrid besides various kinds of tigers; his great grandma from his dad's side was, indeed, a grizzly bear.

it confirms his suspicions when his ears become fully brown and rounded, now connecting the dots why he packed all the kilos so neatly all over his body, not leaving any inch of skin without a layer of flab.

he's double the size he was before his transition started just two months ago. his belly ballooned taking most of his downward vision and weight along his saggy pair of moobs. his face lacks definition with his developing double chin and his limbs are not too far from his rocketing gain, as he now waddles while walking and his arms barely go around his belly when full.

it also explains his lethargic behavior now that winter is around the corner and hibernation season is about to start.

and he eats a lot more, that's for sure, but he gets bloated frequently and with it the gas is definitely guaranteed whether he likes it or not. he pats his gut proudly and burps at his fist while caressing his underbelly. he should be embarrassed of his gas but... too tired to care, too good not to repeat.

his family finally accommodates to his needs, pampering him with foods and snacks every time he pleases, and loading his room with pillows and blankets for that purpose. he fears he will be hibernating through his birthday, and he kind of did.

but it was celebrated nothenless, with the traditional seaweed soup and a big chocolate cake all for himself. at some point, he's halfway on his cake and he can't keep up because his eyes keep closing. so jm, all cute and attentive since day one, feeds him the rest while th rests his tired arms on top of his belly. he even blows on th's hot chocolate so he doesn't burn his tongue and helps him to bed so he can rest from all the emotions and his (now usual) stuffing.

jm stays cuddled up in th's arms as the big bear hybrid sleeps soundly at the older's purring and his digesting belly.

he loses some of the extra weight when winter ends, not quite reaching his initial weight but he's seemingly more active and regained enough mobility to live normally with his new chubby frame. he's a little taken aback with that many changes in so little time, as he's not used to be consciously fat with no return, but he has jm to remind him how beautiful he is regardless of body type and make the best biscuits on his tummy.

// the end //

[returntothefalls]

A Very Grunkley Birthday (tentative title; preview)

Preview excerpt from Chapter 7 of Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction

Happy anniversary to Not What He Seems!  Now enjoy a sneak peek at a very special chapter!

Flashes of red and green illuminated the swollen underbellies of the dark gray clouds.  Two black-clad figures darted across the haggard landscape, dodging brilliant streaks of light that rained down around them.  Explosions rocked the earth where the bolts landed, dotting the already-ravaged terrain with smoldering craters.

Through the smoke and ash, shelter appeared in the form of a rocky outcropping, and the two dove behind it just in time to avoid another blast.  The first pulled down the scarf wrapped around her face, coughing against the cloying dust that already clung to her exposed skin.  Her partner rested their back against the rock, their face still hidden by a cloth mask and thick set of goggles, their chest heaving beneath layers of protective gear.

“Alright, so this hasn’t been our most successful operation,” the woman said.  “Not like we haven’t had plans go belly up before.”

She looked expectantly at her partner, but they gave no response, and instead removed some kind of device from their belt to fiddle with.  She waited a second longer, then shrugged and stepped away, peeking around the edge of the outcrop.

A tremendous black structure perched upon a looming hilltop, the source of the relentless hail of blaster fire.  A troop of soldiers in heavy vests stood at the crest above, each one armed to the teeth.

The woman ducked back to safety, a stray strand of her curly dark hair sizzling from a passing shot.  “In case you didn’t notice, the whole guard’s gearin’ up to wipe us out,” she said.  “Is this really the time for you to be tinkerin’ around, Pines?”

Stanford Pines pulled off his goggles and mask with one hand but didn’t look up as he kept messing with his remote.  “I’m well aware of the gravity of our situation, Naomi,” he said.  “And if you’d let me have a moment’s peace, I could be devoting my full attention to getting us out of it.”

A nearby blast sent stray debris cascading over the two.  “Sure, blame me for that.”  Naomi rolled her eyes.  “Whatever you’re plotting, just make it quick.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Ford said absentmindedly.

“Well you and I ain’t exactly the virtuous types,” Naomi said.  “So gimme a better excuse.”

“How’s this for an excuse?”  With a dramatic flourish, he pressed a final button.

A series of distant pops rang out, culminating in one massive explosion of light and sound.  Ford confidently stepped out from cover, and when he wasn’t immediately gunned down, Naomi followed.

Indeed, the guards were now too occupied to give a second thought to the former targets of their pursuit.  Towering flames consumed the building on the hill and the guards swarmed around it in panic and confusion.

Naomi nodded in satisfaction as she surveyed the damage.  “That’s one way to get the job done.”

“Had a feeling we’d need to cover our tracks in a hurry,” Ford said.  “So I planted some charges while we were sneaking around.  Just needed the chance to sync them up.”

Naomi clapped him on the back.  “Those poor saps wish they had a partner half as cool as mine.”

Ford raised an eyebrow.  “Cool?  You sure you don’t mean lame?  Or nerdy? Or embarrassing?  That’s more what I’m used to.”

Naomi laughed.  “I don’t believe you were ever any of those things, Pines.  And even if you were, you definitely aren’t now.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gestured toward the chaos atop the hill.  “We’ve both got a knack for getting into and out of trouble.  A swashbuckling duo like us could make a real name for ourselves in the world!”

Ford couldn’t help giving a wistful smile. “Sounds like someone I used to know.” His expression clouded and the smile vanished.  “Now since they’ve got their hands full, we can make a clean getaway.”

“We could,” Naomi said.  She unholstered a blaster from her hip and twirled it playfully. “Or we could take the chance to nab ourselves a bit of vengeance.”

Ford frowned.  “That’s hardly the most logical course of action.”

“Logic shmogic,” Naomi said, waving a hand dismissively.  “Let yourself be petty for a change.”

Ford hesitated, his attention returning to the device still in his hand for a moment, and he released a long, slow exhalation.  “You know what, a bit of mindless mischief may be just what the doctor ordered.”

“Now we’re talkin’!” Naomi said, pumping her fist. “Firebrand Ford is runnin’ wild again!”

Without another word, she charged back into the open and toward the hill, hooting gleefully and firing her blaster ahead. Ford chuckled and started to follow, but paused and glanced at his communicator again.  He tapped a button and the tiny screen flashed on to show his homebrewed calendar application – his only means of keeping track of Earth time as he hopped across dimensions.  Bold font spelled out the date on the screen:  June 15th.

He rummaged in his pocket and produced a crumpled photo, which he carefully straightened out, revealing a photograph of a much younger version of himself, shirtless aboard the rotting frame of a beached ship, smiling proudly alongside a nearly identical boy.

Sighing, he flipped the picture over and scratched a tally mark on the back – one of many.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Naomi’s voice called back to him.  “I ain’t afraid to hog all the action for myself!”

Ford took one more breath to steady himself, then shoved the photo back in his pocket and took off at a run after Naomi, fingers on the blaster at his waist, a wild grin spreading over his face.

[sylviareviar]

Please repost do not reblog

CHARACTER SHEET ―

FULL NAME: Sylvia Reviar

NICKNAME: Sylv, Syl, Vi-chan (by Teddie only)

ALIASES: Star (Phantom Thief Code Name), Disney_Princess (online)

PRONOUNS: She/her

HEIGHT: 5'2"

ZODIAC: Taurus

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Japanese, English, Russian, and a bit of German (from middle school).

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 ―

HAIR: Short, pink hair in a bob, with bangs covering most of her forehead and eyebrows. Her roots show hints of lightness, though, indicating her hair is dyed. Her real hair color is white.

FACIAL HAIR: none

EYES: Sky blue

SKIN TONE: Pale and pinkish, with freckles dotting her joints, cheeks, and nose. They become brighter and slightly redder in sunlight.

BODY TYPE: She is small and skinny, but not immune to gathering fat in her belly and thighs. A side-effect of being born with such light skin and hair is being easily sunburnt, as well as being more prone to fall ill or get hurt. As a result, she has a weak constitution, and was a sickly kid.

VOICE: Soft and sweet, she has a high-pitched voice and sometimes, upon first meeting someone, doesn't even use it. However, when relaxed and around friends, her voice can grow surprisingly loud. She also has a great singing voice, at a delicate, elegant soprano. All she needs is a coach and she could probably be a professional singer if she really wants to be.

DOMINANT HAND: Right

POSTURE: While sitting, she hunches her shoulders a bit to seem even smaller than she already is, and often hangs her head. While standing, she often fidgets and hangs her head, avoiding anyone's gaze in particular. When she's comfortable or animated, she stands up a bit straighter and has a brighter smile to her lips and eyes.

SCARS: There are some physical scars of old childhood injuries on her knees and back, but most of them have turned small and white by now. She has no internal injuries, either, but her mental scars have amounted so immensely she gained a Palace in her heart. Originally, this Palace formed in the United States. However, since she traveled to Japan, the Palace traveled with her and took root in the place she had spent most of her time: Shujin Academy.

BIRTHMARKS: None

MOST NOTABLE FEATURES: She is small and fragile, and often doesn't seem like she wants to change that part of her, despite it being a crippling weakness. Mostly wears pink, white, or other pastel colors when she can. She is also an easy target for others to take advantage of.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 ― 

PLACE OF BIRTH: Somewhere in the US (unknown exactly where)

HOMETOWN: A small town in Illinois, where her father moved to after basically rescuing her family from the foster system

SIBLINGS: Jack and Lucy Reviar

PARENTS: David "Khari" Reviar (changed his name because of racism, but secretly goes by his old name around friends)

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ― 

OCCUPATION: Student at Shujin Academy, part-time worker at a local animal shelter.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: A communal dorm building in Jinbocho

CLOSE FRIENDS: Teddie, Gogo Akechi,

FINANCIAL STATUS: Somewhat stable, looking a little bit on the poorer side since her dad is struggling to both send her an allowance and work at the same time; she works a job too, but the standards in Japan are a bit difficult for her to meet (animal shelters aren't easy to work in, and she still struggles a bit with the Japanese language).

DRIVER'S LICENSE: No

CRIMINAL RECORD: Clean

VICES: Relies too much on others to "rescue" her when she needs it, doesn't make an effort to get stronger, is too afraid to take the first step towards self-recovery, hates herself and loves everyone else to a fault, gets attached and trusts too easily/quickly, a chronic apologizer, struggles with social norms, absolutely transparent with her emotions, and surprisingly stubborn as an ox (she REFUSES to believe she is worth loving). There are more, but those are just off the top of my head.

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ―

LOVE LANGUAGE: Words Of Affirmation, Touch, and Quality Time

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES:  She is absolutely a hopeless romantic, but hell would sooner freeze over before she learned how to flirt with someone. Because she believes herself to be unworthy of love, she usually admires from afar and files away any "crush"-like feelings as "celebrity crushes," in which she believes she is allowed to pine for them, but making a move would be too dangerous because rejection will surely follow. She often deprives herself of such a thing as a result. She has never had her first kiss, nor does she know what she is meant to do on a date. Even in her own country, she doesn't know the social norms of dating. Up until going to Japan, she thought she was straight. Turns out Japan has lots of beautiful women, some of whom are even as nice as they are beautiful. (It also could be due in part to her barely ever talking to anyone her age in the US, though she did have crushes on boys easier than girls there.)

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 ―

CHARACTER'S THEME TUNE: Melodiya (somewhat of a sad ballad she likes to sing on her own as range practice for her voice)

HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME: Playing video games, drawing, playing/singing music, reading, writing, talking to herself while doing literally anything from cleaning to just pacing or walking, listening to music.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: Pretty balanced, but probably more right brained (creatively inclined).

SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL: Void. Nada. Non-existent. If anyone asks, she would say she was the one who convinced herself of this, no one else. But the truth is, unbeknownst even to her, that the adults in her life up until her official adoption had hammered that idea into her head that she was worthless, and thinking they knew better, she went along with it all. Now the damage is plain to see, and a once-outgoing autistic child with nothing but love to offer became broken and sad to look at.

Tagged by: @tvstarkuma

Tagging: @nijimx, @oraclememehacker, @jokerxkurusu, @stealshearts, and anyone else who wants to do this~

[forlorn-crows]

STILL NOT OVER IT

“Couldn’t stop looking,” Dew breathes into his throat. “Fuck, want you to be mine tonight.” He paws and paws at Swiss’ uniform, yanking the neckerchief slide from the fabric and hastily pulling buttons from their holes. One by one until his collarbone is revealed, the ridge of his pecs, the sweat slicked hair over his chest. Dew laps hungrily at the exposed skin, but not roughly: smooth, adoring. Swiss melts into the touch of his mouth with a purr.

