#homemade whiskey

[rogu3-chef]

It was a good good night

[lupismaris]

Anxiety attack temporarily postponed thank you NJ for joining MD as a safe haven for gender affirming care and abortion rights i knew i loved you, you gritty little fucker 💕

[sidonius5]

𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙖 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙚

[anachronistic-falsehood]

guys guys gusy6 sgusys sysy gusy. i can sew and emboirder. if i can't get vash plushie then I Will Make One.

[machinegunbukkake]

Photo taken 10 minutes before I opened on my sax for my first house party. I like it a lot.

[acourtofsnakes]

Daddy is a state of mind, you know what I’m saying?

Daddy Pedro vinyls now in the shop🫦

These are in the usual permanent vinyl and will be available in all colours!!

✨regular: 10cm wide x 15cm tall

✨large: 15cm wide x 20cm tall

[starlit-mansion]

related post to the candle one: i think tobacco scent in soaps is extremely underrated as a good smell and i wont hear anything to the contrary

[mariacallous]

Goldie Finkelstein was just 13 when she was sent to Wiener Graben, a work camp that later became a concentration camp. The youngster lost her entire family in the war, and among the things she never learned from them was how to cook. She had no family recipes and, according to her son, when she married Sol Finkelstein, also a Holocaust survivor, she didn’t know how to boil water or cook an egg.

Eventually, other survivors taught Goldie the necessary skills, and she was a quick learner. She soon became known for the copious amounts of baked goods she would provide for any occasion. Her recipes, some of which are included in the “Honey Cake and Latkes: Recipes from the Old World by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Survivors” cookbook, include cake mixes and other ingredients that wouldn’t have been used in pre-Holocaust Eastern Europe. Her whiskey cake, for example, calls for both yellow cake mix and vanilla pudding mix.

Goldie’s experience illustrates the ways in which recipes, including those we think of as quintessentially Ashkenazi Jewish, have changed over the years. Survivors lost the ancestors who passed along oral recipes. Families’ personal artifacts, such as handwritten recipes, were abandoned when Jews were forced to flee. 

Most significantly, perhaps, after the war, survivors had access to different ingredients in their new homes. Sometimes that was due to seasonality, such as was the case for those who moved from Eastern Europe to Israel and had access to more fruits and vegetables year-round, including dates and pomegranates. Other times, it reflected changing tastes or newfound wealth  — liver soup, pates with liver and offal were classic Eastern European dishes in the early 1900s, when there was an intention to use every part of the animal, but became increasingly uncommon. In other cases, like Goldie’s, packaged goods replaced homemade. Another survivor whose recipes appear in “Honey Cake and Latkes,”Lea Roth, detailed making noodles for Passover from the starch leftover at the bottom of a bowl after grating potatoes before the war. After the war, most people added “noodles” to the grocery list.

“Some of these recipes changed because of New World versus Old World,” explains Jeffrey Yoskowitz, author of “The Gefilte Manifesto: New Recipes for Old World Jewish Foods.” Yoskowitz and his co-author Liz Alpern work not to replicate pre-war Ashkenazi Jewish recipes, but to reclaim and modernize them. To do that, they’ve had to examine the ways in which recipes have changed.

In the Old World, for instance, almost every recipe called for breadcrumbs. At Passover, the leftover crumbs from the matzah were used to make matzah balls, leaving nothing to waste. But when immigrants in the U.S. could use Manischewitz pre-made matzah meal, then recipes started calling for it to make matzah balls.Today’s recipes for kugels with cream cheese, cottage cheese and sour cream would not have been made in the Old World, where dairy products were expensive. Again, ubiquitous cows in the New World made that “celebration of dairy” possible, Yoskowitz says.

At first, recipes may not seem like the most essential thing to recover from Holocaust survivors, but they paint a picture of what life was like before the war. It is essential to see the Jewish experience as one that is not solely as victims, and learning what people ate and cooked is part of that.

“Bringing back recipes can help bring people back to life,” says Edna Friedberg, a historian and senior curator with the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. “In particular, it was women who were in the kitchen in this period, and so this is a way to make the lives of women very vivid and real for people.”

The idea is not to romanticize Eastern Europe, says Maria Zalewska, executive director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial Foundation, which published “Honey Cake and Latkes,” but to see the memories connected to togetherness, like picking fruit toward the end of the summer and using that fruit in a recipe, such as cold cherry soup with egg-white dumplings. 

In addition, examining recipes gives us a sense of what role cooking and food played in trauma processing, Zalewska says. “Remembering the foods and the food traditions of their lives before imprisonment were some of the ways that survivors coped with starvation,” Zalewska adds. These are things that survivors say they are not often asked about, but when asked they report remembering dreaming about food during incarceration. 

“We have quite a number of testimonies, where survivors talk about being in situations of starvation, and food deprivation and ghettos and camps and in hiding, and that dreaming about and remembering food from before gave them emotional sustenance,” explains Friedberg.

Exploring such memories have been meaningful for those survivors who were young when they lost their families.

New Orleans’ Chef Alon Shaya has been working for several years to recreate recipes from a book belonging to the family of Steven Fenves, a survivor and a volunteer for the museum. The book was rescued by the family cook, Maris, when the family was forced to flee their home on the Yugoslavia-Hungary border in 1944. The recipes are largely written without measurements, times or temperatures, and many of the ingredients are different from those used today. (Like the Fenves family, Goldie’s son, Joseph Finkelstein, says his mother wasn’t big on using measurements as we think of them in recipes today. She knew the quantity of an ingredient, for example, if it would fit in her palm.) Unlike Yoskowitz, who is looking to update recipes, Shaya has been working to replicate them as closely as possible  — and has come across a few surprises.

Many of the desserts use a lot of walnuts, for example, which, of course, are also used in contemporary baking. But Shaya is using what he says are “copious amounts of walnuts” in various ways, such as grilled walnuts and toasted walnuts. The Fenves family walnut cream cake, which includes both walnuts ground in the batter and in a cream in-between the cake layers, has featured on the menu at one of Shaya’s restaurants, Safta, in Denver.

For all the recreation, and Shaya’s goal to bring the tastes of his youth back to Fenves, he says “it is impossible that a recipe in New Orleans would be the same as one in Bulgaria. The seasons are different, what animals are butchered are different, and the spices taste different.”

Indeed, place matters, Yoskowitz says. Ashkenazi food has a reputation of being terrible, he says. Take mushroom soup, for example. “There is no good mushroom soup in a deli. It is made with mushrooms that don’t have much flavor. But if you have it somewhere made with mushrooms grown in the forest, then that is going to be good soup.”

Many Holocaust survivors settled in new lands with new ingredients, and little memory of how things were made before the war. They knew they used to eat mushroom soup but didn’t specifically remember the forest-grown and harvested fungi. So, dishes morphed depending on what survivors had in their new home. In Eastern Europe, veal was plentiful, but in the U.S. and Israel, schnitzel began being made with chicken instead (a process Yoskowitz calls the “chickentization” of cuisine). And the beloved Jewish pastrami on rye? The pastrami would have traditionally been made with kosher goose or lamb. It wasn’t until Jews came to the U.S. that beef was easily accessible. 

The same is true of what is likely the most iconic Jewish American dish. “Bagel and lox are what we think of as the most Jewish food. But the only thing that came over was the cured and smoked fish,” Yoskowitz says. “Cream cheese was a New York state invention. Capers were Italians. It was a completely new creation, and it became a taste associated with Jewish people.”

One of the most poignant recipes in the “Honey Cake and Latkes” book is a chocolate sandwich, a basic concoction of black bread, butter and shaved dark chocolate. Survivor Eugene Ginter remembers his mother making it for him in Germany after the war, to fatten him up after years of starvation.

Adds Shaya: “We have to continue to adapt, and I think that that is part of the beauty of it.”

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, best friend! Eddie, friends to lovers, mentions of bodily injury, mentions of masturbation (m), oral sex(m)

Summary: Eddie hurts his dick and as his best friend, you decide to help him ease his pain.

WC: 3K

A/N: I am so tickled by the idea of Eddie wrecking his cock and balls on accident so I had to write about it and wedge in some spice as well. Enjoy!

When Eddie had told you he wasn't feeling well enough to hangout tonight he should have realized that someone like you, caring and loyal almost to a fault, would take it upon themselves to help in any way they could, showing up at his trailer a few hours later with dinner and a zipper pouch full of medicine he might need.

"Ding dong, I'm here to take care of you, Munson", you'd gleamed at him playfully.

It was no secret that he didn't take the best care of himself whenever he was under the weather. Eddie was known for skipping his meds and spending most of the day swathed in a cocoon made of blankets, emerging hours later to pad into the kitchenette where he'd nibble at cold, leftover takeout before weakly traipsing back to bed.

So, when you showed up at his front door with your arms wound around a thermos full of homemade chicken soup and a Tupperware container warm with baked salmon, he should have felt happy. He should have felt grateful for the trouble you'd gone through just to make sure that he ate well and was looked after while he was on his own but instead, all he felt was the sharp, piercing sting of guilt.

The thing was, Eddie wasn't really sick.

He wasn't running a fever like he'd claimed over the phone. He'd purposely hidden the real reason why he couldn't come over to your place and watch a movie like the two of you had planned because well, he was embarrassed.

The truth was, Eddie couldn't come hangout because his dick and balls were killing him.

It had happened last night.

He'd been spread out on the couch while Wayne was away, dressed only in a pair of boxers snug around his hips with a movie playing on TV to keep him entertained throughout the night.

As usual, a blunt was held between his plush lips for most of the evening too, a bottle of jack by his feet which he'd pick up and gulp from time to time.

The combination of alcohol and the weed served a particular purpose that night – helping to make the tooth achingly bad acting in Zombie Lake more tolerable, a movie he'd picked solely for the gratuitous nudity.

Forty minutes of naked, unsuspecting women wading in zombie infested waters later and he was more than a little strung out at that point, rendered blissfully languid while he lay slumped against the couch.

Eddie had picked that moment to reach for the whiskey with his bloodshot, half lidded eyes still plastered on the TV screen, missing twice before he managed to pick it up with light fingers.

Bringing the three quarters full bottle up to his lips for another swig, that was when the booze slipped out of his loose grip, too high to react quickly enough and catch it before it was too late.

With his thighs spread far apart, the full weight of the bottle landed directly on his crotch, the pain shooting from between his legs like daggers, enough to make him feel like the air had been kicked right out of his lungs.

The carpet and couch soaked up most of the spilled whiskey, the nearly empty bottle lying on its side on the floor while Eddie couldn't do much but cup both hands over his junk and curl into himself, trying to grunt, groan and hiss through the pain as tears brewed in his eyes.

Now, it's almost been a full 24 hours since the incident happened but his dick's still super sore from the impact. And to make matters worse his balls are blue in more ways than one.

See, Eddie's got the kind of sex drive that had him jacking off at least twice a day to keep himself sane but now thanks to his injury, he's already feeling pent up, unable to tug his swollen cock and give himself that much needed release.

So, though your outfit isn't provocative, it's still you, his best friend whom he's harbored less than platonic feelings for so of course your denim shorts and your tank top are making him want to act up, the swirling desire at the base of his stomach burning even hotter with the way you're taking care of him, showing him a level of concern no one else has before.

