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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

Inserts Himself Where?

Day 22 → Bedding Ceremony 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is warm, the air thick with lavender and a nervous sort of energy that seems to cling to the walls. Your maids bustle about, fingers trailing over the lace of your gown, smoothing the fabric, tugging it tighter in places.

You can feel the weight of their glances, the words they’re holding back. There’s something they want to say, something that’s been dancing in the air all morning but hasn’t quite landed.

“Hold still, milady,” Jeanne says, her tone gentle, though there's an edge of anticipation to it. She pulls a comb through your hair, carefully teasing the strands into place.

You feel the weight of the occasion pressing down on you. You’ve been preparing for this day for months, and yet, something about it feels … off. There’s a knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel.

A maid at your feet tightens the laces on your shoes, while another adjusts the pearls around your neck. Everyone is fussing over every small detail, yet they keep exchanging looks — nervous, knowing looks — that you can’t ignore much longer.

“What is it?” You finally ask, your voice breaking the silence. You glance at Jeanne, who’s avoiding your eyes, concentrating far too hard on an already perfect braid. “You’re all acting strange.”

Jeanne freezes for just a moment, the comb pausing mid-stroke. You see her exchange another glance with Marguerite, the older of your maids, who’s standing near the door, hands clasped in front of her apron. Marguerite clears her throat, steps forward, and it’s as if the entire room collectively holds its breath.

“There is … something we need to talk to you about,” Marguerite says, her voice careful, deliberate. You can sense her choosing each word like it’s something fragile, like she’s afraid it might break in her mouth. “About tonight.”

“Tonight?” You echo, confused. You already know about the feast, about the dancing and the endless stream of congratulations. It’s all been drilled into your head by your mother and your tutors. What else could there be?

Jeanne places the comb down, smoothing her hands over your shoulders, her touch soft but tense. “It’s about what happens after the wedding,” she says quietly. “After the ceremony … with Prince Charles.”

There’s a flicker of recognition somewhere deep inside you, a faint memory of hushed conversations you weren’t meant to overhear. You feel your heartbeat quicken, but you don’t understand why.

“What happens after?” You ask, genuinely lost.

The room falls into a silence that’s almost unbearable. Jeanne’s fingers tighten on your shoulder for a moment before she steps back, leaving Marguerite to speak.

Marguerite lets out a small sigh, one that seems to carry the weight of the world. “After the feast, after the guests have left … there’s the bedding ceremony,” she explains. Her words are slow, careful, as if she’s trying not to startle you. “It’s tradition. You and the prince will be led to your chambers to … consummate the marriage.”

You blink, consummate ringing in your ears. You’ve heard the term before, but only in passing, never with any real explanation attached to it. It’s something that’s been whispered about, something the older women in the court would smirk at when they thought you weren’t listening. You swallow, suddenly feeling like you’re on the edge of understanding something much larger than you’re ready for.

“And what does that mean exactly?” You ask, your voice quieter now. You know you’re supposed to understand, but you don’t.

Marguerite glances at Jeanne, who looks like she would rather be anywhere else right now. Finally, Marguerite steps closer to you, lowering her voice as if that will somehow soften the blow. “It means that the prince will … well, he will lay with you.”

“Lay with me?” You repeat, still not grasping it fully.

Jeanne steps in again, her face a mixture of embarrassment and determination. “He will … be with you. As a husband is with his wife,” she tries, but it’s clear the words are slipping away from her.

You blink at them, frustration growing. “What does that mean?” You ask, more sharply than you intended.

Jeanne sighs, glancing at Marguerite as if pleading for help. Marguerite nods once, the movement almost imperceptible, before taking another small step toward you.

“Y/N,” Marguerite starts, and the use of your name makes you sit up a little straighter. “When a man and a woman are married, they … share a bed. And during that time, the man … inserts himself.”

The words hang in the air like a bad joke.

“Inserts himself?” You repeat, confusion evident in your voice. “Inserts himself where?”

Jeanne coughs, and Marguerite turns a shade of red you didn’t think possible.

“In you, milady,” Jeanne finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

It takes a moment for the meaning to settle in. And even then, it feels slippery, like something you’re not entirely ready to catch hold of. You stare at them both, waiting for them to laugh, to tell you it’s all some strange misunderstanding. But they don’t. They just stand there, looking at you with a mixture of pity and something else — concern, maybe?

Your heart is thumping loudly in your chest now, your hands clutching the arms of your chair. “That’s what’s going to happen?” You whisper, more to yourself than to them.

Marguerite nods slowly. “Yes, milady. It is … part of your duties as a wife.”

The word duties feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on you from all sides. You’ve heard it a hundred times — duty to your family, to your country, to your future husband. But this? This is something else entirely.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?” You ask, your voice small, almost breaking.

Jeanne steps forward, crouching down so she’s eye level with you. “We didn’t want to frighten you, milady,” she says softly. “But now … now you must be prepared.”

Prepared. The word feels hollow, like it could never be enough for whatever is coming. You stare at Jeanne, at her wide, honest eyes, and for a moment, you think about how easy it would be to just say no. To refuse. To walk away from all of it. But then you remember who you are, what’s expected of you, and that thought quickly fades.

“What if … what if I can’t?” You ask, voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady.

Jeanne’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. “You can,” she says with more confidence than you feel. “Every woman goes through this. And you will, too.”

You glance at Marguerite, who nods solemnly. “It’s normal to feel this way,” she adds. “To be scared. But once it’s done … it becomes easier. You learn to live with it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens further at the thought of having to “learn to live” with something like this. You had always thought marriage would be a partnership, something beautiful. But now it seems like another duty, another burden placed upon you.

“What … what if I don’t want him to?” You ask quietly, barely audible.

Jeanne hesitates for a moment, her smile faltering. “It’s not about want, milady. It’s what must be done. For the marriage to be valid.”

You nod, though you feel like you’re in a daze, like you’re suddenly floating above the room, watching yourself from a distance.

Jeanne’s hand squeezes yours again, as if trying to tether you back. “It will be all right,” she whispers, as if that could make it true.

But you’re not sure anything will be all right again after tonight.

***

The doors swing open with a creak, and the air shifts — heavy, thick with the weight of expectation. You take a step forward, your legs barely cooperating beneath the layers of your gown, and your maids gently guide you into the room. The space is dimly lit, candles flickering along the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance with the faint tremble in your chest.

A crowd lines the edges of the room, a sea of faces, each expression unreadable, their eyes fixed on you and Charles. They’re waiting. Watching. Witnessing. Your breath catches in your throat as the enormity of what’s happening presses down on you like a heavy cloak. You steal a glance at the bed — a massive, looming thing that takes up nearly half the room, its dark wooden posts adorned with silken drapes.

You can’t feel your hands anymore. Your fingers are numb as they clutch the folds of your gown, and your heart is pounding so loud in your ears that you can hardly hear anything else. The maids hover around you, their hands steady but their faces as tense as yours. Jeanne’s voice is low in your ear as she begins to untie the laces of your bodice, but the words barely register.

Your eyes drift toward Charles, standing across from you, surrounded by his own attendants. He’s calm — too calm. His posture is steady, his movements fluid as one of his men begins to undo the buttons on his doublet. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical thing, grounding you and unsettling you all at once.

The room is suffocating, the walls closing in around you, and suddenly, your legs give a slight wobble. Jeanne catches you by the elbow, steadying you before anyone else can notice. She leans close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, milady.”

But breathing feels impossible.

The rustle of fabric fills the room as the maids continue to work, pulling at the ties of your gown, loosening it inch by inch. Your heart races faster as more of your skin is exposed, the cold air prickling against your back as they slide the heavy fabric off your shoulders. You feel the weight of every gaze in the room, the eyes of the witnesses burning into you, watching each movement, each breath.

Charles steps toward you, his attendants falling back, and in that moment, you realize that his chest is bare, his broad shoulders illuminated by the faint glow of the candlelight. He looks powerful, every inch of him radiating control, and the sight of him only makes the trembling worse.

You lower your gaze, staring at the floor, but his presence looms closer until he’s standing directly in front of you. He tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you. Then, his hand reaches out — strong, firm — and he cups your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

“You’re trembling,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady.

You try to answer, but your throat feels tight, your mouth dry. Instead, you just nod, swallowing hard as his thumb brushes lightly against your cheek.

His touch is firm but not unkind, and for a brief moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The witnesses, the maids, the ceremony itself — all of it fades into the background as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip.

“They’re watching us,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“They don’t matter,” he says, his tone calm, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He drops his hand from your face, letting it trail down your arm before resting it at your waist. “Forget them. This is about you and me.”

You blink up at him, unsure how you’re supposed to just forget the dozens of eyes burning into your skin. But there’s something in the way he speaks, the way he holds himself, that makes it sound almost possible.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Look at me,” he says, and you do. His eyes are dark green, piercing, and for a moment, the noise in your head quiets, the panic subsides just enough for you to breathe.

The maids step back now, leaving you in only your shift, the thin fabric barely covering your trembling body. Your skin feels exposed, vulnerable, and the cold bites at you as the gown is carried away, leaving you standing in front of Charles in nothing but the flimsy fabric.

He nods to his attendants, and they move quickly, removing the last of his clothing. You can feel the shift in the room — the way the witnesses straighten, their attention sharpening as the final barrier between you and Charles is stripped away.

Your breath catches as you look at him. He’s … overwhelming. His body is all sharp lines and muscle, his skin bronzed by the sun, and he stands there, completely unbothered by his own nakedness. He’s everything you’re not — strong, powerful, certain. And yet, despite the fear twisting in your chest, you can’t help but be drawn to him.

Charles steps closer, his bare chest only inches from yours now, and you feel the heat radiating from his skin. He lifts a hand again, this time running his fingers lightly over your shoulder, down your arm, the touch both calming and terrifying at once.

“Look at me,” he repeats, his voice firmer now, but not unkind. His other hand comes up, cupping the side of your neck, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver. “Focus on me. Only me.”

You nod, though your eyes flick nervously to the crowd.

“Don’t,” he says softly, but there’s an edge of command in his voice. “Pretend they’re not here. Pretend it’s just us.”

His hand moves to the ties of your shift, and you feel the world spin around you. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers work quickly, and the fabric falls away, leaving you utterly exposed. The cold air rushes over your skin, and for a moment, you think you might faint.

But then, his hands are on you — steady, firm, pulling you toward him. You gasp, but he holds you, one hand on the small of your back, the other tangling in your hair as he brings his face close to yours.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “Breathe.”

You force yourself to inhale, though the air feels thin and sharp in your lungs. His hand slides down your back, guiding you, and before you realize it, he’s leading you toward the bed, his steps slow but purposeful.

Your legs feel weak, but he keeps you upright, keeps you moving forward. The bed looms closer, and the witnesses fall away into shadows as you focus on the feel of his hands, his voice in your ear.

When you reach the edge of the bed, he turns you to face him again, his eyes searching yours. “Lie down,” he says, his voice still calm, still steady. It’s not a request — it’s an instruction, and there’s no room for hesitation.

You sink down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and Charles stands over you, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race. He’s so close, his body towering over yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the cold air around you.

He kneels beside you, his hands moving over your body in a way that’s both possessive and reassuring. His fingers trace the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, and he leans down, his breath hot against your neck.

“Relax,” he whispers, though you’re not sure how that’s possible.

Your mind is a whirl of thoughts, your body trembling beneath him, but somehow, his presence — his control — anchors you. He’s dominant, powerful, every movement calculated, and though you’re terrified, there’s a strange sense of safety in his certainty.

He shifts his weight, pressing his body against yours, and the feel of him — his skin, his heat — sends a jolt through you. His lips find your collarbone, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your skin, and his hand moves lower, his touch firm but not harsh.

“Focus on me,” he murmurs again, his lips brushing against your ear. “Only me.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to block out the rest of the room — the witnesses, the maids, the ceremony. It’s just him. Just Charles. His hands, his voice, his body guiding you through the fear.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispers, his voice low, and despite everything, you believe him.

You have to.

The room feels like a furnace, despite the cool draft from the open windows. Every breath you take is shallow, every movement calculated, dictated by the presence of so many eyes around you. Charles hovers above you, his body a solid, commanding force. His hands, warm and firm, travel over your skin as if he owns it. And maybe he does — at least tonight.

He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear again, his breath hot against your skin. “They’re still here,” he whispers, and there’s a sharpness in his voice that sends a shiver down your spine. “Waiting. Watching. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your side, tracing lines that ignite something deep within you. You barely manage to whisper, “Why aren’t they leaving?”

Charles lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts his weight, his body pressing into yours. “They’ll leave when they see what they came for,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your neck. His fingers find the soft skin of your inner thigh, and your body tenses in response, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your mind is spinning, overwhelmed by the sensations, by the weight of what’s happening. But Charles — he’s steady, unshaken, like the eye of a storm. His hand moves with a deliberate slowness, sliding between your legs, and you gasp, your body arching involuntarily as his fingers brush against your most sensitive spot. He pauses for a moment, as if savoring the way your body reacts to his touch.

“They’re just waiting for a little blood,” he whispers against your skin, his tone mocking. “That’s all it takes to satisfy them. A few drops, and they’ll be convinced the marriage is … properly consummated.”

You try to focus, try to breathe, but the way his fingers move, the way his body presses against yours — it’s all too much. Your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. Charles smirks, his lips trailing down your neck as he shifts his body, positioning himself between your legs.

“Are you ready?” He asks, his voice low, commanding.

You don’t know how to answer. Your heart is racing, your body trembling, but there’s something else beneath the fear now — something you don’t entirely understand. You nod, your throat tight, and Charles gives a satisfied hum in response.

He moves with purpose, and you feel the weight of him pressing against you. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else — the witnesses, the cold air, the fear — disappears. It’s just him, just you, and the heat that pulses between you.

“Stay with me,” he says, his voice firm but almost gentle. “Don’t think about them. Think about us.”

Then, with one powerful motion, he enters you, and the world narrows into a sharp, bright point of sensation. You gasp, your body tensing as the pain cuts through you, sudden and overwhelming. Tears sting your eyes, but before you can let them fall, Charles leans down, his lips grazing your ear.

“They’re still watching,” he murmurs, his voice dark, laced with a twisted sort of amusement. “Do you think they’re disappointed? Hoping for more drama? More blood?”

You let out a sharp, startled laugh — half from the absurdity of it, half from the overwhelming sensation of him inside you. The laugh turns into a gasp as Charles moves, slow but deliberate, his hips pressing firmly against yours. You feel everything — every inch, every movement, every breath he takes — and it’s all too much, too overwhelming. Yet, somehow, it’s not enough.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, his lips brushing your neck, sending sparks down your spine. “Pretend we’re the only ones here.”

You try — God, you try — but it’s impossible to block out the weight of their stares, the silent judgment from the witnesses lining the walls. And yet, with each movement of Charles’ body, with every thrust that presses him deeper inside you, the world blurs at the edges. He’s taking over, filling every space, every thought, until nothing remains but him.

He groans softly, his breath hot against your skin, and you feel your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected. The pain begins to ebb, replaced by something else — a strange heat building inside you, coiling tight in your belly. You bite your lip, trying to keep the sounds inside, but Charles is relentless, his movements steady, controlled, each one drawing you closer to something you don’t quite understand.

His lips hover over your ear again, and his voice is a dark whisper. “Do you think they’re jealous? Do you think they wish they could be in my place?”

The thought is absurd, but another laugh escapes you — half gasp, half breathless amusement — and it startles you, the sound foreign and unfamiliar in the midst of everything happening. Charles grins against your skin, clearly pleased with himself.

“See? It’s not so bad,” he says, his voice low, coaxing. “You’re doing beautifully.”

Your body is trembling beneath him, each movement sending jolts of sensation through you, and you can barely think, barely breathe. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel the sharp contrast of his dominance, his control, with the tenderness in his touch.

“They’re waiting for the proof,” Charles whispers, his tone mocking again. “So eager to see it.”

You feel the heat in your face, the embarrassment rising, but before you can fully register it, Charles thrusts harder, his body pressing into yours with more force. You gasp, the sound escaping before you can stop it, and your fingers grip the sheets tighter, knuckles white.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let them hear you.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to suppress the sounds, but Charles isn’t having it. His hand slides up your thigh, gripping firmly as he moves faster, his body commanding yours, pulling you deeper into the sensations.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his voice dark and intoxicating. “Let them know how good it feels.”

