#cw heavy scarring

[loadedchekhovsgun]

oh dude i just remembered this one thing i have Okok um cwilbur scar refs!!!! pre and post lightning death (the canon i have set up for him is that his 'return to utah' was, y'know, 1) a lie and 2) another suicide by sailing out into the godamn ocean during a storm and he got HELLAAA struck and "the afterlife" is a different realm of death than limbo ITS A WHOLE THING im insane about it) ive always been realy proud of these so i'll post them here!!! hella tw for heavy scarring and burns and like a HOLEE in his arm (limbo thang) crazy stuff!!

the gold is a result of the failed revival attempts by eret and phil & co he's FUCKED UP!!!! love him

[prim-moth]

New sci-fi guys that I’ve been shredding to pieces, chewing, microwaving

[ares-xix]

the undead || the undying

birthday scratchings for lukan @kirkhamme-r (characters and story his)

[baptism-inblood]

ouhhh....self insert time babey heres my murdersim self insert yeah hes a catboy shrugs!! dont care :] he nonverbal amputee poor little meow meow that sleeps at the foot of lawrences bed < 3

[riviclouds]

repost cause tags weren't showing up

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Do you think that Marinette ever looks into her partners eyes, and is sure that, for a second, the green flashed into a soulless blue, and her stomach turns?

Do you think that Adrien ever flinches when someone close to him yells, terrified that they'll become a villain that he'll be forced to fight, a force he'll be required to destroy?

Do you think that Marinette ever looks over her shoulder in public compulsively, afraid and paranoid that she's being observed by an enemy priming itself for attack?

Do you think that Adrien wakes up from a nightmare and sheds a tear for the children he had for too short and lost too soon?

Do you think that Marinette ever catches herself paying attention to, and involving herself in, the issues and lives of complete strangers, that she feels it is her responsibility to keep feeling good

Do you think that Adrien ever feels a physical weight on his hand from all the destruction he has caused? and actual feeling of his hand getting heavier from the burden of disaster?

Do you think that the heroes of Paris ever feel a bit of guilt or a bit of worry any time they feel an emotion too strongly? That they are incapable and unworthy of feelings that could cause the decimation of their city?

[matryoshkalex]

yesterday was izuku day so heres a lil dump of kinda old villain!deku art i realized i never posted here!!

looking at him in context of aiden is so funny because they are,,,,,, similar. i made aiden 10 years ago tho and had completely forgotten about him when i designed this izuku lol but u can tell they were both designed by the same person HA.

most of these were made in about march of 2023 so,,,, its been over a year at this point wow

n e wayyyy i had a whole plot for him buuuuut i dont know if i ever will work on that </3 i kinda wanted to make a comic for him but who knows

(more sketches/doodles under the cut!!)

[residentreptile]

THATSA LOTTA BASILS!!!!!

Ever since I got with my wonderful silly partner (@90selderichhorror) I have always been fascinated with how many characters they have based on Dorian! So! Oh buddy oh boy I made some Basils to go along with them! Explanations under the cut <3!

Bangel technically isn't an oc, more of an au, but I consider him a kinsona so it kinda counts? He's more apart of the base lore of podg, simply back from the dead to reenact revenge on Dorian, but unable to because of his devotion to him.

Green hair silly is a Danganronpa oc, Oleander! He's the ultimate futurist, and obsessed with this universes' Dorian (ultimate host), even though they had died years ago in his own killing game. Oleander believes if Dorian had survived, he would go on to create a more gender-neutral fashion industry because of Dorian's modeling career as a child.

Our lovely Basil with the purple hair is a Genshin Impact oc! After some events and this universe's Dorian gaining a vision, he and Basil had gotten into an altercation much similar to the events with the base story. (as I remember. Hence why I'm tagging the bf . Leo u need to help me good lord). Anyways, after those events, Basil is left with a vision of his own and a disfigured face, which he hides behind a tragedy mask, always wearing it, even when he goes to the Traveler to ask where his friend has gone after all these years...

The not so little guy in the corner is a honorary Basil, his name is Lukas! He's another Genshin oc, and simply here because he's the one actually kissing Genshin Dorian. Both it and Genshin Dorian are apart of the Fatui actually! Evil homosex.

[spartan-killer-simp]

It's their 1 year Anniversary <3

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, size difference, ab riding, dirty talk, squírting, praise, petnames, mdni.

gym rat bf! toji who’s just so fucking big.

you can’t help but openly gawk at him whenever he’s doing his hourly reps and sets. he’s fit, and you’d just do nothing but watch the veins prod within his beefy toned arms all day if you could. “y’er daydreamin’ again,” he’d gruff, watching as you writhe around his heavy length that’s currently nestled between and inside your sapping folds. you were moaning under your breath, desperately trying to get over your most recent orgasm that left your toes curl in. “wonder what’s goin’ on in that pretty mind,” toji murmurs, lying flat back against his weight bench. he’s got nothing on but a sweat drenched tank and black loose shorts—shorts that would always show off the outline of his his raging boner—shorts that were lazily tugged way down the hem of his waist all thanks you. “fuuuckk,” he hisses, feeling you abruptly sit up with his cock loudly exiting out of you. with a squelching ‘pop’, the noise of your cunt rings throughout the thin walls of his gym and he phews. “what’s . . with that look, baby?”