It isn't fair, he thinks, having to sit across from you on the couch while he tries to fight off the growing ache in his cock, tries to will his sore member soft for the sake of your friendship as well as curbing his own pain.

You're yet to notice his dilemma though, rummaging through your bag while Eddie tries not to let the scent of your body wash trigger flashes of you sitting in your bath tub with your bare tits above water, all wet and soapy with your nipples all hard and the bubbles trailing between your cleavage and–

"Shit", he hisses when a twinge of pain flares as his dick starts to twitch in his sweats.

"Everything okay, Eds?", you look up from your bag when you hear it but he's quick to wipe the grimace from his face, faking his best smile at you.

"All good. So, what are we doing next?"

He's relieved when he watches your soft smile slowly return to your face, the kind that reaches your eyes and curves your lips in that way that makes him want to reach out and cup your cheek, running his thumb over your soft skin before he tells you how pretty he thinks you are.

"How about casual sex?", you ask, all chipper.

"…what?"

In an instant Eddie's whole body alternates between flashes of frigid cold and scorching hot. Had he heard you right? were you…offering? fuck, his dick is throbbing so bad in his sweats right now.

You dive your hand back into your bag, pulling out a VHS tape and holding it out for Eddie to see.

"Figured a comedy would be for the best", you waved the tape in his gawking face, his stomach somersaulting when he reads the title. Of all the movies you could have picked, you just had to go pick the one called Casual Sex? didn't you?

"Plus, I know how much you like Lea Thompson so I figured this would be a good pick", you smiled sweetly at him, tapping a finger over the actress pictured on the cover.

Another sharp prick of guilt and another dull ache radiates in Eddie's crotch because his mind's being especially cruel to him right now, dredging up unwanted memories of the time he wore out a copy of Howard the Duck by beating his meat to Lea Thompson's scenes all day and night.

"Uh, got anything else?", he croaks, clearing his throat when you narrow your eyes at him a little suspiciously.

After a little back and forth, the two of you end up watching The Thing to Eddie's relief. Nothing there that might trigger a boner except the couple of times you squealed adorably when Kurt Russell popped up on screen, kicking your feet and hugging your knees to your chest, inadvertently making your cleavage more noticeable over the neckline of your tank top.

Eddie's able to ignore it for the most part, that was until you offered to help clean up a little once the movie was over, bending over in your denim shorts to gather the empty soda cans sitting on the table in front of the couch.

Despite the alarm bells echoing in his head, he can't seem to help it, eyes trailing up the back of your smooth, bare thighs, settling on your ass and the way he can just about make out a peek of your cheeks now that your shorts have ridden up high.

Oh shit.

Up until now you'd been pretty pert all night but when you turn around, you're instantly startled by the look on Eddie's face, all twisted up and pinched as he presses a cushion into his lap and begins to wince.

"Eddie, what's wrong?", you set the cans aside, dropping back down on to the couch beside him.

Yet another flash of pain courses through him when he catches sight of the way your breasts bounce in your tank top when you take a seat. Jesus, this wasn't going to be easy, was it?

Eddie tries to mask it but you can read the pain there easily, especially when you're so close to him now, close enough that your shoulder brushes against his bicep.

"Eddie please, you can tell me. What's wrong?"

If there was a way out of this without having to admit the truth, without having to tell you how he'd given a whole new meaning to the term whiskey dick, he couldn't seem to find it, feeling helpless as he crumbles under the weight of your concerned, round-eyed stare.

"I lied, okay? I'm not sick, I just…"

Insides twisting, he has to squeeze his eyes shut the moment he sees the confusion register on your face, the way your eyebrows draw together and your eyes narrow. It's too much for him to handle and it all comes flooding out at once.

"I dropped a bottle of whiskey on my dick last night and now the damn thing's killing me because you look so– uh. Fuck. You look so…like, this and it's just– it's a lot"

Daring to open his eyes again, he finds that your own eyes have gone understandably wide, your lips slightly parted too and he hates himself for thinking how badly he'd like to slip his fingers between them and watch you suck.

"Oh. So like, is it– are you hurt badly?", you break the silence after a few seconds of processing his word vomit, blinking up at Eddie like you're fascinated to learn more about his injured cock.

"I mean, I don't think it's anything I need to go to hospital over but yeah. Hurts a lot", he replies a little sheepishly, a side of Eddie you don't see very often because he's far and away from the shy type that's for sure.

"Like when you get hard?", you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Eddie blinks back at you when you say it, clearly taken aback by how casually you're treating this whole situation after how hard he'd tried to hide it but he manages to answer you with a slow nod.

He shivers next when suddenly you drop your gaze to the cushion he's got pressed over his aching boner. "Hm… it’s probably not going to go away anytime soon either, huh? we should do something about that", you suggest thoughtfully.

In that moment, all he can do is look at you in disbelief, sweat beading at his temple and his fingers trembling on top of the cushion. This couldn't really be happening, could it? His best friend since, forever, offering to get him off?

Eyes drifting up to his once more, you lean a little closer, voice dropping down to a whisper. "I could help you", you offer, tentatively placing your hand on Eddie's knee. "Only if you want me to."

Adams apple bobbing, it hurts Eddie when he swallows, finding his throat's turned dry and tight in the last few seconds.

"Seriously? you'd actually do that? um, are you sure?"

You bite back a laugh because the look on his face is nothing short of adorable, all wide eyed and eager like a puppy awaiting a treat.

"Well, you could sit here with your bruised dick and keep whimpering like a baby or you could let me make you feel better. What's it going to be, Eds?", you quirk up an eyebrow at him at the same time the corner of your mouth picks up into a playful smirk.

"The second one please", he answers quickly, his cheeks flooding with so much color you kind of want to pinch them and tease him about how cute he looks right now.

"Thought so."

Smiling, you pick yourself up off the couch, carefully lowering yourself to kneel between Eddie's legs when you place your hands on his knees and gently encourage him to spread them apart.

He's quick to help you when you reach for the waistband of his sweatpants next, carefully pulling both it and his boxers down to finally free his cock.

For both of you, it's surreal being in this position – Eddie with his cock out, all hard and throbbing for you and you wedged perfectly between his legs like a puzzle piece he'd been searching for all his life.

You have to take a few seconds to admire it; the way the length of him blushes red and curves up towards his belly, the way the many veins wrap around his thickness and the dark, wiry thatch of hair at his base, untrimmed and full. Just how you'd always imagined based on how wild Eddie kept the hair on his head.

Eyes trailing lower, you have to resist the urge to palm his balls to keep from possible hurting him. You want to feel the weight of them in your hand though because you can't help but think they look so full and that makes you feel sorry for Eddie and how he'd had to deal with that discomfort all day.

The thought has you pushing your lips out into a sympathetic little pout, hand reaching out to finally touch him. Gently, you use your fingers to pull back his soft foreskin, leaning forward and parting your lips to delicately kitten lick at his red, leaking tip, keeping your eyes fixed on his face for any signs of discomfort.

You're pleased to find none, chest blooming with pride as you watch complete bliss wash over Eddie's face, swirling your tongue gently and collecting beads of precum when you hear him sigh and moan with relief.

"Oh my god, that's – that's really fucking good. Please keep going", he whines unabashedly because that persistent ache that's been troubling him since last night is being soothed so fucking well by your eager tongue. At this point he doesn't even care what kind of sounds you might pull out of him, desperate to feel more of your touch.

"Don't think I'm gonna last long", he gulps when you blink up at him with your pretty lips wrapped around his tip. "Your mouth feels too good."

His words make your confidence rise like steadily billowing smoke. "You don't need to", you tell him truthfully. "I just want to make you feel better", pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his smooth head, loving the way his breath stutters when you do it and the feeling of his sticky precum coating your lips in a shiny film. Like he's marking you..

As you continue, you refrain from using your hands while you pleasure him, keeping them pressed flat against his inner thighs, using only your mouth to kiss and lick up and down his rigid shaft as your nose nudges against it softly, returning to suckle at his tip from time to time.

It's easy to tell how badly Eddie must have needed this because he's unravelling so quickly under your touch as he throws his head back against the couch, his hands balled into fists by his sides while he whimpers about how well you're doing.

He's so pretty like this with his neck bared to you but you miss his gaze, removing your swelling lips from his cock to coax him back. "Don't hold back with me, Teddie. Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you", you coo earnestly.

Lifting his cloudy head to look down at you, it's Eddie's turn to surprise you when he brings one hand up to brush back a few strands of hair that'd gotten stuck to your damp cheek, a brief moment of tenderness that makes the butterflies resting in the depths of your stomach wake and beat their wings.

"Could you go a little lower?", he asks you, chest heaving and lips slightly pink from biting.

"Want me to lick your balls?", you try to clarify.

That makes him chuckle, a sweet, airy sound that makes you feel like there's sunlight spilling through the spaces between your ribs, filling up your whole chest with pleasant warmth.

"When d'you start talking like this, huh? Y' got such a dirty mouth on you, sweetheart", he teases you lightly, pulling his hand back so you can get back to working him.

You simply smile against his shaft in reply, feigning coy and innocence while trailing kisses lower and lower until you reach the seam of his balls. Placing your warm tongue flat against it, you draw it up slowly, wetting his heated skin before pressing more kisses against his sack, giggling when the hair there starts to tickle your lips.

"Think you can handle it if I take you in my throat? I'll go slow, I promise", you speak up from between his legs.

Given how often he's pumped his cock to the very thought of you throating him, Eddie nearly trips over himself trying to find the words to answer.

"Holy shit, yes please", he manages to let out with a strained groan.

That's all you needed to hear before you're taking him into your mouth again, bobbing up and down a few times slowly, careful not to let your teeth scrape his sensitive skin before you bob deeper and let him reach the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and making your throat close around him nice and tight.

"Baby– baby, fuck I'm going to cum", he gasps, hips jerking, eyes squeezing shut.

And that's all the warning he can manage to give you before he's spilling down your throat, thick, creamy ropes of it which you swallow down eagerly and as best as you can.

Most of it slides down the warm, wet contracting walls of your throat but you realize just how pent-up Eddie must have been when your cheeks puff out a little with a generous amount of his cum that you couldn't manage to gulp down fast enough, pulling off of Eddie's softening cock with a mouthful of spend sitting warm on your tongue, coating the insides of your cheeks.

Sitting there on your knees while Eddie pants and recuperates, a deeply curious part of you has you swishing his cum in your mouth, savoring the distinct, tangy taste of him before you part your lips and let him look inside.

Exhausted but entirely amazed, he gawks at you and the viscous mess of spit and semen in your mouth, tempted to stick his own tongue in there and taste himself on you before you press your swollen lips back together and promptly swallow, a beaming smile breaking out on your face.

"See? told you I'd take care of you."