Your heart is racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and to your surprise, his words sink into you, fueling the heat growing inside. You can’t fight it anymore — not the sounds, not the way your body responds to his touch. You let out a soft whimper, and Charles grins, clearly satisfied with the effect he’s having on you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, and the words send a shiver down your spine. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His pace quickens, and with each thrust, the witnesses, the judgment, the fear — all of it fades into the background. It’s just him, just you, and the intoxicating rhythm of his body against yours. You feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter with every movement, every breath, until you’re on the edge of something you’ve never felt before.

You gasp, your body trembling beneath him, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear once more.

“You’re going to come for me,” he whispers, his voice dark and commanding. “Aren’t you?”

You can’t speak, can’t think, but your body answers for you, your hips bucking beneath him as the sensation builds to a fever pitch. You’re gasping now, your breath ragged, and Charles smirks against your skin.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “I want to feel you.”

And then, suddenly, everything snaps — the tension, the heat, the coiled tightness in your belly — and your body explodes with sensation, pleasure rolling through you in waves so intense you can’t breathe. You cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets, and Charles groans in response, his movements becoming harder, more erratic as he drives you through the climax.

Your body shudders beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just him, just you, and the raw, unfiltered sensation coursing through your veins.

When the waves finally subside, you’re left trembling, gasping for breath as Charles slows his movements, his body still pressed firmly against yours. He leans down, his lips brushing your temple, and you feel the faintest hint of tenderness in the gesture.

“There,” he murmurs softly, his voice still rough but with a new edge of satisfaction. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You can’t respond, your body too spent, too overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened. But in the silence, you realize something: the witnesses haven’t left. They’re still there, watching, waiting.

The room is suffocating in its silence. Your chest rises and falls, still trying to catch up with the intensity of what just happened. Your body hums with the aftershocks, your legs trembling, and all you want is to close your eyes and forget the weight of the gazes pressing in on you from the crowd of witnesses.

Charles is still above you, his body warm and heavy, grounding you in the moment. His breath slows, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles that should have soothed you, but all you can think about are the people watching — still there, still waiting, still leering.

And then, without warning, Charles drags the duvet up, uncovering you completely.

You gasp, your body jolting in shock as the cool air hits your bare skin. The sense of vulnerability swells in your chest, your hands instinctively moving to cover yourself, but it’s too late. Charles exposes the sheets beneath you, stained with the tell-tale sign of blood — the proof the witnesses had been waiting for.

Your cheeks burn, mortification flooding your body as you feel their eyes burning into you. You bite your lip, willing yourself to shrink, to disappear beneath the sheets. But Charles, in contrast, doesn’t flinch. His expression is calm, his body still and powerful as he scans the room, his gaze cold and sharp.

“Get a good look,” he says, his voice ringing out clear and firm in the stillness of the room. He gestures to the blood-stained sheet with a casual wave of his hand, as if this was nothing more than a trivial detail. “There’s your proof. Now leave.”

You hear the murmurs ripple through the crowd, hushed whispers that slither across the room like a serpent. But no one moves. They stay rooted to the spot, their eyes glued to the two of you, hungry and intrusive, unwilling to give up their position as witnesses to this private moment.

Your heart races, your pulse thundering in your ears as you look up at Charles. He’s tense now, the muscles in his jaw tightening, his body coiled with barely restrained frustration. He sits up slightly, still keeping you shielded beneath his frame, his hands never leaving your body.

“I said leave,” he repeats, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone, like the low growl of a predator. His eyes flick from one face to another, daring any of them to defy him. But still, no one moves. The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, and you feel the weight of it bearing down on you, threatening to crush you.

Charles’ patience snaps.

“Get. Out.” His voice roars through the room, sudden and violent, like the crack of thunder in a storm. The force of it sends a jolt through your body, but more importantly, it makes the witnesses flinch. His eyes burn with fury, his body rigid as he glares at them, each word seething with barely-contained rage. “This is no longer your concern.”

The murmuring stops, and for a moment, no one dares to breathe. The power in Charles’ voice — his command, his authority — leaves no room for argument. Slowly, reluctantly, they begin to shuffle toward the exit, the room clearing bit by bit, though not quickly enough for your liking.

You can still feel the weight of their stares as they leave, lingering, prying. It makes your skin crawl, the discomfort settling deep in your bones. You can’t help but shudder, and Charles’ hand, large and warm, immediately rests on your back, steadying you.

“Don’t look at them,” he says, his voice softer now, but still firm. “They don’t matter anymore.”

But you can feel them. Even as the room starts to empty, their presence lingers like a foul stench in the air. The feeling of exposure gnaws at you, tearing at your insides, and you can’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes.

You try to blink them away, but Charles notices immediately. His hand shifts, brushing your cheek, and when you meet his gaze, his expression softens slightly. “It’s over,” he murmurs, his voice low but sure. “They’re gone.”

Your lips part to respond, but no words come out. All you can do is nod, your throat tight, the humiliation still fresh in your mind. You feel Charles’ hand move again, this time slipping beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward his.

“Don’t let them see you like this,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re stronger than this.”

The words wash over you like a balm, and though the tightness in your chest doesn’t completely dissipate, there’s something in his voice — something steady and unshakable — that anchors you. You take a shaky breath, your gaze flicking down to the blood-stained sheet beneath you, and for the first time, you feel a strange sense of relief.

The worst is over. The witnesses are gone.

Charles pulls the duvet back over you, shielding your body from the cold air and the prying eyes that had only just left. His touch is still commanding, but there’s a tenderness to it now, a sense of care that surprises you. He leans down, his lips brushing your forehead, and the simple gesture feels more intimate than anything else that’s happened tonight.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his body against yours settle into your bones, and for a brief moment, you feel safe. Protected. Charles’ presence, his power, has a way of making everything else seem small, insignificant. Even the lingering humiliation feels distant now, a shadow at the edge of your mind.

“I should’ve thrown them out sooner,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice dark with frustration.

You blink up at him, surprised by the hint of regret in his tone. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper, though the words feel strange on your tongue.

Charles’ eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it hardens again. “I won’t let them make you feel like that again,” he says, his voice firm, resolute. “Not ever.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The vulnerability of the moment hangs between you, heavy and fragile, and you’re not sure if you should thank him or hide from the intensity of his gaze. Instead, you just nod, the weight of exhaustion finally settling over you.

Charles’ hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. He’s still close, his presence filling the space around you, and though the room is quiet now, the tension hasn’t entirely lifted.

“They only stayed because they’re cowards,” he says, his voice low, as if continuing a conversation with himself. “Pathetic leeches, desperate for some form of power they’ll never have.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the absurdity of the night catching up to you. “You didn’t have to yell so loudly,” you murmur, your voice shaky but laced with a trace of amusement. “I thought they’d leave eventually.”

Charles turns toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there’s a glint of humor behind them. “They deserved worse,” he says, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Next time, I’ll throw them out myself.”

The image of Charles physically tossing a group of nobles out of the room makes you laugh again, this time more freely, though the sound is still tinged with disbelief. You never imagined you’d be laughing after a night like this. But somehow, here you are, with Charles beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, steadying you in ways you didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips before you even fully realize what you’re saying.

Charles’ gaze softens, just for a moment, before he nods. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says quietly. “This is my duty.”

But it doesn’t feel like duty anymore. Not entirely. There’s something more to the way he looks at you now, something that makes your heart beat a little faster despite everything that’s happened.

You glance down at the sheets again, the faint stain still visible beneath the duvet, and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, heavier than before. Your body aches, your mind spinning with everything that’s transpired, and all you want now is for the night to end.

Charles seems to sense your weariness. He moves closer, pulling you gently into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You sink into him, your head resting against his chest, and for the first time all night, you feel a sense of peace.

“We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow,” he says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “For now, rest.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and slowly, the weight of the night begins to lift. You’re still raw, still vulnerable, but with Charles beside you, the darkness doesn’t seem so overwhelming.

***

The morning sun filters through the heavy drapes, casting a soft glow over the room. The air is cool, the bed warm, and you stir slightly, the weight of Charles’ arm still draped over your waist. You blink awake slowly, your face pressed into his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a comforting rhythm against you. For a moment, you forget where you are, wrapped in the warmth of his body, the soft cocoon of blankets around you.

Then the sound of footsteps pulls you from your daze.

The door creaks open, followed by a collective gasp. Your body stiffens, and you can feel Charles tense beside you, though he doesn’t move just yet. His arm tightens slightly, as if to reassure you, before he finally shifts, lifting his head from the pillow.

Two of your maids stand at the foot of the bed, their eyes wide, shock etched across their faces as they take in the sight of you and Charles — still tangled together beneath the sheets, bodies pressed close, intimate. You can’t help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You had expected to wake up alone, with Charles already gone to attend to his duties. Instead, here you are, cocooned in the aftermath of last night, and the sight is clearly not what anyone had anticipated.

“Good morning, milady,” one of the maids stammers, her eyes darting between you and Charles, clearly uncertain of how to proceed.

Charles sits up, propping himself against the headboard, but he doesn’t make any move to untangle himself from you. Instead, he casts a slow, measured look at the maids, his expression calm but commanding. “Her Highness,” he corrects them, his voice still gravelly from sleep, but carrying a distinct authority. “She is no longer ‘milady.’”

The maids exchange nervous glances, their cheeks coloring as they quickly curtsy. “Y-Your Highness,” they echo, clearly flustered by the correction.

You bite your lip, feeling the flush deepen at the reminder. It’s still strange to hear yourself referred to as “Your Highness.” The title feels foreign, like a borrowed gown that doesn’t quite fit, and yet there’s something about the way Charles says it that makes it feel … real.

Charles turns his attention back to you, his hand brushing against your waist as he leans down slightly, his voice low and intimate. “You should get dressed,” he says softly, though there’s a note of amusement in his tone. “We’ve scandalized them enough for one morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, though your cheeks still burn. The fact that he’s still here, still close, feels … surprising, but in a way that warms your chest. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from him, and the maids rush forward, eager to help you from the bed.

As you stand, the cold air nips at your skin, and you suddenly feel exposed, despite the nightgown that clings to your body. You shiver slightly, and one of the maids, always attentive, quickly drapes a robe over your shoulders.

Charles watches you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering, before he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. His servants enter the room then, bowing low as they approach, clearly hesitant to disturb the prince. But Charles merely waves them in with a flick of his hand, dismissing their cautiousness.

“Have her belongings brought to my chambers,” Charles says, his voice casual, as if he were giving the most mundane of instructions. He reaches for his own clothes, still laid out by the servants, pulling on his tunic with practiced ease.

Your heart skips a beat.

The maids freeze in place, their eyes wide, as if they’ve just heard something outrageous. You can feel their shock ripple through the room, though they try to mask it with a quick curtsy.

“Your Highness,” one of them stammers, clearly unsure of how to respond. “But — your quarters? Surely, you mean-”

“I mean what I said,” Charles interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t look at them as he speaks, busy fastening the leather straps of his tunic, but his voice carries the weight of authority that only someone like him can wield. “Her belongings will be moved to my chambers by midday. Is that understood?”

Your maids glance at each other again, their expressions caught somewhere between shock and dismay. The scandal of it is clear — they had expected you to maintain separate quarters, as was the custom for all noble marriages. The idea of sharing a bed — sharing quarters — on a permanent basis was practically unheard of.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” one of them finally manages to say, her voice small. They both curtsy again, though their faces are still flushed with surprise.

You can’t help but feel the weight of what this means — the implication of it — and your cheeks warm at the thought. Charles wants you in his chambers, in his space. It’s a decision that speaks volumes, one that suggests more than just a sense of duty or obligation. The intimacy of sharing quarters … it’s something deeper, something more personal.

Your gaze flickers toward him, but he’s already focused on his servants, giving them instructions as they help him with his attire. You feel a rush of emotions — nervousness, anticipation, and something you can’t quite name. It’s as if the ground beneath you has shifted, the reality of your marriage settling in ways you hadn’t expected.

The maids, clearly still rattled, help you into your gown, their hands quick and efficient but a little clumsy in their haste. You can sense their discomfort, though they don’t say anything directly. You remain silent as they lace up the back of your gown, your mind spinning with thoughts of what sharing chambers with Charles will mean.

Once you’re fully dressed, you turn to find Charles watching you, his eyes dark and unreadable as he takes in the sight of you. There’s something about his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine, something that reminds you of the intensity of last night, the way he had held you, commanded the room, and, ultimately, you.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hand brushing your waist as he leans in, his voice low. “Are you alright?”

The simple question makes your breath catch. It’s a small gesture, a quiet moment of concern, but it feels significant. You nod, offering him a small smile, though your heart still races.

“I am,” you say softly, though the truth is, you’re not entirely sure what you feel. There’s a whirlwind of emotions churning inside you, and you can barely make sense of them.

Charles studies you for a moment longer, his hand lingering at your waist before he finally pulls away. “Good,” he says simply, his voice firm. “You’ll get used to this. To all of it.”

There’s something comforting in his certainty, as if he’s made up his mind that you’ll both navigate this strange new reality together. You take a deep breath, the knot of tension in your chest loosening slightly.

The maids finish with your hair, pinning it up into an elegant style, and they step back, glancing nervously at Charles, as if still processing the scandal of his earlier command.

One of them finally speaks, her voice barely a whisper. “Milady, shall we prepare your things for-” She stops herself, catching Charles’ sharp gaze. “Your Highness,” she corrects hastily, “shall we prepare your things for the move?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again. “Yes,” you say softly, though the idea still feels strange. You had grown accustomed to the idea of separate quarters, of having a space to retreat to, a sanctuary of your own. But now, you’d be sharing that space with him.

Charles gives a small nod of approval, his expression unreadable, though you can sense his satisfaction with the arrangement. He turns to his own servants, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “See to it that everything is ready,” he says. “I want no delays.”

The servants bow deeply and file out of the room, leaving you alone with Charles once more. The silence that follows is thick with unspoken tension, the weight of everything that has happened — and everything that is yet to come — hanging in the air.

Charles steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches for your hand. His grip is firm, steady, and you feel the familiar jolt of warmth spread through you at his touch.

“You belong with me,” he says quietly, his voice low and commanding, as if stating a simple fact. “That’s how it will be. From now on.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s no uncertainty in his tone, no room for negotiation. He’s made his decision, and you can feel the power of that decision pulsing through the air between you.

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He smiles then, a small, satisfied smile that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand tightens around yours for a moment before he releases you, stepping back.

“We have a long day ahead,” he says, his voice returning to its usual confident tone. “But we’ll face it together.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you nod in agreement. The future feels uncertain, but with Charles by your side, you feel a strange sense of reassurance.

***

The evening air in Charles’ chambers is cool, thick with the scent of freshly lit candles and the quiet hum of crackling fire. The servants had come and gone, preparing the room for the night, and now the two of you stand in a silence that’s more charged than it is peaceful. You’ve spent the day together, walking the halls of the palace, facing curious eyes and polite murmurs, yet now, here, in the privacy of the chambers you now share, everything feels more intimate.

You’re still getting used to the space, to the idea that this room is no longer just his — it’s yours too. The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window. It’s unsettling, in a way, this sudden intrusion into his world, and yet, it feels oddly right. Charles moves about the room with ease, as if he belongs here, as if he belongs with you, and there’s something comforting in that.

The evening had been quiet, the both of you falling into an easy rhythm of shared conversation and long, lingering looks that spoke more than words could. But now, standing at the foot of the large, canopied bed, you feel the weight of what comes next pressing in on you.

Charles steps closer, his eyes dark and steady, full of that quiet confidence that always seems to radiate off him. He doesn’t rush — there’s no hurry in the way he approaches you, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your heart race.

He stops just in front of you, close enough that the warmth of his body reaches you. “You look nervous,” he says softly, a hint of amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.

You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I-I’m not,” you lie, but your voice betrays you, shaking just a little.

He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Liar,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as he reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, gentle, but it sends a shiver down your spine all the same. “You forget, I know your body better than that by now.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite your nerves. His words are true, but it’s still strange to think that someone who was, just days ago, a stranger in many ways, could now know so much about you. And yet, here you are, bound together in ways you never imagined.

