#if the post looks innocent enough i WILL be looking beneath the cut

[todaywasamaritale]

mutuals tag your fucking porn please

[wibben]

Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall. 

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too. 

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti. 

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it. 

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead. 

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after. 

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you. 

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 1: SEMI-PUBLIC

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, referred to with you/your. Established relationship, handjob, doing it in a semi-public place, reader takes a dominant role for the most part of the smut. Not proofread.

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: You sneak in with Kinich into the changing room.

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: First kinktober post! I almost caved in and posted it before it was october but I held on since I wanted to actually participate for the first time TT_TT

🎃 . . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

There was just something about Kinich today that made your thoughts swirl with improper ideas, and thus, the moment he excused himself to change from his usual clothes into swimming trunks, you knew it was a window of opportunity to sneak in with him into the changing room.

You looked around to make sure there was no one in sight before you called his name. Kinich identified your voice, and he proceeded to open the door.

���What—”

With a solid push, you cut him off and stepped inside with him.

His skin was warm, and it was nice against yours. You pressed your face against his bare chest, as you’d caught him mid-undressing. After a few seconds of both surprise and confusion, your boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I was going to ask what you were doing here, but I have an idea of what it could be.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” you pulled away and feigned innocence.

“Sneaking with your partner into a secluded area doesn’t always come with pure intentions.”

“Says who? I only came here to see you,” you were aware it was a brittle excuse and that he knew you were toying with him. Kinich sighed, used to your playful antics at this point.

“Do as you please.”

Next thing he knew, he was pushed against the wall, facing it. You snuck a hand under his pants and got to work him. It was a matter of time until you felt his dick harden beneath your touches, your free hand toying with one of his nipples. Besides that, the way you kissed his shoulder blades further aided to that result.

“Already hard? That was fast. You must like me a lot,” you couldn’t help but tease him, smiling satisfied at yourself.

“When you’re touching me all over my weak spots, how could I not get like this?” Kinich rebutted with a shaky breath; his arms trembled as well.

How unfortunate you couldn’t see the way his precum beaded at the tip or watch him furrow his eyebrows from the pleasure. You acted in an impulsive manner; you didn’t give it too much thought in what position you wanted to pleasure him. Nevertheless, the sounds he was making were arousing, and you continued with your pursuit of his climax. You slid your thumb over the head to smear it on his cock, the friction became more fluid. 

“Haah… It’s not enough,” Kinich murmured. His hand seized your wrist and attempted to fasten your rhythm.

It was your intention to go slow, so you swatted his hand away. “I want to call the shots today, okay? You can have your fun later.”

“I’ll remember this when it’s my turn.”

“I’m scared,” you said with a giggle.

The fact that he was still able to get hard despite the dryness, you decided to tone down a little your unfair treatment. The hand that was working his member went to his mouth, and you asked him to spit on it.

“What bit you this morning?” he was near speechless, not accustomed to being on the receiving end of these types of shameful requests. It was usual for it to be the other way around, when he wanted to finger you, and he told you to get his fingers wet with your tongue. However, he did as you asked, finding no harm in humoring you.

Now with your hand wet, you resumed your strokes. Heeding his request to go faster, though. You increased the tempo enough to lead him closer to his climax, but not quite, to tether him on the edge.

Kinch bit his lip, trying to hinder his groans. All you were doing was giving him a handjob, and yet, it grew more difficult to control himself.

“Kinich!” Mualani’s voice sounded from the outside. “Are you in there?”

“Yes. What’s the matter?” Kinich answered with utmost effort to not let out any suspicious noises.

“You’ve been gone for a while now. I was worried. Everything alright?”

Kinich parted his bitten lips to answer, but a hitched groan escaped instead. You’d decided to really speed up.

“Yes, I’m okay. I’ll be there—” he leaned his head against the wall to steady himself. A hand shot to yours, and for a second you thought he wanted you to wait a moment, but he didn’t put any force in his grasp. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay, then! Don’t take too long. The celebration’s about to start.”

Before you were given the chance to slow down, Kinich maintained his hold around your hand and proceeded to guide it at a steady tempo now, his orgasm built in the matter of a blink of an eye. He shifted his hips forward, your hand flush against the base when he came.

Shortly after, his hand went limp as he relished in the waves of pleasure that coursed through him, trying to regain his breath.

“Head back before it gets too suspicious,” Kinich spoke once he recovered. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Alright,” you gave him a peck on his cheek.

The party continued in complete normalcy; the festive atmosphere helped with everyone being distracted. You had so much fun with your friends and Kinich. It was a rather nice night.

When the party ended and everyone was heading back home, and it was your turn to change clothes... Little did you know of who was waiting there for you to payback what you did to him earlier.

“You know very well how I operate. Everything comes at a price,” Kinich whispered against your ear, a hand already parting your legs and rubbing at your clit through the fabric of your swimwear. “You had your fun. It’s my turn now.”

[artdcnaldson]

daddy cat i have thoughts about newly divorced art and a girl who takes her time getting him hard :( and he feels so loved because he doesn’t have to focus on getting it done as fast as possible to please someone

exactlyyyy exactly mhmm

Thinking that he had a string of failed hookups out at bars where he was trying to fuck in bathrooms or in his car and it just didn't happen because he wanted it but his body wasn't cooperating. He was on the wrong side of drunk or the nerves and pressure was too high, and he ended up getting laughed off by the pretty girl beneath him.

So I think he gets away from hookups he finds in a bar or club for a while. Maybe he meets you at a wedding— one of his young cousins is finally tying the knot, and you're a friend of the bride. Sweet, friendly, gorgeous. He probably looks like a creep, the way he stares at you because he's too nervous to actually say something.

Which is stupid. He won seven slams in his career. He's a tennis superstar, a household name. He bumps into you at the dessert table after they've cut and served the wedding cake— the layer he gets is white cake with raspberry filling. You get a slice of the groom's cake— chocolate with espresso cream.

"Hey... you're Art Donaldson, right?" You ask as you take a tiny bite of the cake. When he nods, you smile. "I thought so, but Kayla— that's my friend from high school— well, she swore you were just some guy. So I googled you, and I was like, no that's definitely him. Anyways, do you want a drink?"

You both have a glass of the bride's signature cocktail (vodka cran), then another, before you're on the dance floor together. It starts off innocent enough, but then there's more drinks flowing, and guests start leaving, and the music gets weirdly better as the night goes on. You're both a little handsy and it's not long before you're stumbling back to his Jeep in the parking lot.

It was a post-divorce impulse buy. An impulse buy with a nice, roomy back seat. Plenty of space to tug you onto his lap, pull down your dress, and mouth at your tits in the backseat.

You reach down, palming him through his fancy suit pants. You pause, blinking a few times, and work the buttons of his pants so you can actually take him into your hands. You try to coax him to full hardness, but he's already flagging. He groans in frustration as his body just won't. fucking. cooperate. He wants you, he knows he wants you, he's just... fuck.

"Sorry," he pants, meeting your gaze with a look that can only be read as sheer mortification. "Shit, it's just... this is... sorry—"

"It's okay," you whisper against his mouth, so his stammered apologies are silenced. You spit into your palm and wrap your hand around his cock again, holding eye contact as you slowly stroke him. "Just relax. We have all night."

You mouth at his throat, his jaw. You trail your lips over the shell of his ear and he melts. He's like putty in your hands as you give him all of your attention— give him the chance to relax and work his way up to it. He moans against your ear and you smile. "That's it," you praise, working your hand faster. "I've got you."

[syluslnd]

I know a lot of people are iffy about this so feel free to delete this, but how would Sylus react to you accidentally calling him daddy in bed? (I think the devs might've posted something about him pefering to br called master??)

calling sylus daddy

• imagine

(note / i dont have a daddy kink so ive never even read or researched on it lol jdjdjdj so idk if i wrote this with what you had in mind,i hope you like it 😪🙂‍↕️)

Sylus had always known how to push your buttons. He loved watching your cheeks flush, your eyes widen with that shy, innocent look you tried so hard to hide from him. But you could never hide from Sylus. He made sure of that.