[thatsouthernstate]

March 17, 2023

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

He excites me

Must be like the genesis of rhythm

I get feisty

Whenever I'm with him

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

I'm a hot knife, I'm a hot knife

I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter

If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that

He's never gonna need another, never need another

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

He excites me

Must be like the genesis of rhythm

I get feisty

Whenever I'm with him

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

I'm a hot knife, I'm a hot knife

I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter

If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that

He's never gonna need another, never need another

And you can

And you can

And you can relax around me

And you can

And you can

And you can relax around me

He excites me

Must be like the genesis of rhythm

I get feisty

Whenever I'm with him

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

Maybe you could teach me something

Maybe I could teach you too

Even just to reach is a triumph

And now I've really got a hold on you

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

If I'm butter, if I'm butter

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife

He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen

Showing the dancing bird of paradise

[foolinthera1n]

show me who you are ─

the mark of cain weighs heavily on dean's shoulders, affecting all of you. when the bloodlust becomes too much, you know you have to help him. in the only way you can think of.

cw ─ slight angst, mark of cain!dean, very slight mention of sa/non-con (not from dean), blood, gore, canon-typical violence, smut!, fem! reader, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected p in v, sorry if i miss anything else!

☆ 💿PORNSTAR - nessa barrett

i wanna hear you talking dirty,

i wanna see it on your face.

⭒

it was getting worse, you could all see it. you, sam, cas - hell, even crowley could see it. the mark was slowly killing dean, and it was only getting worse.

it wasn't as obvious at first, just small outbursts here and there, but surely enough, it became more obvious. he was more snappy than usual, spent more time alone, and he would zone out more, hands either clenched into fists or one was clasped tightly over the mark on his forearm.

you didn't bring it up to him, that was the silent agreement that you, sam and cas had come up with, and you obliged to it. so you didn't tell dean how the far away look in his eyes made your brow furrow and your stomach churn with worry, or how your heart broke every night when you could hear him wake himself up from his nightmares. you didn't tell him how seeing him struggle, and refuse help, was slowly but surely breaking you down, and you definitely didn't tell dean that you missed him.

sure, he was right there, just down the hall from you, close enough that you could hear him in the ungodly hours of the night, restlessly rummaging around his room, but he still wasn't there. not the real him, not the dean that you knew. the dean you knew was being held captive by that horrid mark that not only haunted his dreams, but yours now too. you missed your dean, the one who told stupid jokes that made you choke on your beer. the dean who grinned proudly whenever you correctly named a song on the radio and who would sing a long loudly to his favorite led zeppelin songs, glancing at you as he drove.

drives are mostly silent now, save for the hum of the impala, or the quiet background noise of the radio, but still never those homemade tapes that he loved so much. he doesn't drink with you anymore, though he still does it an unhealthy amount. he drinks alone in his room, or late at night by himself in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes staring somewhere far off. the only reason you even know this is because one night, when you couldn't sleep, you went to the kitchen for a glass of water and found him there, only to have him get up and leave with only a nod of acknowledgement to you.

it was killing him, and if you didn't do something about it, it was going to kill you too.

the hunt was supposed to be a cakewalk. it was just a nest of vampires not too far from the bunker, and dean insisted that he was fine, that the mark's screaming wasn't too much for him to bear and he was feeling good enough to go with you guys on the hunt.

after sharing a look with sam, you reluctantly relented, agreeing to let him come along under the condition that if he felt the bloodlust creeping in, he would back off and stay behind in the impala.

that leads to now, where you were currently kicking yourself for not doing recon before going in. the nest was bigger than you and sam had originally thought, there were probably double the amount of vamps than you had previously thought, and when you, him and dean had crept into the nest, one of the freshly turned ones - a child, no less - had spotted you and screamed, awaking the whole nest. and so here you were, wrestling with one of the female bloodsuckers on the grimy floor of the abandoned barn.

her dirt-caked nails raked down the sides of your neck, making you hiss in pain as you brought your knee up hard, hitting her in the stomach, effectively pushing her off of you. as soon as she was on her back next to you, you scrambled up, quickly grabbing your machete that the bitch had knocked out of your hands and turning back to her. without even giving her a chance to bare her fangs, you raise your bloodied machete over your head, bringing it down with a cry, cutting her head right off.

taking a second to breathe, you stand up, panting heavily as you brush some hair out of your face, turning your head to the side to spit out some blood, running your tongue over your teeth to get rid of the taste. your moment of rests is cut short though, when you hear a loud thud and the sounds of a struggle from the room next to you.

gripping your machete tighter and taking a deep breath, you rush out of the room you had been in, leaving behind the bodies of the three vamps you had killed. you sprint out the door, crashing through the room next door, your heart racing as you see sam in a struggle with two bloodsuckers.

you rush over, cutting the head off one before he even has the chance to fully turn around. the other one drops sam in surprise, turning to you and snarling, his disgusting rows of fangs glinting in the low light. using the vampire's moment of distraction, sam grabs his own machete and raises it, slicing the vamp's head clean off.

"you okay?" you ask, chest heaving as adrenaline courses through your veins.

sam nods, raising a hand to brush his hair back from his face, his own erratic breathing evidence of the fight. "yeah. yeah, i'm good. are you?"

"one of 'em got me good with her nails, but nothing fatal," you answer, tilting your head to show him the marks. he winces in sympathy, eyes raking over the angry red marks before he bends down to pick up a vial of dead man's blood. "where's dean?"

"not sure, i lost him once they jumped on us," sam says, brows furrowing as he pockets the dead man's blood, adjusting his grip on his machete. "maybe we should-"

whatever sam was going to say is cut off as a scream comes from the floor below. you and sam share a look, fear spiking in your chest before you both turn, racing out the door. you sprint through the hallway and down the stairs, sam right on your heels as you skip steps, landing shakily at the bottom. your eyes scan the landing, and you turn to call out to sam, but before you can get a word out, a hand grabs your arm, throwing you across the room.

you hear sam call your name behind you, but he gets cut off, and you assume that he has a vamp of his own to deal with. you push yourself up with a groan, but as your sitting up, a hand grabs your arm again, hauling you up and slamming you against the wall.

"well, would ya look at this," the vamp spits, his yellow stained teeth shown in a grin as he leans in, his putrid breath in your face making you want to vomit. "the winchester's brought their little girl toy. how nice of them to bring us a gift."

"go to hell," you spit, the words strained as his hand fists in the collar of your shirt, pressing against your neck as he raises you higher against the wall.

the vamp only grins wider, running his tongue over his small, cracked lips. his dark, greasy hair falls in front of his eyes, and his bloodshot blue eyes make him look crazed. he's bleeding from a fresh cut on his forehead, and you wonder if one of the boys had already got into it with him.

"ooh, and she's feisty," he snarls, smirking cruelly. he raises his other hand to brush his grime-covered fingertips over your forehead, running them through your hair.

you turn away from his touch, struggling in his vice-like grip as bile builds in your throat, but his smirk only grins, a low, dark chuckle leaving his crusted lips.

"that's just fine," he whispers, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he leans in to nose at your neck, inhaling deeply, ignoring your struggle in his grip. "i like it when they fight back."

his words make your heart pound, your chest tightening with panic, eyes wide with fear as you struggle in his tight grasp, arms flinging and nails scratching at anywhere you can reach, but he doesn't even flinch, his grip not loosening at all. you open your mouth to scream, hoping to get the attention of one of the boys, or anyone that will help you at this point, but the hand that was in your hair slaps over your mouth just as you part your lips, your scream muffled into his palm.

"ah-ah, be a good girl and stay quiet," he tuts, pulling back to bare his fangs to you. you just stare at him, eyes wide with fear as you continue to struggle in his hold. you squeeze your eyes shut as he leans in again, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"let her go."

your eyes snap wide open at the familiar voice of dean, gaze landing on him over the vamp's shoulder, relief filling you at the sight of him. he was standing there, blood splattered all over his clothes, face and hair, his grip white-knuckled on his machete. sam stands behind him, his own eyes wide with fear as they flick between dean and you in the monster's grip. you try to call out to them, but the sound comes out as a muffled whimper against the vamp's hand.

the bloodsucker turns his head to look behind him, his smirk faltering at the sight of dean. his fangs retract, but his grip on you stays vice-like.

"well if it isn't dean winchester," the vamp snarls, his hand over your mouth tightening slightly, making you wince. "come to save your little doll?"

dean's jaw clenches, his expression darkening even further as he stares at you and the vamp, taking a menacing step forward.

"i said - let her go," he growls, something dark flashing in his emerald eyes.

the vamp's eyes widen in fear at the look on dean's face, and his grip on you loosens slightly. that's the opening you need, and with all the strength you can muster, you bite down hard on his hand, simultaneously kicking your leg as hard as you can into his crotch.

the monster cries out in pain, his hands dropping you as they fly to where you kicked him. you fall to the floor with a small thud, catching yourself before you hit your head. you quickly stand up while the bloodsucker is distracted, and sam immediately rushes over to you, grabbing you and pulling you into his arms, backing you away from dean and the vamp.

"sam, wait, dean-"

"the mark's got him right now," sam cuts you off, his voice thick with worry as he holds you to him, soothing your trembling form. "we just gotta stay out of the way, there's nothing we can do."

his words sink in, and it's then you realize that the barn is quiet. your eyes widen in realization, and you turn your head to look up at sam, heart pounding in your chest.

"he killed them all?" you ask, your voice just barely above a whisper. sam's grim nod is enough to make you feel sick.

your attention is torn from that information as you hear the vamp cry out in pain, and when you look up, you see dean's got him on the floor, the vamp's head twisted at an odd angle as dean steps on his back, machete raised over his head.

"this is less than you deserve for touching her, you disgusting son of a bitch," dean spits, and you watch in horror as he raises his machete over his head, bringing it down in one smooth stroke, blood splattering across his face as he cuts the vamp's head clean off.

the barn is silent, save for dean's heavy breath and the pounding of your heart. dean's sleeve is torn, and you can see the mark pulsing an angry red, burning into his skin, the sight making your chest tighten even more.

dean doesn't move, he just stands there, chest heaving and eyes blazing as he stares at the dead body of the vamp, his knuckles white as he grips the machete, blood dripping from the blade onto the old wooden floor.

your heart aches in your chest, and you pull yourself from sam's arms, giving him a reassuring look when he tries to stop you. taking a deep breath, you take a small step towards where dean stands, your body still shaking slightly from adrenaline.

"dean?" you call softly, your voice gentle, trying not to startle him. you don't flinch when his eyes snap up to you, and though his body is still tense, you can see something soften slightly in his gaze when it lands on you. "can you put the machete down, please?"

to your surprise, he does as you ask, the blade falling to the floor with a clatter that echoes through the empty barn. you take that as an invitation to step closer, your eyes never leaving dean's as they follow your movements, his lips parted slightly as he breathes.

when you reach him, you tentatively reach your arm up, placing your hand on his arm, but he jerks back, sucking in a breath as he seemingly snaps out of whatever haze he was in. he takes a step back from you, eyes flickering between you and the severed body of the vampire on the floor.

"let's just go," he says, his voice hoarse and cold. with one last flickering glance up to you, he bends down to grab his machete before turning on his heel and walking to the entrance of the barn.