Charles’ hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away, his expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. He steps back slightly, his gaze holding yours as he speaks again. “It’s my duty as your husband to teach you what happens in the marriage bed.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink at him, confused. “Teach me?” You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. “But … I thought-” You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I thought what happened yesterday was … all there is.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then Charles laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room and sends another shiver through you. His eyes gleam with amusement, and there’s something almost predatory in the way he looks at you, as if your innocence is both endearing and utterly baffling to him.

“Oh, ma chérie,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you look down, unable to meet his gaze. You had thought that after last night, you’d learned everything there was to know about what happens between a man and a woman. But now, faced with the way Charles is looking at you, you realize how naïve you must seem.

He steps closer again, his hand coming to rest lightly on your arm. “Look at me,” he says softly, his voice gentle but firm.

You do as he says, lifting your eyes to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch in your throat.

“There’s more,” he says quietly, his voice low and full of promise. “Much more.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air between you, before he continues. “And I’m going to teach you. I’m going to show you exactly what it means to be my wife.”

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside you. There’s something in the way he speaks, in the way he looks at you, that makes your skin tingle, your body instinctively leaning into him despite your uncertainty.

Charles reaches for you then, his hands steady and sure as he guides you to the edge of the bed. You sit down, your legs trembling slightly as the reality of what’s happening begins to sink in.

He stands before you, his gaze never leaving yours, and slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you’re certain he can hear it.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, your voice shaky.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up in that confident, almost arrogant way that always makes your stomach flutter. “I’m going to demonstrate something for you,” he says, his voice calm and controlled, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. “It’s called the lord’s kiss.”

You blink at him, confused. “The … the lord’s kiss?” The words sound strange to your ears, and you have no idea what he means.

Charles’ smirk deepens, and there’s a glint of something dark and heated in his eyes as he watches your confusion. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before you can respond, he reaches for your legs, his hands firm but gentle as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart races, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts as you try to process what’s happening.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Charles leans in, his hands sliding up your thighs as he positions himself between your legs. The fabric of your gown bunches around your hips, and you feel the cool air against your skin as he pushes it aside.

Your pulse quickens, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and something else — something you don’t quite understand but can’t deny.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, as if giving you one last chance to stop him. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re too caught up in the moment, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his presence, the way he commands every inch of your attention.

Then, without another word, he lowers his head, his lips brushing softly against your skin.

You gasp, your body jolting at the unexpected sensation, but Charles doesn’t stop. His movements are slow, deliberate, his mouth tracing a path along the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you.

He doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, he continues his slow, torturous exploration of your body, his lips and tongue moving with a precision that makes your head spin.

Your body reacts instinctively, your back arching slightly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he brings you to the edge of something you’ve never felt before.

You’ve never been touched like this, never even imagined that this was something a man could do. And yet, here you are, trembling beneath his touch, your mind a whirlwind of sensations that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

Charles pulls back slightly, his lips hovering just above your skin as he murmurs, “Do you see now?” His voice is low, rough, filled with a quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. “Do you understand?”

You can’t speak. You can barely think. All you can do is nod, your body trembling, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

He smiles then, a slow, satisfied smile, and before you can catch your breath, he lowers his head again, continuing his demonstration.

The sensations are overwhelming. You’re lost in the world Charles is creating for you, your body alive with a heat and need you never imagined could exist. His lips, his tongue, every movement is precise, deliberate, like he’s playing a well-rehearsed melody on your skin.

The sound that escapes your lips is beyond your control — a high-pitched moan, raw and unrestrained, tearing through the quiet chambers. Your hands twist in the sheets, and you arch into him, trembling beneath his touch.

Charles doesn’t falter. His grip tightens on your thighs, keeping you grounded even as you feel like you might fly apart. He’s relentless, each kiss deeper, more commanding, pulling you into a space where only the two of you exist.

Your moans grow louder, filling the room with a sound that feels almost foreign to your ears. You can’t help it — he’s drawing something out of you, something primal, something you didn’t even know was there.

“Charles,” you gasp, your voice thick with desire and desperation, barely a whisper in the storm of sensation. But he doesn’t stop. His focus remains unbroken, his mouth working you over with a precision that drives you wild.

The tension builds, like a coil tightening inside you, every nerve alight, ready to snap. And then, just as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, the door to the chambers slams open with a sudden, jarring force.

The sound startles you, and your eyes fly open in panic. For a moment, the world blurs around you, your mind struggling to grasp what’s happening, but then you see them — two palace guards, standing in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“Oh my God!” You yelp, mortified beyond belief, scrambling to pull the covers over yourself, your heart racing for a different reason now.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t even flinch. His grip on your thighs doesn’t loosen, and he doesn’t lift his face from between your legs. If anything, the intrusion seems to embolden him. His lips move with a newfound intensity, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that makes your body jerk despite the embarrassment flooding your veins.

“W-we heard shouting, Your Highness!” One of the guards stammers, his face flushed as he averts his eyes. “We thought-”

The other guard clears his throat, equally uncomfortable. “We thought someone was hurt or … or being … shamed.”

You feel your face go up in flames, utterly humiliated. Your hands clutch the sheets to your chest, trying to cover as much of yourself as possible, but Charles … Charles remains exactly where he is, completely unfazed by the situation.

“Charles!” You hiss, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes darting between the guards and him. “Please stop-” But even as you plead, your body betrays you. A fresh wave of pleasure washes over you, and another moan slips from your lips, softer this time, but no less damning.

The guards exchange a look, clearly unsure what to do, their faces red with embarrassment. “Should we — should we call for help?” One of them asks, his voice almost panicked, still refusing to look in your direction.

“No,” Charles growls, finally lifting his head just enough to speak, his voice dark and commanding, but his face remains close to your skin, his breath hot against your thigh. “Leave.”

“But … Your Highness-”

“I said leave,” Charles snaps, his voice low but laced with enough authority to make both guards jump.

They hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether they should follow his command or call for reinforcements. But the look on Charles’ face — sharp, predatory, completely in control — leaves no room for doubt. They turn on their heels and practically stumble over each other as they rush out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Your heart is still racing, your face burning with humiliation. “Charles …” you begin, but your words dissolve into a gasp as his mouth moves against you once again.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice muffled against your skin, his lips brushing your most sensitive spot with a devastating precision. “Don’t think about them. Don’t think about anything but me.” His fingers tighten on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he continues his slow, torturous assault on your senses.

You can’t help it — the moment takes you over again, your body responding to his touch in ways you don’t fully understand. Despite the lingering embarrassment, despite the guards and the intrusion, your body betrays you. You sink back into the pleasure he’s offering, every nerve in your body alive, on fire, as he drives you higher and higher.

“You feel incredible,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and full of that commanding confidence. He’s barely paused, barely stopped his ministrations, but he’s still somehow able to speak to you in that dark, soothing tone that makes your pulse race. “Do you know that? How good you taste … how perfect you are for me?”

His words send another wave of heat rushing through you, your breath catching in your throat. You can feel yourself unraveling, your body trembling beneath his hands as he works you over with a mastery that leaves you gasping for air.

You try to form words, to say something, anything, but all that escapes your lips is a soft, breathless moan. Your hands fist in the sheets, your back arching as you teeter on the edge of something vast and overwhelming.

Charles notices, of course. He always notices. His lips curl into a faint smile against your skin, and he hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I can feel it,” he says, his voice a growl now, low and full of promise. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you trembling for me.”

You nod, unable to speak, unable to think of anything but the pleasure coursing through your veins, the way your body feels like it’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his breath hot against you. “Let go for me.”

And you do. You fall, hard and fast, your body shaking as the tension finally snaps, sending you spiraling into a release so intense it leaves you breathless, gasping for air.

Charles doesn’t stop, his mouth moving against you with slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re trembling and spent, your body weak and boneless beneath him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watches you, his hands still resting lightly on your thighs.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says softly, his voice full of that same commanding power that always makes your heart race. “Completely undone … because of me.”

You can’t find the words to respond. All you can do is lie there, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened.

Charles rises to his feet with a grace that seems unfair, considering how your own limbs feel like jelly. He looks down at you, his dark eyes gleaming with a satisfaction that makes your stomach flip.

“You see?” He says softly, his voice smug but also warm, affectionate even. “There’s much more to being a wife than what you knew.”

You can only nod, still too breathless to speak, as you collapse back against the pillows, completely spent.

Charles leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low murmur as he says, “And there’s still so much more to learn.”

2K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

Text

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: NSFW, derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

♡ fem reader

You hadn’t fucked in a while.

Katsuki would come home late – where being an intern only landed him with shit patrols and shit hours and shit pay – leaving him in a foul mood almost constantly.

You'd put on your most supportive charm and try your best to cater to his needs – being the designated one going grocery shopping and the one to do the laundry as well as clean the house, take the trash out, and make the bed – making sure he’s got nothing to worry about when he comes home.

You don’t really care if it doesn’t align with the rules of feminism – you doll yourself up for him and wear only nice things – making dinner the way you know he likes, with extra spice – asking him about his day.

Being the best, most perfect housewife you could be.

But like always... he's tired and replies only in grunts with a sour scowl on his face – doing his routines seemingly on autopilot – eating, showering, going to bed – leaving you alone in the dark with the dishes.

You sighed, boxing up the leftovers before packing him a lunchbox for work. Tying a handkerchief around it to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally spill in his bag, also so he had something to wipe his mouth with after finishing – and as you centered the corners, knotting them together into a neat little flower, you couldn’t help how your hands began to shake followed shortly but tears slipping down your cheeks.

You slid down the kitchen counter into a thud on the floor, pressing your sleeve over your mouth to try and muffle the small cries that soon spilled over. You don’t want to wake him up. You don’t want him to see you like this. He works too hard; he shouldn’t be bothered by his girlfriend breaking down over nothing.

You just miss him – you miss him so much your whole body aches – even though he’s right there in the next room. You clenched a fist over your heart, feeling it strangle itself inside your ribcage – making your throat seize up, dry where you choked down sobs.

You thought today would be the day. You’d gotten yourself extra ready. Wearing the dress he likes, even the lingerie he likes – not that he’d be able to tell without undressing you first.

You banged your head softly against the cupboards behind you, eyes closed as you calmed down your weeping. Still, you kept your sleeve pressed against your mouth, scared to let even your snivels reach him.

The hand covering your heart dropped into your lap.

You let out a sigh, then thought about his big hands – imagining them – strong and sturdy and warm on your skin – roaming your body in greedy touches. How he manhandles you with his lips pressed against your ear – speaking filth in that awfully low teasing rust of his.

Your hand slipped between your thighs – under your skirt and beneath your panties – with two slim fingers sliding between your lips to gather the needy slick that had pooled there before bringing it up to rub your pearl.

You bit your sleeve, wanting to moan but needing to stay quiet. You can’t let him find you like this. You can’t wake him up over something so unimportant, not to mention embarrassing.

You’re so pathetic. It stung your heart, but still, you kept your fingers working – drawing wet circles into your clit that had become a hard bud under the attention it had been seeking for so long.

You don’t often touch yourself. You just leave it to Katsuki. Your hands are so different it’s nearly impossible to even imagine it’s him – and besides, he does it differently – a specific way you struggle to replicate. Suppose he's gotten to know your body a little better than you over the years.

Still, you get there. Albeit a numb and rather boring high, you still shook as it took you. Though, it didn’t come close to how Katsuki makes you feel.

You just end up feeling ashamed…

Crying and cumming on the kitchen floor while your boyfriend’s in the other room fast asleep after a hard day's work.

You freed your mouth from your sleeve and pulled your other hand out from inside your panties, laying them both in your lap as you mulled it all over. It’s cold and silent and dark, and you wish you’d just rushed along and gone to bed with Katsuki when he’d muttered his goodnight.

You banged your head once again, then picked yourself up from the floor a moment later, releasing a sigh that turned into a yawn while dragging your feet quietly across the floor. You put the lunchbox in his bag before walking yourself to the bathroom. There, you splashed cold water on your face, looking your reflection dead in the eyes. You’d made yourself so pretty today, but he hadn’t touched you at all… he’d barely even looked at you…

You almost cried again but managed to suppress it – washing your face free of mascara and lipstick, then brushing your teeth. You slipped out of your dress and fished one of his worn shirts from the laundry bin. It smelled sweetly musky, like him – fitting you like a tent, reaching longer down your thighs than most of your skirts. It felt nice. You could almost trick yourself into thinking it was him who’d made you cum earlier and not yourself – and that delusion itself was enough to make your chest flutter with warmth.

You snuck into the bedroom and quietly shut the door with a soft click before sneaking under the covers on your side of the bed. He was already asleep. Deep breaths left him steadily while you studied his back in the dim light. He was tense. Maybe you could give him a backrub tomorrow – and maybe he’d fuck you in return?

One can dream…

The thought put a small smile on your face as you soon followed in sleep yourself.

He took out the lunchbox you’d made for him, wrapped in a silly handkerchief with a Pomeranian print. His lip quirked up for just a second. You’re such a dumbass.

He and Eijirou had picked a tall place like usual – atop an office building with their legs dangling over the edge. It had become standard procedure.

They didn’t like being bothered during lunch – it prevented them from talking about the things they wanted to talk about, if and when they wanted to talk, and otherwise roped them into meaningless small talk they had no interest in. Eijirou could fake it when he had to, but Katsuki didn’t ever feel as inclined. So it was best for both of them to find someplace exclusive.

Which, more often than not, ended up with them atop a rooftop somewhere along their route.

Katsuki popped the lid and found your note.

Burn it up, Boo!

You’re such a geek. You’re so silly it made him blush sitting there.

Fuck... he misses you...

His nose stung a bit just thinking about it, but he stifled it with a sharp sniffle before it could get any worse.

Unclenching his teeth with a huff, he picked up his food before chomping down on it. How long had it been since he’d held you? Must be since he started his internship, which is what? A month ago already?

He couldn’t wait to run his own agency. He’d own a building just like the one they're sitting on right now – maybe even taller. You could work there as well – you already act as his personal assistant, after all – or maybe that’s just what a girlfriend does. Either way, if you would work with him, he wouldn’t need to miss you so fucking much all the fucking time.

“Mina told me to tell you something- but you need to promise you won’t tell your girl that my girl ratted. Okay?” Kirishima broke through his daydreams. He was holding a sandwich from the cafeteria. Looks like Mina didn’t pack him lunch, Katsuki thought with a small smug smirk. Poor loser.

“What are you blabbing on about now, Shitty-hair?” He asked, taking another bite from his homemade lunch with pride. It couldn’t really get any better than you. Surviving the last few months of his internship wouldn’t be too exhausting with you as his cheerleader.

“Mina told me-” Eijirou started anew but broke himself off before finishing. “Ah fuck it– doesn’t matter. Just listen.”

“I am. Spit it out already.” Katsuki said, unfazed. Not much could annoy him when he was busy thinking about you.

Eijirou hesitated for a moment longer, unsure how he should phrase it. But if memory served him right, blunt honesty had always been rewarded with the impatient ash-blonde – so he decided to be straightforward with it. “Your girl’s gonna leave you if you don’t dick her down soon.”

That got his attention.

“The fuck?” Katsuki barked, whipping his head to the side to glare at him – unchewed food still in his mouth, making his words come out muffled.

He had his mask lifted like a headband, pushing his hair out of the way and allowing Eijirou to see every angry furrow creasing his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger-” He excused, arms raised with his half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “I’m just tryna help you out.”

Katsuki’s grimace didn’t ease up.

It looked like he was going to say something, but instead, there came a long pause of them just staring intensely at each other.

It was normal. Katsuki had become better at processing things quietly without the need to fling curse words. But still, the frown didn’t lift – only deepened.

“Tch-” He scoffed after a while – looking down at his lunchbox again – fingering the happy Pomeranian handkerchief quietly before muttering, now calmly. “Fuck does Pinkie know…”

Eijirou put his hands down again, turning to look at the city below them, taking another bite of his sandwich – speaking with it in his mouth. “Uhm- she says it’s been a while since the two of you fucked- and that your girl’s trying her best to keep you happy- mh- but that she’s at her wit’s end ‘cause you won’t talk or touch her-”

Katsuki’s frown softened a bit, eyes scanning your handwritten note again. It’s such a small thing, but without it, the day would have still been grey and sour. It was just a piece of paper, but it had felt like a warm kiss on the cheek and turned his mood from annoyed to giddy so seamlessly.

Losing you might just kill him, he thought.

A weak “Fuck-” left him then, along with a sigh. The feeling of dread ripping his chest was nearly enough to make him cry, but he clenched his fists and grit his teeth, and the sting in his eyes relented almost as quickly as it had come.

