#fucking day-glo

[sezja]

The way Darcy's fucking clothes glow like they're under a blacklight in the Pandaemonium lighting has been cracking me up this whole time

[kymsys]

again for @fushiglow ♥ but also happy valentine's day to everyone!! ´roses are red violets are blue let's go to the void together just me and you´

[indi-glo-archive]

the young royals fandom is so fucking weird about sara and i hate them for it

[hinamie]

girl, girl to girl here you honestly are so so very pretty, i hope someday you will be comfortable enough with yourself to realize that 🫶🫶

hh i rly do appreciate it anon :'> maybe one day i will get to a place where i can believe you <3

[ecliip]

your sona looks like the lovechild of Sans and SomethingElseYT.

HUH????????? HELLO?????????????????????????????? WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS. WHY BRING THIS TO MY ATTENTION. WHO ARE YOU

[marypsue]

This summer I finally went through my closet and got rid of a bunch of things that I don't wear/that don't look good on me/that I love in concept but hate in execution/etc. My style has had. An overhaul, since 2020, I fully and joyfully embraced the urge to dress like a Starcourt Mall backgrounder, and as I was going through my clothes, I kept asking myself: do I really want to keep all of these dark and elaborate goth clothes? Does that style still spark joy, or should I let these things go so that they can bring joy to some other babybat? I haven't touched any of these skirts or blouses or printed t-shirts in so long, maybe it's time -

But something stayed my hand.

And I'm glad it did, because the instant the thermometer hit the high 10s, it's like every black garment in my wardrobe leapt out of my closet at me at once. I never stood a chance.

[angstics]

i would blast water parks out of existence if god gave me one wish

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

🎶Just take a point called z in the complex plane, let Z1 be Z²+C, and let Z2 be Z1²+C, and let Z3 be Z2²+C, and so on. If the series of Z's should always stay close to Z and never trend away, that point is in the Mandelbrot Set.🎶

this is the funniest shit i’ve ever seen

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about roomie!suguru, who steps out of the bathroom with just a towel hanging loosely around his waist. it's dangerously low and his happy trail is... leading your eyes to a forbidden place. water droplets cascade down his temple and his neck, his scarred chest and his toned muscles.

he finishes drying his hair with another, smaller towel before slinging it over his shoulder. he gives you a warm smile. there's still a bit of sleep in his tired eyes but he looks fresh, he looks good.

(he looks more than good.)

the morning light shines in through the small window of your shared kitchen and he hums at the smell of coffee. you're an angel leaning on the counter, hands busy with preparing your drink as he steps inside.

he chuckles. he asked you a question but you didn't hear it. he smells so fucking good; the smell of his shampoo and his fancy conditioner wash over your senses and it's easy to forget where you are. his eyes flick behind you before walking over to you with a smug little grin.

he bores his sharp purple eyes into yours – he loves how you react to him. he doesn't shy away from it, he's cockier than he looks. he loves the attention, he loves to be in your spotlight. he wouldn't care so much if you were a stranger, if you were a random person on the street ogling away, ut you're neither of those things, are you? no, you're something else.

he exudes warmth as he towers over you, his head tilted down to keep his eyes on you. he wants to play with you a little – he loves the way you're staring up at him right now. eyes big and wide, lip tucked under between your teeth. he's good with people, he can read them like a book and you're no different. he sees you swallow a dry lump, he sees you grace him with a flustered smile as you try to brush by the fact that he caught you admiring him red handed. he sees the way you're taking deeper breaths than normal, surely just to keep your composure. he can't wait to break you.

his arm reaches behind you to turn off the coffee machine with a small click.

"wouldn't wanna make a mess this early in the morning, now would we?"

melting. crumbling. falling down to your knees. you hate how much he teases (you love it), you hate how patronizing he sounds (it's hot). he's the only one that can get away with it – a charming smile that hides his deepest desires of sinking his teeth into little lambs like you, soft eyes that hide the need to watch them unfold before him.

his gentle hands long to hold, long to keep and covet. he thinks about you a lot; your shared mornings and afternoons, your exhausted naps and bitter rants about your days. shy gazes and lingering touches, stupid jokes and the cute little hidden sounds he keeps hearing from your room in the late hours. he's being patient, he's warming you up.

he's just as infatuated with you as you are with him. he's just more subtle with it.

or is he?

because you've heard him, too.

you don't know whether he's doing it unknowingly or he's actually trying to make you go insane – whichever it is, you are ready to bend at his will. soft groans accompanied by a steady slick pump; you didn't mean to listen in. you just wanted to make sure he's okay!

ear against the wooden door, you listened to him think about you. your name was on the tip of his tongue, but it was too early for that. he wants to smear you with his honey, he wants to drag you in but he needs to wait for it. this is perfect.

he did know you're were there.

he heard the floor creak, he heard the cutest gasp that left your pretty lips. fuck, you're perfect. his head was lolled back as he stroked himself to the thought of your wide, doe-eyes. how flustered you'd be, how flustered you were in that very moment. he imagined your trembling hands and your stuttered words and his dick twitched in his palm.

he thought about inviting you in and just making him watch as a form of punishment, for being a little pervert. he shuddered out a laugh and watched a glob of pre-cum cover his own fingers before mixing with the saliva and spit that's covering him already. he thought about making you sit between his legs so he could jerk off right in front of your beautiful face, he thought about your wobbly lips, your teary eyes. the way your thighs would press together.

your fingers would itch and twitch and he'd make you place them on your legs. he wouldn't want you to touch. yet. maybe he'd make you apologize and maybe he'd make you kiss the tip. he thought about how good you'd smell, how good you'd taste. another raspy groan crawled up his throat and you were about to cum untouched behind his door. like a creep.

he loves it. he's proud of you, he wants to push you even further. he wants to see what else he can make you do. this is exciting and he can't wait to devour you whole as a reward after he's done bullying himself into your body and your mind. utterly loved and corrupted—

— you're meant for him.

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ these violent delights | davos blackwood (part 9) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ❤️‍🔥| Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ❤️‍🔥

ship: davos blackwood x fem!oc

warnings: 18+ explicit smut

summary: they fuck

word count: 5333

a/n: this chapter is long asf and I was almost going to publish it as a two parter and leave you all with blue balls once again but I decided to just wait it out until I finished it! So sorry about the extra long wait. Next chapter is the END (I hope) not counting the epilogue okay bye

When Cersha returned to her chamber, she was not surprised to see Davos perched on the bay windowsill, his fingers laced around his bent knee while his injured leg stretched out beside him. She had expected him to be blistering mad at her abrupt dismissal earlier that afternoon, but he was a vision of weary resignation as his forehead rested on the glass. The watery light filtered through the fresh linen shirt he had dressed in, showing the curve of his torso and the sinewy length of his arms. He lifted his head and smiled as the door creaked shut, she saw that he was rid of the patchy beard that had grown in the twelve days since the battle. Had it really been such a short time?

“My, I’ve never seen you so clean.” She teased.

“All in service of you, my lady.” He got shakily to his feet and bowed mockingly.

“Davos, please.” She sighed, the elation of her epiphany at the sept already waning.

“What?” He cocked his head to the side and offered a slanted smirk. “I’m your sworn protector, aren’t I? Chastely sworn… we both know how that turned out, now don’t we?”

She reddened at the memory of his lips stamping wet marks across her skin. She said nothing, only rolling her eyes. He sat back heavily on the sill and clucked his tongue.

“Were you sitting on that lie for long?”

“Only since…” She drifted off, feeling a wave of residual panic at the memory of the night before. Davos’ face softened and she shied away from the earnestness of it. “Look, I’m sorry. I am. I just, I wasn’t sure how Oscar would take it if he knew who you were or that a Blackwood had killed a Night’s Watchman on his land, I thought he might…”

“Execute me on the spot?”

“No! No, he’d never kill unless he had to. I was afraid he may send you back to your family to be punished for desertion, or that he might have just thrown you in the dungeon or something for starting this whole mess.”

“’Starting this whole mess,’ is that what you think? Is that why you still don’t trust me after all we’ve been through?”

“No! You were defending your family’s honour, I cannot fault you that, but the battle began with the swing of your sword. That is the truth. I feared Oscar’s retribution, but his ire is for the lord regent who instructed the default on the assize.”

“Always trying to protect me, aren’t you? What ire could that boy have? He looks as if-”

“As much ire as I’ll have if you speak ill of him.” He just scoffed and shook his head. “Asides, it matters not. Oscar recognised you.”

“I could have told you that,” He said. “If you’d only told me of your plans.”

“I see that now.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I surmised you would not take kindly to concealing your identity from the regent high lord. I did not want to fight you.”

“Why?” His expression darkened as he pushed to his feet and limped a step closer to her. “Are you afraid of me?” A step closer. “Think I might kill you?”

Another step closed the gap between them, his hand coming to rest feather-light on her neck. Her eyelids drooped as the tickles of his callouses fizzed through her brain.

“We’ve come this far crow boy.” She looked up through her lashes, seeing him obscured behind soft focus and beige streaks. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now.” She pressed forward until there was a slight pressure on her throat. “I’ve seen the fire in you, but I’m not scared. It burns for me, does it not?”

“Aye.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as his pupils blew out into glossy black discs in the confines of his dark eyes. “All for you, my lady.”

That was enough to make her melt into his touch, savouring the warm, full feeling that radiated from his rough hand as it formed the perfect collar around her swan-curved neck. That feeling, not of possession but of belonging, as people sometimes belong to each other. Her hands found his neck in some attempt to mirror the experience back to him, thumbs stroking the smooth skin from his ears to his collarbones as his eyes drifted closed. His breaths grew ragged as he leaned in to rest his forehead on hers.

“I think…” His nose brushed hers, lips so close that every breath was a heady exchange of essence, hearts racing in syncopated time. “...I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.”

“Is that so surprising?” Her fingers stroking his jaw pulsed a rhythm in his veins.

“I don’t kiss.” He growled weakly, stomach fluttering like a virgin maid.

“Why?” Her breath on his lips was the ghost of a kiss.

“Brings all sorts of… feelings.” Her hands were in his hair now, scratching gently at his scalp and savouring the rabbity softness of his freshly washed locks until blissful tremors weakened his knees.

“Is that such a bad thing?” He let go of a whimper as she rubbed her nose against his.

“If I kiss you, I’ll never stand to be parted from you. I’ll have to marry you.”

She pulled back, all the silvery feeling rushing through the channel of their meeting eyes.

“Kiss me.”

In that soft afternoon light, safe at last behind the stony battlements with the dull roar of the rushing moat shielding them from silence, in a room lovingly furnished with the colours of their liege, with the perfumed steam from the bath behind the fish mural divider wreathing around them, they shook off their houses like two bucks losing their antlers in spring. It was as if there had been a levee between them, weeping water from long spiderweb cracks, and now the stones came bursting out and there it was. The torrent of feeling, the lips parting, the passion, the crush, the smelting together of two beings in this primeval ritual.

At last they broke apart, her gasping for air and him kissing down her neck, whining against her perfect skin.

“Davos.” She panted. He nipped her. She took a handful of black hair and tugged it firmly. “Davos!”

“Mm…” He tilted his head back and she saw his eyes clouded by lust.

“Behave.” She pecked his swollen lips. “I must bathe first. I stink.”