“Gonna be good to me, sweetheart?” There’s no usual egging bite to his words: too tired for teasing. Swiss cradles the small of the fire ghoul’s back, just above the place where his tail sneaks out of his pant laces. Adrenaline-fueled warmth radiating underneath his palm. Insistent, but not offensive. 

Dew laves his tongue over a healing mark, cleaning away faint traces of grease paint that sweat tracked down from his chin over the course of the show. “If you’re good to me,” he whispers, not loud enough for anyone else to catch. Ghoul hearing may be good, but the hustle and bustle of backstage helps cover their hushed comments. He crosses to the opposite side of Swiss neck. Kissing wetly over his throat and licking up the other side. 

Swiss sighs and grips Dew’s arm as he sucks a new mark to match the other, gently pulling at the skin until the blood pools just under the surface. His hand tightens in the multi ghoul’s shirt and he hums contentedly. 

“Fuck, baby.” Swiss’ eyebrows twitch up in the middle as he’s warmed by Dew’s mouth, and a sweet, syrupy want starts to pool in his belly. He can’t help but hold him tighter. 

Dew smiles against his skin, nuzzling into the space behind the hinge of his jaw. “Give me a little something?” he asks, equally coy as he is needy. “Before we have to leave. Know you wanna.”

Swiss groans and drops the grip on his bicep in favor of putting both hands on his waist and sitting Dew on the helmet storage case that’s just behind him. The fire ghoul’s shirt is already open, baring his skinny, sweat-dotted chest. His vest, too, has the top buckle free, making him a casual picture of exhausted debauchery.  He zeros in on his matching marks, dark maroon over pale, glamour-fading skin. 

“Gods, you can really see ‘em like this,” he rumbles, shaking his head. “Gorgeous.” He hikes one leg up to his hip, and though he only places his other hand on Dew’s flank, the other leg mirrors the first. Then he dives in, kissing and licking over them just as the fire ghoul did to him.

“Yeah, right there,” Dew keens. Swiss’ gentle enthusiasm still nearly knocks him over, and he drops his hand to the edge of the equipment case before he can topple backwards. 

“If we had enough time,” the multi ghoul rumbles, “I’d let you take me on that couch over there. Let you put that hot little cock in me and keep me on it as long as you want.”

“Oh—” Dew whines and tosses his head back, eyes fluttering shut. Biting his lip as he feels himself throb over the idea. 

“But you’ll do that later, won’t you?” Swiss continues, sucking a new mark along the thick tendon in his neck. “Treat me right?”

“Fuck, yes,” Dew answers easily, legs curling more purposefully around his waist. “Put my tongue in all the spots you like. Fill you up so good.”

Swiss groans. “Then I’m yours.”

Melting each other

Was on a Swiss streak and also wanted to draw more interactions

Tip jar

[hakkais-hoe]

Bon Appétite, Baby~

Ran hanitanix f!reader

Happy birthday to the lovely beanstork!! We all know he’d love some birthday sex after a long day at work so let’s spoil him ;)

Technically for me this is only and hour late I will be taking no criticism 🥲

Age rating: 18+ mdni, Nsfw

Warnings: food play, AFAB R, penetration, creampie, breeding kink, praise, body worship ig , swearing, oral receiving, squirting, fingering, ran being a slight service dom, Ran is 100% a simp. (Light crack at the end ofc or it wouldn’t be one of my fics)

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

“Where’s my pretty baby!? Come give me my birthday kisses!” Rans cocky, loud and unusually excited voice reverberates through the apartment, a grin spreads onto your face yet you stay firmly planted on the bed already knowing that if you move an inch one of his presents will be ruined.

“I’m in the bedroom baby~ Come on in I have a present waiting~” A saccharine purr leaves strawberry stained lips, enticing the eager man easily into the barley open door of your shared room. Amethyst eyes of lust and obsession glaze over once they take in the sight before him.

Your scantily clad form lays spread eagle unbound yet unmoving with whipped cream, and assortment of his favourite berry’s and what looks like little cakes sit covering parts of your naked body, heavenly aromas cloud his senses. Hooded lusty eyes stare into your soul as he begins to remove parts of his suit, never once taking his eyes off you in the process.

“Damn baby, you really know how to ruin all the lovely plans I had for the evening dontcha, doll face?” Ran rasps, a hand cascades through once nearly styled hair as he stares at you arm still raised over his head. A heated flush begins to creep up your skin at his piercing gaze, butterfly’s erupting in your belly when he rips his shirt buttons free and pulls his belt off with a flick of the wrist.

“Well I know how much you wanted a cake, my love… now we don’t have to buy one~” You’ve voice is music to his awaiting ears before he’s walking around the bed to stand next to your dessert covered body. A long familiar finger swipes through the whipped cream sitting atop of one of your perked breast, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake as he pops it in his mouth with a groan.

“Fuck… Not sure I’ll have chance to savour all your lovely work, doll. Might have to just fuck my pretty girl instead, I’ve been waiting all day for this pussy to milk my cock~” Ran purrs down at you, hands coming to cage you against to bed as his lips finally meet yours in a rough eager searing kiss, one that reminds you just why you love him. Ring covered fingers mould around whipped cream covered tits as he deepens the kiss. When he pulls back you dot get a moment to stare into his beautiful eyes, he’s already moving to the bottom of the bed to climb between already spread thighs. Large hands clamp onto your shins as his places them over broad shoulders, leaving scorching kissed up your legs as his goes. He stops to stare at the whipped cream and strawberries that sit atop of your mound perfectly.

“Ya know darlin, this sweet cunt is my favourite dessert, I’d pick it any day over any cake… fuckkk she’s just begging for my tongue, fuckin dripping all over the bed, baby doll.” Ran groans his head lolling to the side to rest on the knee propped on his shoulder. One hand begins from ghost down the back of your thigh, making its way to your soaked pussy slowly, the ghostlike touch over your most sensitive area leaves in seconds, instead four fingers swipe through the cream and berry’s to spread it down over your scorching heat, a squeak of shock from the cold of the cream slips past your parted lips. Rans mischievous eyes lock with yours as he licks his fingers clean then swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Well bon appetite to me, let’s hope I don’t ruin you for the main course~” Ran coos before his mouth is on you like a man starved, licking and sucking until your a moaning mess. Strong hands grip the meat of your hips as his tongue writes his name over your clit again and again until he can feel a pulse start up, before you can come his tongue plunges into your clenching heat, thrusting and lapping at your overflowing juices as you jolt and jerk against his face, wave after wave of climax that he eagerly drinks loud slurps, squelches, moans and groans fill the room.

Desperate to pull another orgasm from you Rans fingers find your pussys pulsing hole, his middle finger glides easily in, long and thin reaching all the right places, he gives a few pumps while his tongue goes back to sucking your clit better than any vibrator. Another finger is thrust into your already clenching heat before you know it, curling and thrusting at just the right angle, bringing you closer and closer to that second orgasm that he wants. The bulge of his clothed erection rubs against the bed to bring him some form of relief before he can fill your pussy.

“Fuck! … Ran! G-gonna- cu-m!… Please- need- need y-your cock!” You wail grasping and pulling at his hair as your thighs tighten around his head, a light nip of his teeth on your clit have you hurdling over the edge, clear liquid squirting into Rans awaiting mouth where he greedily slurps up all you have to give. Ran grins while you convulse below him already moving so he is caging your whole body in and wiping the rest of your release and the remaining whipped cream off his face. A light peck is placed on your patted lips as he smiled adoringly at you.

“You ready to go again doll? I’m dying to pump that pretty pussy full of my seed~” He hums already working his boxers and slacks down far enough for his impressive length to spring free and slap against his abdomen, your eyes follow its movements and stop to admire the pretty pink tip oozing with pearls of precum.

“Baby? Take a picture it’ll last longer” Ran says with a laugh, his teeth nipping at your neck when he cuts your view off. “I think I will when we’re done~” You purr back, gripping at his biceps as he bites and sucks at your neck and collarbones.

“Come on then big guy, fuck me like your promised~ Paint my insides like a good birthday boy…” Your groan has him leaning back so he can watch as he presses the tip of his flushed dick into your still fluttering pussy, his teeth sink into his lip as he pushes forwards, a filthy groan spills from his lips as his head throws back and his hips snap forward, effectively impaling you on his length, your loud pleasure filled scream pierces the air.

Your moans are like fuel being poured onto this flame of desire, they prove to spur his carnal lust further as he bares down on you, hips snapping at a pace you e only ever seen when he’s hate fucking you into oblivion. The sheer size of his cock has you seeing stars even though he’s just begun, the feeling of his tip furiously pounding into your cervix is enough to have your quickly hurtling towards a third climax, the pitch of your cries and flexing of your walls are tell-tale signs to him of your impending orgasm, his hips pound ruthlessly into your abused cunt as his thumb comes to rub rough tight circles in the nub of your clit, your vision blurs and your chest tightens at the sheer force of the orgasm washing over you, clear liquid once again squirts over Rans abdomen and your stomach in gushes.

“Jesus baby! Look at her fucking go! Yes, yes, yessss good girl~ My good girl, got a few more in ya yeh? Still haven’t pumped this pretty pussy full like I promised.” Ran groans down at you, slowing his pace as he grinds down into your soaked entrance a lazy smile on his face when he sees your fucked out expression grinning up at him, drool and tears streaking your face.

“Very sexy ain’t ya doll~” He hums with a light chuckle, strong arms come to cradle you against him as he slowly pounds down into you, rough, hard, deep thrusts slowly pounding in and out of your sensitive cunt, the squelching and slapping of skin mixed with light paints, moans and groans reverberate off dark walls filling the room with the usual sounds of the two of yous love making.

“Mmm… love you… so much.. Ran love you, happy birthday.” You wine out between harsh snaps of his hips, legs locking firmly around his waist. Panting lips find yours in a haze, a long drawn out passion filled kiss awaits you, the heat of the kiss has Ran groaning into it as his hips once again pick up their pace, going from slow and deep to a ruthless animalistic pounding into your tight sensitive cunt.

“Fuck- fuck pretty- gone pump you so- so fucking full of my seed! Gonna take it like the good girl you are!? Fuck yeh… shit, shit.” Rans groans and your moans fill the room as his hips snap impossibly faster into you.

“Yes, yes, yes yessss! P-please give- give it to me! Need your cum so bad!” Your scream and the tightening of your pussy signalling another climax have Ran tipping straight over the edge.

“Fuck fuck take it! Take it take it take it! Shitttt~” Ran whines as load after load of sticking white cum fills your pussy, painting the walls white just like he said he would. The feeling of Rans seed pumping you full and the twitching of his thick shaft are enough to shove you straight into another earth shattering climax as you cream around his cock once again.

You lay intertwined with one another, basking in the afterglow of the best sex you’ve had in weeks. Pants still fill the air along with the musk of sex and berry’s that are now squashes between perspiration covered sticky bodies.

“Fuck… that was amazing doll… best birthday ever… I love you so much.” Ran mutters, kissing your neck lazily from where he’s laid on top of you.

“You deserved it… this isn’t your only present though…” You pant back stroking his hair lovingly.

“…. Wait… how did you do all this and get rid of all the packaging?” Curious eyes stare up at you.

“Uh…. Let’s talk about that another time…” You grumble avoiding his eyes.

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Taglist: @loonashadow @wakasagurl @coldcoffeeholic @reiners-milkbiddies @honeybachira @soushswag @bontensbabygirl @sunahyejin @haitink

[husbandohunter]

A Furry Predicament, but reversed (Reader turns into a cat)? Pretty please with a sweet lil cherry on top? (I recently stumbled across your blog and may I just say that I absolutely adore your works??) Thank youu and take care~~

A Furrier Predicatment [Genshin x Cat!Reader]

♤♡◇♧☆

Synopsis: It's your turn to be a cat after this incident.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Childe, Venti

(A/n): Ah you did OwO that's very sweet of you. It's alot of fun to write, especially when your imagination is stunted and you just gotta spit out something silly.

=======================

[Diluc]

Any beloved pet owned by Master Diluc would be under the most high quality and meticulous treatement. Mostly for cats since they tend to be calm while elegant...to some extent. If they were dogs then he'll ensure that they also serve as a partner for sniffing out trouble such as a certain bard who'd might've sneaked into the wine cellars. But you weren't either, so to say, you were both a beloved AND a cat.

