#earning my seam allowance

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Silent treatment

You all seem to love the smut sooo I decided why not get ✨extra✨ smutty and give you something else(; MINORS DNI

Synopsis: Harry’s a billionaire. He’s been working 24/7 not giving you any attention like you often experience with him… one day he comes home and expects you to be all lovey dovey only to learn that you’re ignoring him… one way or another he’ll have to get your attention and earn it.

Trigger warnings: dominant harry, slight aggression, oral fem receiving, fingering, spanking, p in v, C word, edging, denial, orgasm control, degrading, kinda mean! Harry just general smutty things

©️Please do not copy or translate my work

“I’m home” his voice was loud and clear as it echoed around the silent home, usually there would be music playing or the tv on but there was nothing… only silence… “baby?” He questioned looking around “sweetheart where are you?” He checked the living room, kitchen, bathroom before headed upstairs checking all of upstairs before finding you in your and his shared bedroom “there you are my love,” he spoke with a smile gazing at you. You laid on the bed wearing a silk robe that barely covered your nude body— he stared at you, watching you read the story, him watching as your fingertips began turning the pages little by little and soon he was noticing that you were blatantly ignoring him. His brows furrowed slightly “earth to y/n?” He wore a black button up shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and black trousers to match it, his hands soon resting on his hips “alright what’s going on?” He questioned watching as your eyes eventually moved to look at him, only earning an eye roll from you before you looked back at your book.

He slowly walked closer to you before stopping just beside the bed staring down at you “you know I can get you to talk… and when I make you talk… force you to talk to me I won’t stop.” His words were menacing, underlined with a certain dangerous tone but you still continued to ignore him. He was never aggressive with you, even in bed he was rarely aggressive or even vicious but that all changed rather suddenly. He perched on the edge of the bed as he stared at you, before slowly tracing his fingertip from your exposed thigh and up to the inner seam of the nightgown that barely covered you, before with his free hand he snatched the book from you making your lips part your brows furrowing as you grew slightly annoyed before trying to snatch the book back with a few huffs and grunts only for him to toss the book onto the floor, his hand then effortlessly grabbing onto both your wrists and pinning your wrists down above your head a small gasp coming from your mouth and he stared down at you with a small smirk

“Now will you tell me what’s earned me the treatment of being ignored?” He questioned raising his brows watching as you just stared at him silently yet some excitement lingered in your eyes showing you liked where this was going, but at the same time you had no clue what he was going to do to you. You felt his free hand trace shapes into your inner thigh a shaky breath coming from you as he kept his eyes on you, before his finger trailed to your aching heat that was gradually growing wetter and wetter just from the thoughts spiralling round your head. He slowly dipped his fingertip in between your pussy lips using his index finger and thumb to slowly part them as he gazed down at you watching as you wriggled slightly a small whine coming from your lips “oh… that’s what makes you weak?” He mused with a evident smirk before he hummed still keeping a hold of your wrists not allowing you to move as he soon thrusted his long slender finger into your tight cunt, the gruelling and punishing pace of his finger thrusting in and out of you constantly at such a perfect angle making his finger touch against your G-spot over and over again, watching your reactions— all of them— the way you threw your head back and panted struggling to stay quiet as moans and whines came from you.

Soon he slipped in a second finger as he curled both fingers deep within your tight heat, your hips jolting weakly as eventually you couldn’t help but cry out his name his thumb drawing slow circles against your clit forcing your hips to buck over and over, the pleasure forcing the sounds and cries from you as you moaned his name. “There we go… not so quiet after all hm? Told you, you couldn’t stay quiet. I know how to make you tick.” His lips curled upwards in a small grin as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. The pace of his fingers and the delicate curl of his fingers that drove you utterly insane had your walls clenching down around his fingers over and over again, and upon hearing your moans and whines grow louder and the way your walls massaged his fingers and twitched against them he didn’t stop- no- he continued going

“You want to cum, hm?” He cooed to you watching as you nodded “oh yeah? Yeah I’m sure you do darling… do you think you deserve to cum?” He continued thrusting his fingers in and out of you keeping up the quick pace watching as you nodded pathetically before he without much warning pulled his fingers from your drenched hole. “Well, I beg to differ sweetheart. Only good girls get to cum.” He spoke simply as you whined and whimpered, your thighs trembling ever so slightly.

“If you talk to me I’ll let you cum.” He spoke teasingly and you whimpered “why, were you giving me the silent treatment, hm?” He asked softly but he had a pretty good idea. “Is it because you’re a fucking slut in need of a good fucking?” His words made you whimper and you nodded your head over and over again “oh is that so you naughty girl” he chuckled softly “please- please need to cum.. need to feel good… please Harry… please..” he tutted slightly as he stared at you before he slowly let go of your hands but your wrists remained weakly laid against the pillow, before he slowly leaned in closer to you “no.” He spoke softly as he shook his head, denying you of it before he stood up from the bed analysing you- studying all of you before he smirked slightly

“Roll over. Onto your tummy.” He demanded, watching as you just remained still and he stared at you unimpressed “three, two–“ and finally you obeyed rolling onto your tummy. He then knelt down onto the bed his large hands slowly stroking over your ass cheeks slowly and gently “you want my attention…. Is that your issue? Needy for my attention and love?” He spoke watching you nod and he hummed “use your words.” He demanded. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” You cried out and he smiled “right…” he trailed off hands continuing to stroke against your ass cheeks gently, the silence deafening as he remained silent for a few moments before finally bringing his hand down against your ass cheek smacking your ass hard, the harshness of it leaving a very visible red handprint as you whimpered Harry doing the exact same thing again in the same exact place making you moan “oh my pretty girl likes being spanked does she? Oh of course you do. Such a dirty pathetic slut.”

You moaned heavily as he continued to slap your ass multiple times, before he aimed his hits from where your asscheek met your thigh- slapping against the little crease watching as you jumped, only for a moan and cry to leave your lips, Harry chuckling softly “oh such a good girl hm?” His light spanks continued raining down against your skin until your ass was almost bright red. He smoothed his hands against the marks against your ass and smiled listening to you whimper as he soothed the stinging skin, but that didn’t last long as without much warning he pulled you so your hips were dangling off of the edge of the bed, and he easily flipped you around so you were now looking at him “harry please I need to cum. Please.. I can’t take it anymore..” you moaned out desperately.

“Y/n… I want you to beg me… beg me and maybe I’ll let you cum this time.” He spoke and you nodded fervently “don’t stop begging.” He spoke simply before his lips and tongue attached to your clit, beginning to suck the bud in between his lips suckling against it as he flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves watching as your hips twitched desperately a cry leaving your lips as you panted “please! Please! I want to cum! Please! I’ll be a good girl for you! Please!” You began begging over and over again, mindlessly, not thinking straight as the pleasure overwhelmed your head your breathing heavy as you squeezed your eyes shut your walls clenching around nothing as he continued to lather his tongue all over your hungry pussy. As his tongue continued teasing against your clit, he lifted his head stopping the pleasure making you cry out “shhh…. Y/n reach down. Fuck yourself with your fingers.” Harry demanded and as if a puppeteer was controlling your hand you dipped your hand down to your aching pussy. He watched as your fingers began thrusting deep within your cunt over and over again your hips jerking as your moans grew louder, he just watched as you toyed with yourself, his hand drawing circles into your clit as you continued moaning desperately. You were a mess for him and Harry loved it… he loved how messy you were for him and as your moans grew louder and he watched your pussy clenched around your fingers he quickly grabbed your wrist forcing it to halt, stopping your movement

“How badly do you need to cum?” He spoke teasingly, and you whimpered “so bad please… please… I’ll let you do anything… please!” Harry’s cock twitched in his pants and he clenched his jaw slightly before humming “good response.” He then pulled your hand from your pussy and instead replaced it with his own, his long fingers pumping in and out of you at a merciless pace as his tongue and lips began toying with your clit as screams of euphoria began leaving your lips, your sensitive clit even more sensitive from him toying with it his movement remaining fast as your body reacted to each feeling “c’mon.. c’mon… cum on my fingers… c’mon… cum right fucking now” he demanded watching you come undone right beneath him, your jaw slackening as you tilted your head back your breathing heavy as a sharp moan left your lips your hips bucking into his mouth as he fucked you through your orgasm a slight bead of sweat on your forehead as you panted your eyes rolled back into the back of your head your breathing fast as you tried to calm yourself down.

Harry’s fingers eventually halted but he didn’t pull them out only curling them slowly into you over and over again constantly playing with you “you want my cock?” He asked you knowing how fuzzy your hearing was, but still you nodded desperately and he chuckled “oh my pathetic sweet darling…” he hummed out “so needy for my cock. Want me to fucking overstimulate you hm? Until you’re screaming… until you’re messy? Yeah? Oh I’ll do that just for you.” He hummed out the lewd words only turning you on further, hearing the sound of material hitting the floor before feeling his hard cock press just between your thighs, the tip of his cock teasing against your pussy lips before he began edging himself in, letting out a low groan as he began slowly fucking into you, little by little until his hips were pressed against yours, rocking lightly against you as you moaned in pleasure his moans and groans soft as he lowered his head down taking your nipple between his lips as he swirled his tongue around it, nipping at it gently as your hips bucked into his. He was ravenous for you.

Soon he had kissed you deeply just as he picked up the pace, thrusting in and out of you at a merciless pace your lips parted against his as you groaned into his mouth, crying out in pleasure, Harry taking that as his chance as he slipped his tongue into your mouth— the both of you making out as he fucked you long and hard. Eventually he pulled back from the kiss, leaving a gentle but long line of saliva trailing from both your lips before it snapped and faded away as he leaned his head back, his thrusts grew harder and faster the sound of skin hitting against skin and lewd sounds echoing around the room being the only thing heard before eventually his hips jolted as you both orgasmed, his thrusts being slightly sloppy as he moaned before he kissed you again deeply keeping his lips pressed against yours as he breathed heavily, before finally pulling back “fuck… such a good girl… fucking hell… knows how to make me feel good hm…” he began trailing kisses against your neck, remaining inside of you as he just laid against your naked body, both of you nude and sweaty as he gripped onto you, his kissing soothing and loving his breathing slowly calming down before he let out a soft hum “I love you so much… but don’t ever ignore me again…” he chuckled out softly “or do… I quite liked this.” He spoke with a small smirk and you smiled lazily, leaning up to kiss his lips “I love you too…”

You both stayed in that position for a while, Harry allowing your tight pussy to massage his cock in the best ways. He could’ve stayed with you like this forever… in fact he intended to. When he fucked you like this he knew you weren’t just made for him but your body was made for him too.. maybe he was far too possessive but you were all his and he wouldn’t ever get bored of fucking you ruthlessly over and over.

[bowieandqueen11]

Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

[ph4ngz]

WORDS + MOANS || GENSHIN IMPACT

w/ diluc, kaeya, itto + tighnari <3

Whenever Diluc moans will always be a shock to you. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy himself! He makes that perfectly clear with his guttural groaning and growling, the kind that almost puts you on edge and fills you up with delicious thrill. This redhead is rather quiet during sex, blessing your ears with rewarding praise at most two or three times, opting for a soft “nngh— good girl” or a simple “perfect”. But every now and again, he’ll slip up and lose control of his deep, thick voice. And when he does? Oh, it’s great.

How to get him to moan, you ask? Pull his hair and grind down hard on his lap, clothes on or not. You can rock your hips over his restrained, hardening cock, letting the friction and the light vibration that rolls down his lower half whenever your clothes catch on the seams of his pants send him to heaven and back. Or, you can manoeuvre yourself up and down alongside his freed length whilst never letting it inside, only allowing his tip to catch some of your slick so you can grind it all over his dick.

Either way, you’re guaranteed to hear something from him. A breathless “hm- huh!”, perhaps? Maybe a harsh “ugh, shit!” muffled into your hair. “Gah—! Fuck…?! Fuck, fuck,” is your personal favourite, this one only comes out if you grab him forcefully enough and put him into position. Diluc is usually the one in control, but who’s to say he doesn’t want you to take the reigns sometimes?

We all know who loves to dirty talk. Yeah, that’s right. Sweet-talkin’, sugarcoated Captain Kaeya.

He’s sly, with the way he gets into it. Starting off by bringing out the endearing yet somehow condescending nicknames when he’s got you trapped within his arms. Whispers a soft “hey sweetheart” into your ear from behind. Then, he smoothly runs his palm down your stomach and further until he’s got a grip on your clothed pussy, “oh… you like it when I do this? I’m not even moving my hand yet and you’re making a fuss” a hot moan leaving his lips when you whimper for him as his fingers tighten around your cunt.

