#i guess this is sfw still though besides tummy

[remicat69]

commission for Pacato

[dadsandhorror]

I’m posting this here rather than on his main blog because I still wanna keep that one mostly sfw but uh

Richard is not exactly repressed when it comes to his sex life. Is he emotionally withdrawn to the point where he’s never had a proper relationship? Perhaps.

But is he above hooking up with a stranger at a bar? Definitely not.

He’s got standards and he always tries to be safe, but he’s still very much up for going home with someone he met an hour ago.

The role he plays depends on the person he’s with. He’s adaptable and he’s not looking for anything specific. If it’s up to him though he’ll default to being a stern yet submissive service top, or a perhaps slightly slow power bottom, depending on what kind of equipment they have.

He’d 100% let someone peg him too, tbh.

If he’s on top he likes throwing his weight around, though. In his retirement, Richard’s put on weight and now he’s got a handsome round belly, and he likes to just kinda throw his whole body weight into a thrust. He’s not rough, just powerful would be the word I guess.

His cock’s not exactly huge, but no one’s ever been disappointed. Uncut because he’s a country boy.

Also if someone was specifically into that tummy, he’d be more than happy to indulge them.

He likes giving oral, too. When he was younger he liked having his partner tug on his hair, but now that he keeps what he’s got left pretty short, he likes it when they scratch his scalp instead. Also doesn’t matter what kind of equipment they have, he’d just prefer not to be gagged on anything.

He’s not particularly kinky himself. His biggest thing would probably be a bit of bondage, specifically with him being the one all tied up. Besides that, he’s just happy to indulge his partner in whatever they’re into, within reason.

You can also call him daddy and he takes it as an ego boost.

[ikeromantic]

Delicious (SFW edition)

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction taking place at the end of Ch. 13 in the romantic route. Approx. 1600 words of FLUFF. Spoilers, sort of?

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Tears of Joy

There were three things in this world Mitsuhide enjoyed above all else. One of them was a hot bath, and one of them was teasing his little mouse. To have both in one place at the same time was decadent.

Right this moment, his little one was sinking into the hot water, her expression one of pure pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, cheeks faintly pink. A sheen of sweat covered her brow from the steam. She looked . . . delicious.

Of course, she chose the moment he licked his lips to open her eyes. “Mitsuhide! You - you’re staring at me!” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Little one, I’ve seen you naked several times now. Why are you suddenly shy?”

“I - you - I feel like a real mouse about to be eaten up by a very happy cat.”

“Kitsune,” Mitsuhide corrected.

She blinked. “What?”

“About to be eaten by a very happy kitsune.”

She giggled. “Yes, I guess that.”

“You have such a beautiful smile, my love.” He watched her expression shift from laughter to charmed surprise.

“I don’t know what to say when you say things like that.” She touched her face, where the bruise still discolored her skin. “Especially right now.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “Silly little mouse. As if such a fading mark makes you any less.” He shrugged off his clothes and let them pool at his feet.

Whatever she had been about to say was reduced to a sharp exhale at his sudden nudity. Her eyes went wide as she tried to fix her gaze on a point somewhere above his chest.

“Is there something wrong?”

“N-no! No, of course not! You’re. Just. Naked. All the way. Naked.” She swallowed.

Mitsuhide grinned. “I did plan to bathe with you this time . . .” He *might* have posed himself to best display his . . . attributes. “Should I wait until you finish instead?”

She licked her lips and shook her head. “I - you - just get in and quit teasing me!”

“What fun would that be, little mouse?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. Perhaps never. He walked slowly to the edge of the tub, using his dancer’s grace to draw out the movement. It was worth every second to see the stain on her cheeks darken and the desire in her eyes grow.

He stepped into the wooden tub and sank down into the hot water. A little groan of pleasure escaped him as he felt the tension melt from his legs and back. “If there is a heaven, little mouse, this is in it.”

She smiled. “I wish I could introduce you to the baths in my time. And hot showers!”

“Mmm, perhaps one day. Your friend seemed to think these . . . warm-holes? Will come again.”

“Sasuke did say as much. I don’t know how sure he is though. I mean, what if we went to my time and got stuck? Or what if I went but it wouldn’t take you?” She chewed at her lip, anxious over all the possible things that could go wrong on such a trip.

It was too adorable, Mitsuhide thought, and put his arm around her. He pulled her next to him and placed a kiss on her head. “Don’t worry about things that are not problems. We have enough ahead of us.”

His little one laughed softly. “True enough. I’m sure Nobunaga and Hideyoshi will have plenty to say when we get home.”

“Yes, those two for certain. But I don’t want to talk about them tonight. Tonight . . . there is only you, and I.” Mitsuhide ran his hand down her back, glorying in her soft skin, and the way she leaned into his touch.