As he picks you up gently into his arms, Diluc would be a little baffled on what to do next. He has no idea how to care for delicate creatures as he never had one (other than a pet tortoise but that's different) in which he needed to look for help. But who? The staff? Certainly not, no one can find out that his partner turned into a pet (imagine all the scandals he'll be in). Jean? Anything but the knights of Favonius. And most certainly not his brother.

So Diluc ends up figuring everything out by himself (old habits die hard). All the sweets and regular meals you craved were no long in your menu, you were forced to have a proper cat diet because he believed it was healthier. Half of the time he has no idea what he's doing, since you were a cat and all you could do was "meow" (which Diluc forgets. He tries to have a mundane conversation until you stare at him with feline eyes. That was when he remembered).

"What would you like for tonight's dinner, my love?"

"Meow." He has alot to learn.

Though Master Diluc often gets very tired and he attempts to take a quick nap before killing himself over the next set of duties. That is, until you could help it. Being a cat has it's furry and comfy advantages. So you leapt up to the bed as quietly as possible and onto the side of your lover, circling a few times to see if he was really asleep. When he was you snuggled close to keep him warm, hoping it would lull him into a rest even deeper. He slept like a baby.

~xx~

[Kaeya]

If the Cavalry Capatain were to own a pet, they would either be charmed by him or snaring their teeth because of his unreadable and suspicious aura. Animal instincts are quite powerful. But your case wasn't the latter, thankfully and he could feel himself growing fond of this new found relationship. Almost. What should he do with you now that you're a cat, Kaeya wonders.

Belly rubs and a lot of them. He absolutely adores the way your cute little nose scrunches up while he runs his fingers on the center of your tummy (though he knows when to stop, Kaeya is rather gentle with you nowadays). You found that he absolutely adores the shape of your nose, would pick you up and boop yours with his own somehow knows how to be his flirty self despite your unusual form.

There was this one incident where you saw something shiny flashing over the wall. Slowly you followed it as the bright dot moved futher and further away, evetually gaining speed. Little did you know it was Kaeya who was watching you swipe your little paws up and down against the wall while he was just cleaning his sword. How could he help it? You were often so headstrong and independent, now you were just an adorable little kitten that loves to play with yarn and shiny things. It backfired him though, now there were a bunch of scratchmarks marring the surfaces (which he had to pay for repairs).

Takes you out to Windrise so that you could get some fresh air (also for you to find somewhere else to shed your fur other than his humble abode). Kaeya sits back under a tree while you either chase a butterfly or start slapping against the dandelions (only sneeze when they fly into your face). He wasn't sure if you were aware of what you were doing right now, if you were then he'll have lots of things to talk about once you turn back into human. If not, then at least he had the opportunity to witness such a soft side coming from you.

~xx~

[Xiao]

If any animal were to go close towards the adeptus, they would run away. Xiao isn't very good at interacting with others, pets included, usually they would run into the alleyway or hide around the legs of their owners while he glaringly, blankly stares at them (Even though he wouldn't admit it, Xiao thinks to himself, how soft is cat fur?) Now he gets to touch your cat form and turns out that fur is very ticklish yet pleasant against his skin.

Would be the most awkward conversationalist, the poor yaksha was already terrible with his words (often coming out harsh so he prefers to either keep away or say nothing at all) and even with you sometimes, now it was almost impossible to communicate. Xiao is not very good at reading a cat's body language. When you want him to hold you again, you'd walk in circles. He assumes you were hungry and leaps out the window to go fetch some fish...for the nth time there was a pile of raw salmon stacking upon the floor. Xiao thinks that maybe salmon species weren't to your liking, hence he does out to find another one.

As he plays his flute, you'd magically doze off on his lap. (There was one thing that you both can communicate with at last). Slowly but surely, he comes to learn the different gestures you make for certain situations. You often rub yourself upon his leg which he had heard to be a cat's way of claiming their territory. That was when Xiao picks you up, FINALLY. Though the real reason why it took him this long was because he was hesitant to hold you. He never really held a pet so naturally he has no idea how to hold a cat. Ends up cradling you in his arms because it seemed to be a safer option <3

"I never thought I'd be able to hold you like this," Xiao softly says to your lazy form, observing the way your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, "But I...forget it. We can stay like this for the time being, if you'd like. If not, that's fine too."

You stay.

~xx~

[Albedo]

The only pets Albedo had were for his alchemic experiments (plus they were put in cages too). Fact be told, he would make a terrible pet owner with the lifestyle he has now. The alchemist would be so absorbent into his work that he'll most likely forget that he has someone to feed and by the time he realized it, they would have already starved to death. After hearing glass bottles crashing to the floor, Albedo bursts into the rooms as the smoke fills it completely, finding a cat lost between it. The cat was you. He knows because he made the potions.

Sometimes he'd a little too scientific for his own good. Albedo assumed that when you turned into a cat, you've gone into cat mode and ends up treating you as such. "No, don't go near any bodies of water. You wouldn't like it." He almost forgets that you were once human which is very much like him if you had to be honest. Though when he does find out that you still carried human traits, Albedo must find ways to adapt things to your liking.

He makes your food himself. He's not a cook but he sure is good at everything he does, even if it's something he never did before. This goes for other areas too such as the size of your bed, if you need a little couch to stay on or maybe some tools to play around. (The only time when he is a good pet owner). In his sketchbook he'd have a bunch of blueprints and contraptions of what to make next. There's something enjoyable when spoiling you, those little reactions when you're pleased, like the twitch of your whiskers or the lift of your tail. Albedo finds is very cute.

On top of all that, he could also make you a potion to turn you back into normal. It seemed that it was the last thing he thought of on the list. Albedo was too occupied with treating you like a cat that it all flew over his head until now. Time flies when you're having fun.

~xx~

[Zhongli]

Unlike Albedo, anyone who has Zhongli as a pet owner would be considered to be a very lucky animal. He radiates a calm and serene aura that gives the perfect environment to have infinite nap times. People look at this man and wonder why his pet never gives him any trouble, especially when cats were considered to be both fiesty and needy. But they just didn't know that the cat was you (not like it would make a difference, any animal would know that Zhongli was no ordinary man).

How on earth does he know what you're saying? Maybe it's because he was once an archon. You could meow and he knows exactly what you would like to snack on. You could tilt your head, he takes it that you were curious on what he was currently doing (which was exactly what you were wondering), you can say nothing at all yet as if he could read your mind, Zhongli comes over to pet you with his gloved hands.

"How can I tell? Indeed it is because you're my lover, of course. Throughout this time we spent together, I've come to learn the way you speak through your eyes. They seem to hold true no matter what form you take. It's rather comforting."

Though there were many moments where you sneak up behind Zhongli. His hair, his ponytail- so long. Must play with. As you jump up and down with his thin strand swings side to side, it'll take a few seconds for him to decipher what your were doing. The minute he turns around he catches you with his hands midair and laughs heartfully. Cats were very endearing creatures.

~xx~

[Childe]

Back home in Snezhnaya, Childe would probably have owned a dog or two. They were mostly meant for hunting purposes, big and large furry creatures with thick skin suitable to endure the harsh cold. He has dogs because cats hate him for some strange reason. They either hiss or snootly turn their backs on him, one time he picked one up as a kid but his face bleeding after the cat scratched him with their paws. But of course you wouldn't do that to him. You would never~ he was your cutie pie anyways.

He was an obnoxious hugger, not gentle at all. Childe forgets his strength as a human man and when he squeezes you tightly against his chest, you'd spike out on all ends because by the archons, you're suffocating. But it was your fault for feeling so comfy and warm! Similar to Kaeya, they're both obnoxious but Childe deemed himself to be even worse. He'd rub his face against yours, commenting on how sensitive it sways. Tonia once told him that she wanted a pet cat instead, maybe he should also bring you back to his homeland now.

Yes he would love to play with you. Bring in the cat toys...or not. This was the eleventh Fatui Harbinger, what were you thinking? Normal cat activities? Not here. He's gonna teach you how to hunt like how he taught his dogs to hunt in Snezhnaya. You gave him the most deadpanned and dissapointed look with your large feline glare. Not only was he disliked by cats but he certainly was not good with them.

Though he can take it down a notch sometimes and just indulge in relaxing activities. When there was nothing else for him to do or when he was just tired after a productive day, he'd sit by the kitchen and you on top of the table. While you yawned and leaned down for a nap, Childe plays with the small of your paws to the soft edge of your nails. If he taps your nose, your whiskers twitch. Your ears are nice, maybe he should get you a headband version once you turned back to human.

You immediately wake up when he touches your tail.

~xx~

[Venti]

Achoo!

You sometimes wonder how is it that the anemo archon was able to live through 2000 years without getting beaten up by a cat. If andrius was a large cougar than a wolf, maybe he wouldn't be an archon now. Which is why you are to stay miles far far away from him unless you want the whole of Mondstadt to be blown away by the wind.

Wears a mask (as if this were the covid19 pandemic), although it doesn't take away all his problems, at least it'll minimize it. Venti always has a box of tissues ready but you can tell by the puffiness of his eyes that he's been sneezing alot. He really tries his hardest to pitch in every once in a while when Albedo was working on a cure for you to go back to normal. Though acts as if he was quarantined by staying all the way at the other side of the room.

"Ahahaha don't mind me. It's your local bard of Mondstadt dropping by to see how things are going. I wanna make sure how long it will take for you to make the potion? Just curious!"

No hugs, cuddles or anything involving close proximity. This makes Venti very pouty and impatient. Albedo finds it very hard to concentrate with all the sniffling and sneezing that he had no choice but to kick him out. It didn't help that the location was Dragonspine, now he was sneezing even more.

[pedros-mustache]

circumference thou bride of awe

word count: 3.8k+

warnings: smut (18+ only): breeding & lactation kink, pregnancy sex, piv sex. also: unabashed body worship, body image concerns, language, x fem!reader

a/n: i’m so sorry to all of you for having to suffer through my self-indulgent bullshit and my fics that are titled after poems (this one: emily dickinson). i honestly don’t know what’s come over me lately, but plz don’t look at me—this is, full stop, the most revealing thing i’ve ever written. like holy shiitake mushrooms. 🙈

Standing at the full length mirror, TV on the dresser humming low with a preseason basketball game, you openly run your gaze over your figure. What you see confounds you: A body you’ve inhabited the entirety of your life, a body you’ve watched unfold and mature and settle over time, and yet, this evening, you feel as though the body you see does not belong to you. 

She is a stranger, this woman in the mirror. The familiarity of her features strikes you as curious, and you respond as you normally would, with that nervous little laugh that catches in your throat when you catch sight of someone with an eerily similar composition to your own. But with the otherworldly glow of her skin, the roundness of her hips, and the gentle slope of her womb—surely—surely—the woman staring back at you, moving in tandem with your movements, cannot be you.

There’s just no way.

You trace your fingertips over your stomach’s growing firmness, and the shoulder of your blouse falls to the wayside, the rise of your breast exposed to the room’s dim light. So much change in so little time, you can barely keep up. Wasn’t it last week you called Marcus in a frenzy, five tests and ten lines confirming your suspicions? Wasn’t it yesterday you told Missy and she cried, rough exterior giving way in the face of a unique companionship only to be found in a sibling? You aren’t sure of the timeline anymore—only that you are happy.

The underside of your swollen womb peeks out beneath the soft cotton of your sleep shirt, and you move the fabric up and over your belly. Twenty weeks—halfway there—a baby the size of a bell pepper forming within the utter depths of yourself. A peppering of red stretch marks dot your skin, places where you’ve grown too big too fast. In the three-tiered cart beside the dresser—a cheap thing overflowing with supplements and vitamins and ointments—you find a round container of cream. The contents smell like coconut and summer, like the vacation you had to postpone. (Air travel doesn’t suit you these days.)

A low, appreciative noise sounds from behind you, and your eyes lift, meeting his in the clean glass of the mirror. Marcus—sprawled out in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the sheets and comforter shucked to the footboard in the oppressive summer heat. He’s wearing his rattiest grey t-shirt—Broad Street Bullies World Champs ‘74-’75—and unassuming black boxers, tight around his muscular thighs. His glasses, large and square, over warm eyes that drink you up, swallowing you whole in their richness.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, and even now, you duck your face on a hot flush.

He sits up, beckoning your forward with a bend of his finger. “Come ‘ere,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

You turn from the mirror with a poorly concealed glare. “I look like I swallowed a globe, Marcus.”

He chuckles at that and drops his hand to the mattress. “No, you don’t. Not yet anyway. Give it a month or two.” When you return to your reflection, massaging the thick cream into the jagged lines of your skin, he calls for you again, your name a fervent prayer on his lips. “Come here. Let me touch you.”