He’s clever about it all, knows exactly how to have you whining his name in seconds. However, he’s not the only one with skill. You may not have him whining, but you can have him laughing to half-assedly disguise his state of overwhelming ecstasy.

“Ahah~ ha!” Kaeya’s voice is shaky, laughing with pleasure once your palm is firmly grasping his twitching cock, wrist flicking up and down with ease due to the precum he’s leaking. You always jack him off faster just to evoke those delectable sounds, earning you a huffed and puffed “not- not too fast…”, sometimes a humourlessly chuckled “you, fuck, you love the sound of my voice, huh?”.

There’s bonus points if you suck lightly around his swollen tip, too. “Ha- agh—! Archons, wait,” he’ll pant so sinfully, still trying to buck his eager hips to stuff your mouth full of dick even though you have an arm pinning him down.

Arataki Numero Uno Itto isn’t exactly the most composed one of all. That, and being as enormous in stature as he is, makes getting intimate with you quite the challenge if there’s people within a certain radius. This guy is like a bull in a damn china shop, wherever you fuck there’s bound to be a broken plate, a smashed window, a snapped bed, possibly even a hole in the wall. That’s obviously going to gain some attention from the public.

He’s loud too, not that he doesn’t do his best to be quiet, but he just can’t handle it! Especially if you ride him. Variants of “fuck!” rip from his throat with every snap of your ass against his pelvis, huge grabby hands gripping your hips to slam you down even harder. He’ll have his puppy dog eyes clenched shut, eyebrows bowed with rapture, letting you know how good your sloppy cunt is to him with a stunned “I, you’re so- hah, hah, hmph! Wet a-and warm, I can’t!”.

Itto gets off on your moans as well, and he’ll use his strength and stamina to fuck you faster even when you’re on top, using little tricks he’s learnt to up your volume. He has you hovering over his cock at this point, his hands lifting you up by your arms. This is when things get broken. “Baby, baby, baby! I’m so, ah, close!” is what he exclaims before the sheer bounce and power of his thrusts suddenly crack most of the wooden slats beneath the mattress. And even then he doesn’t stop in the slightest, only moaning a slurred “m’sorry! M’sorry, I swearrr” in response.

Pfft, Tighnari. Stupid, mean Tighnari, just thinking about him has you snarling. This forest watcher is ruthless with his reprimanding when it comes to you. “I thought I told you to keep it down” He’ll swiftly cover your mouth with his palm as he’s jackhammering into your poor pussy, proceeding to murmur grumpily about your stubborn behaviour. He likes to get you riled up with snide remarks or questions, things like “not so tough now, are we?” and “finally off your high horse?”

Sure he’s kind of an ass, but you almost always get him to let loose sooner or later. A contributor to this is the sensitivity of his ears, the sudden moans that come straight from his chest if you lean in and whisper dirty things are quite the surprise. “nngh~ hey, stop that—” he’ll flick them to bat away your touch as well, desperate to hold whatever level of power he has left over you while his cock grows impossibly harder.

If you put up with his snarky bullshit for long enough, you can have him all at your mercy. “Curse your needy little body, a-ah! M’ losing c-control…” he whines groggily from behind you, holding onto your shoulders to pull your ass flush against his hips. He fucks you so fast that the both of you genuinely have trouble staying upright and in position. He’ll even start to beg sometimes, switching up real quick because of the intensity and pleasure, “touch my ears, baby, touch my ears— huh! Yes yes yes, mmph,”.

|| || || || ||

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

politely humbly asking if is it time for nick valentine headcanons? :)))

It sure is! I absolutely adore Nick, and while I definitely understand the "peepaw" thing people seem to prescribe to him (he does certainly ooze Old Man Vibes), I think the fact that he's also incredibly sexy is sometimes overlooked. Very unfortunate about the whole "cop" thing, but hey, my guy wants for the good of society and he's a menace when I need him to be, so he's husband material to me!

Nick Valentine (FO4) Headcanons

SFW

Physiologically, he gets absolutely nothing from smoking cigarettes, but human Nick Valentine was a 1-2 pack per day smoker back in the day. Granted, only about 20% of those cigarettes are smoked from beginning to end; both then and now, they're moreso the noir version of a fidget toy, something to occupy his hands or fret away at between his teeth as it slowly smoulders away to nothing. Without access to his cigarettes, Nick doesn't necessarily get grouchy, but he does get noticeably more antsy, clearly a little uneasy and unsure what to do with his hands. Still digs into his pockets every five minutes unconsciously.

Doesn't sleep, but keeps a shaky-framed old bed in the agency's office and actually uses it. Sometimes he likes to crawl into it and lie down with his eyes closed for a while, using the quiet time to ponder things, go over evidence, study connections in his mind. He feels a bit embarrassed by it when you ask him if he ever uses the old thing, but the act is nostalgic, even a comfort on an especially bad day.

That old duster he wears means a lot to him, and helping him repair it (or even replace it if something really terrible happens to it) will earn you major points with him. Checking up on him, in general, showing concern for him and his wellbeing will do so. He isn't used to someone caring for him so much, treating him like a regular man from the jump.

Art and art history enjoyer, as well as a good opera recording from time to time. Any time he comes across any kind of art museum or a place that would have once sold or stocked holotapes, he has a look around. Usually he turns up nothing, sometimes he ends up with new holes in him, but every once in a while he sees something, scrounges something up or sees a fairly intact piece of art that reignites feelings in him that he can't quite describe.

NSFW

Nick is a patient, almost overly generous lover. In fact, you'll be hard-pressed to even get him to allow you to touch him in turn early on in your intimate relationship. He's slick about it, using the weaknesses he's discovered against you to keep pushing you to the edge over and over again until you're too exhausted to even coherently think about reciprocating. It's nothing to do with you and everything to do with the daily struggle he fights against his own self image, his own existential thoughts. He also still regularly struggles with mourning Jenny, even though she was never really his to begin with, and he knows that. Unfortunately, that knowledge doesn't stop him from hurting, and it makes it difficult for him to be vulnerable in situations like that.

You can't hide anything from the man; if you have any kinks or interests that you're sitting on for whatever reason, he will sniff them out. Doesn't matter if you find it embarrassing; whatever it is, he'll get it out of you eventually if he notices signs that you like something. It's not like you can stop your face from flushing, your heart from racing, or your panties from dampening.

The seams between the panels that make up his body are very sensitive, and once he feels comfortable enough with you that he'll open up his shirt, it will drive him absolutely crazy if you run your fingers (or tongue) very gently along them.

Practice caution, though; you can easily hurt yourself sticking your hands and fingers and other appendages into certain crevices or panels in his body, and your experimentation can quickly turn painful, ruining the mood. He hates to see you in hurting and it makes him acutely, agonizingly aware of just how inhuman his body really is. Puts quite the damper on his spirits, unfortunately.

He doesn't cum, at least not traditionally, but if you get him (literally) hot and bothered enough he can have a sort of overheating-induced power cycling that's pretty much the closest thing he has. He enjoys it, but he'll only let you get him that far if he's in one of a handful of positions, because he often goes completely lax when it happens, and his body is heavy enough to hurt you if he just falls on you.

Surprisingly dominant in bed. Well, it surprises you at first, once he lets that side of himself show, but it fits in your mind eventually. He likes rules, and he likes enforcing what happens when those rules are broken. Big fan of orgasm denial, but also a big fan of edging you until your mind nearly breaks. I mean, parts of him vibrate, and quite strongly. He will use that against you.

[haleswallows]

I will not ask where you came from (Deleted Scene)

A deleted scene for "I will not ask where you came from", my fic for Dead on May-n week. Inspired by @roanawayspoons in the HH server, where they linked this and said it's perfect for puppy!Jason.

CW: NSFW, anal sex, fingering, light pet play

Jason is excited to reveal his new helmet. He's spent a lot of time designing it, ready for a refreshing new look. It's just... a coincidence. The dog-like features. Siren lives rent free in his mind, ok? It wasn't on purpose. Jason is not responsible for his subconscious.

Siren raises an eyebrow, bright red lips pressed to disguise their smirk when Jason first shows them. Lounged on his couch, their dressing gown falls open slightly to reveal toned legs. "Oh, puppy," they demure. "You spoil me. You're so pretty with your new helmet." He can't help but preen under their praise. When they command him to his knees, he goes without single hesitation and kneels at their side. The finger under his chin has his eyes fluttering closed, and Jason obligingly tilts his head back.

“Is this way your way of making sure everyone knows?” The finger traces a line along the seam where flesh meets metal, the slightest scratch of a long nail. “You like being my puppy this much?”

Jason knows the rules. He's a good boy. “Yes.” The new voice modulator grinds the word into a rough growl. Siren does smirk then, grazing a finger over the molded fangs.

“This is very nice, perfect for my puppy.” They playfully tap the subtle snout. “Well, come on then, strip. Show me the helmet without all these distractions.”

Siren likes to tease but not be teased. He does make a show of stripping, muscles flexing and stretching. But it always goes quickly. They reel him in by the buckle while he shucks off the vest, then gloves. “Let me help. You have so many layers.”

While his arms are tangled in this shirt, Siren undoes the belt, then button, then zipper. Without pushing the pants down, Siren slides their hand between compression shorts and the outer armored layer.

“No cup? Oh puppy, did you prepare for me?” They press a finger against the rapidly hardening underside of his cock, balls drawing up with his gasp. “Am I going to find another treat?”

Jason struggles to find words. Even after months and months of this game, Siren's rules, Jason's still so responsive, left gasping. 

“Puppy?” Siren gently prompts, beginning to withdraw.

It takes a few gulps of air to get there. Jason chokes out “One more surprise.”

His efforts earn a reward. Siren wraps a hand around his dick through the soft fabric. They squeeze slightly on an upstroke, teasing the head. “Good boy. You're so good for me, and just me. Wanna show me?”

The praise makes Jason flush, reddening from chest and up his neck. His face feels warm in the helmet. “Yes,” he repeats.

Sadly it means Siren releases his cock, allowing him to toe out of the steel toed boots, unbuckle hostlers, and shove the pants down. Jason’s embarrassed for a second before the compression shorts join the mess of clothes on the floor. All it takes is a half lidded look from Siren, their eyes hungrily tracing from chest to toe, flicking back up to the helmet.

They swirl a finger lazily. Jason obeys, pausing just a moment when his back is turned. “Oh,” Siren breathes out. “Come here.”

He kneels again. Siren cups the cheek of the helmet in their hand and encourages him to prop his arms onto the couch cushion. Instinctually, Jason leans into it, missing the feel of their palm a little bit.

Siren finally sits up from their relaxed lounge, legs bracketing him. Jason's practically in their lap and fully hard now. Their other hand skates up his arm, drawing patterns into his bicep with a nail. He flexes his arms without thinking, Siren giggling. 

“That looks new. Were you excited to buy it? Couldn't wait to show me?” Siren pulls him to sit up straighter, pinches a nipple. With a gasp, Jason arches his back, sits as pretty as he can.

“Yes.” Jason was excited. Is excited, the press of the plug a little bigger than his usual preferred toy. It had taken a little effort to get it in, Jason had nearly come while fingering himself open, thoughts of Siren forefront.

“So cute,” they coo, pressing a kiss to the temple of the helmet. “It matches your helmet. You look so good in red, puppy. Now the question is do you want the toy, or me?” 

Jason shorts out for a moment. He trembles as Siren distracts him with wandering hands. As he opens his mouth, Siren pressed a kiss to his neck, scrapes teeth over the skin. Jason gasps, words flying from his head. Groans when Siren bites harder.

“Words, pretty boy.” A grin pressed into his neck, a hand reaching down his back, a barely there brush of a finger at the base of his tailbone.

He pants. Half crazy from the plug and the constant stimulation. Jason needs to be touched. “You.” His voice is strangled.

“Well, get up here. I'm not getting on the floor.”

Jason slowly crawls up, Siren directing him to lean over the armrest. He feels exposed, hemlet pressed into the fabric, arms curled under his chest. It puts him ass up, cock heavy and hanging between his thighs.

“Just look at you. Beautiful.” Siren admires, pressing a kiss to the small of his back. Jason squirms, pleased with himself and relishing the praise. Then nearly jumps out his skin when Siren suddenly grabs his balls. 

He can barely concentrate on what Siren says, focused entirely on the hand slowly kneading the sack. “I'm going to fuck you, your hands stay right there. No touching yourself, I want you to come on just my dick, Jason. Do you understand? Will you be good?”

“Yes.” He can be good. He can be so good. Something breaks in his brain a little bit, overwhelmed with the promise of being fucked, the promise of more than teasing touches. “Yes, I understand. Please, I'll be good, I'll be good. Please, Siren.”