Tonight was no different. You were pinned beneath him, your wrists trapped above your head as he held you in place, his dark eyes focused on your face. His lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk, the one that made your stomach flutter.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with amusement. "Trying so hard to keep that pretty little blush from me." He leaned down, his nose brushing against your neck, making you squirm beneath him. "But you know I'm not going to let you hide, right?"

Your heart raced as you tried to look away but Sylus was quick. He caught your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"No no, sweetie," he said softly, his tone dripping with that teasing edge. "Eyes on me. I want to see every little reaction."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat rising to your face. Sylus always knew how to make you flustered and the more he teased, the harder it became to keep your composure.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but in the heat of the moment, the word slipped from your lips before you even realized it.

"Daddy..."

The room went silent. Your eyes widened in horror and your heart dropped as you processed what you'd just said. You could feel your entire body heat up in embarrassment. That was not something you ever meant to say.

"Oh?" Sylus's voice broke the silence, his tone laced with amusement, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to keep you still. "What was that, kitten?"

You shook your head quickly, mortified, trying to backtrack. "I-I didn't mean to-! I don't know why I said that—"

But Sylus wasn't letting you off that easily.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with that dangerous playfulness that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I think you meant it." His thumb brushed over your lips, silencing your stammered apologies. "Now, why would my sweet, innocent kitten call me that, hmm?"

Your face burned with humiliation. You tried to turn away, to hide, but Sylus was quick to pin you back down, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosted across your skin.

"You can't hide now, sweetie," he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not after that."

"Please” you whispered, utterly embarrassed, trying to turn your head to escape his piercing gaze, but his grip on your chin tightened, keeping your face locked in place. His other hand still firmly held your wrists above your head. You were completely at his mercy.

"Don't be shy now" he purred, his tone dripping with amusement. "I think it's cute, you calling me daddy like that." His lips grazed your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as his voice softened, taunting.

"Is that what you've wanted all along, kitten?

For me to take care of you like that?"

Your face was on fire now, the embarrassment overwhelming as he teased you relentlessly. "N-no, I didn't mean it like that-" you tried to explain, but Sylus cut you off with a dark chuckle.

"Didn't mean it? Oh, I think you did." His voice was lower now, filled with that teasing menace that always left you flustered. "Look at you, all shy and blushing. My sweet, innocent kitten isn't so innocent after all, huh?"

You squirmed beneath him, but his weight pinned you down effortlessly. Sylus wasn't letting you go anywhere—not until he was done teasing you.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours. "Say it again" he commanded softly, his eyes locked on yours, filled with that wicked amusement. "Go on, sweetie. I want to hear it."

Your eyes widened in panic and you shook your head quickly. "I-I can't-"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening.

"Can't? You didn't seem to have any trouble saying it a minute ago." His fingers traced the line of your jaw, sending another wave of shivers through you. "But if you're too shy to say it again, I can always remind you who’s in control here."

Sylus pressed his body closer, his lips brushing against your ear once more, his breath hot against your skin. "say it,don’t make me force you, kitten."

“D-daddy..” You gasped, the sound catching in your throat as your body betrayed you, your face burning hotter than ever. Sylus pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"See? Wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice a low purr. "You're too cute when you're embarrassed. Makes me want to keep you pinned down here all night just to watch you blush."

You couldn't even respond, too flustered to form words as he leaned down to press a teasing kiss to your lips, savoring the way your body trembled beneath him. He had you exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn't about to let you forget it.

[adarkandmagicalforest]

he who would be king

summary: free from kings landing to braavos with lord larys, aegon only wants one thing

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen/Reader, Aegon II Targaryen/Original Female Character (unnamed)

warnings: post Vhagar!Aegon, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Subtle Mommy Issues/Mommy Kink, Mentions of Aegon's Injuries, Reader Works in A Brothel

"Are you most certain you wish to be here, Your Grace?" Larys Strong asked him.

Almost as soon as they'd arrived in Braavos, Aegon had wanted one thing.

The brothel was a fine one. Expensive, with three floors of depravity. And yet - he could not feel it. Oh, he felt desire. He felt it everytime he saw the exposed skin of a pretty girl, everytime his thoughts wandered back to when he had a girl between his legs, his cock in her mouth. He could still feel the throbbing ache of want, needing that pleasure, that satisfaction.

But satisfaction could never be his again. His cock was gone, dead and cut away from him after Vhagar's fire made his skin go taut like that of a fat pork sausage. And it had been fat. Thick. It had always been heavy in his palm and the girl's who'd had him always gasped when he presented it to them to suck. But it was gone. Aegon felt another wave of shame and mourning wash over him, driving him to force his arm out and pick up his tankard of beer. 

Beer, not wine. Lord Larys would not even allow him a sip of anything stronger. The beer was sour and had an aftertaste of piss in his mouth after he swallowed, but if he drank enough when Larys wasn't looking, then maybe his head would finally begin to buzz pleasantly. Maybe his aching body might finally give him peace.

So Aegon drank it down. He finished half of it, but even then, a larger portion spilled onto his robes.

"Careful now, my King." Larys said, noticing. He took at a favor from his sleeve and handed it to him. He would do nothing for him but give him the chances to better himself, or so he'd said blathering weeks ago before they left Kings Landing.

He forced his hand to change position, picking up the hankerchief and dabbing it on the bad part of his face. It smelt like home, the cotton. No - he realized. It smelt like his Mother.

Larys took back his Mother's favor and tucked it away - and Aegon, wanting nothing more than to forget about it, casted his eyes to the brothel from beneath his hood.

Whores and their patrons sat on plush seating made of the most luxurious velvets and silks. Some of them, most of them actually, were still dressed. Silks in fine brocades, innocent shifts of sheer cotton. One whore, a very very expensive one it seemed, wore a gown made entirely of pearls, draping over her body while two men knelt before her, their ugly broad hands rubbing up her legs and between her thighs. One of them was licking over her knee.

This gave him an idea.

His cock might've been gone, but his tongue wasn't. His fingers weren't. He could still have a woman.

He'd had a mild interest in the acts before. Mostly he only did it because it made a woman extremely wet very quickly, which meant he could get on with it sooner.

But now, if it was the only thing he could do? He'd try it again, Aegon thought. And do it properly this time. Perhaps if he did it very, very well, he might trick his body into thinking his cock wasn't gone at all. Even the ghost of a cock would be better than no cock at all, he decided.

"I want one of these girls, Larys." He told his companion.

Larys looked at him, a neutral expression on his face. Odd little man. Aegon thought he looked like a blunt-faced weasel, even if he was the most dangerous man in the room. Had he fucked his Mother? Was that where the favor came from? Or had he stolen it away like a freak, keeping it with him while it still smelled of her? He didn't know how to feel about either possibility.

"A girl, your Grace?" He asked him quietly, his dark eyes flickering from him to the rest of the room. Aegon expected him to ask something cruel, like he might've. 'With what cock?' came to mind. But Larys didn't say that. He only wished for clarification. "Which girl?" He asked.

"Any of them." Aegon said. His hands were empty, so he reached for his beer again. "No - one with auburn hair." 

"As you wish, Your Grace." Larys said agreeably. Then, standing tall, even with the hard boot on his twisted foot, the Master of Whispers turned to find what he asked for.

Larys found him a quarter of an hour later, informing him that he'd found him a girl and a private room on the first floor. Stairs were no use to either of them.

The room was in the back of the brothel, shaded with colorful scarves and lit with ornate lanterns blown with thick glass. It smelled of sweet cherries, almonds and beeswax, all of which served to joustle his arousal. Arousal but no cock. It was a bizarre sensation, but more clear somehow.

"Your Grace, the girl you wished for is waiting inside." He told him.

They were several steps from the door, and it had a handle.

Aegon grimaced. Even then, Larys was trying to rehabilitate him. Perhaps that was why he'd allowed this. Whatever forced him to move.

The prince stepped forward, leaning heavily on the thick, white yew cane he had in order to reach his best hand out to the handle. His fingers were stiff, but once he gripped it hard, it moved easily for him.

Inside of the room was indeed a girl with auburn hair.

Long, auburn curls like autumn. She was small, delicate looking and pale, and seemed to be a similar age to him. And pretty, very pretty, especially in the pale blue dress she wore, one that had a low neckline but long flowing sleeves. 