With a put upon sigh, you screw the container shut and set it aside before ambling your way to the bed. California king, his “treat yo self” moment upon moving out of the old apartment he shared with Missy and her mother. You feel ridiculous, pulling yourself onto the high-seated mattress and crawling on all fours across both zip codes the frame seems to cover, but Marcus doesn’t mind a bit. 

He reaches out to toy with the swooping neck of your shirt. The crook of his knuckle drags back and forth, back and forth, over the worn material. “I can see everything when you wear this.”

You pull to a stop at his side as you press your shirt to your chest, faux modesty your only weapon against a man who can unravel you with one look. “You’re a dirty rascal,” you say, pushing your pointer finger against his chest. “A bona fide peeping Tom.”

Grin spreading full over his face, his cheek dimples; a cavern of delight. “Can you blame me? I mean—look at you.” He pats your leg, cocking his head to the side in a silent plea for you to straddle his hips. 

You oblige. 

His broad hands fall to your waist as you seat yourself, ass spilling over his thighs. There’s a twinge of interest beneath you, a tell-tale hardening that’s difficult to ignore, but you ignore it anyway. Rather, you try to. All the recent changes to your body and he still wants you. It drives you mad—with pride, with desire, with uncertainty…  

He wants you now, when you are plush with more, filled to overflowing with his seed, a beacon of belonging for all to see, but what about after the baby? Will he still want you then? When your skin sags and your breasts leak over nice blouses and his touch leaves you raw and tender? 

Will he still want you then?

You aren’t sure. You dare not ask. For the moment, all you can do is roll your eyes on a smirk, pushing down the hum that rises in your belly at the feeling of his arousal. 

Warm fingers slide beneath your shirt, massaging the skin of your hips, and he looks up at you, circumventing the way your gaze skitters to the side with a soft kiss to your jaw. His hands creep up, up, up, taking your shirt with them. “Can I?” he whispers against your skin. “Let me see you.”

Though your heart lurches to your throat, you yield to baser desires. “Yes,” you exhale. 

Marcus lifts the flowy cotton over your head, and as the world turns light blue and soft, vision tangled with the glow of bedside lamp and the momentary covering, you shut your eyes. The sleep shirt falls to the floor with a muted thump, and a rush of air pushed by the ceiling fan skirts over your naked flesh. One hand snakes around the back of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair at the bottom of your skull. His opposite hand lands at the juncture of your leg and your hip; his fingers squeeze into the crevice there, thumb splayed wide over your bump. He draws you forward, and he kisses you. A simple, soft peck to your mouth, nary a swipe of his tongue or a drag of his teeth over your lower lip. Still, you lean into him, palm to his scruffy cheek.

He pulls away first, nose carving a path from your lips to your neck. “Open your eyes.” You shiver when his tongue hits your pulse point. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of with me.”

Inhale, exhale. The wedding band on your ring finger squeezes tight. To have and to hold, for better or for worse.

When you open your eyes, he’s grinning, and it’s such a boyish look—so lopsided and eager in his enthusiasm—you can’t help but laugh. “Marcus, don’t look at me like that!”

His grin merely doubles in size. “What?! I can’t help it! I wasn’t expecting you to be totally naked under there.”

“I just got out of the shower.”

“Then I have impeccable timing.” In two quick movements, he removes his glasses and shirt, tossing them both to the side. Arm around the small of your back, he tugs you closer. You drop your hands to his chest to steady yourself, arching into the warmth of his mouth as he washes wet kisses over your sternum. “Want me to fuck you, baby?”

He murmurs the words against your skin, and you know he means them. You can feel his stiff length press into your wet heat from where it remains in his boxers. You hesitate, though, head falling forward out of its hazy droop.

“Huh?”

Marcus leans back. His thumb finds your bottom lip. His eyes find yours, and he asks again: “Do you me to fuck you?”

Your mouth runs dry, cunt quivering (the traitorous bitch). You nod, eager, swaths of damp hair falling before your eyes. “Uh-huh.”

He’s out of his boxers before you can blink, cock resting heavy against the trail of hair sprinkled over his stomach. You would quip something about how impatient he is, but he maneuvers you well, firm hands guiding, leading, until you’re sinking down the shaft of his cock, your slick (an overabundance these days) easing the transition.

“Oh shit.” He grits the expletive between clenched teeth. “Fuck, you’re tight.” 

Once pushed to the hilt of you, he rocks his hips forward once, and your eyes roll back into your skull. You think you can see pink brain matter, on the verge of turning to sheer goop after the slightest stretch of his cock in your cunt. 

God, you’re sensitive when you’re pregnant. He can pull an orgasm from you in no trouble at all, and you love it—fuck, you love it. He’s come home from the office one too many times to be proper just to ruin you on the kitchen floor while the house is empty of peering eyes and listening ears. You love it then—when you can wail loud enough to disturb the neighbors as he rubs your clit to oblivion—and you love it now, when you stamp down your moan with a tight clamp of your teeth on your lip to keep from waking your daughter, asleep in the basement, summertime video game session long gone silent.

He holds still after the initial entrance of his cock. His pulse, hot and heavy in his length, throbs in your core—thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. You shift with a small whimper, eyes fluttering open as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Marcus,” you whine, voice soaked with childish inflection.  “Come on, don’t be like that. You said you’d fuck me.” Unbidden, your lower lip puckers—and you would feel ashamed at your neediness, but you can’t find it within you. There’s only him inside you now, him and that sparkling little seedling your nurture day after day.

“And I will,” he says, but he’s not looking at you. He eyes your breasts, their newfound heft, and his hands lift, palms cupped. “But damn, honey, let me look at these a minute.”

His hands fall to your breasts, rough calluses on his thumbs (too much time at the shooting range) course against your tender flesh. Like the well-thought man he is, he inspects their weight, judging the plushness around your ribs and the way his fingertips dimple their gentle rise. He brushes a thumb over either nipple, and you inhale sharply, shiver coiling down your stiff spine.

“Can I—” His breath ghosts over your left breast, a hot wave of desire and unspoken need. He squeezes your flesh, and a single bud of liquid pearls at your nipple. Not the first you’ve seen, but Marcus stares at it in such a way, it’s like the first time all over again, when you stood in the bathroom, breath caught in your throat.

You raise shaking fingers to drag your nails through his hair. A nervous laugh bubbles to your lips. “I never took you for such a tits man. Thought you were more of an ass kinda guy.”

His eyes flick to yours; an endless pit of lust swallows his irises. “Yeah, I am.” He grabs a fistful of your rump just to make the point, but then he returns his gaze to your chest. “There’s just something about these when they—” A shuddering breath, and his hips jolt, swollen length moving along your walls.

Without warning, he surges forward, mouth caught around the peak of your breast. Your head drops back, hands trembling against his neck as he swirls his tongue over your nipple.

“Oh god—M-Marcus, shit, that feels good.”

He feels divine: strong arms around your waist, warm mouth dragging wet paths between your breasts, rigid length sheathed in the core made just for him. Hot, sticky arousal floods your center, and your hips move forward. He groans as you circle, grinding low against him, enough to send the throb in your body to a full scale ache. And then—

And then he sucks—hard—against your breast, and you cry out in a combination of surprise and relief so sudden you stop moving, frozen in place. Stunned.

He draws back. A red flush creeps over his cheeks, and his fingers press into your hips. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t—I mean, I—”

You slot your mouth over his, tongue parting his lips as you search for that essence of yourself he took from you not a moment before. You find it, warm and bitter on his tongue, and you moan at the taste.

“Do it again,” you say. He blinks, so you repeat yourself, firmer, authoritative. "Do it. Again."

He returns to your breasts with feverish need. One palm on either breast, and his tongue bouncing between either nipple, lapping at whatever paltry beads you have to give him. He drinks like a kitten after a long day of raucous play, like a dirt-smudged child in for a cool glass and fresh peanut butter sandwich. 

Your skin feels hot. Your hips cant forwards and backwards, digging deep as he drinks—fucking drinks—from your body, some vampiric sense overtaking him. Overtaking you as you allow the depraved thing to happen in the warm light of your bedroom.

It’s easy—the orgasm that washes over you as you ride his length and your clit catches on his skin. You shudder with it, a gentle wave that douses your sweaty skin.

Marcus lifts his face, swipes a hand over his mouth. “Did you just cum?” The glint in his eye tells you he isn’t mad, but you won’t let him off the hook, the teasing git.

You huff. “Did you just suck milk out of my tits?”

His eyebrows lift in concession. “Fair enough.”

You angle your mouth over his, kissing him deep, before saying, “Now fuck me.”

“Mm—yes, ma’am.”

His hands find your hips, head pushed back against the padded headboard. Together, you set a pace; always together. He moves easy through your tight walls, the slick of your previous orgasm softening the movement. You push into your knees, lifting your hips as he jerks upwards, filling you with the entirety of his length at once.

You brace your hands against his chest; his heartbeat slams against your palm. “Just like that,” you whisper. “Fuck me just like that.”

Back and forth, tandem riders on the universe’s oldest bike. You feel so full you could burst with starlight, stuffed to the point you aren’t sure where you end and he begins. His cock splits you open in a slow dance, an unhurried rhythm of adoration that makes you feel ethereal in all the best ways. No matter the stretch marks at your hips and the dark line descended from your belly button, he makes you feel like a goddess. You sit back on a moan, dragging your fingers through your hair to grip something lest you float away.

He trails a hand over your bump. “S’beautiful, all full of my baby.”

You open your eyes, smile down at him, swivel your hips in such a way he groans, muscle in his neck bulging. “Yeah, your baby.” Your chest flutters as the words part your lips—your baby. Never did you think you’d find someone—never did you dare hope that—Your grin widens. “Your baby boy.”

Marcus stutters to a screeching halt, thrusts dead in the water. His eyes pop open, and for a moment, the lust constricts, sharpening to a pinpoint of surprise. His chest heaves, labored breathing a sharp gasp in the quiet room.

Realization dawns like a slap in the face.

“Oh fuck!” You clap your hand over your mouth. A rush of shame and regret turns your nakedness revealing—Adam and Eve caught in the garden—and you push your arms over your breasts in a poor attempt to cover yourself. “Oh fuck—Marcus! Shit, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to know and I did, but—oh my god, I swore I wouldn’t tell you and—”

He lays a hand on your arm, fingers wrapped around your wrist. “Boy?” He shakes his head as though he doesn’t believe it. “Did you say—Are we having a boy?”

“I-I don’t know if—”

He shakes his head again, this time his senses returned, and his grip on your wrist softens. “It’s okay. You can—Please, tell me.”

Shoulders dropping, you nod. “Yeah.” Your fingers find the fine hair on his stomach, toying with it in nervous circles. “Yeah, we’re having a boy.”

Marcus kisses you—kisses you so deep you feel his tongue in the deepest parts of your throat, his mouth drowning any further apology you possess.

Then he shifts—shifts lower on the bed so that his head rests on his pillow—and he bends his knees, feet planted firm on the mattress. His hands grip your waist, and you inhale, caught askew in the ravenous look in his eyes.

“Marcus…” His name begins a question, ends a punch-drunk cry.

He jackhammers his cock into your melting cunt. You squeak, lurching forward to grab the top of the bed frame for support. Over and over, an unrelenting surge of quick, fast paced punches that tear you inside out. He’s feral, practically frothing at the mouth, a tight grit to his teeth and furrow in his brow. You’ve never seen him so concentrated, so unhinged. It makes your pussy drench, soaking through whatever dignity you have left. 

The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust. Your mouth hangs open, the only sound you can make a juvenile uhhhhh, like a kid anticipating the descent of a steep roller coaster as the cart bounces over gears and levers.

“Don’t—Don’t—” He gasps for breath. “Don’t w-wake the kid.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you fall forward, hand sliding from the headboard with a sodden drag. You catch yourself on either side of Marcus’s head, forehead to forehead. Something stiff and plastic digs into the palm of your left hand, but you don’t have the willpower to move. Not with Marcus slamming into you like he is, taking and giving and taking every ounce of your strength.

The TV on the dresser ratchets louder and louder, volume increasing until it drowns out the slap of skin on skin. The sports announcer shouts over the din of the crowd—I think the Sixers thought the game was over, but it was called a two on the floor. Can you imagine if they changed it to a three?—but you aren’t listening. Your thoughts have reduced to an incoherent babble, and Marcus is the benefactor of every word.

“Oh, Marcus. I can’t—m’fuck—right there, right there.”