“i wanna try riding these,” you’d breathe through soft breaths, creating a slow trail down his chest with your finger. a bit of sable-dark chest hair sticks against his skin, his pecs specifically. god, he was just mesmerizing to look at. he’s laid underneath you, manspread as your eyes continue to rove further down his perfectly carvened body. streams of perspiring sweat race down his hewed sculptured v-line before you stop at his curly happy trail. “wanna ride your abs, toji.”

with a sly grin, he swipes a thumb over his scarred glossed lips. “do ya now?” and you could almost see the smugness swell up in his chest. toji’s shaggy bangs fully block his vision as he gets a good look at you, making two bandaged hands glued to your waist. “weird girl,” he snickers, and you moan once his emerald eyes flicker towards your drooling wet cunt. “hn. but go ‘head then. knock y’erself out,” he tilts his head back, crossing his arms cockily. “make me proud.”

slowly, you move yourself closer toward the middle part of his body and you moan almost right away. it’s a pretty sound that he’d never get tired of hearing. toji’s perfectly muscle-bound, such swole arms and even more swole calves—so thick, your skin practically sticks against his the longer you spent on his chest.

the second your bare cunt leisurely slides against his abs, you feel a cold shudder creep down your spine.

“f- fuck,” you whimper through gritted teeth, glancing at his face to see him combing a few cramped fingers through his hair. toji’s broad frame underneath you grew idle and still—and he can’t help but snake a big callused hand around your waist, stroking a few weak pumps at his now soft cock that was inside you just milliseconds ago. “toji, your abs feel so good.”

“they better be,” he rasps as one of his forearms pulls away, stretching outward to grab onto the handle bar that’s directly above the two of you.

multiple veins of his bulge through every part of his arms and you felt yourself throbbing just at the sight. he’s so big, and you only craved more by the second. toji grunts, feeling the coolly air waft against his reddened neglected tip as you continue to thrust forward - sloppily, but forward.

your hips were pathetically slow, barely even making haste as you dragged against each flat sleek ab. you were rickety, cutely making a feeble swivel with your waist despite how your knees were on the verge of bucking. toji continues to watch you, studying your lewd facial expressions and all. he noticed how your breathing continued to change, your eyelids would grow heavy, drooping lower and lower as and your mouth hangs itself open—gasp after gasp leaving your spot-slicked lips. tossing his head back, you glance how his adam apple bob’s, and he’s giving your ass a tight squeeze. “yeah, that’s it. ride ‘em good, princess,” and his voice pitches a deep husky low once your cunt squelches right up against tightening midsection. “mhm, use those hips. fuck me good, baby.”

as shallow breaths continue to ruthlessly snatch away from your full lungs, you resume to rock back and forth against him—his sharpened pectorals now being lewdly slathered from top to bottom with your syrupy juices. “hngh, ‘s ripped,” you’d moan out, feeling your tummy heave and curl inward within every few jerk of your deranged hips. you bit the bottom of your lip, pulling skin back whilst his abs continue tighten even more right underneath you. his six pack’s now entirely wet, shining with nothing but your own candied slick and he grunts. toji hears the greedy squelches of your pussy but he only imagined what it looked like down there. as your lips form into a gasping ‘o’, your brows contort into a furrow as you start to whimper out pathetic babbles. “toji, ‘m not gonna last. fuck, fuck.”

“oh, c’mon, don’t say that, princess,” the dark haired man coos, and you then star to feel the fat round tips of his thumbs massage against your active hips. he’s steadying your waist, helping you grind faster and faster despite how your legs were close—so so close to succumbing to defeat. “y’er a big girl, keep goin’ baby, ride ‘em like you ride my cock, mhm.”

your cunt twitches at his words, at his praise and oh it’s so embarrassing. as you continue to move, toji can feel the faint spasming throbs that vibrate on his flat stomach and he snickers. “shit,” you gasp, and your hands continue to feel up inside the thin linen of his tank top. he’s so buff, you couldn’t help but salivate—imagining toji with his big bulky arms slowly wrapping around your throat. your hips start to accelerate at a much briskly pace. as you were trapped in your erotic seven second fantasm, you sob out a whimper once he spanks your ass, bringing you straight back to reality. he’s telling you to keep going, you could tell from the brief priggish look in his eyes. “toji—ngh, ‘m gonna—”

and as your sopping folds continue to move quicker against his chiseled ripped pecs—you let off a soft dramatic gasp as fluttering ripples of waves surge through your core. out of nowhere, you gush right onto his abdomen while you’re still sloppily thrusting your hips onto his tight flexing stomach. “fuck, ohmygooodd,” you’d whimper out in cute elongated mewls, dragging every poor syllable. your squelches were loud—and your eyes widen at the sheer realization that you’re squirting—trickling out lustrous spurts of your own juices. you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, and your eyes squeeze shut completely once you fully release.

