#i don't have much material yet but more is coming

[amaryllis-3]

Pairing: Stalker! König × Fem Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI, 18+, dark content, stalking, dubcon, noncon (both are hinted, non vividly described)

No matter how much you might have wanted to believe otherwise, you weren't alone. You were aware of that.

The windows were shuttered, heavy curtains drawn to shroud the glass, and yet you could still feel his eyes staring at you, following your every movement without missing a single one.

It almost made you suspect he was stuck inside with you.

As if fate was trying to mock you, a dull noise echoed behind you. Loud enough to be heard in the complete silence of your flat, loud enough to inform you of his presence.

Ah, he considered you so incapable of escaping him that he didn't really worry about blowing his cover. After all the weeks he'd spent observing you, he knew deep down that you wouldn't stand a chance anyway. Not against someone like him.

Your body petrified in its position, heart racing and lump trapped in your throat. Your face hardly turned, just the right amount to spot the man standing near the door that separated the kitchen from the living room.

There was no doubt whatsoever regarding his identity, even though that was the first time he'd let himself be completely seen. You'd glimpsed his shadow on different occasions, nothing he hadn't chosen to show you, however.

He was enormous, more imposing than anyone you'd ever met. His squared shoulders virtually succeeded in blocking any trail of light coming from the adjacent room, and that veil... That black veil which masked every possible detail of his features, except for the piercing blue irises, sent your anxiety sky-high.

He was on you before you could think of doing anything. Absurd how someone so big could move so fast. His arm closed around your waist, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing and making your back crash into his broad chest. Despite the material in between, you could sense his hot breath branding your neck, his lips parting to whisper in your ear: "I caught you, Mäuschen."

Your eyes began to sting, salty tears soon to be shed as his other hand travelled down, resting on your belly. His gloved fingers barely shifted the fabric of your top to caress your heated skin.

"You did so well... ignoring all the signs." His voice wasn't what you'd expect from a mountain of a man such as him: it wasn't deep, rough, or gruff, but it came out somewhat high-pitched, in an accented, sickeningly sweet flow that managed to give you goosebumps. "That's why you can't be left alone. Anyone could sneak in here, and you wouldn't even notice."

The "just like me" wasn't uttered. It wasn't really necessary, not with the way the implication had settled in the air around you. He'd already done it. He'd violated the security of your home who knows how many times prior to that. He'd invaded your privacy, and you'd made no effort to stop him, nothing sufficient at least.

On top of all the paranoia and fear he'd planted in you, he also had the audacity to toy with you. Playing with his prey before snatching it, not unlike a cat with mice. Had you perhaps become that? A mouse about to be devoured?

"Don't be afraid." If his aim was to reassure you, he was doing a terrible job. His hand descended lower until it cupped your mound, thick fingertips tentatively rubbing the area where your clothed clit should have been. A choked sob escaped your mouth when you felt the outline of his cock pressing against your ass, the reality of what was to happen shortly thereafter starting to grow painfully clear.

"I'll take care of you from now on."

➮ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[potionboy3]

mordred hart | wizard sociologist | hp victorian era

mordred is interested in the social life of the wizarding community and how it works. he is fascinated how people's actions as individuals differ from their actions as part of the community and how these ideas change the world around them.

facts about him:

he's a half-blood wizard.

his family owns a bakery in the streets of london.

since young age he's been interested on class differences and people's behavior in social relationships.

sociology is the study of social life, social change, and the social causes and consequences of human behavior. mordred became interested about sociology because of the muggle world and he quickly started to reflect the things he learned into the wizarding world, noticing similar patterns and ideologies.

possibly a ravenclaw or a gryffindor, yet to be determined.

clever, thoughtful, socially awkward, dedicated, sympathetic.

he's a bookworm who often gets lost inside his own mind.

he's easily bored with things that he finds uninteresting .

kind of inspired by milo thatch from disney's atlantis.

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[pericky; a look into ricky's head during their meeting.]

---

"I'm glad you came, I wasn't sure you would." The wine pours, the sound of it drowning out the missing word in that sentence: back.

Of course, is the response, and the part of Ricky that's spent twenty years tearing itself apart to understand why vibrates with relief. It doesn't matter anymore. Of course, of course, he thinks giddily along with the words. He never needed to wonder why Pericles wasn't coming back in the first place; he was always going to.

I'm happy you invited me, and of course he thinks again. A lifetime of pretending he wasn't always going to either falls away. However harsh and lonely the world has been, all's right with it again; and the shy voice of the boy inside him that he's tried so hard to kill says, so quietly, I missed you.

[mcmansionhell]

we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven

Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.

The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.

It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.

And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.

Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.

A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.

Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.

At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.

And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

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[talkorsomething]

genuinely tried to Be Asleep for like two hours this time and just couldn't. I think i'm cursed [unwell]

[foone]

why are printers so hated? it's simple:

computers are good at computering. they are not good at the real world.

the biggest problems in computers, the ones that have had to change the most over the time they've existed, are the parts that deal with the real world. The keyboard, the mouse, the screen. every computer needs these, but they involve interacting with the real world. that's a problem. that's why they get replaced so much.

now, printers: printers have some of the most complex real-world interaction. they need to deposit ink on paper in 2 dimensions, and that results in at least three ways it can go on right from the start. (this is why 3D printers are just 2D printers that can go wrong in another whole dimension)

scanners fall into many of the same problems printers have, but fewer people have scanners, and they're not as cost-optimized. But they are nearly as annoying.

This is also why you can make a printer better by cutting down on the number of moving elements: laser printers are better than inkjets, because they only need to move in one dimension, and their ink is a powder, not a liquid. and the best-behaved printers of all are thermal printers: no ink and the head doesn't move. That's why every receipt printer is a thermal printer, because they need that shit to work all the time so they can sell shit. And thermal is the most reliable way to do that.

But yeah, cost-optimization is also a big part of why printers are such finicky unreliable bastards: you don't want to pay much for them. Who is excited for all the printing they're gonna be doing? basically nobody. But people get forced to have a printer because they gotta print something, for school or work or the government or whatever. So they want the cheapest thing that'll work. They're not shopping on features and functionality and design, they want something that costs barely anything, and can fucking PRINT. anything else is an optional bonus.

And here's the thing: there's a fundamental limit of how much you can optimize an inkjet printer, and we got near to it in like the late 90s. Every printer since then has just been a tad smaller, a tad faster, and added some gimmicks like printing from WIFI or bluetooth instead of needing to plug in a cable.

And that's the worst place to be in, for a computer component. The "I don't care how fancy it is, just give me one that works" zone. This is why you can buy a keyboard for 20$ and a mouse for 10$ and they both work plenty fine for 90% of users. They're objectively shit compared to the ones in the 60-150$ range, but do they work? yep. So that's what people get.

Printers fell into that zone long, long ago, when people stopped getting excited about "desktop publishing". So with printers shoved into the "make them as cheap as possible" zone, they have gotten exponentially shittier. Can you cut costs by 5$ a printer by making them jam more often? good. make them only last a couple years to save a buck or two per unit? absolutely. Can you make the printer cost 10$ less and make that back on the proprietary ink cartridges? oh, they've been doing that since Billy Clinton was in office.

It's the same place floppy disks were in in about 2000. CD-burners were not yet cheap enough, USB flash drives didn't exist yet (but were coming), modems weren't fast enough yet to copy stuff over the internet, superfloppies hadn't taken over like some hoped, and memory cards were too expensive and not everyone had a drive for them. So we still needed floppy disks, but at the same time this was a technology that hadn't changed in nearly 20 years. So people were tired of paying out the nose for them... the only solution? cut corners. I have floppy disks from 1984 that read perfectly, but a shrinkwrapped box of disks from 1999 will have over half the disks failed. They cut corners on the material quality, the QA process, the cleaning cloth inside the disk, everything they could. And the disks were shit as a result.

So, printers are in that particular note of the death-spiral where they've reached the point of "no one likes or cares about this technology, but it's still required so it's gone to shit". That's why they are so annoying, so unreliable, so fucking crap.

So, here's the good news:

You can still buy a better printer, and it will work far better. Laser printers still exist, and LED printers work the same way but even cheaper. They're still more expensive than inkjets (especially if you need color), but if you have to print stuff, they're a godsend. Way more reliable.

This is not a stable equilibrium. Printers cannot limp along in this terrible state forever. You know why I brought up floppy disk there? (besides the fact I'm a giant floppy disk nerd) because floppy disks GOT REPLACED. Have you used one this decade? CD-Rs and USB drives and internet sharing came along and ate the lunch of floppy disks, so much so that it's been over a decade since any more have been made. The same will happen to (inkjet) printers, eventually. This kind of clearly-broken situation cannot hold. It'll push people to go paperless, for companies to build cheaper alternatives to take over from the inkjets, or someone will come up with a new, more reliable printer based on some new technology that's now cheap enough to use in printers. Yeah, it sucks right now, but it can't last.

So, in conclusion: Printers suck, but this is both an innate problem caused by them having to deal with so much fucking Real World, and a local minimum of reliability that we're currently stuck in. Eventually we'll get out of this valley on the graph and printers will bother people a lot less.

Random fun facts about printing of the past and their local minimums:

in the hot metal type era, not only would the whole printing process expose you to lead, the most common method of printing text was the linotype, which could go wrong in a very fun way: if the next for a line wasn't properly justified (filling out the whole row), it could "squirt", and lead would escape through gaps in the type matrix. This would result in molten lead squirting out of the machine, possibly onto the operator. Anecdotally, linotype operators would sometimes recognize each other on the street because of the telltale spots on their forearms where they had white splotches where no hair grew, because they got bad lead burns. This type of printing remained in use until the 80s.

Another fun type of now-retired printers are drum printers, a type of line printer. These work something like a typewriter or dot-matrix printer, except the elements extend across the entire width of the paper. So instead of printing a character at time by smacking it into the paper, the whole line got smacked nearly at once. The problem is that if the paper jammed and the printer continued to try to print, that line of the paper would be repeatedly struck at high speed, creating a lot of heat. This worry created the now-infamous Linux error: "lp0 on fire". This was displayed when the error signals from a parallel printer didn't make sense... and it was a real worry. A high speed printer could definitely set the paper on fire, though this was rare.

So... one thing to be grateful about current shitty inkjet printers: they are very unlikely to burn anything, especially you.

(because before they could do that they'd have to work, at least a little, first, and that's very unlikely)

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 

No laugh but you blaze ahead. 