Siren drapes over his back. A kiss to the nape of his neck gentle and soothing. “Please, what?” A finger presses on the plug, pushing the flare against the stretched rim. He pants.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please. Siren, I want your cock. Want to come for you, want to be a good boy.” The begging erupts from him, Jason wrapped up in the press of Siren's silken dressing gown all along his back, the way their legs frame his.

“Relax for me,” Siren commands, biting the juncture between neck and shoulder. Jason melts into the sharpness of the feeling, breaking through his general fog of need and arousal.

The plug slides out. For a moment, Jason is stretched too wide, too much. Then suddenly he's empty, bereft, clenching on nothing. “Oh, honey.”

A single finger slips easily in, hole still wet with the smear of lube from fingering himself. Jason's hands twitch. He clenches them, and shoves them under his chin. 

A second finger joins the first. Siren hums, slowly scissoring them. They're always so gentle with Jason, so careful as they open him up. “We need a little more lube, sweetheart.”

“Ah,” Jason twitches. It's a few heartbeats before his brain produces a coherent thought. “Pants pocket.” 

They laugh. “Of course. My clever puppy, always thinking ahead.” But it means they remove their fingers to lean for the pants, rooting around in the pockets. When Jason shivers at the loss, Siren runs a hand up his flank, presses a thumb to his hole. “Patience. Don't wanna hurt you, baby boy. You're being so good, I'm going to take care of you. You know what you get when you're good?”

Jason nods into the armrest, eyes squeezed shut. Siren removes their hand. They lightly swat his ass. “Words, puppy.”

“I get rewards.” He twists his head, getting Siren into his peripheral. Their smile is sweet, eyes crinkling with it. 

The reward is Siren pushing two lube slicked fingers into his ass. Jason groans long and shamelessly. After a few moments, Siren easily adds a third finger.

They mouth lines of kisses across the broad span of his shoulders. Fingers pump slowly in and out of his hole, a maddening pace only barely enough to keep him hard. The pads of Siren's fingers just graze his prostate every few strokes. 

Jason is melting. He's burning and panting and fighting every instinct to grip his cock. If he doesn't get more, he's going to scream. Or cry. A chant starts pouring out of him. “Siren, please. I'm ready, I want you, more, please. I… it feels so good, please, please can I…?”

Siren surges forward, pressing their weight all along his back. Their dick slots behind his balls. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You asked so nicely, it’d be mean of me to make you wait more.”

They gently remove their fingers. There's the sound of the lube opening again and Jason takes the opportunity to catch his breath. He uncurls his arms, bracing hands on the armrest. 

Then groans again at the stretch of Siren's dick pushing into him. It's slow but delicious. in all the right ways. Jason sets his hips against the push, allowing Siren to rest against him. Siren breathes out a long satisfied sigh against the top of his spine when they finally fully seat inside him. A heartbeat of stillness, Siren caresses his sides in an upward sweep. They pause to grope his pecs before slotting their hands together.

“You have no clue how good you feel, puppy.” Siren presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. With a long slow withdrawal, Jason squeezes their hands. He knows what’s next. He’s been a good boy. They pull out until the ridge of their cock head pulls at the rim. The thrust is hard, driving Jason’s breath out.

Siren’s pace is cruel. Each thrust hard, but just shy of fast enough. Jason writhes under it. He hangs his head, lifts it again, clenches his hands and thighs in turn, arching his back. All the while, his cock and balls ache. Jason needs more, certain a single touch would put him over the edge but Siren keeps a hold of his hands. The sound of their fucking is obscene, and if Jason had even an of sanity to spare, he’d be a ashamed of the continual whine and gasps and mewls he’s making.

It’s obvious when Siren starts to get close. They release Jason’s hands to pull his hips closer, encouraging him to sit up. Impossibly it drives their cock deeper. Siren noses against his neck. “Beautiful and you don’t even realize, god you feel so good. You don’t know what you do to me, puppy. It’s like you were made for me. Can you come without me touching you today?” Every word brings heat to Jason’s chest, he shudders.

And they wrap a hand around the base of his neck, the barest hint of pressure against his throat. Jason comes, losing his voice as pleasure rips through him. Siren keeps up the brutal pace, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Good boy. You’re so good for me, you’re perfect. Stay just like that, puppy.” Strong arms keep him upright, the thrust not stuttering. Jason gets lost in it – the haze of endorphins and praise. Beyond all reason, Jason gets hard again. “Look at you. Filthy, you like it that much? Oh puppy, are you going to come again for me? Can you?”

Siren presses him into the couch, bending him forward until the helmet meets cushion. Jason’s hips tilt and then he’s seeing stars with each thrust. He scrabbles against the fabric, trying to gain purchase to push back. “Right there, huh. You’ve been marvelous. I’m so close, puppy.”

They pant against his shoulder. “Come. Come, Jason.” The command is paired with a hand on his cock, stroking in time with the thrusts. “You can do it, puppy. Beautiful boy.” 

It isn’t Jason’s first dry orgasm. It definitely won’t be his last. Still it shocks Jason, amazed by the way it rocks through him and makes his toes curl. He clenches and finally Siren’s hips stutter. Warmth of a different sort fills him, and Jason swears his dick twitches as if inspired to try for a third.

Time gets a little fizzy for Jason as he focuses on catching his breath, only gasping once Siren pulls out. Sensation slowly returns to his numb limbs. “Careful, honey bee. There you go,” Siren coos gently, guiding Jason to lay on his side. “There’s a wet spot there. We made a mess, huh. You stay put.”

Vaguely, he hears the padding of feet. He concentrates on wiggling his fingers and then toes. “You want this off? Oh babe, you must be boiling in there.” Jason obligingly rolls his head so Siren can access the release on the back. The rush of cool air is a relief, he barely noticed how warm he was. 

Jason hums, cracking an eye open when Siren begins combing fingers through his sweaty hair. “You poor thing, you’re drenched. Wanna get showered?” Absolutely not. The thought of getting up just then is abhorrent, so Jason shakes his head. “No words right now? That’s ok, puppy. Let me get you a little cleaned up and a towel down. Will you have some water for me?”

The washcloth is warm on his skin. When Siren finishes, they press a kiss to his hip bone. He sits up just long enough to drain most of a glass of water. Flopping onto his back, Jason sprawls across the couch.

“Scooch, how am I supposed to cuddle you if there’s no room?” Jason squints at them, but doesn't move. “It's like you think this will stop me.”

They clamber onto him, slotting themselves between his legs to fold arms over his chest. “It's like you think this wasn't my plan,” Jason comments. As Siren settles, he loops his arms around their back.

There's blissful silence for about three seconds. Siren wiggles. “Hey, you ever thought about soaking? Cock warming?”

Jason groans, and not in pleasure. No, he hasn't. But now he is… and, huh. That's new. He considers it, finds he might like that.

“You'd be so cute stuffed with my cock for hours. We could get a mirror for the bedroom, make it so you can see. Your asshole is amazing. You'd be a great cock warmer.” 

When Jason doesn't answer, Siren pauses. “We don't have to. You know my rules, no means –.”

“No, I know. I'm not saying no. Just… give me a few days?” Siren smothers a smile.

“Of course. We can make a whole thing of it. Let me spoil you. Buy us dinner, get some sweet treats, something nice for a bath after. Yeah? Sound good?” They beam at him, and Jason is hopeless.

“You've ruined me.” It makes them laugh, bright and happy. “How are you always like this? You have too much energy.”

They hum, kiss his pec. “Can't help it. Hey, you patrolling tonight?”

Maybe if he could feel his legs. “Nah, I'll do gear and weapons maintenance.”

“Good, you deserve the rest. Want me to grab something to eat when I'm done?” They idly trace a scar on his bicep. “I can even get you some of those disgusting chili dogs.”

“Disgusting, they say. As if you didn't text me last week to beg for four of them.”

They flap hands vaguely in his face, shooing away the teasing remark. “Wait! If I do a seance for Nana Franny again, do you think she’ll make me more birria?”

Jason catches their hands, smoothes a thumb over the bare nails. “Nah, she called yesterday. Her oven is acting up. I’ll go fix it and then we’ll be birria rich.” Siren gasps.

“It’s fate! Hey, wanna pick a couple colors for my nails? You have a good eye. Don’t just pick reds though, puppy.” A phone, lodged somewhere in the couch, starts ringing. Siren surges up for a kiss, digging it from between the armrest and cushion at the same time. “And now I have to start getting ready.”

When Jason bench presses by their hips, Siren makes an appreciative ‘ooh’. Mostly Jason does it to avoid their flailing limbs, and inevitable elbow to the solar plexus he always gets when Siren scrambles off his chest.

“You stay put, puppy. Rest. Drink lots of water.” They pat his chest, then trot down the hall. “Wait, have you ever thought about shibari?”

“Stop it!”

[cassieuncaged]

The Price of Compassion - Part 2

Part 1

Astarion x Female Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to keep you at an arm's length. However, your wit and kindness are overpowering.

TW: suggestive material, brooding, language (?), etc.

WC: 2.2K

A/N: Listen, I got carried away. The spiciness will be in the next chapter. Maybe the next two chapters actually because this story got slightly extended. Oops...

Also decided to use 'Down by the River' as an in universe lullaby because it's such a lovely composition.

Twigs snapped beneath pointed boots as Astarion wandered to a nearby clearing. Past the ruins south of camp, he thought he’d have an advantage over the naïve bard or at least the foresight to arrive at the clearing first to get rather comfortable.

Such a thought is dashed away as pointed ears are graced by elegant strings, plucked slowly and sensibly before a melodic voice accompanies the tune.

“Lace your heart with mine

Let your sleeping soul take flight

Take me through the night

Down, down, down by the river.”

Cocking his head in curiosity, Astarion soaks in the beauty of your words, contemplating his own loneliness for a second before such thoughts are swallowed. A damned bard will not be allowed to cut him to the bone, nerves and sinews be damned.

No matter how prettily a yarn can be woven into song.

“Hanging moon in fog

Mists will lead where you belong

Sweep me off my feet

Down, down, down by the river.”

“And I thought I was eager.” He coos, sidling beside the gnarled log which you’ve sought purchase upon. Clearly rattled by the intrusion, the fiddle’s bow is raised as a rather embarrassing weapon, earning and amused chuckle as it’s lowered. “What are you going to do? Strum me to death?”

“Strummed taut and keening…” you string words together smarmily, noticing how an ashen brow arches in amusement. “Muscles tight and sweat gleaming…”

“My, my,” Astarion hums, before perching himself beside you. “I may have misread my sweet little bard for a far too delicate treat.”

“We entertainers are fans of debauchery, after all.” Heat rises up your cheeks, stoking the fire that already burns brightly inside your guts. Settling your violin aside, eyes drift to find Astarion’s own glued distantly to the low hanging moon. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

“Maybe that’s because I arrived at a reasonable time,” he smirks, gaze never tearing from the inky canvas of sky. “It appears you couldn’t wait for such a coupling.”

“Maybe the Tieflings were gnawing at my nerves, and I needed an early escape.” Chewing the inside of your lip, the nerves become palpable like a storm of moths fluttering in your guts. You want him, badly. But it appears that such a neediness isn’t reciprocated. Quite the opposite as the vampire folds into himself, suddenly lacking the confidence he so often exudes.

“I’d be inclined to believe you if you weren’t obnoxiously performing with sweet Alfira only hours earlier.”

“Well,” you begin before clearing your throat, feeling more and more exposed the longer you sit with him like this.

“Well ‘what’?” suddenly, icy fingers are twining with your own as you chance a peek upwards. Eyes glitter like rubies, heavy lidded with wanton anticipation. It appears that confidence has returned in droves despite how guarded he is. “You’ve rather piqued my interest, darling.”

“I-I…” your words trail off as the vampire leans in, hand still knotted with your own. Your stuttered breathing rattles in his ears, blood thrumming deliciously beneath feverish skin. Cheeks are tinted with a flush of pink as your lips remain open, parted deliciously. “I think I’d like you to kiss me.”

“Oh, sweet pet,” he tuts, opposite hand snaking around to tilt your chin upwards. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It’s odd when lush lips meet yours, devoid of all warmth as his tongue swipes against the seam of a tightly sealed mouth. But you comply, grappling with the ruffles of his tunic. The laces are loosened, revealing a plane of muscled skin beneath that you deign to run your teeth across.

The coolness of his visage isn’t as strange as you’d assume, absorbing your warmth as if it were his own. Sharp cheeks would likely be flushed pink if anything other than putrid sludge pumped through his veins. Yet Astarion remains painfully rigid as you melt into his delectable touch. Restraining himself emotionally becomes a physical strain when a smooth tongue dutifully slides across your own, caressing soft gums before retreating.