⭒

the drive back to the bunker had been silent and filled with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. once you were back inside the bunker, it wasn't any better, dean not saying a word as he storms ahead, rushing off to his room and closing the door abruptly behind him.

you and sam don't say much as he checks over you for any serious injuries, and you for him. he just hugs you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before heading to his own room. you follow suit, shedding your bloodied clothing in your room before grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom attached to your bedroom, which the boys had agreed to give you as one of the few that had it's own bathroom.

in the shower, you turn the heat all the way up, scrubbing the blood from your stained skin, washing off the hands of the vamp who had grasped you. you rub until your skin is raw, and even though you did the other day, you shave, just to feel that sense of normalcy instead of the sickly unease that crawls in your nerves. you wash your hair twice, ridding yourself of the blood and dirt you had collected in the barn, sighing as the steam melted against your skin.

as you stood there under the burning stream, you thought about dean, about the look in his eyes, the empty way he had walked away from you, and all of the pain he had been going through since he had taken the god-forsaken mark. you knew that the guilt from succumbing to the blood lust weighed heavily on his shoulders, and you just wished that there was some way you could focus that anger, that need on something else. and that's when the idea came to you.

immediately, you shut off the water, grabbing a towel and wrapping your hair in it, grabbing another one to wrap around your body, rushing back into your room and grabbing a different pair of clothes than you had previously chosen. you trade out the old sweatpants for a pair of sleep shorts, large sweatshirt for an old t-shirt that you stole from dean months ago, and tossing your plain panties, instead grabbing one of your nicer pairs, a dark red lace number that hugged you perfectly, foregoing a bra.

you tried not to think about how ridiculous this was as you slip on the clothes, taking your now semi-damp hair out of the towel and running your hands through it gently, getting out the leftover tangles. you splash water on your face, drying it off with a towel as you look in the mirror, chewing on your lip as you decide whether to put a bit of makeup on or not. you decide yes, just throwing on the slightest bit of mascara and eyeliner, adding just a bit of blush, and swiping over your lips with your cherry lip balm, pursing your lips to properly coat them.

you lean back and study yourself in the mirror, cringing at the bright red scratch marks on your neck before taking a deep breath as you consider what you're about to do. fuck it, you think, go big or go home, right?

with those words of wisdom to yourself and one last deep breath, you turn and walk of out the bathroom, and then out of the door to your room, heading into the hallway, your bare feet pad on the concrete floor as you make the short walk just a few doors down to dean's room. you stop in front of his door, taking a shaky breath before raising your hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking softly.

you hear shuffling, as if he's getting out of bed, and then the door opens and he's suddenly in front of you, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorway.

your breath hitches at the sight of him, your stomach flipping as you look up at him. his hair is spiked and damp, reflecting the shower he probably just took, his stubble highlighting his jaw. his plaid pajama pants are slung low on his hips, just enough to show a sliver of skin between the waistband and the hem of his black t-shirt that hugs his shoulders tightly, stretching over his chest.

dean says your name in a low voice, tilting his head as he looks down at you. you snap out of your trance, flushing slightly as you realize you were caught staring. "what're you doing here?" he asks, and doubt pools in your chest.

"i...i have a proposal," you say, nervously biting your lip as you look up at him.

dean's eyes track the movement, his jaw clenching as he flicks his gaze back up to your eyes, brows raising in question. "a proposal?"

you nod, shifting anxiously on your feet. you take a breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you smile nervously up at him. "can i come in?"

he doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at you, pushing off the doorway and stepping back, allowing you to walk by him. you step into the threshold of his room, forcing yourself to push away the nerves as you stand in front of the bed. your eyes follow him as he closes the door behind you, walking over to stand in front of you, arms still crossed over his chest as he looks down at you.

"so, what's this proposal of yours?" dean asks, the rough timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. you snap out of it, meeting his gaze head on as you speak.

"okay, i was thinking about the mark, and the blood lust." you can see his jaw clench at the mention of the mark and your stomach flips, but you continue. "so i thought, what if...what if there was another way to channel that?"

something flickers in his eyes at your words, and he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. "what d'you mean?"

you swallow nervously, biting your lip as you consider what you're about to say. "before i say it, i just want you to know that if this makes you uncomfortable then i can just go and we'll pretend that this never happened and-"

dean cuts you off with a grunt of your name, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes at you. "just spit it out-"

"i want you to fuck me." the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, both yours and dean's eyes widening at the bluntness of them.

"you want me to-"

"fuck me," you restate, deciding to just go with your forwardness. "i was thinking about what the mark makes you feel, and how it makes you turn that into blood lust, but then i thought about what if you could channel it into something else. give you some other way to let go."

dean doesn't say anything, just stands there, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched so tight your worried he's going to break something as he stares at you, eyes raking over your features as if something in them is going to tell him that you're joking.

you look away as you flush under his stare, regret and embarrassment seeping into your chest. when he still doesn't say anything, you shake your head, biting your lip as you turn to head back towards his door. "i knew this was stupid, i'm sorry-"

dean doesn't even give you the chance to finish your apology as he grabs your arm and spins you back into his chest, pulling a gasp from your lips.

"stop doing that," he growls, and when you look up into his eyes, they're so dark it makes your breath hitch. his hand that's not gripping your arm comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it lightly. "drivin' me fucking crazy."

you're too dazed by his sudden proximity to respond, the woody, leather filled scent that's so purely dean invading your senses and making you dizzy.

"let me get this straight," dean says, his voice low and slightly strained as he thumbs at your bottom lip, his eyes glued to the action. "you want me to fuck you, to get rid of the blood lust?"

you nod, lips parting automatically as he tugs at your bottom one, eyes wide as you stare up at him. "yea-yeah. it would still be letting that energy out, just in a different way," you tell him, your voice slightly breathless.

"and you want that?" he asks, eyes lingering on the way your lips brush his thumb as you speak before slipping back up to meet yours. "you want me to let go with you, sweetheart?"

you nod again, swallowing thickly as your mouth goes dry at the nickname. even though you'd heard it from his lips a thousand times before, this time it felt different, heavier, and you felt it weigh on your heart. "of course, if it'll help you-"

"no," dean cuts you off, growling your name and gripping your jaw tighter. "i'm asking you if you want this. not if you want to help me, i'm asking if you want me to fuck you, because if i won't touch you if you don't want this."

"i want this," you answer without hesitation, your voice breathy and your eyes wide, pupils blown with lust as you look up at him. "i wouldn't do this if i didn't want it."

dean groans, eyes clenching shut as if it's physically paining him to hold back, and his hand on your arm slides around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. when he opens his eyes again, the sapphire green that wormed it's way into your heart is almost entirely swallowed by lust-blown black, the sight making your heart stutter.

"if we do this," he starts, his voice dangerously low. his hand caresses your waist before moving to your hip, gripping the flesh tightly through your clothes. "i'm not so sure 'm gonna be able to control myself. i don't wanna hurt you."

you shake your head, eyes determined as you hold his gaze, your hands coming up to his chest, fisting in his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. "you're not gonna hurt me, dean," you whisper, pushing up on your tip-toes so that your lips are a breath away from his. "i want this, i want you to let go with me. i want you to use me."

dean just stares at you for a moment, his hand on your jaw moving to cup your cheek as his eyes bore into yours, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. as soon as his eyes flick back up to yours, something snaps in him and he surges forward, crashing his lips to yours.

you moan at the intensity of the kiss, your hands moving from his shirt to wind up into his hair, fingers tangling tightly in the still damp strands. his hands are suddenly everywhere, moving from your cheek to grip your hair, the hand on your hip slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin, groaning against your lips when he finds that you're not wearing a bra.

your lips part instantly as you feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, moaning into his mouth as he tilts his head, running his tongue over your teeth before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. your head is spinning as your teeth clash, your hands in his hair holding him tightly to you, arching your body into his.

when you both finally remember you need air, you pull back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your now swollen lips. dean rests his forehead against yours, his hands finding a place at your hips, gripping them tightly as he catches his breath.

"last chance to back out," he breathes, looking at you with hooded eyes that make your knees weak.

"not a chance, winchester," you whisper back, your voice equally strained as you pant softly, trying to force air into your lungs.

dean groans at your words, and without hesitation, he slams his lips back to yours, one hand fisting in your hair as the other creeps up your back, pulling your shirt up with it until he has to pull away to tug it off you, throwing it somewhere. his pupils grow impossibly larger as he takes in your bare chest, your nipples pebbling as they're exposed to the cool air. his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he's on you, surging forward and capturing one of the hardened buds in his mouth.

you yelp softly at the sudden action, the sound melting into a moan as you arch into him, hands grasping at his hair to hold him to you.

"fuck, dean─" you gasp, head falling back as his tongue swirls around your sensitive skin, his hand coming up to cup your breast that his mouth isn't currently ravishing. after he's satisfied with the job he's done, he switches, bringing his mouth to your other breast, his hand moving to cup and grope the one his mouth had just been working at, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

when you whimper his name as he bites at your bud, he pulls himself away from your chest with a pop, lips slick and eyes blown as he looks down at you. you stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted as you pant, just taking in the sight of him, so worked up over you.

"fuck," he groans, jaw clenching as his eyes greedily rake over your flushed features, his spit-slick bottom lip caught between his teeth. your hooded eyes follow the movement, your faces close enough that you can feel his breath on your heated skin, which sends a shiver up your spine.

you've seen dean shirtless many times─patching him up, or when motel rooms got too hot, but this was different. now, his toned chest was heaving with heavy breaths, his tan skin flushed with desire just for you.

you're staring, lips parted as you pant heavily, your eyes greedily raking over every inch of skin he's offering to you. your hands twitch to reach out, to feel every ridge, dip and curve of his body, and you're too far gone to deny yourself.

you rush forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and attaching your mouth to his neck. your lips trail up his neck, sucking at a spot under his jaw that has him groaning your name in a way that makes your knees weak. you're sure you would've collapsed by now if dean's arms weren't wrapped so tightly around your waist you could feel his biceps flex against your skin as your mouth ravished his neck and up to his jaw.

you're craning your neck to reach his skin, and you're body feels so hot you're worried that it's going to burst into flames if you don't do something about it. the chorus of more, more, more chants in your head, fueling your trembling legs as the walk forward, walking dean backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

he falls to sit on the bed with a grunt, his grip never loosening around you as you follow him, crawling into his lap eagerly, moaning into his neck when his bare chest presses against yours. you arch against him as you bite and suck on his neck, lips trailing down to nip at his collarbone, leaving a path of spit behind you.

"shit─need t'feel you, baby," dean rasps, his hands moving to grip your hips tightly, grinding you down onto him. you whimper in agreement, reluctantly pulling away from his salty skin, licking your lips to savor the taste of him.

you sit yourself up on your knees in his lap, cupping his face in your hands as you tilt his head back to look up at you, your thumb tugging at his bottom lip just as he did to you before. just the sight of him sends a wave of aching desire between your legs, your panties growing wetter by the second.

dean looks absolutely wrecked. his plush lips are parted and spit-slick, swollen from your bruising kisses, the white of his teeth peeking through the brightened pink as he pants heavily. his hooded eyes are so dark, the mossy green almost completely gone as he stares up at you with such reverence it makes your pounding heart stutter in your chest.

his rough hand squeezing your hips brings your attention back to the moment as he turns his head into your touch, lips ghosting your palm, his eyes staying locked on yours.

"c'mon, sweetheart," dean groans, his voice almost breathless as he squeezes your hip again, the action almost pleading. "can't take this anymore, just need you, need t'feel that pretty pussy 'round me."

his words make you moan softly, but they snap you into action. you scramble off his lap, stepping back from the cage of his legs as you hook your fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts, bending over towards him as you tug them down, shimmying them over your hips and thighs until they fall to the floor.

dean's eyes hungrily watch your every movement, jaw clenching tightly and a low groan escaping his lips as the delicate red lace of your panties is exposed to him.