A mischievous grin spread across his face and he buried his nose in her neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell-” Sniff. “-fantastic.”

As she lifted her arm to push him away he stuck his face right into the pit and drew in a long breath.

“Like a woman.” He sighed dreamily and began peppering kisses across her chest.

“Get away!” She laughed, lifting her arms and throwing back her head to give him more access to the skin exposed by her dress. “You foul beast.”

He just chuckled and kissed all over her collarbones, bending double as she backed away until they bumped into the tub. He whined when he realised where they had ended up.

“Sweetling.” He pouted, trying to coax her back toward the bed.

“Davos, anyone would think you’re starving.” She rolled her eyes with an exasperated smile. “Come on. Won’t you wash my hair for me?”

“You know slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Just get in the bath.” She pursed her lips derisively, letting her hands wander up under his shirt to explore the dips and curves of his back. “Just… soak with me for a while. Please?”

He scoffed and she could see him fighting against a blissful smile as her nails raked up his spine.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” She murmured. “Was that so hard?”

He smiled in that exasperated way, peeled off his shirt and dropped his breeches and underclothes in a swift, practical motion. For an instant she was stunned by the beauty of him; the subtle dips and rises of muscle on his thin limbs and torso, the grazes, bruises and old faded scars that each served as a reminder of passionate fury roused when something he loved was at risk, and the supple pink skin of his dick that hung half-hard by his thigh.

“What?” He grinned. “Like what you see?”

“Your wound.” She pointed to the bandage on his thigh, trying to save face.

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you want me in the bath or not?”

She bit her lip.

“You can dress it again later.” He had pulled it off and clambered awkwardly into the milky water before she had the chance to protest, gripping both sides of the tub as he gingerly lowered himself down. “Gods, that’s lovely.”

“You’re always putting yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“You love it.” She did love it. “Though I hardly think a bath can be considered ‘harm’s way.’ Besides, this is far nicer than the bath they drew for me. Just hot water, a rag and a bar of soap. No…” He picked out a floating rose petal and inspected it before letting it float away like a grumpkin’s sailboat. “...luxury.”

She noticed then that she had indeed been showered in what little frills Riverrun could afford with an encroaching war. Roses from the gardens floating on water white from goat’s milk; she suspected from the lactonic, pastoral scent that it was not the cow’s milk favoured by most highborn ladies for bathing. The water was silky through her fingers, from salt and honey she assumed, and lavender oil turned the steam heavy and narcotic.

“The boy favours you still.” Davos remarked as he reached for a brown-skinned pear from the tray on the side table, cut in half and loaded high with soft cheese and a crust of walnuts, and popped the whole thing in his mouth, wiping the juice with the back of his hand.

“Enough about Oscar.” She flicked a scoop of water at him, making him sputter. “And don’t eat all those, I’m starving. Did they not feed you earlier?”

“They did, but I’m never satisfied, my lady.” He smiled sweetly. “Minnows and cress on toast, though the ones you catch are far sweeter.”

“Thank you.” She preened, though his flattery was obvious, and took a pear for herself, a little moan escaping her at the flavour. “I must confess, I have missed real food. I hope they give us lamb tonight, or veal. Something that’s fed on grass and hasn’t had to fight for every morsel-”

“Are you getting in or not?”

She huffed at his blunt tone and expectant face, and finished her pear in two irritated bites. The amusement on his face was almost enough to make her storm off, but stronger than the annoyance that was only heightened by the bubbling fear of removing her clothes in front of him was her desire to be close to him. She turned her back to him and unlaced her dusty riding gown, letting it fall in a heap at her feet. In just her smallclothes, she hesitated. His eyes burned her from behind as the air burned her from inside. She heard the water slosh and Davos’s hand found hers, dripping water on her gown.

“Hey.” He said softly, squeezing her hand gently until she turned and met his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna laugh at you. Whatever you’re afraid of-” He tapped his temple. “It’s in here. I think you’re beautiful.”

She closed her eyes, letting the words settle inside her, then lifted his hand to the lacing on her top. In a few deft movements he had pulled it loose, letting her free herself from it along with the bottoms. Instinct told her to cover herself, but she balled her fists and held them at her sides, letting his gaze roam across her form. She had always thought of herself as ungainly, all sharp angles and no curves, but under his eyes she felt her jutting hip and shoulder bones held the beauty of an ancient gnarled willow, and her long sinewy arms still covered in dirt were like the wings of a falcon rising from a bath of dust. She was a dryad and she glowed.

“You are…” He kissed her hand. “…so…” Again. “...fucking…” Once more. “...gorgeous. Gods, I don’t know what you’ve done to me, woman. You’re all I ever think about.”

The haze of steam caught the candlelight and danced in wisps around him. His hair turned black as pitch in the damp, the blood rose to his cheeks, and beneath that deep grey, his eyes were so green. Green like moss and agate and beetle wings. He was made of frown lines and scars, taut muscle, crooked teeth and passion like fire.

“Davos.” Her hand found his face. “I meant to say before, but… I suppose I was frightened. But, you’re- you’re… a vision. I am so glad to have met you.”

She kissed him, and for a moment it was all lips and fig sweetness until he smiled against her.

“Get in the bath.”

“Fine.”

She tried to glower as she clambered in beside him, but the warm embrace of the water was far too enticing. The surface sloshed as he spread his knees, making room for her to sit between his legs, and the level rose so high it nearly ran over the edge when they were both settled.

“Was that so hard?” He mumbled as he kissed her shoulder.

“Shut up.”

They sat that way for a while, cloistered in hot silky water. She ate her pears and washed the dirt from her skin, and he hummed a ballad so sweet that she could have cried. When she was done he freed her filthy hair from the braid, lathered it with soap and washed it with deft fingers massaging her scalp. She could not help the little groans of satisfaction that escaped her at the gentle tickling touch. She could feel him pressing into her back as he fisted her wet hair tightly and let his lips rest flush against the shell of her ear, his hot breath sending tingles to her toes.

“I’m warning you, my lady, if you keep making those filthy noises I might take right here in the bath.”

“Maybe you ought to.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Would you like that?” His lips parted to kiss her ear and she felt her eyes slip out of focus at the sensitivity there.

“Please.”

His free hand found her nipple, already a hard, pink marble beneath the hot water, and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Her hips lifted and her hand fell between her spreading legs in an involuntary response.

“Please, please,” Came his rough whisper. “Please what, my lady?”

“Please…” She gasped. “Please touch me.”

“Where? Where can I touch to please you, my sweet-” Kiss. “-virtuous-” Kiss. “-Bracken-”

A slosh of water hit the ground as she whipped around and took hold of his cock, feeling it hard, yet supple under her grasp like a lance wrapped in silk. He whimpered as she pulled her hand in slow, deliberate motions around the head.

“If you don’t stop teasing me I’ll rip it off, I swear.”

“There she is.” He relinquished his grip on her hair as he rocked his hips, letting his length slide through her hand as he gripped her thighs. “There’s the fire.”

He pulled her legs apart without another thought and ran his fingers along her slit. She was slick where the water had not washed it away, and he could feel the folds of her were swollen blooms beneath the wiry swathe of hair. She jolted when he found that little button at the top, a high keening coming from her throat at that sweet agony.

“It’s okay now, my love.” He assured her.

“It’s…” She whined. “It’s so…”

“It’s so good, sweetling, I know. I know.”

He spread her open with one hand, pulling back the hood of skin that covered that nub and rubbed his fingers in steady circles, drawing moans from her like music from a harp. Her hips pushed up against him and she lost hold of his cock, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was that beautiful rhythm of her reaching for him, reaching for that incomprehensible height. His fingers slowed, he needed her lucid for a moment.

“Cersha.” He spoke against her ear. “Are you listening darling?”

“Mm.” She nodded, desperately pushing up against the minute rotations of his digits.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

She nodded again.

“On the inside?”

“No.” She shook her head, her voice strained. “Never inside.”

A puff of breath escaped him.

“Do you…” She panted. “Like that about me?”

“Does it make me… perverse if I do?” He growled. “If I want to claim you before anyone, before even you?”

“I want it to be you.” She admitted freely.

“Then it will be me.” He kissed her cheek reassuringly, his fingers circling her bud a faster now.

He worked on her for a while, bringing her back to the peak, and as pleasure rolled through her like white-capped waves, a finger plunged inside her. It slid in so easily that she scarcely registered the change until she grew aware of a strange tightening, and a thickness that she clenched against. She gasped, earning a chuckle from her lover.

“Is that good?”

She nodded, her hand flying to her mouth as he began to slowly, incrementally pump it in and out. Just as she was growing used to the rhythm, he curled his finger inwards and seemed to hit some strange point that sent a jolt of pleasure through her. She shrieked and covered her face.

“That’s good, isn’t it, sweetling?”

He nuzzled the side of her face as his fingers rapidly fluttered against her sweet spot, his palm bumping her bud, radiating syrupy, heady sensation. She gave a little yelp and buried her face in his neck, making him grin.

“More…” She managed to say. “...please.”

“As you wish.”

She felt empty for a moment as he drew back his finger, but soon enough she was gasping against the overflowing fullness of two thick, calloused digits drawing over that sponge of mystifying bliss.

“Gods, you’re tight.” He muttered darkly, thrusting them as deeply as he could.

“Davos, I think- I think I’m...”

“Let go, my love.” He whispered, his hand moving at an impossible pace. “Cum for me.”

It was those rough-spun words that were her undoing. She seized and gripped the bathtub, rolling over the wave of boiling pleasure. It was a brief thing, a blink of bliss wherein her thoughts were entirely drowned out, clenching rhythmically around his digits until she relaxed, flopping back against his silken torso. His arms found their way around her stomach and he squeezed her tight against him.

“You did so well, sweetling.” He rocked her gently for a while, until she felt strong enough to speak.

“That thing you did for me at the inn,” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That thing you did with your mouth...”

“I ate out your cunny, sweetling, that’s what I did.” His eyes stirred with lust and mischief. “You want more?”

“No- yes, but no. I want to do it for you. I want to- to…”

“You want to suck my cock?” He put a hand to her cheek, his expression a mix of want and concern. “You don’t have to, Cersha. It’s gruelling work, I should know.”

“What do you mean?”

His cheeks tinted and a strange flash of agony passed over his face before he shook it away.

“Well, I’m no stranger to buggery, but I always preferred the fairer sex. Let’s leave it at that.” She felt a rush of curiosity at his words, and he must have noticed as he sighed moodily. “One day, I’ll tell you about the boy. I promise.” She swallowed her questions and nodded. “Shall we move to the bed?”

She got up eagerly, splattering more water onto the floor as she went, but was slightly alarmed to find her legs were already trembling. She offered Davos her hands, and he eyed them speculatively for a moment. She thought he might try to drag himself up on his own, but he took her help and soon they stood, holding one another as the water rolled off them in rivers. He giggled impishly, kissing her all over and before either of them knew it they were flopping down on the bed, still sopping wet like two otters in heat.

“We’re getting the sheets wet.” She protested weakly.

“We’ll sleep in my chambers.” He muttered, shuffling around until his injured leg had room to stretch out. “The bed is just as soft, if not so lovingly furnished.”

“Are you comfortable?” She fussed, hating the sight of his wound without a bandage. The messy sutures she had administered had been replaced by neat little stitches since they had arrived at Riverrun; the work of a Maester, Cersha supposed.