You pull away, realizing that the motions are simply being glided through instead of savored out of unbridled passion. Being starved for so long leaves you craving more. A palm flattens across a solid chest as your own heaves breathlessly.

“Something wrong?” his chin tilts sideways with the confusion of a man who’s never known rejection. “Having second thoughts?”

“No,” your head shakes as lips stretch into a saccharine smile, “You’re rather talented with that silver tongue.”

“Why don’t I show you just how talented I am?” A muscular arm snakes around your waist, closing the gap between you as fangs graze across the tender flesh of your throat.

“Astarion,” you half moan, half plead. “I can’t help but think you’re having second thoughts.”

Such an accusation takes the vampire by surprise, lips frozen against hot flesh. His autonomy has been an afterthought for nearly two centuries, wants and desires swallowed whole while fresh blood was sought for such a treacherous master. Pulling back, he studies you, clearly irritated as brows furrow deeply.

“What in the hells are you talking about? I’m here aren’t I?” This is the second time you’ve seen him helpless in the moonglow. The other was the first night he’d fed on you, frightened and calculating as a creature who had known cruelty for too long, fear settled deep into aching bones.

“Physically, yes,” you ease out the words carefully, sensing the already taut tension tightening further, “But mentally…You’re restrained.”

“It’s my body needed to grant you pleasure.” He growls, eyes glowing like embers of a flame. “Is it not?”

“You seem rather skilled where sex is concerned, Astarion. Surely you know it’s not only about bodily instinct?”

“I-erm…” his voice trails off immediately as a storm brewed behind wine red irises. He doesn’t know. Not completely. His past has been a veritable parade of lovers that craved to feel his body pinned against their own. It had all been mechanical in nature, pure impulse. “Forgive me.”

“Maybe I’m rather old fashioned,” you sigh, awkwardly running your fingers through your hair, “But I always thought of sex as an excuse to truly get lost in someone, body and soul. Isn’t that why you invited me out here?”

“Precisely,” Pearly teeth are tightly clenched, fangs glinting the words tumbled in his brain with a wave of confusion. After nearly two hundred years without any questions concerning his prowess or intentions, it’s you that has to make it complicated. You who has the audacity to want more when all he’s searching for is protection. You who wants to…love him?

That’s unlikely though he figures the prospect would appeal to someone like you. So sweet and emotional. How on earth could you ever fall for a wretched beast like him?

Now he wonders when he last physically enjoyed himself. He wracks his mind for one memory, a lone night in the blur of many that he was concerned about his own ecstasy, enjoyment in the arms of another. But there’s nothing but a black abyss.

“Damn you,” he hisses, pulling away completely before cradling his face in large hands, “This was supposed to be simple! Charming you, seducing you, earning your trust and keeping the spoils for myself. Leave it to the pretty little bard to complicate it all.”

“What are you talking about?” Blinking hard, you’re baffled by what he could possibly be talking about. Was this all a farce? Some cruel prank at your expense? Did he even like you?

“No one has ever burrowed their way under my skin quite like you.” He spits with no small amount of vitriol. “What an irritating, caring being you are! Why are you always so gods damned considerate?”

“I-I-I…” you stutter, watching as Astarion bounces up onto the balls of his feet before marching off with no small amount of aggravation. “Wait!”

Plucking your nearly forgotten fiddle in one hand, booted feet are quick to weave through a sparse throng of trees, following the blur of white and silver as Astarion continues an angst driven trek further into the forest. The splash of running water against rocks and pebbles grows louder when you realize he’s stopped at a lush bank beside a sprawling river. Likely the one that spills into the lake cradling the peninsula where camp is situated.

Astarion allows himself to settle against dewy blades of grass with a huff as you silently follow in suit. The stream rushes downward, rivulets of foam gathering as it does. It’s likely one of many veins that eventually curls into Chionthar River. Eyes glisten at the thought of jumping in to see if you’ll silently drift to Baldur’s Gate. For lack of a better word, this ‘adventure’ has made you homesick. Idly plucking at the strings of your violin, you imagine the many you’ll be able to write upon your return.

“That song you were playing earlier.” Astarion’s voice is hardly a whisper when he suddenly addresses you. “Did you write it?”

“No,” You smirk wryly, “All I’m capable of writing is a rather bawdy ballad and remembering rather tragic songs from my youth, I’m afraid. My mother sang it to me when I was a wee babe.”

“You’ve quite the pretty singing voice,” he quips haughtily, easing back into his comfortable façade. “Maybe one day you’ll write an epic of a rather debonaire vampire spawn.”

“Do you mock me?” Eyes squint suspiciously as you attempt to discern his formidable cruelty.

“If I was mocking you, darling,” lush lips quirk into smarmy grin, “You’d know.”

“Maybe I’ll compose a tune about what a rotten horse’s arse you are.” This earns a genuine chuckle as Astarion stretches out, legs akimbo across the sod as he leans back on his elbows. He looks genuinely…relaxed. Has he come to trust your intentions in such a short time?

“Doubt you’d be the first. I’ve been a roguish fiend for centuries now; I’m absolutely positive I’ve pissed off a rather creative bard or two. Feisty little shits. No offense.”

“None taken,” you giggle, “It’s what keeps us alive and others on their fucking toes. Being a performer isn’t a simple task in the Faerûn. We boast flutes instead of swords, a quick wit instead of quick feet. If we weren’t feisty little shits, we’d have gone extinct long ago.”

“Excellent prey for vampiric spawn,” he sighs bitterly, lost in those dark and swirling thoughts once more, “Then again, so is anything else with a pulse.”

Silently, you ease down into the grass, dew drops prickling against your doublet. A pregnant silence lingers as your eyes drift across stars freckling the sky in sparkling pinpricks. You want to inquire about the protection Astarion seeks. Surely he doesn’t think you’d be any match for Cazador.

What do you offer other than a crude joke tossed at an enemy in hopes of distracting them during battle?

“What do you want?” you look over at the man, skin shimmering like moonstones. Silver waves of hair curl around pointed hair and the corner of lips tug downwards.

“I want to be present,” his voice is heavy with emotion, deeper than his usual timbre. Moonlight splinters through the canopy of trees, giving him a lustrous shine. His tunic billows in the heady breeze, laces undone as you chance another peek at his chest. “Though I fear that may be an impossibility.”

“I’d never push you to participate in any relations…” your voice trails off as ruby eyes shutter, a sigh wracking his body.

“Gods,” A large hand slides down the sharp angles of a statuesque face, “Stop caring. You hardly know anything about me.”

“Maybe I should leave,” you finally concede, attempting to crawl to your feet until icy fingers wrap around your wrist. It’s a silent plea, one that’s only solidified when dark eyes meet your own.

“Please,” his mask has completely dissolved, lips parted ever so slightly. “I enjoy your company. Even if you frighten me.”

“I frighten you?”

“Don’t sound shocked,” he pouts, thumb running circles around a tantalizing pulse point. “You’re more terrifying than what awaits us in the Underdark. Your words bite into my throat like a blade.”

“You would know,” his grip tightens, “Would you like me to rip your innards out with razor sharp talons? Like a fearsome harpy?”

“What lovely pillow talk,” he coos. Astarion grins wolfishly before swiftly covering your body with his own. The motions are ingrained in the folds of his brain, deeper than the wriggling tadpole. But something feels different. This doesn’t erase the past but you soften the moment with sincerity.

You crave him, a sensation that’s sensed through the illithid connection.  

“I’d sing your praises if you shower me with those lovely lips.” You croon as your thumbs rub circles into his shoulders, fingers drifting across the ruffles of his tunic. Lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums. The words are a riddle that serve as another cryptic flourish about his personality.

“And I’ll sing yours if you spread those pretty little legs,” his knee hooks beneath yours, pushing it upwards as you arch against him.

Astarion wants to devour you whole and you’ll let him.

Willingly.

Hungrily.

[obihoebikenobi]

Poolverine Series: to gain true love, one must first lose their wolvirginity, i don't make the rules

By: obihoebikenobi, 23.6K as of September 13th, 2024

It's a love story baby just get fucked. Logan and Wade's love story, written in somewhat disconnected parts.

I descended into Poolverine hell and wrote a 20K and counting series about these two fuckers. Featuring: softness, migraines, love confessions, domesticity, and fucking. All that good shit.

See summaries, relevant tags, ratings, and links to all fics on ao3 below.

PART 1: i wanna hold your hand (and colossal dick, eventually), 3.5K

Rating: M

Tags: alcohol withdrawl, vomiting, literally sharing a bed, bathing/washing

“Fuck you, Wade.” “If only,” Wade said, trailing a finger over a seam on the quilt with feigned yearning, “I long for the day you allow me the pleasure of ravishing your raw skin-saber, maybe with a side of penetration–” “The only thing I’ll be penetrating is your eye sockets with these,” Logan flashed his claws, “If you so much as speak to me while we are still in this bed tomorrow morning.” “Joke's on you, I will gladly and enthusiastically take any form of penetration, in existing or fresh new holes, as long as it’s from you, Peanut.” Logan’s head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from Wade’s persistent blabbering, or the fact that the last of the alcohol was wearing off. “Go the fuck to sleep.” Logan downed the last sip of vodka and willed his body to cooperate. Withdrawal was a bitch. (one pull-out couch, two bitches, vomiting, and the works, now with fucking in part two!)

PART 2: a little bit more than hand holding, 2.7K

Rating: E

Tags: wade is obsessed with dicks, bottom wade, little bit of praise kink, logan just wants a kissi

“Oh so that’s your horny face then? Watery eyes, clenched teeth? Nothing hotter than a tortured poet with a heart of gold who cries during sex.” “Wade–” “If that’s horny I’d love to see your O-face–” Wade threw an arm over his forehead, gasping. “Can you just shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, asshole?” Logan dared a sharp glance in Wade’s direction, finding him sitting perfectly still with a pleasant smile painted across his face. The smug piece of shit knew Logan wanted him. Logan cleared his throat, “Now that I have your attention,” he started, earning a snort from Wade, “So we’re clear, the more words that come out of your mouth, the more likely I’m going to sleep early and no one's getting fucked.”   (wade loses his wolvirginity)

PART 3: lesser of two evils, right?, 7.5K

Rating: E

Tags: sub logan (kinda), crying during sex, soft, rimming, angst, praise kink

“When you’re done being a bitter little bitch, I’m offering you a massage, of the non-dick variety. Because I am a nice person.” It was, indeed, surprisingly nice. Logan stared at him, hating himself for actually wanting the fucking massage, because he sure as shit shouldn’t have wanted it. “I’m going to take that blank, lifeless stare as a hell yeah. So take off your shirt and come with daddy,” Wade pointed toward the bedroom expectantly, lips drawn into a wide smile. “Don’t call yourself that again. Ever.” What a little shit. (logan gets migraines, but also gets a massage, and an orgasm. it's a lot.)

PART 4: holding hands (gone sexual), 5.3K

Rating: E

Tags: discussion of consent and logan's past issues, insecure logan, bottom logan, domestic fluff, love confessions, praise kink

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Oh for fuck’s sake. Logan probably shouldn’t have stopped considering throwing himself in a meat grinder– “Have I died in my sleep? Is this yet another whimsical dream where I have a house husband to take care of my every need and whim whilst I labor away every fucking single day, with so little appreciation, just to feed our child–” “Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered, feeling the stain of red warmth over his cheeks. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve this, Peanut, but I am so fucking turned on right now. I might come in my pants. That happens when people are nice to me.” “Wade, it’s waffles–” “Don’t be a kink-shamer, baby girl. Benevolence and breakfast foods get me going. Don’t even get me started on sausages.” (logan explores his feelings with wade, makes waffles for wade, gets fucked by wade, falls in love...with wade)

PART 5: and they were boyfriends (and roomates), 4.4K

Rating: E

Tags: love confessions, insecure logan, drinking to cope, angst and hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

“I’m good.” For whatever reason, Wade apparently took that as an invitation to sit down next to him, and Logan growled, moving over so they weren’t touching. Wade shivered, scoffing at him, and kicking Logan’s foot. “Clearly not, Peanut. You’ve smoked a week’s wage of cigs in three hours and I’m fairly certain you’re still not unfucked up from all that cheap-ass donkey piss you call whiskey.” Logan was seconds, maybe milliseconds, from punching him in the fucking face–with claws–but he held back, knowing Wade only thrived on retaliation. “What’s it matter to you?” The words felt sour on his tongue and he practically spat them in Wade’s direction. “Well,” Wade took a deep breath, “I’m probably the reason–scratch that–I’m definitely the reason you’re clearly not good.” (wade takes a mid love-confession job, logan drinks about it. cue angst. subsequently, boyfriendship.)