with weak bucking hips, you let off a shaky sigh and toji’s still got that annoying smug grin plastered across his face. “aw, poor baby,” a hand of his snakes around your waist, dark aroused eyes glancing at your pulsating weeping pussy. you weren’t moving anymore, and yet you were still plopped on his pecs. seconds later, you feel him flex each core muscle against your achy clit and you whimper, geysers of slick dampening his swole abs. “tch. made such a mess, ‘m all soaked,” and you moan, feeling him grab ahold of both of your wobbly unstable hips. you were dumb, dumber than you’ve ever been and all you felt was his tightened abs tensing right underneath your slobbering slick heat.

toji’s entire chiseled midsection of his chest was now sheeny, perfectly coated with your slick that makes his skin glimmer like a jewel and he hums. “my messy girl,” and a thumb of his playfully smears down your cunt, feeling it’s pulse prod against his fingertip. with an amused quirk of his thin black brow, he tastes you by licking his finger slyly. with needy eyes, you’re just blankly staring at him—panting heavily, pawing at his puffed chest for more. “oh, you’re not done?”

“n- no,” you whine, feeling a plethora of electric shockwaves erupt through the undersides of your thighs as you start to pathetically rock against his abs again, rubbing yourself against your own slippery wetness. “fuck, want more. hold still, toji.”

“ ‘m all yours,” he replied in a low mumble, giving your ass one more teasing squeeze. as he grabs a nice chunk of it, he groans throatily before laying his feet flat down against the carpet beside the bench. “good girl, keep ridin’ me,” and his hand tightens against your ass, throwing his head back with his hands covering his face. “fuck, gotta train this sloppy cunt some more anyway, heh.”

[diejager]

Stepdad!König taking a call from your mother while she’s at work - and while he’s brutalizing your sweet pussy in your room, his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speaks to your mother over the phone like normal 😊

Phone cw: p in v, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, rough sex, creampie, exhibitionism?, tell me if I missed any.

Your heart jumped out of you chest when his phone rang, you panicked, but König looked unbothered, reaching over to pick it up as he kept up his pace, driving his hips forward roughly and ruthlessly. He chuckled lowly, showing you the caller: your mother. Your breath hitched, teary eyes widening and mouth agape with drool rolling down the corner of your lips, you struggled against him, begging for him to ignore the call or to stop if he wanted to answer it.

“You can keep quiet, can’t you, Schatz?”

“No no- please-!”

His hand came down on your mouth, muffling your cries and whimpers, pleading for him to adhere to common sense. Despite your cries, he answered the phone, clicking on speaker - to antagonize you - and your mother’s voice rang out in the room. He greeted her with a normal hi, his tone calm even through the strenuous session, rocking into you, his thick girth and throbbing cock milking your cunt of the load he left this morning after she left.

“I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, hun,” she sounded tired, spending the day working until 7pm.

“It’s okay,” König hummed, placing the phone down beside your head, beside your covered mouth and tear-streaked cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be home later than usually,” she sighed, oblivious to your muffled whines. “I’m going to swing by that Italian place, do you want anything?”

Unlike your choked mewls and breathless keens, your stepdad was still, chest puffing up and pressing down on you, shifting your legs over his shoulders as he drove himself deeper. He was rough, thrusts hard and words degrading, cooing in your ear harsh, degrading names. Telling you what a slut you were for you stepdad, how you were a bitch for whoring around him and Horangi in skimpy shorts and baggy shirts, and how your sweet pussy was so wet and loud for him.

“Could you ask (Name) about supper?”

“Give me a second, ja?”

He flashed you a mean grin, putting the call on mute for better acting, playing the scene of him walking towards your room or where ever you were. His hand moved down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders and feet jerking over his head. Seeming satisfied with his manhandling, the wet slaps of his hips hitting your thighs louder and the head of his cock ramming your spongy cervix, he picked up the phone, unmuting it and pressing it to your ear.

“Dear?”

“H-hi mom-” you gasped, the heavy curve of his cock and the bulging veins rubbing your back wall, you spasmed around him, teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip.

“You remember that Italian place we went last week?”

“Ye-ah-yeah.”

She paused, her silence ringing louder than every slap that made your stomach bulge. You feared that she heard your slip up, the high-pitched mewl and pants you let out; you feared that crooked grin on his scarred lips and that proud and scheming gleam in his eyes. He changed his fast and rough pace for a deep and precise one, repeatedly aiming for that spot that made your eyes roll and back arch, finger thumbing your engorged clit.

“Are you okay?” You hated the worried tone mixed with that exhaustion, it picked at your heart.

“Yes-!” It came out harsher than you intended, pearly tears slipping from your squinted eyes.