“Oh? Are we going to talk about us?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

He nodded. “We will. But first-” He settled his hands on her hips and lifted her around to sit in front of him. “Let’s enjoy our bath.” He cupped water in his hands and poured it over her hair, running his fingers through it. “I will start with the top of you, and work all the way to the bottom.”

His fingers worked their way into her hair, massaging her scalp, rinsing her hair until it shone like a curtain of silk. Then he worked his way down her back, her chest, her legs. Touching her was pure torment and bliss. She was soft and precious in his arms. And her little sighs of pleasure made him feel a deep satisfaction.

When he finished, she laid against his chest, her eyes half-closed. “That felt . . . “ She sat up. “It’s like you know every spot on my body that feels good. Places I didn’t even know could feel good!”

“Then I am excelling in my study of you,” Mitsuhide smiled. “I intend to make pleasing you an art form. One that I will master, in time.”

“I think you already have,” she laughed. “Now it’s my turn to wash you.”

Mitsuhide hadn’t intended her to return the favor, but he had no intention to refuse either. He felt himself relaxing as she rinsed his hair, and as her hands traveled down his shoulders and back, tension he did not even realize he held released. His little one knew all of his spots too, he thought.

When she pulled his foot up to scrub it, he wriggled out of her grasp, frowning.

“Mitsuhide! Are you . . . ticklish?” She reached into the water for his foot again.

“I think that foot is clean enough.” He refused to admit anything.

“Then give me the other.” She held out her hand.

This was going to be difficult, he thought. But he was a master of deceit. Surely he could withstand a little scrubbing on the soles of his feet without reacting. Mitsuhide gave her his foot.

And immediately tried to pull away again as she purposely! Purposely! Tickled it! But his little mouse was ready this time, and she kept her grip on his leg, laughing wickedly as he squirmed.

“Admit it! You are ticklish! Mitsuhide!”

“Ah-hahaha, ah-alright, yes! I am. Now please, little one . . .” He tried to give her a serious look, but his lips betrayed him by turning up at the edges.

“Good to know you have at least one weakness.” She smiled widely and leaned forward to kiss him.

Mitsuhide pulled her close, enjoying the touch of her soft lips. When she released him, he shook his head. “You will be the end of me, little mouse.”

When they were dry and dressed, the innkeeper delivered dinner to their rooms. They hadn’t asked for anything special, but several trays of food were set out for them as if this was a celebration. Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow at the man, but he only bowed and then left.

“This looks so good!” The chatelaine’s tummy gave a little warning rumble.

“It seems our innkeep expected your appetite,” Mitsuhide teased.

She blushed. “I can’t help it! We only had tea at breakfast . . .”

Mitsuhide ruffled her damp hair. “Then let me watch you enjoy our dinner.”

They sat down to eat. There was grilled eel and pickled radish, poached fish with carrots, spicy cabbage and rice . . . and his little one’s favorite, a tray of sweets. Plums in sauce, red bean paste buns, and fresh strawberries. Clearly the innkeeper had paid attention to the chatelaine’s preferences.

He let her pick what she liked, smiling as she went for the buns first. The cabbage and rice were the easiest to eat, so Mitsuhide chose that for himself.

“Do you like spicy things,” she asked, watching him take a bite.

“I told you, I don’t taste anything anymore. It doesn’t matter to me if it is spicy or not.”

She frowned. “I wish there was something you liked to eat. Then I could make it for you.”

“Little one. I would like anything you made me. Anything at all.” Mitsuhide tried to cheer her up but it didn’t work.

“But you wouldn’t really like it. It wouldn’t matter if it was good or awful . . .” She sighed.

Mitsuhide hadn’t considered his lack of taste important. He remembered - vaguely - enjoying certain foods as a child. Before . . . He cleared his throat. He was about to tell her he’d try to taste what she made when she spoke up.

“You know what, though? I can just make you all sorts of things. And maybe, eventually, you’d get your sense back!” His little mouse smiled at him brightly.

He nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps. You will have plenty of time to try out your recipes when we are married.”

She dropped her chopsticks. Her mouth opened a little as if to speak, but no words came out.

“You are my fiance . . . are you surprised at the idea of marrying me?” Mitsuhide wasn’t sure of her reaction. He remembered how thoroughly she’d rejected the idea when he asked for Nobunaga’s permission. Things had been different then but . . . perhaps she wasn’t willing?

“I - no! I mean, Mitsuhide! That’s . . . do you mean to marry me for real? I thought, I mean, you just - when you said that - it was just . . .”

Mitsuhide stood and went to her side of the table. He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Little one, there is no other woman I would have by my side. I want you to be mine. To make my home yours. To bear our children. To . . .” he ran a finger along the curve of her jaw. “Kiss me every day, with the passion we share now.”

Her lips trembled and then she was in his arms, kissing him breathless. Kissing him as if there was nothing in the world but the two of them.