[pininghermit]

A Good Boy in Need is a Good Boy Indeed

Pairing: Sub Alucard x GN Reader

Warning: Minors do not interact. Please. (Pet play, collars, NSFW stuff in general)

AN: Prompted by a depraved friend of mine. P.S. writing smut after a long while spare me people of tumblr.

"Have you been good my darling mutt?" You purr cradling Adrian's chin in the palm of your hand. Your smirk languidly leaning back into your chair. Enjoying the beseeching look in your dearest’s eyes. 

It had been hours perhaps. You could not remember, you were sure Adrian couldn’t either. It was all just a long blurr of waiting for him. Kneeling by your feet, his head bowed in submission that was hard to attain on most days. It had to be the week long of absence that your work had kept you from him. That must have broken the usual pride your beloved clutched so close to his heart.

Much to your delight your beloved leans his face into your palm, his bound hands twitching to be released. To touch, to be touched, to feel, to map each other’s body with tips of fingers, kiss of lips, licks of tongue. Adrian had been craving it since you walked in.

So taken by the idea that even mournful whimpers you were greeted with have left him at this point of your long night of this wicked game. His begging look almost breaks your resolve to drag this out more. So you let your hands wander in his locks. Threading your fingers through his Sun kissed hair as he hisses with delight inching closer, his face resting on your thigh. “Will you not answer me pet?” You ask him ignoring his warm breath next to your crotch. “Tell me have you a good boy in my absense?” Your thumb presses into his bottom lip as a sense of impatience tugs at your nerves.

Without a wait Adrian opens his mouth allowing your thumb to caress his tongue, leaving him further incapable of answering. Among your administrations of tracing his fangs Adrian resorts to a simple nod to answer your question. His hair tantalizingly brushes against your flexed thighs making your other hand grip his hair harder. 

You resist the urge to pull him up and devour every last fragment of your beloved. To grant him more than the cold fabric of your pants, where he has draped his body to get closer to you. Yet, his flushed panting face stops you. Haste would spoil the fruit you both were to savor. 

The sight of watching your beloved bloom with the flush of a rose after long winter. Watching his eyes loose focus, his sweet pleas, this mouth watering scent… who were you to stop your darling from unraveling so wonderfully. 

It was boon granted after a long penance of earning his trust. Of Adrian going beyond his fears to allow himself to be this vulnerable with you. 

Instead, your hands travel lower mapping the unmarred skin of his neck, hooking your fingers on the warm leather collar you pull his mouth closer to where you wanted it. The hitch in his breath a good enough sign until a soft moan accompanies it to make you grin wider. 

You watch in fascination as his entire body tightens by a simple pull of your fingers. “Then I must test how much patience my beloved puppy learned in my absence.” You whisper although you doubt any of it reaches your beloved, who by now was soaking your pants with the wet kisses he trails down your thighs. Going as far as to tug the seams with his fangs. 

You would have pulled him back were you not busy pulling him closer. Your hands intertwine themselves with his hair intending to pull him apart but all thoughts leave your mind as his kisses move closer to your groin. 

Your thighs wrapping around his head as your arch back into a groan. One look at his reverent face and your will collapses no better than a house of cards. 

“Fine ha,” you mutter between your gasps of pleasure. “Have it your way darling mutt.” Your eyes roll back when the man on his knees laps his wet tongue against you.

[talesofmuscles]

Payday

Nick Walker rushes home from the gym, barely dressed up, as his burglar alarm alerts him of a stranger in his house. He hastily gets out of his car and locks before entering the house. He sees that his backdoor has been broken and there’s footprints leading to his office. Trying to be as sneaky as his body allows him to, Nick walks to the office just to see a thief barely able to reach his prized golden trophy. Not to let someone touch his hard-earned prize, Nick jumps onto the thief and tackles the small man.

“Oh no you don’t buddy,” Nick says as he easily subdues the small thief under his weight and size, “I don’t like it when people steal my stuff.”

“Get off me you roid ape,” the thief squeals as his tiny thin body wiggles around, “let me go.”

“Not a chance,” Nick says as he presses his body harder onto the thief, “do you think I’m going to let you freely take my things?”

“Yes you will,” the thief says with conviction and confidence, “I’m going to take all your shits until you have nothing left.”

Nick is surprised about how sure the man is. “I’m going to just tie you up then,” he is interrupted when he feels something jab his stomach, “what the hell?”

Looking down, Nick sees the thief punch his rock hard stomach with a ring. Nick doesn’t know if he should laugh or question the tiny man's decision. Something about the little man's action seems confident and strange. Then Nick could feel a bit of a tingle on his stomach, like a tiny itchy feeling. The itch slowly spreads around his abdominal area until it creeps outward onto his pectorals, arms, neck and down to his legs. After the itch has spread, Nick feels a painful and major cramp all around his body. It feels like all of his muscles decide to contract at the same time. The force is so hard he knocks him back and puts him on the floor. The thief chuckles as he steps on Nick with his scrawny leg like he just successfully conquered the big man. Nick feels the man's legs get heavy as his muscle loses its mass and size. His pecs push themselves down as they flatten. His roid gut deflates like a balloon as his hard abs soften out. His shoulder narrows out to make his frame look even smaller. Those tree trunk legs would soon become nothing but pathetic twigs. Worst of all, Nick could feel his cock and balls lose their virility. His once majestic bulge that would push his shorts and undergarments to their limit is nothing more but limped nubs. Nick squirms on the floor as the once giant bodybuilder is now nothing but a tiny twiggy man drowning under his own clothes.

The thief, meanwhile, feels his body charges up with energy. All the strength rushes into his small and frail body. His bony legs start to swell up as muscles build upon themselves. The newly grown weight and size of his legs and feet cause the thief to momentarily lose his balance and stumble backward. As he falls, his butts bubble out and act like a giant muscle cushion to break his fall. When he lands, the power rushes forward. His pants, which are not barely holding onto its seams, bursts as his cock gets hard and girthy. His tiny balls inflate and droop down with fertile weight. The thief can feel his guts bubbling up as layers of strong muscles and fat build up. At first, he can see visible deep abs but his stomach soon puffs up like a balloon, leaving it a circular hard gut. The long sleeve shirt that the thief is wearing stretches with the roid gut but it would stretch even more as his flat chest starts to melon up. The thief arches upward and then down as his back muscles plump up. The sleeves of his shirt explode as his arms expand. His biceps and triceps grow and tear apart every inch of the sleeve until his shirt is a mere rag. His neck thickens as the surges travel upward. His honey face soon restructures to have perfect square jaws and a sharp chin. Finally, his frame stretches out to balance his height and thickness.

The now naked muscled thief stands up and is awed by his new body. He flexes his body and tries to kiss his bicep but his muscular shoulders make it almost impossible. Nick slowly wakes up from the daze and is shocked to see the giant man in front of him. Nick is even more mortified as he sees his body become so frail that his clothes feel heavy.

“Now if you excuse me,” the thief laughs as he easily reaches Nick’s trophy and puts it in his bag, “I have a payday to celebrate.”

“Wait you can’t do this,” Nick's voice has become pitchy.

“Or what?” the thief grabs Nick’s clothes and drops the tiny man on the ground. He is having a hard time tucking his erection correctly between the shorts, “you going to stop me?”

Nick trembles on the floor thinking of what he can do as the thief laughs. The thief gets dressed and grabs some more stuff before leaving.

“See you never, shrimp,” the thief says as he drives off.

Nick is still frightened and confused about what just happened. He sits naked and shook on the floor and just hopes it is just a nightmare. Realizing he might catch a cold or someone would see him like this, Nick decides to stand up to close the door and put up any old clothes he has. Before shutting the door, Nick notices a glowing ring at the steps. Realizing it is the ring that the thief used to do the trickery, Nick chuckles a bit and puts it on.

“No, today is my payday,” Nick remarks.

//Special story for @brandedx2. Thank you for your support!

[akaibaras-yearning]

Chapter I: Whispers of Blue

Everything is blue His pills, his hands, his genes And now I'm covered in the colors Pulled apart at the seams And it's blue And it's blue

~Halsey: Colors

Warnings: feelings.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･･:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ.･*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･･*:.｡. .｡ .:*･゜ﾟ･*

She collapsed onto the unforgiving ground, the echoes of her labored breaths mixing with the collective exhaustion of her classmates. Every inch of her body seemed to protest aching in places she didn’t even know could ache, the sweat clinging uncomfortably to her skin, marking the effort she had exerted. Yaga-sensei made sure that they knew that he would, in fact, not be holding back on their physical training. 

At least it was their last class of the day. With eyes closed, she allowed herself to indulge in the anticipation of a really, really, really good scrubbing in the shower, she might even have enough energy left to lose herself in a trashy romance book before she passes out on her bed.  

As she summoned the courage to lift her heavy eyelids, she was met not by the comforting embrace of twilight or the soothing warmth of a setting sun. Instead, her gaze collided with an overpowering shade of blue that seemed to engulf her in its depths. It was a soul-crushing hue, one that left her feeling adrift in an ocean of emotions she struggled to comprehend.

 She felt like she was drowning.. She didn’t even get to process what exactly she was looking at. The sky? No. For a moment, she felt as though she was drowning in that azure abyss, lost in a sea of emotions she couldn't quite comprehend. The sky seemed insignificant compared to the presence that loomed over her.

Her eyes traced the contours of circular, pitch-black glasses, and in that instant, a name echoed in her mind like a forbidden word, 

“Gojo-senpai.”

Her upperclassman smirked, drawing back from invading her personal space, leaning back to his full height, “Alright, stand down Shoko. She’s still alive!”

How long did she analyze his face exactly? In that fleeting second, it was like she stood at the edge of a cosmic pause button, where time took a breather and everything faded except for the captivating depth of those eyes. Heat began to creep up her neck as she accepted the hand offered to her by Haibara. Geto-senpai gave them an apologetic and reassuring smile, a hand comfortably resting inside his pocket and the other offering the girl a bottle of water which she took gratefully, muttering a polite “thanks”.

“That Yaga is really good at breaking the freshman’s spirits.”

The white-haired teen snickered, “You all did better than Utahime, though. I heard she actually cried during her first physical training.”

“It’s Utahime-senpai to you!” The miko-wearing woman quickly retaliated, fists bunched on her sides. “And big talk coming from the cocky bastard who got one-upped by a stuffed bear!”

“That was a one-time thing!”

(Y/n) can’t help but quietly laugh at their banter, her gaze turning curious at her senpai’s words which Shoko seemed to observe, explaining further.

“The idiot was so cocky that he actually dropped his Infinity for a moment, and the Cursed toy wasted no time giving him a much-earned uppercut.”

Geto laughed heartily, as if reliving the memory in his head, much to Gojo’s dismay, “And ever since then, Satoru always has his Infinity up. What a pushover.”

“I’m cautious, there’s a difference!” Gojo tried to explain, however it all fell into deaf ears as the giggles spread among the small group.

Their whining senpai sighed in resignation, pushing up his chest even though his pale cheeks were dusted in pink, “I was gonna be a good senpai and all ya’ know, I was gonna treat my adorable kouhais with some tasty ice pops, but..” He clicked his tongue.

Haibara was quick to act on his feet, singing praises as he began to massage the taller man’s shoulders, “The great Gojo Satoru! How generous, how powerful, how handsome!”

Just like that, his air of confidence was restored, hands on his hips and nose in the air, “Ah, I see you recognize true value. This is why you’re my favorite kouhai, Haibara!”

His statement was punctuated with haughty laughs, basking in Haibara’s praises.

“What a pathetic man, honestly.” Utahime deadpanned before she ushered the other students to exit the training grounds. “Let’s go.. before we get infected. Idiocy is contagious after all.” A collective laugh echoed again amidst the group of sorcerers, their miko-wearing senpai ushering them to the nearest convenience store. And even with his proclamation earlier, Gojo still ended up paying for the whole lot, Shoko and Geto wouldn't have let him do otherwise anyways. 

The girl lagged behind once the group began to distribute the cold treats, seemingly satisfied with watching the dynamic between her schoolmates. Looking at the blue raspberry popsicle in her hand, she wondered why every shade of blue that isn’t his eyes feels so wrong now. Like every other shade is just a poor imitation. And the blue that’s so selfishly always encased behind pitch-black glasses is the only shade of that color worth seeing.

She then felt silly and apologized to the popsicle for demeaning it in her head. And then thanking it for the cold satisfaction that’d spread within her once she tasted it. 

“Good, huh?” Haibara chuckled, purposely lagging behind and falling into step with her. 