König’s manhandling and pointed hits made your walls clench around him, the coil in your navel tightening to a delirious amount, making your head spin and mind dumb.

“Okay… Do you want anything for tonight?”

“Ro-rosé, please.”

“All right, I’ll see you tonight then.”

Any later and she would have heard you scream your mind off, you let moans roll off your tongue without restraint, nails digging into his back and back arched upward. He lowered your legs to his elbows, opening your legs to watch you come, your cunt swallowing him to the base, pumping in and then back out with a white ring around is cock from your shared pleasure. He made a sound of satisfaction, hands wandering down to grip your hips, riding out his pleasure leisurely and yours a fiery white blaze that burned through your body.

“You heard her, ja? Looks like we have more time to play.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[seraphdreams]

JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

[konigsblog]

simon riley ‘nd fingering ...

cw: fingering, afab!f!reader, praising, faux sympathy.

simon riley is flattered by your infatuation with his large and calloused hands. he adores the effect he has on you; watching your jaw fall slack as his fingers sink deeper inside your wet pussy, your clit sensitive as he runs his thumb over it teasingly.

fuck, and that sweet, loving voice pressed against your ear, your thighs slicken and coated in your arousal and sweet juices, eyes becoming teary-eyed at the slick and full sensation, the feeling of him pumping his thick and scarred fingers into you causing your moans to cone out broken and choken.

you can't help the tears from rolling down your cheeks, eyelids heavy and eyes lustful, drunken off the tight feeling in your core and the soothing sound of his gentle voice. seeing the wet, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, watching you grind against his palm so desperately as your orgasm builds up. he'll coddle you; cooing at you for being so sweet and needy.

“what’s up, sweet girl? ya’ want more, need it, yeah?” simon chuckles gutturally, seeing you nodding eagerly and zealously, desperate to feel him inch deeper inside. simon's rough and calloused thumb presses against your swollen clit, puffy folds coated in wet cum, your body weak as your orgasm begins to rush through you abruptly. you weep quietly, bottom lip quivering at the loss of his fingers, feeling empty and sticky.

[izvmimi]

cw: smut but softcore. hot spring. too much banter. reader is implied to have textured hair.

“Your hair’s grown long,” you murmur.

With the observation, your right hand wades gently in the steamy surface of the hot spring to rise to Tanjiro's damp cheek and pats it coquettishly before your fingers glide gently through the strands of his water-slicked burgundy locks. You’ve been submerged together, you to your collarbones and him just to the base of his pectoral muscles for the past thirty minutes, chatting idly with a short pause in conversation just moments before this to rest and relax, really letting the soothing waters seep into your skin. Traveling together has weighed heavy on you both and the few minutes to catch your breath have been welcome, but now that you're rejuvenated, you’re right back to teasing. 

“You think so?” he asks. He looks a bit surprised, his own rough fingers closing around a couple looser strands. The remainder stick close to his skin, framing his handsome face, his neck, and the slope of his broad shoulders, and you continue to run your hand through them at the forehead, gently scratching his scalp with your nails as you do so. 

“Yeah, not that I don’t like it,” you practically wink, and he smiles, pulling you into his arms so that you’re back pressed to chest again. You inhale softly and he sighs as if you were sharing one breath. 

“I must have not been paying attention,” he murmurs, kissing your ear. You laugh to yourself, a trickle of heat running down your spine with the nibble of his teeth..

“That’s why you have me,” you remind him, brightly. "To pay attention to you, that is." Your own hair is in a high bun, avoiding the water but reveling in the wafting steam to nurture your coils and he lets himself breathe deeply of the scent, then presses his lips to your neck. 

“Cut it for me?” he asks, tentatively. His hands wander again, gliding from your shoulders to your wrists, and the soft splash of the water parting accentuates the drop of your heart into your loins as he kisses the soft underside.

“I don’t know how to cut wavy hair,” you immediately answer, but he’s turning you to face him again in the water and his eyes look at you hungrily now, as if you’re having a conversation a lot more licentious than the simple act of snipping away with scissors.

“I don’t mind as long as you try your best.”

Tanjiro’s voice is coming out breathy and lower as he leans in, and he’s clearly asking for something more from you rather than this simple future act of service. Eyes darkening as you press your palm against his chest, right above the jagged scars, he asks if you think you’re up to it, and it’s clear he’s not talking about an impromptu haircut.

“And if I do a bad job?”

His hands are on your hips now, cupping the curve of your ass before they lift up, your legs reflexively finding their way in a hold around his waist. The warmth of the hard length pressed soft against your belly stands out so much more than anything in the world right now, enough to make your breath hold tightly in your throat.

“I won’t hold anything against you,” he teases.

You snort, but his bad joke has made him crack a smile. Pulling you with him through the water, he lets himself lean on the rocky wall as he supports you. 