Next: Hero's Welcome

[alleiradayne]

Happily Ever After

For: Alistair Appreciation Week Day 2 - King Theirin Rating: SFW (fluffs!) Word Count: 1,743

Alistair Theirin and Anaphorah Cousland celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary.

Peace.

At last, after hours upon hours meeting with nobles, cajoling with diplomats, and reviewing treaties, Anaphorah Cousland—Queen Anaphorah Theirin—collapsed on her throne.

Maker’s breath, a moment’s respite. A reprieve. Rest. May she lay her weary head in her hand and doze but for a moment, a chance to catch her breath.

“Your Grace?”

No rest for the wicked.

Her eyes snapped open to find a serving man at the foot of the stairs, bowing low and gaze averted. “Your Grace, your pr-presence… has been r-requested.”

From her seat, Anaphorah stood, a slow straightening of her legs as she stared down the young man. “By whom?”

“Who?” he repeated. “Th-the ah—beg your pardon, Your Grace—the King.”

“For?”

The lad’s hands twisted, fingers tangling as he stared at them. “Dinner, Your Grace. In the kitchens.”

Kitchens? She nodded as she descended the steps. “Is that all, my dear?”

The messenger raised his eyes, chancing a glance at his queen. “Yes, Your Grace.”

With a finger and thumb beneath his chin, Anaphorah raised his head and smiled. “What is your name?”

“Connor, if it pleases you, Your Grace.”

She rested a light hand on his shoulder. “In my court, Connor, you look me in the eye. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good,” she commented. “Though I am your queen, I am not your jailor. A people should not fear looking upon their queen. She is a symbol of leadership, of trust, honesty, and justice.”

Tension seeped from his shoulders, muscles relaxing beneath her touch. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is… refreshing.”

“You are most welcome. I am sure you have other duties to attend,” she stated.

Nervous fingers twisted again, torqued and twined. “No, m’lady. I am to escort you to the kitchens.”

Anaphorah laughed her barking laugh, doubled over with a stitch in her ribs. “Oh, Maker’s breath, I beg your pardon, Connor,” she gasped. “I know my way to the kitchens.”

Mouth agape, Connor stared. “You do?”

“How else would I sneak tiny cheese cakes for the King?” she laughed as she gestured ahead and lead the messenger to the far end of the hall. “I’m surprised you’ve not heard that rumor yet. Although, best it stay a rumor, now you know the truth. Can I trust you with such a silly secret?”

“Absolutely, Your Grace,” Connor replied, fingers unraveling. “It is a good rumor.”

Beside the young man, Anaphorah walked her slow stroll, slippered feet and long dress swishing over the carpet. “Why do you say that, my dear?”

“May I be blunt, Your Grace?”

Anaphorah nodded as they reached the door, her hand pausing on the handle. “It makes him seem more human. Both of you, really. You’re like one of us.”

She embraced him in a hug, catching him flatfooted, and he hesitated in returning the gesture. “Thank you for your honesty, Connor,” she said as she released him. “We are no different than you. Lucky, yes, but we have paid our dues.”

When Connor did not comment, Anaphora spoke in his stead. “That’s enough talk for now. Do not hesitate to speak with me in the future. I am here to serve.”

With a deep bow, Connor agreed and slipped across the hall to the far door. Anaphorah waited, watching the lad go before turning into the door for the kitchens.

At the center butcher block, Alistair stood, a careful eye scrutinizing the spread. Two dinner settings sat across from one another, empty but for water in small glasses. He paced, recalling his steps, hoping he forgot nothing.

Perfect. It had to be. Rare, a Warden living beyond his thirties, and rarer still for two to see their twentieth year of marriage. It had occurred to him to hold a grand celebration, but in the end, Alistair had preferred a more intimate setting, private, for their eyes only.

The rasp of metal on metal snatched his attention, head whipping to the door. Through the heavy stone archway slipped his wife, regal dress and slippers traded for tunic, leggings, and soft boots. As charming as ever, she flashed her dazzling smile, toothy grin revealed by wide lips.

“What’s all this?”

Maker’s breath, he thought. She had forgotten.

Alistair rounded the counter and embraced his wife, then lead her to her seat with a guiding hand at the small of her back. “Dinner, my dear.”

“I see that,” she stated as she sat. “But…”

Eyes the color of a turbulent ocean widened as she stared, and Alistair’s own smile spread in the wake of her understanding. A groan rumbled in her chest as her head fell into her hands, elbows propped on the counter.

“You cooked, didn’t you?”

He nodded as he took to the roasting pot by the fire. “Quail.”

“My favorite,” she said with a giggle. “It’s our anniversary, isn’t it?”

Alistair doubled over with laughter as he withdrew a tray revealing two whole roasted quails. “It is.”

She gasped, fingers covering her gaping lips. “Maferath’s balls, has it been twenty years?!”