“That’s girls for you, man...” Eijirou continued. “Talking out their frustrations over coffee and cakes instead of throwing fits.” He laughed, turning his head to look at his unusually still and silent friend. Grinning at the sight of the cute pout that had taken shape on his face. “We could learn a thing or two.” He nudged suggestively.

Katsuki threw him a glance, spotting his shark teeth pulled into a friendly smile. He sighed again, this time with a bit of a bothered groan, knowing that was Eijirou’s way of telling him to open up.

“Not much to complain about…” Katsuki mumbled in an effort to brush the subject off. But the feeling of Eijirou’s round red eyes staring at him intently in wait – goading him into telling more – didn’t relent.

Katsuki wanted to ignore him, but at the same time, there was something inside him that told him he shouldn’t waste the opportunity. In the end, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to share. After all, Eijirou had been beside him for over a decade already, and they weren’t planning on ending their camaraderie any time soon.

He smacked his teeth as though surrendering, offering yet another groan of annoyance. “If she wants me to fuck her, she should just fucking say so-” He spilled. “What am I supposed to do? Read her mind?”

Eijirou laughed again, shaking his head. “Nah, man- this is a proper lady we’re talking about. She’s not gonna be so brazen. She wants her ~man~ to make those demands.” He explained, keeping his smile before quirking his brow at the blonde. “Speaking of… why haven't you?”

Katsuki threw him another glance, but he couldn’t feel more awkward sharing such things, even after such long years of friendship.

Not that Eijirou cared if he was a little rigid. Actually, he found it amusing. Katsuki just needs a little time, but sooner or later, he always cracks. It’s just lucky that Eijirou has the endurance for it.

“I haven't been ‘cause-” Katsuki started, visibly struggling. “I don’t wanna be too-” He stopped again.

“What?” Eijirou pushed, slanting his head.

The blonde threw his head back with yet another groan. “She’s all up and down the house doing chores- I didn’t wanna be a selfish prick asking her to put out as well.”

“Wow, man…” Eijirou chuckled, smacking his hand down on the explosion hero's slumped shoulder. “That’s so manly.” He praised.

But it didn’t take long before his smile turned a little sharper – now with not-so-altruistic intent.

“But uhm…” He snickered. “If not your girl... what have you been doing?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Katsuki snapped back with a growl, shaking the makeshift redhead’s hand off his shoulder – his scowl returning to its original glory.

“Oh, come on, man- give us a little something to laugh about~” Ejirou drawled, still with his playful smirk – eagerly waiting.

Katsuki brooded for a moment longer.

But then finally gave in. “The shower… sometimes the car…”

Eijirou laughed, now loudly – boisterously and long enough to make the blonde punch his shoulder. But the assault wasn’t even registered by the sturdy hero, who continued laughing until he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “That’s not manly.” He said, still with amusement in his voice. “That’s just sad, man.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbled in return, refocusing on his lunch as the other male continued giggling.

“To think you’ve been holding back while your girl’s been pining for it.” Eijirou rubbed salt in the wound, adding insult to injury, before stuffing the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “Mh- that’s why communication is key.”

Katsuki also took his last bite before repeating his last words. “Shut up, Shitty-hair...”

He came home to the smell of cooking and the hefty sound of the kitchen fan. The door swung closed with a loud bang, and you soon walked around the corner – spatula in hand with your apron on.

“You’re home early!” You exclaimed, a smile spreading on your face while rushing over to him. Lifting your heels on your toes to plant a quick kiss on his chin. “Oh-” You gasped, surprised when he enveloped you in a hug instead.

Stunned still for a moment, but then you smiled.

“Welcome home~”

He sighed into you, big hands pressed at the small of your back, swaying you snugly against him – the spatula in your hand smushed between you.

You smelled like sweets, and he smelled of smoke, and you both closed your eyes at the familiar but almost forgotten scent – bodies relaxing, realizing how much they’d missed the other's touch.

He held you there for a while, nuzzling his face into your neck with a low rumble – almost like the purr of a cat – before letting you down slowly.

“Is everything alright?” You asked, looking up at him.

He kept his hands at your sides for a moment longer, his usual unreadable expression donning his face. “Not really.” He revealed, then pressed a kiss onto your forehead. “Talk about it later, I’m starving.”

You wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry – trusting him that you’d talk about it later.

He set the table while you finished cooking, and you thought it a very nice change of pace – smiling with a giggle when he pulled out your chair for you. He was acting strange, but still, you wouldn’t complain.

Dinner went quietly. You kept waiting for him to talk, to tell you what it was that was bothering him, but he never did. You were both done not before long, and you got up to start collecting dishes.

He got up as well. Walking around the table, he stood behind you as he grabbed your wrist softly. “Leave it.” He said – his voice gentle, just above a whisper.

“Katsuki?” You asked, before feeling it – gasping out a surprised “Oh-”

His hand rubbed the silk on your hip, messaging your skin through your dress as he pulled you back against his crotch, where you felt him – fat in his slacks – and nudging into the soft welcome of your butt.

Your chest fluttered with a giddy thrill, flustered and hot already.

“Right now?” You asked in a flushed rush. Bowed with both palms laid flat on the table – cheeks burning and eyes wide.

“Yes.” He replied simply – voice still gentle but sturdy – perhaps a touch strained.

“Here?” You gushed, swallowing your spit.

“Yes.” He repeated, his lips hot on your throat, with kisses and licks and heavy huffs – his chest stiff and weighty with brawn, beating against your back where he haunched over you.

Your breath warbled, rendering your voice to just an unsteady whisper. “Oh- okay-”

He hoisted the skirt of your dress in quick tugs, bunching it over your hips before molding his clothed bulge neatly into your ass – squeezing your hips and pulling you back to meet his movements as he started rolling into you with need.

You let him – waiting with knees somewhat shakey. It had been so long since you’d last felt his lust for you that now it made you nervous. Your cunt was already weeping at the promise – so wet you soaked through your panties. Even your mouth had pooled with water, desperate for what was to come.

You closed your eyes, listening to him buckling up his belt, followed by the heavy sounds of his pants dropping to the floor – then the warm feel of his hefty manhood resting between your asscheeks. You moaned just at the feel of it. Veiny and warm and soft. Your breaths turned even thicker in your throat – so excited you nearly started wagging your butt to urge him into taking your panties off.

He did. Hooking his fingers beneath the lace, he pulled it down your thighs and knees and let it pool around your feet – giving your ass a wet bite on his way up again.

His fingers then found your puffy cunt, giving it a featherlight feel and releasing a strained grunt at the drippy mess discovered there – bathing his fingertips in your arousal. You heard him swallow thickly at your ear – his breath baring hints of something heavier from his gut – almost heaving as he grabbed his shaft and slid himself down through your thighs.

You nearly started whining boohoos, feeling his girth glide between the fat of your inner thighs, glossing itself in the slick from your cunt. Your insides screamed for it. It was all too sadistic for you to handle – you needed to push back into him – a wanton whimper escaping you even as you had your lip tugged between your teeth.

He answered the prayer, his movements controlled yet strained as he steadily guided it between the split of your pussylips until his head caught on your entrance. He hissed, pressing inside you without any prepping – and you sucked in a gasp, stinging at the stretch, taking the fat mushroom-shaped bulb inside you slowly – so overwhelmed your vision blurred with spotted light.

Then you released the prettiest moan – whole body tense with anticipation as he eased the fat length all the way inside your pretty cunt – filling it so good, your thighs quaked with curled toes, sinking your teeth into your lip with eyes squished tightly shut – sighing with a needy whimper once his head nudged deep into your cervix.

You and your body both had forgotten his size. Feeling tunneled. You nearly had the urge to climb away as it rested inside you – every meaty inch stretching you out – but he held you steady at the hips, keeping you still as he nestled deep and completely within your walls – making you pant out like a needy bitch in heat. In the end, you couldn’t do much more than curl your toes into the carpet, eyes flickering with arms nearly giving out beneath you.

You didn’t expect the slap to your ass. “Ah- Katsuki-” You yelped with a buck, clenching down even harder around him.

He gritted his teeth at your pretty cry and did it again – planting his hand down hard into the doughy flesh. Pulling back with his hips and thrusting in again.

You clawed the table, picking up the tablecloth in balled hands – struggling to make breaths – insides fluttering and wavering between the delight of finally being filled and the flighty dread of being split in two – crying at the pain, being stretched so awfully good.

He smacked you again, and this time, you whimpered, reeling from the pain of it – feeling the skin sting and prickle – hot beneath the squeeze he made after, gripping the fat like putty.

“Katsu- s’too rough-” You cried, shaking on his shaft – but also from the pleasure – feeling your head cloudy and hot where your brows cinched up.

He ignored your cry, giving it another hit with his palm. Backing up until only his tip remained inside, then running you through again – pelvis clapping your rear. So deep it choked you, making your tongue loll out of your mouth with your moans. So robbing, you needed to bow down until your tits rested on the table to avoid your arms giving out beneath you – panting as you held onto the feel of his every inch sliding in and out of you. Fucking you so well, you drooled.

“What's this I hear about you leavin’ me, huh?”

A cold rush flushed your body then.

The burn of pleasure suddenly went tense – still there, but vulnerable now. Your heart flared, beating fast – so loud you heard it in your head.

You weren’t able to answer before he’d snuck a hand up your chest and grabbed your throat, lifting you from the table and pressing you back against his chest where his lips could graze the shell of your ear. “I had a lil’ chat with Eijirou earlier. Care to know what he said?” He whispered now, feeling your breath turn thin beneath his hand.

He held you tight, fingers sinking into your jugular – but more so in threat – not rough enough to choke you.

Still, it made you squeeze on him harder.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “He told me that Mina told him that you’ve been having ditzy thoughts about ending things… That true?”

“N-no- that’s not what I said-” You denied with a stutter – chest tight with a need to moan out, feeling the plush bulge of his cock-head knead into your cervix – making a mean outline on your tummy – burrowed so deep it made your thighs shake at the pressure – feeling the onslaught of that tightknit rope within your core begin to fray, soon to snap and let go.

“It's so like you.” He accused coldly, making another harsh thrust into you – cock punching your stomach in the perfect spot. “To go run your mouth with no plans of backing any of it up.”

“B-but I-” You didn’t have your wits with you to defend yourself – busy rubbing your thighs together, chasing the sweet release you felt pursuing.

“Buh-buh-but nothing.” He dismissed – his other hand making way down past your belly button, his fingers soon running over your clit – beginning to rub tight and slow circles into it – making your moans spill past where his hand kept your throat in a lock. “If you wanted me that badly, you should have just asked. But I guess that’s too much for you, isn’t it? You’re just too innocent, aren’t yah?”

You were nearly there until he spun you around. Quickly gathering your thighs, he picked you up and made you straddle him – pushing your back against the wall with a bang that almost had the pictures falling down.

You only moaned, going dumb from the thrill, wrapping your legs around his torso as he sunk back inside you.

“I don’t buy it, sweetheart. Be honest now-” He breathed with a grunt, pressing his forehead against yours, and you slung your arms around his neck. “You’ve been touching yourself without me, haven't you?”

You bit your lip under his interrogating glare, looking into his red eyes through your lashes only to look away – flighty with a tiny whimper before squeaking out a hesitant but honest, “Ye-yes-”

“When?” He pushed with a hiss – wasting no time.

You burned with embarrassment – fingernails denting the swole and sweaty muscles of his back, feeling him dig inside you so deep and hard and fast you couldn’t help but spill with the confession. “Yesterday- after dinner- when you were sleeping-”

“Where?” He added, clenching his jaw at the shy way you nibbled your lip, telling him all your dirty secrets while pinned against the wall, taking him inside your tight wet cunt with such a face that just coaxed him into going harder and faster.

“H-here, on the floor-” You answered, moaning it for him with your breath in your throat.

“Tch-” He scoffed with a groan and a grin – feeling you clench on him, recognizing your mannerisms – you were getting close. “I didn’t know I was living with a little slut.”

“I’m not-” You protested with a whine – giving him the cutest pouty face he’d ever seen.

“Don’t lie.” He barked, slamming into you – making you squeal with a moan, fingers pulling the locks at his nape while clenching on him tight – your breath shuddered, stomach tightening up like a knot before suddenly snapping. He chuckled hotly, feeling you shake from it. “Don’t you fuckin’ try it when you’re cummin’ on my cock like that-”

His lips mushed yours with another groan while you moaned from the release. He gripped your ass tighter, pulling you to meet his rhythm, riding it out of you – biting your lip to finish the kiss.

“Be honest-” He seethed, his voice tight – low and gravelly, thick with arousal. “Where do you want it?”

You quaked at the question, head full of cotton from your orgasm. You looked at him with hearts in your eyes. “Inside me, please, Katsuki~”

“Fuck-” He stuttered – that was the last he could handle before burying himself deep – gripping you tight and keeping you snug against him as he emptied himself with hips jutting – pressing you firmly against the wall behind you.

He kept you there, forehead to forehead, holding his breath down to the very last drop – then let out a long and relieved sigh. But still, he held you there – with sweat running down his temple as he huffed air until both your breathing calmed down. And even then, he didn’t let go.

Instead, he carried you off toward the bedroom – leisurely in his steps as your legs dangled over his arms before placing you both down in the soft bed.

He helped you out of your dress, shimmying it off over your head with your hands lazily raised in the air – then he tore his own shirt off over his shoulders, flexing his back with a stretch and groggy yawn before laying down with a complete sigh.

Throwing an arm over your midriff, heavy and thick with muscles – his hand splayed on the small of your back – holding you snugly – limbs tangled together with your heads propped on the same pillow.

“Next time you’re thinking about touching yourself when I’m asleep, just wake me up.” He grumbled, his eyes already closed.

You gave a breathy giggle, murmuring an “Okay~” with a smile. Looking at his face and the cute blush dusting his cheeks with dew.

He had that small scrunch between his brows like always, twisting his handsome face into something so adorably moody even in his sleep.

His warm breath puffed slow and steady against your face – dewy from his slightly parted mouth.

“Katsuki?” You whispered after a while, tapping your finger on his peck with a soft bite to your lip.

He opened his eyes, sleepy but awake still – blinded by your wide-awake eyes eagerly staring back at him.

“One more time?”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

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lazy4honey · 2 months ago

Text

Unseelie Fae

Should be sleeping, looked at fae fucker, remembered an old idea I never got to use, just started writing, tried to do something short, obviously didn’t succeed…

Contains: second person perspective, gender neutral, fae, long, slow, teasing, dub-con, tentacles, fingering, anal, big 🍆, lots of 💦, slight belly bulge, NSFW towards the end

Note: both men and women have a glans and erectile tissue 👍

There are two courts of faeries, opposed to each other like day and night. One is known as the Seelie Court, mischievous but well meaning, while the other is the Unseelie Court, full of cunning pranks and tricks.

But regardless of their differences, they all love to play tricks on humans.

As such, you go to bed one night and fall asleep unusually quickly and dream.

You stand in a blooming meadow. The cerulean sky above you is dotted with white cotton clouds and the sun beams down onto the earth in a blinding manner, a mixture of the flowers’ fragrance and the slightly burnt smell of ozone typical for hot summer days filling your nose as the hot breeze brushes over your skin.

You look around and find a lone tree growing in the meadow. It looks old, knotted branches adorned by emerald leaves reaching towards the sky almost like a withered hand. There is a strange aura to this tree, but you still walk over to stand in its cool shade.

Then something magical happens.

A pale glimmer lights up on one of the lower branches and drops, leaving a glittering string as fine as spider silk hanging straight down. You watch with curiosity and awe as the string lights up and splits open into a gateway.

The next moment, before you can see what lies beyond, a figure steps through the gateway.

As soon as you lay your eyes on them, they have stolen your breath away.

They are tall and thin, clad in flowing black robes that seem to meld into the shadows, as if made from them. Their long, straight black hair blends in with the robe, and it forms a stark contrast with their morbidly pale skin. With elegant brows, eyes resembling black pearls, and light pink lips, there is an unsettling beauty to them that transcends all perceptions of gender you had before.

They look at you and you see what you believe to be a smile flash through their mesmerizing eyes.

Entranced, you watch them lift their arm and reach out to you. Their boney hand is just as pale as their face, and their black fingernails are long and pointed. For some reason, you think it resembles the tree.