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

[prettyboykatsuki]

— ❈ YOU'RE SO PRETTY, BABY.

▸ prompt ; companions and their responses to being called pretty boy / pretty girl.

▸ a/n ; bit of a generic post im sorry forreal. while i was originally just going to write this for astarion i had ideas for. all the other companions.

most of the characters have a reader w a specific class or background, all varied! also spoilers for gale, shadowheart, karlach, and lae'zel.

reader / tav is always gender neutral!

▸ wc ; about 4.5k, about 700+ words per companion.

ft. astarion, wyll, gale, shadowheart, karlach, lae'zel

no minthara or halsin bc i could not bring myself to write it. but maybe later if enough people ask lol.

❈ ASTARION ;

Astarion tries his very best to find your affection for him trite, even when he knows it doesn't feel that way. It's an instinct for him, one you'll simply have to make peace with you if you're really planning on tailing him to the end of the world.

Truth be told though, he likes your generally affectionate nature. He hasn't reached a point he can admit this so openly, but the comfortable and easy way you reach for him is nice. He likes how your hands seem to stretch for him, the way you cling to his spine when you sleep in his tent and the likes.

And while he is not stranger to hypocrisy, he thinks it'd be amiss to try and bar you from calling him any pet names when he calls you so many. He's got quite a few handy. Darling is a favorite, followed by dear, and sometimes my love when he can muster up the courage to mean it instead of saying it like he's trying to perform.

You like to call Astarion by his name though, most often. He isn't exactly sure why you're so fond of it, and truthfully he's done little to consider his own name. You say it wonderfully though, tasteful and loving and soft.

Sometimes you gasp it in offense or horror or shock, other times in pleasure. Sometimes you whimper it in your sleep, groping around until your hands fist in the material of his shirt and you drag him back to you.

In any case, he's used to hearing his name. So hearing you utter the words pretty boy to him, he can't help but be a little shocked.

You're a little tipsy. A hard, arduous journey of fighting githyanki soldiers has taken a terrible toll on your normal inhibitions. You're quite flushed while you're drunk, and all the same sitting in his lap like you've not a care in the world.

Astarion doesn't mind holding you. In fact, he's thinking of all the terribly teasing things he can say to you come morning. So far, you've done nothing but mumble. It's a sudden movement, your hands clasped around his face.

"Feeling forward are we darling?" He says, like second nature. It's so reactionary it's banal, though he does have some enthusiasm since the flirtation is directed at you. Instead of your usual giggling, you stare at him with your lips parted.

"I suppose I am pretty boy," You reply, a completely foreign confidence in your voice that stops him dead in his tracks. Underneath the thick layer of flirtation is sincerity so unmistakable it almost proves to be too much "Could I ask you to keep me company?"

Astarion is, eternally grateful about the fact you don't get much more than that out of you. He spends the entire night thinking about it. You're certainly not the first to call him pretty, and that particular phrasing has been thrown to him more than once.

Yet it rings a little differently. The way you said it so tenderly, your hands stroking the nape of his neck and cupping his face. Well, it's not nothing. He can't decide if he hates it or not until the next morning comes.

Your eyes flutter open as light pours through the open part of his tent. You reach over to him with a deep sigh, engaging in some quiet morning affection when you repeat yesterdays sentiment.

"Good morning, my very pretty boy," You say - and this time Astarion is sure whatever he is feeling he has not ever felt previously "Sorry for the antics last night."

"So your memory hasn't failed you. Good to know." Astarion says back. You laugh lightly. "Your charming little pet name worried me quite a bit."

"Nothing to worry about my love." You say, warm and nuzzling into his neck likely to cool yourself from over-heating "I really do find you very pretty."

He can't help the feeling that floods his sense. He likes it even though he feels a little clingy, but perhaps there's no need to admit that.

"Oh, really, darling? How sweet you are. Tell me again, then. Just for kicks this time."

❈ WYLL ;

it's a matter of getting used to it for Wyll.

For the first month of your adventuring together, pretty boy, had been a somewhat condescending substitute for his name. Among other ones, like daddy's boy and prince. None of the pet names held any real affection.

You liked getting under his skin, after all.

You didn't get on at first, not for a long while. You're a rogue, a ratty street urchin turned mercenary who'd spent your youth climbing through the soil and mud of the Lower City's underbelly. Your words verbatim, not his. At first, your resentment for him caught him off guard, especially because Wyll prefers to keep the peace and get along with everyone. But, he had a difficult time understanding you, even with his people skills

Eventually it clicked that your resentment was less towards him, and more towards what he represents. You're a Baldurian, but one abandoned by the city and it's people. What else could the Ravengards represent if not the future you never had a chance to look towards.

It was easier after that. And Wyll had promised to himself to observe you closer. In that, he found to like you a great deal.

He's fond of pet names in general, but more fond of you lately. At the beginning of your adventure, it was a little difficult to get accustomed to your... roughness. You lack delicacy, but you're not exactly silver tongued.

Yet, you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be. Contrarily, while you've traveled together, Wyll bore witness to only gentleness. Nothing more. The words you spoke about only doing things for coin had been clearly disproved by your countless acts of charity. Especially gentle and kind to children, and especially unforgiving to the rich and unhelpful.

Once he got used to it, there was something kind of...sweet about it. To see you say one thing and do another had it's own novelty that Wyll grew fond of you.

It was the night of tiefling party that roused his feelings. That night, he'd watched you play with the tiefling children all night, teaching them tricks of the trade.

And you'd started falling for him, too, judging by the way your usual snark was nowhere to be found.

Especially vivid is the change in your tone when you call him the same way you did before.

"We'll take a short rest for you, pretty boy." Your voice murmurs, looking carefully over his wounds while place down your own weapons "Get your spells back. Organize our things in the mean time."

He gives you look, examining your own worry before his smile stretches into one of fondness. It doesn't bother him at all, not anymore. No, lately - it sounds rather fond, and each time Wyll hears it, it does something for ego.

"No need for the concern, though I am appreciative," He says, not bothering to mask the smug quality in his voice at your change. He delights in it a little, admittedly . "I'll be alright soon enough."

You don't seem to notice, too busy wiping your blade of fresh blood, metal shiny as moonlight. "And there's no need for your heroism, Blade of Frontiers. Have some discernment about time and place."

You look up at him with your brows furrowed, and Wyll can barely help himself. "Are you worried I'll lose what's left in my appearances? I'm just telling you there's no need to trouble yourself over it."

It takes you a while to register to his words, but when it finally does - your eyes blow wide. The look of embarrassment on your face is well worth it.

"I thought you hated when I called you that." You say coolly.

"It's not so bad," He says back tenderly, staring at you "At least not anymore."

You pout a little. Wyll fights some unspoken urge to kiss you. A little longer.

"I prefer when you're acting oblivious,"

"Sorry to disappoint."

He lets his head lay on the wall behind him - reaching a hand for yours instead, trying to rest up as promised. He sees you smiling from the corner of his eye and affirms it to himself. You squeeze, soft, but otherwise say nothing about it.

Yes, lately, nothing you say could get under his skin. Even when you so obviously try.

❈ GALE ;

Gale is always the poet, never the muse.

He thought highly of his relationship with Mystra, and in many ways still does. He loved her. This much is true. He can't say for any certainty if she had loved him just as much, or at all. He wasn't the first mortal, and would hardly be the last.

But he loved her, enough to write about her and wax poetic about all that he'd lost.

When Gale examines any of his past relationship, he realizes this is some kind of pattern. Gale is good at being loving, but he does not know for certain if any of them loved him back. Or if he was loved in the way he loves - if it was anything near close. Gale had thought, at one point, it was just matter of destiny. Gale is after all, a man who bleeds with all he has.

He can't blame anyone for loving him less than when he is categorically too much. He thought that way for a long time, destined himself to never find love again or beg for Mystra's forgiveness for some new found purpose.

When you came into his life, he hadn't been sure what would come of your relationship. Certainly a brain parasite would make camp a difficult place for romance, but the two of you managed against all odds. Among all the things that Gale finds astonishing about your relationship - it's your affection for him that catches him the most off-guard.

It's a little sad, he can admit. But it's true. When you speak to Gale, your voice is always soft. It's never demanding. Before, always, there had been some kind of expectation. Gale had to be a certain way, to pour himself into someone else for the sake of it being returned.He loved. Surely he loved.

But now, lately, you love him back. Overwhelmingly. The easiness of your love makes him feel a little... spoiled. Which is embarrassing, at the stage of life he's in. He finds the whole thing tips him over the edge. The heat creeping up his neck every time he remembers. Your hand brushing against the back of his neck, cupping his face so gently.

Gale, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fond of your various pet names. All of them sound good. Make him feel important and desired. You like to call him a bookworm, sometimes you call him baby (which he really likes much more than he is ever willing to admit), and other times you settle on saying my love.

Pretty boy is new. Pretty boy is different, and makes heat crawl up the back of Gale's neck like a smitten school boy.

It has a special effect on Gale.

In between classes, spoken with your hands cupping his face as he leans on his desk. The sunlight is pouring through the large paneled windows, casting a warmth on your expression. Gale is sat on his desk, making you eye-level.

"I'm glad you've come to see me," Gale says to you first, breaking a period of comfortable silence. You're a busy person, given all the heroics. Gale finds it troublesome, despite the fact you've moved with him to Waterdeep. Your reputation precedes you "It's been ages,"

"Of course I'd come to see you, pretty boy," You hum, thumb brushing under his cheek - carefully drawing a line "You're very healing to look at."

The effect is rather immediate. As soon as the words leave your lips, spoken to him so lovingly - he unlocks a part of himself he always seems to forget about. Forgets himself in a fundamental way, the flurry of heat and euphoric sensation of adoration washing over him like water.

He gives you a look, and you laugh - pressing your thumb to his lower lip as you lean in for a kiss. "Stop pouting, will you?"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," He insists, kissing you despite him. You laugh into, warm and bubbly. For a minute, he remembers all he might've lost had he done what Mystra told him.

He's glad he's alive. To feel you.

"You very much are," You reply back, once you've managed to pull away from each other "Don't be so surprised. You've always been very pretty to me."

He blushes again, deeper, and closes his eyes.

❈ SHADOWHEART ;

You don't often communicate your feelings to Shadowheart through words.

You're something of a stoic. Of the few people in Shadowheart's past who remain by her side, many of them communicate about how surprised they are about your partnership. Shadowheart is known to be a little snarky, witty. She used to be very prickly, at the start of your adventure together - so everyone questions how you were able to win her heart.