If it’s possible, you feel him swell within you, expanding the walls of your cunt on a sharp groan. He releases one hip to root for your clit between smooshed bodies. “Wanna—shit, ‘m gonna cum, but-but I wanna see you. Shine for me, baby, huh? You got one more in you?”

“Mhm. Yeah—yeah, I do.”

With the increased size of your stomach, Marcus can barely fit his thumb over your clit; it’s a tight squeeze. But he’s there, pad of his finger against the swollen nub like a godsend. He ruts into you, swirling the pearled bud around, around, around, shattering you on his length until—until—

You explode, cumming with a sharp cry and the collapse of your limbs. The orgasm rips through you, forcing out any negative thought you previously held about your body. Marcus loves you, he worships you, he drinks from your soul and gives back as good as he takes. You know it; you know it; you know it.

Limp against his chest, he takes you through your high and into his own with little preamble. His seed floods your cut, oozing out to wet the bedsheets and dry against your skin. His hips stammer as he groans through his release, and then he’s softening, his length and his arms, his entire body sinking into the mattress as he comes down from the mountaintop. 

Silence—comfortable, simple—remains in the few seconds post-bliss.

Then Marcus finds the remote, turning the TV down, as he says, “They kept it a two. The Sixers lost.”

You laugh, cheek bouncing against his chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He shrugs. His sweaty skin peels against yours. “It’s okay. We’ll get ‘em next time.”

His hand traces lazy circles over your spine for a moment before he rolls to the side, taking you with him. The movement unsheathes his length from your core, and a trail of cum leaks over your inner thigh. You might need another shower; might need to shower together if you’re going to sleep well in this heat… 

Marcus props his head up on his chin and drifts his pointer finger over your jaw. His eyes are soft, pleading in their innocence and hopefulness. “Are we really having a boy?”

You nod with a sleepy smile. “Scout’s honor.”

His fingers return to hold your chin as he bends to seal his lips over yours. A smooth movement, lips a paintbrush, skin a canvas, as he works his way from mouth to cheek to tender spot behind your ear. You giggle—girlish and simpering—wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he curves into your embrace.

“You’re happy then? Even if I ruined the surprise?”

When he speaks, you feel his words vibrate against your chest. A sex-happy weariness coats his throat, and you preen under that. Your doing and your doing alone. “I’d be happy no matter what, even if you gave birth to a fuzzy Yoda-looking thing, but yeah—I’m happy.”

“Good.”

He leans back, finds your gaze, smiles so the crinkles around his eyes fold into loveliness. “Good.”

“Carry me to the shower, Mr. Moreno? I think you made me all sticky again.”

“Gladly, Mrs. Moreno.”

You find, then, as Marcus slips into the shower behind you, washes your hair and holds the swell of your stomach in his hands, that you cannot be any happier than this. You turn to peer out the wet shower glass, into the foggy mirror above the sink. 

A woman stares at you, stomach round with child, eyes glassy with satisfaction. A man behind her, broad and tan and everything— everything. You lift a hand, wiggle your fingers when Marcus bends to grab the loofa from the floor. The woman waves back, and you smile. She smiles too.

The woman is you.

[plush-rabbit]

Smile For Me

Warnings: Noncon, Somnophila

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I’ve really fallen for Ghostface and that seems unfair (Part 2 to Picture Perfect)

You’re easy prey. Nothing more than a simple deer, a lovely little rabbit that he gets to stalk and hunt. There’s something odd about you, something so sweet and incredibly cute that he wants to corrupt. You change your locks, you add a sensor light that must have made a pretty dent in your wallet. He can see how you move behind the blinds, your silhouette, the way you walk and how you hold something in your hands, and he runs the first few times, but after the third time, he decides to push his luck, linger close, hidden behind a shed in your backyard and minutes pass until he realizes that there are no sirens. You don’t call for help, your alarms are nothing more than for decoration, to ward off a lesser person. You trust that whatever was lurking outside, has fled. And he falls for you naivety more. He falls deeper in love with you, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, the faint bitter taste of copper still lingering as he bites down to avoid his laughter ringing throughout your backyard.

Ghostface stalks you. He watches and learns what security system you have and it’s almost laughable when he finds out that it is nothing. All you have to protect yourself are different locks. The lights were nothing more than that, sensor lights that can do nothing more than to catch a rodent that lurks in your backyard. The locks might be different, but you don’t have an alarm, there are no cameras inside your home to record that he wandered around- drank from the bottle of your cranberry juice, sat on your couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, dried mud that crumbled and he stared at it, wondering if you would even notice, but with a swipe of the side of his palm, it falls and disappears into your carpet. You have no camera to watch as he grabs your underwear and jerks himself off in your bed, his mouth open behind his mask as he creams himself on your belongings, the memory of how you felt already fading in his mind. And once he’s done, he‘s left sticky and wet, creamy slipping down and it’s only a matter of time till you come home. He wonders how often you wash your pillowcases and he dries himself on your pillow, a soft thrusting motion that leaves his already sensitive cock dribbling with more seed, spreading it on your pillow. When he comes back to watch you, he sees through the blinds how you touch the pillow, your lips pouted and your fingers brushing against the hardened cotton. He wonders if you know.

You’ve captured his attention- enough for him to leave his other prey and focus solely on you. You fret around your home, clean and check every crevice, a pair of scissors in hand and he scoffs in amusement. He palms himself through his jeans. He wonders how you would really react if he were hiding inside your house. He can hide himself in your closest, jump out and wrestle you to the ground, watch as your eyes grow fearful and he’s salivating at the thought of entering you already, knowing how well you’d take him. With a soft sigh, he pulls his hand away. All he has to do now is wait for you to fall asleep.

Grateful for the night, he watches in silence. You walk around in your room, towel around your body, letting it fall off of your body and rest against the bed, your naked body alluring, the soft yellow light glistening off of your body, and you walk to your dresser, lotion against your body, spread thin, the creamy white disappearing onto your body. You sleep in a camisole, a lace trim around the straps, stitched onto the soft dip where your naked breasts lie, nipples already pert and peeking through the shirt. Your underwear are a soft blue, raising up your hips with a teasing dip to your sex. He doesn’t have to wait long until you’ve fallen into your slumber, body still and after a few minutes, he’s inside your home. 

It doesn’t take much to break-in. A simple twist and a careful step, and Ghostface is undetected, inside your home. The weeping mask stares down at you, a single twist of his fingers and your lamp is on, the glow of the light doing nothing but make you furrow your brows and with a simple shush, a coo under his breath that makes him feel like a dotting lover, you return to your relaxed state. It’s not much, but seeing you asleep- vulnerable and willing- is enough for him to kick off his boots. Clothes are slowly discarded, the pale, horrific mask still kept on, the soft cloth of the hood tickles at the base of his neck, and he’s above you. 

There isn’t much that makes him actually lust for others. He’s always been more fascinated in other areas of the human body, but there was and still is something about you that makes him yearn, to grab at you and mark your body. And one day, he’ll do it with your consent. He’ll come and greet you as Daniel- have you call him Danny- pull out the smile, pull you close and throw you on his bed, have you want him and there will be the sick pleasure of knowing that you’re fucking a killer and your personal tormentor without you knowing. But for now, he slips off your clothes, raises your thin shirt and he’s slow and methodical, pulling you into a sitting position and having you lean against his body, your gentle, warm breaths against his chest, your shirt is removed. He lays you back on the bed, hair fanning out into a halo, strands falling in front of your face and with a simple brush, the smooth fabric of his gloves cold against your skin. Your underwear is too delightful to tear off, simple and pure against your skin, something so sweet that it’s almost wrong of him to dip his fingers underneath and pull down your bare legs. 

Asleep and undisturbed, his hands are on you. For a brief moment, his mask is off, eyes that hold something fierce in them watch you, the low rise of your chest, goosebumps pricking at your skin and his smile is hungry. His face buried into your sex, tongue at your heat, his spit warming you and moistening past your folds. The tip of his tongue swirls around your entrance, a gentle dip into you, and in your sleep you clench your walls, a soft squish against his muscle and he smiles against you, wide and teeth pressed against your soft flesh. He presses his face forward, nose pressed against your clit, lips puckered and he kisses you, a soft, sensual kiss against your cunt, tongue slipping past his lips, and into yours, flickering inside and on the tip of his tongue, he can taste your sweet nectar, oozing in a thick puddle against him. 

The mask returns, hiding his identity and in it’s in place, the gloves are removed. There’s a sound outside, a racing car that screams through the night and in his chest, his heart races and his body flushes, his face heating up, sweat beading on his forehead and two bare fingers enter you. You’re slick enough to enter but he can feel the tight grasp of your sex, something that he’s sure stings by the way you shift under him. His fingers curl in, a beckoning motion inside of you, fingertips brushing against your walls, slick slowly starting to form until the clicking noises in the room intermix with your breathy, soft moans- a cry that whimpers past your lips. He grows hard above you, watching your breaths deepen, the wet, shucking noises of your cunt grow louder, fingers slipping in and out, your arousal dribbling past his fingers and down to his knuckles. It’s awkward, fingers pushed deep inside of you, his knuckles kissing at your cunt as a strong hand reaches to grab his camera, holding tight onto it, his fingerprints dirtying the screen and it’s shaky, a horrible picture when compared to his previous works. He forces himself to still, fingers half way inside of you, limp and still compared to your throbbing, wet cunt that still leaks and there’s a click. On the screen is a captivating photo of your cunt teased with his fingers. And as always, Ghostface isn’t satisfied. 

Metal clicks against each other, a soft chime in the room that acts as a lullaby, pulling you back into sleep, your body relaxing, breath going back to its own undisturbed tempo and all that remains is a wide-eyed man staring at you through a mask. Dark eyes are unwavering as they stare at your sleeping body- you look so peaceful, so rested and deep in slumber that he’s sure you must have had a heavy day and he feels almost sad at that thought. Bare hands grab at your breasts, thumbs pushing around the pert nipples- he’s almost sad that you had to grow through something so heavy without him- his hands lower to rise against the swell of your belly- he promises to himself that you won’t face it alone next time- one hand holds onto your hip, the other against the base of his cock, pre-ejaculate beading off his slit in opalescent pearls. 

He lowers himself to you, the plastic of his mask brushing against the shell of your ear and he’s hopeful that you’re listening to him. “No one is allowed to touch you, you know? I’ll make sure of that.” His cockhead is pressed flushed against your entrance, arousal mixing and getting lost with each other. Nails dig into your hip, perfectly formed crescents appear on your body, the hint of blood is familiar to him and makes him almost inhumane. His laugh is sharp, unforgiving and cruel, as he presses himself further into you, the welcoming hug of your walls wrapping tight around him and he releases his hands from your hip and himself. “My fucking muse,” he whispers harshly, stilling himself inside of you, your walls pulsing against him, a gentle pull deeper into you. “My naïve-” his hand covers the swell of your belly- “dumb little muse.” He wonders if you’re late. He wonders what you have done to either rid yourself of his kin or to prevent yourself from being bred. “I wonder what it’ll be like-” his thumb arches gracefully over your stomach- “seeing you with a child, tits full of milk, cunt always creamy, ready for a good pounding.” He laughs lowly, hooking an arm underneath you, hand spread against your spine, arching and he’s deep inside of you, feeling you tighten against him. 

The masked killer is grateful that he’s forgotten how you feel. You’re limp, nothing more than a warm sex-toy for him, curved and heavy underneath his hand, neck bent and mouth parted, and he smiles when he sees your eyes begin to flutter. That’s what he wants. He wants to see your fear. Intruding on you in your sleep is wonderful, invading your home and snooping around your things is nothing more than an extra step for him, something for him to relax himself with, but with all your fearful glances, he’s never realized that he could force you to look scared, to see it up close and personal. 

He continues to thrust against you, moving his cock and a hand, large and heavy, fingers that look perfect and immaculate, wrap around your throat, small, pale scars wrap around his fingers like rings of past lovers, memorabilia that is only seen when looked upon closely. He tightens his hand, cutting off air and your body reacts first, going rigid, hands raising and eyes popping open in horror and he truly does ponder what it must be like to see him. Your nails dig into his hands, eyes already wet with tears, and you’re horrified. He can practically smell it off of you, the dripping arousal, the way he can feel your heart speed up through the pulse in your neck, the way you gasp for breath and he can hear you whisper out something, strained and hoarse, only able to be heard when he stills his hips and stops the lewd noises that scream from your cunt. 

“Ghostface,” you mumble, bottom lip trembling and a lovely blue color forming on your face. 