"My lord." She greeted him with a non-accent, her voice soft and humble.

When he got closer, he saw her eyes were doe-like and warm, like the richest oak. 

"If you have need of me," Larys said from behind him, his voice sounding a hundred miles away. "I will be outside. Merely knock and I can retrieve you."

When the door closed, the whore's eyes flickered to him. To the most obvious parts first. His leg, made all wrong. His unsteady gait. His face, half melted. He was ugly. A monster. Just as Larys was, it was no wonder to him if he had stolen what he needed from his Mother, for no woman would give him what he needed willingly.

"You look like you're in pain." The girl said to him, her pretty, soft features looking sad. 

Aegon's chest twisted in an ache. "I am." He said.

To his own shock, this caused tears to well up in the girl's lovely brown eyes - and at once, she came to him, her touch as gentle as a kiss, wrapping around his waist and another to his arm. "Please," she begged him. "Come to the bed, sit. Would wine please you?" Her tears might've been falsehoods or they might've been real. But he loved them either way. Her tears made him feel seen.

"No wine." He rasped, allowing her to fuss over him as he, with her assistance, laid down onto the bed. It was covered in pillows, and without needing to be asked, the girl reached for a long plush cushion and placed it beneath his neck before he laid his head down.

Her hands were small and gentle, as if by touching him, he'd break. 

He felt small and weak. And sad. But somehow, nice.

"Come here. I want you." Aegon said then, moving himself. The bed was huge, but he wanted her next to him. He lifted his right arm, his better arm, as an obvious signal. He wanted her there, snuggled into his side. 

The girl looked hesitant, but she smiled when he gestured with two fingers at her. The motion hurt his wrist, but her smile was nice enough to be worth it.

The weight of her lithe body was even more so. The feeling of her arm wrapped around his waist while her head rested on his shoulder, fitting there neatly and perfectly - right down to her leg, which had immediately risen to rest carefully on top of his bigger one. It made him feel big and protective. Aegon moved his arm until he could place his bare hand along her waist. Petite as she was, she was soft and warm, even through her thin blue dress. He held her as close as he could, lowering his head down until his nose was buried in her loose, autumn curls. She smelled like cinnamon and black tea and warm, loving hugs.

He kissed the top of her head and the girl sighed softly, almost so he couldn't hear it. Did she like that, he wondered? Would she like him touching her more? She already seemed to like that he was holding her.

Aegon kissed her again, on her temple now. He did it gently, while his hand left, damaged hand, reached forward so he might brush his fingers along her cheek.

The girl was smiling at his kisses. He used his fingers to tilt her head up, and without needing to be asked, she turned and met his lips.

He was sure it wasn't too unpleasant to kiss him. He still had control over his mouth, so moving his lips against hers was easier than using his hands. The kisses were good, slow and deep like he'd never experienced before. And the ache returned. The ache in his ruined loins, the ache in his heart. Her lips tasted like sweet honeyed wine, intoxicating and warm - but he wanted to know what her pussy tasted like now.

"Come up here." Aegon whispered to her, distracted temporarily by the string of saliva that still connected them, the sight making him all the more eager.

"I'm already right here, my lord." She said, her hands rubbing lightly over his chest, careful not to press too hard on his burn scars.

"More. I want you here on my shoulders."

The girl blushed. The tips of her fingers paused their circles on his chest. He wanted her cunt on his tongue. 

"Oh," She said timidly. Her doe-eyes looked to the ruined side of his body, concern in their depths. "Are - are you certain, my lord? Won't I hurt you?"

"You won't," Aegon said immediately. He didn't know if it would, he didn't care. "I'll tell you - please. Please come up here." 

The girl looked into his eyes, and his heart began to thunder in his chest when she reached for the ties to her dress.

Before he had any proper thoughts, he croaked out, "No. No, just come here. Pull your skirts up."

She did as he asked. 

Aegon looked eagerly, hungrily as she got up onto her knees, moving up the bed until finally she was straddling his shoulders. That low want in his pelvis had become a full inferno, and he wanted to satisfy it. 

He kissed at her thighs as his hands moved to her hips with more haste than his left shoulder appreciated. But she sighed again, a private sigh of enjoyment that he hoped desperately was not faked. His lips moved along the tops of her stockings and closer to her cunt, which smelled heady, but was yet still too far for him to reach.

Aegon gripped her waist, pulling her slightly so she would sit.

"But - my lord, will you be able to breathe?" She protested, resisting him.

"Let me." He pleaded, desperately. He could see her - her pink pussy lips were small, but they opened like petals that were just begging him to latch onto like a  honeysuckle flower. "Please, I need you, please. Let me make you come." His fingers pulled on her skirts again. This time, she listened, lowering herself onto his mouth.

It might as well have been honey. Golden honey, caramelized and poured into mulled wine, even if it did not taste as such.

The phantom of his mutilated cock had taken root in him, just from one taste of her.

Aegon moaned, his fingers gripping her skirts tightly as he lapped at her with his tongue, every long swipe over her pretty pink pussy sending another wave of aching, needy pleasure through him. It was duller, not as fresh or forceful, but it was pleasure and he liked this. 

And it seemed the girl did too. She was squirming on his mouth, her hips moving beneath his grip as he licked her. But it seemed like she needed more, needed maybe something else.

When he had a girl between his legs, he liked his cock sucked. Not just deep, thrusted in her throat, but sucked. Suckled by the tip, until her cheeks were hollowed out, tongue sometimes swirling around the thick, mushroom-shaped head until he was ready to fuck hard.

So Aegon tried it. His tongue found the head of her pleasure, a little bud above her entrance and he focused on it. Licking and circling around it, sometimes kissing it firmly before he held her tightly and sucked. Immediately, a loud, startled moan of pleasure came from her, so much that her hand had gone to his hair, as if to hold his face hostage against her cunt. He did it again, his phantom cock sending him towards her pleasure as he hungrily continued. He'd never thought to do this much to a lady before, but now that he'd gotten a taste for it he found himself to be a voracious eater.

She'd moaned so, so loudly, her hips even beginning to rock, rubbing herself against his mouth for more. 

His right hand fumbled beneath her skirts while he suckled at her cunt, his fingers probing at her entrance awkwardly until he slid them between her petals. She was soaking, slippery, but the angle was all wrong. He couldn't do anything more but rub at her. His whine made her yelp, the vibrations making her tremble.

"O-Oh -" The auburn-haired girl whimpered. "Perhaps - my lord, I could move?"

"No!" He resisted. Even without his hands, he wanted her to come. He wanted her to soak his face and suck on his fingers and maybe find a nice blunted candlestick and fuck herself with it while he nibbled at her breasts.  

"But - please, my lord, trust me." She begged of him, moving despite his gripping hands so she could kiss him. The kiss was imploring, and he nodded his consent if just so he could keep touching her.

Her dress stayed on, as he liked. But it was pulled up, and soon she was turning around. Her leg went on the other side of his torso, and now her pussy was fully on display for him, along with the curve of her ass and the tight puckered hole just between her cheeks. She was right, this was better.

Aegon moved his hand back thrusting two of his fingers inside of her cunt. She was hot and tight, and he wriggled his fingers around to make a feel for her, readying his wrist to start pumping.

But it was then that he felt her trying to pet him.

In this position, her cheek was resting on his pelvic bone. And her hand now was petting - trying to pet, where his cock was. And it seemed she was getting disappointed with him, as there was nothing hard for her in his breeches. There was nothing at all. 

"Don't." He begged, moving his leg up. "I -" He didn't know what to say. But if he was her, he'd feel - bad. Rejected. If she hadn't been wet when he touched her, he wouldn't like it. Then, he'd know it was false. Fake, that she was pretending.

She was a whore though, no matter how talented. Of course she was faking.

But her body wasn't. Her body liked him, her body wanted him.

And his wanted hers. Badly, so badly. So, he decided to tell her, since his cock wasn't there to prove it.

"You're so beautiful," He started with. His fingers kept rubbing her from the inside, pushing in and out. "So fucking - gods you're wet. I loved tasting you. Better than any pussy I've ever tasted, I could do it all day. Just keep you with me, all day and night, and I could eat your pussy until you couldn't take it anymore."