He put his hand to her cheek, a half-mocking look of amusement on his face.

“I am not made of glass. Now, are you sure you want to do this?” She nodded eagerly, and he guided her face gently downward. “Alright, I’ll show you how.”

She settled herself by his waist and watched, almost in awe, as he spit in his hand and gently tugged his length. The fold of skin pulled back and slipped easily up and down the moist, pink tip. He groaned lightly as he worked on himself, and in a few smooth strokes he had grown stiff and engorged. Cersha felt her mouth water, and was surprised to find that she felt no shame. She knew he would be big- in the pitch dark of that night in the inn, she had felt his impossible length slide through her hand- but nothing could have prepared her to actually see a man’s naked form, and it excited her more than she cared to admit.

“Put your mouth around the tip.” He instructed, using his free hand to gather her hair and hold it at the base of her neck. “Use your lips to block your teeth, that’s it, darling.”

She had to stretch her mouth wide to take him in, but it was worth it for the salty sweetness that spread across her tongue.

“Good girl.” He growled. “Good girl. Now feel around with your tongue. Do you feel that?That ridge, just there, right- right there.”

On the tip of her tongue rested a firm seam of skin, just at the base of the head. She flickered her tongue across it in a rapid flurry, and he whimpered. His hips lifting and an inch more of his length entered her mouth triggering a gulp of surprise.

“Oh, yes. Yes, sweetling that’s it, that’s it, just focus on the head.” With his hand in her hair he tenderly guided her head up and down, up and down, never forcing himself any deeper than she could comfortably take. “Bob your head like that, just take it in and out. You don’t-” He interrupted himself with a weak grimace. “-you don’t have to take it deep. It’s lovely if you do, but… but just do what you can, darling. Keep working with your tongue, you’re doing beautifully my love.”

He relinquished his grip on her hair, trusting her to keep up the rhythm, and wrapped his hand around his shaft, jerking himself into her mouth, while his other hand found his plump stones, rolling them in his palm. Cersha gripped his thighs, growing light-headed as she moaned and slurped around the size of him. It seemed he had given up on words, and instead fell into a frenzy of… moans? No, growls. He was like an animal, half-way between deep rumbles and high keening whines, his hips rolling and thrusting upward, seeming to forget his earlier gentleness. She took him deeper, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. Before she knew it, his hands were on her forehead and he was pushing her off of him.

“Did- did I bite you?” She gasped.

“No! Darling, no, I made you gag.” He struggled to sit up and held her face in his hands, stroking her hair, his face a mask of concern. “I cannot believe I did that, I’m so sorry, Cersha.”

“You didn’t mean to!” She eagerly reached for him again, but he caught her hand and kissed them all over.

“Still.” He implored. “I’m sorry. Besides, we had to stop. I would have finished in your mouth, I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.”

She considered for a moment.

“I… I suppose not.”

His face softened sympathetically.

“I want you to… to, um, to cum, though. It’s only fair.”

He chuckled at her choice of words and kissed her forehead.

“I can use my hand, if only you kiss me while I do it.” He gauged her disappointment with an impish smirk. “Or… I could fuck you, I suppose. If you want me to, that is.”

“Oh, please!”

He tossed his head back and laughed, pulling her into his embrace.

“Oh, my girl…” He pushed her wet hair away from her eyes. “I would work for hours like a draft horse if it would please you.”

He struggled to heave himself up, but she pushed him back by the shoulders. He made a little oof sound and his puggish nose crinkled in annoyance.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“I’d rather it this way.”

A grin dimpled his cheeks and his eyes glittered.

“Oh, really?” She just smiled knowingly and set about piling up pillows behind him to prop him up. He sighed dreamily. “I feel like a princess.”

“Prince of Crows,” She murmured, straddling him. “On a weirwood throne… with…” Her fingertips found his forehead. “…a red eye.”

He noticed her eyes had crossed out of focus, half closed. He took her by the arms and gave her a gentle shake that seemed to rouse her.

“You’re a witch, Bracken.” He laughed, though his heart thundered in his chest.

“I get it from my mother.” She shook her head, giggling nervously. “Anyway…”

Her hand reached between her legs to find his cock, stroking it gently. He laughed airily, happy to forget her strange words. The calloused pads of his fingers found their way to slide along her slit, and he scoffed.

“Gods, you get wet from nothing.” He seemed almost annoyed as he sunk two digits into her with no resistance. “Soaking wet…”

He withdrew and held up his fingers to show the glistening slickness that coated them, then slid them into his mouth. She gasped as he wantonly swirled his tongue around them, and pulled them out with a pop.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted.” He told her. “The only one I ever wish to taste again. I suppose mine could not have been such a joy to sample.”

“It was beautiful.” She kissed him, catching the ghost of herself on his lips. “You are beautiful.”

“Ah, I’m a busted old thing.” He flushed, lining himself up with her entrance. “But, thank you all the same, my lady.”

She felt the very tip of him sliding into her, and she hesitated.

“Davos, I… I do not wish to have a child.”

He palmed her cheek, as he loved to do.

“Then no child you shall have. I will spill myself upon your stomach every night until we are married, and every night thereafter until you feel the time is right.”

“And if I do not wish to marry?”

“Then unmarried we shall be.”

“And if I never want a child?” She thought of her mother then, the screams, the smell of blood like iron…

A pained expression crossed his face, but it was gone as soon as it was there.

“Then no child you shall have.”

“Do you promise?”

“On mine honour.” She searched his eyes for a sign of dishonesty, but found none, so she nodded.

She sunk down onto him, feeling her inner muscles clench and tent out as they adjusted to the thickness prising them apart. It hurt, it could not be avoided, his girth was simply too great. At the alert of her pained whimpers, he gripped her hips, holding her up until he was sure she had taken enough time to grow used to the feeling. He held her steady as she incrementally shimmied down, down, down until he bottomed out with an inch or two to spare. She cried out as she felt him pressing his bruising tip into her roof, but by then it had become a good pain, a cleansing pain.

“My girl.” He murmured. “My sweet girl.”

She lifted up from her knees, focusing on that exquisite feeling of his veins and ridges sliding against her walls, then lowered back down. Up and down, up and down, she repeated the action until she noticed he was holding his breath.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes,” He managed to utter, panting. “Gods, you’re just so tight. I can’t… I can’t see myself lasting long at this rate.”

She giggled as he whined, his hands finding her buttocks and bouncing her up and down on his rigid length, deeper and harder until she collapsed against him, grasping him like a tree in a windstorm. She grunted as he adjusted her on his lap and hit that sweet place inside her.

“Oh, fuck!” She hissed.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” His hot breath passed across her ear. “That’s the spot.”

“Oh, gods, Davos…”

He pumped upwards as he bounced her, and she felt his tip rubbing across her sweet spot before it punched against her roof, every single time. It was brutal, yet tender, and she could feel his restraint. She knew then that this man could fuck like an animal if she set him loose.

“You’re my girl.” He insisted. “Say you’re my fucking girl.”

“I’m y-your…” She spluttered. “I’m…”

Suddenly it stopped. He held her up, nothing but the tip left in her. She wriggled in his grasp, desperate for that overwhelming in-out-in-out-in-out.

“Say it, sweetling.” He cooed.

“I-I’m your girl.”

“Fuckin’ aye, you are.”

He plunged her back down, filling her in one thrust. Wave after wave of pleasure built up inside her, pump after pump, after pump until she had to bite into his shoulder to contain the half shrieking moans that had taken over her speech. It was this that broke his restraint, and as his thrusts grew sloppy, he slammed into her, fingers digging into her bony frame so harshly that they would have drawn blood were his nails longer.

“I’m c-”

The climax struck her dumb and she let out a guttural snarl as it seized all sense and reason from her. She clenched on his cock, still incessantly moving inside her, again, again, again, her eyes rolling, white fishes shimmering across her vision, until finally-

“Fuck!”

He pulled out, furiously rubbing his cock as he reached his own peak, his body stiffening and writhing as he spilled his hot seed onto her stomach. When he was done, he paused for a moment, eyes glazed and staring at nothing, until he noticed her and a flash of feeling passed across them. He did not hesitate to pull her to him, the strength of his arms evident as he crushed her against his torso, caring nothing for the stickiness there. It was then that she realised she was weeping. For what, she did not know. Perhaps, just the beauty of it all.

“Shh, shh.” His voice was flute soft again. “My beautiful girl.”

When she had regained some composure, she cleared her throat, forehead resting against his.

“I fear we need another bath.”

Thanks to my lovelies @aemondslove @disillusioned-phantasma @anaviieiraaa @deepestlovert @flordiakilos @kitty2984 @kpopfanfictionfantacies @sometings @nikkilsworld @gladiatorgladiator @borislava17 @oshun22 @spider-stark @marvelenthusiast10 @itsyagirl01 @nixtape-foryou @giggles-andkicks @benijbol @darlingcharling-blog @writervaul-t @kayrakhan @unicorntrooper @frogoerson @aphroditeanadyomene @councilofcastamere @ellxpsismm @teapomp @fuckalrighty for your reblogs and comments! I'm doing it for you guys :)

[greatlydelirious]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞

Slashers x F!Reader

What [blank] Dicks Look Like Masterlist

summary: “An extremely detailed description of different Slasher dicks.” Hex Color Codes, predictions of exact measurements, what sex would be like; basically, I went crazy with it.

warnings: pure debauchery, very much my own opinion 

Billy Loomis:

Height - 6′ 0″ (1.82m)

Body Type - Lean, Toned

Tip - #AE6D6A

Shaft - #D49D8A

Length - 6.8in (17.27cm)

Girth - 4.6in (11.68cm)

Details - Circumcised, cleanly shaven, and has noticeable dark blue veins when he becomes fully erect. Grower, not a shower.

Billy is a lot of things; mysterious, brooding, and brash, but understated isn’t one of them. His plans are big, but his cock is bigger. It wasn’t a surprise for you when you say how large he was for the first time. Although it barely fit in you, it did fit his personality. The only thing he is more passionate about than revenge is fucking you until you can barely walk the next day and need to call out of school.

Expect to also have bruises and love bites to boot. Billy loved to lay his claim on you by making sure you had visual reminders that you were taken. Even if he was with Sidney, he needed everyone to know you weren’t up for grabs.

Just like him, the tip of his cock is a dark and heady reddish-purple. Billy’s taste in sex is quite rough and possessive. He took you with his cock in every way imaginable and only used positions that had you flush against him.

If he’s not inside you, he’s practically fucking you with his eyes. He watches your every move like a predator assessing its prey. An apt description when his eyes are as dark as a shark and he holds you so tight like you’ll bolt at any moment.

Do you want to be possessed completely and treated like a fuck doll? If so, Billy Loomis is your guy.

Stu Matcher:

Height - 6′ 3″ (1.90m)

Body Type - Lanky, Toned

Tip - #EDA491

Shaft - #F1BDA8

Length - 7in (17.78cm)

Girth - 3.9in (9.90cm)

Details - Circumcised, hair is a little overgrown, but it’s thin so it’s not really a problem. Tilts to the left.

Just like his stature, Stu’s cock is thin and long. He fits nicely into your pussy but couldn’t completely bottom out.

Sex with Stu is more fun than anything else. He likes to make you giggle and squirm, especially while you’re impaled on his cock. He’s a goofball through and through, but at the drop of hat, he’ll go from tickling you to fucking into you like a man possessed.