His smile is stretched comically beneath his mask. “That’s right.” He pulls out, the tip still warm inside of you, leaking with arousal and he slams back into you, legs tensing, muscles strained and taut as he fucks you. “The one and only,” he whispers, pressing the mask against your face, the soft mesh of the black mouth kissing against your frightful parted lips.

He keeps a hand around your neck, loosening it enough for you to breathe again, while his other hand slips between your meshed bodies, dipping past your mound and into your slit, circling around your clit, feeling it throb under his touch. He laughs and it’s full of pride. He holds you close, pulling you deep against him, a soft cry when you instinctively clench as he circles around your pearl. Tears slip past your eyes, catching against your eyelashes like pearls, latching onto his hands like dew on the morning, and he’s pressed himself still against you, hand leaving your clit, and reaching blindly for the abandoned camera, taking a picture of you with a hand around your throat and tears a simple, but handsome ornament. On the screen is you, terrified and crying and he tosses the camera to the side, plastic buried into your chest as he fills your hungry cunt with his seed.

“I can’t wait to see you with a round body.” He pushes himself further against you, cock dribbling inside of you, filling you with copious amounts of semen. “Fat fucking tits-” his tongue pushes against the black fabric covering his mouth, licking at your chest that has moistened with his quick breath- “a creamy, little cunt that will beg to be fucked.” His hand returns to your clit, pinching the bud between two fingers and hearing you squeal makes him thrust his hips, shivers running down his spine, the sensitivity making squirts of thick discharge fill your already prepped cervix. “Trust me-” he rises and looks at you and he knows he’s making eye contact- “when I’m back, I’ll make sure to make you feel good.” 

He latches onto you, hand escaping your neck and he hears you gasp for breath. You wheeze and croak, crying and pleading for him to stop and it only pushes for him to go further, to fuck you until your muscles start to tense, twitching and pulsing. You moan and it’s muffled by a bite of your lips. It’s a short sound, cutoff and ruined by you, but it’s alluring, melodic and making him shove two digits into your mouth, pulling your jaw down by your teeth and his fingertips rest flat against your tongue. Your moans are stretched, muffled and broken and it’s still enough for him to want more, to push himself deep inside of you, to have you reach your own high if it meant he could hear more of your perverse sounds.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, naked body sticking to yours by his sweat. “Scream. I want to hear you say the name of the one who’s making you feel this good. Scream and I promise that you’ll survive this night.” He kisses you through the meshed black of the mask, salvia swapped and spreading into a thin puddle of his mask, pushing his tongue through it until he feels as if it’s going to rip. You were always going to survive. He’s had too much fun to ever let you go but you don’t know that and he uses it to his advantage.

It’s a whisper, a soft movement of your lips against his. Your nipples rub against his chest and his name is broken with your voice. “Ah,” you sing, tightening your legs and your high is approaching. “Ghost-” he can hear the disgust and lust mixed with each other- “Ghostface,” you murmur. It’s repeated until your voice is hoarse, lust taking over, eyes heavy and rolling back, arms reaching around him and you’re entangled in a gruesome hug with him, moaning his name as your cunt clenches around him, flooding with your release, his name a mantra under your breath, echoed in the room and he stills, spilling inside of you. Eyes closed and resting his body onto you as you squirm underneath, desperate to continue your high. His name, “Ghostface” slowly murmured, a mess of his name as you release against him.

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

--

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

--

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

--

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

--

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.

[mandospace]

Inside and Out (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request:  Hello!! I was wondering if I could request something? I was wondering if you could possibly do like a touch starved Din? I would so love it! Whenever you are able and inspired to write of course! ❤️ thank youuuu!

Requested By: @snow30285​

Word Count: 3,997

Warnings: Fluff!! Blood, mention of an injury, first-aid

A/N: I got a little carried away with this! I hope you all like it, and if you wanted to be added to a tag list just let me know. Also, my requests are open for Din Djarin and Boba Fett!

MASTERLIST

He caught himself staring at your form for the fourth time that day. Din quickly averted his eyes, cheeks flushing under his beskar helmet. You hadn’t noticed his gaze, thank the Maker, and continued on with your task. Grogu giggled at you hiding your face behind your hands, playing a game of peek-a-boo with you. 

“Where did mommy go?” You hid your smile behind your hands. Quickly dropping them from your face, you smiled at the small green child that erupted into a fit of giggles. “There she is!”

Din’s heart stuttered at the image of you playing with his child, Grogu waddling towards you before leaping into your lap. Grogu continued giggling, his tiny little hand reaching out to grab at yours. 

“AHHH, YOU GOT ME!” You dramatically cried out before falling to the ground, wrapping a secure arm around his body to ensure that he was safe. He carefully stood up on your belly, waddling his way to your face. His little hand rested on your cheek, and the soft smile you gave him made Din’s heart falter once more. You rested your larger hand on top of Grogu’s little one, holding it to your cheek. The tender moment shared between you and Din’s son was almost picturesque, it reminded him of the old oil paintings that displayed a mother and child in the palaces of the more richer planets Din visited. 

You turned your lips to place a small kiss on his little green hand. Din felt himself involuntarily reaching a hand out, wanting to join in on the tender moment between the two of you. Din imagined that he was the one cupping your cheek, his big hands instead of the small green ones of his son. He imagined how warm your cheek would be, how soft the fine peach fuzz of your cheek would feel against his palm. How your soft, pillowy lips would feel against his skin...

“Din?” Your voice is what pulled Din back to reality. You looked up at him with concern in your eyes, gaze flicking down to his still outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”

Din brought his hand back to his side, leather creaking as he closed his fist. “’M fine,” he mumbled, turning to head back to the cockpit. “It’s time to drop from hyperspace.”

Nodding your head at his retreating form, you looked back at the child that let out a small yawn. “Come on, little one. Let’s get you to bed.”

——

“I should only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” Din commented, grabbing various weapons from his armory. You stood off to the side, Grogu balanced on your hip while the two of you watched Din strap the pulse rifle to his back. You’ve watched Din prepare for a hunt what felt like hundreds of times, but it never got easier. The worry that laid deep in your chest never went away.

“Remember to close the ramp once I’m gone,” Din moved to the ramp, pressing a button on his vambrace to lower it. “And set up the safety perimeter. I recently just installed the new security system, so it should alert you to any nearby life forms. And-“

“And have a blaster nearby and communicuff on me at all times,” you interrupted his ramblings. He only talked this much when it had to do with either your or Grogu’s safety. “I know, Din.”

Din turned to you with a sigh, black visor meeting your gaze. He noticed that your bottom lip was already between your teeth, showing your worry. He wanted to reach out and glide his thumb over your lips, releasing your bottom one from your teeth. “I just want to make sure you are safe, Cyare.”

You smiled at his words, noting the strange nickname he gave you. He only ever used it when he was leaving. “I know, and we will be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on your hunt.”

Din felt himself reaching out to you, but he stopped his hand midway. “I always worry about you...” Din’s voice trailed off, and your heart thumped in your chest. “And Grogu,” he added, his face reddening under the beskar. Just talking to you made him flustered.

He turned back to the ramp and gazed out of its opening. He had tracked the bounty to some forested planet, you weren’t sure of its name. After you visited one forest planet, you’ve seen them all. You could see Din’s shoulders tighten under his beskar pauldrons, anxious and excited at the prospect of a new hunt. This was the part that you hated the most: him leaving you. Before he even took a step onto the ramp, your free hand was reaching out for him, gripping his arm around the elbow, one of the only places on his body free of beskar.

Din stopped in his tracks, and he felt like he was going to both pass out and have a heart attack at the same time. Your small hand couldn’t even reach around the thick muscles of his arm. Even though he was wearing thick layers, he could feel the warmth from your hand seeping through. His eyes dropped to your hand on him, and he couldn’t believe you were actually touching him. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, but his heart was already in hyperdrive. This all happened in a single second, the span of a blink.

“Be safe.” Your voice was small, timid at this new interaction you were having with the Mandalorian. You had always thought him attractive, even though you had never seen an inch of his skin. You admired his strength and how great of a warrior he was. The silver beskar just proved how powerful he could be if he saw you as an enemy. What really attracted you to him wasn’t his strength or how great of a warrior he was, no, it was how soft and protective he was over Grogu. He always held him with great care, as if he would break with the tiniest movement. He spoke softly to the kid, afraid he would scare him with his louder voice. Watching him and his son interact is what really attracted you Din, like some primal instinct telling you to find the strongest and most caring partner you can. “Come back to me.”

“Always, Cyare.” Din’s heart fluttered at your soft spoken words. Before his heart could leap through his beskar-covered chest and into your arms, he turned away from you. Your hand slipped from its resting place on his arm and he immediately missed your touch and warmth. He could feel the longing he felt for you nestle its way in his chest, right near his heart. Before he could do or say anything stupid that would surely embarrass himself, he trudged down the ramp and began his hunt.

———

It had already been six days since Din had left for his hunt. Your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his hard muscles under your fingertips. How his voice was soft when he said the strange name of ‘Cyare,’ a name he only said when he left. You knew it was Mando’a, but no matter how many times you scanned the holo-pad’s built in dictionary, you couldn’t find a single word of the dying language. You resigned yourself to the fact that you may never know what he was calling you, unless you asked him. But that was never going to happen, your words always stumbled out of your mouth when you talked to him.

So you busied yourself around the Razor Crest whilst you waited for the return of your Mandalorian, trying to keep away the thoughts of how his hands would feel on your skin. You had cleaned nearly every surface in the old ship and even organized the wires under the dashboard. By the time you were done with your chores, the Crest was nearly spotless- there was always going to be that one stubborn blood stain near the carbonite chamber that you were never going to get out. Din had brought back a rather difficult quarry that day, and as soon as he started flinging crude insults at you, Din promptly reached for his viroblade. The cut he made was only superficial, you learned later, but the man still bled quite a bit before Din shoved him back into the chamber. You had immediately tried to clean up the pool of blood, but Din took the rag from your hand with a gentle “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

Besides the one stain that refused to go away, the Crest was as good as new, or as new-looking that it was going to get. The rest of the day you spent playing with the kid, mind drifting back to thoughts of Din. You had just put Grogu down for a nap when the Crest’s new security system let out a loud beeping noise, alerting you that a life form was approaching the ship. Locking Grogu away in his pram-thankfully he was still asleep- you reached for the blaster that was resting atop the stack of crates. Running up to the cockpit, you noticed that a single dot was showing up on the ship’s new security system. You managed to stop the alarm from blaring before you made your way back to the hull. You were ready to protect yourself and Grogu from this intruder if necessary.

A loud banging noise sounded against the ship as the ramp started to descend. You gripped the blaster tight, switching the safety off. When you saw the silver glint of beskar, you sighed in relief, switching the safety back on before setting it off to the side. Din slowly made his way up the ramp, arm wrapped around his middle. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, arms reaching out to Din once he was safely inside the hull.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching your arms out to catch Din when he stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“Knife,” he grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. His hand slowly fell away from his side, revealing his blood-soaked clothes. “Not deep.”

“Din!” You exclaimed in shock whilst dropping down to your knees. Your hands fluttered to his side, unsure of what to do. “I think you need to remove your beskar.”

“Do it,” he grunted, resting the helmet against the wall with a ‘ting.’ His hand moved to yours, dragging your hand to show you the release mechanism under his cuirass. Flicking the switch, the armor’s magnet released its hold on the beskar. Pushing it to the side, you grasped at the bottom of his tunic, trying to work the fabric up his torso so you could have access to the wound. You tried not to notice the small amount of dark hair leading down to his pants, or the beautiful color of his skin- a warm, sun-kissed tan. Your resolve failed when your eyes trailed over his abdomen, skin littered with scars over the lean muscle. Your fingertips lightly grazed his stomach and Din jerked back with a hiss.

“I’m sorry!” Your hands flew back from his stomach, afraid that you had hurt him in some way.

“No,” Din grunted while his head rolled to the side. “Didn’t hurt, it... felt good.”

You blinked at the Mandalorian currently bleeding all over your clean floors. Okay, he must be delusional. “Din, I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this. There has to be someone el-“

“No one else,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours. “You can do it, Cyare.”

The familiar nickname is what grounded your rising panic. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed the necessary kits and bacta so you could patch Din up. Kneeling at his side once again, you pulled back the remaining clothing to reveal the knife wound. He was right, it wasn’t that deep, but just like the quarry that Din had slashed at all those months ago, he bled quite a lot. You tried to remain as gentle as you could while you wiped a piece of cloth over the wound to soak up the blood. It took a few rags to thoroughly clean the wound, but you had finally gotten it to a manageable state.