“I’ve been planning for weeks,” Alistair replied as he served their food, potatoes and leeks and squash accompanying the tiny birds. “I hope you—”

From her seat, Anaphorah flew into his embrace her arms wrapping around his neck. “Ali, it’s perfect, it’s all so perfect.”

At risk of dropping the gravy pot, Alistair set it on the counter, metal thudding on the wooden block. Lithe and long, Alistair’s massive arms encircled his wife with ease, hands smoothing her tunic and slipping to her backside.

She squawked in protest, barking laughter filling the tiny room. “You keep that up, we won’t get to enjoy this amazing dinner.”

Truer words had ne’er been spoken. Alistair set her on her feet, releasing her backside and kissing her forehead. “As always, you are right.”

She returned to her stool and hefted the bottle of wine as Alistair continued to prepare their food. And then, from a concealed pocket his wife brandished a small knife, breaking the wax seal and poured him a full glass of yellow gold wine. As discrete as she had withdrawn her blade, Anaphorah concealed it once more, returned to her sleeve.

“I’m glad.”

Anaphorah pouted, bottom lip sticking out and forehead knotting as she regarded him. “About?”

“In the two decades we’ve been together…” he started as he lit two tall candles, “you’ve not changed a bit.”

Maker, but he loved her adorable pout. “I've changed. I'm queenly. Regal even.”

True. “But queens don’t carry knives in their sleeves.”

“Oh?” A quirk of her lip brightened her smile. “And how many queens have you known, my king?”

Quick as ever. “None but you, Your Grace. Touché.”

As he sat across from his wife, Alistair marveled once more that two decades had past them by in the blink of an eye. And in that moment, Anaphorah voiced his thoughts. “Do you remember when we met.”

“I remember a haughty mage and a fresh warden recruit,” he chuckled. “Yes, it’s as if it happened only yesterday.”

Anaphorah laughed with him, grey-green eyes rolling at the memory. “Oh Maker, I knew I was in trouble right away.”

Alistair hesitated as he hefted his knife and fork, elbows flanking his plate. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy,” she admonished. “We were attracted to each other immediately. Right?”

Don’t fuck this up, Theirin. “I… was very intimidated by you. By your wit, your grace, your beauty. Yes attracted. But I would have never guessed you were interested until you asked.”

Her charming smile spread, crinkling the corners of her eyes, and Alistair eased on his stool. “You were adorable. And funny. And so very tall, with your broad shoulders and big arms.”

He cringed as he cut into his bird. “I always felt too big, too clumsy when I was living in the Chantry. The sisters scolded me for taking up so much space, knocking things over.”

“That’s terrible,” she sighed through her food. “I loved your… stature.” Her subtle glance to his groin heated his cheeks.

“Stature,” he stated, clearing his throat. “Sure.”

Anaphorah giggled at that, turning back to her food. They ate in silence then, Alistair listening to the soft sounds of her pleasure as each new bite graced her tongue. And there, his mind wandered once more to marvel at the mystery of their continued existence. They both should have left for the deep roads years ago, but neither had heard the song yet, not a whisper in their minds. And yet the worry gnawed at the base of his skull, a constant worry that haunted his dreams where he woke to find himself alone in his bed. And when he searched for here, he would find her letter, saying her final goodbye and—

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

Anaphorah continued to eat as if she’d said nothing important. Through a mouthful of leeks, she repeated herself. “Pregnant.” With her fork, she pointed at her belly. “You know,” she continued, then swallowed. “A baby.”

Alistair gaped, jaw working to find the right words. “We're going to have a baby?”

She nodded, a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “I think I want to name her Natalie.”

When Alistair said nothing, Anaphorah looked to him, frowning. “Alistair? What’s—”

No memory of standing, of running around the table and wrapping his wife in a massive hug, existed. But there they embraced, Alistair lifting her from her stool and shouting his excitement. Too good to be true, he maintained his hold of her lest he awake from the dream, lest this miracle escape their grasp.

Whether minutes or mere seconds had passed, Alistair cared not in the slightest. But a burning question begged for an answer and so he asked.

“How long have you known?”

“A while,” she started. “Long enough to know it’s a girl.”

A gentle touch of his fingertips sought her belly. “A girl?”

Anaphorah smoothed his hand over her tummy, a subtle, firm bump that Alistair had missed. “Natalie.”

He grinned, then to her stomach he spoke. “Natalie,” he sighed. “Hello Natalie.” He placed a kiss atop her stomach. “Hello my baby girl.”

“Is that okay?”

Alistair regarded his wife with a curious brow. “Of course, it’s okay,” he laughed, tears spilling over his cheeks.

“No,” Anaphorah admonished with her own bout of tears. “Is Natalie okay?”

“Natalie,” he sighed once more, a soft caress of his wife’s belly.

“It’s perfect.”