Like any other young man, Stu’s as horny as it gets. His love language is touch so he’ll always either have his arms around you or have you planted on his lap. The latter was a dangerous game as it inevitably led to him grinding up into your ass. You tried to be discrete, but he was so long and always so hard against you, you couldn’t help but blush and bite your lip till you almost bled to suppress the string of moans that threatened to spill out.

Billy would always snicker at how you “fucked like rabbits”. Thank God for birth control, because with how frequently you fuck and how deep Stu comes in you, you would be pregnant by now.

Despite your continuous salacious activities, your relationship was rather sweet. You loved how you had to go on your tiptoes to kiss him and the way you got to lay your head in the middle of his chest while you snuggled together. You especially loved how he always made sure you were comfortable and getting maximum pleasure from sex.

To make a long story short; Stu was the pinnacle of a golden retriever boyfriend (with a big dick).

Mark Hoffman:

Height - 5′ 9″ (1.75m)

Body Type - Strong

Tip - #D47F71

Shaft - #E3A78D

Length - 6.9in (17.52cm)

Girth - 5.3in (13.46cm)

Details - Circumcised, hair is trimmed, but not fully shaved, and he has one thick vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. Tilts upwards and to the right.

Intimidating was a word apt for all aspects of Mark Hoffman. Personality, looks, and more importantly his dick. You can still remember the first time you saw him in all his naked glory. As you gaped like a codfish, that damn devilish smirk spread across his face in cocky male triumph. At least that time you could agree with it.

The ratio of length and width was perfect for deriving pleasure that wasn’t painful, but filled you to the fullest. A personification of the phrase “just right”.

You loved to suckle and lick at the thick head of Mark’s cock. Lightly teasing him with pleasure light enough to make him grunt, but not completely come undone. But, just like the man himself, the tip is an angry red. Your teasing would last a minute before that same tip hit the back of your throat.

Mark loved to fuck your throat to feel how hard you work to accommodate him. Your lips stretched thin around his thickness almost uncomfortably. A factor that only worked to spur him on more.

When Mark Hoffman fucked you he didn’t seek to inflict pain. No, he made you so dick drunk that drool slid out your puffy lips and you couldn’t even begin to remember what day it was. That’s just what good dick does to a woman.

Bo Sinclair:

Height - 6′ 1″ (1.85m)

Body Type - Muscular 

Tip - #BD7365

Shaft - #D59C88

Length - 8.1in (20.57cm)

Girth - 5.4in (13.71cm)

Details - Circumcised, clean-shaven (I mean look at his face, man grooms himself), and he has multiple veins along his shaft that are sensitive. Tilts upwards, hefty balls.

Holy Mother Mary and Joseph, Bo has so much feral masculinity it borders on toxic... okay it definitely is toxic. He’s charismatic, sexy, has a killer smile, a huge cock, and he knows it. Not only knows it, but revels in it. Cockiness is the least of your worries when it comes to Bo, however.

Bo is an experienced lover since he was the resident playboy when Ambrose was still bustling with life. Now you get the pleasure of having him all to yourself. More of a curse than a blessing since the man has an insatiable sex drive.

He fucks every hole you have with a delicious stretch that makes you moan like a whore. Bo praises you for taking him so well by grunting at you about how you're his “good little slut”. Degradation is his specialty, but you’re usually too dick-drunk to care (and the darker side of you absolutely loves it).

Bo is a shower all the way. His tight jeans leave little to the imagination as whenever you’re in the same room you can see the hard outline of his cock. An instinctual display of his dominance. He needed to be in power and you were more than happy to give it to him.

One of his favorite things was to have you lie your back on the bed with your head hanging off so he can fuck your throat. Nothing spurred him on more than the sight of his cock bulging down your throat. Sometimes he liked to wrap one of his hands around your neck, so he can feel him fucking you even more.

Get ready to familiarize yourself with being sore because Bo won’t go easy on you. If you do complain he is more than happy to ease your pain with his damned mouth. Good for being an asshole and even better for bringing you pleasure.

Vincent Sinclair:

Height - 6′ 1″ (1.85m)

Body Type - Lean, Strong

Tip - #C98274

Shaft - #DCAC99

Length - 8.2in (20.82cm)

Girth - 5.2in (13.20cm)

Details - Circumcised, clean-shaven, and slightly paler than his brother. Tilts upwards and to the left.

Vincent is the sweet version of his brother Bo. Although they possess similar impressive equipment, he lavishes your body like you’re royalty. He is more of a giver than a receiver.

Aftercare with Vincent was glorious. In the afterglow of sex, he will wet a rag in warm water to wipe you both off before laying you against his chest. Once you become putty in his strong embrace, he likes to run a brush through your sex-tasseled hair. A gesture that is even more intimate than what you just engaged in.

Vincent thought it was fascinating that you are so fascinated with his dick. So much so that he surprised you with a mold of it as a gift for you to use whenever he was unavailable. (If Bo found out, you would never hear the end of it.) In return, you offered to model nude for Vincent which of course led to passionate, mind-melting sex. His room seemed to turn into a sauna during it all. You always ended up being hot and sticky with sweat that made you want to sleep the rest of the day away more than anything else.

Even though he was always quiet, during sex he didn’t hold back the animalistic grunts that crawled from his throat. Fitting since his cock was perfect for breeding you fully. Another accurate fact since Vincent always lovingly stroked your belly afterward.

Vincent is sugar, spice, and everything nice in and out of the bedroom (if you aren’t a prospective statue that is).

Lester Sinclair:

Height - 5′ 7″ (1.70m)

Body Type - Scrawny 

Tip - #C7877E

Shaft - #D6A795

Length - 5.3in (13.46cm)

Girth - 3.8in (9.65cm)

Details - Uncircumcised, a nice accumulation of hair, and veiny. 

This man is the picture you see when you look up why size doesn’t matter. Lester has no qualms about putting in the work to make you orgasm. He eats you out like a starved man and his fingers are so deft that you forget he spent most of his day cleaning roadkill. Additionally, Lester always made sure to pay special attention to your clit while he fucked you.

He is the king of a quickie. In his truck, on top of his truck, on the ground, or in the bathroom; the man knows how to get you both off and do it fast. Especially since his brother Bo will never give the two of you peace.

Lester liked to call you his “little slice o’ heaven”. In his words, you were as sweet as pie and tasted like it too. It didn’t take much for you to rile the man up till he was chomping at the bit to touch you. When you wore your lace bra and tank top he would be practically beg on his knees.

Everyone underestimated him, but that left more for you. Who doesn’t love a man who isn’t afraid to get down and dirty? (Oh yeah, he totally eats ass too. I have no shame in saying it).

Brahms Heelshire:

Height - 6′ 3″ (1.90m)

Body Type - Muscular

Tip - #DA9F99

Shaft - #D7A294

Length - 7.8in (19.81cm)

Girth - 4.6in (11.68cm)

Details - Circumcised, hairy just like the rest of him (facts are facts). Hangs low.

It was a mystery how Brahms was so well endowed with, well... everything. The man was mouth-wateringly muscular despite his proclivity for slinking in the walls all day and to say he was hung was the understatement of the century.

One time when Brahms was desperately grinding against your stomach you shivered at the realization of how long he was. The tent that grew in his sweatpants could have housed five people. A fact that the boy didn’t fully quite understand.

Ever the eager one, Brahms wanted nothing more than to completely sheath himself inside you in one thrust. Although, a good hard squeeze of his cock made him listen to you; even if he whined in need. (However, he loved nothing more than to bury his face in your sweet folds. Something he was far too good at for his inexperience.)

He liked when you were authoritative yet sweet. Whispering to him what you wanted him to do if he wanted to be your “good boy” while running your thumb along the slit on the pretty pink head of his cock.

Although Brahms only slightly stretched your pussy, the way he could barely bottom out in you made your toes curl with tortuous delight. Each push inside you made him rub against the spot that made your eyes roll back and made his tip kiss your cervix.

Brahms Heelshire may have no experience before you, but he learns rather quickly like the good boy he is.

Thomas Hewitt:

Height - 6′ 5″ (1.95m)

Body Type - Wide, Strong

Tip - #C7777A

Shaft - #EABCAF

Length - 4.8in (12.19cm)

Girth - 6.0in (15.24cm)

Details - Uncircumcised, another hairy bastard, and has thick veins. Huge balls.

What he lacks in length, he makes up for in width, because just like every other inch of his body, Thomas’s cock is thick.

Prep is key for the beast of a man to snuggly (while still stretching) fit inside your warm depths. Thomas is desperate as he spreads you with his fingers, one at a time. One turns into two turns into three, and by the fourth, you’re a whimpering wet mess begging to finally be filled by the real thing.

Pre-cum weeps from the tip of his blushing cock as his bulky frame cages you in and fucks you like an animal in heat. The deep flush on the head is the same color as the flush on his cheeks by the end of your far too-loud lovemaking.

Charlie Hewitt often vulgarly taunted Tommy about him “fucking” you, but Thomas was so head over in heels with you, the only phrase he liked to call what you two did was lovemaking. Even if he was rather rough on occasion. Every time your sweet voice asked him, “Do you want to make love to me Tommy?” while you stroked his broad chest, he felt like he would burst right then and there.

Tall, strong, and wide, not only was he sturdy enough to not be swept away by a tornado, Thomas Hewitt could satisfy all your primal needs. And you did for him as well, because based on the whined grunts and growls he showers you with; pumping you full of his cum was Thomas’s favorite thing.

Michael Myers:

Height - 6′ 8″ (2.03m)

Body Type - Strong

Tip - #EFA29A

Shaft - #F5BEAB

Length - 9.7in (24.63cm)

Girth - 5.6in (14.22cm)

Details - Circumcised, good amount of hair, and veiny. Hangs low (Do you see the size of that thing?).

Silent, but deadly. Inhumanely strong. A giant amongst man. And that’s just the descriptions for Michael’s dick. But seriously, it was a wonder how you survived being his girlfriend. He was a little too thick and a little too long. Not that you're complaining, it’s just A LOT to get used to.

Michael took you hard and near brutal when he wanted, how he wanted you. Despite this he still had an underlying tenderness. When he slammed you against the wall he cradled the back of your skull in his enormous hand. Instead of just ramming in you he scissored two of his thick fingers inside you to make sure you were relaxed and wet enough to accommodate him. Something that didn’t take very long, especially when he let your hands roam across the expanse of large muscle he procured over the years.

The light pink tip of Michael’s cock was soft and velvety; a stark contrast to the rough edge of, well, everything about him. Surprisingly, Michael wasn’t keen on fucking your throat like he did your pussy. He enjoyed looming over you as you gently sucked on the head while stroking his shaft with both of your hands (there was even room for a third). 

Sometimes he even just liked using your mouth to warm his large cock. That’s the only way you could get him to finally lay in bed. Nothing was more comforting for him than resting his cock in your wet mouth while you occasionally swallowed around him to prevent yourself from soaking your sheets in drool.

With his size pain was customary, but it only added to the onslaught of pleasure Michael gave you time after time.