“This might sting.” Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from your side, you tipped out the liquid onto a clean cloth. Your eyes flitted up to where his would be but was met with only the familiar visor. Din gave you a slow nod, telling you to ‘go ahead,’ and you placed the alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.

“Dank farrik!” Din yelped, jolting slightly upright in response to the stinging sensation that was radiating from his wound. You could just barely hear the grinding of his teeth from under his helmet, and you visually cringed at his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized but continued to clean the wound. The knife must have been serrated because the wound was jagged. You laid your free hand on the expanse of his stomach, rubbing reassuring circles into the skin. Din hummed at the contact. Your soft fingers sent goosebumps racing over his flesh, thoroughly distracting him from the pain. He barely registered the soothing cool of bacta when you pressed it against his wound. Din was too distracted by your touch. It was the first time that he felt someone’s touch, skin-to-skin contact since he was a child, and he knew that he was already addicted. You were completely intoxicating and you didn’t even know.

“Done.” Pressing firmly against the newly applied bandage, you could feel Din’s eyes on yours.

“Don’t stop,” he couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips. You had pulled away your hands from his torso, and you quirked a brow up in response. “It-it feels g-good.”

“What, me torturing you with alcohol and bacta?” You joked and began to clean up the blood-soaked rags.Your right hand reached for the medpac that was laying next to Din but stopped when he grabbed your wrist. Din slowly pulled your hand to his stomach, resting your soft flesh over his scarred skin. He shivered at your touch and laid his hand over yours, keeping you there. His gloved thumb began to draw patterns on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of your own down your spine. “Din, what are you-”

“C-can I touch you, Cyare?” He interrupted with timid words. He was staring at your face, you could feel his gaze through the helmet. You sat there in shock, unable to comprehend that your hand was sprawled against his warm stomach and distracting you with the light graze of his thumb. “Please,” Din whispered when you didn’t respond to his earlier question. You felt yourself nodding your head in a dumb stupor, not believing that this was real and happening.

He picked his right hand up from yours that rested on his stomach, and moved to cup your face. Din stopped halfway between your bodies, hesitating for a moment, before bringing his other hand up to pull off his gloves. His right hand continued on its previous path, only stopping again when he was a centimeter away from your face. You could feel the tangible tension in the air, the nervousness shared by the both of you while you stared at one another. He just held his hand there for a moment, afraid to touch you and learn exactly how your cheek would feel against his skin. Bringing up your left hand, you placed it over his right one and pressed his palm to your cheek. His skin was rough from years of fighting, but incredibly warm and soothing. 

Din let out a shuddery breath when you took his hand and pressed it against your cheek. You were so soft, so warm against his palm. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone out of curiosity. Eyelids fluttering shut at his touch, the pad of his thumb left sparks against your skin. Din’s heart nearly lept out of his chest when you turned your face into his palm, lips softly pressing into the meat of his hand. Your eyes opened and you looked up at him with such a soft look whilst you held his hand in yours, lips moving over his hand, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. Right hand joining your left, you gently laid his hand in your lap, palm facing the ceiling. Your fingers traced over every vein in his hand, stopping at his wrist when you met his vambrace. Lifting his hand up to your lips, you placed a tender kiss to his pulse point. Your kisses left him breathless, every brush of your lips intoxicating.

As much as Din loved your soft touches, he wanted to caress you, feel your lips against his. He knew what he had to do in order to feel your lips against his, and the thought made him draw in a tight breath. “Cyare...” He tipped his head forward, leaning his forehead against yours. Your hands trailed to the nape of his neck, fingers worming their way under his thick cowl so that you could feel his hot skin. The beskar was cool against your forehead, a soothing sensation. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” There wasn’t any hesitation in your voice. Being this close to Din was addicting. You wanted to feel more of his skin against yours, have his warmth envelop you.

“Close your eyes, Cyar’ika,” Din whispered. You followed his orders, shutting your eyes tight. He waited a few moments before you felt him lean back, cool beskar no longer present on your skin. You heard the locking mechanism of his helmet release with a hiss and the sound sent your heart racing. Was he taking his helmet off?

Din couldn’t breathe. He tried to pull the much needed oxygen into his lungs, but it was like his diaphragm wasn’t working anymore. Seeing you, truly seeing you without the many filters of the helmet had knocked the wind out of him. You were utterly breathtaking. Din sat there, trying to commit every feature of your face to his memory. You were even more beautiful than he thought was possible. The soft planes of your face made him want to reach out, touch you again. So he did. He was more sure this time, taking your face in both of his hands. You inhaled sharply when he first touched you, not expecting the touch, but you quickly relaxed at his touch that was becoming more familiar with each brush of skin. Both of his thumbs skimmed the planes of your cheekbones, felt the thickness of your lashes when he ghosted over your eyes. It was like he was a blind man trying to see with his hands, creating a mental image from his sense of touch. 

Din continued to map out your face, slowly trailing his thumbs over your skin. He saved your lips for last, wanting to savor them. His thumb brushed over them, and he inhaled sharply when he felt how soft they were. Din desperately wanted to mold his own to yours. “Ca-can,” he stumbled over his words, mesmerized by your beauty. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Can I kiss you, Cyare?”

“Yes.” You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and you were sure he could feel how your face heated up at his words. His slow touches were driving you insane, but not as insane as the knowledge that he was a mere six inches away from you, helmet off. It would be so easy to just open your eyes to see him. “Please.”

Hearing the wanting-tone of your voice that matched his ever-growing need for your touch, Din leaned in. His slightly-chapped lips timidly pressed against your soft ones, and you let out a sigh at the feeling. It felt like someone had poured molten lava over you that seeped into the very cracks of your foundation. Timid and shy at first, his kiss became more confident as he slotted his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the way that your hands reached up for his face to pull him closer to you. His kiss made you realize that you had been cold and alone your entire life, and that he was a blazing fire that would warm you to your core. 

Din softly gasped at your actions, and he decided that if he were to die right then and there that he would be completely fine since he was already in heaven with you. He felt the way that your fingers mapped his face like how he mapped yours. When you carded your fingers through his unruly locks, tugging him even closer, he hummed in contentment. Din’s arms snaked around your waist and pulled you to his chest. Your legs draped on either side of his hips, kneeling in front of him. You tilted his head up to yours since you were slightly taller than him in this position, his arms squeezing you closer. Din slowly grazed his tongue over your bottom lip, and he moaned at the feeling of your tongue pressing against his. He explored your mouth, tongue tracing each tooth. Din saw stars behind his lids from kissing you. He had never kissed anyone before, but now he knew why others found it so intoxicating. The feel of your soft lips pressed against his was something he never wanted to forget. He burned this moment into his brain, desperately trying to remember the way your lips felt against his, the way your fingertips tangled in his hair, the warmth of your chest pressed against his.

When the need for air became too great, you both reluctantly pulled apart. You could already feel your lips starting to swell from the passionate kiss the two of you shared. Din’s lips never left your face, though, and he trailed kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. You couldn’t help how his name spilled from your lips when he kissed the juncture of your neck and jaw.

“You are so beautiful,” Din mumbled into your skin. Soft praises fell from his lips with each kiss against your skin. He loved the way you said his name, the way your grip on his hair tightened when he kissed your neck. His grip on you never lessened, hands bunching the material of your shirt in his hands. He never wanted this to end.

“You are too,” you sighed when his lips returned to yours. Din lightly shook his head in disagreement, making sure to not break the kiss. His self-deprecation made you pull yourself back. 

“You don’t even know what I look like.”

Leaning your forehead against his like before, you traced your fingers over his face. “I don’t need to.” You grazed your fingers over his eyelids, down his prominent nose, over his swollen lips. “I know you are beautiful both inside and out, Din Djarin.”

Din was thankful that your eyes were closed so that you couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. He placed a loving peck against your lips before he nuzzled his face in your neck. Din breathed in your scent, immediately finding that it both excited and calmed him down. His lips brushed over your jugular, placing a soft kiss there. “I never want to let you go, Cyar’ika.”

“Then don’t.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he placed another kiss on your neck.

“You know,” you started, fingers slowly working out the tangles in his hair. “I never know what you’re saying when you speak Mando’a.”

“You’ll learn, Cyar’ika,” Din closed his eyes, content at the feeling of you playing with his hair. “You’ll learn.”

_____

Mando’a translations:

Cyare = beloved/loved

Cyar’ika = darling/sweetheart

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

[the-blind-assassin-12]

The Cold Offends Me

PART OF THE VIPER & THE WILD THING COLLECTION  

A/N: Until like three days ago I had no plans to ever write for Oberyn Martell. But we all know what happens to plans whether you make them or not so here we are. (also, at least 45% of the blame for this is on @something-tofightfor who relentlessly bombarded me with Oberyn gifs one night until I had no choice but to start daydreaming.) Anyway! This will not be a chapter series that follows a plot as much as it will be a collection of related one-shots. I have two more that are brewing on the back burner, but for the most part, this “series” is entirely open to requests and prompts, so if there is anything you’d like to see from this pairing, please feel free to visit my inbox! 

Warning: sex, mention of non-consensual sex, language. THIS IS A SMUT if you are a youngin’ please click away. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Though you work in one of the nicer brothels in King’s Landing- it could be worse!- your life is not at all what you would have chosen for yourself. What happens when a request for warmth turns into an offer for much more? 

Seven fucking hells. 

From your place amongst the pillows, you watched the taught, sinewy muscles of his back and shoulders move as he leaned over to set his goblet down. A slight sheen of sweat clung to his body, the light from at least a dozen candles making him look even more like a statue carved from bronze or gold than a man made of blood and bone than he already did, and you couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crept over your lips knowing you had been the one to slick his skin that way. Glancing down at your chest though you saw that he had done the same to you, your soft flesh damp and shimmering in the flickering light. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress a laugh from slipping out. It has been a while since the last time anyone’s… 

The sound of the silver cup making contact with the wooden table beside the bed cut your thoughts short as he turned back towards you. You had just enough time to see the darkness in his eyes ignite before his hands were clutching the sides of your face, fingers pushing through your hair as he pulled you into a kiss. He didn’t hold back a throaty sigh as he let you sample the sweet wine still coating his tongue. That’s not all that I taste. You grinned around the thought, a wave of warmth rolling through your belly as he flicked his tongue inside your mouth as though reminding you how that same motion felt when he had done it earlier, between your legs. A small moan made it passed your lips and beyond his as he dropped his lower half down over your hips. 

Gods, why can’t they all be like this? 

You had slept with highborn men before, but once they shed their fancy robes and embroidered silks they looked and felt the same as the common swine you regularly serviced, the only real difference being the smell. And not always. Some things even rosewater couldn’t help. This one though, he smelled of spice and citrus and something else you couldn’t quite place. Something enticing. Everything about him was enticing. 

It almost felt wrong, wanting him to touch you, to use up his body and yours until there was nothing left of either of you. In all the years you’d lived and worked there you couldn’t recall ever feeling anything but forced, false enthusiasm, your cheeks aching from all the strung up smiles. You couldn’t recall a single encounter in which you had chosen to stay mentally present for the duration. Yet since the Red Viper had arrived in King’s Landing a few days prior, you had made it your goal to commit every second spent with him coiled around you to memory, even if it meant sharing him with others. Words flew more swiftly than sparrows in the city, so you had already heard that the Prince and his entourage would be staying for roughly a month, a few weeks on either side of that rat Joffery’s wedding. You knew that if he continued to frequent the establishment as he had been, you’d have plenty of chances to work on that commitment. 

But if you were being honest with yourself, which you rarely were since lying made things more bearable in your line of work, you knew that it could never be enough. He’d fucked you three times already that night, and each time had been different, the man never repeating the same touch, changing his speed and pressure, using his teeth and tongue in bold ways that made you feel as though he was experimenting, using your body as a medium for his art. While you were more than willing to be both muse and material for him, you were less willing to think about what would happen when he left the wretched city. For as much opulence as there seemed to be an abundance of, King’s Landing, seven hells, all of Westeros didn’t have a single artisan who could compare to Oberyn Martell in this and likely many other regards. 

If he was going to be the first and only man who made you feel alive, like your desires mattered, like your body was in fact your own, then you wanted to make the most of it. Taking the waistband of his trousers in your hands, the material bunched tightly, you pulled him even closer, simultaneously grinding your hips up, fitting them against his like precisely placed pieces of a puzzle. 