Truthfully, Shadowheart didn't know what to make of your personality at first. There's a silence to you. Maybe she should expect this of paladin so loyal. A Paladin of Torm, the unswerving enemy of injustice and corruption. You've always been a devout person, putting action and justice over everything. She hated it at first, a natural response for a Sharran, she figures.

Once she'd left it all behind, she could no longer use it as an excuse.

Truth be told, Shadowheart had always liked that aspect of you. Your devotion spoke to something greater than your oath or even your god. You had simply believed in the world, and inadvertently in her. You saved her from herself, her parents from her fate, and then some.

Your devotion to her as a lover isn't something so different. She often thinks you would swear yourself to her if you could. For Shadowheart, your affection is akin to worship. Every morning, the animals are tended and the flower bed is damp. You wake her mother up without a start, remind her of where she is without making her feel ashamed. You're good to her father, talk to him of worldly politics at the dinner table.

She has no complaints to make about you. Your love for her is tangible, something she can reach out and touch with her fingers.

She's unused to hearing your affections, though. Unused to hearing the words.

You lay together in the darkness. You're alone tonight, the entire cabin empty. Her mother and father have gone together on an outing together, after you accompanied them into the city. You've finally returned, put the horses up in the stable, and have to come to her side.

Shadowheart likes to lay in your arms. She lets herself curl into your weight, inhales the scent of your skin - earthy and rich as you let your arm fold around her waist. She lays ontop of you today, her whole body on yours like a blanket.

She looks up at you, her her tied loosely. She can practically feel how glowy her own expression is as she examines you - sees her reflection in your irises.

You let your hand lay over her back, reaching up underneath her nightwear to lay touch her skin. She gives you a look - her smile small, sincere. Your own expression is tired from travel, but fond. You insisted on taking her parents instead of letting them go alone.

She loves you more than she cares to admit.

"You're staring." She comments blithely "See something you like?"

Normally you'd flush a little at this, silent as you kiss her forehead or cheek. This time though, you use your fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face and nod.

"Yes, pretty girl," You hum, nonchalantly. Sagely. "I really do,"

She's so caught off guard, she can't help but gape. She lifts herself slightly to stare at you in shock.

"I've never heard you talk like that. Not once while we've been together. I mean.. you've called me beautiful but," Shadowheart stumbles, a fluttery feeling in her stomach she'd rather ignore "But it's never like that,"

"I think it more often that I say it,"

"And you always think to call me that?"

"Like I said, often," You look over he carefully, before your lips pull into an easy smile "You're pretty to the point I want to tell you all the time,"

Shadowheart is scarcely embarrassed by anything. She's a practiced woman at this point in her life. It's almost juvenile the way the words effect her. It's you saying it that makes all the difference. The way you've said it that makes her squirm. She lets out a little puff of air, silent as you laugh.

"Pretty girl," You repeat, warm and gentle and laced with exhaustion "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

Shadowheart tucks her face into your neck, voice as soft a murmur as the sound of her own heart rings in her ears.

"Don't make a habit of talking like that," She huffs "I already know, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to hear."

You smile brightly. "I'm glad,"

❈ KARLACH ;

Karlach adores you, utterly and completely.

She's a little caught off-guard by it. Just when she'd convinced herself she couldn't love you more, you surprise her all over again. She'd probably harbored some sort of affection for you from the start of your adventure together, when you'd gone to bat for her and make sure Wyll didn't take her head as a trophy.

Since then, though - on your journey together, she'd taken careful notice of you. And gods, she likes you. You're very different she must admit. Where Karlach is strong and fiery, you're cool and calculated. She figured that's just what magic users are like, but Gale is pretty keen on correcting this assumption. You're a sorcerer, specifically, means the whole magic thing is in your composition and not your study.

Which explained why your head isn't the books like their local wizard. She does find you to be rather charming. You're good at talking your way in and out of almost everything, and you can outwit even the cleverest people on camp. You'd think it'd make you... annoying. Or cruel. And sure, you're a little calculating - but mostly, you're sweet.

Karlach's really never met anyone like you before. Her companionship is a little limited because before the Blood Wars, she was a rag-tag kid in the street of the city. But you grew up in a noble house, learned to charm and finesse your way through everything. You know how to read situations before they've even happened.

And you always explain them to her afterwards.

You make Karlach nervous, strangely. Which is wild! When it comes to socializing, she can get along with almost anyone. You though, you always see right through her. You know when she's using her own personality as a shield, and you always know just when to intervene. Or when to say nothing, and just let her sit with you.

The day she blew up at you, after defeating Gortash - you'd handled it better than she could've hoped. You were comforting, and kind, and let her feel it out without making her feel bad. With you, she felt hopeful despite knowing that the end was probably going to come for her eventually.

With you, she thinks she could endure even the end of the world.

You're in the city now, no longer sleeping in the woods. When everyone else has gone to bed, Karlach finds you in the study, a room attached to the main living quarters.

She knocks before entering. Your voice is soft as you tell her to come in. Dressed in your comfy night clothes, your hair damp from washing up. You're bent over the desk with a furrow in your brow that Karlach finds sweet.

"Hey, baby," She asks, her heart thumping soft "Hope I'm not disturbin' your research."

"Of course not," You reply back, encouraging her towards you "I'm actually due a break."

Wordlessly, you sit up from your chair, pointing for Karlach to sit. She follows through, a little confused as to what you're doing before you plop yourself back into her lap. She throws her head back in laughter.

"Don't know what I was expecting there," She giggles, arm curling around your waist "All cozy?"

"Mm," You melt yourself into her embrace, turning to look at her. Your eyes are soft, free hand cupping her face "I'm cozy. What's keeping you up, pretty girl?"

The words catch her off guard completely, her engine flaring from the heat.

"Shit, what's with that?" She glances down at you, smiling like the cheeky fucker you are "I can't get any redder, you know? It's making my engine burn."

"You like it, no?" Your voice is smooth, smug in a way that gets her hot "My pretty girl,"

Karlach stares at you as you say it. Traces the curve of your lips, the slight arch of your brow. Asses the weight and warmth of you as you lay your legs over her lap and feels her body start to react. She didn't think it was possible to feel so complete by someone, even among the impending doom at the end of the world.

With you it fades away to nothing. Permission to want freely, she had no idea she had wanted that so bad. She had no idea she could want more when you'd already given her so much.

It's nice to be greedy. A little greed is fine, after everything.

"If you keep talking to me like that, we're going to do a lot more than just sitting, you know?" She tells you seriously.

You smile and laugh but don't deny her "Only if you say please,"

❈ LAE'ZEL ;

The Githyanki do not fall in love.

It's a fact of the culture, a mark of their honor. Love is for the soft, tender fleshed species of the material planes. It does not suit warriors, not the ruthless githyanki who spend their entire lives training the sword and learning magic. Love had always been a flimsy concept to Lae'zel. To the point she'd never thought about it or cared too. For the gith, there is only pleasure and carnal desire. The foolishness of longing can only be harbored in the lesser existence of the outer-world. The world outside of her creche.

For a long time, this was true for Lae'zel. She had never intended her time in the material plane to weaken her in the ways in which it did. Or that the experience of a ghaik parasite trapped behind her eyes would will her into cooperation with lesser beings. In many ways egregious, unfathomable. In trying to rid herself of one parasite, she'd found herself another one - more intolerable and more consuming than the first.

You. What a foreign and remarkable bond. From the beginning she had told you the truth, that the gith do not love and she would not be able to love you. Though she could admit passion, admit admiration for your courage, admit possession - she could not admit love. She knew nothing of it.

Over the course of your journey, you'd managed to prove her wrong. Slowly stripped bare of the identity she'd made her life around, you stripped Lae'zel down to her soul. Her most honored solider, and most formidable ally. When the time came, you'd told her to do what she must, to liberate her people. That you'd be there when she returned.

That you'd wait for her.

Months apart with few visits in between meant that each time Lae'zel sees you must make every minute count. Enjoying your body and indulging in carnal pleasures is only so much of that. What Lae'zel looks forward too most, she must admit, is the gentleness of your touch whenever she comes back to Fae'run.

Soft warm whispers among the indulgent plush of bed sheets and candles. A room that smells like lavender and oak, prayer books and scripture littered on the desk. A cleric of Bahamut, and a soul strong as steel.

But this, her head resting in your lap as you stroke her hair so carefully, is what she's missed most of all. No doubt she's going soft.

"Chk. You are smitten by the text in front of you as if you have forgotten of my return,"

You look down at Lae-zel with a laugh, carefully placing said book down on the bedside table. The voice you speak with her is different from her own. Tender fleshed even in your speech, you let her curl herself into you.

A vulnerable position, open to whatever may come.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," You hum. The words practically startle her "I don't mean to neglect you. It was an interesting passage."

"Pretty...It is true among the githyanki, I am among the finest of their ranks," She replies, turning herself towards you - getting comfortable "Yet still, something stirs."

"Are you embarrassed?" You reply, delighted as her frown deepens. Before she has a chance to argue with you, you lean down to press your lips against hers briefly "How sweet of you."

"I do not get embarrassed," She insists, scowling as you begin to giggle at her "It was merely unexpected."

"You're beautiful to me, Lae'zel." You hum, stroking her cheek gently as she continues to lay herself across. Your eyes are tender and lidded. That look of obsession she recalled from the months prior returned in full, and no longer hidden. Unlike your other mortal companions, or the pale elf - there is nothing hidden in your words. No agenda "More beautiful than anyone else. At least to me. Getting to look at you so closely is a gift."

She softens, her hand gripping yours resting on her chest

"When it is over," She says seriously, a solemness to her voice "I will return to you. This I swear. Without you, the liberation of my people would be no less then a dream,"

You return her smile in kind.

"My pretty, wonderful girl," You hum. She loves you. She thinks she understands it now "I know you'll return to me, nailo. You always keep your promises."

"Yes," She says, an unfamiliar emotion overwhelming her "I will not forsake all we have promised."

The affection in your voice shakes Lae'zel to her core. Initial abrasion fades only into warmth. It's not so bad to hear, even if it is tender fleshed.

▸ a/n ; the word reader uses for lae'zel is elvish for swift winds!! reader is meant to be sort of a book worm so you do not need to picture them as a elf and more of a linguist.

this is the most substantial thing i've written in the last few weeks so commentary is very appreciated. i'd be willing to do a minthara and halsin addition to this eventually if anyone is interested!!

anyways, baldurs gate companions i love u. reblogs so appreciated !