“You’ll let me do whatever I want then?” you ask. He nods, biting his lower lip as you attempt to ease yourself around his cock. He’s good at flustering you, but easily forgets how quickly you can turn the tables on him, at a loss for words as you descend.

But then once you sink in, and take all of him inside, your arms reflexively wrapping around his neck, the temporary gain is lost as you adjust to his length, moaning as he stretches out your insides. Again. Just moments ago, you were like this, letting him slip in and out of you, fluid resistance meaning so little to him with every thrust.

“Of course,” he practically croons.

The push and pull between the two of you is always an endless wave of emotion, where even something as simple as telling your boyfriend he’s looking kind of shaggy ends up in being awash in emotion, but that’s the ebb and flow of your relationship and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[ren-mielthebee]

CW: scars, depiction of what could be heavy dissociation/panic attack‼️‼️

osa's having a rough day😭

[losersiren]

𝒜 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒!𝐿𝑜𝓇𝒹

”𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈.” A continuation of my oc Ambrose, The lord N: Don't I have a gift for you, Anon! God, I had to rewrite this so many times, BUT I'M DONE!! Eat up! This is a long one! I had to watch so many gun videos (like two), which was unexpected... CW: Fem reader (she/her), acts and talks of violence (not towards the reader), implied murder, threats, guns, fluff (with the reader lol), mocking, power balance (?) Jealousy (or pettiness) Wc: 3.5k 

A shotgun sound echoes throughout the forest, followed by yet another dead Grey partridge and light crunches of leaves beneath stomping leather boots. 

“That bastard of a man! A prick! Son of a bitch! Son of an adventuress at that!” Ambrose stops in his tracks, reloading his sporting rifle with more gunpowder. Anger consumes his entire being. ”Did you hear what that bloody cocksucker Patrick said to her?” He hissed through his clenched teeth, grabbing the tiny 0.5 mm sphere lead bullet and layering it on top of some fabric. Shoving it inside the rifle barrel, “If what he said changed from the last few hundred times you’ve re-told the incident, then I have no utter clue.”  The younger male rolls his eyes, picking up the tenth bird Ambrose has slaughtered this afternoon. He ignores his younger cousin’s sarcastic quip and continues. “ ‘If you wish for a lovely evening, do not be a stranger; send me a letter, and I'll be by your side.’ I should’ve darkened his daylights when those vile words left his devil mouth.” He fixes his gun upright, pushing the first trigger, waiting for another prey to be a victim of his wrath. 

“Is she spoken for? Have you outwardly said you intend to court her?” His cousin questions, and Ambrose, in retaliation to his younger relative’s question….blushes like a young girl. Clenching his jaw, he answers, “No,” “Are you mad?!?” “I’ve attempted…but my nervousness has sabotaged me alas.” Astonished, his cousin continues, “Then you have no right to be jealous of her, you fool.” 

Bushes start rustling. Ambrose aims and squints instantly, with a pointer finger on the second trigger. A small grey rabbit appears, and immediately, it's killed straight through its skull; a soft smile appears on Ambrose’s face. “For her, I'll be whatever is needed.” 

“You are not sane.”

“Don’t be rude, Finch. This is love in its purest form. One day, you’ll understand.” The older male shrugs his shoulders.

“Now,” Ambrose reloads his gun, repeating his past actions, but this time, he looks straight into the other male’s eyes. “What do you know about Patrick Barton?” “I do not-” Ambrose cuts him off. “ Do not lie to me, young Finch…” His voice becomes lower, mocking, his aura more sinister. “You frequent more gentleman clubs than I; lord knows I hate the people and atmosphere of said clubs– Your mother grumbles enough to mine about the subject.” In goes the gunpowder: “You surround yourself with such…’ vast’ personalities from the elites to the ladies of the night.” The grey-eyed man reaches into his waistcoat for a lead bullet. “Yet you tell me– you don’t know about a mere Lord.” He scoffs.

Finch watches his older cousin's actions. Of course, he only asked to spend time with him for information regarding the apple of his eye’s new ‘suitor.’ The young man knows his current situation, the number of Grey partridge carcasses he holds because of Ambrose, and how far deep he’s in the forest, alone with his turbulent cousin. This was a warning, a show of sorts, that he could join these insignificant birds. He tries to swallow the heavy lump stuck in his throat. Ambrose was always the odd man; his smile never reached his eyes, his charm as real as a disloyal man’s ‘ I love you.’ His older cousin wasn’t above putting his hands on his own blood to get what he wanted– Ambrose’s father’s scar is evidence enough. 

“He partakes in Hell’s, frequents them more than gentleman’s clubs, a gambler of sorts. Loves it! He brags about the thrills of it and his winnings. Folks whisper that he’s a dishonourable shark. But it's not just hell establishments he attends; If there's someplace to gamble away his earnings, he's there,” Finch sputters his confession. 

“And Mills? Does he attend those as well?” “Yes,” The younger lad answers his senior instantly.

Ambrose just hums in return.