"son of a bitch," he mutters, his voice a breathless whisper so quiet you almost miss it.

feeling spurred on by his words, you step out of your shorts, leaving them on the floor as you stand between his legs again and start to sink down, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him. but his arm shoots out to grab yours, stopping you from dropping to your knees with a grip so tight you think it might leave bruises. your pussy clenches at the thought, the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing the mark of him on your skin, as a reminder of this chance you may never have again, nearly making your eyes roll back.

"no, no," dean practically snarls, straightening you up as his hands go to the waistband of your panties, ripping them from your body with a ferocity that makes you gasp. "next time baby, i promise, i'll let you use your fuckin' gorgeous mouth on me, but right now i need to fuck that pretty pussy until you can't even think anything but my name."

a breath leaves your lungs in a shaky gasp, the filthiness of his words making your head spin.

"okay─" is all you can manage, your voice shaking as he tugs you back into his lap, groaning when he feels your bare, hot core against his still clothed and straining cock. he doesn't hold the position long though, because in a blink of an eye, he has you flat on your back, breasts heaving as you stare up at him, your eyes wide and needy.

you part your lips to comment something about how he still has pants on, but the words catch in your throat as a moan when his fingers suddenly swipe through your weeping heat. you arch your back against the mattress, trying to push yourself up against his fingers as they circle your throbbing clit, sending sparks of pleasure behind your eyes.

"that's it, that's my girl─ fuck, you're so fuckin' pretty," dean praises, leaning over you to suck one of your peaked nipples into heated mouth.

his words make you whimper, and your hips buck up desperately into his hand, chasing the burning pleasure he's making you feel. "shit, dean, please, please─"

your whines are cut off into a moan when he plunges the same fingers that had been working your aching bud into your sopping cunt, your walls instantly tightening around his digits.

"i know, pretty girl, i know," he croons, his raspy voice muffled against the heated skin of your chest. his plush lips trailing up to your neck, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin as he noses under your ear, teeth tugging gently at your earlobe. "jus' give me one before i fuck you, yeah? wanna feel you come around my fingers before i fuck you stupid on my cock."

you whimper in response, tossing your head back against the mattress with a moan as he drives his fingers into your heat again and again, curling them just right to hit that gummy spot deep within you that makes your toes curl.

"oh god, oh god─" you babble, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the band in your stomach tightening, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. "dean, close, m'so close─"

your words only encourage him, his teeth tugging at your ear once more before he trails them up to your jaw, resting his forehead against your cheek. he presses his lips to the burning skin there as his thumb moves to circle your clit, making you cry out under him, your hands flaying to his shoulders, nails digging into the taut skin as you buck against his hand.

"yeah? y'gonna cum, baby? gonna soak my fingers like the good girl you are?" dean coos, lips moving against your cheek, letting his teeth graze your skin. "c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fingers so this perfect fucking pussy can take me like she needs to."

you fly over the edge with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you, stealing the air from your lungs. your legs tremble around him, and you can feel his smug smirk against your cheek, your mind too fuzzy to comprehend the words he mumbles against your skin.

his fingers don't stop, working your soaked pussy until your whining, squirming away from his touch as your eyes flutter open, mouth slack as you gasp for breath. your eyes flick up to dean as he moves his face to hover over yours, and his hand has moved but he's not saying anything, and he's just staring at you, and the reverence in his eyes makes you want to shrink, but there's nowhere for you to go.

"dean," you whisper, your voice still shaking and barely audible as your eyes search his, trying to read his expression. he still doesn't say anything, just watching you with his devastatingly beautiful eyes and making you feel like he's worshipping you with his gaze. "what's wrong? do-do you want to stop─"

"do you know," dean mumbles your name, cutting you off effectively. "how fucking beautiful you are?"

the unexpected compliment makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you're sure he can hear it. all you can do is stare up at him, and he's so close you can count every freckle on his impossibly perfect face, the moment so intimate it makes your heart clench in your chest.

"you drive me goddamn crazy," he continues, pushing himself up to stand between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. his hands drift down to the waistband of his pants, pushing them and his boxers down in one swift movement, his eyes never leaving yours as he kicks them away. "you make me forget everything, y'know that? you make me forget about this damn mark on my arm, you're in my head and then suddenly, all the mark wants is you."

your eyes drift down to between his legs, your mouth watering as you see his cock, hard and heavy in front of you, already red and leaking precum. when you continue to stare, dean leans over you again, grasping your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"i mean, fuck, just look at you, sweetheart," he breathes, his gaze raking over you, lingering on your heaving breasts before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "look so fucking gorgeous...all fucked out 'n stupid just from my fingers."

you only whimper in response, the sound breathless and soft as your spinning head tries to process his words. "please, dean," you rasp, your pleading eyes searching his, lifting your hips up to try and feel hi until he groans softly, eyes fluttering. "need you, please, fuck me.."

he stares at you for another moment, his jaw ticking and you can feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh. he finally moves again, reaching out and grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips and placing it under you. when he decides you're properly situated, he settles between your spread thighs, grasping one tightly in one hand while the other pumps himself slowly. he leans over you, guiding himself to your weeping entrance as your hands fly to his shoulders, grasping at the hard muscles.

he suddenly stops just before his leaking head brushed your folds, the hand on your thigh tightening as his eyes flick up to yours. "condom?" he asks, his voice strained as he forces himself to hold back.

you shake your head, biting your lip as you watch the way his pupils dilate, the sight making your aching core clench around nothing. "wanna feel you, all of you."

"fuck," he groans, his eyes slipping shut as he pumps himself faster, lining up with your aching pussy again. "baby, you're gonna be the death 'f me."

you just hum in response, your eyes glued to where he rubs his red, swollen tip through your puffy folds. with one more squeeze of your thigh, he pushes in, punching harmonic moans out of both of you. your back arches, eyes rolling back as your tight walls stretch around him, the pleasurable burn making your nails dig into his skin.

dean watches you, eyes wide and blown so dark with desire he looks almost crazed, staying still as he lets you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "that's it, look at you, takin' me so well," he praises, rolling his hips gently to see your reaction.

"ohh shit," you moan, a gasping whimper catching in your throat when he rolls his hips again. he grasps your hips with both hands as leans over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. he stays like that, keeping still longer than he did before, and it doesn't take long until your squirming under him, whimpering softly as you grasp at his shoulders. "move, dean, please─"

as soon as the plea leaves your swollen lips, his hips snap harshly against yours, making you cry out, your eyes flying open to meet his. your mouth goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream and your brow furrowing as he pistons his hips into you, changing angles slightly until he hits that gummy spot deep in you that makes you cry out his name.

"yeah, yeah, i know, pretty girl, that's it right there, huh?" dean's voice is strained, the words a groan against your lips as he licks into your slack mouth, making you mewl under him, the sound only encouraging him to go faster. "squeezin' me so tight, shit, perfect fucking pussy was made for me, fuck─"

he pounds into you mercilessly, your tight walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as his tip hits your cervix, making stars flash in your eyes. you swear you can feel him everywhere. his hot breath against your parted lips, calloused hands gripping your thighs and sliding up to your chest to pinch and tweak at your hardened buds, his cock making you so full you swear you can feel him in your throat.

you can feel your release creeping up on you, your hands slipping down to grip his biceps, moaning when the muscles flex under your touch. dean seems to sense that you're getting close, and he moves one hand from your chest, trailing his fingers down your torso until he reaches your clit, rubbing tight circles on the aching bud.

the sudden overwhelming pleasure makes you cry out, eyes rolling back as you claw at his skin, broken mewls and gasps leaving your lips. "dean-!"

"yeah, fuck, beautiful, say my name," he groans, dropping his head to your neck, his hips never faltering their bruising pace. "want you scream it when you cum around my cock."

"oh shit," you gasp, hands flying to his back, nails dragging down his skin as you feel yourself getting dangerously close to the edge. "close, shit, m'close dean─"

"yeah, i know, baby, can feel you squeezing me." his fingers speed up on your throbbing clit, and with just the smallest bit of added pressure, the band in you snaps. hard.

you think you scream, but your brain shuts off as your orgasm crashes through you, the pleasure mind-numbing and paralyzing. dean continues to fuck you through it, his hips faltering as he feels your walls clamp down on him with your release.

"fuck, that's it. good girl, good fucking girl," he grunts your name into your neck, his voice strained as you feel him twitch in you, his thrusts just extending your orgasm and melting into another one. "you don't know how fucking long 've wanted this. your perfect fucking pussy gripping me so tight, fuck─ you were made for me, fucking made for my cock, never gonna let you go after this, ngh, you're mine now, sweetheart. all fucking mine."

he continues to babble as his hips falter, lifting his head from your neck to crash his lips to yours, devouring your mouth with his teeth and tongue.

"gonna cum in your tight fuckin' pussy, gonna fill you up, make you feel me for days." you whimper into his mouth, the two of you more so just panting into each other's mouths rather than kissing.

"please, dean, need it, need you so bad," you moan, feeling that band tighten once more. "wanna feel you, please, please─"

"oh fuck, gonna cum," he gasps your name into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening, and somewhere in the back of your fucked out brain you register that there are definitely going to be bruises there tomorrow. "fuck, m'gonna cum─"

he thrusts once, twice, burying his face in your neck and then his hips still, pressing his cock as deep into you as he can get as he twitches, groaning loudly as he spills into you, his release hot and heavenly in your tight walls. the feelings sends you over the edge again, a weak, broken cry leaving you as your vision practically goes white with pleasure.

you stay like that, trembling and panting softly under him, your eyes hooded and hazy, your shaking hands slipping from his shoulders and falling to his biceps weakly. for a long moment, dean doesn't move, just breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your sensitive skin with every breath.

eventually, he shifts his hips, moving to pull out, and the movement makes you whimper from the oversensitivity. instantly, dean pulls back from your neck, his brow furrowed as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with concern.

"shit, did i hurt you?" he asks, and you can hear the panic creeping into his tone. "i'm so sorry sweetheart, i didn't mean to─"

you cut him off with a shake of your head, forcing your eyes to focus as you look up at him, a weak, fucked-out smile forming on your lips. "you didn't hurt me, dean," you assure him, your voice raspy. "i'm fine, just sensitive."

"oh okay," he says, nodding and lets out a breath as if he'd been holding it.

he takes another moment, eyes raking over your face again, and he looks like hes't going to say something, but he bites his lip, pushing down whatever it is. slowly, he lifts himself on his arms, pushing up so he's almost sitting, squeezing your thigh comfortingly as he pulls out. you wince slightly at the movement, shivering when you feel his release dripping from your spent cunt.

he pulls away from you completely, standing up and walking over to the corner of his room and your stomach sinks as you watch him rifle through his stuff. you knew this was coming, the part where he awkwardly mumbled a thank you and you take his rejection without a word, making the walk of shame back to your own room, and you never speak of this again.

you can feel the familiar burn of tears forming behind your eyelids as you push yourself up, placing your feet on the ground. you don't look up at him as you lean over, grabbing your discarded shirt from the floor. you bite your lip anxiously as you stand up from the bed, intending to put your shirt on only to stumble and sway as your weak legs shake under you.