[alexrosa13]

Thank You

Caleb x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mc!reader, Caleb and reader are teens (no exact age specified), reader has a first period

Note: I'm on my period and in a need of comfort, thank you people from discord for making me come up with that idea <3

navigation →

~★~

Caleb takes care of you when your first period hits you completely unprepared.

"Caleb!" your scream echoed through the whole house, the boy previously gaming shot up from his seat on the couch, running to the bathroom you were in and knocking on the door.

"Pipsqueak? What's wrong? Something happened?" his hurried and worried tone actually calmed you down. He heard your quiet sobs from behind the door.

"Is Gran back yet?" your quiet voice made his worry even more.

"No, she will probably be out until the evening." his answer made you let out a louder sob "Pipsqueak can I come in?" he waited for an answer with his hand on the door handle.

The sobs stopped, he could tell you were hesitating.

"Come in." he almost didn't catch it, but the moment it reached his ears he instantly pulled the handle, covering his eyes with one hand in case you weren't fully clothed.

"What's wrong?" he noticed the toilet seat empty, scanning the room for your presence from underneath his hand, most of his vision still covered.

"You can look." with some hesitation he pulled his hand down, he noticed you sitting fully dressed in the bathtub, your face red and wet from crying. He was at the side of the tub in an instant, kneeling on the other side of it, with his hands grabbing it's edge.

"What happened? Why are you crying?" he was super confused and worried.

You didn't answer for a moment before your head went down staring at your legs. Following your gaze he peaked at your lower body, noticing the red color under you.

His eyes widen, the panic taking an even worse turn.

"What happened? Are you bleeding?" you closed your tights together, hiding the scene under your legs, his eyes went up to your face.

"I think I... Just started my period..." you answered still in a shaky voice. This calmed him down a little, at least you weren't dying, but still he was still panicking.

"Your period? Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool. So... What are we doing with this now?" his hurried concerned voice was a little more high than his normal tone, making you smile for a moment.

"I... Never had one before." your eyes got glassy, new tears forming "And I don't have anything... For it..." it took him a moment to catch the meaning of your statement. You needed products for your period.

"You need..." he exhaled "Okay, alright, yeah. I can... I can go and get them, yeah. I... I'll get them for you." he stood up "I'll be right back, wait." he ran from the bathroom, you didn't even have time to call out to him.

You brought your legs to your torso and waited, tears still lingering in your eyes. In about a minute or two you heard loud footsteps before Caleb showed himself once more in the bathroom door, wearing his jacket.

"I'll run to the store 5 minutes from us, you'll be okay here?" he was nervous, just like you, that much was obvious. You nodded your head to which an awkward smile found itself on his lips. He turned around, about to leave for his 'mission', when you called his name.

"Do you need something else pipsqueak?" you reached your hand towards him, he came closer to you at the gesture, and you pulled him by the material of his jacket, squishing your face into his body, with your hands embracing his waist.

He froze for a moment before his own arms came to hug you tight.

"Thank you." your whisper reached him, his ears burning bright pink by now.

"Don't mention it." you let go of him, wiping away the tears from your cheeks "I'll be right back." and with that he left.

~★~

Walking into the store he thought about where to find the products you need. Roaming between the alleys before reaching the one with bathroom necessities. Scanning the shelf he finally noticed what he was looking for, he thought for a moment which one should he take before grabbing the darker one.

He made his way towards the register, silently praying that the cashier won't be judging him. He stopped before the shelves with snacks, reaching into his pocket he started counting the money he had with him, it was all he had left from this week's pocked money from Gran. Doing quick math in his head he reached out for your favorite snack, girls need snacks on their periods right?

Finally making his way towards the register he noticed that the lady working today was the nice cashier that always chatted with Gran. Before him was another older woman, packing her products. He clutched the stuff in his hand, trying to act natural and unbothered.

The lady was finishing up her packing when the cashier gestured for him to hand her the items in his hands. He did exactly that, noticing her face changing for a moment in slight shock and approval. She didn't comment on the stuff he was buying, well she didn't, but the woman next to him did.

"How nice of you to buy this for your girlfriend, such a gentleman at such a young age." she smiled with approval, he only nodded his head and let out a quiet 'thank you miss' before handing the cashier the money.

"Yes, I wish more men were like this." the woman behind the register chuckled, giving him his change. He hid the products in his pocket before saying polite goodbyes and leaving the story in a hurry. He ran back home as fast as he could, worried about your state.

~★~

You heard the front door opening and closing. Rushed footsteps coming your way, you raised your head that was resting previously on your knees, waiting for your savior.

You saw the bathroom doors moving before Caleb came into your line of vision. He rushed towards you, leaving the pack of pads on the sink counter.

"Do you need me to bring you some clothes?" he was weirdly calm compared to earlier.

"Yes, please." he put his hand on your head, messing with your hair before turning to go and get the things you need. You scoffed but smiled while getting the hair off of your face.

A moment later he came back with the pile of clothes in his hand, leaving it for you next to the pads.

"I'll go and make something to eat, wash up first." he grabbed the door handle, sending you one last look before closing the door after him.

Finally you felt like you were able to breathe, the tension and stress leaving your body together with the bloody clothes that you took off.

Yeah, a quick shower is a must.

~★~

You come into the kitchen in fresh clothes, feeling much better. Caleb gave you his shirt to change into, since you always spoke about how his shirts are the most comfy things to wear (while using one as pajamas), and some sweatpants.

His head turned towards you, taking a good look at your silhouette, not bloody anymore.

"Nothing hurts?" he heard how women talk about how painful their periods are, he actually caught himself searching all of the possible ways to help a girl on her period, not like he was planning to use this knowledge on anyone...

"All good so far." you came closer to him, seating yourself on the counter top like you always did when he was cooking.

"Good. You got me panicking there, when I heard you screaming." he chuckled, you send him a playful glare, hitting his shoulder.

You noticed something next to you. Your favorite snack. You were out of it, and you didn't have money left to buy those so...

"Caleb..." you nudged him with your finger, once he looked your way you pointed at the snack.

"It's for you." he said like it's no big deal, his attention returning to whatever dish he was making. You felt warmth in your chest. Why did your heart start beating faster?

Without any comment you reached for the snack, soon enough taking the first bite. Caleb, still focused on his task, suddenly felt something pressing to his lips.

He looked at you in confusion, you only shrugged, your hand with the snack still next to his mouth, clearly waiting for him to take a bite. He did just that, and only then you finally lowered your hand, now you were acting like it was not a big deal.

Your food was holy to you, never sharing it with him (totally not because he was always stealing it himself and you were mad at him), what changed?

"Thank you." you said quietly, your gaze dropped to your legs.

"You have nothing to thank me for." he smiled at you.

"Actually, I have a lot to thank you for." your tone still too calm, you two were always playful, 'annoying' each other all the time, you jumped down from the counter, he didn't think much of it until your lips touched his cheek for a second. He stood there, dumbfounded, you pulled away whispering a quiet 'thank you' once more, before heading for something to the other room.

He stared at the food before him, feeling the warmth covering his ears. Well, that's... Unusual.

[fanaticsnail]

I Don't Want To Hurt You

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here

Word count: 3,900+

Synopsis: You have been married to Charlotte Katakuri for five years, and not once has he engaged with you intimately. You had not even seen his face without the shroud of fur atop it. In desperation for grandchildren from the minister of flour, his mother drugs him with a powerful aphrodesiac. The only cure is to give in to his desires and finally claim you as his spouse.

Warnings: Katakuri x f!reader, husband x wife, some gendered terms used, dub con, pollen trope, forced to engage in intimacy, mutual pining, interfering mother in law, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, Katakuri loves you, he doesn't want to hurt you, size difference, swearing, mentions of pregnancy.

Notes: Getting this out of my head and added him to the pollen list. He needed it, I think.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sunnyferr

The desperation and neediness in his rough huffs and pants of breath were too much for him to bear. His body gave in, finally feeling the incessant need to release his steely cock from the confines of his leather pants the moment he stepped into the safety of his private room. Unbuckling his belt, his pants pooled at his ankles and his right hand immediately flew to his cock. 

He pulled his furred covering further up his face to muffle the wanton moans and feral growls from escaping his lips and painting the atmosphere with his desires. Gripping his cock in a vice-like fist, he began to piston his hand and brace his back against the wall behind him. The need for relief in release overcame him, and he chased his high harder and faster in his palm. 

Charlotte Katakuri knew his mother wanted grandchildren from him. She married him off to the first willing bride the moment they came of age. He had been with you for almost five years now, and he found you to be the most beautiful creature he had ever set his eyes on. A perfect match for him, and truly the best partner he could ever find in another. 

Although he was attracted to you physically, he never once allowed his body to enter yours due to the incredibly large size difference between you. As he thought of you romantically and dotingly, he never once in all that time thought you ever felt the same way for him. 

The union between the two of you remained unconsummated, much to the chagrin of his interfering mother. She consistently ordered him to get you pregnant, to make her more hulking crewmembers and swell her family to a larger number. But he never did. He outright refused. 

He couldn’t do that to you.

You were intelligent, charismatic, kind, and innocent compared to him. He had to claw tooth and nail for the respect he now had, his bestial face was the cause of fear for so many. He was yet to display his lips and teeth to you in the assumption you may feel similar to the others he had allowed to view him prior. He was a beast, and he refused to permit you to see him as such.

Katakuri clapped his hand over the shroud and jammed the material into his lips as a makeshift gag to prevent the muffled moans from expelling themselves further. His hips began to rut into his palm as he stood with his back against the locked door. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, feeling his approach towards ecstasy slowly slipping from his sight the moment he tasted it on the tip of his tongue. 

He whined, desperately chasing it harder and faster in bucking his hips into his fist. “No, no, no, no,” his muffled whisper desperately panted. His breathing hitched, his brows furrowing as his pearlescent precum was the only spill he felt in a twitch against his fingers. 

“Why-...?” He stuttered, his eyes reopening and searching for a rhyme or reason he couldn't spill his seed into his hand like the other times he felt these urges come over him. “Why can't I-...?” Eyes trailing down to his fur scarf and noticing a soft sheen of the finest dust he had ever seen coating the strands of hair. 

He roared in rage, immediately thrusting the material away from his lips across the room with a great force. He gnashed his teeth, drool beginning to coat his lips with the fury he felt at this cruel invasion of his privacy. 