Her fingers had gripped at his breeches at his words. And he knew she liked them, because he could feel the clench of her core around his fingers and she rocking of her hips again.

He kept going.

"I wish I could fuck you. Wish I could've come here sooner. You're so good. So fucking good, I wish I could be inside you. So warm and tight, gods fuck." Aegon's words were spilling out faster now, because she'd moaned again. His hand moved faster, fucking her with his fingers. She was getting so much wetter now, so wet that the sound of them began to get so filthy. Wet, squelching noises were coming as he thrust into her, even as the muscles in his wrist resisted it, but all that mattered was that tight, wet grip and that needy pressure in his cock and oh gods -

"I want you to come for me. Come for me, come for me, I want you, please please please - !" His lustful babbling only cut short when the sound of her moans became more and more unrestrained, when she began trembling and shaking and now more needily thrusting herself back against his fingers, urging him for more force, which he eagerly gave her.

Aegon shoved his face back between her legs, just in time for her to come. Her ecstacy filled cries at his fervent, hungry devouring of her cunt as she peaked were just what he needed to force his eyes to roll back into his head as pleasure erupted from him. If he still had his cock, his cum could've shot to the ceiling with the force that came through his phantom member. At least he still had her wetness on his face. 

And, he thought as the girl shakily rolled back to curl into his arm, on his fingers.

Aegon was still licking his digits clean when Larys knocked on the door to retrieve him.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Look the other way

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The rise of Gimrak the liberator, or “Gimrak the Bloodied” depending on who you speak to, was an inevitable outcome for his people.  

From humble beginnings as a slave, Gimrak would seek retribution against his oppressors. Not just his slave masters and beaters, but against the society that had allowed such evil to not only flourish, but thrive. Over the course of ten years Gimrak worked in the various deepest and darkest mines of his homeworld all the while creating an elaborate network of supporters and followers. Every mine he was transferred to he would leave behind an ever growing cell of supporters.

By the end of his eleventh year Gimrak had finally amassed enough of a following that he launched an open insurrection across every slave mining complex on the planet. Untold millions of slave laborers battering themselves against their beaters until their guns ran try and their shock batons went cold.

The guards and foremen were the first ones to die. Ripped to shreds by the frenzy of revenge. Some tried to flee to the surface and collapse the entire mine behind them. Many failed in their flight but some did make it and the entrances were sealed under mountains of stone. Yet their measure of safety was short lived, as Gimrak had accounted for this and had secret tunnels, miles long at times, dug between the different mines; and like a flood of rushing water the slaves simply poured through these secret tunnels and breached the surface.

From there the surface of the planet became a bloodbath of untold scale.

No one above ground was innocent. No one who had allowed their fellows to dwell beneath the soil for generations could claim ignorance to the horrors they had played a part in.

With righteous retribution in their eyes entire cities were put to the torch by the slaves and its citizens hung from every light post, building corner, and tree. The body count reached into the millions before the wider galaxy intervened.

Peacekeeping forces were dispatched by the Galactic Council and put a stop to the violence. They did not recognize the slaves as rising against their oppressors, but more as a violent mob enacting their own personal vendettas.

The slaves had been able to rise up against their oppressors, but they were not capable of matching the technological superiority of the peacekeepers. Thousands died at their hands before Gimrak came forward and surrendered himself.

Bound in chains of darkened steel, he was dragged before the galactic council. There he was treated more like a war criminal than a liberator by the council who cut him off at every chance they could. They further humiliated Gimrak by broadcasting his hearing universe wide as they berated the leader into insignificance.  

When it was humanities turn to ask questions of Gimrak he had expected much of the same but was surprised when for the first time he was asked why he had slaughtered so man. The other councilors cut in saying that the reasons why were irrelevant, yet the human insisted to hear why.

Gimrak retorted that they should already know why since they had dispatched peacekeepers. The human admitted that no fact finding mission had been dispatched prior given the dire need of the request for aide.

 Recounting his story, Gimrak saved no detail of his torture in the mines to the day he led his people to a new future. While the other councilors rolled their eyes with disinterest, the human councilor appeared to be following along with every horrific detail. When Gimrak finished he expected to be dismissed and sentenced to a life in prison at best, and a short death penalty at worst. Instead, the human presented a third option.

“After hearing your story, I can’t help but feel that this is an internal matter.”

Gimrak’s eyes went wide as the other councilors turned to shout their objections. The human held up their hand and continued their sentiment.

“Per the regulations of the Galactic Council, we may only intervene in matters of an external nature. Matters in which can damage galactic relations at large or risk the extermination of an entire species.’

“Exactly!” a Binar councilor interjected. “This is extermination plain and simple.”

“On the contrary,” the human countered, “this is a genocide being carried out by a people against their own people; with no external factors at play.”

The look of shock at the human’s words was shared by the entire council and Gimrak. “Are you saying the council should turn a blind eye to such slaughter?” the Binar demanded.

“You did not seem to mind when you looked the other way when the Binar’s forcefully relocated one of your colonies in favor of corporate interests.” The human countered. The Binar flushed red but kept silent as the human turned to another councilor. “Or when the Mintarks decided they needed to carry out purges within their own government to root out corruption with no oversight.”

Now berated into silence the human returned their attention to Gimrak.

“We would of course need certain agreements before we could withdraw our forces.”

“What sort of agreements?” Gimrak remarked as he looked at the human with a flicker of hope.

“First, the bloodshed must be limited within your home system. If the violence continued outside of the borders of your home system it would be regarded as a galactic matter.”

“Second, moving forward a system of trials would need to be held in which proof, either physical or by testimony, of an individual’s involvement before being executed.”

“Finally, any persons not of your species currently in your home system must not be targeted.”

Gimrak had never met a human before yet he could feel something lurking underneath the humans words. While he did not give an open endorsement of the uprisings actions, he had not denounced them either. In fact, through his diplomatic linguistics he had actually given Gimark the means to continue with his people’s liberation free from the interference from outside powers.

“If my people met your terms,” Gimrak spoke slowly, “then you would leave us alone?”

“If all of these terms were met, then this matter would indeed be an internal matter and outside the purview of this council’s jurisdiction. Do we have an understanding?”

It was almost as if the human had wanted him to continue with his retribution, Gimrak thought to himself.

Bowing slightly to the human, Gimrak acknowledge the terms.

Within the hour he was escorted back to the shuttle by the human councilor to return to his followers and inform them of the deliberations. Before he entered the shuttle he turned to the human and asked the only question left to him.

“Why?”

The human crossed their arms behind their back and looked off into the horizon. A wall of soft orange light cascaded over the horizon as the sun slowly set and the encroaching night crept closer.

“When evil presents itself so proudly and unashamed, its decimation must be swift and remorseless lest it spread its vile rot to us all.”

Gimrak took stock of the human’s words. “And how do you know that I am not this evil you wish to destroy?”

Turning back the human shrugged sheepishly. “Then we at least know where to find you, and what to put to the torch.”

With the meaning understood, Gimrak nodded to the human and turned to enter the shuttle; the doors closing slowly behind him as it rose once more into the sky.

In the coming months the bloodshed did not cease, but the savagery and directionless anger had been brought under control. The peace keeping forces withdrew to outside the home system’s borders while the vengeance of the former slaves played out. Some of the higher nobles were able to flee outside of the system, but many more never made it to off world; their bodies rotting in the darkened mines they once ruled over.

[spxllcxstxr]

Kintsugi • K.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: Pls pls I need Kendall x young reader wife with a kid living in a remote place away from all the post waystar drama — anon

Summary: Six months later, Kendall still believes he's broken

Warnings: fem!reader (referred to as girl and mommy), usage of mommy and daddy but in pure parental terms, you have an unnamed daughter, rehab mention, kendall takes meds and goes to therapy now, past suicide implication/mention?, normal ken stuff, spoilers for the end of succession

Word Count: 1.2k (I didn't think it was gunna be this long lmao)

A.N: this was a little angsty im not gunna lie lmao, I’m going feral over this request—I just want Ken to be HAPPY, not enough happy Kendall gifs, also i am not entirely great with writing modern bros so like sorry about the characterization? first kendall piece so if you have any tips let me know, hope you all enjoy!