Just finishing his task, he aims for his cousin; he wears an inexpressive face, his grey eyes darkened and vacant, with no light, no soul.

“Wait, wait! I told you what you wanted!” Finch pleas. He could run, but in retrospect, how far can he go? Ambrose has a fucking rifle. He’s a good shot, no, an excellent shot. Hell! It’s borderline impossible how he always hits his targets, especially with how hard it is to aim for those things. Finch is panicking; his cousin has already pushed the first trigger. The nervous lad just accepts it; what else could he do? He closes his eyes, expecting his death to come quickly, then he hears a gunshot…

And he's fine…? Another Grey partridge falls from the sky right before him, its dead eye looking at the twenty-year-old.

Ambrose’s gun aims towards the sky. He lowers it. Then he casually approaches the stunned male, who lets out a staggered sigh, relieved he escaped death by a hair. Ambrose looks down at Finch, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in close. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again, especially when the topic concerns my love.” Finch nods rapidly, shaking like a leaf. “Of course, sir, sorry.” Then, the older male releases his shoulders. “Good. Gift those birds to a peasant; perhaps they’ll make dinner with it, oh, and the rabbit, too. Say I have decided to help my community or something along those lines.” He looks at the sky. “I have a woman blessed by aphrodite to court.” His smile is bright, contrasting how he was a mere few seconds ago. He pats his younger cousin’s back and leaves the forest– The lifeless Grey partridge stares back at Finch, and he stares back.

Social calls…How dreadful. Worse is conversing with Lord Barton. He’s a bore, vulgar, and has an underlying inconsiderate, bitter personality. Having your mother as a chaperone does not make the situation any more bearable. 

 “Have you ever pondered about the future?” he inquires.

What kind of wet rag question is that? 

You put on a gentle smile. “Of course I have. Since I was a chit, I would read the local papers with my father-” He cuts you off “Children.” You look at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

The gentleman looks at you like you’re the biggest dunce in the country. “Children, how many children do you wish for? It would be sensible for us to have eight or ten,” “Hah…well…” you lift the tea cup to your mouth.

The man has no decorum…

After that fiasco, you decided to take a stroll downtown, and perhaps you’ll get a book from the local store, some new fabrics from a linen draper, or even some oils. Your pin money given to you by your parents could only cover one item... what a conundrum….

“Do tell me why the viscount’s only daughter is doing without a chaperone?” He leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, his smile beaming.

“Lord Howard, have you dropped your hunting hobby in exchange for stalking?” He chuckles. “Witty as always, but dare I disappoint? I was just strolling about my day and coincidentally saw you– Perhaps fate has decided for us to meet?” He pushes himself off the wall and offers his arm. Was it coincidence or fate…? No, it was none; it was all Ambrose, him asking your fellow lady peers about your whereabouts. Then, wandering near whatever local shops would possibly pique your interest. Memories play in his head, such as when you both were young and would rendezvous at the local forest. You would acquire many hobbies when you were younger– your mother said you would have a higher chance of obtaining a suitor with diverse skills. He would remember them and watch you in amazement when you talked about them. 

You made him feel human. You made him feel alive. His father was never a loving one; he gained the son he wanted, and his heir then wanted nothing more to do with him. The only attention Ambrose earned from The Earl was if he needed reprimanding. Every laugh that was too loud, every fork that he unitized improperly, every action, small or big, was scrutinized. His mother was a vacant husk of a woman at home and a social butterfly in the public eye; she watered herself down to being a wife and a mother. She was neither. He detested both of them and hated that damned empty feeling of his soul and heart that matched his vacated house; he felt nothing. His world was as grey as his eyes.

Till he met the colourful Viscount’s daughter– If he got kicked by a horse and lost his memory, he would still somehow remember the day you two met—the memory ingrained in his bones, body, and soul. On the way to your estate, the stately carriage was soundless and suffocating, as if the air was thick. Ambrose remembers how he bore his eyes into his obsidian-polished boots, wishing for the minutes to pass faster.  

You were a naive hoyden the first time you introduced yourself; you forgot to say his title and yours. Using his common name and giving him an oh-so-sweet genuine smile, he hadn’t ever seen such an authentic smile for him and only him—not for his parents nor his riches. Just him. Your parents scolded you while apologizing profusely for your ‘disrespect.’ Before his parents could utter something backhanded yet elegant, Ambrose smiled. He didn’t know he could do that. For the first time, the young boy speaks up; he feels this protectiveness over you. But, at the moment, Ambrose couldn't care less about his father's punishment that would soon come; the only thing that mattered was you, and soon he’d found out that it would always be you.

An airy laugh escapes you. “Do you wish for us to be caught in a scandal every time we meet?” He raises a faux, worried face and voice. “Me?!? As a future Earl, I am fulfilling my gentlemanly duties by escorting a fine young lady and keeping her from potential dangers. What’s so scandalous about that?” You take his arm. “You’re far from sane, My Lord.”

“For you, My lady? I hope so,” He says proudly with his chest out.