Freddy Krueger:

Height - 5′ 10″ (1.77m)

Body Type - Average

Tip - #E37B6E

Shaft - #FCBCA0

Length - 6.1in (15.49cm)

Girth - 3.9in (9.90cm)

Details - Self-circumcised (iykyk), no hair whatsoever, and similar to the look and texture of the rest of his skin. Details are for his natural state because he can make his dick whatever he wants.

This is what nightmares are made of it, but when it comes to you it is in the most sensual way. Like I said above I put what I think is his “natural dick state”, but Freddy can be as big or small as you want him to be. Want to be fucked by tentacles? He can do that. Want to be fucked by a guy with two dicks? Easy peasy. Want to be fucked by a dick that vibrates? Okay, I think you get the point by now.

If you’re into Freddy you have to be a little bit of a masochist. Those knife fingers aren’t just for display babe. It’s his way to have you marked by him even when you aren’t in the same realm. You either have to bundle yourself up or create lie on top of lie about how you have a really angry cat.

After terrorizing some poor victim, Freddy loved to thoroughly pump the leftover adrenaline into you. This made sleep not fully restful for you. The only time he is soft on you is when you fall asleep during the day. If he is not busy during those times, he will shower you with gentle touches and slow foreplay. Freddy likes to call you his “sleepy kitten”. Which is a nice reprieve from the many other groaned nicknames. Including but not limited to; slut, whore, dripping cunt, dirty little bitch, etc.

Freddy might be a dirty old man, but he is your dirty old man.

Jason Voorhees:

Height - 6′ 5″ (1.95m)

Body Type - Strong

Tip - #AE8071

Shaft - #CDAD90

Length - 7.1in (18.03cm)

Girth - 5.7in (14.47cm)

Details - Uncircumcised, sparse/ patchy hair, and deep purple veins. Tilts slightly down.

Jason is like water in your hands (no pun intended). He was enamored by you the first time he saw you. You were so delicate and soft-spoken and didn’t engage in all the sinful activities everyone around you did. Rarely did his mother approve of anyone, but for the first time Pamela told Jason to go protect the “sweet girl”. Something he couldn’t agree with more.

Although he is the most inexperienced, he is also the most eager. Jason doesn’t fully understand his own arousal, but what he did know was that he wanted to touch you... everywhere. Pure instinct and your encouragement aids him in exploring your joint pleasure.

The last thing Jason wanted to do was hurt you. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite understand his own strength. Anytime you whined out in pain, he would immediately stop and pet your head in a gentle apology. All of Jason’s actions stem from the need to do good. Originally it was just for his mother, but now he wanted to do good for you even more so.

Jason’s cock has a dull hue due to his “reincarnation”, but you don’t mind. More than half of the time he is buried deep inside you anyway. He is so long and wide that its hard to pay attention to anything, but him.

At first Jason comes extremely quickly because the foreign pleasure is too overwhelming for him. Thankfully, he has no problems getting hard again and finishing right where you both left off. Stamina and strength coursed through his vein with an inhuman longevity.

With a little handholding, Jason has the attributes to be the sweetest and most attentive lover.

Jesse Cromeans:

Height - 6′ 7″ (2.00m)

Body Type - Muscular

Tip - #E3A391

Shaft - #EFC2A5

Length - 7.2in (18.28cm)

Girth - 4.5in (11.43cm)

Details - Circumcised, clean-shaven, and rather smooth. Perpetually hard.

Unlike all the other little pigs, Jesse tortures you with pleasure and only a bearable amount of pain. Considering his size, he found it easy to succeed in just that. In tandem with knives, ropes, whips, paddles, toys, and various tools of course.

Not only does the mask stay on during sex, but also the camera. The only eyes who would ever re-watch it though is his. In a way, you’re Jesse’s muse. You inspire his strong ambition and lust for blood. Truly the only woman to spread warmth throughout his body. Well, a warmth that’s not from blood.

I also need to mention that he smells so good. A mix of aftershave, cologne, and a hint of metal is a concoction that calls to your hormones. Masculine, yet sophisticated.

“Perpetually hard” means just that. Jesse is always ready to fuck you. If he isn’t actively doing it he’s either watching one of your shared tapes or thinking about it. The sheer thrill from his kills only adds to this constant flame of desire. Anyone who lengthens how long it will take for him to get back home to you will greatly regret it.

Jesse has the means to give you anything your heart desires. Although all you will be able to think about is his cock and dominating presence over you.

Asa Emory:

Height - 6′ 0″ (1.82m)

Body Type - Lean

Tip - #EDAB90

Shaft - #F8CBB4

Length - 6.9in (17.52cm)

Girth - 4.7in (11.93cm)

Details - Circumcised, clean-shaven, and flushes a hue of red when fully erect. Tilts upwards.

Like the creations he strives to make, Asa’s cock is perfection. Consistently colored with a small hue of red on the tip, soft-skinned, and tilted upwards enough to rub against your most sensitive areas. You would expect nothing less from him though.

This is an extremely dominant and submissive relationship. Although you are his prized creature, nothing is given to you freely. You must earn all his affection and expect to be punished when you act beyond your means. Asa loved how sweet you sounded while begging, but he loved how wobbly you sounded while being reprimanded more.

His cock is also big enough to hurt when he decided you didn’t deserve a gentle touch. However, if you took it like a good girl, he would make sure to soothe your aches and let you have a clean slate the next day.

Since Asa was the only person you interact with, you don’t merely crave his touch; you starve for It. Being a rare bird in a gilded cage made you stir crazy, but the second he spent time with you, all your previous sadness was quickly forgotten.

You may rely on Asa for everything, but no pet could ever compare to you. TLDR; You are a glorified sex slave, but no one in your life has cared for you this extensively.

Norman Nordstrom:

Height - 5′ 10″ (1.77m)

Body Type - Muscular

Tip - #ECA9A1

Shaft - #EEBEA2

Length - 8.4in (21.33cm)

Girth - 5.1in (12.95cm)

Details - Circumcised, hair is trimmed, and has one thick vein on the top side of his shaft that goes from the base all the way to the tip. Tilts upwards, hefty balls.

Norman is a strong force of nature despite his visual impairment. Extraordinarily little would lack in your relationship. He has great spatial awareness and even better hearing. Another bonus was that he loved to constantly be touching you. Norman had a particularly good idea as to what you look like. Not that your looks mattered to him. Your heart was invaluable and to be honest… so is your pussy.

Even though Norman is much older than you, he has no problems getting hard and fucking you properly. And boy his cock was so huge it was easy for him to have you drooling. He is also huge on oral sex; not for him, but for you. Norman made sure you were sufficiently wet for him to fill you with minimal pain. He also only liked coming inside you. Truly the king of breeding kinks.

The mating press will become your go-to position. Not only did it keep his cum inside you the best, but it helped him press into you the deepest. You will eventually learn to have no shame. Norman sure didn’t. I mean his sweatpants left very little doubt that he was constantly horny for you.

Norman will treat you like a princess and protect you like a knight. All he asks for in return is your heart and eventually a child.

Yautja:

Height - 7′ to 8′ (2.13m - 2.43m)

Body Type - Muscular 

Tip - #83453D

Shaft - #7F6C41 near the tip and fades to #71653D at the base

Length - 12.4in (31.49cm)

Girth - 6.5in (16.51cm), 7.5in (19.05cm) knot 

Details - Nothing to circumcise, no hair, and more details are below. Huge balls.

Did you really expect an 8-foot alien creature with more strength than you could ever dream of possessing to have an averagely large cock? The virility of Yautja males is unmatched by any other species in existence. Your hands will be figuratively and literally full.

Yautjas have their genitals sheathed inside them while they’re not actively mating. Leaving the area of the groin a rough round mound of skin. Due to their frequent hunting and sparring, it protects the sensitive flesh from being harmed.

The reddish-purple-hued tip is pointed and textured by ridges that help your male nuzzle his way deep inside you. Similarly, firm bumps and ridges travel down the widening shaft to aid in the mating process. The even thicker knot at the base of his cock keeps the Yautja snuggly in your depths to lock in all of his seed.

However, with the sheer quantity of hot seed he produces into you, a rush of it always spills out after he pulls out. While growling he will use his thick, rough fingers to coax it back inside you. An act that will never cease to make your face heat into a blush. 

You audibly gasped when you first saw your Yautja’s cock in all its unsheathed glory. In contrast, the male trilled at the sight of the soft pink flesh between your legs that was tantalizingly dripping for him. Neither of you had seen the opposite species naked before. Something about the foreignness of it all made you even more worked up.

Mating with a Yautja is difficult at first, but once you finally fit all of him inside you, you’ll crave nothing else.

The amount of calculation and color comparison I did for this is wild. I hope you got a kick out of reading this because I sure did while writing it. Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated <3

[samodivaa]

Soul-debasing Interrogation

Winter Soldier x Agent!Reader

Both his mentality and body can withstand anything—to err is...human—you are the human in this situation.

Warnings - smut, rough sex, choking

Words - 2900

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His face is a reflection of the past, of what is left of his life before, but his humanity has long forgotten where it belongs. You are now looking at something resembling a semi-death state, you can’t even comprehend the present condition of his soul, the mental pain or unbearably oppressive suffering he has been put through—a living creature, somewhat both broken and whole at the same time.

His eyelids slowly open, dark orbs focusing on the floor as he lets out a loud groan. He has the violent urge to move, but behind his back, both hands are bound with rope designed to eat away at the skin when he moves, even slightly. His ankles are as well bound to the legs of the chair—he makes an internal scoff at his current state.

“Here we go” you are already standing in between of his wide spread legs, grabbing his chin in a painful hold, waiting to speak when his glossy eyes are fully focused on yours “Try not to let this room scare you.”

A slumbering rage is stirring, rippling just beneath the surface. You are on the borderline, caught between the tides of fear and fury—him looking at you without blinking dismembers you mentally, but at the same time convinces him of the necessity to fight your fear.

It’s been days and nothing works, he seems unbreakable.

“Talk”

his jaw between your fingertips, grip still painfully tight, fingers turning white.

You are so sweet with your business-like tone—just imagine ripping out the tongue, so you could never speak again.

You study his features for a moment longer before letting go of his chin to slap his face hard, frowning in a sign of dissatisfaction.

“I said talk!“

„Ты так красива, что я забыл что хотел сказать тебе“ (You are so beautiful that I forgot what I wanted to tell you)

He finally says after a dramatic pause, his voice carrying its mocking undertones.

„You sick son of a bitch!“

You slap him again, he doesn’t show any reaction.

„White clothes, белый как снег?” (white as snow)

You put your hands on his knees and bent down, to whisper in his ear.

„I will fucking kill you”

A thin line closes around his throat and goes through, slowly cutting into his skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. After this, his head flies back, manicured fingers whirling around his hair, the little hairs on the back of his neck prickling. A groan escapes his dry lips, one that he doesn’t realize he’d been holding.

You drop the thin plastic line and place one nail under his chin, moving slowly, fascinated, nova-flare blue eyes blazing into your own.

„Will you talk now?“

he just sighs, shifting uncomfortably.

„Fuck…“

you whisper, a hint of exasperation and affront in your tone. You almost laugh, guilt twines with another failed attempt of getting any information out of him—you looks down at his trousers, then your eyes widen

„You are enjoying this”

In a full-fledged case of desire, Soldat is able to form both mental and physical representation of the thing he wants now and you don’t plan on initiating action to diminish his state.