Charlotte Linlin had finally done it. She had crossed that boundary to force him to disrespect and ravage his spouse. This was the only cure for this disgusting invasion of his senses, now encumbered by dust from the pollen aphrodisiac. His need to respect you, and ensure you had no reason to fear him, was far greater than these urges he felt now, and he was certain he could be rid of it without aid. 

His mother had done something similar to her lovers in the past, drugging them so they would be desperate to perform the task of making Katakuri an army of full blooded and half siblings. He never thought she would turn this on her own son, an oversight he was making up for now.

He needed to be rid of it without assistance. He didn't want to hurt you, frighten you, or cause you harm with his larger body tearing apart your smaller one. His desperation came out in the form of a suppressed, needy roar as he felt his cock throb in his hand. 

“Not like this,” he whispered, bracing himself against the door by clawing the panels. He stumbled towards the ensuite bathroom, shaking hand continuing to brace himself against each surface as he continued to thrust his fist firmly down his veiny shaft and stampede his release towards finality. 

“I can't do this to you,” he whimpered, his hand finding the copper taps and turning on the liquid to fill the bath. “I won't do this to you.” He immediately stepped into the bath, his pupils remaining fully dilated and influenced by the dust within his respiratory system and bloodstream. 

Sitting beside your sister in law, you lulled your head to the side and arched your brows up at the rows of tiles spaced out in front of you. Nine by four, and face down on the doilies margining the tea table, you rolled two dice to determine who gathers the spare tile to begin your little game. 

“I got a four,” you shrug, looking at Brûlée's dice. “Oh, you win with that five!” you smile at her, offering her the single, vacant tile to begin the mahjong game. She returned your smile, selecting a random starting point and sliding down the carved tiles. 

As your game continued, you all managed to get several numbers you needed from one to nine. The sheer number of times you played this game with Brûlée made for speed in completion. She was as fast as you, both swapping numbers and tiles as you needed it to order them. 

After you managed to complete the game for the umpteenth time today, she offered you her large hand to shake in mutual celebration of winning your games. Wrapping your fingers around her index finger and giving it a soft shake, she offered you a genuine smile and a curious gaze. 

“What's that look for, my favorite sister in law?” you asked her, your own curiosity marking your features. She sucked her lips in, darting her eyes between yours and silently assessing you before speaking. 

“I have a confession to make, my beautiful sister in law,” she muttered in her cackling cadence. You sat back in your seat and silently examined her posture in response with a curious glance. 

“I'm not a priest,” you shrug with a soft smile, “There's no need to confess anything to me.” She laughs in response, shaking her head and beginning to pack up your joint games into a hessian bag. 

She gulped back a sheepish mouthful of saliva before turning her attention back to you. Her temples were beading with soft droplets of nervous sweat, her lips chapped and injured from how hard she was biting on them, and her eyes darting between yours as she asked her question. 

“Are you in love with my brother?” she asked you with a subtle underlying question masked beneath her words. You sighed, closing your eyes as you focussed on finding the right words to respond. 

“I have been married to your brother for over five years,” you nodded with your eyes reopening, looking at the table ahead and sighing out further, “I want-...” you look up into her eyes and hold nothing but truth and honesty in your expression, “...I want nothing more than to love him. I want him to love me.” You shake your head, looking back to the floor and kicking your toes.

“Your mother has been pestering me, insistent that we make her grandchildren immediately, but,” you suck in a lengthy, shaken breath and look up at Brûlée, “We have yet to share a single touch, let alone a night together in unity. He thinks he’ll break me, I’m sure.” Brûlée offers you a soft smile, reaching forward one of her larger hands and grimacing immediately thereafter.

“Ah, that’s where my confession comes in,” she cringes, looking at where her hand descended upon your shoulder, “My mother has taken matters into her own hands to give him another push. She, uh…” Brûlée gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze before admitting to you the seriousness of the situation, “...She drugged him.”

“She what?” you ask, flinching away from your sister in law and stare at her with eyes wide in shock.

“She laced his shroud with an aphrodisiac, and a potent one at that,” she confessed with a soft nod, “As you are my favorite sister in law, I thought it was only fair to warn you of the severity of what’s waiting for you when you return to your marriage suite.” 

Your blood ran cold, mind racing with the remainder of the severity in circumstances awaiting you beyond the door. Still hearing the echo in Brûlée’s voice, you reached for the doorknob with a shaky hand and quivering lip.

“He’s going to be unhinged, consumed with lust,” her voice rang in your mind, “He will likely attempt to ravish you as soon as he sees you, lacking any semblance of restraint or self-control.” You made a mental note to thank Brûlée later for her honesty, but your mind remained swirling with the knowledge that your husband is likely going to hurt you. 

“When you see his face,” your hand turned the doorknob, slowly creaking the door open inwards to your joint suite, “Try not to scream. He-... He’s self-conscious about his mouth.” You slowly stepped into the room, preparing yourself to be immediately met with your husband’s sizable hands and gripped tightly. 

Yet nothing happened.

Nothing but a soft hummed whimper from beyond the bathroom door was met with you as you slowly made your way in. Water splashing in rhythmic bursts and a rumble of a frantic, stifled roar was muffled between the clamped jaw of the man you had come to love. 

The bathroom door was left slightly ajar, the steam from the bath was exiting the space in a soft puff. Your curiosity was tingling at the corners of your mind and shooting down your spine. 

“The only way he can be cured is by-...” you heard Brûlée’s choked confession in your mind, your body urging you to witness what was behind the door. Offering a simple knock, a barked growl came in the form of a rumbled exhale in response. 

“Leave,” he spat, the splashing never ceasing and his pants growing more desperate, “Leave me. I-I can-... ngghmm-... I can handle it.” You refused to heed his command, pushing past the door and witnessing the majesty of your seventeen foot husband sitting in the golden spa in the bathroom.

His brow was creased, his eyes scrunched shut in concentration, his lips parted and huffing out pants of pleasure, and his fist thrusting beneath the murky water and shaking the suds from his forearm with each crude motion. A blush immediately rose to your cheeks as you continued watching him from your position in the doorway. 

As you began to move closer, his eyes opened and his feral stare snapped over to you. Jaw opening and closing, his pupils dilating to eclipse that chocolate-brown hue you adored so much, and his hips rocking to meet his arm beneath the water. 

“Please leave,” he begged, imploring you to leave the room for your own safety with wide eyes, “I can’t do this to you. I won’t.” He whimpered, his jaw protruding as he bit back his wanton desire to fill you with his girthy cock. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His jaw began to shake and quiver, pointed teeth chattering as he desperately bit at his lips to stifle his desperation. You hesitated slightly, rocking on your feet before hardening your resolve.

“...Giving in,” Brûlée’s voice echoed in your mind. Looking down at your husband in the soapy bathtub, you were overcome with admiration and love. There was nothing to fear in his lips, reflecting on Brûlée’s earlier sentiment of warning. He was perfect to you, and five years of longing finally began to catch up with you. 

Stepping closer still, he flinched away with eyes wide and somberly pleading for you to not tempt him further. He was large, and you were of average standing and stature for a person of your size. In fear of harming you, he reached his hand down onto his thigh and dug his nails into the flesh while pumping his cock. 

“You need to give in,” you offer him with a calmness to satiate the beastly form of your husband, “Give in to me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled at you, scrunching his eyes shut in a bid to ignore what his body was so desperately screaming at him to enact. Shaking your head, you pressed on in your journey over to him.

“I want you to,” You drew yourself closer still, rolling the straps of your dress over your shoulders and flinging it to the side. Your lingerie was the next to pool at your feet, leaving you bare as you began to step into the water. 

Without further warning, Charlotte Katakuri thrust himself forward and caged his head between your thighs. You shrieked in shock as he held your lower back firmly within a single, hot hand while his other busied itself against his steely shaft. He leaned back against the wall of the spa and took your body with him on his descent. 

Parting his lips and releasing his tongue from his mouth, he began lapping at your glistening core with gentle moans and whimpers escaping from his chest in a desperate pant. His tongue shot tingles up your spine with each crude lap.

The length and width of his tongue was far greater than your slit, his organ reaching all of the places that had your toes curling at once. He rocked your hips against his lengthy tongue, groaning as your pussy began to drip onto his salivating organ with your unbridled lust depicted in your slick arousal.

Your hands shot down to his plum-colored hair and gripped him as you felt the call of ecstasy approaching almost immediately from his skilled ministrations. Mewls and whimpers flinging into the air, your shock never ceases and only grows as the sparks of release fizz within your core.

“Oh-... f-fuck-... I’m gonna-...” you began, failing to find the words as Katakuri growled against your contracting pussy. The vibrations fog your mind as your body ignites in tingling ecstasy. White flashes behind your eyes as your jaw falls slack in reaction to the bliss. 

Katakuri never ceases grinding you down against his open mouth, his tongue greedily lapping at you and prolonging your orgasm to shaky overstimulation. You desperately attempt to pull his face away, but he shakes his head with a barking growl and continues on bullying you with his mouth. 

Your toes tingle, legs shaking as you use all your strength to attempt to draw his head away from your pussy to no avail. You whimper and whine, beginning to sob as he greedily laps at your pussy: gyrating your hips in a harsh rock and thighs grinding against his cheeks. He never tore his eyes away from you, the feral beast lurking beneath his skin preventing him from being the chivalrous and doting partner you once knew.

He had you in his clutches, and there was no way he was going to give up this opportunity to bring you pleasure. His carnal desires had his eyes rolling in his head as he continued to feel the rapid flutter of your walls and twitch of your overstimulated clit warning him of your secondary wave of bliss. 

“Ka-... Katakuri, s-stop,” you whined, your knees squeezed his larger head between your thighs and you attempted to wriggle away from his greedy tongue, “Katakuri, I-I’m gonna c-cum again!” The intensity of the waves you were being ushered through heightened as a gush of your arousal flooded Katakuri’s tongue and mouth. 

Another explosion of ecstasy was paved by the skilled lulling and lapping of Katakuri’s lips and tongue. The ribbed indents of his teeth rolling against your fluttering walls as you rode his face felt unlike anything you had experienced with another. He took your fluttering walls contracting around nothing as consent to enter you with it, your heat coaxing and beckoning him to finally give in to his urges.

Finally lifting you from his head, he breathily panted as he opened and closed his tingling jaw. Rolling his tongue over his teeth, he sampled the arousal of your pussy on his palate and hummed in response. Lowering you into the water, you felt the blunt tip of his larger cock brush with your slit. The slickened release of two orgasms was still not enough to ease his cock inside your smaller body. 