With a turn of their wrist, a round, enticingly red apple appears in their hand. Just by looking at its rich color, you can already feel its mouthwatering taste in your mouth.

You don’t hesitate to grab the apple and take a bite out of it. It is crisp and juicy, just like you imagined, and the red of the peel bleeds into the white fruit flesh like blood staining snow.

The beautiful person in black smiles as they watch you eat their apple, and you happily smile back at them.

After eating the apple, they take your hand, their cold touch making you feel a strange anticipation as they lead you through the gateway. Time and space creak as they are twisted, and the next moment you stand on the meadow by night, the sleeping flower buds doused in silvern moonlight as the nearby hill breaks open and reveals the fae folk dancing to their bewitching music in a hall illuminated by firefly-like dots of light.

Enthralled, you step forward. You enter the hill and find yourself in the hall contained within you had just seen, surrounded by countless beings more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

You wander around the hall, dancing with a man with glittering dragonfly wings fly wings one moment and a woman with colorful butterfly wings the next. Then you are pushed onward and pass by the buffet, grabbing some candy-like nuts and berries that crunch satisfyingly between your teeth before arriving at the band’s little stage. After energetically beating the drum for the goat-horned man playing the pan flute for a few songs, you are tired and let yourself be carried along by the stream of fae, finally coming to a black throne.

Seated on that throne is the beautiful being that gave you their apple, and their eyes seem to twinkle as they look at you and once again reach out their hand.

It is empty, waiting for you to take it.

You do.

They gently pull and you fall onto their lap without any resistance, adoringly gazing up at them as you lean against their chest. Your eyes meet and sparks fly, eliciting excited cheers from the crowd of fae folk.

The beautiful being brushes a hand through your hair, admiring your blushing face. Then they lean down and kiss your forehead, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks and jaw, and finally coming to your lips. They pause and look you deep in the eyes, seeking your consent before ever so gently kissing you.

Their lips are cold, just like their hands, but not unpleasantly so. There is the faint fragrance of apples.

They hold your face and gradually deepen the kiss, making you close your eyes in enjoyment and miss the flash of deep red in their eyes. Your lips opens on their own and allow their tongue to intrude on your mouth. When their cold tongue grazes yours, you flinch back in surprise only to quickly engage with them. The feeling of their slippery tongue against yours is divine.

You clutch at their robes and rub your thighs against each other as heat pools in your abdomen and makes you long for something more.

There seems to be a distant sigh, followed by a rustle, and then darkness envelops you. The boos of the crowd come from far away, but the coolness of that beautiful being is still closely attached to you, their arms wrapping around you to hold your waist.

You open your eyes and only see a vague outline of them, but you don’t mind. Raising your arms to cling to their neck, you engage them in another long, deep kiss, aiming to warm their coldness with your overflowing warmth.

They chuckle and press you tightly against themselves, kiss turning a little shallower as they rub your back, down your spine and to your ass, making you relax in comfort.

Then you feel something on your ankle. It is just as cold as the beautiful being’s hands, yet there is a strange slickness to it. You wiggle your foot. When the sensation doesn’t go away, you try to retreat from the kiss to take a look, but they don’t give you that chance as they deepen the kiss again and sneak a cold hand beneath your shirt to caress your waist.

The strange sensation remains on your ankle, and as you forget about it, it starts moving again. It slides up your calf like a living rope, crawling beneath your pants and wrapping itself around your soft flesh. Then it strokes your knee.

Your legs tighten and you want to kick it away, but then another cold, slick thing wraps around your other foot, tickling your sole. You squirm and whine into the beautiful being’s mouth, hoping they will notice your plight and rescue you. But they just hold your waist more tightly, sliding a hand up to your warm chest as their head moves down to kiss your neck.

Free of any obstruction, you moan. The cold hands and lips on your warm skin make you feel so tingly, their every caress adding to the hotness in your abdomen. You can’t resist rubbing your crotch against their thigh as you get excited.

At this moment, the slick tentacle-like things move again. They wrap around your legs, gently squeezing your thighs, their coldness making you tremble, and unexpectedly cooperate with the beautiful being to lift you up and sit you down on their lap with your legs spread. Then another tentacle attaches itself to the small of your back and trails its thin tip up your spine and down again.

With your hands not restrained, you twist to grab the annoying thing. The beautiful being beneath you suddenly releases a low moan. Unconsciously you tighten your grip, and they hum, the three cold, slick tentacles pulsing faintly.

Finally, you truly realize that the beautiful being is a fae.

A fae with tentacles.

An unknown kind of excitement takes hold of you and makes your heart beat like a drum. You swallow a mouthful of saliva and tug at the tentacle, pulling it before you.

The beautiful fae watches you in the darkness they created. Their hand tightens on your chest as you kiss the tip of the tentacle, their breath heating up when you take it into your hot, wet mouth. You gently suck on the tentacle and feel it pulse as they gasp, then gently bite it before removing it from your mouth and kissing along its length.

Meanwhile, the tentacles wrapped around your legs tighten and loosen together with the fae’s hands on your torso. They nuzzle their face against your neck and the tentacles around your legs start moving again, caressing your inner thighs and crawling forward, one making contact with your crotch. The tentacle presses a little and feels you tense. Then it slowly grinds against you, the cold, slick sensation seeping through your underpants as it fondles your arousal.

The fae feels your strong heartbeat and kisses your neck, their hand massaging your chest and making you accidentally bit the tentacle you are still holding a little harder when they pinch your nipple. They moan and the tentacle by your mouth is replaced with their lips as they plunder your mouth. The tentacle dripping with saliva strokes your shoulder and down into your shirt to your chest, the thin cold tip wrapping around your other nipple to pull and rub.

You pant at the many ministrations, aroused and wanting for more after being teased like this.

As if sensing your impatience, the tentacles on your legs start moving again. They both wriggle into your underpants, one reaching your front while the other curls around your ass cheek. The one in the front snakes along your crotch and to your eagerly throbbing genitalia. It carefully feels around and slowly pulls back your skin to reveal your glans and wet slit, rubbing against it at an agonizingly slow pace.

As you are kissed and caressed by hands and tentacles, you rock your hips against the fae for a little more friction. You want more, you hope for a deeper connection, one that steals your breath and echoes endlessly through your body.

The tentacle on your ass moves. It dives into the gap between your buttocks and kisses your small hole, making your butt clench around it. Its thin tip circles around the delicate, puckered skin and prods your hole again, even sinking a little inside.

You whine against the fae’s lips and they stroke your cheek. Then they reach down to your crotch, feeling the wetness at their fingertips, and rub your glans and slit along with the tentacle. Their hand is so cold and soft it makes you feel your pulse in your gut.

After rubbing for a while, sometimes stronger, sometimes lighter, coating their fingertips in your slowly dripping sticky liquids, they reach further and join the tentacle at your backside in prodding at your asshole. Thanks to your wetness, they are able to slide in a little more than the tentacle. Their sharp fingernail hurts a little but their other touches feel so good, and before you know it they are already one digit deep inside you.

They bite your lip as they patiently sink their entire index finger into your hole, then kiss down your jaw, neck, and chest. At your heart side, they bite your nipple, cold breath instantly making it harden, then lick. You clench around their fingertips with a moan and some more liquid drips from your slit onto the rubbing tentacle, making its movements smoother.

The fae gives your nipple a suck and pull their finger put, once again fingering your slit. You feel a little relieved yet empty, but before the feeling can settle in they return their fingers to your tight hole, carefully pressing two fingers inside your tight anus.

You moan in pain and sink your hands into the fae’s hair, gripping it tightly.

They give your chest a little bite and another tentacle joins the three. It is a little slicker than the others and the tip drips with a cold slime that makes you shiver. This tentacle sprinkles its slime across your body, mixing it with some of your own sticky liquids at your slit, and then joins the fae’s fingers as they gently press inside you. You can feel this tentacle squirm in your rectum and it seems to be pumping its cold slime into you. It coats the fae’s fingers, resulting in a quiet squelching sound as they curl against your hot flesh.

The slime drips down their hand and your ass as they continue moving, wriggling every now and then and pumping in and out in alternating tempo.

Then they add a third finger.

You feel a little full.

The dripping tentacle continuously pumps its slime into you and the squelching sound becomes louder as the sticky substance accumulates in your rear. Gradually, the fingers and slime heat up and your asshole feels a little numb and pleasantly tingly. You take the three fingers very well, earning yourself more kisses and caresses from the fae.

That beautiful fae, fucking you with their long cold fingers and slimy tentacles, could there be anything more arousing?

When they suddenly pull out their fingers, you whine and tug at their hair.

The slime dripping out of your widened hole, pulled even wider open by the fae’s tight grip on your ass cheeks, flows down the tentacle still peaking inside you, slicking it up. Then it begins to move.

The tentacle is about as thick as the fae’s three fingers, but it reaches deeper inside you and lacks the dangerous fingernails. When it enters you a little deeper, you feel it squirm again as it pumps you with its sticky slime once more, making your hole flutter, and then it retreats.

Afterwards, the other tentacles that had been toying with your body also retreat.

You unhappily wriggle your hips and pout. That couldn’t have been it, right? They couldn’t just leave you hanging like that, right?

Of course they don’t.

Your shirt is gently peeled off by their fingers, one hand cold and one warm and slick with the tentacle’s slime and your liquids. Then they slip their hands into your waistband, tapping your hips and looking at you.

Although they don’t say anything, you understand the look in their pitch black eyes. You hold onto their shoulders and raise yourself up, letting them take off your pants and underwear.

They admiringly stroke your bare skin. Your legs and your arms, your chest aching from the fondling, your waist, hips and ass, and finally your crotch — their cool touch is everywhere.

Then they press you against their chest and squeeze your ass.

The next moment, a thick, slimy tentacle with a phallic tip pressed against your asshole. Your muscles tensed and the hole tightened against the unexpectedly cold thing. It poked a little, then slid forward to rub against your leaking slit, gently pressing and pulling for a while and making you moan before returning to your backside.

The fae captured your lips and in that second of distraction, the tentacle pushed inside your anus and stretched the folds out of the puckered hole with its girth. With the hot slime and the phallic tentacle covered in cold slick completely filling your rectum, you felt almost unbearably full, but it didn’t hurt. When the tentacle started moving and the friction started heating the slippery liquids, the wonderful tingling sensation came back full force and traveled from your rear to your front, making you drip onto the fae’s robes.

They let their hand slide back down to your dripping holes and lightly pressed and rubbed your glans before fingering your slit that had become sensitive from all that stimulation as the tentacle in your ass sped up its movements, thrusting deeper inside you and stretching you further than before each time.

You moaned into their mouth. In your quest for more pleasure you rocked your hips with their thrusts, pushing your soaking slit into their cool hand one moment to seek relieve for your swollen erectile tissue and shoving your ass backwards onto their phallic tentacle to feel it pound deep into you the next.

Your enthusiasm please the fae. It pleased them even more when your ass clenched around their phallic tentacle, and you could the thing pulse in your ass and speed up. You relaxed, and then abruptly clenched again around them, eliciting a melodious moan from them as the tentacle pulsed.

Constantly stimulating each other in this was, the two of you sped up. As your climax neared, your movements grew a little sloppy. Chasing that obscure feeling, you shoved the tentacle even deeper into your soft insides, and then the fae came with an ecstatic moan.

Their phallic tentacle didn’t stop pulsing as a searing hot liquid was shot into your guts. The feel of your gut being filled and even bulging from their cum made you moan loudly, and so you, too, reached your climax. Your ass clenched more tightly than ever around the tentacle and squeezed it as you came and trembled, making you clearly feel every pulse and every new shot of cum.

After an unknown amount of time, you came back to your senses. Leaning against the fae and hugging their thin waist, your ass still stuffed with their phallic tentacle and dripping with cum and slime, you felt your body still echoing with the euphoric release you just experienced.

The fae hugged you and pressed a tender kiss to your sweaty temple.

Surrounded by the faint scent of apples, you relaxed against them and sleepily closed your eyes. As you drifted off, you heard them, the vibrations of their cold, resonant voice clearly transmitted into your chest as they whispered.

“Finally.”

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vinceaddams · 1 year ago

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Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

youtube

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

#ask #buttonholes #sewing #hand sewing #sewing tutorial #I've been procrastinating on the video this week #I want it done! I don't want to work on it I want new projects! I want to cut out more gloves!#currently forcing myself to do the last few buttonholes on these pants and then maybe I can cut out new gloves? as a treat?#but I hope I get some filming done tomorrow too

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vanillasweetpie · 2 months ago

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۶ৎ too much ⋆. jax x fem!reader

tags: nsfw, p in v, kind of rough sex, public sex, praise n degradation, dirty talk, based on episode 4

“fuck, too fa-fast,” you whimper, your words slurred, dissolving into little gasps. your thighs trembling as Jax pounds into you against the rickety staffroom counter.

you’re shaking, so goddamn delicate in the way your soft thighs quake around him like you’re nothing but a pretty doll to be played with. and those eyes of yours, all glossy and pretty, fluttering shut every time his cock slams into your messy little pussy, spreading you wide like you’re meant to be filled and ruined. your lashes are wet with tears, clumped together like some kind of masterpiece, and your lips, all pouty and red and bitten, trembling with every little needy gasp you make. how could anyone resist you when you look like this? Jax couldn’t.

“poor thing. what’s wrong, doll?” he sneers and you hate how his voice makes your cunt clench down so tight around him. his cock is so deep, hitting places no one else ever has, grinding right up against your cervix like he’s trying to ruin you for anything else. your soft walls cling to him, sucking him in, so warm and tight it’s a miracle he doesn’t lose it right then and there. his hips snap forward brutally and you’re so wet it’s dripping down to the base of him, coating his dick in a shiny sheen that glistens obscenely under the dim fluorescents of spudsy’s. “owwh, all fucked out already? i thought you were tougher than this, baby.”

“sh-shut up,” you manage to gasp, digging your nails into his shoulder.

“shut up? real cute coming from the girl who’s dripping all over me right now. you’re lucky i don’t drag you out there and let everyone see how pathetic and slutty you look.” Jax, being the asshole he is, punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrusts, the head of his cock rubbing against your cervix with brutal precision as his balls slap against your ass from how fast and hard he fucks you.

his long ears twitch, those yellow eyes narrowing in amusement as he leans back and grips your thighs to hoist you higher, teaching you a lesson, allowing himself to penetrate you even deeper. the position forces your legs to dangle over his long arms, your cunt spread wide for his relentless thrusts. “you’re so deep— hhngh jax. . .”

you let out a broken little cry, head lolling back as your nails dig into his uniform, what makes him grin, that cocky grin you both love and hate. “juuust like that, there we go, pretty. . . i know you like it like this, baby, feeling me so deep you can’t even think straight.” and god, he’s right. you do, you hate how much you do, how your body shakes with the force of it, how you can’t stop moaning his name like some pathetic, fucked-out thing, begging him to never stop ruining you.

“Jax, jax, jax. . . jax! f-fffuck, so good!” you let out a strangled moan, your head spinning and vision blurry as he leans back to watch the sight of his lovely girl fucked dumb, watch the way your pussy sucks him in, stretched so obscenely around his twitching cock.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” Jax moans, his voice losing some of its usual snark as his thrusts grow erratic and messy, too lost in pleasure and the way you feel. “squeezing me so goddamn good, i— shit— can’t get enough of this pussy.”

Jax adjusts his angle, and fuck, it’s like he’s trying to split you open, dragging that hot cock against every trembling inch of your insides. you feel it everywhere, stretching you, filling you, it’s burning you, like he’s carved himself into your very being. his hand comes down, gloved fingers slapping against your clit, your poor, swollen pearl, and you jolt, thighs jerking against his arms as you sob out his name. “p-please, Jax, i can’t—”

“can’t what? can’t take it? don’t give me that, baby. this little cunt is so fucking greedy for me, squeezing me like you never wanna let me go.” his voice sounds mean but god its so hot it makes your stomach twist in knots. “don’t play dumb now. squeezing me so tight, you can’t lie to me.”

and you know he’s right. you’ll be ruined, absolutely ruined and the thought makes your cunt flutter, makes you whimper as tears streak down your flushed cheeks. he notices, because he’s a bastard like that. leans in close, his sharp teeth grazing your jaw as his voice lowers to a whisper. “pretty little thing, crying so sweet for me. you’re perfect like this, doll. so soft, you feel so good.”

the words make your head spin and when he slams into you again, grinding his hips against yours with enough force to rattle the counter beneath you, you let out a sobbing moan. “please, right— right here, aahh!!”

outside, someone yells about dropping a tray of fries, but the noise is so distant, barely registering over the wet slap of skin against skin and the breathless sounds spilling from your lips paired with Jax’s groans.