Winter snorts at your words and looks at you with a smirk. He is obsessed with the situation, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. He hungers for your taste, your smell, the feel of your skin touching his. He is burning with desire, but keeps quiet about it—that’s his punishment he brings on himself, but there is no way he is begging his enemy—even in this state.

“Yes, I am” he says, with a venomous sneer “My eyes are up here, darling” he breathes.

That uncomfortable feeling is spreading over you as your eyes lift up to his lips, watching them part, taking deep breaths, the longing for him grows especially strong. You stand as though hesitating, suddenly the blood rushes to your head and sends a glow to your cheeks.

You are unable to endure his persistent stare, but you raise your downcast eyes and you finally smirk triumphantly at him as you struggle to breathe, suddenly straddling his thighs, loosening all of the ropes.

Winter watches with growing interest as you lean down, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

Soldat’s eyes are the interpreter of the animal lust beneath, there is an unhealthy sallowness in the color of his orbits, he doesn’t even blink—his body is tense, a steel trap just waiting to be sprung open, but you don’t know that.

Your greedy lips are on his skin, devouring everything you can—licking, sucking, and kissing, not holding back your throaty moans. You drag your lips up his throat, along his jaw, back toward his mouth.

Eyes meet again.

The smirk on his face has disappeared and leaves an intensity behind in his eyes, narrowing into a glare. He is a silent fury who no torment could tame—but the finest fury is the most controlled, there is a murderous look in his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

you cry, face white and distorted, with a wan smile.

He laughs spitefully “It's either kiss you or kill you, that's how I see it”

His soul is overflowing but with mingled feelings, no single sensation stands out distinctly, but there is a need in his heart and his body. He grabs you by the hips and gets up with an unexpected growl. Sexual perversions mix with lust and adrenaline as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity, dropping you slowly on the cold floor.

The moment your feet touch the ground, you want to scream, but you are cut off with a rough kiss on your lips. He grinds his pelvis into you, so you can feel his hard length against your lower belly, and grips your ass through the flimsy pants.

“I will fuck you” he croons his plans into your ear, and then places a cold palm around your neck “But you need to beg me”

Dominance. Control.

Winter has lost control over everything, even the places in his head… it's paralyzing…of course he has an obsession about female obedience—his human fingers start teasing the crotch of your panties.

You gasp into his mouth, and the opening of your lips let his tongue slide through.

Your arms come up around his neck and he pulls you against him, hands flatten against your back…and you are up on the tips of your toes, kissing him as fiercely as he is kissing you.

He pulls away from you briefly to say gruffly “Come on, I want to hear it” his soul, overflowing with rapture, yearns for your pleas, skin, touch “I know you want me” he whispers with implicit faith in his words.

A whirl of the most fantastic notions takes possession of his brain when your eyes meet again—he clings to you more tightly, knotting his hands in your hair, wordlessy begging, hands sliding down to your waist.

He raises the metal hand to his mouth, sucking on his fingers before the slightly damp digits are sliding into your panties and teasing your aroused folds and you exhale sharply, turning into a whining mewl as he circles your clit with ease.

“Say it”

he chuckles ruthlessly as the other hand bruises the skin on your waist, while his thumb circles down under your clit, closer to your entrance, fluids start to leak out. Your eyes meet again and something dangerous sparks, you suddenly feel your legs growing weak under you.

“Please-” you whisper, trembling with need and delight.

Winter almost stops when he hears you, his own breathing hitches a bit. He is watching you with an icy expression, voice falls to a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself

“Keep begging” a dark edge creeps into his tone.

“Please, don’t stop”

You shamelessly lift your leg up, placing it across his lower back and he swipes his thumb over your now throbbing clit before using two fingers to spread your lips apart. You never felt such stretching. It is cold and uncomfortable, but he forces his fingers inside as far as he can. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath, your skin breaks out into a pale sweat as he eases into a slow rhythm, curling his fingers inside, fracking, until your body twitches and walls clench around his fingers.

“Need me more” He pistons in and out of you as you clench around his fingers “Beg me more”

Every synapse in your brain short out—the gut-wrenching terror you feel, with a balance of sweet pleasure slide into mindlessness—

“Please, I need more, I need you-” you are cut off with an involuntary moan of rapturous pleasure, you are so close.

Those who constantly hunger for control outside of self are undoubtedly starved for peace inside of self—it doesn’t fucking matter, does it?

You’re powerless, weightless…utterly at his mercy and that’s what makes you cum—his gaze as he is staring at you, time stops. Those eyes are piercing yours, this is what makes you cum, he looks at you like he owns you.

The orgasm has gutted your vocal chords, and all you manage is a small gasp, he rasps something in your ear as he mouths against the skin of your neck, but you are too lost to hear it.

You are pushed against the wall, he tilts his head back and lowers his lips to yours and they get bitten to the point of bleeding. Winter feels a metallic taste on his tongue as he pulls back to admire his work, licking his lips, smiling disgustingly.

The sharp taste of blood only whetting his appetite. Winter wraps long slender fingers, around your throat, squeezing slightly and the feeling is too cold for it to be a human hand. His mouth is so close to your ear it makes your hair stand on end as he presses his hips against you, licking along the shell of your ear.

It is arousing, but dangerous—very dangerous.

Your other hand trails down his abdomen to his belt, and a finger dips in before you retrieve it—teasing him, the other hand still rubbing small circles on the tip. He shifts closer so his hardness presses against your hand unwillingly to your plans.

His right hand digs fingers into the flesh of your waist, the grip turning bruising and hard as before—the metal one now resting on the wall close to your head—as a warning, a reminder of the power he holds.

„Don’t you dare stop“ he whispers, the bite of his threat lost somewhere in his need for you to touch.

You need moments to unbuckle his pants, and Winter continues to trail your skin with kisses and whines when a hand slides into his boxers, the other holding closely to take the large cock in your small hands, covering it as much as you can.

You look down at his slick cock and nearly gag at the idea of just having it in your mouth, you want to be on his knees for him.

Drops of pre-cum drop to the floor.

Winter clenches his metal fist, trying to resist the urge to moan loudly, closing his lips he inhales through his nose, face contorting with openly weeping pleasure. He groans in reply, unable to fight your gentle touch, trying to fuck himself against the grip of your hands, too small to cover his whole length, throbbing with delight of that thought, orgasm begins to creep up on him.

You can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to come, all he can do is tighten the grip against your waist—to urge you to please him.

He lets a choked moan escape his lips as you start to move your hands up and down, languidly stroking at his cock—his metal fingers whirling naturally around your neck, squeezing, not enough to break it, whines and whimpers escaping him as if he has no control over them any longer.

You observe every reaction and sound with wide lips and sultry eyes—heavy breathing from both of you as the pleasure hadn’t stopped yet—mesmerized yet almost confused as you’d never seen a killer be so needy for an orgasm, but you don’t dare comment.

“Don’t slow down”

He breaths out, eyebrows furrowing, his eyes shut, only grunts fill the cold air.

He opens his eyes, glossy and unfocused, and his face is deeply flushed—he is faced with your eyes stained with tears as you struggle to breathe—you nearly lose consciousness, how fragile your body is and how strong his is.

He chuckles at the sight—lust twisting his features, the grip around your neck finally loosens, the rush of blood and oxygen to the brain results in an explosion of dopamine, followed by erratic breathing.

He uses the moment to prise his tongue into your open mouth, forcing himself into you. You try to push and trash, but he holds you firm against the wall, his tongue sweeping over your lips, against your teeth, claiming you—leaking your tears.

Tasting the life he can easily take away from you.

You wiggles slightly, when he rips off your pants off, those piercing blue eyes trying to get a glimpse of your nakedness as his cock is still out, his fist tightening around the base, stroking slowly as his eyes drift south—dragging his metal finger slowly through your slit, the other hand once again moves on the waist in the same place—it hurts, bruises already forming from his tight hold.

It is obvious that Winter is not human, his body, his dick is too big to be human. You shiver at the sight of his length, hard and needy. His eyes are completely blue, with no pupil or white, two seas full of desire—he will drown you in them.

Soldat lifts your leg to gain a better angle to your hole. Your lips are slick and swollen, but the opening is stretching tight around his cock, trying to enter you completely, you cry out, your back arching at the pain. You freeze, blood running cold as he slaps you hard across the face.

The dark-haired man stares back with ill-concealed suspicion.

He is big, wide and fills you deliciously—every time you assume that he's fully sheathed, he pushes in a bit more and makes you moan loudly.

You buckle your hips as best you can despite his rough movements, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperate to feel him buried inside of you.

He is rough with you, not taking his time, not easing you into it.

“Please, slow down, it is too much-”

“Shut up and take it”

he trembles at the way you say beg, because of him, his mind was a blank canvas accosted by nothing—now, it is all about you, about pleasure.

And you tremble like a downy rabbit caught in the clutches of a wolf—he seizes you as boldly as if you are his prey. He thrust with force, you don’t even have time to adjust, he is too eager.

You moan both from pleasure and pain—It's so tight, squeezing the life out of his cock and he loves the idea of hurting you, it is too erotic not to think about it. He fucks you with lazy, slow thrusts, just enjoying the sensations of sex.

“You are taking me so good” he pants against your throat

he enjoys the suction feeling onto his cock, pummeling your cunt ruthlessly, hitting over the tender spot and you groan, loudly. Your throat feels raw from all the moans.

You exist there, whimpering, taking a fortifying breath, feeling the approach of your own orgasm, compressed by him as he ravages you, marks you.

Hard, long, deep trust that forces moans out of both of you.

You immediately bite your lip, panting, stopping yourself from moaning more, but your spine bends back and your body stretches taut, insides clenching and spamming around his cock—the sound that escapes your lips is so unearthly that it drives him to the edge.

He slams into you as his cock explodes in an endless amount of cum, overflowing out of you, dripping on the floor. He groans as he continues to slam into you, even as you feel overly sensitive as your own orgasm reaches its peak.

He leans down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushes feather-light against your face, his metal hand is around your throat, squeezing tightly—you lose consciousness, thinking that he is killing you, but you just pass out.

Sex is another practiced art to him. Each move is calculated. His brain is programmed to perform, his body seducing his prey with ease, noting each response of his target.

Fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction—that's how corruption is spread, turning squalor and nastiness into thrill, seduces the target into his own web—and leaves with the corpse on his hands.

What a devilish creature, master of the art of Death and Seduction, all its nuance, all its depth and complexity—but he spared your life?