“You don’t need to be shy with me,” he had told you and the others that he and Ellaria had chosen on their first visit. “We are all here for the same thing. So if you want something,” he had his right arm wrapped around the slender torso of his paramour, palming one of her supple breasts as he spoke. She nuzzled into his side but kept her eyes on you, watching as he reached to take you by the chin with his left hand, pulling you close enough to kiss but stopping with barely enough space between his lips and yours for air to pass between you. You gasped, chest heaving as he smiled salaciously down at you. “Take it.” 

That’s what you were doing now, taking what you wanted. 

He finally broke the kiss, but only to nudge your jaw with his nose, one hand moving your hair out of his way so that he could continue teasing you with the things his tongue could do. You slid your palms over his back, fingers finding the raised ridge of a long since healed scar midway down the right side of his spine. He had a few of them, but they were all old and faded, hard to find with your eyes, easy to feel as you touched him though. A jagged line like a bolt of lightning topped his right shoulder, a stippled round patch marked the outside of his left thigh, and there was a pair of red dots near his left wrist that looked like it had been left behind by a snakebite. All proof of how vividly he lived his life, unafraid of pain or danger, accepting and seeking out every challenge he could find, never compromising until he had squeezed every ounce of juice from each experience he had. 

You would let him squeeze you down to the pulp, gladly giving yourself to someone who actually appreciated the act. Someone who seemed to savor you and not just where inside your body you’d allow him. For Oberyn, there were no limits on your body. 

“Had I known there were precious treasures like you hidden up here in the North,” he purred into the crook of your neck as one hand followed its own agenda, roaming your rib cage, the other still stroking softly through your hair. “I would have made the trip much sooner, if only just to have you once.” Fuck. You didn’t doubt him, and that made it even more agonizing to hear. “You are not at all like any Northerner I’ve known.” 

You bit your bottom lip and let out a small breathy laugh. “True Northerners would be offended to hear you say that, you know. To them, we’re all Southerners.” 

Oberyn blew a puff of air through his lips. “And the cold offends me. I do not care if I offend the lords of ice and snow.” His attention was drawn to the circles he was tracing over your sternum with one bejeweled finger. “They are all so stiff. So frigid.” He flattened his palm over the area he’d just been focused on, deep brown eyes lifting to seek out yours. “Not like you.” 

“I am a whore, my prince,” you reminded him of your place playfully, combing your fingers through the crown of silvery strands that struck through the dark locks near his hairline. “I am paid to be warm.” 

“Is that so?” That menacing glint was back in his grin and you understood why he was associated with the viper, the predator striking with lightning speed and deadly venom just as he was now. One hand traveled down your body to tease the crease where your thigh met your hip, and you gasped involuntarily at the contact. “Then why are you so warm when I have not yet handed over a single gold coin?” He dragged his fingers down between your legs. His eyes narrowed, lips dropping open as he slipped one digit into you, seemingly enjoying the breathless sounds you made. 

Gods, he’s going to kill me. 

He didn’t wait for your answer, perhaps knowing already that you didn’t have one. Instead he touched his forehead to yours, his hair damp against your scalp. “Stay with me tonight.” It wasn’t an order or a demand, simply a confident request, one he had surely never been denied. “Keep me warm.” Adding a second finger, he swirled them in a slow circle and watched you writhe under his touch. “I miss the heat of the sun in Dorne.” Curling his pointer and middle fingers slowly, he went on. “I miss the beauty of the water gardens at Sunspear. But you,” he pulled his fingers from your body then, your hips lurching up to follow his hand. “You have the sun in you.” 

You felt completely helpless as you let out a whine at the sight of him licking clean the fingers he’d just had inside of you, the flutter of his eyelashes as he tasted you the only indication that he was even remotely close to cracking the same way that you were. “The sun?” You hummed as his touch returned, his other hand skimming across your skin. I hardly see the sun unless it’s through a shuttered window. “If you feel the sun when you’re with me my Prince, I can assure you it’s your doing.” 

You knew it was the truth and he didn’t argue with you. 

“Whatever the reason,” he assured you, “l have not been so warm since arriving in this pit of a city, and tonight I don’t want to be cold. Stay with me.”

Your heart slammed inside your chest as he made the request again, your throat tightening with how badly you wanted to say yes. Swallowing, you took a breath and steeled yourself to try to steer him away from the idea. A whole night of this… of him it’s too much. It will be too hard to... Shaking your head, you wet your lips and stretched them into a smile. “I’m sure you’re already sorely missed by someone else, my Prince. Someone who could keep you just as warm I’m sure.” 

You hadn’t been with Ellaria in any meaningful sense of the word- yes, you both had been present on their first day in King’s Landing, but she was preoccupied with some of the other girls while you and one of the young men spent time with Oberyn. But you didn’t need to have been with the woman to know what she was capable of, her ravenous appetite flashing in her eyes with the same intensity that you’d seen in the Prince’s. I’m sure she is-

“We are not each other’s property, Ellaria and I.” He crushed your thoughts, touch roaming your torso, grasping at your flesh to punctuate his words with physical meaning. “We don’t put limitations on what we allow ourselves to do when it comes to pleasure.” You fought to suppress a whimper as you felt his tongue and then his teeth nip at the juncture of your throat and shoulder. All of a sudden you felt him flip you around so your back was to him, his deft hands finding your waist and spinning you with ease. “We deny each other nothing when it comes to our desires.” Sliding both hands up to your chest, he gave a deliberate squeeze and rolled his hips into yours from behind you, pulling you backwards to eliminate any empty space that remained. “Do you understand what I am telling you?” 

“Yes,” the word came out in a breathy sigh, and you weren’t sure if you were answering him or reacting to the way that he was making you feel. 

“No.” He said it firmly but his tone had a hint of excitement. “No, I don’t think that you do.” He let one hand travel down your body to the apex of your thighs, his rings cool against your stomach, the smooth links of the chains and pendants he wore pressing into your back as you gasped. “But I’m going to make you understand.” 

—  —  —  —  

Some time later, after you’d acquiesced to his plea to join him through the entire night, the two of you lay draped over one another, spent but still soaking up as much contact as you could. He hadn’t taken his hands off of you for longer than it took to pour from the decanter of wine or reach for the washcloth in the basin next to the bed. He’d hardly taken his eyes off of you either, scanning every last bit of you. You were surprised when he started talking, asking you personal questions that had nothing to do with your body or his or what he wanted to do with and to and for you. 

“Where are you from then, if not the North?” His eyebrows came together in genuine curiosity as he asked the question. He didn’t look away from your collarbone as he waited for your response, watching his own thumb run along the ridge of it as though he were trying to memorize the place where it dipped into your throat. 

You hummed, unable to remember the last time you actually enjoyed being with one of your clients. But he’s not at all like them. No man you ever had the misfortune of having to fuck had ever asked you what your name was or where you were from or what you wanted from them. They were soldiers and sailors, gutter rats who knew you were one of them without having to ask. “I’m from right here,” you responded, combing your fingers through his hair before catching his earlobe and tugging to urge his mouth down to yours. 

He kissed you- gods, he kissed you like he intended to take you apart all over again using only his tongue- then pulled back and let his exploratory touch begin charting the valley of your chest. “Right here?” He asked, and you closed your eyes as you felt his warm breath hitting the skin he’d just been tracing. “King’s Landing, you mean?” 

Warmth pierced your abdomen as he dropped his lips to your body and you sucked in a breath. “Yes,” you answered, sounding every bit as desperate and dizzy as he was making you feel. You clenched a fistful of his hair, and the small rumble of a groan vibrated against your ribs before he dragged his lips towards one breast without lifting them away, licking at the goosebumps he was raising along his path. But that’s not really what I meant. “King’s Landing, yes, but-” 

He picked his head up then, resting his chin in the center of your chest, his meticulously groomed beard softer than you thought it would be as it brushed your flesh. “But?” He dropped his lips teasingly to your body, eyes still on you as he dared you to continue your sentence. 

He did ask. Since it was the first time anyone had, you figured you owed him a complete answer. “But I meant here,” you let your eyes roll around the room, at the windows draped in colorful fabrics, the tables laden with wine and exotic fruits, the walls, made to look like the building was a palace instead of the prison it had become. “Here, this brothel.” 

You tried to slip your other hand into his hair to join the first as you let your gaze fall back to him, but he caught your wrist and stopped you, reaching up to circle his long fingers around your other wrist as well. “What?” He moved back up the bed then to settle beside you, still holding your wrists. 

The sweep and press of his thumb over your pulse made you suck in a breath, and as you looked over at him, you saw a look of confusion and concern in his eyes. This isn’t what you pay for, Oberyn. Why are you doing this? You shook your head and tried for one of your practiced smiles. “This is my home. It’s where I…grew up. I was born here. My mother was a…” 

“A whore?” He supplied the word but didn’t fill it with the disdain and judgement that most did when they spat your title at you as a reminder of your place in the world. You knew that he didn’t put such meaning into words like whore or bastard. One was a profession, the other a term for a child born of passion, and in his eyes, in the eyes of the Dornish people, those things were not filth to be hidden or ashamed of. With the surname Waters, you fell into both categories. He let go of your far wrist, letting that hand drop to your bare stomach, but his thumb continued to run up and down over the veins of the one he still held. 

You nodded. “Yes. As soon as I was old enough, I worked in the kitchens, scrubbing dishes, cleaning bedding.” You watched his chest rise and fall as you spoke but felt his sharp eyes on your face. “When my mother became too… old to do her job, it became my responsibility to earn our keep. Now that it's just me I…” You shrugged. He asked, you reminded yourself again. “Well, I have no other… no skills or-” 

“You didn’t choose this?” He lifted the hand he had on your stomach to push a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the outer helix and drifting down to the tender skin just beneath it. “You… wouldn’t choose this?” 

Despite the honesty in his question, the tingling sensation that his touch sent through your bones and the way he was looking at you, you had to laugh. “No,” you shook your head. “Some girls,” gesturing with one hand you twirled it and arched an eyebrow, “some boys? Some of them choose this. But I… was born into it.” 

You didn’t know what you expected to see on his face when you looked back up at him, but it certainly hadn’t been anger. Oh, I shouldn’t have- “That is unacceptable.” What? Before you could ask him to elaborate or try to de-escalate the conversation, turn it back towards pleasure like you’d been taught to, he had your face between his hands, your eyes locked with his. “Pleasure should not come at the cost of anyone’s freedom. You shouldn’t have to-” His nostrils flared slightly then and he took a breath through his nose, eyes falling closed briefly before opening again. “Come back to Dorne with Ellaria and I. Let me take you from here.” 

The thought of it was too good to entertain, too tempting to take seriously, and it made it too hard to breathe. You were property of Lord Petyr Baelish, it wasn’t that simple. Blinking away the shock of his request, you again tried to lighten things with a smile. “So I can be your pet down in Sunspear?” 

“No.” He leaned in and kissed you then, his top lip curling against yours before you felt his grip move to the back of your head and the side of your neck. “I would never put you in a cage like a pet,” he murmured into your mouth. “You are a wild thing. And if you came back with me,” he rubbed the tip of his nose along yours. “You could run as wild as you wanted. Completely untethered.” 

“No one is completely free in Westeros.” You couldn’t help the slight sadness from entering your tone as you told him the truth about your home. 

“They are in Dorne,” he promised.

“And if I came to Dorne,” you mused, playing with the still open drawstring of his trousers, “would I be confined to the water gardens? What would you require of me?” 

“Nothing.” He answered with a shake of his head. “Wild spirits cannot be tamed. When they are, they turn sad, resentful. They grow bitter. They die.” Staring into your eyes, you felt the earnest truth in his words. “I would only hope that with your freedom you would choose to return to me.” 

If there was a free soul in existence who wouldn’t return to him, they were out of their minds. 

“I would return to you as often as you’d have me.” Your breathless response came quicker than you would have liked, but what he was offering you was so tempting even your cautious attempts at reigning in your enthusiasm weren’t enough and you cursed yourself for it. “But what about…” you let out a breath and waved a hand around the room. “What about Lord Baelish? What about-“ 

“I told you already,” he brought a finger up and laid it on top of your still swollen, wine stained lips. “I take what I want. And what I want is to see you as free as you were meant to be.” He leaned in to press his lips to yours, his finger still stuck between. “So you leave that to me, Wild one. Now,” he brought his hand down to wrap around your wrist, pulling you into the bend in his arm. “Show me how you stay warm up here in the North.” 

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THANK YOU FOR READING! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tag list please feel free  to let me know. And like I said up top: if you have any requests or ideas that you would like to see for these two, send an ask and I will see what I can do! 

tags: @something-tofightfor @gollyderek @pheedraws​ @valkblue​ @alraedesigns​ @beefcakebarnes​