“Are you cer-... f-fuck-... Certain you want to do this?” he gritted his teeth in a steely clamp and hissed at you, lining his cock up with you by circling it with his fist beneath the water. “I don’t want to do this to you. Not like this.” He slowly inched you further onto his cock, your body stretching to accommodate his width. The sting around your walls prompted you to wince, but you refused to deny him. 

“I want you to,” you softened your face, attempting to relax your body, “I want you.” Your confession had Katakuri’s eyes hanging half-lidded and his teeth chattering. 

“I’ve-...” he groaned, hissing out your name as he felt the first twitch of your body finally widen enough for his broad tip to enter you, “...I've wanted you the moment I first saw you. The moment you agreed to this union.” He whimpered, bringing his other hand up to cradle your shoulders and thumb soft, soothing circles into your skin. 

A soft sniffle fell from your nose in reaction to his confession, both of you silently cursing your mother in law for dousing him like this with the aphrodisiac. Katakuri finally felt your body stretch enough to completely take his aching knob within you, your body claiming the ribbed edge within your walls. He huffed out his gratitude, almost immediately spilling over his release the moment he felt the warmth of your heat take him in. 

“It will all be over soon,” Katakuri confessed to you with a somber expression on his face, “Em-... fuck-... Embarrassingly soon.” You gently reached up and caressed his cheeks in your hands. Darting your eyes between his, your eyes swelled with emotion as he sunk more of himself into you. 

“There is-... ah-... nothing to be embarrassed about, my love,” you whimpered, your brows furrowing as you took more of him into you. Only managing to sink a third of his cock within you, he slowly raised you up with one hand before sinking you back down. You had never felt more full in your life, your body stuffed beyond your maximum capacity by his quivering shaft. 

“I-I’m g-gonna cum,” he confessed in a husky growl, sleeving as much of himself within you as you could take. “I-I’m cumming. I’m-...hhah-... I’m cumming.” His motions became more feral, more beastly as he chased his high in your body. You winced while mewling a few cries, feeling his blunt tip almost break past the barrier of your cervix and breach your womb. 

To stifle your cry, you lunged forward and claimed his lips in a desperate and searing kiss. His eyes grow wide in shock, immediately exploding his sticky release deep within your body beneath the bathwater. Ribbons of his pearlescent release spurted from his small slit and hit you with such force internally it left you breathless. 

He removed his hand from your shoulder, joining the other on your hips and bucked up into you. Focussing on your lips, he closed his eyes and groaned his relief into your lips. Coasting through the waves of ecstasy, he continued a staggered staccato of rhythmic bucks in shallow thrusts. 

The slosh of water spilled over the sides of the bath and splashed onto the floor around you. You rotated your chin, mouthing at his lips and attempting to relay onto him the emotions you had suppressed for so long. With his cock still sheathed within you, he focussed entirely on your lips with his own. 

His kiss was soft and gentle, his teeth unintentionally grazing your skin with each soft turn and tip of his lips. As you attempted to withdraw from his lips, he chased you and groaned at the absence. 

“One more,” he mumbled, his chest rising from the water and lips falling against yours, “Just one more.” You giggled against his lips, granting him a lengthier and more desperate kiss. The force of your faces colliding had your nose scrunch affectionately against his own. His lips smiled against you, humming dopily and breathily against your lips. 

Twin smiles reflected in each other’s lips, finally feeling the unity between you both as spouses. He slowly retracted his cock from your walls, continuing to move his lips dotingly against your own in an apologetic oscillation. You whined into his lips, your heart jumping to your chest with how much you truly loved him.

You attempted to pull away from his lips to gaze into your lover’s face, only for him to purr a soft growl of disapproval from the partition once more. He pecked your lips with a soft kiss to stamp you with his affection before allowing you to finally part from him.

He stroked your hair, his eyelids dancing with a soft flutter of his eyelashes. His expression was a combination of true sorrow and repentance. Feeling the remnants of the pollen finally flee from his system and have his true nature return to him had his regrets showcased on his features.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered carefully, “Not like that. I could’ve broken you, or something more sinister.” He tilted his chin away and broke his eye contact from your face.

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, collecting his cheek in your palm and gently coaxing his face back to meet yours. He turns his head and gazes apologetically into your eyes and pressed his lips to your palm.

“Forgive me,” he asked in a voice just above a whisper, closing his eyes and leaning forward to brush his forehead with yours. You meet his head and close your own eyes shut in response. 

“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper in a similar cadence before quirking up your eyebrow at him, “Unless what you’re apologizing for is not claiming me sooner,” you pull away and smirk at him with a mischievous grin, “In which case, I don’t think I can forgive you for that.” Katakuri froze, his body tingling at your confession.

“Then please tell me what I can do to make up for my maltreatment of your needs,” he smiled with half-lidded lashes and leaned up in your embrace, “I am desperate to know,” You leaned down, your chest now lining up with his chin from your position on his lap, while your eyes held more sultry mischief within.

“I can think of a few things,” you whisper affectionately down at him, “But I think I might need a little time to recover before we begin your apology from being properly received.” A soft rumble reverberated in Katakuri’s chest, swelling into a growl in his smile. 

“I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you,” he whispered in response before collecting your lips beneath his in another soft kiss.

[bunny-jpeg]

behaviors

carlos sainz jr

tags: smut/pwp, slutty behavior, bimbo!reader, mean!carlos, groping, teasing, rich!reader, oral sex (carlos receiving), daddy kink, chest play, hickies/bites, 1.6k words

"carlos!" you cooed as you saw him across the paddock. you gave hi a big way and he eyed you up and down. his eyes went wide when he captured the full beauty of your figure.

low cut, red t-shirt and a pleated, short skirt in the same shade. you looked like a ferrari fan, but you also looked like a total slut.

his smile grew as he said, "princess! come here!" and felt something stir in his gut with you obediently scurried towards him. like a good girl.

"come here." carlos said as he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you towards his friend. your short skirt flipped up and you felt the rough material of his jeans up against your soft ass.

"mmm, daddy." you said softly. couldn't loudly proclaim your nickname towards your lover in the middle of the paddock. they already thought you were a stupid little slut.

carlos held you by your waist and looked down at you. he kissed your soft cheek and asked, "why are you dressed like this?" he turned you to face him. his brown eyes glared into yours and you swallowed.

"i wanted to show team pride!" you chirped and carlos laughed a little. he got a quick feel of your ass and you bit back a moan.

"team pride?" he chuckled, "no, no, princess. you look like a slut this afternoon. what happened to the shirt i gave you to wear?"

you pouted, "it was so baggy! it looked like a ferrari branded potato sack!"

that was why carlos gave it to you, he didn't need his princess to walk around the track like she gave her love away for free. that was all reserved for carlos. he held his smile as he kept both strong arms around you. he kissed the top of your hear and replied, "you could've at least worn my number."

you giggled, "did you forget?" you pulled away and pushed the hem of the skirt up a little to reveal, '55' tattoo on your upper thigh. carlos' mark on you.

carlos cupped your face, "it only works if you're walking around in your panties. you need another fifty-five on your body."

the driver enabled your bratty behavior, he liked that you were so much more innocent, so soft in ways that made him yearn for you more. despite your slutty behaviors carlos was protective over you. if you were going to crave cock, it would only be is.

that night in the hotel room, carlos made sure you got your sexual fix. the wet heat of your mouth around carlos' cock was added by his groans. you were still in your slutty little outfit from the track. "mmm, pretty girl." he said, "i need to keep you locked away so you don't make men fell over each other. i don't need you to cause a crash." he pinched your cheek whule your mouth was full of him.

you wanted to say something, but your lover wouldn't let you take your mouth off of him. instead you let out a small whine and carlos' shivered.

he cooed, "all of daddy's money and he couldn't buy you a brain." he rocked against you further, his cock nudged against the back of your throat. you lost your gag reflex a long time ago. and while your mouth was great, he always yearned for something more. your alluring cunt. he could feel the hunger down to his gut as he got his cock out of your mouth and when you whined, he gave you a tap on the cheek with his painfully hard cock. "no need for that, princess. up onto me." his nickname for you was in spanish

you giggled, "you always call me that. what does it mean? you never told me." you were dumb sometimes, painfully dumb. the words were so similar, but yet it was a real head scratcher for you. carlos could be calling you a degrading name, and you'd have no clue.

carlos patted your head and said, "you're my princess." then leaned back with his hand on his cock, "and this is your throne." and gave you a smile that made you eager to get into his lap.

you got up on shaky legs and stripped quickly. you felt a rush of heat through your body while you got the skirt off. once you were naked, you got into your lover's lap. your proper throne.

"you're a good girl. just need to keep you satisfied. keep you full of me, right princess?" he remarked as you sank down onto his length. fuck you felt like heaven. pleasing your slutty cunt was a great feeling. you had the type of body that made any man addicted, and with your constant need for sex. it wouldn't hard to make any man crumble.

carlos was face to face with your pretty breasts. plush tits that made him run painfully horny. he lucked out by nabbing himself a slutty trust fund baby with zero thoughts in that little head of yours. but it was alright, carlos would always take care of you.

the ace you had was quick enough, humping against your lover like a happy little rabbit. a horny little animal. carlos bit your breasts, he bit them raw as you rode him. he left splotchy bruises all over your beautiful chest.

next time you'd wear a low-cut top. people might get an eyeful of the carlos' marks on you. "pretty slut." he groaned as he gripped your bare hips.. he met your pace, adding aggression to his movements. you bucked against his cock as your tongue stuck out a little. he kissed you tongue before he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

your brain felt malleable in a way that left you with few thoughts.

carlos groaned as he thrusted up into you. your cunt was perfect for him. you drove him crazy, made him excited all over. you were his slut, his princess.

"you need me." he groaned, "you need your daddy to keep you safe." he admired you, and was addicted to you as your soaked pussy clamped around his cock.

you nodded, "of course, daddy. i want you all the time!! especially when you're sweat from racing and when you finish inside of me." your voice sounded tight as pleasure curled through your body.