A comfortable silence lulls you as you look at how the sun hits the trees, people, and him. The sun's rays lighten his dark brown hair, blessing it with an orange hue and grey eyes, becoming Iridescent, more akin to a pearl.

“The latest on dit says Lord Barton has called for your company?” He inquires 

Your face grimaces at just the sound of his name. As much as you loathe the man, he is a viable suitor with good money and an excellent reputation, but a suitable suitor does not equate to a good man. “He’s…an interesting individual…” His jaw clenches. You’re not being open as he wants; you’re holding back…he hates that you might be hiding something. Not you per se but that damned rake Patrick. “He’s a rake,” he spits out, and you gaze at him. He’s uncharacteristically serious.

You smile. “He is,” Ambrose turns his head to you, returning your smile.

“Quite the feat to dissect the woman you are trying to woo as well.” The gentleman’s eyebrows furrow. “He did not,” you huff. “Oh, he did!” Ambrose stops in his tracks and mummers your name softly. “If you would only permit it, Allow me to court you,” You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question, “Pardon?” He continues, “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.” “And you do?” he chuckles. “No, but I’ll do everything you ask me to, then maybe one day I'll deserve you; you wish for dresses? I'll buy you the tailor and store. Money is far from an issue. Heavens, ask for the world, and I'll give you it with the stars and beyond as accessories.” He turns his whole body to you, his hands finding yours, his leather gloves causing a barrier between your soft ones.

He hates that 

“Ambrose…” 

“Please…only if you’ll allow me.”  The love-sick man entreated “But what about the other more suitable ladies? I’ve heard-” “I do not care for them,” He interrupts you. “Every second I was apart, I only longed for you. The only reason I kept my studies up was to be the perfect suitor equal to you.” He caresses your knuckles. The butterflies in your stomach flutter more after each word spills out of his mouth. Your relationship with Ambrose was vague at most. You couldn’t put your finger on it; every time you were in his presence, you had this comfort no one else could recreate. You were hesitant to put a label onto it, and maybe you feel this way because he was the only man you truly felt you could be yourself with. 

“If you wish to court me, you must’ve thought to ask my father for permission rather than myself.” 

“I could’ve,” He pauses, “But I'd rather ask you first; I need your permission. I am not marrying your father, am I? I need to hear you wish for me as much as I yearn for you,”  

You amuse the thought. Ambrose is a prick at times, his teasing relentless, but despite that, he’s charming, sincere, soothing, and protective. He’s a good man, indeed. 

“I’ll bite, My lord.” “Please do.” He smirked, masking his nervousness.

You slap his hand lightly, reprimanding him, “Let me continue, you brute…I’ll allow you to court me.” “Truly?” he exclaims, Astonished. “Truly,” You nod meekly. In a haste, he kisses your bare hands, each knuckle, each finger. “I’ve been blessed indeed,” his voice is as blissful as a child receiving a sugary dessert. You yank your hands away from him, flushed from his actions. “You dog, we are in the public,” you scold him. “I shall make it up to you in our next outing; I vow,” You swear you could see a wagging tale behind him. You sigh. 

The day went on, and by sundown, Ambrose had hired a post-chaise for the both of you despite your protests of you living just around the corner. He claimed he had ‘Earl-like duties to attend to’ and you were just on the route back either way. As a gentleman should, he dropped you off promptly; as he left in the carriage, away from your estate, you softly ran your fingers over your knuckles. A smile adorns your face. “What an oaf,” you whisper to yourself. A fond grin decorates Ambrose’s face, a few giggles even, but as euphoric this day was, he did have business to attend to. A certain lord has decided to make his lacklustre presence known, and Ambrose couldn’t celebrate until he exterminated said pest.

Gentleman’s clubs were boisterous, loud, and untrustworthy. The men here are just as vile as the feed that is fed to pigs. The soon-to-be-Earl disliked them and only engaged in them because he needed to build his reputation. He may be judgemental, but he isn’t an idiot. Others may regard him as a friend, but for him, he could care less for it. The males around him start to recognize Ambrose, yelling pleasantries, which he would return and shut down politely or…as politely as he could in his eyes. A booming voice reverberates against the wall of the finely furnished building, only belonging to the one and only Patrick Barton. Unconsciously, a scowl appears on the young man’s face. Ambrose knew more than he led on about Patrick; he heard whispers of Barton’s hobby in the mills, rigging the boxing matches that were bid on by elites and peasants alike. Word says he would pay one of the desperate participants to lose on purpose– word is bound to escape one day or another. It is not a sustainable income source. Yet another reason Lord Barton is not fit for you.

Ambrose walks towards the table where the bastard sits, narrowing his eyes.

Lord Barton and his goons recognize the lord approaching them. Barton speaks first: “Lord Howard! Is it a blue moon? What on earth might’ve convinced you to come out of that dreadful estate?” He laughs, arranging some snuff onto the mahogany to snort. “Perhaps it’s because you plan on courting his woman.” a nameless male inquires. “No, could it be? I don’t blame you, Ambrose; she is a fine woman, isn’t she? She is just in need of training,” another male said, joining in. “So does every woman in this country.” Another chuckle escapes the vulgar lord. 