Kintsugi - a Japanese art form that involves repairing broken pottery with gold

•

"Ken? Ken honey do you want to join us at the beach today?" Your words cut through the painful silence of your master bedroom, shrouded in darkness despite it being past noon.

Kendall gives no indication that he heard you; no vague grunt or shift in movement. He just lays there--the blanket covering everything below his nose as his eyes stay closed. He isn't sleeping, you've been married to him long enough that his shuddering breaths and still as stone rigid posture was a poor attempt to convince you otherwise.

It’s like he thinks the blanket is the only thing holding him together. Like if he leaves that spot he’ll crumble to pieces right in front of you.

Your heart drops just looking at him. Being away from the city had obviously done some good, along with his month long visit to rehab, but Ken was still…healing.

You kiss his forehead before leaving, telling your disappointed daughter that daddy wouldn't be joining you today.

"It's one of daddy's bad days?" She asks once you feet hit the sand. Her childish voice laced with her innocence almost makes you tear up.

"It is, sweetie..." You nod, before quickly distracting her with placing your towels down and bringing out water bottles from her little pink lunchbox.

The ocean is what occupies her little body for the first hour or so. She jumps over the little waves and collects sea shells. Like what any parent would do, you snap photos of her with the biggest grin on her face.

Eventually, though, the two of you end up in the sand, using her plastic bucket and shovel to build a castle fit for a queen. She's actually not half bad, you notice, as the usual clumsy movements of a toddler are no longer present when she details her sandcastle.

“How’re my girls?”

You look up from the sand beneath your fingers to see your husband, clad in shorts and t-shirt.

“Daddy!” Your daughter shrieks, practically stomping all over the sandcastle the two of you were working on to get to Kendall.

She hugs his knees, squeezing them between her little arms, and he crouches down to hug her back.

Your husband smiles and it’s enough to convince your daughter—but not you.

He's tired, you notice; though it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. At just a glance it looks as if your husband has aged 50 years in six months. His eyes are sunken, not mention the dullness of his usually bright brown eyes. Kendall's normally sun-kissed skin now a deathly grey, which makes sense, he has barely left your bedroom much less the house. It’s almost as if someone had taken a spoon and hollowed out everything that made him human. Frown lines are etched into his face, your heart almost shatters at the overpowering aura of sadness and despair surrounding him.

Six months isn't enough time to wash away the years at Waystar.

You smile at him as your daughter takes his hand and drags him to the crumbling sandcastle.

Once he sits down he kisses you, placing a large hand on the side on your face. You taste the mint of the mouthwash he must've just used before his trek down here. Kissing Kendall was addicting, it always was, but with your daughter's groan of disgust you slowly pull away from him.

"Oh don't be like that kiddo, that's just what mommies and daddies do when they're in love." Kendall teases, ruffling her hair in the process.

She sticks her tongue out before turning her attention back on the ruins of the castle in front of her. Instead of crying about the state of it, she happily starts rebuilding with the help of you and Ken.

One eye never leaves his figure.

This sort of mood swing isn’t uncommon, for years you’ve experienced Kendall’s drastic moods, but this certainly wasn’t one of his highs.

The sandcastle slowly morphs into a sandkingdom; once she starts she never wants to stop. That is, until your daughter finally gets tired after the sun sets and she curls into Kendall’s lap.

You know you should get back to the house, it’s late, but it’s just too peaceful out here, alone on the beach.

Careful not to stir the little girl in his lap, Kendell leans his head on your shoulder, shifting closer to your warm figure. The stars flicker above you--a sight you almost never saw in the city. You take a deep breath before kissing your husband's recently buzzed head. Kendall hums, nuzzling even closer into you, like he was trying to burrow underneath your skin so you never had to leave him.

"I love you, Kendall. And we're ok." You whisper, the words getting eaten by the crashing waves just feet away from the two of you. Still, he hears you, you can tell by the sniffle against your shirt. Your daughter groans in her sleep, shifting.

He swallows roughly at your words.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n)…I fucked it.” Ken chokes out quietly, trying not to disturb the child. “I fucked it and I’m broken.”

His tears seep into your shirt. You angle your head down, your nose brushing against the top of his head.

"Oh Ken honey..." Your own lip wobbles at your husband's vulnerability. "You're not broken...you were never broken..."

"Then I'm--I'm fucking cracked, (Y/n)! I'm just not whole anymore! I don’t know if I ever was!"

Thoughts race through your head. Kendall had been doing better. He was consistent with taking his meds and he went to therapy every week. What if he tried to--? You clutch him closer to you, trying not to make yourself spiral when Kendall needed you.

His body shakes with silent sobs, your daughter still peacefully sleeping, unaware of the world around her.

The cool ocean breeze dances across your skin. You take a deep breath.

"Have you ever heard of kintsugi, Ken?"

"What? I'm having a complete breakdown and you're asking me about whatever the fuck that is?" He huffs, annoyed.

"Just listen to me Ken, it'll go somewhere." You kiss the top of his head to comfort his suddenly tense figure beside you. He eases at the contact. "I read in some stupid magazine that it's a Japanese technique where they repaired broken pots and stuff with gold." Kendall lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are red with unshed tears and his eyebrows are furrowed, listening to you. "They were made whole again; made more beautiful and were stronger than before."

Kendall purses his lips as you bring a hand up to stroke his tear stained cheek. Your other hand lightly strokes through your daughter's hair, careful not to rouse her.

"We'll be your gold, Kendall."

All at once the tension leaves his body, tears cascading down his face. His once dimly lit eyes brighten to reflect the stars above.

"Right," He nods, almost like he doesn't know how to respond to what you just said. "My gold..." His eyes flick between you and your daughter before his head settles back onto your shoulder, almost as if he couldn't take anymore emotions for the day.

You sigh, leaning your own head against his. Closing your eyes, you let the sound of the waves wash over the otherwise silent night.

The stars still shine above you and the saltiness of the ocean tinges the air.

You were all going to be alright.

•

[shamrockqueen]

Predator in the desert

Chapter 3

Pairing : Winter soldier x reader (post apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : Desperation, starving behavior, references to war, duality of the mind, emotionless man

Word count : 2020

Chapter 1

Bucky MasterList

You stopped breathing, the ghost of an echo bouncing through your ears after he’d yelled at you.

Your eyes snapped from his cutting and cold gaze, further down to the glimmer of his fearsome metal fingers as they closed around the old brass knob on the door. The only opening to the room, the only way out, and you wouldn’t be able to reach it, let alone slip past his solid stonelike frame.

You weren’t ‘calm’ by any means, but he had your attention, and even as you continued to shiver, it was all he really needed.

“Are you hungry?”

You flinched as he spoke; his voice edged only with a lack of patience as it reached out to you with heavy hands to shake you from your reeling thoughts.

You didn’t answer just yet, feeling your pulse thrum along your skin wildly. You just laid there, stunned as you stared at those metal fingers tightening around the knob of the door and trying to ease your own breathing before it made you feel numb.

“I asked if you were hungry.” He was much more stern, and even a little louder this time, watching with equal disinterest as you gasped back and struggled to answer.

“Y-yes… I‘m hungry.”

You spoke weakly, your lips shaking and your eyes welling with a wet dribble of tears. Like a small break in the smallest of bones as you gave in to the absurdity.

Of course you were hungry. You’ve been hungry since you were a screaming infant, just as everyone doomed to a life in the wasteland had been. Food in any amount was a luxury, whether it’s warm meat and grains or smashed bugs you find crawling along the floor by your bedroll.

This promise of food without a single bat of his eye should have felt like a dream come true, but something in your stomach felt heavy before clenching with a sharp cramp. That familiar pang of hunger pains morphing viscerally into obvious fear as your guts knotted together.

This was the only moment in your miserable life that you didn’t crave food, as you were consumed only with dread.

You didn’t want to take anything from this unholy amalgamation of man and metal. It was like cowering beneath the boogeyman, a monster of jagged teeth and twisted limbs that could steal your last shred of innocence, only to find an unreadable being that looked no different from yourself. He didn’t wear enough of his lethality on his skin, leaving you to spiral at the possibilities of what these chains binding you to his lair really meant for your near future.