“Jax, m’gonna— fuck, gonna cum!” you cry out.

“yeah? me too, d-do it,” he groans and circles his fingers on your clit faster now. “cum for me, baby, want to feel you clench around me.”

your whole body locks up and you obey his words, your abused pussy convulses and clenches so hard it drags a low groan out of him and his knees weaken. you’re trembling, ruined, your mind wiped blank by the force of your orgasm, and he doesn’t even give you a second to catch your breath as he keeps driving into you, muttering “just like that, yes, yes, just like that”, drunk on the way your greedy cunt milks him dry, squelching, squeezing him, his pace erratic now, desperate, until he’s spilling his seed deep inside you, filling you up so much it leaks out around his cock.

he doesn’t pull out right away, just leans in to press a little kiss to your temple. “guess that’s one way to make the shift go by faster, huh?”

however the chaos of the restaurant continues, you clearly hear Gangle’s voice and something what Ragatha responds to her, but to you nothing else matters except the smug, shit-eating grin on Jax’s face and the way he is already tugging you off the counter only to bend you over it, spreading your legs with his knee, muttering something about round two. and you’re too dazed and fucked out to do anything but let him have you all over again.

#jax x reader #tadc x reader #tadc x you #jax smut #jax x reader smut #tadc jax #tadc smut #the amazing digital circus #jax x you #jax x y/n #jax tadc #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x you #tadc

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lynnieverse · 6 days ago

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hi, absolutely devouring late night talking!! just wondering if you've ever seen meetcutesnyc on tikotk? cannot stop imagining rafe being stopped & asked for his love story especially with how many hs & college sweethearts end up there..... it just fits too good!!! bc u know damn well he's looking for any excuse to talk his girl up and show that rock on her finger... and of course she just gets to smile n wave at the camera, living her best life

so high school // rafe cameron

oneshot

meetcutesnyc au

rafe cameron x reader

a/n: I LOVE THIS IDEA OMG. thank you so much for this and i hope i did it justice!! enjoy :)))

“Excuse me, are you two together?” the cheery voice sounded to your left. Rafe turned first, tugging on your interlocked hands with a smile on his face. You take in the small woman with a microphone––a man with a camera on his shoulder standing next to her––stomach immediately twisting to knots. Pedestrians grumble as they pass, obviously annoyed at the sudden stop in foot traffic. You shuffle towards the curb, the camera following as you do so.

“Yeah we are,” Rafe said brightly, glancing back at you with only love in his eyes. You can’t help but grin back, the anxiety that came with the camera fading the longer you looked at him.

“Can I ask how you met?” the woman asked, directing the cameraman so he got the two of you in frame. You snickered, squeezing Rafe’s hand instinctively as he gave you a warning look.

“Go ahead babe, tell her.” Rafe rolled his eyes playfully and turned his attention back to the camera.

“Well…we hated each other.”

“Loathed,” you chime in.

“Okay I wouldn’t go that far,” he argued, bumping your shoulder with his.

“I would! He’s my best friend’s older brother, so I had to be around him all the time, and he was an annoying boy for the majority of our childhood.” The interviewer laughed, glancing between you both with a twinkle in her eye.

“Yeah, yeah. And she was a little brat who loved to get on my nerves.” Rafe stuck his tongue out at you. You hold up your hand and purse your lips, ignoring him completely.

“So what made you change your mind?”

“Well I didn’t, not for a while anyway. It wasn’t until college that he finally grew up and I could take him seriously.”

“Listen I only acted that way because I liked you in high school!” he defended for the dozenth time, something that always baffled you. When he first told you that little tidbit of information, you’d spewed your water all over him at a very nice restaurant.

“Anyway…” you drawled out. “He had to win me over, so he decided to follow me around wherever I went.”

Rafe groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “You make me sound like a stalker, Y/N!”

The interviewer laughed. “So you pursued her?”

“Aggressively,” you confirm, shaking your head with a fond smile. "Every study session, every coffee run, every party—I’d turn around and there he was. He was such a cockblock to my dating game too; I swear he crashed every date I ever had.” The interviewer stifled a laugh with her hand.

“Yeah that’s true,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was persistent and charming, okay?” You whipped your head to the side, gaping at him.

“You tripped and spilled your coffee in front of me three times,” you remind him.

Rafe gasped, pretending to clutch his pearls. “You helped me up! That was the moment I knew, you know?” he commented to the camera. “When you stared down at me, covered in caramel macchiato, and I thought, ‘Damn, she’s the one’.”

“I was laughing at you,” you giggle, shoving his shoulder. Rafe took it in stride, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.

“So when did you officially get together?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, clearly eating this up.

“Junior year,” you answer, still locked in Rafe’s embrace, surrounded by his intoxicating scent. It never gets old, being around him.

“When she finally admitted to being obsessed with me,” Rafe added, winking to the camera.

You scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Tell them about the proposal,” he whispered, nudging you towards the mic. You groan, the blood instantly rushing to your cheeks.

“Oh God,” you cover your face with your hands.

“Oh come on, Princess, you love telling people how I got down on both knees.”

A gasp came from in front of you. “Wait––you what?”

“I panicked okay! I got down on one knee, then I just––wanted to make sure––so I got down on both,” he raised his hands defensively.

“He looked like he was begging for his life!” you snorted, shaking your head. “But it was sweet. And perfect. And obviously I said yes.” Rafe grabbed your hand and showed your ring to the camera, the light making the moss agate gem shine brightly. You were never really a diamond girl, and he delivered perfectly.

“Best thing to ever happen to me!” Rafe was smiling ear to ear, cheeks an adorable shade of pink.

“You guys are adorable!” The cameraman nodded too, shaking the camera a bit.

“I know,” Rafe said, clearly enjoying this.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you, you weirdo.”

“I love you more, Princess,” he murmured, squeezing your hand.

“Thank you guys so much for your time! Good luck with the wedding!” The interview wrapped up, the crew saying goodbye and leaving the two of you on your own once more. Rafe tugged you forward, finally getting back on track to your favorite bagel shop.

“I was persistent.” he said in mock seriousness, a pout overtaking his face. You burst out laughing, jumping up to peck his lips.

“Yes you were, baby. You knew what you wanted and boy you got her,” you smirked. Rafe clutched his heart.

“I love when you quote Taylor Swift at me.”

“All you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic––”

“Okay not that one!” You both laugh, fading into comfortable silence.

As you approach the front of the shop he pulls you closer, whispering softly in your ear. “I really did always know it was you.”

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lacilashea · 2 months ago

Text

Hand knotted fresh water pearls, mabe pearls and jade necklace I made awhile back.

#pearl #pearls #mabe pearls #freshwater pearls #jade #hand knotted #necklace #handmade jewelry #jewelry

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angelltheninth · 1 month ago

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Could I request Von Lycaon getting a blowjob as a reward for his hard work?

The goodest man alive? Does that make me a furry? Maybe. Then I will be one.

Pairing: Von Lycaon x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, growing, tail shenanigans, praise, blowjob, size kink, oral knotting, he calls you "miss/my Lady"

A/N: Look... I write and read omegaverse stuff, I know all about knots. Also fun fact I was in one of those outdoorsy nature groups back in middle school so I can also tie knots.

"My lady... please, I was only doing my job... you don't have to do.. ah-oh!" Lycaon bit his inner cheek and dug his claws into the wooden desk behind him as you sunk to your knees and pulled his raging hard cock out of his pants. Your hands were just short of wrapping around his girth.

You licked your lips as you noticed the white pearl of cum gathering at the tip. "I know. And what a good job you did. You were so good today, perfect even." You kissed the tip of his cock and almost whined when he rolled his hips to meet your mouth.

As you opened your mouth wide and formed a tight ring around his cock to slide down you noticed his tail wagging behind him. No matter what he may say you know he's enjoying this, but was too shy to ask for any kind of reward, let alone something like this.

You let out a choked moan when you got to the thicker part of his cock. "I- Miss, that's just... you don't need to take that." He gulped when you swallowed hard and bobbed your head slowly up and down, eyes closed and tongue flat against his cock, licking his cum every time it dripped down. "You're doing to much. I'm just a butler, a servant, I don't deserve you to be on your knees for me."

If your mouth wasn't occupied you would have done more than raised your eyebrow at him for that.

Every time you pushed your head down you groaned when you hit his knot, which was now even bigger than when you started. Your jaw was already hurting. It would be a challenge to get your mouth around it but Lycaon worked hard for you all day, to make you happy. Now it was your turn to put a bit of effort in for him and his happiness. And his pleasure.

You pulled away from his cock to take a few deep breaths. You knew you would need all the breath in your lungs for this. "Think of this as a bonus then. A gift from your Lady. You wouldn't refuse a gift from me would you?"

"N-No. Never. I would be honored to receive anything from you." Lycaon stammered and moaned when you squeezed your hands around his knot. "My Lady... I'm gonna come. Please, I don't want to get you dirty."

"Dirty? You don't have to worry about that." You smirked and opened your mouth again only to shove his cock as deep into your mouth as it could go, barely over the thick knot but just enough for it to prevent you from pulling back once Lycaon shot spurts of cum down your wanting throat.

Lycaon growled his release, his hips snapping, rutting against your mouth and face, drooling, eyes hazy in disbelief that his Lady's mouth managed to take his knot.

#von lycaon x reader #zenless zone zero x reader #zzz x reader #von lycaon imagine #zenless zone zero imagine #zzz imagine #von lycaon headcanons #zenless zone zero headcanons #zzz headcanons #von lycaon smut #zenless zone zero smut #zzz smut #von lycaon x you #zenless zone zero x you #zzz x you #von lycaon x female reader #zenless zone zero x female reader #zzz x female reader #x female reader

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star-suh · 4 months ago

Text

Sea of Thieves

Bang Chan x Male Reader

cw: pirate au, top chan, bareback, rough sex, dacryphilia, non-con/dubcon, musk kink, restraints/use of shibari (kinda), degradation, spit, cumming hands free, fingering, blowjob, rimjob, a belly bulge mention.

—

yn was escaping from the law, he had just become the most wanted after stealing the black pearl from the royal family. with no other way out, he boarded a ship as a stowaway, hoping that it would take him to a place far away from there, but unbeknownst to him, he had made a serious mistake. he didn't know it, but he had boarded the ship of the pirate christopher chan.

chris was known for getting what he wanted, he doesn't care if he has to kill for it, he'll do it, a player who slept with the daughters of the kings of the areas he visited and then stole their precious jewelry and had loot in gold coins. truly a motherfucker.

chris was going downstairs to secure his treasures, then, he heard a sound, he dismissed it at first thinking it was just a rat. “fucking plague” he snarls, while moving one of the big chests a tiny vase fell from the top of one and fell right over yn’s head making him emit a whimper. chris turns his head quickly to the sound “that’s not a fucking rat” he furiously stomps to where he heard the sound. pushing chests and nests aside he found a man covering his mouth, fear plastered on his face.

“the fuck you’re doing here…” he asks. yn shakes in fear, his first reflex was to throw something at the pirate and run. he climbs the stairs and when to the top of the ship just to find out it already sailed, he was now in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to escape, seeing no other way he was already to jump when something hit his head. the world around him became blurry while he fell to the wooden floor. then suddenly everything turns to black.

in a dark room with only the dim light of a candle. the sound of a slap echoed on the room accompanied with a “wake up bitch”. yn opened his eyes, confused, “where am i?”

“in my boat” someone responded. yn tried to follow the voice then his eyes met with a face, a handsome one, but he was angry. “are you one of those spies that fuckers send to steal my treasures?” he stands up, walking towards yn, each step echoed in the room as if a giant was coming near the prisoner. chris tugged on the rope that was preventing yn to move. he was suspended on the roof in a rather uncomfortable position. the rope went all the way to his neck, circling it, then going down his body with lots of knots here and there, on his wrists, torso and feet. unbeknownst to him, the pirate chris, tied him as if he was going to practice shibari.

the ropes on his ass were uncomfortable, they were positioned as if he was wearing a jockstrap, the ropes highlighting his clothed ass.

the interrogation went for almost like an hour, yn’s pleas annoyed chris but his tears were causing something to him, something hardening in his pants. at first chris ignores it thinking it was because he hasn’t slept with someone these past couple of days, maybe it was because he was alone on the ship now, right?.

the pirate tried so hard to avoid that growing burning sensation on his crotch but failed. something about yn’s flushed and helpless face, the tears sparkling due to the dim candle’s light.

“please i just want to get away from these lands” he said, “if- if you help me i can give you something in return”. the last part catching chris’ attention, “what?”. “i have something that if you help me to sell it you can buy a new ship with it.. hell even 10 ships if you want” yn quickly offers “let’s split my treasure in half, just.. just take me away from here”.

chris was dumbfounded, what was that thing that he had that would cost so much but his dick was still aching, it was begging to be freed so he added something more to the proposal, “we have a deal but.. i want something more” he moves around yn then positioning himself behind the prisoner. his fingers doing circling motions on the other’s clothed ass and then grabbing it full with his hand “let me take care of this” as he said that he rips yn’s pants, exposing his back entrance. “what the fuck” yn yells but his protests are quickly muffled by chris’ fat manly dick swinging in front of his face. the pirate undoes a knot so yn’s head hangs lower and he can take all of his dick on his mouth “put that mouth to better use. whore” chris put all his shaft inside it at once, making yn gag. he starts slowly then increased the speed. everytime he pulls down to go back and slam his junk on that wet cavity lots of saliva dripped to the floor and yn’s face. “watching you cry made something to me, so you should take full responsibility for it. be a good manwhore and swallow it all”.

“open wide” he keeps demanding, his balls slapping against yn’s face. yn obeyed and chris forced him to deepthroat him.”you’re skilled at this huh?. it makes me wonder how many dicks have you sucked before”. the pirate keeps slamming himself against the restrained man as if he was some kind of toy made just for his pleasures.

while he waits to cum on yn’s mouth he starts to spit and finger his exposed hole. his trust were sloppy now, signaling he was about to cum, in one of the his cock slipped out of yn’s mouth. the stowaway asks “what are you doing to my ass?” he was about to keep protesting but chris’ cock enters again on his mouth, he shushed him, “keep on sucking me bitch boy. i’m just preparing you for later”.

chris spat, fingered, slapped and kiss the other’s ass, it looks as if he was making out with his already puckered hole, “look how he’s winking at me. he wants me so bad” chris joked about yn clenching onto nothing but soon he would have the other’s tongue inside to clench on it.

yn wet gagging sounds filled the room, he was trying to swallow all the sperm the pirate shot inside his throat, it was a lot that he choked on it, coughing out some of the liquid. “i almost die, you bastard” once again yn’s complaints were ignored because chris was only focused on sucking his hole ‘this motherfucker is so good with his tongue’ yn thought, the anger on his face being just a facade to hide the pleasure he was receiving.

chris rearranged the rope and the knots leaving yn still suspended on air but this time his legs are wide open so the pirate can get an easy acces to his hole “time for real fun” he jokes slapping his tip on the wet hole. “don't fucking put that thing on me.. it's too big” he cried, “don't worry bitch boy” the pirate reassured in a mocking tone that didn't convince yn at all.

“let me use that used hole” he muttered, ramming all his shaft inside at once. tears formed on yn's eyes accompanied with a guttural moan “what's up bitch boy, you can’t handle me” he laughs at how pathetic yn was looking but his hole feels good so he's not gonna complain.

he put his calloused hand on yn's mouth “you're crying it's getting on my nerves” using it as a way to pound yn harder, every inch of it making its way on yn's insides. once in a while he stops thrusting to spit on his shaft as if it was a lube. the warm sensation of the spit making yn ‘feel funny’ causing that he clenches even more.

minutes later yn was free, except by his hands that were tied behind his back. he'a riding the pirate who got tired of doing all the work, “come on, move faster” he demanded slapping his hand against yn's cheeks. “hngh” he squirmed, still feeling the hand imprint burning in his ass “yes sir” he accelerated his pace. gushy sounds echoed in the room, accompanied by the crashing waves outside the ship and some moon light.

chris locked his arm around yn's neck and thrusted like a beast, forming a bulge in yn's stomach “wait. ahhh~” and as if it was a fountain yn's dick spurted cum everywhere, white drops falling on his body, the floor and even some on the walls.