"woah, woah─" dean's arm comes around your waist, catching you before you can fall and you lean against him without really meaning to sighing at the warmth of his chest. "where do you think you're goin'?"

he turns you in his arms so your chest to chest with him, and you keep your eyes glued to his anti-posession tattoo, not quite ready to look him in the eyes and see the rejection. "i'll just get dressed and go back to my room─"

"hey, what? no," he interrupts, confusion lacing his words. his hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to look into his eyes. his brow is furrowed, and you have the sudden need to reach up and smooth the crease with your fingers. "why would you do that?"

your lips part to speak, but no words come out as the intense emotions in his eyes steal your breath.

dean says your name in a low voice, his gaze roaming over your face as his thumb stroked your cheek gently. "did you think i was gonna kick you out?"

"i...i didn't think you'd want me to stay," you admit in a breathless voice, eyes wide as you stare up at him.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, just gazing down at you as his hand raises to brush some of your hair away from your face, and if hekeeps looking at you like that you think you might catch on fire. "i meant what i said."

the words are so simple, so blunt that you don't know what he's referring to. "what are you talking about?" you ask, slightly breathless as your brow furrows in confusion.

"what i said, earlier, i meant it," dean repeats, the hand that's not cupping your chin raising to your forehead, his thumb stroking at the crease between your brows, the tenderness making your breath hitch. "i've wanted you, wanted this for so long, sweetheart."

his words stop your heart, and you look up at him with wide, shocked eyes. you can feel your pulse pounding in your chest, your shirt in your hand falling to the floor as your lips part in shock. "you have?"

"yeah," he mutters your name, both of his hands moving to cup your face now, and you subconsciously lean into his touch, making him smile softly. "i have. i'm honestly surprised you didn't notice before. even cas said i was bein' obvious."

your head reels from his confession, the words processing in your still slightly hazy mind. "you...what?" you ask, still staring up at him with wide eyes.

"i mean, hell, how could i not want you?" dean chuckles, almost to himself as he gazes down at you. "you're smart, 'nd funny, and you could kick my ass any day of the week. not to mention you're so fucking beautiful it makes me weak."

"you...you really mean that?" you ask, brow furrowing in doubt. "you're not fucking with me?"

he shakes his head, smiling down at you as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks affectionately. "you, this...it's all ive wanted for a long time."

"i..." you start, unsure of what to say as you search his expression for any hint of him lying. when you find none, a smile matching his spreads across your lips, and you lean into his touch, bringing a hand up to rest over his. "ive wanted this too. for a while, actually."

dean grins at you─a real, wide, boyish grin that lights up his ethereal features, making your heart stutter in your chest. "i guess we're both idiots then."

"i guess we are..." you agree, pushing up on your tip toes to ghost your lips over his. you hover there, just breathing him in, eyes flicking between his before you close the gap, pressing your lips softly to his.

its nothing like the kisses you shared before. in fact, it's really just the gentle press of your lips to his, savoring the way his smile feels against you, and you suddenly don't know how you've lived your whole life without kissing dean winchester like this. you certainly don't think you can live without it now that you've experienced it.

after a few savored moments, you pull away, smile staying on your lips as your eyes flutter open. your hand slides along his arm, and you feel him tense when your fingers brush over the mark.

"i trust you, dean," you whisper, curling your fingers over the raised skin, squeezing his forearm lightly. "i know you would never hurt me, and i need you to know that im not going to leave."

"but-" he starts, but you cut him off by raising your free hand to press a finger to his lips.

"no buts," you counter, shifting your hand to cup his cheek, smiling lovingly at him. "just because you think you're dammed doesn't mean you actually are. because you aren't. no matter what you think of yourself, it will never change the fact that you, dean winchester, are the good man. the best man ive ever known, and ill be damned if i let you think any less than that."

"sweetheart..."

"stop. don't fight me on this─"

"i wasn't gonna fight you─"

"yes you were, i could see it─"

he says your name, low and serious, but there's still a soft smile on his face. "you're too damn good for me."

"what did i just say─"

"just let me say this, will you?" he says, giving you a look that makes you shut your mouth, eyes locked on his. he sighs, just staring at you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "youre too good for me, i know that. you're too smart, too kind, just too damn good. but damnit, i want to be selfish so bad and keep you for myself."

you just smile at him, eyes slipping shut as you lean up again to kiss him a little deeper than the one before, but still soft nonetheless. "you have me, dean," you whisper against his lips, your eyes still closed. "you've always had me."

"i don't want to hurt you," he mumbles, and you can feel his furrowed brow as he leans his forehead against yours.

"you won't hurt me."

"you don't know that─"

"yes, i do." your tone is sharp, and it makes his eyes snap open to meet yours again. at this proximity, you can see the specks of gold that flicker in the deep emerald that makes your heart skip a beat. "we'll figure this out, dean. we'll get through this and get that damn mark off you. we'll figure this out, together."

dean smiles at that, a soft, relieved curve of his lips that makes the corners of his eyes crease. he looks at you with so much emotion and affection that you want to just crumble into him and never let him go, hide him away from the world so that it can't hurt him more than it has. "together," he repeats, his voice a hushed whisper.

you can tell that he believes you, and the thought makes pride swell in your chest. you may not know much about your fucked up lives at the moment, but the one thing you know for sure is that you were never going to let dean go through it alone. ever.

a/n, this ended up being way longer than i intended, but oh well. anyways, i can't get moc!dean out of my head, so here we are... and happy late new years!

ps, the end was written at 3 in the morning (again) so i sincerely apologize if the ending is rushed

[the-learning-hub]

From Beer Caddy to Whiskey Barrel: Fun and Easy DIY Projects for Men

From Beer Caddy to Whiskey Barrel: Fun and Easy DIY Projects for Men

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the world of man-made DIY crafts! You may be wondering, “Why should I care about DIY crafts? I’m a man, not a Pinterest mom.” Well, let me tell you, my friend – there’s nothing more manly than taking something ordinary and turning it into something extraordinary with your own two hands. Plus, it’s a great way to save some money and impress your friends and loved…

[whyhellocynthia]

Chef John's Whiskey Sour - Drinks

[yestrday]

— YANDERE! MALEWIFE! GENSHIN AU part one | two | three | four | five

⇢ neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, freminet + baizhu

introducing ! fontaine is the country of romance, and what could be the peak of romance but marriage? you have sworn your eternal love and fealty to your partner and fontainians are anything but dispassionate lovers! if you're scared that your partner will get too passionate, well.... qui vivra verra.

[ happy new year! is yestr actually being productive?! i did not do mika bc... gasp! yestr is lazy?! who wouldve known! ]

warning ! yandere behavior, bIackma1l, múrder, i feel like im getting lost by own aus so i have to say it again: this is modern teyvat!, hints at poison, jealousy, child assássins?!

— ORDAINER OF INEXORABLE JUDGMENT. neuvillette | ヌヴィレット

[ “clearly, your workplace is not complying with multiple clauses of the Code du Travail, i should—” ]

⇢ before meeting you, neuvillette couldn’t have imagined getting married and settling down for a domestic life. he’d always thought that he’d forever be swamped with trials and paperworks until he hit retirement age. he had no ideal life in mind, only work and justice to occupy his thoughts, until you came along and he found himself exchanging vows with you in a fontainian church.

⇢ he wouldn’t call his current life ‘retirement’ per se, but rather a change of occupation. tending to the house while you left for your job appealed to him more than working day in and day out in courthouses. he had taken up baking and cooking, something to treat the visiting melusines with as they dropped by to check on their father and his partner. neuvillette and a party of chatty melusines having tea and homemade cookies is a common sight to return home to. the melusines are pretty friendly with you, having seen how enamored their father figure is with you. their innocent smiles and cute lil bodies are stress relievers, though not more so than your husband’s gentle smile and firm hands massaging the knots from your shoulders.

⇢ he busies himself with various hobbies once all the chores are out of the way. flip through a book and read out loud to the melusines snuggled on top of him, attempt a baking recipe one of the girls begged him to try, or stroll through the neighborhood to clear his mind. he doesn’t even know he’s so so lonely until he hears your car pull up in the driveway and he immediately jumps up from whatever he’s doing and rushes over to greet you. the first thing you see is your husband peering through the window with a cool composure, but you can see straight through that facade. you see his brows knitted together in worry, his fingers nervously adjusting the hems of his robe, and his eyes eagerly drinking your tired body in as you make it up the steps. you can’t help but smile as you bring him down to your level and kiss him, your big, awkward oaf of a husband.

⇢ is very particular about the water in your household. taps are all filtered, the water dispenser is stocked with only the best brands, and he is oh-so-meticulous when it comes to drawing your baths! he makes sure that the water is at the right temperature, filters out any impurities no matter how minuscule of an atom by his hand, and uses salts and bath bombs according to what he assumes will be your liking for the day. the both of you prioritized the bathroom when building your house, so the bathtub and the surrounding atmosphere is juuust right for a little cuddle time in the bath.

⇢ dragon-born that he is, you have to forgive neuvillette’s tendencies of being a tad too possessive. well, ‘tad’ is a bit underselling it, but you have to understand. the whiskey scent stuck to your wrinkled laundry, the nauseating aroma of another one’s perfume… something dark and guttural creeps from within his depths that he forces himself to repress. you know he’s not one for perfumes, but if you did wear one it would be one that he liked— crisp, fresh, aquatic. not this scent-numbing sweetness that cloys his senses. he’d like to burn the top and its offensive scent away but… he remembers how damn good you look in this v-neck and decides that it’s nothing a lil spin the wash can’t fix.

⇢ luckily, your husband is still on the saner side, so you’re one of the lucky few who might never come across your husband’s violent tendencies. but they still come out, just a bit more… subtly. he massages your stiff shoulders late at night as he puts on a record on the gramophone for you, listening to you rant about your terrible boss. there are a few details that make him pause, and for a second there you thought he was going to pop your arms from their sockets. but he composes himself so quickly that you think you just imagined it. he inquires a bit more, rubbing your back with a generous helping of lavender oil, and you tell it all to him because… why wouldn’t you? this is your sweet, worried husband who is oh-so-wise and amazing!

⇢ the very next day, not your boss but your upper management gets a visit from the maison gardiennage. they’re all in upheaval now that they’ve got the police on them, but neuvillette is sitting at home contently, sipping tea with you in the garden after your office has suddenly called off work for the day. he’s taking glances from his oh-so-interesting novel to watch your face as you reach for another cookie the girls baked, rambling about how miraculous it for your company to generously allow all of you a day-off. he just chuckles and goes back to his book, gratefully accepting a cookie a melusine’s reaches towards his mouth.