“All things taste better when it’s free.” She was quick to retort, enjoying the sweetness of the popsicle. 

Her classmate’s eyes seemed to smile in tandem with his lips as an easy laugh fell from them, “Man, how crazy is it to be friends with the strongest sorcerer in this generation? Feels like a fever dream.”

She meets his gaze with a faint smile, her reserve momentarily melting away under the warmth of his laughter, “It’s.. definitely interesting. Seems like something we’re not allowed to do, for me.”

The blonde in front of them let out a soft disgruntled groan, “I’m disappointed. I thought that person would at least have some decorum. But this..” Nanami’s sentence trailed off just for them to hear their senpai’s, 

“Oh yeah? You don’t think I can’t finish two popsicles in one go? Do you know who you’re talkin’ too?”

Said senpai then proceeded to engulf two popsicles in his mouth, scuffing the treats down while sporting an absurdly exaggerated expression of determination, as if he were conquering the greatest challenge of his life.

The freshmen’s smiles fell flat, well at least (Y/n) and Haibara’s did. Nanami’s already displeased face just deepened with a twitch of his eye. “The whole of the Jujutsu World rests on his shoulders? I think the Gods have abandoned us.”

They silently watched the Satoru Gojo scarf down the frozen treats. Rose’s own popsicle nearly consumed, she propped the remaining chunk of it in her mouth, a boisterous laugh echoing in front of them as their pearly-haired senpai pointed condescendingly at his friends. 

“I proved your asses wrong and won more treats. I just can’t stop winning, honestly.”

He spoke as though he bore the weight of his own greatness, flashing the two finished popsicle sticks that were both faintly engraved with the word ‘winner’.

At the same time, while their other senpais threw their protests, she had finished her own treat, pulling it out of her mouth, Haibara was already broadcasting it before she was even finished with reading the engraving. “Oh! (Y/n)’s a winner, too!” Their Geto-senpai snickered, “Would you look at that? Looks like you ain’t anything special anymore, Satoru.”

Unperturbed, even with his sunglasses, everyone saw him rolling his eyes, “Hah? That is just factually incorrect. And I won two. I don’t wanna hear anymore from you losers.”

He then made a particularly derisive face holding an ‘L’ sign on his forehead. The rest just watched in amusement as they could practically see the tick on the Curse Manipulator’s forehead. But even before Geto could retort,

The girl blinked as she was quite literally swept away with a heavy arm on her shoulders, expensive perfume, with primary notes of pine and mint, assaulting her nostrils.

“Sorry, I can’t hear ya. The winners are gon’get their rewards. You losers just stay put, now.”

She was sure she heard multiple popsicle sticks zoom their way, she craned her neck over his arm to look behind, seeing the wooden sticks stopping mid-air from hitting him and then falling listlessly on the pavement. The girl didn’t say anything but her senpai replied anyway, 

“Neat party trick, right?” Frustration filled her as she once again felt that strange sensation of being tongue-tied as she tried to answer, her eyes tracing that dimpled smirk over and over. Her inadequacy didn’t seem to faze the man beside her as he let his arm fall away from her shoulder. Only then did she feel her face cool down. Meaning.. it was hot before? Her body is very confusing today. 

Oblivious to the girl’s inner musings, the taller man began to talk as they made their way back to the konbini, popsicle sticks in hand.  It amazed her just how good he was with making one-sided conversations, his questions were mostly rhetorical, answering them himself before she could even open her mouth. 

So she simply nodded her head along, opting to observe the literally suffocating presence beside her. Men and women, people in between, of all ages stared as they walked by. Of course, they were staring at him. Besides his obvious deviation from the common local features, the way he walked just screamed: dominance. Each step was a declaration, a proclamation of his superiority, and the world seemed to bend to accommodate his presence.

Even with her own knowledge of who this man is, even if they were walking together, she felt the disparity between them. Her silent observer's role felt like a mere spectator in the grand performance of his life. Try as she might, she couldn’t understand how he was able to walk with that much of an ease when certain responsibilities fell on his shoulders just because he was born. 

Her train of thought came to an abrupt stop when he looked at her as if he was expecting something. Those devastating eyes of his prickling her skin as his shades slip down slightly from his nose.

Shit. Did he ask something? Was she just stupidly looking at his face while she was lost in her own thoughts? Her brain racked itself inside and out but her senpai saved her from making an even bigger fool out of herself by repeating without her needing to ask,

“You a Clan baby?”

She blinked, “I’m sorry?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m a Clan baby, too.” His shoulders shook from his own joke. A slight pout formed on his lips as he scanned her deadpan expression, “It’s just, I think I saw you in one of those, very much uninspiring, Clan meetings my parents forced me to attend.” The girl’s eyes furrowed, he came to those? When? Surely she wouldn’t have missed this much presence, much less forget it. 

As if he read her thoughts, which the girl would be grateful if he stopped doing, he answered,

“It’s wayyyy back, though. When I could still be bribed with sweets.”

“Oh. But uh,” She cringed at her own voice, clearing her throat to dispel the unnecessary ball of nerves in her windpipe. Why is she so nervous? “Yeah, I’m one.. I think.”

A singular ivory eyebrow raised at her statement, “I wasn’t aware that my question was something to be given with an ‘I-think’ answer.” This time she did feel her cheeks burn. Before an apology could spill from her lips, a bell chimed. Her senpai was already busting the door of the konbini open as if he owned the place. Her shoulders relaxed, grateful that his attention was diverted to something else.

That something, rather a someone, was the cashier of the konbini. A portly man holding his ground against the strongest sorcerer of this era.

“Get lost kid! There’s no way you won two times! You’re a cheat!” 

“Yes, of course, I enjoy my free time by engraving sticks to fraud a hundred-yen popsicle.”

A poorly stifled chuckle brought the two men’s attention to her. The cashier eyed her uniform,

“You with this menace, little miss?” The taller teen cackled, extending a hand toward her without looking away from the man behind the counter. Without missing a beat, she got what he’s asking for and handed him her own stick. With a lofty smirk, Gojo extended his hand to the baffled cashier, spreading the sticks like a deck of cards, flashing the ‘winner’ engraved part directly.  

“Pay up, old man.” His smirk turned into a full-blown grin as Abe-san, the cashier, guffawed in disbelief. His steps begrudgingly slow, they didn’t know if it was on purpose or he sincerely couldn’t carry his own weight, he opened the freezer, dropping three blue raspberry-flavored treats on the counter. 

“I oughta’ ban you here, kid. You always do this.” 

Opening his new treats in vigor, one hand extending the girl’s reward to her, he just scoffed, “That’s stupid. I keep this place alive.”

With nothing but a grin sent to Abe-san’s way, her senpai already began strutting to exit, leaving her to bow in apology to which the older man waved away,

“You’re good, little miss. This ain’t his first, most certainly will not be the last.”

She opened her own popsicle, exiting the konbini to see shaded eyes peering at her, treat in mouth as he motioned her back to where their friends were (hopefully) waiting. 

This time, silence occupied their small walk back, both student focused on the cold, sugary confections in hand. 

Now, though, as she finished hers, she turned her stick over.. and a second time more. But the stick was disappointingly un-engraved. A chortle sounded from beside her. Gojo leaning down to assess her predicament. An air of contentment surrounded him as he stood back, which should have irked her, if not for when he handed her his also finished stick.

It was her turn to quirk an eyebrow, Is he giving me his trash, now?   

And much like the first few times, he’d responded before she could even express her discontentment, 

“Looks like the first one was a coincidence, little miss.”   

The blue-eyed teen now running the few short distance to their other schoolmates, she was about to throw the sticks to the nearest bin, if not for the unmistakable etching on one of it. 

‘Winner’.

Looking back, she’s sure that the other frozen treat he’s shoving in his mouth held the same marking, too. 

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for sacrificing myself to save my best friend's life?

My best friend ""Wendy"" (21F, not her real name) and I (20F) are adventurers. Due to an encounter with godly power, I have a skeletal hand that's lethal to touch but enhances my combat skills. This hand can absorb death energy to heal people from the brink, but using this power causes the skeletal effect to spread and makes it deadlier. Anyway, a few months before all this, we were forced into a deadly trial by combat in a pirate city against a very powerful pirate. I hit him harder than intended with my skeleton hand, and ended up killing him. We got out of town, but I learned later there was a bounty for my head. Bounty hunters harassed our loved ones, making it evident they wanted me dead.

As the skeletal condition worsened from healing others, we devised a plan to fake my death, claim the bounty, and elude the pirates. Well, we were betrayed on the way there and I was thrown into a combat ring, where the winner would join the council of ruling city judges. Wendy entered the competition so she could protect me. I also found out one of my old friends, ""Thomas"" (20sM, not his real name) was entering the ring. One of the judges was his old mentor who didn't respect him at all and he really wanted to earn the guy's respect. Thomas told me he was sorry it came down to this, but he wanted the role of judge more than he liked me. Not a great thing to hear, but we've got this!

My friend and I defeated a ton of enemies, and I was very careful to try not to kill Thomas, even promising him I wouldn't. Finally, Wendy was knocked out, most of the challengers were dead, and it came down to me and Thomas. I knocked him out nonlethally, meaning I was the last person standing. But the judge running the competition told me if I wanted the judge role, I needed to kill Thomas. I refused— I'm not killing a defenseless friend even if he tried to kill me first. The judge told me I would have to choose and kill one of my friends, or he would come in the ring and kill them both, and then me.

So, this is where I might be TA: I still refused, used my skeleton hand to heal up Wendy, and told the judge if he entered the ring, I'd kill him myself. This may have been a bit of bravado because I was injured and completely out of combat power and Wendy had no spells left. The judge was true to his word and immediately killed Thomas, knocked Wendy unconscious, and was about to kill her too. Seeing no other way out and wanting to save her, I used my skeleton hand and let all of my life force seep into her, costing me my life but healing her up and allowing her to escape.

I've been dead about a year, and Wendy ended up venturing into the afterlife to rescue my soul. I told her I wasn't super eager to come back: I chose an end I was happy with, and my soul was at rest. Well, she blew up at me. She told me I almost got her killed by provoking the judge into an impossible fight when all I had to do was kill an unconscious person who was trying to kill me (and who ended up dying anyway!), and that it was selfish of me to die for her without even asking her if that was what she wanted. She said I took a pointless, risky principled stand that did nothing but get me killed and force her to spend a year grieving me and coming apart at the seams. She also told me said pirate judge has been gearing up to attack our hometown, so she still isn't even safe. I told her I'm sorry I hurt her but I'm not sorry I did it, and she got even more upset and said I don't always know what's best for other people. I don't think that's fair. I died to save her, and I didn't do anything wrong by refusing to kill my old friend. But she's really hurt and upset now, so maybe she has a point. AITA?

[nothinghereisworking]

Finarfin Appreciation

I tried to keep this to fics that feature Finarfin as a main character.  I have not read them all yet, but hey, now I have a list! Rated G

Thy Brothers' Keeper by @sallysavestheday The wine in Alqualondë is too light, Arafinwë thinks, for the kind of drunkenness he would like to seek tonight.  Arafinwë considers his place in the House of Finwë.

The Courage to Turn Back by @chrissystriped Finarfin makes a momentous decision.

in every stitch and seam by xhangemhighx Finarfin comforts Celebrimbor after the War of Wrath and realizes a few things.

someday they may call me king by earthbound_misfit Finarfin reflects on why they left and why he stayed.

these gentle words by Anonymous Arfin goes every year to the foot of the new Trees and honors the memory of his elder brother. Sometimes he thinks that Fëanor can still hear him.

Golden Fire by @starspray Finarfin just thought the dragon egg looked neat, so he brought it home.

Then it hatched.

Without Shame or Secrecy by @ladybrooke Soon after Celebrían arrived in Valinor, she had a discussion with her grandfather over teacakes about memories and family.

His heart was whole again by Elanor_Hermione The journey to Middle-Earth was doomed, it had been a mistake since the beginning, and Finarfin knew he couldn't keep going. But this meant he had to part ways with Artanis.

you're the face of the future (the blood in my veins) by @irisseireth Finarfin meets Ereinion Gil-Galad during the War of Wrath, and learns the truth about his parentage.

Sea Legs by onthesandsofdreams As he held onto the handrail of Elulindo’s ship, Aranfinwë cursed his father-inherited stubbornness.

Water and Blood by keiliss Finarfin and Ingwion discuss family, the weather, and their status as figurehead war leaders over a cup of wine, then start a little rebellion of their own.

Rated T

When I look at you... by @i-did-not-mean-to Prompt: Idiots in love

Questions by @ladybrooke Aegnor could not make the choice of Lúthien, but there were other choices he could make. Finarfin and Finrod deal with the aftermath of his choice.