It was no better than being a rabbit caught in a cage. There is the offer of water and now food, but the danger of your captivity, just as the chain around your leg, was a staunch reminder that none of this would be out of kindness. There is no good reason that you are here—none that could be conceived as all the terrible reasons swarm your aching head.

His expression never seemed to change as he took in every reaction you gave him, seeming to read it like new data to further his own strange purpose. When he was finished searching your jumbled tomes, whether having found his needed information or losing interest, he dragged that door open and disappeared through it before shutting you back inside that room. Only this time, you were alone with the crushing silence he had once held above you.

A silence quickly broken by the hard clack of a lock turning shut in the flimsy wooden barrier this soldier had placed between you two.

He fit the stories from old fantasies of war. An old story long left covered in dust, detailing how both sides ate away at one another until the bones were bare and empty of their marrow. He bore the red star, the mark of a demon of irradiated sands. One head severed from its ranks meant two would splinter out in its place, biting and gnashing its way through the wasteland.

The great hydra was supposed to be dead, a final rest assured long before your own birth. How wrong they all were apparently, and as you recounted those scary fairy tales, your stomach twisted harder and harder.

You tried to steady your breathing, letting it stutter and shake before it finally met an even rhythm.

‘You really did need to calm down’ The traitorous thought was the last fly to buzz through your brain before you let the muscles in your shoulders fall loose to hit the floor.

Your ankle still felt heavy with its new iron cuff, and you struggled back onto your elbows and further onto your feet, the sound of the chain dragging along the wood the only noise left to taunt you.

Your eyes narrow at the brassy knob, a small spark of defiance finally igniting in your chest only to fall short of catching a flame.

You were frustrated at best, hot tears stinging your eyes before spilling out over your dirty cheeks.

‘Why me? For fucks sake, why?”

How were you significant enough to be stolen? Did he pity you, thinking that keeping you would be better for your well-being, like a lost kitten climbing among the rocks he had scooped up?

Why would a monster want to help you? Why would he bother to care for you when he could do what any other villain would do to others who strayed too far from home?

But, this room didn’t look like a pen to keep his livestock. It had a small window at its other end, barred on the outside of the glass for your protection. The bed wasn’t shabby, only worn, and with actual blankets and pillows.

If you were to be kept, you suppose he chose to keep you well.

You turned back to the door, its knob within reach, but you didn’t jump to futilely pull or tear at it. You reach forward, a shriveled shard of hope still tearing at your heavy heart as you slide your fingers around it.

You know it was locked; you heard it happen, but you still clung to the possibility of this being a terribly real nightmare instead. Maybe your mind would let you open the door, but as you twisted the handle, it of course did not budge.

You stood closer, your head falling to your chest as you pressed your fingers to the wood. Your mouth opened with a shaking exhale of an empty scream, and new tears flooded over to wash the rest of your grimy face.

You did not expect the door to push forward on its own, nearly smacking you in the face as it knocked you back. You land on the floor unceremoniously. Still so weak and unsteady, you weren’t even a suitable match for an old door.

The man was back, standing over you with a plate in his human hand. He sighed before setting the platter of promised food on the bed, stepping over you in the process.

He spoke evenly, saying, “I didn’t mean to hit you,” but his voice didn’t carry any ounce of guilt for knocking you back on your ass. Would this have been the first time he’d knocked you down, or was it simply the only time he hadn’t meant to do so?

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned over your crumbled form, reaching towards your reddened cheek where the wood had initially smacked you.

You immediately shied away from his touch but didn’t fight to scramble backward.

He leaned away but offered you his less harrowing hand to help you off the floor instead of leaving you to do so by yourself again.

You never answered his last question, but as he didn’t press further, it was possible that he wasn't really interested either way.

He gestured to the plate of food he’d set on the bed and said flatly, “Eat.”

You looked over at the plate still perched on a pile of blankets. A slab of cooked meat, diced cubes of root vegetables, and a mush of something boiled, green, and leafy. It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

Actual meat the size of your hand coupled with real vegetables possibly rich with those vitamins and mineral-things the doctor used to talk about. Whatever it was, it made your tongue wet as you swept it over your cracked lips.

A small part of you still wanted to be cautious, as another balled its fists in frustration from being kept away from a beautiful plate of healthy food.

You opened your mouth, only to choke back on the words with a wet cough. You sputtered again, crying like a sad child for him to witness before finally speaking.

“Are you going to drug me?”

"No,” he answered quickly and with little care.

You watched for any signs of a farce, a twitch of an eyebrow, a quirk of a lip, anything. His eyes held their dull, disinterested blue as he waited for you to make up your mind.

You ventured closer to the plate, pressing a dirty finger against the still hot morsel of meat. It was light in color, like white meat off a rabbit, but you needed to be certain before going past this thin line you had drawn for yourself.

Your lips stuck together as you nearly whispered a squeak of a few words, “Is it people?”

The ‘P’ was sputtered by the drop of collected tears, making the sound more pronounced as it left your lips.

“No”

You looked back at him at the subtle change in his voice. With one word, one syllable, it was oddly unmistakable. He sounded a little offended, and yet he didn’t lift a finger against you.

That last ‘no’ was all you needed before throwing yourself at the plate, scooping at the wet potatoes and greens with your fingers to wipe the tasteless sludge over your tongue in ecstasy.

You tore at the meat with your bare teeth like a hungry dog in a frenzy of unending starvation.

You weren’t human anymore; no longer yourself. It was shameful how you felt. In this moment, as you tore at a lump of fat with your back molar, you wanted this more than ever.

You wanted to be a pet if it meant the promise of this minimal care. You wanted to be kept; you wanted the fresh water and food; damned be the consequences.

You weren’t thinking clearly, not until you licked the last stain of grease and green vegetable smudge off the plate with your desperate little tongue. You hadn’t realized you were panting, gasping at the air, and holding the plate with white knuckles and numb fingers as if he could fly off and never return.

His expression had shifted for only a second. A split moment where his eyes widened a single centimeter before returning to their natural steely state. His shoulders stayed stiff with new concern. It was all a subtle change you had missed during your indulgence.

“Do you want more?” He asked, his voice still tainted with that unspoken concern.

You swear you could nearly feel your heart stop at just hearing those words. You were still desperate, and you nodded frantically.

He reached carefully towards you for the plate, giving you his metal fingers instead of the soft fleshy digits of his other hand. Possibly anticipating being bitten when pulling away the saucer. You let him take it from you, watching as he repeated his earlier actions of leaving and locking you inside the room.

There was a burn of shame somewhere in your stomach, but it was greatly overshadowed by a deep desire for sustenance. And, this man, what should be a monster in your eyes, was unbothered to fulfill such a desire.

You stood in place, not reaching for the door like the captive you are, not waiting on the bed like a puppy missing its master. But, by god, you wanted that fucking food.

Chapter 4

More post apocalyptic AU

Tags : @itsswritten @cjand10 @dear-lolita @took-a-wr0ng-turn @scott-loki-barnes @ihavetwoholesforareason @potatothots @toozmanykids @wintrsoldrluvr @heletsmelovehim

[weebsinstash]

Do you think Nolan or Thragg would ever be a GirlDad (TM)? Like, I can imagine Nolan finding out his wife is pregnant with a girl, and he thinks he's going to treat her the same as Mark, but then he holds her in his arms for the 1st time and all of a sudden she's Daddy's Little Princess and he's teaching her how to subjugate her enemies during her "princess tea parties" and they're both wearing tiaras cuz "Please daddy?" with puppy dog eyes.

Hooting hollering howling and slapping my knee because I never finished the goddamn post but if you take a gander over here in my drafts

SAME BRAINCELL WOO WOO

That gif is his response to you asking when you get to date lmaooo

I almost wrote like something short for it, and I kind of am constantly bouncing around between "Do I want this to be short or long or what" but I can just imagine daughter Reader and Nolan going at it "you just don't want me to date because you want me to save myself for a VILTRUMITE man, don't you?! Humans aren't good enough, huh?! I'm 'too good for a human man'?!" And he just loses it and shouts back "you're too good for ANY man, you don't NEED any man, I'M the only man you need, I'M your FATHER!!" Like. Nolan is one of those super dare I use the term emotionally incestuous yandere dads

Like. Ok I guess this is a throwaway spoiler because I would be absolutely fucking shocked if they bothered to animate this, it's such a small deal, but like. Idk. Idk. How do I phrase this. "There's another character in the series who also has to deal with their daughter wanting to have A Ho Phase and Daddy Doesn't Like It" and for the love of fucking god Nolan and Thragg wouldn't let you date for absolute shit. No dating, no fucking, you are, their pure innocent sweet but also savage little fierce warrior princess and you are untouched by no man like the goddess Artemis to them.