"you like when i'm all messy. you like when i'm so masculine that it makes your toes curl.'" he joked as he groped your ass once more. the amount of times he had spanked the flesh until it was bright with bruises would shock more. but not carlos. no, he knew exactly what he was doing. he knew exactly what he was doing, what he was doing to make you so turned on that it left you so needy for more, more, more! you were an insatiable creature and carlos had to make is sting for you to get your sexual fix.

you nodded like a good girl, "yes, daddy. i love it when you're all sweaty and hot. when you're running on the high of a race and bruise my pussy."

carlos groaned, "fuck, princess. you drive me crazy." his voice almost caught in his throat as he felt the strike of pleasure through him as you fucked him with a heated fever.

you panted as you bounced on his cock, "daddy, please! don't tease me like that." your noises were so pathetic and it made him hot all over. you had a way about you that drove carlos into a heated fever.

he pulled you in closer and said, "don't worry, princess. just take it all, just keep moving." then kissed you, and then the kisses got heavier and hotter.

between the kisses you moaned pathetically as you felt the pleasure control your movements. you felt like a woman possessed as you rode carlos' cock. the sight of you in his lap, your cunt taking him so well, it spurred hi to keep meeting your movements to bully his heavy cock into your sweet cunt. you felt like a dream, you looked like heaven while wrapped up in him like a dumb little slut.

he'd fuck you every chance he got, mess up your pretty body to how he liked it. he could feel the urge to climax cloud his thoughts. he kissed at your breasts once more, letting his scratchy cheek rub up against the bruises he left.

it made you moan louder as he continued to fuck you with a heated intensity. he groaned and panted heavily against your sweaty skin. both wrapped up in one another on the couch.

"daddy." you whined.

carlos gave a few more heavy thrusts as he felt the need to climax. you were panting heavily as he said, "my slutty girl." as he drilled his cock into you. he finished inside of you and left a final bite on your skin.

he kept up the pace to get you to climax as well. your noises got louder as you had it eventually wash over you. the intensity of it all made you see stars behind your eyelids as you arched your back. you clenched around him as you came. you both eventually stopped your heavy movements before the two of you made out passionately. both of you painfully sweaty and hot.

in the after glow of lush, carlos kissed your heated, sweaty face and the praise began. you may be a bit of a ditzy slut with bubblegum for a brain. but carlos adored you.

however, next time you visit the track. you'll wear something that covered a little more. <3

[revelboo]

So......

With the new bots being added wat kinks do you think they have?

Also you turned me into a Megs fan. I came for the Soundwave and have been hit with the Megatron hots. And the whirl.

Waking up to more fics is great!! But don't forget to look after yourself

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Knockout

• “Just to make sure you keep your grubby little paws to yourself,” he growls as you wriggle against the soft material he’s bound your wrists with. Huffing at him as his servos lift your hips with casual strength and you feel his spike slide against you. “Can’t smudge the paint.” Back arching as that spike slowly stretches you, you moan. “Do you know how wrong this is? How illicit?” Gripping your hips, he thrusts against you, optics narrowing as his attention dips to where your bodies are joined. Knowing he loves it. Loves that this is taboo and scandalous as much as he loves to complain. Toes curling, you whimper.

• “It’s obscene,” you moan, that breathy sound stringing him tight. Part of him hates how addicted to the feel of your body he is. To watching his spike shiny with your need sliding into your wet heat, the way your grip him. Hips snapping against yours, just to hear that wet sound. To make you whimper and squirm, so responsive to him. So vocal.

Shockwave and Soundwave

• Tension thrumming through Shockwave as his head tips to watch you squirm against Soundwave, head thrown back against the communication’s officer as you come apart. Hears the other mech murmur against you, shuddering slightly as he releases, servos tracing the delicate line of your throat with one hand, the other sliding from your hip to your lower belly. Watching Soundwave’s hands slide to grip your hips and help you out of his lap. Your warm smile faltering some when you come to him.

• Nerves thrumming as Shockwave’s head tilts to study you, there’s always the uncomfortable feeling that you’re an experiment to him, not a person. Soundwave you trust to an extent, he seems to care about you despite how distant he can be sometimes, but Shockwave? This one makes you shiver and not in a good way. When he just stares, you give up and drop to your knees between his spread thighs. Comforted by the fact that Soundwave is right there watching as you grip his spike and slide your mouth along Shockwave’s length and he makes that low, rumbling snarl, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to touch you, just trembles. Because this has become normal. Him watching, but rarely touching.

• That warm mouth of yours slides against his spike, tongue stroking over the head. Antenna flicking back, he watches Soundwave kneel behind you. Unable to move as you make a hitching sound of pleasure when Soundwave mounts you again. Mouth working his spike he cautiously reaches out a hand, processor stuttering when that disjointed feeling of wrongness slams through him, seeing the cannon at the end of his arm when he’d been sure it should be a hand. Shaking as your eyes flick up at him in worry, he runs the smooth metal muzzle of the cannon over your cheek. It should be a hand, shouldn’t it? He’s not sure. Antenna flicking as Soundwave rumbles at you, hips rocking as he breeds you, Shockwave focuses on that. That low, crooning purr and the feel of your mouth on his spike. Letting those sensations ground him in the present.

Rodimus

• Curled against your back, he slides a palm down your arm and twines his servos with your fingers. Hears the sleepy sound you make when he tugs your hand down your body and spears a servo inside you, rocking your knuckles against yourself. Feels you squirm against his hold. “Not even wake, yet,” you protest, voice hitching adorably as he rocks his hips against your butt, teasing his spike against you.

• Leg sliding in the blankets as he releases your hand to grip your thigh with his wet servos and then he’s driving inside you with a growl. Rolling you to pin on your belly as his spike slides deep, thrusting urgently. Rushing for that finish line with no patience at all. Laying your cheek on your outstretched arm, you look back at him, his optics so bright as he ruts against you, growling in a broken mix of English and Cybertronian. “With my sparklings…. Frag, so tight… mine…” Sparklings. He’s said that before while inside you. More than once and you never remember to ask what that means, but as he ruts against you, nothing else is important aside from the feel of that thick spike driving deep over and over.

Whirl

• Leg kicking out slightly as he bends you over the edge of the surface he’d lifted you onto, you shiver as one of his pincers slides against you, hooking around one of your thighs and spreading you open for him. Feel his spike slide against your inner thigh as he tries to line up with you, refusing to let you just roll onto your back and help him. “So wet,” he growls, the outer curve of his pincer sliding against you. “Be loud.” Because you’re in Ultra Magnus’s office. How many times has he fucked you across the poor guy’s desk? You’re almost positive he wants Magnus to walk in on the two of you going at it.

• “Fuck me already.” Impatient and needy, your tone has an angry edge that makes him shudder with delight. Shifting behind you until the head of his spike finds you, he drives deep, thrusting urgently. Figuring out how to mount you with his unique anatomy had been fun. His tit guns as you refer to them in the way in most positions. This way, though? He can rut against you, pincers grabbing onto the edge of the surface he has you on, giving him extra leverage. With the added thrill of possibly getting caught fragging you on Magnus’s precious, oversized datapad of rules.

Tarn

• Big servos scraping against the berth under him, a rough snarl escapes him as his hips buck against you. Big frame draped over your back, you’re tempted to risk his temper to try and remove the stupid blindfold. Especially when you feel his lips brush against you, sliding up behind your ear. Wanting to see his face, but knowing he’s weird about it. Denta grazing your ear lobe, he shifts behind you, his warmth leaving your back before placing a palm between your shoulder blades to push you down.

• So obedient as you lower your upper body, hips up and his hands slide to grip your hips as he moves against you, spike stroking deep. You feel so much tighter this way, gripping his spike as he stares down at you. Sees your blindfolded head turn to lay on your arm, lips parting. Making those little, ragged sounds that string him tight. Movements growing rougher when you push back against him, crying out. Fisting his spike as he keeps bucking, drawing it out as his servos tighten on you. Snarling as he releases inside you, palm surfing up your skin while you tremble under him. “Don’t,” he growls in warning when you try to touch the blindfold. Feels you tense under him, but you don’t argue, turning your face away. Can feel the disquiet in his spark as he slowly rocks himself against you, reluctant to leave the wet heat of you. Why does it matter so much to you? No one sees his face, he tries his best not to see it himself. Venting softly, he braces a hand near your head and curls his frame over you.

Constructicons

• Crying out, head tossed back against Mixmaster, your thighs tremble. Six sets of hands gripping you, keeping you suspended between them as, which one is it now? Scrapper ruts against you. There’s a mouth sliding warm against your hip, a glossa sliding over your belly. Another mouth finds yours as you arch and buck in their grip. Hearing them murmur to you as Scrapper’s spike strokes deep, toes curling as he drives you to that peak again, your brain too muddled to be sure, but you think they’ve started a second round. That Scrapper had already fucked you. “I-I can’t, please.”

• “We’ve got you,” Mixmaster says. Laughing softly as you writhe against them with a breathy cry, arching like you’re trying to escape, and he rumbles at you, hands curled around you under your arms as you toss your head back against him, soft hair sliding against his plating. “Take good care of you,” Bonecrusher growls, his hands under your hip as he bends forward over you. “Such a good little mate,” Hook adds as you buck in their hold, crying out as you milk Scrapper’s spike.

Drift

• “Slow down,” he growls, shuddering and hips lifting slightly as you bounce on his spike. “Not going anywhere.” Worry about you overexerting yourself mingling with his fear of losing control. Of slipping again, rolling you under him and taking you hard and fast. Hates how rough he’d been with you, even though you’d insisted you liked it. Servos stroking your hips as he watches you ride him, those lovely eyes meeting his optics.

• “Not made of glass,” you gasp, rolling your hips as you chase that high. Feeling his palms stroking over you, touch so gentle. Because you’re still not well, but you’re not an invalid either. You want this, want him. And he’s holding back. Always keeping himself in control, but when he slips? When he takes you with that urgent, edge? Fucking you like he might die if he’s not inside you, that had been electric. Made you feel alive in a way you desperately need.

These nerds…

[oakgreenoak]

Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

[pearlzier]

⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀WHAT A DAY⠀ 𓈒⠀⠀✧

now playing . . . what a day by tyler the creator 𓈒⠀ ✧

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀warnings / drabble, pwp, public, sex on the beach, horny matt, switch!matt, switch!reader, titty sucking, fingering, oral (f!recieving)

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀ㅤׂ ⠀author's notes / might make a bot based off of this idk yet but hope u guys likey also theres fucking fireworks and theyre overstimulating me so ripping my hair out right Neow.