“oh, it hardly feels real!” you gush over a cup of rose tea, lounging in the shade of your backyard’s trees while you, neuvillette, and the melusines enjoy a perfect sunny afternoon. “they called the whole day off, it falls on a friday, i get to have a long weekend, and i get to spend it all with you and the girls!” you sigh dreamily. “pinch me neuvi, it feels like a dream!” your husband, picture-perfect in his chair with a book and melusine in his arms, chuckles at your dramatics. “dear, if one measly day off makes you act this way, maybe it’s time for you to find another job. or…” feeling huffy by the mere implication, you abruptly stand up and slam your hands on the table.  “no, no, neuvi! i love you, but i can’t possibly have you working again! you deserve it after all these years of hard work! i want you to just sit back and relax and have your awesome partner shower you in money, okay?” he takes your face  in his hand, his thumb running along your dark undereyes. you watch as his face, normally so composed yet awkward, contort into a mixture of worry and regret, before finally dissolving into acceptance. “well. that i would allow. so long as you return to by my side at the end of the night.” you giggle and press a kiss into his palm before plopping back down. “so romantic!” you tease. “of course, neuvi! where else would i come back to anyway?” you don’t know it, but the dragon inside him preens at your unknowing admission of ownership as he settles back into his chair and continues his novel with a silent smile on his face.

[ “well girls, that is how marriage ought to be when you are bound to a dragon. ownership of your spouse and in turn, protect your treasure at all times.” ]

— EMISSARY OF SOLITARY INIQUITY. wriothesley | リオセスリ

[ “keep my shirt on, you say? well sure, but you’re the one enjoying the show.” ]

⇢ your darn stud of a husband…! with his cool blue eyes, his large scarred biceps, that cocky smirk when he catches you staring and just… everything about him, he makes you feel like you’re back to the younger you who could only stare yearningly at him from afar. he’s always teasing you, making sure to unbutton the first three buttons just to show off his cleavage… he gets a kick out of seeing you blushing and squeaking when he gets too close wearing nothing but an apron.

⇢ when the two of you moved into the neighborhood, he scared off the neighbors with his cold features and muscled, scarred body, but that’s not quite the case anymore. they quickly got to know him as pretty easygoing and reliable; the community relies on him for a lot of heavy lifting for their projects, and he frequently invites the aunties for tea parties in your backyard. you often come home to the aunties filing out your gate in giggles, slapping you on the shoulder for a job well done securing such a ‘hunk of a man’. you raise your eyebrows at wriothesley, who leans against the door frame with a smug smirk before beckoning you for dinner.

⇢ he’s a little bit hesitant whenever the topic of having kids comes up. he knows he is not his foster parents… and yet the thought of setting these scarred hands on an innocent little life. these hands have ended people— cruel, abusive, and cold-hearted, but people nonetheless. he’s afraid that he might continue the cycle of abuse that he’s been haunted by for so long. wriothesley knows deep down that will never happen; you were there to ground him and keep his wits about him, but his fears still surface whenever the conversation happens. these children would be yours too, and he wants nothing but the best for you and this family.

⇢ when you talk to him about a co-worker hitting on you at work, he isn’t so insecure as to immediately get jealous and possessive. he’s a smug bastard; he knows he’s hot. he’s got aunties telling him, men and women alike eyeing him in the gym, and he’s got you blushing every day like you aren’t married. so he only laughs with you at their meaningless attempts. things get… a bit different when you’re in actual danger. throughout your relationship, wriothesley’s always been the overprotective type. sometimes you think he’s going too far, with the way you’ve seen him throwing hands and crushing skulls at sleazy men trying to grope you in bars. but you haven’t seen anything yet.

⇢ you don’t know. you don’t know his past, don’t know his deeds, don’t know his sins. he’s only ever presented himself as a suave, teasing gentleman. he was as normal as a prison warden could get and he played this role until you said yes to his proposal. you don’t know about life before he was in power. when he was the one behind those bars. you’ve never questioned why he didn’t let you into his workspace or why he was so eager to get away from that life as soon as you two signed the marriage papers.

⇢ and so it sends a shiver down your spine when you see wriothesley so… lifeless. you thought it was a nice surprise, seeing your husband wait for you outside your work, but with the way he’s staring down your co-worker you’re beginning to suspect that he’s not actually there for you. you try pushing him to make him budge, but his muscled body doesn’t move an inch as the slimy rat scampers away from his glare. you call out his name, worriedly, and he blinks a few times before he’s back to his normal, friendly self. you spend the rest of the week in unease, those strangers’ eyes haunting you at the back of your mind.

“look at you,” wriothesley hums, dropping the nearly unconscious person from his grasp. they fall to the alley’s cement ground, heaving and spluttering blood as they try to regain their senses. splotches of black block their vision, the buzz of nightlife so far away and muffled in his ringing ears, and when he tries to prop himself up, the ex-warden’s glare makes them freeze in terror. “i don’t make a habit of hurting people, believe me, but it’s hard to stay calm when i hear some rat is harassing my partner when i’m not there.” he presses a heel into their ruptured throat, indifferent to the ensued coughing and choking. “do you know how long i’ve been waiting for this? to teach you a lesson?” “i don’t— wheeze— don’t know what’re ya talkin’ about—!” at this, wriothesley scowls and he releases them from his heel’s pressure before delivering a swift kick to their shin. they’re sent flying towards a dumpster, their back hitting the metal and sending them back to the concrete. wriothesley approaches them, towering over their bloody figure. they’re ways off from the red district and even if they could scream, their throat is too damaged to even think about it. they can only stare in growing fear as they pray that this… monster before him would spare him. “pleading guilty, huh? too bad.” their eyes roll to the back of their head as his fingers wrap around their throat, crushing their pipe with the eased movements of a murderer. “i’m not some justice system. i’m just here to kill you. plain and simple” he grins at the dying man still weakly struggling to push away his arm. “you understand, right? all’s fair in love and war… or somethin’ like that.”

[ “they said something about me? pay no mind. people like to gossip about handsome people like me.” ]

— SPECTACLE OF PHANTASMAGORIA. lyney | リネ

[ “one moment there is nothing in my palm and the next… tada! roses from the garden! welcome home~” ]

⇢ lyney’s always been the coy, teasing type. he likes to suddenly pull your faces together, breath on your lips as he leans in for a kiss, before his finger slips in a failed cooking and he bounces away laughing as you splutter and gag. he likes to wake up in the morning, innocent stretching as if he doesn’t notice the way his shorts ride up his thighs and your shirt on him hiking up to show his lean physique. he puts on a show— hiding his face as he teases you for being a pervert for enjoying his oh-so-vulnerable body. you blush and finish straightening out your necktie, leaving lyney to laugh as you bolt out the door for work.

⇢ even before you were married, the two of you already enjoy all the stresses and joys that come with being parents. lyney, after all, is the successor of the same orphanage he grew up in. the children there call him ‘father’ and when he introduced you to them, you found yourself taking up the same parent role as your partner. lyney is overjoyed to see you take to the children so well, fondly dropping by the orphanage next door and taking time out of your busy schedule to play with them. when you’re finall off the clock, you see lyney in an apron waving you from the porch surrounded by children leaning over to greet you two. you always have to tighten your grip on the steering wheel whenever you see the sight. it’s like… it’s like… gah, you can’t explain it, but something about this domestic bliss lights up a fire in your loins.

⇢ has a habit of rewarding you after a long day’s work. once he makes sure that all the orphans are settled in for the night, the two of you move to your abode next door so he can soothe the stress from your body. poor thing, he murmurs, finger tickling the shell of your ear as he sets down your plate in front of you. his pretty partner, being bullied by their big, mean boss and their pushy co-workers. lucky for you, you’ve got such an adoring husband ready to take care of you for the rest of the night, huh?

⇢ family. family. he’s had lynette, but to have parents by his side to coddle and cherish him? he’s never grown to know such a feeling. so when he sees you playing with the kids, begrudging in indulging their outlandish requests yet smiling with such fondness… something inside him burns so passionately he thinks it might consume him. by blood, these kids were not his but this must be it. to have a whole and complete family. and to have this family with you, the love of his life! were it not for the tight feeling in his chest, he would’ve thought that this would be a fantastical dream.

⇢ the house of the hearth is just a government recruitment agency under the guise of a loving orphanage, and everyone but you is privy to that information. you don’t recognize your own children following you in the streets or peering into your office windows. the cctvs don’t catch them rustling through your boss’ drawers for black market transactions. why would you, when you come home to them smiling and hugging your legs, begging you for a bedtime story? when you retire for the night, they report to their boss— their Father— and it’s just another day of keeping their family whole and happy.

⇢ you are, after all, are lyney’s weakness. you remain blissfully aware of the many people after your head, hoping to cut deep into snezhnayan government by gaining the upper hand with lyney. so you don’t know how much blood has been shed in your name by the same innocent kids you’ve grown to care for as your own… or the fact that it has been all commanded by your loving and faithful husband, who kisses you on the lips so sweetly every night that you would never know they’ve been long tainted by poison.

“father,” one of his children kneel on the ground, cloaked in black as they ready to deliver their report for the day. “nothing unusual has happened today in the office.” “that’s good news then!” ‘Father’ claps happily as he lounges lazily on his mahogany office desk. despite the smile in his voice and his cheery demeanor, his child doesn’t have to look up to see the cold-hearted eyes of an experienced agency and killer. “nice to know that the new boss has been behaving himself. it took so many of them before they realized what was actually going on!” “yes, father, this new one has been behaving himself but…” his child pauses, cautious to speak what they were about to say. “have you not considered asking mama to move jobs?” lyney sighs and puts a hand on his cheek. “oh dear, believe me i have. in fact, i even said that they didn’t need this job! but, well, you know how stubborn your mama can be. they wouldn’t even hear of it! i hope you and the other children can persuade them but… before that time comes, let’s just support your mama in whatever they want.” the child nods in understanding. they are, after all, the shining example of all their children. they remind him of himself back when he was still under the previous father’s care. “i will try, father. mama has promised to bring cake and have tea time with us when they get off their job so… maybe.” “hehe, your mama really loves you all so. have fun then, dear~”

[ “what do you mean the children have been acting strangely? maybe you’re tired from all that work you’re doing…” ]

— YEARNING FOR UNSEEN DEPTHS. freminet | フレミネ

[ “even though i am the way that i am… i hope i can always make you happy, like you make me.” ]

⇢ your sweet, sweet husband! he’s always hiding those shy blue eyes behind his pale blonde hair, head hunched over some mechanical device or seeking respite in his diving helmet. even after all these years together and eventually getting married, he’s still so shy when it comes to initiating physical contact. someone in this relationship has to, and so it seems to fall on your shoulders to get the hugs and kisses the two of you deserve. it’s not like you’re complaining, not when you can hear that precious squeak when you wrap your arms around his delicate waist and press a giggle-kiss onto his neck while he’s cooking up breakfast.

⇢ he’s a bit insecure about his role in your marriage. it has nothing to do with being a housewife, really! it’s just that… once you’re gone, he’s just so totally lost. at least when you’re there with him he can feel human again instead of some clockwork puppet rusting at home. you would guide him and tell him on what to do instead of him alone fretting and fussing over what he should do and if he would even get it right. you would never hurt him, and yet you get a bit concerned whenever you arrive home and freminet is there waiting for you with his hands nervously wrung together. you have to assure him that you would never get mad at such a sweet and dutiful housewife! only a monster would! and freminet knows that you’re anything but a monster.