God. Having a yelling screaming argument where you're just so upset, "OH YEAH WELL YOU KNOW YOUR CHANCELLORS SON, THE ONE I MET THE OTHER WEEK? YEAH, YEAH, I FUCKED HIM, I FUCKED HIM IN MY BED, IN THE HOUSE YOU PROVIDE FOR ME, HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, DADDY" and that's like OH MY GOD you've cut them so deep it's like actual fucking sacrilege to them. The EMOTIONAL DAMAGE. Fists are nothing knives are nothing bombs are nothing BUT HEARING THAT THEIR BABY GIRL GOT DEFLOWERED? It's like a fucking DEBUFF. Imagine you scream at Nolan about how you sucked off a Viltrumite HIS AGE and he just PHYSICALLY STUMBLES, HAS TO REGAIN HIS BALANCE, HAND OVER HIS HEART

And Thragg is, obsessively hollering about how you're the Grand Regents daughter and you're of too high status for any of these males, just screaming at you, "WHY DID I CATCH THAT MAN'S TONGUE IN YOUR MOUTH? HE IS BENEATH YOU" and you hit him with "YEAH HE WAS BENEATH ME, AND BEHIND ME, AND ON TOP OF ME--" and Thragg gets so fucking RED, I feel like he's one of those wall punching dads. He won't ever hit you but he might manhandle-grab you and physically intimidate you at times. Thragg can just give you The Look and you INSTANTLY know you're in for a punishment, or that he's absolutely furious, and you're on your knees, "Please Daddy I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I was angry, please don't be upset with me, i-i-i just dont like you being disappointed in me, i love you and i want us to get along 🥺" and like. Obviously it works. But. He's not mad at YOU, he's mad at THE GUY, so, as cute and effective as buttering him up or even just genuinely being afraid and pleading earnestly is, you're not his target. The guy's still getting, tortured and maimed or something. But thanks for telling Father you love him, that'll perk him up during his next planet raid ❤️

BUT NO LITERALLY ACTUALLY Nolan with his knees bent in a little tiny plastic chair nearly on the ground with his little fake cup of tea as he sits there having "tea" with you and your Princess Ladybug doll and he's all, "now sweetheart, what did we learn today?" "That if we defeat our enemies, we should also take out their family and their allies, so they don't come back for vengeance?" "Yes sweetie, that's so good, you're so smart 🥰"

Nolan/Thragg getting in a physical fight and they could be getting maimed and disembowled or taking punches and it's like whatever, they're still chilling, but, do some shit like, knock their treasured keychain out of their pocket that you gave them or an embroidered handkerchief or just a little personal photo of you they keep on them gets ruined in the scuffle, oh, oh, NOW they're fucking pissed, NOW they've got some serious unfinished business in this fight and their opponents get DEMOLISHED and they're sitting there pouting with their broken/ruined thing you gave them because even if they got a new one from you, this one still had memories and sentimental value

I feel like similar to parents keeping baby teeth, Thragg would keep things like, first weapon you ever trained with, memorial photo of your first spar with another child that you won, your first flightsuit, a toddlers toy that was crushed on accident because you suddenly got your powers and had far too much strength than you knew what to do with. And Nolan, if he's raising you on Earth with Debbie, he's at all your school functions, whether it's dancing or sports, and if you aren't in those things, he encourages you HEAVILY (it totally isn't. Training or anything or making sure you're staying fit and active for anything in the future hahaha). He's taking photos and cheering in the crowds. He wants your art in his office. He wants to play games with you once you get your powers. He buys a case for any medals and trophies to proudly display.

Also like do you have any idea how much of an actual phenomenon it is, I've seen videos of it, where dads basically have infinitely more sympathy for their new daughters when they already have sons. I distinctly remember a video where a man was holding his second-born, his first daughter, and he was like weeping because he was feeling intense empathy for his infant daughter because she was crying and looking at him as he held her, and the wife was filming and it was captioned "he never did this with our son" and like. LMAO, THAT'S NOLAN WITH YOU WHEN YOU CRY. THAT'S THRAGG SUDDENLY GIVING A FUCK ABOUT ONLY YOU SPECIFICALLY AFTER LIKE TONS OF KIDS.

Daughter Reader would definitely be their spoiled little princess but you're also their spoiled little princess under very specific terms of CONTAINMENT AND SURVEILLANCE. You've got curfews, they need to know who your friends are, what families do they come from, what do their parents do. They'll treat you like a princess but they'll also socially isolate you from others and. Basically control your life. And if you ever try and pull away from Dear Old Dad, well. Viltrumites can have some pretty extreme reactions. Will Nolan have to disfigure that boy you won't stop talking to? Will Thragg have to build a pretty little cell so that his adult daughter doesn't sneak out to drink and fuck unknown men? That's up to how much of an obedient faithful daughter you want to be. Don't make them do something only you will regret ❤️

Jfjfkfm EDIT; I ALSO TOTALLY MISSES YOU SENT THIS

No but absolutely you're sitting there in your little costume jewelry as you twist a barbie doll and wring her like a towel "for disobeying High Queen Princess Barbie" and here's Thragg, "that's very good. The chain of command should always be respected" and you just happily start chattering away in that "im a small child and I don't know how to keep secrets or lie" kind of way

"Then Teddy Mason from down the street chased me into the woods and I kept telling him to stop but he kept using a stick to pull up my skirt so I grabbed him by the leg and threw him up into the air so he went SPLAT when he came back down!!" And you bang your little hand down on your table and Thragg is nodding in approval and Nolan just comes in looking mortified because he has no idea why Thragg is there until he. Sees that you're putting all kinds of stupid plastic hair clips in the man's hair and even his mustache and giggling and putting stickers on him And Thragg Is Just Totally Letting It Happen. Just totally casual, "Ah Nolan, you're finally here" and stands up to talk to Nolan with you in his arms or on his shoulder or just, hovering around him continuing to play with all the hair clips while your very horrified father is wondering what alternate dimension he just stumbled into to see the Grand Regent so. Calm.

The two men go into the other room "to have a grownup talk" and are they talking about the invasion? About Viltrum? No, Thragg is demanding to see all your baby photos as Nolan starts pulling out all his photo albums with absolute glee

[yesimwriting]

we need more felix and lovie content i miss themmm

i miss them too,, i have so many drafts and half finished fics with them but i've had so little energy/time to actually finish any of them bc of finals

but i'm pretty caught up with school rn (by tuesday i'll be on summer break!!) so here's a bit of an i'm-sorry-for-being-absent drabble :)

The nail of your thumb drags against the edge of the page, finally getting the glue to fully adhere to the page.

You press your back against the wood surface of your desk chair to admire your handiwork. The background of your latest scrapbook page has come together just the way you wanted it to. You pick up the book carefully before turning your body.

"Lex," you beam.

Felix doesn't sit up fully, but he does lift his head. The arm holding up his copy of the latest Harry Potter relaxing. "Oh," he mumbles it in that way that reminds you of one of the things you like best about him. He has this talent for giving attention. Where other people would just be polite without a second thought, Felix takes the time to really look before commending.

He pushes himself up in a way that awkwardly squishes your pillow. "That's good." Felix straightens, legs crossing beneath him. "That's really good, Lovie." His thumb tucks itself between the pages of his book, a make shift bookmark. "The edges, the paper..."

"Thank you." Another thing you love about Felix is the fact that you can always tell he means his praise. You turn forward, setting your scrapbook back onto your desk. "You should make one."

The corner of his mouth pulls itself into a version of a smile that's so soft you almost miss it. "Yeah?" You nod. Felix's smile shifts into something more assured. "Maybe tomorrow night."