[solecize]

fic preview: save the date | san x reader

from middle school walls to lecture halls, choi san was your ultimate nemesis that, for most of your life, fought to do everything better than you. even worse, there was no escape from him when your older sister and his older brother were childhood sweethearts, disgustingly in love. years later, the inevitable wedding bells had now come around the corner for them and as her maid of honour, you had one goal: making sure nobody fucked up the wedding. specifically, you were not going to let san, the best man, fuck up the big day.

unfortunately, when the ring goes missing less than twenty hour hours before the wedding, you have no choice but to work with the said best man who you drunkenly slept with days before the wedding - yes, the same one that you hated for over a decade - to track down a ten thousand dollar ring. starting from midnight, it's a race against the clock for you and san to go on the wildest chase of your life to, well, save the date. 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: san/female reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. non idol au, epic rom com, academic rivals, childhood enemies to lovers, fluff, slight angst 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. foul language, violence, blood, mention of drugs and drug use, general substance use (smoking and drinking), y/n and san get stranded in a foreign city together after embarking on adventure where they almost get scammed, jumped, etc., assigned seats on an airplane trope, unrequited pining, san gets a glo up after coming back from the military, more to be added 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. n/a 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. tbd.

  being entrusted with the role of maid of honour meant a lot of things to different people, but it was different for you. you happily accepted the title for your sister’s wedding with one main goal in mind: making sure that no one fucks up the big day. specifically, making sure that choi san did not fuck up the big day. 

  unfortunately, with less than twenty-four hours before the wedding due to ring for your sister and san’s older brother, you realized that you were the one that fucked up.

  if someone were to tell you that you ended up dodging a robbery, lugging around a broken e-scooter, outrunning a rabid wild animal, and losing your phone the night before your sister’s wedding, you would have asked them what drugs they were on. and given a year’s worth of stress in anticipating and planning and fittings, you’d likely even ask them to share some. the worse part was that, you’d actually fucked up forty-eight hours before your sister’s wedding and the night you were currently having was just the cherry on top.

  but, that is where you found yourself in a foreign city with no money and no idea how to get back to your hotel at four in the morning. the only thing you could do was stare at choi san, still in his clothes from the rehearsal dinner earlier that night and was preoccupied with nursing his bruised knuckles. 

  san was not a smoker, but he leaned against the wall of a closed coffee shop with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “you think this is all my fault, don’t you?” he grumbled, finally meeting your sharp gaze.

  this was not even the beginning of the story, though. the real beginning of the story begins in middle school circa 2012, when your first ever crush ruined everything before anything could even happen by simply opening his mouth. 

  choi san was the transfer student that all of the girls in your year whispered and giggled about. you only caught a glimpse of him on the first day of school when you could barely make out his face at the school assembly. 

  “he’s so freaking cute! did you get to see him, y/n?” 

  your best friend at the time jogged up to you at lunch and by this point in the day, you’d heard from nearly all your classmates about the mysterious new kid. you were a bit exasperated, feeling as though you were missing out.

  you shook your head. “no. i think i saw the side of his face, but that’s it.”

  “look at his instagram,” she swooned, tapping on her phone until his profile came up.

  you would never admit it aloud, but you thought your heart skip a beat. “that’s what he looks like? oh my god, he plays basketball, too?”

  that pretty much sealed the deal for you. without shame, you pulled out your own phone to follow san on social media, since it already looked like he was gaining mutuals from other people in your school. everyday from then on seemed to be a game of “can you spot your crush” at school and you got the closest when you lingered a little bit too long after gym class, long enough that you left as soon as basketball try-outs for the boys team began. 

  it was 2012 and nothing else mattered to you except crushing over choi san from respectable distance, gangnam style, one direction, and reading all of the hunger games books. it was like this for the first couple months at school, until you and san finally encountered one another.

  you heard from others that san was incredibly bright and academically gifted, so you were hoping that, he too, would join robotics club. it felt like a dream when your wishes came true and san walked into the first meeting of the season.

  “you’re totally staring at him,” whispered yeosang on this day, to which you elbowed him for. yes, you were definitely staring, but he could have just chose to keep his mouth shut.

  you’d avoided directly speaking to san for the first few meetings, just out of nerves alone. eventually, the club’s first major competition was to come around the corner and the club had to brainstorm their plan. 

  as one of the returning members from the year prior, you expected to be met with respect and have your opinions be considered important. the faculty supervisor had even told you that he had hopes for you taking over as captain in the next year, after the current leader, hongjoong, graduates. 

  “i can take charge of the programming team,” you offered, as hongjoong went over the challenge announcement of the competition.

  that was the moment everything went wrong.

  it looked there was no opposition, until you heard a chuckle from the other side of a room. you were confused, not recognizing the voice. spinning around, you saw that it was san and your heart dropped.

  “you? do you even know how to code?” his eyebrows were raised. 

  your jaw could have easily hit the floor, as you narrowed your eyes at him. “what?” was all you could say.

  “you’re a girl, there’s no way you should be in charge of programming.”

  that year, there were only three girls in robotics club, which was an improvement from the two the year before. it was you, who was the only female member with experience in the club, and then sunyoung and yena. 

  sunyoung never fucking spoke, she never even made eye contact with anyone. she kept to herself and was never going to speak up, but you knew that she was the highest ranking student in your year and had skipped an entire grade. you couldn’t believe sunyoung let that slide. meanwhile, yena always insisted that she was “one of the boys” and was the kind of girl to talk your head off about how she hates taylor swift. you might’ve even heard her murmur in agreement to what san said.

  “are you a fucking idiot?” your thirteen year old self snapped at san, eliciting gasps from around the room. 

  of course, your foul mouth came from none other than your headstrong older sister and at the same moment you began forming a life-long hatred for choi san, she was a couple blocks away at the high school, falling in love with choi san’s older brother during chemistry class. it was a classic high school love story, meeting as lab partners and experiencing first love in between shelves at the library. 

  one day, when your sister happily skipped into your room and sang that she now had a boyfriend, it had been weeks since you already declared san your nemesis. from what you remember, she was so head over heels for her lab partner that it was nauseating - she had to have been, since she was now marrying him over ten years later. 

  “he has a little brother your age, you know,” she said, later the same night. “goes to your school, maybe you’ve met him.”

  the two of you were relaxing on your bed, as your sister scooted closer to show you pictures of her new and first-ever boyfriend on her phone. you raised an eyebrow at her, wondering who she was talking about. 

  “maybe. what’s his name?” you asked.

  “san. choi san.”

[aloysiavirgata]

Dryad universe prompt. William does something telekinetic at school. Maybe on purpose, maybe not.

William launches himself into the car like he’s escaping the paparazzi. “Go go go,” he hisses, raspy, to his mother.

Scully, bewildered, looks back at him. “William, there’s a line! This isn’t an action movie, what’s going on?”

He makes a noise like a dying walrus.

Heather up ahead in a Juicy tracksuit and day-glo safety vest, directing traffic like a fucking Busytown cop with rhinestones across her annoyingly fantastic ass.

She spots Scully and waves like a beauty queen.

Scully smiles back, waggling a few fingers.

“MOOOOMMMMM GOOOOO,” her son wails.

She whips around. “William Samuel Scully, what on earth is wrong with you?”

He slouches, scowls. “I messed up.”

Having been with his father for nearly two decades, she knows “I messed up” can mean anything from “I might have eaten a smidgen of evidence” to “I sort of released a serial murderer of children.”

Something throbs in her temporal lobe. “Tell me.”

“There was…there was this bird,” William says, hiccuppy. Curled against the door.

She knows. She knows before he says it that the bird hit a classroom window during recess and that its delicate flower-stem neck snapped and it fell and fell and fell.

“Oh, honey…” she murmurs, closing her eyes for a beat.

Her boy - her lovely, strange, terrifying, angel of a boy - makes another hiccuppy sound. “Katie handed it to me and she was crying and I didn’t know what to do, Mom, his eyes were so…and and his beak was a little bloody and Katie was crying and even Aiden looked really sad and he’s NEVER sad and I just…”

He sobs a little.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes. “Oh, Will.”

“I pulled the… anyway. I made him alive and his eyes were so bright but everyone was talking and they told the teachers and…”

Her sweet, sweet boy. He never asked for this.

William is gasping, trying to stay in control. “Am I in trouble?”

Scully laughs a little, merging left as Heather waves. “Honey, no. Let me call Daddy, let’s go to The Melting Pot. Let’s eat cheese and chocolate until we’re sick.”

He sniffles, looks up. “You said to nev-“

“Cheese,” she says firmly, blinker on. “Chocolate.”

William smiles from the corner. His beautiful eyes, red-rimmed because he is too good.

“Okay,” he breathes, with a watery smile. “Okay.”

[randomprose]

ok hear me out. let's pretend for a hot second that mo guan shan's glo up isn't bc of OX's improved art style over the years. bear with me here.

what if 19 days but in he tian's POV. mo guan shan looked like that (regular, average, like general canon fodder) the first time we saw him because that was how he tian saw him then and then as the story goes on he gets prettier and prettier because he tian is starting to have a clearer picture of him. you know how your eyes and sight adjust and familiarize certain views, faces, things, etc the more you're exposed to them? he tian sees mo guan shan more every day, actively seeks him out, and spends more time with him and his eyes...adjusts.

that's how he tian gets to know mo guan shan. that's how he realizes that beneath the callous exterior and the perennial scowl, mo guan shan is actually this kind, hard working, compassionate person who loves his mom so much and actually cares about people.

and overtime he tian realizes mo guan shan is actually...pretty cute?? and the more he tian spends time with him and get to know him, mo guan shan just progressively becomes more beautiful until one day he tian wakes up and mo guan shan has become the most gorgeous fucking thing he has ever laid eyes upon and it becomes a Problem.

not because he tian can't take the realization (well. ok. there was that time he lost control but he learned quick and he promised not to lose control again. he doesn't want to hurt mo guan shan after all. not anymore. he knows better now) but because he also figured out that mo guan shan is actually pretty fucking gullible and soft hearted under that tough facade and surely he tian isn't the only one who's figured this out?? clearly it's not the case because how else can anyone explain she li's obsession with mo guan shan??

and of course he tian has to do something about it. what else is there to do? what else is he supposed to do but take it upon himself to stick to mo guan shan and make sure he's safe and taken care of and no one takes advantage of him (except he tian occasionally and harmlessly. mostly).

it's not love at first sight. it's gradual. it has foundation. it's built upon shared moments (some soft and warm and fragile, some harsh and biting and cruel) and that's how he tian knows it's real.

and if mo guan shan grows to care and feel for he tian the same way...well. that's just a bonus.

[violet-bruises]

Baby Lay Your Head Down

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x OFC (SSA Sophie Carter)

Warnings: Established past relationship (kind of), mild suggestive language, mentions of grief, mentions of death and almost death, mentions of suppressing emotions, excessive longing, angst

Author's note: I've had ideas for Hotch swirling in my head for months years, and this is the first time I've managed to get anything down on paper. In my head, my OFC is a little more fleshed out, as is her relationship to Hotch, and their story is much larger. This is just a small blurb taken from a point in their story that was swirling in my mind recently. I hope it makes sense lol. ALSO! This is my very first time posting to tumblr, or publicly at all for that matter.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN AARON HOTCHNER AS A CHARACTER! ALL CREDIT TO THE CREATOR! (did i say it right?)

Word count: 2,474

Summary: Aaron is usually the first one in the office. Usually.

Once upon a time, Aaron loved mornings. In law school, he’d wake up while it was still dark, squeeze in an early run around campus, shower, and enjoy his coffee all before the sun ever began to show its soft colors. When he and Haley were newlyweds, he’d surprise her with breakfast in bed—which quickly grew cold as they entangled themselves in their straight from the registry sheets. And once Jack was born, Aaron would wake up just to hold him, rock him in the cushioned chair in his nursery before work. But soon, slowly and then all at once, his life grew darker. A thick shadow cast over his days, no matter how high the sun sat in the sky. He and Haley drifted apart. He’d wake many mornings to an empty apartment—no longer a home, much less a house. He spent his mornings in the confines of the BAU. And then Haley died, and Jack almost did; Aaron started sneaking into Jack’s room to watch him sleep just to reassure himself that his son was still here, alive and breathing.