⇢ you wouldn’t be able to tell by his face, but whenever you show him off to your co-workers and friends, he’s so over the moon that it’s a wonder he can contain himself. hearing you call him by such sicky-sweet names like ‘honey, dearie, baby, lovely’ while bragging about him has him hiding his face, but it’s only because he feels like the smile on his face looks so stupid! the others gag while you drone on and on about how pretty and amazing your partner is and freminet can only look down on his lap and clenched fists as he squirms in his seat. knowing that you adore him as much as he adores you… it makes his heart beat a mile per minute, something he thought would never happen before he met you.

⇢ he’s deathly scared of losing you. without you, he fears that he’ll revert back to his old self— that soulless, emotionless human more akin to a robot than a person. all his life he thought he would be better off unfeeling and wishing to be born with gears than a heart, but you came by and showed him how colorful life could be with the right person. he doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s so incompetent, so clumsy, so socially inept… how could he ever compare to the wonderful brilliant you?

⇢ he hopes you don’t hate him when he gets rid of these better, more amazing people. they’re usually your co-workers, sometimes strangers who’ve caught your eye, rarely ever your friends (he doesn’t want to make you unhappy). killing is rare for him and something he doesn’t do on a whim, but he fears that once you surround yourself with so many brilliant people you’ll see him for the failure that he is. so, even if it is only a temporary solution, he dons the diving mask and takes them out at the perfect timing. he was raised to be the perfect assassin, so in theory, he doesn’t have to worry about getting caught—

⇢ — except that you know him better than he knows himself. you have a talent for seeing through him that he gets scared that you’ll immediately sus out what he’s done the moment he walks through the door. on these days, he gets clingy and more affectionate, trying to make up for what he’s done. it’s a pleasant surprise to see your taciturn husband fling himself at you and nuzzle his head in your chest without further explanation. usually, people would demand an explanation for the sudden change of behavior… but why would you? you’re not going to complain if freminet decides to shower you with love out of nowhere! freminet in turn is just glad that you’re the way you are. you’ve invested so much love and resources into him… he doesn’t want to waste all of that and throw it all away.

“you’re so cute!” you giggle as you spin freminet around, still cuddled into your chest and pale arms around your torso. “what’s with the sudden love bomb? gosh, how were you born so cute! it doesn’t make sense!” you pepper kisses onto his face as you press him against the sofa, delighting in the way he tries to cover the blush on his freckled cheeks at your over-affectionate behavior. “n-nothing, really…” he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers as you continue to shower him with pecks. you’ve loosened your tie and your white button-down has been wrinkled thoroughly by this sudden love fest. “i just… i love you, [your name]. i love you a lot.” you hum happily at his confession. this was nothing that you didn’t know, but it was still delightful to hear. you hear him suck in a breath, hesitating, before finally letting it out, “do– do you love me too…?” you cease your incessant kissing just to raise a brow at him, an incredulous look on your face. he reddens even further. he knows it’s a stupid question. how could anyone with two eyes ever question your love for your blonde husband? but still… he wants to hear it. even if he’s heard it from you this morning, and the day before, and every day before that… he wants to hear it now. “i love you, silly.” you boop him on the nose, flopping yourself beside him on the couch. he turns to look at you, his ice-blue eyes peering up at you through long lashes. “always have, always will.” you thread your fingers together. his hands, unlike the rest of him, are calloused and rough. hardened by those years of diving, perhaps? or something else? nevertheless, you press his hand to your lips and look at him. “i’ll say it as many times as you want.” you watch as those eyes, usually so taciturn and shy, tear up at your confession. you were so loving, so wonderful… he could hardly believe that you were his. “thank you… thank you, [your name], i just…”  he lets out a choked laugh, a rare smile breaking out on those delicate features. “i don’t know… i just feel stupid today.” you hum in understanding, pressing another kiss to each of his fingers while he watches you. “rough day?” you ask, and he simply nods, not wanting to elaborate further. it’s okay. more than okay. you could guess by the metallic tang blooming on your lips on how exactly his day went.

[ “please… please don’t hate me… you don’t deserve this but i… but i don’t want them to realize what kind of person i am!” ]

— BEYOND MORTALITY. baizhu | 白术

[ “look at those dark circles… don’t prioritize your career over your health, okay? do it for me?” ]

⇢ baizhu is always fussing over your health despite being the sickly one, but you suppose that’s in line with him being a doctor. your pretty husband has relocated his clinic to your new home together and continues to enjoy a steady stream of his loyal customers. you worry about baizhu overworking himself while you’re at work, but him being at home puts you at ease. at least changsheng will be able to quickly guide him to bed whenever his chronic illness flares up and he has little qiqi with him… actually, you think you’re more worried about qiqi.

⇢ being married to baizhu comes with the benefit of welcoming qiqi and changsheng into your family. he treats qiqi like his own child despite being an amnesiac girl that he picked off his streets that you’ve grown to also care for her like she was your own daughter. baizhu tells you that you needn’t spoil her so much; she’ll probably forget to put on the new dress you bought for her, but he can’t tell you what to do! baizhu enjoys seeing you fawn over the child, watching in amusement as you desperately try to make her remember your name. it’s been a tough journey, but you are over the moon once she calls you mama/papa. that does make baizhu a tad jealous, something that changsheng teases him about. after all, he’s been with qiqi longer!

⇢ the two of you enjoy your quiet moments together. when night has fallen and qiqi has retired to her room, the two of you sit in the living room as you prepare for another day’s work. only his rustling of prescription papers and your hurried tapping on the keyboard can be heard; not a single conversation passes between you two. even changsheng has drifted off to sleep in the midst of this silence. finishing the last email for the day, you stretch and look to see how baizhu is doing. as always, he’s always so pretty focused on the task before him. his hair is still braided in its usual fashion, and you settle behind him and slowly detangle his locks. he doesn’t glance at you, but he hums in appreciation. his hair, oiled and trimmed at changsheng’s insistence, is soft and glossy as you brush it while you wait for him to finish up.

⇢ although he’s lauded by his patients as kind and selfless, those who don’t know him would think that he has an odd air about him. maybe it’s because his eyes contain a hidden cunning that the people you introduce him to becomes rather wary of him. or is it the way that he talks all politely but with a subtle bite to them? you don’t know why he becomes rather passive-aggressive when you invite someone over to your home, but you’re so enthralled by this change of behavior that you forget to scold him for it. your friends complain about the way baizhu looks at them from head to toe like he’s assessing them. you have to explain that it’s actually a doctor’s habit, some sort of medical procedure… or so baizhu explained once.

⇢ physical ailments are his expertise, mental illnesses he can refer his patients to another doctor, but stupdity is a disease that unfortunately cannot be cured. before he married you, he abhorred the disgusting feelings that stirred inside him whenever he sees you smile at another person. but now that he has married you and you have proclaimed yourself as his, he’s thrown away all self-disgust now that his jealousy has been justified. it’s human nature to feel possessive over someone that is his by right. for your sake, he tries to be as civil as possible… though it becomes impossible whenever he hears them complain about him to you whenever they think he’s out of earshot.

⇢ if they refuse to give the two of you some space, then baizhu surmises that he will have to do it himself. herbal concoctions are his thing, after all. who said it needed to be medicine? changsheng hisses in amusement as he mashes herbs together out in the lawn while you’re snoring away in bed. her eyes flicker to baizhu, face shadowed by the dark of night. before you, he’s always been so civil and logical. aside from his frail constitution, changsheng thinks that his marriage to you might have given her partner another malady.

“hey, baizhu, something’s up with guanxi,” is the first thing you sat when you come back from work. changsheng watches as the doctor’s eye twitches before he forces his lips to smile warmly to greet you. you peck your husband on the cheek. “he’s been coughing and hacking blood since yesterday.” “oh my,” he says in a tone that’s supposed to sound concerned. “that is concerning. go contact him to see when he’s available and i’ll squeeze him into my schedule tomorrow.” you start tp dial his number on your phone, before you stop and after a few seconds of thinking, shake your head. “nah… that wouldn’t work. he gets very awkward around you. says you give him the creeps. i don’t get it! you’re like, the most perfect being to exist.” baizhu giggles when you cup his head into your palms as you admire the beauty that is your husband. you slyly smile and whisper. “don’t tell him, but just for that, i gave him twice more work than he had to do.” and people think he’s sly. they should see you! baizhu laughs at your show of devotion and presses a kiss into one of your palms. “now, now. you can’t make all your friends like me the way you adore me so. but, well… call it coincidence, but i did make your favorite today.” you gasp in delight. “is this my gift for avenging my darling wife?!” he rolls his eyes at your dramatic antics and pinch your cheeks fondly. “mmm, call it a… hm, a celebration feast.”

[ “oh my, and i just had the prescription for that as well. people should trust their local doctors more.” ]

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[rencantstopfalling]

Jschlatt Boyfriend HC

Jschlatt x gn!reader

Cw: NSFW MDNI 18+

Sfw:

-He outwardly says he doesn't like your dog but constantly gets caught cuddling the thing, and giving it's treats all the time

-if you work, he will get up with you and make you coffee and a bagel so you have breakfast on your way to work

- on that's same sentiment, if he isn't to busy, he will bring you lunch, either homemade or takeout

-Pretends to be grumpy when he has ro get you period products but he actually doesn't mind, he has all your favorite products written in his notes app with pictures

-absolutely adores when you take interest in his favorite shows or games. Loves to play DayZ with you and do that's stupid podcast

-he's the little spoon, ALWAYS. I'm sorry I can't think of a world where this man doesn't just want to be held and praised. Running your hands through he hair as he lays on your chest

-Spoils the hell out of you. It's actually hello shopping with him cause everything you touch, look to long at or express any type of interest in he's throwing in the cart. YOU NEVER PAY FOR ANYTHING

-Doesn't like you driving. Your his lovey your to delicate to drive. He wants you all nice and pretty as his passenger princess/prince (i also hc he drives like a maniac so sorry if you get motion sick.) It's always a fight when it's time to go out

-Learns to cook just to try and impress you

-tells you you don't have to work cause he's able to support the two of you, wants you to just pursue hobbies and he wants to fund them.

-Always takes you on vacation! Not just to japan, but anywhere you wanna go.

Nsfw:

-He curves to the left. Nothing else for me to say on that

-Definitely owns a few toys for himself, from before you guys started dating, like a flashlight, and cockring

-this guys loves missionary, loves to see your fucked out face and chest, loves to mark you

-hes not a rough guy, those most rough je will be is some deep thrusts, and maybe light chocking if you ask

-gets hard over literally everything, and is always ready to to

-loves to go down on you whether you got a pussy or cock he is down there ALL THE TIME, often wakes you up with it

-loves getting his hair pulled like a slut

-I wouldn't say he's a bottom but maybe a service top

-hates degrading you but will do it a little if you beg him, like a few dirty sluts but not much more

- however he likes to be degraded, call him all type of names, he is your much, he is your little man slut, your whore

-falls asleep right after sex, this dude just collapses on top of you, still in you. You gotta push the beast off of you in order to just breathe

- Although he doesn't like being to rough, give him a few swigs of whiskey and he will do anything you ask of him. You want him to absolutely destroy you, slap you, call you all types of names, get him drunk

-its because when he isn't drunk he severely overthinks everything and gets in his head that he won't be able to hold himself back and he will seriously hurt you, but once he is a little loose all those thoughts go away

-while he was drunk, you guys have definitely broken the bed...