“hahaha” chris laughs, amused of what he just saw “look at you cumming just by your ass. and you swear you're not a bitch”.

yn legs tremble, the tiredness and overstimulaton mix hitting him. “don't sleep on me i still have to fill you up” the pirate cooed, moving his hips slowly in a sensual manner. knowing that he could stay the rest of the night being drilled by that fat dick and seeing that he's falling asleep he decide to made him cum faster.

he grabbed chris’ neck getting his face closer towards him and kissed him, tongues battling to control each other's. meanwhile he moves his hips faster meeting chris’ thrusts that never slowed their pace, “what's gotten into yo-” he was cut by yn sloppy kisses. he was determined to make that bastard cum no matter what.

few thrusts later the pirate cums, yn’s walls sucking the milk out of it like a milking machine, “holy fuckkkk” chris slurred “you know how to work with that hole of yours”. he didn't pull out until the last drop was emptied on yn, his face resting against the stowaway's back, “shit that was good” a smile creeping on the pirate's face while yn just nodded tiredly…

yn wakes up in a bed, with new clothes, he climbs the stairs to look for the pirate, “hey bitchboy you're awake” he waved “yeah but my ass is sore. and stop calling me like that” yn replied, brows furrowed showing how annoyed he was. “tell me about the treasure” he asked with a serious tone and yn told him about the black pearl and how he got it. they planned to stay with it but knowing how dangerous it will be when everyone finds out they have it they decided to sell it and split the coins in two.

“i'm gonna reunite with my crew, see you later” chris said and turn his heels to go back to his ship, “why did you say see you later?” yn asked, being quickly responded by chris “i have a feeling that we will meet soon again” he says while doing some vulgar signs with his hands and sticking his tongue out, “you're disgusting” yn yells and chris just laughs at him showing the middle finger.

#christopher bang chan x male reader #bang chan x male reader smut #bang chan x male reader #bang chan smut #christopher chan x male reader smut #christopher chan smut #christopher bang chan x male reader smut #christopher chan x male reader #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #smut #male reader smut

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birrdies · 8 months ago

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'SUNBLEACHED' (1.6k words) Our collaboration piece for the Flowers in the Desert zine! writing by me (birrdies) art by @fishbloc

Sunflowers.

Over the flat, endless plain they stretch as far as Scar can see. Roots and leaves branch like veins and arteries through the soil on the verge of something alive. The sunflowers face the limitless blue above— no beginning or end— the stretch so vast that time itself feels as inconsequential as a marble rolling around in his hand.

Scar doesn’t understand it.

One second his feet had been on the stone where Pearl had fallen, where lightning had struck with finality, and the next he’s up to his waist in sunflowers. Each golden petal stands on edge. As if they know something he doesn’t. He reaches out to touch one of these petals; they tickle the pads of his fingers. Shy, pretty things.

It’s quiet here and Scar isn’t sure if it’s a silence he finds comforting or damning. He thinks he should be afraid, but how can he be? It’s warm here. The earth smells of freshly fallen rain beneath his feet, despite not a single cloud in the sky above. The fresh, dewey scent that soothes him, almost convinces him that this is a good place to be.

“You’re here,” a voice says behind him.

There, enveloped by the countless sunflowers, is Grian. His hair is pale, sunbleached, and his cheeks are pink. Everything about him has been touched by the light in some way, down to the faded red poncho draping his shoulders and the speckling of freckles across his nose bridge.

He’s drowning in it— this light. He’s made of it. And Scar’s eyes fall to find the sunflowers around him withering and decaying quickly. The yellow petals curl and desiccate into gray husks, breaking off their buds and fluttering to the ground. They’re dying. Not by lack of sunlight, Scar realizes, but by an excess of it. Burnt to a crisp.

And like the sun, his skin blisters. The skin of his hands and the redness slathering them have no beginning or end. Gashes and swelling bruises and split knuckles. The blood never clots, a constant red drip falling from the fingers held limp at his sides. A quiet drip, drip, drip the only sound across the windless field. Not even so much as the sound of a breath. Just that blood. “Grian,” Scar says. “I’m here.”

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why Grian’s here either. But he’s grateful he is. Their nightmare— or, had it been a dream?— ended long ago, the desert gone and buried several games past. The Grian in front of him now isn’t the Grian he’d fought with moments ago. This Grian was younger. More afraid. More capable of burning.

“Where… where is here, exactly?” Scar asks.

Grian curls those bleeding fingers into the nearest living sunflower. As if he’s unsure whether he wants to caress it or yank it from the ground, roots and all. His face is twisted, it’s always twisted when Scar’s around. But he yearns for the days when that twist had been of wicked delight, the way green-lit eyes exploded into starbursts at the sight of their mutual destruction.

“You won,” Grian says simply, taking a sunflower by the stem and starting to pluck the petals. One by one. “Congratulations.”

Scar falters. A victory. A bolt of lightning striking the earth, the loud thud of a gavel. It’s over Scar, he hears, a constant echo in the back of his mind. You won. Grian’s anger burns. A second petal falls. “You’re upset.” Scar will do anything to make it stop, to untie the knot tied between Grian’s eyebrows, to take those cracked, bleeding hands in his own and mend them until the skin is whole again. To take away the pain, the regret, the guilt.

Grian never left the desert, no matter how much he wanted to. And Scar could never go back. No matter how often he wished he could.

“This is your dream, Scar.” Grian turns his face away. “It’s been a long time coming— a victory.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve won anything,” Scar says honestly. A victory implies the heavy yet welcome weight of a crown, the fleeting yet intoxicating rush of excitement. But all Scar feels is the emptiness in his chest, the air around his crownless head. Blood on his hands that he can’t see, but knows is there all the same. The same way it stains Grian’s.

Grian plucks a third petal. He barks a cruel laugh, but it sounds more like he’s about to cry. “How do you think I felt?” Scar frowns. “It’s still about the desert? After all this time?”

Grian plucks another petal. Four. It flutters to the ground to join the others, yellow petals torn and crumpled, slowly turning gray. The edge of his mouth tugs into a knife-like smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s all he can manage, though he doesn’t mean it. Nothing can make him regret that day, knelt in a cool pond with the weight of a diamond blade against the junction of his neck. The hand he used to hold onto it, digging it into his own skin— asking for it. “You deserved to win.”

“I deserved this? To be alone?” Grian throws his arms out to the sides, to the endless curvature of sunflowers drowning the both of them. Nothing to shield them from the unrelenting sun above. “Because that’s what winning means. You’re alone, Scar.”

Scar’s heart plummets into his stomach. “You’re here.”

“Am I?” A fifth petal. “Or do you just want me to be?”

Scar stares at Grian, uncaring if the scalding brightness gives him sunspots, or if the pain of looking at the spoils of his own choices burns him up from the inside. You won, Scar, his voice echoes again and again in Scar’s mind, a scratched record. His fists curl up at his sides, into the black cloak sewn with lilacs and poppies along the hem.

Is that what this is? A cruel illusion to make him realize what it truly means to be the man at the edge of the world, to be the last man standing? If this is victory— Scar grits his teeth and twists his fists into his cloak— then he doesn’t want it. He’s never wanted it. It was never about winning, it was about—

“About what, exactly?” Grian snaps, plucking the through straight from his mind just as he does with a sixth petal. “Is it about this? Sunflowers? You can’t hide behind them forever. Not here. Not from me. Not from yourself.”

“Stop it.”

Grian’s in front of him now, bloodied hands shoving him by his shoulders. Scar stumbles back and barely keeps himself upright. This isn’t right. This isn’t Grian— not the one he knows, not the one he needs.

“Why aren’t you angry, Scar?” Another push. “After everything that’s happened to you. All the people that have betrayed you. All the times I left you behind.”

Scar grapples for self control, to reign in the flash of anger burning the back of his throat. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Stop lying. For once in your life, look me in the eye and tell me you’re angry.” Grian yanks a sunflower from the ground and shoves it, decaying leaves and all, against Scar’s chest. “Tell me these are just a sham.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue: the truth. A terrifying, bitter thing that burns crawling up the back of his throat. Because it betrays everything he’s worked so hard to build, the masks he’s sported like second skins, the confidence which he flaunts like a shield. Without it, what does he have left? He’s stripped clean, Grier’s hands against his chest burning like sweltering charcoal. Sunflower petals slip between his fingers.

He opens his mouth to let it up, to tell the truth, and then—

The sky above him changes. Only slightly. If he had blinked he would’ve missed it. But clear as day he sees them overhead: clouds. Slowly rolling across a blue sky. And he’s on his back, blinking spots from his eyes as breath rushes into his lungs. The air tastes fresh, crisp, like seawater. Eyes fluttering, he tries to remember what he’d just been about to say. “Scar?”

Eclipsing the sun beating down on him overhead, a head peers down at him. Dark, wide eyes, a slanted mouth. A sporting of freckles across dusty cheeks.

Something knotted unravels in Scar’s chest. “Grian.” Grian’s lips wobble into an uneasy smile. He wipes sweat from his brow, and Scar catches a glimpse of his hands: dirty, packed with mud, but bloodless. “Whatcha doing down there, pal?” Scar’s arms lie limp at his sides. He’s not sure he could move even if he tried. If he wanted to. Something about this peace is fragile, uncertain. As if simply breathing the wrong way will make the world shatter in two and send him back to that place. One wrong move and he’ll be alone again.

“Dunno,” Scar says breathlessly. Stalks of wheat tickle his arms as the wind kicks up, ghosting over his body. A sunflower stands over him, waving in the breeze. “Appreciating the view. Clouds. They’re nice.”

“Come on.” A hand reaches out to him. “Stop trampling my wheat.” Scar has to stare at it to remember that it’s not covered in blood. That it’s just dirt from a long day tending to wheat and sunflowers. That the Grian smiling down at him is the real one. Not the one made to torment him.

Scar reaches for that hand, allowing their palms to slot together. Grian’s skin is callused and warm. He’s there. He’s real. Scar isn’t alone.

#birdie-writes #it was an HONOR to work with yu on this!!#collaborating was a ton of fun and I'd love to do it again sometime!!#and big thanks to the people in the zine for putting up with my angsty ass #fishbloc #desert duo #desert duo fic #secret life #secret life fic #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #grian #desert duo angst #desert duo fanart

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benkeibear · 4 months ago

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『 Mine 』

☼ synopsis: Toji needed to show you who you belong to and how much you mean to him.

☼ character: Toji Fushiguro

☼ wc: 1.1k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, Sub!reader, fingering, size kink, breeding, talks of pregnancy

Kinktober masterlist

Toji was never a man of many words, never going on long speeches in which he’d confess his undying love to you - he'd much rather show you, let you feel just how much he loves you.

It's the little ways he always asks how your day has been, how his arms wrap around you so protective whenever you're with him, the way he would put his own life on the line for you without a second thought. Also the way he holds your naked body close to his, big hands holding onto everything he can reach or pushing your thighs closer to your chest so you can feel his love much deeper.

The moment he came home from his mission he dropped everything and awaited you to jump into his arms, holding you as close as possible without crushing your bones, having missed you so much. He wouldn't say it out loud though but you felt the desperation, this need for you in his kiss, how his hand cradled the back of your head when he was not quite ready yet to part from your lips. No exchange of words was necessary before he carried you to your shared bedroom to lay you down onto the bed with utmost care, rather than throwing you like he usually would - it caught you off guard but it's a welcome change for once.

Toji’s hands were back on you in an instant, pawing and pulling at your clothes to get you to take them off for him, loving it when you make a small show out of it just for him.

“You're beautiful,” he mumbled, watching how more and more of your skin got revealed to his hungry eyes and even if he'd tried to hold himself back, he simply couldn't. Once you were entirely bare in front of him, a small smile formed on your lips when you spread your legs to let him get a good look on your glistening cunt to show him just how much the anticipation and his sinful kisses affected you.

A loud groan rumbled from deep down in his chest, unable to tear his eyes off of your wetness.

“My naughty bunny,” he hummed as he pushed your thighs further apart to nestle his waist between them, his thick cock hanging heavy above your core.

For a fraction of a second he thought about ramming it inside of you, feeling this carnal desire to have your walls wrapped around his shaft tightly and to hear you scream - and while he loved to see you struggle to take him, he decided that it has to wait for the next time. A little sigh escaped his lips when he looked down to your cunt that was ready to take him, only to let a glob of his saliva dribble down onto your parted folds, followed by his fingers who mixed his spit with your arousal by gliding them through your core.

The little smirk on his face only grew in size when you whimpered so pretty for him the moment his fingers grazed your neglected bundle of nerves.

“You like that, yeah?” He teased and made sure to massage your little pearl before entering you with two of his broad fingers.

His digits stretched you further than your own ever could, massaging your walls with a precision that had you crying out his name the moment the pads of his fingers gently dug into your sweet spot and his thumb came to rub your clit simultaneously. While his hand was busy bringing you a slice of heaven he busied his lips with your pebbled nipples, sucking and gently tugging on them while he gave your chest love bites that reached up all the way to your neck, claiming you as his.

When the knot in your stomach snapped, your walls eagerly fluttered around his fingers and pulled them inside even further. Toji bit into one of your nipples gently, groaning in sync with your moans. Your orgasm only aroused the man further, feeling your walls tighten as he moved his fingers in a scissoring motion to work you open for the main course. Seeing your arousal drip down his knuckles drove him to the brink of insanity - losing it entirely at your sweet whine for more the moment he dared to pull his fingers out so he could lick them clean to get a taste of what's his.

“Please” you pleaded when he nudged your sensitive clit with the tip of his cock, teasing you before spitting on your needy cunt once more. You were absolutely drenched with your own arousal but something about watching his saliva mix with your juices drove him wild, finally allowing himself to slip himself into your awaiting walls.

Your thighs were swiftly pushed against your chest so he could watch his thick cock disappear into you, one hand cradling your cheek while the other still guided his length into you.

“You can do it… took me so many times before, you can do it again,” he encouraged you with gritted teeth.

Your walls clenched around him so tightly and he wasn't even halfway inside of you, waiting a moment so you could relax and adjust to the sheer size of his cock that almost split you apart. Slowly and steady he worked himself inside of you, his heavy balls resting against your ass when he released a loud moan from just how deep he's inside of your core right now, almost fucking your womb.

The moment you stopped squirming and whining beneath him he pulled out until only his tip remained inside and thrusted back inside, working you open and kissing your cervix with each thrust.

Toji’s eyes were glistening with love despite the primal look on his face, holding you steady as he pushed himself inside of your cunt over and over again, his balls slapping against your ass repeatedly until you finally squeezed him tightly, his name echoing off the walls in a scream as euphoria washed over you as you milked him from everything he had to give - filling you up until there was a little ring at the base of his shaft. His forehead came to rest against yours when he pulled out but he sat back to watch his seed slowly run onto the sheets beneath, making him shake his head.

“Not tonight… you're going to keep it all in. Gonna get filled over and over until you carry my child,” he groaned, thick fingers shoved his hot cum back inside your overstimulated pussy before he pushed his cock inside of you once more so he could fill you up until he had nothing left to give.

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

#-ˋˏ ༻luma's musings #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #Toji Fushiguro #jjk Toji #💫hotter than the sun💫

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jasminumdew · 7 months ago

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Bear! Price in his mating season

Warning: minors do not interact

Tags: bear shifter, p in v, knotting, breeding, hurt, comfort

Word count: 720

When there’s not much to do in the morning, you usually go on the morning walk with John. Sometimes he’ll agree to let you sit on his back and go out to the woods in his bear form. You always enjoy those days, to be able to breathe in the fresh air and see the leaves and flowers covered by the morning dew, hearing the early birds’ singing fill the area. But today you didn’t seem to pay any attention to those.

You’ve been trying your best to ignore how your cunt keeps leaking, and how his back muscle brushes through your clit lightly when he moves, making you clench on nothing. Only 15 minutes in the woods and you already want to push him down right here and ride his thick fat cock. And John knew, his nose told him all what he needed to know and he decided today’s the perfect day to breed your fertile womb. Now when you’re so ready for his seeds, actively grinding on his back, he can barely control himself.