Rated M

We Weep For What We Have Lost by @cuarthol Indis learns of Anairë's pregnancy by Arafin, and both Arafin and Anairë worry what her visit will mean for them.

Rated E

Manwë's Bird by elennalore Manwë takes Finarfin as his bird. Or: How to learn to be a bird of paradise when your world is shaken up.

Separation by @arofili Arafinwë aches for his wife, but she is lost to him. To earn his place in her heart once more, he will allow her new lover anything.

Unrated

Hey Cyclops! by bowl_of_borshch Finarfin is many things. Right now, Finarfin is a general, and his troops are starting to starve - and Beleriand is harsh and unforgiving. So when he gets a chance to replenish his supplies, he takes it - even though his mind screams at the recklessness of his decision.

A Terrible Choice by jpenn93 The leaders of the War of Wrath are in for a surprise when three young ones walk into the Command Tent. None more so than Finarfin.

And a terrible choice is presented...Finarfin tries to hold his tongue and is only successful due to long, long years of practicing impassivity.

[thecameronchronicles]

The First of November

TW: Smut. Language. Dom!Drew!

SUMMARY: Your decision to put a specific photo on Instagram since Drew’s been gone, has consequences…

Word Count: 1000

Requested:

ANONYMOUS REQUESTED:

Ahhhhh since ur requests of drew have been closed hehe possibly he’s been away in October and she went out for Halloween but he got back on the 1st of November and she posts her outfit on her insta and he gets jealous then when he gets home he lets her know that they can look but not touch 🙀 

The First of November 

Although you hated the fact you had to spend Halloween away from him because you knew he would have made it even better, you were already far too excited to allow your costume to go to waste. You had captured the detail of the skintight black silk against your skin in such a way that your boyfriend knew well. The compliment of fishnets as those signature pointed ears topping off your costume were broadcast on an Instagram post that had his eyes glued to his phone from the night before. 

"I thought you were going as a bunny-" He spoke at your back as his red eye flight had him arrive back home as you slept, the images haunting his mind with bridled lust to keep from acting on your time apart. 

"I did. A playboy bunny." You smirked as he stood in awe at your reflection for a moment as you wore only his tee, as you often did when he was away, and a toothbrush halfway out of your mouth. 

"And you danced?" 

"Yes, Drew...it was a party, so I danced..." You teased before watching him move slowly towards you. 

"And since I wasn't there you had every reason to wear panties..." You nodded. 

"So why weren't you?" Your eyes widened as he pulled the picture back to view. 

"Don't even try to lie to me. I've ripped ever pair off of you so don't even try to convince me that I don't know." You swallowed hard as he bow towered over you. 

"You want someone else to touch you? Hmm? Touch what's mine?" 

"No, I..." His hand was at the back of your neck. 

"Think you're so cute with that smart little mouth and that short little costume...Posting pictures for everyone to see what belongs to me..." He cocked his jaw. 

"Drew-" 

"Let me guess.. you're sorry, right?" You nodded. 

"Then you know how to make it up to me." You nodded as he would release you, "You have one minute and you better be back out here in that costume.. cause I'm gonna make you come in it, baby..." You bit your lip in excitement as you did exactly as you were told. Once you came back, you found him looking at the photos once more. 

"Do you have any idea what these did to me before take off? Thirteen hours of those images and what I would have done if we were alone?!" You nodded. 

"So you WANTED me to get a boner two miles high? Hmm?" 

"No...I wanted you to realize what you were missing..." 

"Oh really?" He pulled you between his legs, his fingers immediately between the tight velvet. 

"Like I could forget..." He scoffed. 

"Dance for me. Just like you would have for them." 

"Who?" 

"All the guys who you gave masturbation fuel to last night wearing this. Every one of them picturing you in the ways only I get to have you. So shake that ass for me baby, it was a long flight and I fucking earned it for not waking you up and making you pay for it then." 

You obeyed, no need for music or another command before you seduced him with your bedroom eyes and swaying hips. 

"This is how it should be...everyone seeing how beautiful you are...how sexy...but only I get to touch you." You nodded as you moved back between his legs. 

"So why the fuck were someone else’s hands on you?" He asked with the picture of Madelyn's account having posted a photo of friends you made that night. An innocent pose that he took to mean disloyalty. 

"Drew-" 

"Nuh uh. You don't get to say my name like that unless I'm about to come behind those lips. So tell me...why? My hands not enough? My touch?" Before you could ask, he tore the seam between your legs until his fingers were pistoned violently into you. 

"Drew! Oh fuck!" 

"You wanted to say their names, didn't you baby?" 

"No!" 

"Nobody else made you wet last night? Not when they had their hands all over you?" 

"I shouldn't let you come. If I didn't miss you so much, you wouldn't be. But you're gonna come right now or you don't get to." You nodded and groaned as he curved his fingers to THAT spot. 

"Drew!" 

"Come on baby...I'm getting impatient...". You whined. 

"Fuuuck! Drew I'm coming!" You were spent over his fingers as he was quick to use that around his shaft before sunking you onto him. 

"Nobody else gets to touch you. No dancing. NO touching!" You nodded. 

"Good girl. So take this cock and show me just how sorry you are..." 

"I'm SO sorry-" You were silenced by his fingers in your mouth. 

"Taste it. Taste how fucking sweet you are. Why I forgive you so easily...and clench around me...make me come like you always do...come on baby...make me come for you..." 

"Drew, please come...I’m so sorry-" 

"No you're not." 

"Yes, I am! I'm so sorry!" 

"You just wanna come again..." 

"Yes! But I am sorry-" 

"Yeah? Then make me come before you-" You pressed your hands and his chest until he lay flat your body allowed this dominance as you watched him marvel at you. Hands wrapped around each breast, you rode him to his high as he forced you onto your back, hiking your legs over his shoulders. 

"Didn't get a chance to tell you that I  missed you, bunny." He winked in reference to your costume as your eyes rolled in approval to his tongue making contact to your sex. 

So much for a punishment…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Female Masturbation. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer.

Word Count: 4,247

Chapter 4

Cassara

The tavern was bustling, a hive of activity as patrons came and went, their laughter and shouts blending into a cacophony of noise. A large table of orcs in the corner grew louder with each drink, their raucous laughter and booming voices dominating the room. The sun shone bright today, its rays filtering through the windows and casting warm patches of light on the wooden floor. Sweat collected at my brow, and the only relief came when the door opened, allowing a brief, cool breeze to waft in and provide momentary respite. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, grateful for the bandana that kept my hair off my face. Over the past few weeks, I had learned to favor pants over skirts for their practicality. My attire was a blend of practicality and understated elegance, reflecting both my elven heritage and my current circumstances. I favored garments that allowed me to move freely and withstand the rigors of working at the tavern, yet these clothes also subtly accentuated my natural beauty and grace.

My pants were made of supple, dark brown leather that hugged my curves while providing protection and flexibility. The leather was well-worn, softening over time but still retaining its durability. These pants were reinforced at the knees and hips, places most prone to wear and tear, showcasing thoughtful craftsmanship. Small, intricately embroidered patterns ran along the seams, adding a touch of elven artistry to the otherwise utilitarian garment. My shirt was a simple yet elegant white blouse made of fine linen. The fabric was lightweight and breathable, perfect for long, hot days in the bustling tavern. The blouse had billowing sleeves that cinched at the wrists with delicate, lace-trimmed cuffs. The neckline was modest, yet it featured a subtle, scalloped edge that added a hint of femininity. When I moved, the blouse flowed around me, hinting at the fluid grace with which I carried myself.

Over the blouse, I wore a corset top made of dark green brocade fabric. The corset was intricately designed, with patterns of leaves and vines woven into the material. The corset laced up the front with a series of delicate, silver eyelets, each thread carefully tied to ensure a snug fit that accentuated my waist and provided support. The boning in the corset was flexible yet firm, allowing me to maintain my posture while working long hours without discomfort. I often accessorized with a few select pieces that held personal significance. Around my neck, I wore a thin silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a leaf, a gift from my mother that I never took off. My fingers were adorned with simple silver rings, each one engraved with tiny runes of protection and healing, their magic subtle but ever-present.

My practical side showed in the sturdy boots I wore, made of the same dark brown leather as my pants. These boots were well-crafted, with reinforced soles and ankle support that allowed me to move swiftly and confidently across the tavern's creaky wooden floors. The boots reached just below my knees, laced up the front, and were adorned with small, silver buckles that added a touch of elegance to their rugged design. To keep my long, thick dark brown hair out of my face while I worked, I often tied it back with a crème-colored bandana. The bandana was made of soft, lightweight fabric, and I had a few in different shades to match my outfits. When I wasn't working, I would let my hair down, the dark waves cascading over my shoulders and down my back, shimmering with a faint green luminescence in the right light.

I had started working the counter and tables on my days off. Each coin earned brought me a step closer to moving on, to finding a new place where I could start fresh. As I moved between tables, balancing trays of drinks and plates of food, I felt a sense of purpose, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. The tavern’s interior was a mix of warm wood and rough stone, the walls adorned with faded tapestries and old hunting trophies. The air was thick with the scent of ale, roasted meat, and the earthy aroma of the orcs' sweat. The floorboards creaked under the weight of heavy boots, and the low hum of conversation was punctuated by the occasional cheer or bellow.

At the bar, Caty worked her magic, her fingers flying as she poured drinks and charmed the customers with her infectious smile. Her red hair was a vibrant flame in the dim light, and her laughter was a constant, cheerful background noise. I admired her ability to remain upbeat and engaging, even when the tavern was at its busiest.

As I served a group of dwarves seated near the fireplace, I couldn't help but steal glances at the door. Every time it opened, I hoped for a breeze to cool my flushed skin, but I also found myself scanning the faces of the newcomers. A habit formed from both curiosity and caution, ever since that night with Astarion. The orcs' table erupted in another wave of laughter, and I turned to see one of them pounding the table with a fist, causing mugs to jump and slosh their contents. I hurried over, deftly weaving through the crowd, and set down a fresh pitcher of ale. One of the orcs, a towering brute with a scar running down his cheek, grinned at me.

"More ale! You keep us happy, girl," he bellowed, his voice like rolling thunder.

I nodded, offering a polite smile. "Of course. Enjoy your drinks."

As I turned away, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall. My face was flushed, not just from the heat but from the constant exertion. Despite the sweat and the noise, there was a determination in my eyes. I was working toward something, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Moving toward the next table, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The tavern was just a stepping stone, a place to gather strength and resources for whatever lay ahead.I refused to let anything get in my way—not my aching feet, the sweltering heat, or a certain unnaturally pale elf.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but I kept catching glimpses of his silver hair or piercing eyes in the crowd. Each time, a shiver ran down my spine. Something about him made my hair stand on end, and the way he looked at me—as if I were a meal—made me feel extremely conflicted. From the moment he approached our table, I knew he was used to getting what he wanted. When I turned him down, it only further proved my point.

He was dangerous, and I knew scheming when I saw it. It was all I did growing up. Underneath the fear he evoked in me, there was a certain type of heat or desire hidden. It was that feeling that kept him at the forefront of my mind, a secret yearning for him to come back, to approach me again. It had been a while since I found someone who could keep up with my banter. The look in his eyes while he observed me last time was borderline murderous, yet I couldn't deny the thrill it gave me.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I approached the next table. The constant motion, the clinking of mugs, the chatter of patrons—all of it was becoming familiar. Yet, despite the routine, my mind kept wandering back to him. His predatory gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn't there.

I felt a mix of fear and excitement whenever I thought about him. He was a puzzle I wanted to solve, a danger I wanted to face. But I knew better than to let my guard down. The stakes were too high, and I couldn't afford to be reckless. My future depended on it.

I shrugged my shoulders as I picked up the dirty dishes from a newly empty table, the clatter of mugs and plates a familiar comfort amid the tavern's chaos. It’s not like he showed much interest in me anyway. I found myself glancing over at Caty, who was effortlessly working the bar. A large crowd had formed around her, captivated by her bright smile and quick hands as she mixed drinks with practiced ease. He was definitely more interested in her, and I couldn’t blame him. Caty’s personality was magnetic, drawing people in with her infectious laughter and boundless energy. But that only made me want to protect her more. The world was full of dangers we couldn’t see, and I had learned to be wary of anyone too smooth, too charming.

When Astarion had grabbed her to take her to the so-called “party” that night a few weeks back, panic surged within me. The memory was still vivid, a chilling reminder of how close we had come to losing her. The way he looked at her was different, predatory and cold. Something in me screamed that if she went with him, I would never see her again.