"MATT, YOU CANT—someone's gonna—" you swat at matt's hand as it slides up over the curve of your thigh, fingers dancing over the warm flesh. a cheeky grin plays on his lips, all intentions in his head far from innocent. it's like he has no shame whatsoever. "can't what? m'not doing anything." not now, he's not. later? yeah, he'll be doing plenty of things. including you.

he presses his fingers into your thighs, glancing around to check whether anyone was nearby, any prying eyes. his blue eyes linger on someone a few metres away, assessing whether they'd come nearby or see what you and him were doing but he comes to the the conclusion that you're in the clear. matt looks back at you, attempting to look innocent as his fingers make gentle passes over your inner thigh. "c'mon, babe," he couldn't think straight with you in that bathing suit, he'd made it clear when you'd left the house and he certainly wanted to make it clear now.

"matt," it's not like you don't want him to touch you, of course you do, he's fucking magic with his hands, tongue, and other devices he has at his disposal—but there's people near and you don't feel like being sent to the slammer for public indecency. "i swear to god, can't you keep it in your pants for once?"

matt scoffs, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he looks at you again. the way the bikini top curves around your tits, pushing them up a little, the way the bikini bottom curves around your ass, only making it more prominent to his eyes, has him salivating, and straining against his swim shorts. his hand slid down, trying to calm himself down, with a little readjustment of the material. "keep it in my pants, my ass.." he slips his fingers down into the top of your bikini bottoms, pausing for a moment to look at you.

"unless you don't want me to," matt looks at you, eyes softening for a moment. you feel your heart soften too—as much as chris wants to get his dick wet, he does care for you. he wouldn't do anything you didn't want him to.

"what? no," you scoff, "it's okay, i just—" you glance up, before relaxing against the lounger with a thick swallow as you slink down to be unseen by others. chris takes this as the opportunity to touch you further, his fingers sliding down beneath the bathing suit to part your folds, a soft groan escaping matt at how wet you are. "acting like being seen by others doesn't turn you on," he tuts, drawing his fingers across your clit for a moment in gentle circles before he shifts his palm, taking two fingers and circling them around your entrance now. "it turns you on, doesn't it? being seen?" he in turn scoffs too, "say it."

"you can't just bully me into saying that," you mumble, attempting to be defiant. the way his fingers glide over your cunt however has you clenching around nothing like a whore. really stops you from having any power in this situation, doesn't it?

"if you're gonna be like that, maybe i should just.." matt now feigns disinterest, moving his fingers away. a quick, low gasp escapes him however when your hand lands on his and you bring it back to your wet hole, near shoving his fingers inside.

"i swear to god, matt, don't pull that shit," his cheeks flush a bit and he swallows thickly, nodding for a moment. he falls more in love with you everyday. just the eay you spoke to him, confident, but still adoring, made his gut tighten.

deciding that teasing you may not work in his favour like he'd planned, he reluctantly sinks his fingers into your waiting, wanting hole, slow and steady. he acts as if thr sight of you crumbling at the mere feeling of his fingers doesn't turn him on beyond belief. "just needed my fingers, huh?" he hums, more than a little proud of myself, "yeah? that got you on my side," he shifts his weight, causing a flutter in your heart to find that he's practically using his body to block you from the view of everyone else. as much as he likes the thought of being seen, he's far too possessive to actually let them.

"just needed your fingers," you agree with a little moan, your hips bucking impatiently, back arching into his touch whilst you gasps under your breath. thighs enclosing on his hand, you grasp tight at the lounger beneath you. "fuck, like that.." head lulling back a bit, you mumble, "more, need more."

matt happily obliges in your request, thumb lifting to your clit to rub tight circles around it. soon, his fingers slip out of you only to slide back into your sensitive pussy, finding a rhythm that's to your liking. he crooks his fingers, curling them upwards as they pump within you. the feel of your tight walls clenching him, combined with your pretty sounds, it has him rocking his hips slowly against the lounger beneath the two of you. "look so pretty like this," he says quietly.

"yeah? like this?" your voice is soft, lilted with the throes of pleasure hitting you from the simple feel of his fingers. your lashes flutter, hazy with your arousal as you rock against his hand. the friction hits your clit, matched with his thumb occasionally flicking against it, and in minutes, he has you squealing and whining on him. "shit.."

matt doesn't have to ask you to know you're close, him simply leaning in and pressing his lips to yours has you squeezing his fingers tight and gushing on him, soaking his digits in your juices. meanwhile, your lips collide in a kiss, his tongue sneaking into your mouth to play with your own. his hand keeps moving beneath the two of you till you squirm away a little, and he slides his fingers from you after. both of your eyes flutter open, and a giggle slips past your lips.

this causes a chuckle to escape matt too, and he tilts his head, "what are you laughin' at, hm, baby?"

"nothin'," you say instantly, still giggling away. his brows raise, and he smiles against your shoulder, starting to leave gentle kisses. you're pliant beneath him and his affection, free hand sliding onto his bare back and rubbing gently before your fingers thread through his hair, tugging him closer. matt shifts, practically getting on top of you so he can play with you as he pleases. "someone's eager," you muse, teasingly.

"can't i appreciate my girl?" matt's mouth latches to your soft skin, teeth occasionally breaching the flesh to bite and leaving hickeys. his tongue flicks against the marks he leaves, and he pulls back for a moment. his chest rises and falls in gentle breaths, murmuring, "look at you.. gorgeous girl," his gorgeous girl.

he straddles you, and you look up at him with a flutter of your lashes. your breath hitches a bit, and matt smiles at the sight. "how you feelin'?" his voice is quiet, low, as he brushes his fingers over the fabric of your bikini top. tilting his head to the side, he tugs down the material, causing a gasp from you. "matt!"

"hey, hey, no one's gonna see you," matt reassures, voice calm, as he shifts down to rest between your legs with them around his hips so he can get his hands on your tits. he soon disgards the flimsy fabric, swallowing thickly as he sees your chest. "fucking gorgeous," he mumbles under his breath, planting his face on your soft breasts. the sight makes you laugh, and your nerves calm a little more.

"you're like a baby," he is, craving your warmth. he looks up at you from his position against you, and he smiles, breath warm against the soft flesh. he leans in a little more, tongue flicking against the underside of your breast. your hips shift, arms coming to wrap around him to draw him closer. matt swallows thickly, moaning against you. you're so warm and inviting, body so soft, he can't help but be drawn to you.

his hands lift to your tits, grasping and groping like he might die if he doesnt. matt's breath hitches akin to how yours did previously and he shifts closer, flicking his tongue against your nipple. you squirm beneath him, "that's it, oh.. fuck," he whines when you tug at his hair, and his mouth latches against your nipple, plush lips shiny with his spit. "suck, like that," matt grunts, warm tongue swirling around your hardening bud.

a soft smile adorns your face when you see the way hes practically humping the lounger, quiet sounds slipping past his lips. "you okay?" he nods, lifting his head for a moment, "shut up," he adds, too, because he knows why you were asking. he gives your other breast some attention for a moment, before he pulls back once more, watching his spit glistening on your soft chest. he could cum in his pants right there, he realises.

"mmh, lift yourself up a little," matt murmurs as he shifts himself down a bit on the lounger, grasping at the sides. he watches you move, and you watch him, hips lifting a tad. this is where matt grabs your legs and tugs them over his shoulders, taking place between them. "hi," he smiles softly, burying his head against the meat of your thigh.

"hey, you," you respond with a soft laugh, your arm lifting to cover your tits now that matt had moved down. he lets out an irritated whine when you do so but he doesn't move your srm, a sigh slipping past his lips. running his fingers through his hair, he shifts his weight, focusing his attention to between your thighs.

you feel flush instantly when you realise what he's doing, "matt, you don't have to—"

"i want to, so i'm going to," he tells you matter-of-factly, and you simply relax back. no need to protest if thats what he wants, you suppose. you'd get your pussy ate, he'd be happy. a win win. the sight of him between your legs, kissing at your warm skin in a tease, makes you groan softly, "don't tease me, i told you not to—"

"but.." he starts.

"matt," he obediently runs his fingers over the fabric concealing you from him. not like it'd stop him, it didn't stop him a few moments ago when he had you cumming on his fingers, so why would it stop him when he wanted to bury his head in your cunt and devour you? exactly.

his fingers slip over your bikini bottom before he slides it to the side, your thighs twitching at the air hitting your wet skin. your folds are puffy from your orgasm previously, and he coos at the sight, eyes meeting yours. he swallows hard, and you get a tad bit impatient. "you gonna keep starin', matt?"

"no, no.." matt mumbles, before he leans in to you, eyes locked on yours as he tentatively glides his tongue over your skin. he laps up your juices, moaning against you. his tongue flattens into your heat, and he looks like he's having the time of his fucking life. matt's nose bumps your puffy clit, causing a whimpery noise to slip past your lips. he eats you out like a man starved, like you're everything he needs. "taste so good, baby, this pussy tastes so good," the vibrations of his moans only jolt your cunt, and you gasp softly, practically squeezing your thighs around his head.

not to his chagrin, no, to his delight. he could die between your thighs, face buried in your pussy. he doesn't hesitate to let you know, either.

"could die right here, right.. here.. mmh, nnh," his hips needily buck against a pillow on the sun bed, giving him a friction he so desperately needs as he eats you out, tongue dipping in and out of your hole before dragging over your folds once more.

"oh, oh, matt, mmmh," you whine, practically seeing stars from his tongue and moans alone. his sounds grow louder, as do yours, and you tighten your grip on his head with your thighs till you burst, once more, cumming on his face and leaving him a mess. you're afraid matt's fucking passed out against you, glancing down quickly, but he's simply in bliss. "i'm alive," death by pussy would be his preferred way to go, but not now.

"okay, good," he lifts his head, mouth glistening with your juices as he pushes himself back up. his eyes are wide, soft, and he swallows hard. his lashes flutter, and he mumbles, "that.."

"i know," you lean back, glancing up at him. he's smiling gently, lazily, eyes fluttering over your face. you do too, till your gaze falls down to his swim shorts, and the large wet patch forming. matt's cheeks flush instantly and he hides his face in your shoulder, "shut up!" he swallows thickly.

"i was ju—" you start, grinning at his embarassment at cumming in his shorts.

"shut up," matt mumbles, shifting to straddle you once more, "and you know i'll make you," your eyes widen for a moment, and well, okay, you know he will.

⭑ taglist / @mattslolita , @st7rnioioss , @flairdean , @mattsluv , @bepositiveforachange , @poetatorturadaa , @onlynextdoor , @sturncakez , @luverboychris , @sirenedeslily , @evrithingbagel , @sl4ttformattsturniolo , @mazzystar111 , @flouvela