“Get down”

His voice so stern it scares you for a sec, you climb down, cupping his face in your hands. “Is there something wrong, love?” you asked, looking down at him. But he only takes a step back and returns to his human form, eyes hungry like he wants to eat you alive, cause he’s about to, with his fully erect cock and tip already leaking out. He breathes in your sweet arousal scent while approaching you. Before you know it, your back is pressed to a tree trunk, thighs squeezing together to ease the throbbing, only for him to scoops you up, legs wrap around his thick abdomen, his cock pressed against your needy cunt, making it oozes more nectar.

“Why are you acting so shy now, love? You didn’t seem shy rubbing your sweet scent on my back just a few minutes ago”

You hide your reddish face on his neck, taking in his musky scent. “I didn’t mean to. You were moving…weird and I’m ovulating today so I..”. John bites down on your neck, making you yelp and cut out your words: “It’s fine, darling. I understand. I’ll make you feel better now”.

Immediately, he guides his cock into your warm pussy and fills you up to the brim. His mouth sucking and nibbling on your neck then moves down to suck on your sensitive bud while his hand caresses the other. The forest seems to quiet down, and John only hears the sound of you whimpering his name. When you reach down to rub your clit, his hand which was playing with your buds now pushes your hand out to flick your pearl. You cry out, the velvety wall squeezes like it wants to milk him right then and there, the fire in your lower abdomen finally burns you whole when John thrusts up to your cervix wall.

Too drunk on your pussy, he couldn’t resist the urge to put his seeds into you and make you the mother of his cubs, his bear form slips and accidentally knots your bodies together. He grunts, feeling how stretched your cunt now is, and how your nails dig deep into his arms. Then the tears in your eyes pull him back to reality. You haven’t taken his knot before, gosh it must be hurt, it hurts him too seeing tears keep pouring down your chin. He lies down carefully so his knot doesn’t hurt you more, letting you rest on his chest. “You alright, love? I’m sorry, darlin’. I wasn’t thinking clearly” he strokes your wet cheek “Does it hurt too much?”

You sniff “It’s better now. It’s fine, keep going baby”. He doesn’t reply, instead he just wipes your tears away, watching your expression until you seem relaxed, then he slides his hand down to play with your swollen clit until you grind on his knot and beg for him to move. John pulls you down to kiss your face lovingly, his thrust slower and gentler than ever, pulling another orgasm out of you before releasing inside your abused cunt.

Maybe this is another reason you enjoy your morning walk.

Note: he looks so cute I want to suck his c

#who said that??#captain price #john price #captain john price #bear price #john price x reader #john price cod

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ipseitydelrey · 1 year ago

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all zipped up ☆ s. reid

ship virgin!sub!spencer reid x dom!fem!reader

warnings shameless smut, loss of virginity, handjob/oral (m receiving), p in v penetration, consent! (cuz it’s sexy!!), slight dacryphilia? idk, spence needs guidance lol, you also let him play w/ ur boobs hehe, pet names (honey & babe), riding

word count 3.0k (went a lil overboard oops)

summary a few months into your and spencer’s relationship, you’re both invited to one of rossi’s dinner parties. the dress you decided to wear was simple, but you needed help getting the zipper all the way up…luckily your boyfriend is there to help.

You and Spencer had only been officially dating for six months when you had gotten an invitation to one of Rossi’s dinner parties.

According to your boyfriend, the older agent would typically host one every couple of months and always after a really good end to a BAU case. Of course, loved ones can be brought along as plus ones, but Spencer would always go alone.

Since you had both declared your relationship official, there hasn’t been a dinner in a couple of months, until the one day Spencer came home and asked if you wanted to go with him. That day is today.

You only have a couple of hours to get ready, and there is this lovely dress you’re planning on wearing. Brand new; you haven’t even worn it yet. Your boyfriend opted to change in the bathroom so while he’s in there, you unzip your new black dress.

As you slip into the dress, you see in the mirror — that is mostly just for decoration — that the tight material accentuates your curves. You run your hands over your sides and hips, smoothing out the fabric, and you reach for the zipper. You pull it up about halfway until you’re unable to reach and zip it up completely.

“Oh, come on,” you silently groan, at which point you hear the bathroom door open. You look over your shoulder. “Hey, Spence?”

Around the corner, he pops into the room while fixing his tie. “Yeah, honey?” he responds, still looking down as he tightens the knot.

You turn your back towards him and you bring your hands up to bring the zipper edges together. “Could you?” you ask.

At your request, he finally looks up. You can feel him staring at your back as it’s been a few seconds since you asked. Well, you can’t really blame him; you’re not even wearing a bra.

You look back at him, “Spence?”

He snaps out of his trance. “Right, sorry,” he stammers as his cheeks flush pink. He approaches you from behind and timidly, yet gently, places his hand between your exposed shoulder blades while his other hand trails down to the zipper. His fingers dip slightly in between the zipper tracks and his touch grazes your spine; you aren’t entirely sure whether that was intentional or not, but you aren’t complaining. No, not at all.

He grabs a hold on the zipper between his fingers and slowly starts to pull upward. You feel the dress hug your figure, as well as seeing in the mirror how the dress is quite tight on you. The bottom of it rides up on your thighs slightly so you drop your hands to tug it down. In the mirror, you can see how Spencer’s gaze trails down to where your hands are situated. The sound of the zipper moving ceases, but his hands remain on your back.

“Anything else?”

“Actually, yeah.” You lean forward towards the dresser — not intentionally showing off your ass right in front of your boyfriend. The necklace you had picked out is adorned with small pearls, complimenting your skin tone and your black dress perfectly.

When you stand up straight, you hand the necklace to Spencer over your shoulder. You look at him in the mirror, “Please?”

He takes the necklace and runs his thumb along the pearls. The rocks are slightly cold when he places it along your exposed collarbone. While doing so, he lightly drags his fingers across your flesh, and you start to think he might have ulterior motives. Then again, a couple weeks earlier he had confessed that he was a virgin…so is he trying to give it up to you tonight?

He clasps the necklace together and brings his hands to grasp your shoulders, rubbing them softly. You look at yourself, how the pearls sit perfectly against your collarbone and subtly brings attention to your breasts. You are definitely aware of the second part of that claim because after he puts his chin on top of your head, Spencer isn’t exactly subtle about him staring at your chest. Surely he must be aware of where he is looking…

“Spence?” you call, but to no response. You try again. “Babe?”

“Hm?” That pet name seems to get his attention.

You bring a hand up to fidget with the pearl necklace. “Is something wrong?” you ask. Of course, you know nothing’s wrong but you know a bit about the effect you have on him, especially in this state.

At your question, he lifts his chin up and he stops rubbing your shoulders. “No!” he says, a little too loud. He clears his throat awkwardly. “No, no, sorry. Nothing’s wrong.”

“So,” you start as you bring your hand down to smooth out any wild wrinkles in the fabric, “is this dress okay? Do I look good?”

He digs his fingers into the soft skin of your biceps; not too harshly, however. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, then his voice drops down to a timid whisper. “You always do.”

Still not getting the message, you think to yourself. So, you decide to take initiative by taking his hands from their place on your arms and moving them down to hold your waist. You try to suppress a small smirk as you ask, “Is it tight enough?”

The question makes his eyes grow wide as his trail of thought derails to something else that could be tight; you yourself aren’t too sure if you were talking about the dress or your growing heat. But hey, if a misunderstanding gets him going, you aren’t complaining.

The placement of his hands on your waist also gives you the opportunity to push your back to his chest and your ass to his crotch, which you gladly take after feeling his erection pushing up against your backside. You hear him whine next to your ear at the friction making his pants tighter.

“Wait…wait, please.” He pulls away a little, leaving you a little cold.

You turn around but his hands remain frozen on your waist. “You don’t want to?”

“No, I do, I do. It’s just, ah…”

Your mouth moves faster than your brain. “Do you want me to guide you?” You move your hands on top of his, gently caressing the back of one of his hands with your thumb.

His breaths are shaky, but after a few seconds he nods.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” he begs, squeezing your waist softly in need. “Tell me what to do.”

His consent brings a smile to your face and you bring your hands up to his neck. Then your lips collide with his, at first soft and loving, but then grows hungrier. His lips gape open to moan, allowing your tongue to enter in a heated kiss. You gently push him towards the nearby bed and he falls to a seated position on the mattress.

When you break the kiss, he looks up at you with his red lips and unkempt hair. You place one leg on each side of him, straddling his hips, but your attention goes to his neck for the time being.

“First,” you state, as your hand pulls on his tie a bit, “is it okay if I take this off?”

Instead of letting you do the honors, he eagerly unties it. While his hands are preoccupied with that, yours starts to unbutton his dress shirt. The tie hangs loose around Spencer’s neck when he goes to help you unbutton by starting at the bottom. He lets you unfasten the last button and slide the shirt off of his torso.

“Help me unzip?” Ironic how you’re already getting out of your dress mere minutes after slipping into it. But he’s fast to undo the zipper and let the top part of the dress fall, revealing your breasts to him.

His hands remain on your back, unsure of where you want him to touch, and he simply stares. Not out of judgment, as you can tell by the way his dick twitches in his pants, but out of the need to memorize every blemish on your soft and plush skin.

“Go ahead,” you say as you push your chest out a little. “Feel them.”

A wandering hand belonging to him cautiously makes its way from the small of your back to the side of your tit. Nervously, he outlines the curves with his fingers before eventually grasping ahold a little harshly; it’s obvious that the poor man hasn’t even fondled a woman’s boobs before this.

“Too tight. Let go a little,” you advise softly.

“Got it. Sorry.” He softens his hold on your chest and starts to squeeze your breast gently.

With your other boob feeling neglected, you suggest, “While you’re doing that, you can use your other hand, or maybe your mouth.”

He seems a little taken aback by the suggestion of using his mouth, but he continues to fondle your tit, even running his finger over your hardened nipple. “How so?”

“Oh, with your tongue. Maybe even teeth.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be painful?”

You laugh a bit at his cute concern. “Well you don’t have to bite, you can just nibble.”

Continuing to play with your breast, his head leans forward against your other tit. He runs his tongue lightly across your nipple, which rips out a velvet moan from your throat. Now that he knows what to do for you to make those sounds, he works on your breasts, using his fingers to lightly pinch one nipple and swirling his tongue around the other. The stimulation makes you grind your thinly clothed cunt against the tent in his pants, making him shudder and whine against your breast.

Your hand snakes to the back of his head and you grab onto his curly hair, which elicits a moan from him. After a few more seconds, you pull his head back and make him look at you with his drool dribbling down his chin and his lips all red.

“Why did you pull back?”

The way he asked was keen, like he wanted to have his tongue run across your flesh again. And while you would also enjoy that, you don’t have a lot of time.

You get off of his lap, letting the undone dress and your panties pool around your ankles and you step out of it. You get on your knees in front of Spencer and you start to unbuckle his belt. “I wanna make you feel good.”

His hips slide closer to you. “Are you sure?” he asks innocently.

You take off his belt and he lifts his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down. You look up at him, “Is this okay?”

He nods his head feverishly. “Yes. Definitely,” he says with a meek smile. His pants completely slip off, leaving him in his boxers. You palm him and his hips uncontrollably buck up to meet your touch.

“Is this all because of the dress?” you question, referring to his hard-on, and you smile smugly. Your hand goes past the waistband of his boxers and you wrap it around his dick.

He mewls at your touch and you start to stroke him. “Y-You looked so good in it,” he sputters out, bucking his hips up to fuck your fist. “Please, I couldn’t help it!”

His little whimpers and pleas as you massage his member sends jolts of excitement straight to your already throbbing clit. Your other hand goes to pull down his boxers and free his cock, letting the precum seep out and lubricate the handjob you’re giving him better. You massage a finger over the tip and he moans at the sensation.

“More, more,” he pleads breathlessly, his head thrown back while his hand makes its way to your head and he grabs a fistful of hair.

Understanding what he means, you bend your head down and kiss the tip teasingly. Spencer groans when you start to wrap your lips around his cock, taking him in slowly. He’s big in your mouth, so you use your hand to take in what your mouth can’t.

He tries not to jerk his hips up and fuck your mouth but as you continue to suck him off, it’s getting harder to control his movements. When he looks down at you, you look up at him — eyes glossy and tears filling the brims, drool running down your chin and his cock, your cheeks puffed out — and he feels a heat coiling in his stomach.

“T’much, s’too much- I’m gonna-” and with no warning, he bucks into your mouth and hot splurts of cum hit the back of your throat. You’re not complaining, as you try to swallow as much as you can, even though a bit dribbles out of your mouth and runs down his softening dick.

Your lips leave him with a ‘pop.’ A bit of his cum remains on your chin so taking the opportunity to tease him, you swipe it with your index and lick it off. The sight of you enjoying the taste of him already makes his dick semi-hard again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, “I’m sorry; it felt so good and I didn’t—”

You get off your knees and shut him up with a kiss. He can taste himself on your tongue and while normally he would be slightly grossed out, in the moment he finds it arousing. After a moment, he pulls away from the kiss. “Can…can I return the favor? Please?”

The adorable way he asks makes you smile sweetly, and you place your hands on his chest. “As much as I would love that,” you say while you push him slightly, “I just want you inside me. Is that okay, Spence?”

He slides backwards to allow you to have more room when you straddle his hips again, this time with no fabrics between the two of you. One of your hands holds onto his shoulder while the other goes down to hold his cock and line it up with your wet pussy. As a precaution, you state, “Just tell me if you don’t want this, okay?”

His hands go to grasp your waist. “I want it, I want it so much, please…”

With his approval, you start to sink down on his cock. Although you’re experienced with plenty of other guys, you’ve never had a dick this big inside you before. You can feel it split you open, and while it’s a bit uncomfortable, it’s overtaken by the pleasure it brings you. Spencer whimpers with every inch you’re taking and every couple inches, you stop to let yourself get used to his girth and size. Thankfully, he isn’t one of those guys who pushes you down even though it hurts, because his hands remain on your waist, gripping it tightly.

Eventually, he bottoms out and you sit against him with his cock in you for a minute or two. One of his hands presses your belly to feel where he is inside you and that action is what makes you start to lift your hips up. You start off at a slow pace, mostly for Spencer’s sake since he’s already moaning like a porn star, making your walls clench around him.

“S-So good,” he groans, and he begins to help you ride him by moving his hands to cup your ass and lifting you up and down, still maintaining your slow speed. “Y’feel so good around me.”

You let him dictate the pace. “Are you okay with going faster?” you ask. You weren’t expecting him to immediately quicken the pace, but it’s a pleasant surprise since it’s apparent how much pleasure it’s bringing him. His jaw is slack, not even attempting to block his wanton moans, and his eyes are half-lidded so prettily.

He looks down to see how you’re connecting, his cock sliding in and out of you with apparent ease. The way your cunt takes him so well makes him feel another low coil in his stomach, signifying another orgasm close to erupting.

“Where…where do I…” he tries to ask, but his question keeps getting interrupted by his moans.

“In me. In me, fuck, you can cum in me,” you groan, letting your head hang back slack while your pleasure envelops you.

He quickens the pace again, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs and your moans echoing through the room. The coil snaps and he cries out your name. His cum paints your walls while his eyes roll up from the overwhelming pleasure.

The pace slows and you start to take control of it again. “Please, Spence, I’m so close,” you say. “Hold out f’me, okay?”

He nods lazily and he wraps an arm around your waist. His hand goes down to where you two meet and he finds your clit with ease, rubbing it hard with the soft pad of his thumb.

The extra stimulation is just what you need because soon enough, your orgasm rushes through you like a waterfall. The orgasm lasts a while and eventually you start to come down. You rest on his lap, cockwarming him while you kiss his neck wearily.

“Was…was it okay?” you ask when you pull back.

Even Spencer knows how absurd that question is, how you’re focusing on whether you performed well and not on your own pleasure. “It was amazing.” He kisses you, soft and tenderly. “You’re amazing,” he whispers in between kisses.

When you next take a breather, you glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, showing an analog ‘7:52 PM.’

“Y’know,” you start, brushing the hair out of his eyes with your fingers, “if we leave now, we would only be fifteen minutes late.”

“It’s that late?” He looks back at the clock to double-check.

You get off of him, his cock slipping out of you with a groan. “What are we going to say if they ask why we’re late?”

He stands up and pulls his boxers up. “We’ll say you were helping me with something,” he says with a smile.

hope y’all enjoyed !! <3

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