I gasped in surprise as familiar arms wrapped tightly around me from behind. A small laugh escaped my lips as I struggled to balance the tray of dirty dishes in my arms. “Woah, woah. Careful! If I break these, I’ll lose money!” I playfully frowned at my friend, my heart warming at the sound of her laughter.

Setting the tray down at the bar, I turned to see Caty grinning widely. She hopped up onto one of the stools, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “A couple of us are going out after this shift. You should come.”

I sighed heavily, shaking my head. “You know I can’t. I signed up for a double.” My voice was weary but firm. “I need this.”

Caty's expression fell, a hint of disappointment shadowing her features. She nodded reluctantly, understanding but not happy about it. “I know, I know. But you should take a break soon, or you’ll work yourself to death.”

I glanced around the bustling tavern, the noise of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The sun had finally set, and the evening crowd had settled in, making the place even more hectic. Sweat trickled down my forehead, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down on me.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Besides, we need the money if we want to move on from this place.”

Caty’s eyes softened, and she reached out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just worry about you, Cassara. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard.”

I forced a smile, appreciating her concern but knowing I couldn’t afford to slow down. “I promise I’ll be careful. Just a little while longer, okay?”

She sighed but didn’t press the issue further. “Alright. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”

As she jumped off the stool and headed back to the bar to help with the evening rush, I watched her go, a pang of guilt tugging at my heart. I wished I could join her, to let loose and have some fun, but the reality of our situation kept me grounded. With a deep breath, I picked up the tray of dishes and made my way to the kitchen, weaving through the throngs of patrons. The tavern was packed tonight, the energy high and the atmosphere almost festive. Yet, despite the lively environment, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. I caught myself glancing at the door, out a window, or just simply over my shoulder more often than usual.

“Cassara, you’ve got a table waiting!” one of the other servers called out, snapping me back to reality.

“On it!” I replied, setting the tray down and grabbing a fresh one.

After the evening rush had subsided, Caty left with our group of coworkers, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they departed. They mentioned something about a circus being in town, and I waved them off with a smile, not entirely sure what a circus was. I made a mental note to ask Caty about it later. The night dragged on, and as the closing hour approached, the tavern slowly emptied. I leaned against the bar, lost in thought. My nightly cleaning duties were done, and now it was just a matter of waiting to lock the doors. The tavern, usually bustling with noise and activity, felt eerily quiet. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the wooden floor, adding to the sense of solitude.

I didn’t notice someone slipping in as the last few patrons were leaving. Nor did I see him walk up to the bar and sit down. The sudden noise of someone clearing their throat startled me, making me jump back. “My, my, jumpy little pup, aren’t we?” His familiar voice and the smirk that pulled at his lips made my cheeks flush hot.

“I am neither of those things,” I managed to say, frowning. My heart raced, a mix of fear and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge—coursing through me.

Astarion leaned forward, his intense gaze never leaving mine. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. “You’re working late tonight,” he observed, his voice silky smooth.

“Yes, I needed the extra money,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you want?”

His smirk widened. “Such hostility. I was merely hoping for a drink and some pleasant company.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. There was always an ulterior motive with Astarion. But I couldn’t afford to cause a scene or draw attention. “Fine. What will you have?” I asked, grabbing a clean mug.

“Surprise me,” he said, leaning back with an air of casual confidence.

I turned to the shelves, pulling down a bottle of our finest ale. My hands shook slightly as I poured the drink, my mind racing with thoughts of how to handle this situation. He was dangerous, and I knew I had to be careful. Placing the mug in front of him, I took a deep breath and tried to project an air of indifference.

“There. Enjoy,” I said curtly.

Astarion cut a striking figure as he lounged at the bar, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of undeniable confidence. His angular features were accentuated by the flickering candlelight, casting shadows across his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. His skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to glow softly in the dim tavern.

His silver hair fell in loose waves around his face, adding to the aura of otherworldly allure that surrounded him. His eyes, a piercing shade of violet, seemed to bore into mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. They held a hint of mischief, a dangerous glint that hinted at the depths of his unpredictable nature. Dressed in finely tailored clothing that hugged his lean frame, he looked every bit the aristocrat he claimed to be. The fabric of his shirt and trousers was of the highest quality, the deep crimson hue complementing the pale perfection of his skin. A silver pendant hung from his neck, catching the light as it swung gently with his movements.

But it was his presence, his undeniable charisma, that truly set him apart. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew people in despite the warning bells that rang in the back of their minds. It was a dangerous allure, one that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.As he sat there, smirking at me with that infuriatingly confident grin, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. Astarion was a predator, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I had no idea of the danger that lurked beneath his charming facade.

Astarion took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Cassara, I’ve been thinking about our last encounter,” he said, his tone deceptively light.

“Oh?” I replied, trying to sound uninterested. “And what have you concluded?”

“That you’re quite a fascinating creature,” he said, leaning forward again. “So much fire and spirit. It’s rare to find someone who can resist my charm.”

“I’m not interested in your games, Astarion,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “So if that’s all, you can finish your drink and leave.”

He gave me a feigned sad look before breaking out into a devilish grin once more. With a swift movement, he was suddenly looming over me, his body pressed dangerously close. I could feel the heat radiating off him, sending shivers down my spine as his piercing gaze bore into mine. It was like staring into the eyes of a predator, and for a moment, I felt trapped, unable to tear myself away. Before I could react, his hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding in my chest as his fingers trailed lightly down my cheek. His scent, a heady mix of musk and danger, enveloped me, clouding my senses and leaving me dizzy with desire.

“Oh, but I think you are,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He pressed closer, his body heat seeping into me, making it hard to think clearly. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch light but possessive. “I have a feeling you’re more interested than you let on.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but he held me firmly in place, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. I could feel the tension crackling between us, thick with unspoken promises and forbidden desires. “Let me go,” I demanded, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavered, betraying the fear and confusion roiling inside me.

Astarion leaned in, his lips just inches from mine. “Why would I do that when we’re having so much fun?” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose grazing the curve of my neck. “You smell intoxicating,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I struggled to push him away, but his grip was firm, unyielding. “Stop it,” I spat, my anger and fear warring with an unwelcome thrill of excitement.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing a path down my arm. “Resistance is futile, darling. You can deny it all you want, but I can see the curiosity in your eyes, the way your body responds to my touch.” His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me even closer. “I can feel your heart racing. Tell me, is it fear... or something else?”

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted to him. There was a magnetic pull between us, a dangerous allure that made it hard to think straight. But I couldn’t let him win, couldn’t let him see how much he affected me.

“I’m not like the others,” I said, my voice trembling but defiant. “I won’t be one of your conquests.”

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his smile turning wicked. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a teasing, almost taunting kiss. I could feel his desire, the raw hunger in his touch, and it terrified me.

I shivered at the feel of his breath against my skin, my pulse racing as his words sent a thrill through me. Despite my best efforts to deny it, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being so close to danger, about dancing on the edge of the unknown. But even as my body responded to his touch, a voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to run, to get as far away from him as possible. Astarion was a predator, a creature of darkness and deceit, and I knew that to give in to him would be to invite nothing but trouble.

With a sudden surge of strength, I shoved him away, my breathing ragged. “Get out,” I said, my voice stronger this time. “I don’t want you here.”

His smirk faltered, he looked almost impressed, a flicker of respect in his eyes but also darkness— danger. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by that infuriatingly charming grin.

“Suit yourself,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “But don’t be surprised when you find yourself craving the thrill of the chase.” With a final wink, he turned and sauntered back to his seat as if the entire past three minutes never happened. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “I have a feeling our paths will cross again. You can’t resist the inevitable forever, little pup.”

I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. “We’ll see about that.”

He finished his drink in one long gulp, setting the mug down with a satisfied sigh. “Until next time, Cassara,” he said, rising from his seat. As he walked towards the door, he paused and glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. “Take care. The night is full of dangers.”

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the empty tavern. The adrenaline from our encounter slowly ebbed away, leaving me feeling drained and exposed. I locked the doors with trembling hands and leaned against them, taking a moment to collect myself. Astarion’s presence always left me feeling unsettled, a mix of fear and something dangerously close to excitement. But I knew I couldn’t let him get to me. I couldn’t afford to. Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the door and began to close up for the night. The tavern, once bustling with life and noise, now felt eerily silent. I methodically wiped down the tables, straightened the chairs, and swept the floor, trying to distract myself from the lingering tension. Every creak and shadow seemed amplified, making me jumpy and paranoid. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still being watched, even after he had left.

As I finished my tasks and finally headed to my small room above the tavern, the unease stayed with me. I locked the door behind me and drew the curtains, trying to create a barrier between myself and the outside world. Yet, the sensation of being watched persisted, a prickling at the back of my neck that refused to go away. My instincts were hardly ever wrong, and they were screaming at me now.

I tried to ignore the feeling as I prepared for bed. I undressed slowly, letting my clothes fall to the floor, and made my way to the basin. The water was cool against my heated skin as I dipped the rag in and began to cleanse myself. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, dark strands hanging in escaped tendrils around my face. I let the rag glide over my body, taking my time, trying to wash away the lingering tension. Despite my efforts, my mind kept drifting back to him. The way he had looked at me, the intensity in his eyes, the unsettling mix of threat and allure. As I ran the rag across my bare skin, my thoughts became more vivid, more intrusive. I could almost feel his hands on me instead, his touch igniting a fire within me that I couldn’t ignore.

I paid close attention to my nipples, my breath hitching as I imagined it was his fingers instead of the rag. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the fantasy for a moment. The idea of him watching me, of those piercing eyes following my every movement, made my heart race. A moan escaped my lips, soft and needy, as I continued to cleanse myself with deliberate slowness. My body responded to the imagined touch, heat pooling low in my belly. I knew it was dangerous to let my mind wander down this path, but I couldn’t help it. The desire he awakened in me was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. Finally, I forced myself to stop, dropping the rag back into the basin and taking a deep, steadying breath. I couldn’t afford to lose control, not with someone like Astarion lurking around. I needed to stay vigilant, to protect myself from whatever game he was playing.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and trying to will myself to sleep. But even as I lay there, the memory of his touch, his voice, his presence lingered, haunting me in the darkness. I knew this was far from over. The hunt had only just begun, and I was caught in the middle of it, whether I wanted to be or not.

As exhaustion finally pulled me under, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life had just taken a dangerous turn. And deep down, a part of me wondered if I would ever be able to find my way back or if I even wanted to.

[valvesandthings]

Megatron couldn’t be happier than when he was mass-displaced and between his lover’s thighs. Getting to spend quality time with her was one kind of happiness and taking the time to make love was another. Megatron was hovering, braced by his arms on either side of his love. Like this their pelvises were pressed flush but she was the only one revealed, her warm vagina slicking his groin.

She looked up to him with questioning eyes. Why’d you stop?” she asked.

Megatron smiled and stooped to kiss her forehead. “I was admiring you,” he said. “Your beauty astounds me every time I am allowed to bask in your presence.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide a smile.

Megatron rolled his hips to tease her and was pleased at the gasp it earned him. “You sound like a goddess: I could spend eternity listening to you.”

She moaned and he began slipping down her frame, servos trailing her sides, lips delicately brushing over her nipples and down the center of her chest to the smooth planes of her stomach. In between kisses, he purred the most honest and adoring things he could think of. “My queen, I will forever serve you. Perhaps I should show you off, prove to the crew how you’re mine. My good, good, girl.” Here he reached her twitching hips. As he spoke, his breath blew hot over her sex.

She bit her lip and moaned his name. She gripped the sides of his helm, fingers digging into the seams.

“Yes,” Megatron purred. He finally gave into the tantalizing treat before him. Flicking his glossa out, he tasted her. Immediately he desired more and flattened his glossa against her pussy and lapped at it in long strokes. A thrill shot up his spine when she closed her legs around his helm, heels draping over his shoulders.

“Oh, Megatron!” she cried out.

He spoke in what little room he had left to move. “That’s it, scream my name like a good girl. My lovely pet.” He dove back in, devouring her organic valve, feeling the persistent press of his spike against its housing. “Primus, you sound so perfect,” he rumbled. The taste of her was truly unique, and the pheromones flooding his olfactory were overwhelming. He could consume his little lover. She gave him purpose and right now that purpose was single minded. He latched his lips around her clit and sucked.

Her thighs clamped tight around his helm and she went rigid, back arching as she came, crying his name.

Megatron happily lapped up her juices, not minding the mess smeared on his face. “You’re delicious.” He licked his lips. “You did so well for your first overload.”

She released his helm. “ First? Out of how many?”

Megatron grinned devilishly. “Oh I fully intend to discover just how many overloads I can wring from that lovely body of yours.”