Ambrose’s leather gloves wrinkle. His fist clenched to prevent him from beating the man in front of him into a pummel. He has a plan, the grey-eyed man repeats in his head. Then he forces a smile on his face. “On the contrary, I've decided to pick up a new gambling hobby; why not ask the man of the hour himself for advice? Or even a game or two.” Ambrose signals a servant and orders drinks for the table. The man in question gets up, slapping Ambrose on his back. “Atta boy, never let a woman come between men; let bygones be bygones, what a joyance plan! Come, come.” The night continues, and Patrick is as drunk as the rest of the men in the club; Ambrose, the gentleman he is, offers him to join his carriage in his words. 'Let’s start this newfound friendship off with a bang.' Cold water hits the once-drunken lord, and he awakens, gasping for air on the cold textured ground. ‘Where am I?’ he thinks, discombobulated, looking around and grasping his situation. The dark forest surrounds him, almost engulfing him; the trees blow along with the wind, and the creatures of the night rustle in the background. A voice comes from the shadows, luring him away from his racing thoughts, “Gunpowder is such a messy substance, but did you know a man invented a gun powered by air? What a time to be alive! How revolutionary!” Patrick looks at the man, most of his body consumed by the darkness of nightfall, the moon only making his grey eyes visible. 

“Ambrose, what the utter fuck-” “Don’t interrupt.” He says sternly. “As I was saying, a gun powered by air,” He continues. “A watchmaker of all things invented it; how preposterous! He eliminated gunpowder entirely and named this new gun  Windbüchse or, I know you only know English, so pardon me, I'll translate, wind gun.”  

“It’s far better than my hunting rifle; the tedious thing is quite a hassle to reload. But this wind gun can load much faster, 20 rounds a minute! Compared to the other, it is much quieter. It's a shame its range is far smaller.” The man standing pouts. “But all is well. The Austrian army decided to order thousands of supplies, and it’s fortunate I even got my hands on one.” Patrick squints, trying to distinguish Ambrose, and it finally sets in. In a forest he doesn’t know of, with a man who has a gun in his hand in the dead of night. Not just any man but a Lord known for his physical fitness and hunting expertise since he was a just a lad. 

Fuck

“If this is about your lady, Ambrose, you can have her! There’s no need to do this!” Patrick tries to reason with the love-sick lord, yet it's no use. The other man scoffs, “I’ve always detested men like you, greedy, hypocritical. Ready to jump boat when things get too tough for your liking– where is your backbone? Where is your spine? Your pride?” Ambrose circles the pain-filled man on the ground. “You never deserved to even be in her presence; you aren’t even entitled to breathe the same air as her,” He then spontaneously kicks Patrick's ribs, causing him to curl up on a ball, yelping. Ambrose looks down at the pathetic man. “But, I am a fair man, unlike you, so I'll give you a chance to run while I read you the note I have written in your writing announcing your hasty departure after news of your rigging in the mills comes to light, your writing was not hard to duplicate as well; who knew mother’s penmanship lessons would come in handy,” He chuckles.

 “Now run, monkey, while you still can.” He sets the trigger and then turns the spindle of his gun clockwise till a clicking sound can be heard, indicating he doesn’t need to turn it anymore. Ambrose opens the barrel, puts in an 8.5 mm bullet, and then shuts it. 

“I’m sure we can talk this out reasonably, money! I have money! Have it all; buy your woman something nice-” Patrick feels his thigh get warmer at first rather than the pulsing pain of a bullet shooting through his thigh that would soon follow shortly after. He screams.“To think you have the naivety to think I couldn’t fund my lover for generations on end,”

Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Scream louder; perhaps you’ll awaken a bear to save you,” yet again, he starts reloading his wind gun, faster at that, “I am not one to repeat himself nor give mercy. Run, rabbit.”

With adrenaline coursing through his body, Patrick runs…or well, attempts to. 

 Ambrose reaches into his waistcoat for the forged letter, clearing his voice to read it while his other hand holds his gun. Though his attention should be on the task at hand, he is utterly distracted by possible outing plans you would adore. Shall he go canoeing with you? Or a picnic? A carriage ride underneath the newly blooming cherry blossoms? Why not all three?  

Oh. how he longs to see you again.

Notes: I'm gonna be so honest, romance is the hardest thing to write for me. It's probably noticeable, forgive me (⇀‸↼‶) I had to do some research for this one, but it was a fun process learning more about Regency lingo and gun history. For my next full fic. I was thinking of a yandere! Cannibalistic 50's housewife, but idk….hehe…if you have any ideas send them to my inbox!! I'd like to say again THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! Reading all your kind words makes my little shy heart soar (o^ ^o) see you soon, my little guppies!!