But eventually, mornings became bearable, until they were even enjoyable again. The thick smog over his days lifted. He stopped going into the office early and started having small moments with Jack. Aaron got to enjoy his coffee again, squeeze in the occasional early run, and, for the first time ever, eat breakfast in bed, made for him. For the first time, Aaron’s small apartment felt like home; the soft colors of the sun were no match the vibrant warmth Sophie carted into his life. But clearly Aaron was cursed long ago to fulfill the same prophecy over and over again, because, just as he was finally happy again, truly and utterly, deeply and joyously, he managed to fuck that up, too.

So, once again, Aaron arrives early at the office now every morning. Some occasional mornings, he’s not the first one to wake the floor. On those mornings, he’s grateful—a pot of bitter hot coffee almost certain to be residing in the carafe, singing his name. Most mornings, however, Aaron arrives to a dark and empty bullpen, and he’ll trudge to the small kitchenette in the break room before doing anything else to start the coffee. While the coffee brews, Aaron will make his way to his office, setting down his briefcase and unloading the files on his desk. He’ll file away papers he’s finished with, creating a pile for JJ and Garcia to review. By this time, his coffee has dripped enough that he can pour himself a decent cup. Black. No cream or sugar when in the office, not that any amount could truly save the monstrosity. He’ll place the files on Garcia’s desk, then backtrack to JJ’s. Once he returns, he’ll sit at his desk, pouring over case files, old and new, as the sun rises outside and the city wakes and people begin to pour into the office, a trickle, then a flood.

The same routine for the past three months. Every morning. Everyday.

Except for today.

Today, when Aaron manages to pull himself to the seventh floor and into the BAU, he stops short. The usually quiet and dim office space is punctuated by a soft glow, right at its heart. As he approaches from the entrance, he expects someone to be occupying the lit desk, but its chair is empty. Scattered across the tabletop are case files. A file on the missing twin girls in Arizona from last week (paperwork the responsible unit chief in him is praying is finally done) is open on top, but more lie underneath. He can’t quite read the labels in the shadows that escape the desk lamp’s light. Aaron reaches his hand out to thumb through the papers.

“Oh!”

Aaron swivels to find Supervisory Special Agent Sophie Carter, sock-footed and grasping a massive cup of coffee, standing before him, clearly having just emerged from the break room. Aaron briefly, traitorously, wonders what the ratio of actual coffee to sugar to cream she’s decided on today.

“Good morning,” Aaron greets her, gruffly. He hasn’t spoken since waking up, really only just above a whisper when dropping Jack off at Jessica’s. His voice is rough with unuse. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning,” Sophie responds. She diverts eye contact and brushes just past Aaron to reach her desk chair. Aaron watches her. “And I work here.”

Aaron’s lips purse displeasingly. After a moment, Sophie glances up at him then sighs. “I, um, couldn’t really sleep. Figured I’d turn that into being a model employee and finally finish all of my paperwork.”

Aaron documents the subtle red tinge bloomed across her cheeks. Still avoiding his questioning and concerned gaze, she raises her coffee mug to her soft lips. I’m Down To Just 1 Cup A Day in big block letters written on the side. The mug is as big as his head.

“I wish you’d chosen that philosophy about ten years ago. Would’ve saved me a few headaches.”

Sophie finally meets his eyes again. Warm and dark, nearly midnight when cast away from the light on her desk. Aaron is reminded of the night skies that cover all of the small towns he’s seen; far enough from the city, awash with billions of tiny dots of light—stars that create impossibly beautiful and intricate patterns in the sky—the vastness could swallow him whole, and he’d welcome it with open arms.

“Ha ha,” she intones, but her eyes never lose their warmth. Aaron chuckles but doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches. Watches her shuffle through papers, write things down on a sticky note, tuck papers away in folders, pull more papers out. Finally, with tight shoulders, she turns to look up at him. “Can I help you?”

Aaron scans her face. “What are you doing here so early?”

She frowns. “I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”

Then, Sophie sighs, slumping back in her chair. Aaron knows she’s tired. But it’s not the discoloration under her eyes, or the heaviness of her lids that gives her away. It’s how quickly she caves to telling the truth. Too tired to be stubborn, Aaron muses. The fight and irritation drain from her in an instant. “I don’t know, Hotch. Genuinely, I really haven’t been sleeping well, promise. But. . . yeah, it’s been more than just a few sleepless nights.” She flops over, forehead resting on her folded arms. “I haven’t had insomnia like this since college.” Her words come out muffled and pitiful, wrought with exhaustion.

“How long has it been this bad?”

“Um, I guess. . . since the serial in Montana.”

“That was three months ago.”

She doesn’t answer; her head stays buried. Aaron frowns, though he pretty much has been since he realized it was her desk light on in the dark office. Since his discovery, the sun has risen a tiny bit beyond the brick of the building, the sky a cornflower blue. Aaron reckons it’s about 5:30—about an hour and a half before anyone starts arriving—two and a half before the bullpen is officially alive for the day (and three before Morgan manages his way in). Aaron’s noticed Sophie’s tiredness. Of course he has. He catches her blank stares and heavy lids easily. He would’ve said something by now, but her exhaustion had, remarkably, not yet affected her job. The minute duty calls, she springs into action, like she’s been a tightly coiled spring finally allowed to burst. But, it’s more than just that that holds Aaron back. Because that wasn’t part of their arrangement, was it? Because asking her if she’s been sleeping, or feeling well, or eating okay, or taking care of herself, or seeing anyone— those questions were off limits. Wasn’t that what they’d decided? The rules they’d laid down?

Aaron never really was good at following the rules.

“C’mon.”

Sophie lifted her head, eyes wide and round. “What?”

“C’mon,” Aaron repeated, holding his hand out for her to take. She looked between him and his outstretched palm, gaze wildly skeptical.

“Aaron. . . we talked—”

“You talked, I listened, and this—this isn’t about that. This is about ensuring all of my subordinates are in appropriate shape to adequately perform their duties.”

“Last time I checked, I perform my duties far better than adequately.”

“Sophie,” he pleads. It’s a mistake and he knows it, but she broke the rule first. She called him Aaron. Not Hotch, or Agent Hotchner. His resolve was weak enough as it was; her so easily tossing around his first name like that, when he hadn’t heard it from her in months, when he had grown so used to hearing it when she lay next to him, or, when she whispered it, breathlessly, under him. “Please just. . . humor me.”

Her icy look melted, trickling down her body as exhaustion quickly crept up on her. She didn’t take his hand, but she did stand, shuffling papers in folders and stacking them neatly on top of each other. Aaron waited patiently for her to finish tidying and wondered if he’d ever unlearn her. If he ever wanted to. Arranging papers and cleaning off the desk cleaner than he’d seen it since before it was hers—she was stalling to fully accept his offer, and he knows it’s a punishment, her not giving in. For whom, he’s not quite sure.

Finally, after ages, she turns to him. Her eyebrows raise.

Aaron simply turns on his heel, slightly tipping his head for her to follow. He leads them up the short staircase and as they cross the threshold into his office. Aaron places his briefcase down on his own desk before turning to the couch pressed against the opposite wall.

“Hotch—” So she did realize her mistake, “—really, I’m fine. This isn’t the first sleepless night and early morning I’ve had. I can manage on my own.”

Aaron doesn’t respond right away, busying himself with gathering blankets and pillows.

“Hotch.”

“I am very aware that you are perfectly capable of managing on your own. But, Soph,” Aaron can see the miniscule pinch in her brows. Small, but powerful in the painful way it tugs at him. He sighs. “Friends, right? Don’t friends. . . take care of each other?”

Aaron knows, knows all too well, that an argument boils on the tip of her tongue. But he also knows the heavy dangle of her limbs and the soft glaze of her eyes means she’s close to nearly collapsing. It’s not fair, what he’s doing. He knows that and yet. . .

He watches her study the makeshift bed he’s made for her. And then, “I suppose. . . Penelope would do the same for me, too.”

Aaron suppresses a smile. “She would.”

“She’d do more, actually. Penelope would have freshly baked cookies waiting for me, too.”

“That she would.”

“Penelope is a better friend than you are.”

Aaron hears the jest in her voice, but he doesn’t smile. “That she is,” he says, softly.

Finally, Sophie drags her feet to the couch. Without meeting his gaze, she climbs under the covers and settles in. She inhales deeply as her eyes flutter shut.

It should be studied, Aaron thinks, the mercurial rush of affection that overcomes him. He wishes he could control it. Tamper it down and bury it under the crushing weight of all the other emotions he has buried and ignored. He’s usually quite good at it, actually, with years of careful experience under his belt. Though maybe that’s the problem; he’s attempting to add to something already overflowing, and the erosion of it all has chipped his self-control down to nearly nothing.

Aaron’s surety is bone deep: he’s destined to love her until the day he dies. Even if she doesn’t want him to, even if she doesn’t love him. He’d use his dying breath to confess his overwhelming and all-consuming truth. His throat grows tight.

He’s about to turn on his heel, afraid of what he’ll do if he lingers any longer, when Sophie softly calls out to him.

“Thank you,” she tells him, her eyes opening to finally meet his again. Like an electric shock, the urge to touch her races through him. To caress her warm cheek in his palm, to cradle her face and pull it closer to his own, to press his lips to hers. Aaron feels his fingers twitch under his thinning restraint.

He allows his lips to curve in a faint smile. “Of course,” he whispers.

Aaron finally retreats. With his back to her, he swears he can feel Sophie watching him, but when he turns back as he reaches his desk, Sophie has flipped onto her side, her back facing him. It’s for the best, Aaron reminds himself. If he’d caught her eye again, the ghost of his resolve would haunt his office forever.

As the hours ticked on, the BAU bullpen slowly comes back to life. Just as eight o’clock slips by and the trickling morning light catches the ends of Sophie’s hair ablaze, a knock sounds on his door. Before Aaron gets a chance to stand and answer, the door opens and Garcia swiftly steps in.

“Good morning, sir! I sent over the background profiles you requested from the Jefferson City case—”

“Thank you, Garcia. I—”

“Also, I got that police chief in Wichita to finally send over the files on that cold case Rossi needed—”

“Garcia—”

“You wouldn’t believe the sweet talking I had to do, I mean, Morgan level—”

“Garcia!” Aaron couldn’t resist glancing at Sophie, still fast asleep.

Unfortunately, Garcia caught his slip, and she followed his gaze.

“Oh!”

Garcia looked between Aaron and Sophie, once. Then twice.

“Oh, sir,” she started, much softer than when she’d entered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize!” Garcia began to back out of his office. “See! I saw her desk light on but I hadn’t seen her since I got in. I thought maybe she just forgot to turn it off, ya know, but then she didn’t respond to my text! Which I get now why, you know, given that she’s, you know—”

“Garcia.” She stopped at the entry way. “Let’s just— please don’t—”

She nodded rapidly and mimicked zipping her lips shut, locking them, and throwing away the key. “Of course, sir.”

Just before she closed the door, Garcia poked her head back in.

“Oh! Also, I brought leftover cookies I baked for the counseling center. They’re in the kitchen!” And the door clicked shut behind her.

“See,” Sophie mumbled, voice muffled by the pillows. “Told you.”

Aaron laughs. Maybe these new early mornings weren’t so bad after all.