You try to picture Felix spending a Saturday night in either your room or his, cutting up scraps of paper and gluing them down instead of at a bar or some party. The thought makes your feel warm in that way that's so exclusively Felix. It also feels blurry, intangible in its unlikeliness.

As happy as it'd make you, tonight was already surprising enough. It's not like Felix goes out every night, and this isn't the first time the two of you have stayed in on a Friday, but nights like these are rare. You can't picture two of these in a row.

"Tomorrow?" You pull your legs out from under your desk, entire body angling itself to the side so that it's easier to look at him. "Tomorrow's Saturday."

He lets out a partial laugh. "And you're dying for a rager?"

"No," you mumble, dragging out the vowel sound in an attempt to sound more sarcastic. "But you like going out." You lean forward, resting your chin against the chair's back. "And it's not like I hate going out, especially with you..." You trail off, eyes shifting away from Felix and towards the bed post closest to you. "And I don't want to be the reason you don't do things you like."

For a beat, the only sound is the low, rhythmic tapping of Felix's pointer finger against the spine of his book. "I like a lot of things."

You lift your head. "I know."

"I like doing things with you."

The warmth comes back with a vengeance. You tap your thumb against the side of your seat for the sake of doing something. "Me too."

Felix shifts, extending one leg to make himself more comfortable. "Good." He's so quiet for a second, you almost think that might be the end of the conversation. You're about to go back to picking out the pictures to finish off the page you'd been working on when he starts again, "So you don't need to worry about me resenting you."

Your eyes narrow. "I didn't say anything about you resenting me." Your chin lifts slightly, an attempt at displaying your indignation. "Why are you saying it like that was an option?"

He grins, dropping himself back onto your pillow. "No reason."

You roll your eyes at his sarcasm. He's the one that came over to your room without being asked to. "Sure."

"What?" His tone implies nothing but perfect innocence. He picks up his book, opening it as if he's done nothing wrong. "Y'should come over here before the resentment sets in and I lose all interest."

You let out a loud sigh, but move to stand regardless. "Yeah, that feels like a real possibility."

When you don't move, Felix glances away from his book. "You're not gonna come over here?" He looks up at you, a hint of a pout playing at his expression. "I was kidding."

You cross your arms, fighting against a smile. "I just stood up." That's not enough to convince him to stop looking at you like that. You take a few steps forward with a sigh that's more out of habit than anything else. "You are so dramatic."

You sit on your bed, crossing your legs beneath you. Felix shifts onto his side. His freehand finds your knee. "You cried because of this book."

Eyes narrowing, you lean forward to get a better sense of how far into the book he's gotten. "Wait a few chapters."

Felix snaps his head in your direction, "Lovie. You said you wouldn't--" Your sentence runs into his, "I didn't--I didn't spoil it."

He frowns, watching you skeptically. "That was mean."

"You started it." You're aware that you sound like a little kid, but you can't help it. With a sigh, you give up, laying down. He's taking up most of your bed, but you're far from uncomfortable. "Fine. I'm sorry."

With little warning, Felix leans forward and presses a kiss against your temple. "Want me to read to you?"

You're used to Felix's random displays of affection, but every once in awhile something will take you by so much surprise you feel it more than you should. You blink. "Yeah," you mumble, hoping that your voice comes out even, "Sounds nice."

Felix shifts onto his back, one hand finding your arm and the other holding his book.

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny @lilyrachelcassidy @khxna @imbabycowboy

[veinsfullofstars]

“I. Am going. To kill that rat.” “What was that, Boss?” “I said, BACK TO YOUR POSTS NOW!” “Y-Y-Yes, sir, right away, sir!”

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic, four borderless panels featuring Dark Meta Knight, Mirror Axe Knight, and Mirror Mace Knight, in which the latter two comment on their leader’s interesting new battle scars, much to his restrained dismay. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

Good thing his minions aren’t the brightest bulbs in the bunch - otherwise they’d’ve found out about all the friendly hugs he’s been getting in his off-time.

(… this isn’t too much, is it? Stars, I hope not. I tried to keep it vague enough that it doesn’t have to mean anything spicy. Maybe it was just a very competitive game of tag. Or maybe DMK couldn’t quite reach an itch between his wings and Daroach got a bit overenthusiastic trying to help. Basically anything that could ruin his “big scary cool toughguy” reputation. As long as DMK is too embarrassed to admit to it in front of his crew, they’re all viable options, haha.)

Started 12/25/23, finished 12/28/23, updated 01/04/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/04/24. | Kintsugi AU Masterpost

—

Transcript:

Panel 1

*DMK walking forward towards our left, M!Axe and M!Mace passing by in the opposite direction, M!Axe waves cheerily to DMK, who glances at them over his shoulder*

M!Axe: Oh, Boss, there you are! Hey, how was the fight? Didja win?

DMK: Hm? What’re you talking about?

Panel 2

*reverse shot of DMK, still glancing over his shoulder, several pink scratch lines can be seen on his back and the base of his wings, each in sets of three*

M!Mace: Got some new scratches on your back, Boss. Nasty ones, too, by the look of it.

M!Axe: (laughing, impressed) Ha! Musta been one heck of a scrap to leave marks like that! I’d hate to see what happened to the other guy, haha!

Panel 3

*front shot of DMK, his eyes shrunk to dots in realization, as a thought bubble hovers over his head - a simple headshot of Daroach, grinning roguishly beneath the shadow of his hat, showing off his claws as they glint sharply*

Panel 4

*front shot of DMK, sweating and glaring fixedly off to the side, eyes still shrunk, a vivid blush inside his visor, while M!Axe and M!Mace stand where they were before behind him, heads tilted in innocent confusion*

DMK: (strained) … … … Yes. … … A fight. … That’s what happened.

[hornyhornyhimbos]

Goofy Sex with Steve Harrington Headcanons

look how cocky he is, lil bitch

warnings and tags: MINORS DNI (18+) AFAB!Reader, oral both!receiving, protected PIV sex, mentions of ass eating i'm sorry, Steve refers to his 🍌 as "Little Steve" because i think it's funny, queefing, accidental cum swallowing, explicit language, references to marijuana use in the past, S3 Steve bc I said so, Steve is a sarcastic ass but what's new, transition-y bits are in red

Author's Notes: I feel like we as a society don't talk enough about goofy and silly sex with Steve Harrington so that's what this is, hope y'all enjoy 🤩

inspired by this post by @parkermunson <3

What sparks the whole thing wasn't even inherently sexual. Steve had taken the rest of the day off from work due to "aches and pains" and called you over on the premise of having a lazy day and cuddling.

You're watching cartoons, nothing inherently sexual happening. And then... the characters end up in a compromising position.

"Hey, what do you think sex would be like in that position?" he asks. Facepalm, you respond. "Hey, you wanna find out?" he asks. "Aren't you experiencing aches and pains?" you ask.

He glances down, then back up at you. When you don't catch his drift, he does it again. When you still don't get it, he says, "OK maybe I wasn't the one who was experiencing said aches and pains... it might've been Little Steve."

You cut your eyes at him and threaten to leave, but he meets you with a puckered-out bottom lip and a, "Pwease? For Wittle Steve?"

Somehow, the two of you end up making out on the couch for a little while. Tongues and lips graze against each other when all of a sudden, Steve pulls away.

"Babe, what-" "AH-CHOO!" Steve is a loud sneezer but that's a headcanon for another time

The two of you can't help but giggle, but you go back to it anyway, continuing to kiss as he begins to lead you from the couch to his bedroom.

BLAM!!!!

You're scared Steve might've broken a bone from how hard he hit his arm on one of his mother's decorative tables, but Steve insists he's alright. "I'm fine, but fuck my mother and all her damn end tables."

Luckily, you make it to his bedroom in one piece. You start to lie back on the bed, but Steve stops you, an almost devious grin plastered to his lips. "Have you ever thought about riding my face instead of my dick?"

You're sure he's meant to say it seriously, but the tone he used sounded so sarcastic, you almost thought it was a joke. Still, who are you to deprive your boyfriend even if he is being a little shit?

That's how you ended up grasping the bed posts, his nose nuzzled against your clit, his tongue hitting all the right places.

"Finally, something's going right," you thought to yourself.

Suddenly, Steve's moving his hands to your hips, hoisting you away from his lips and gasping. "Sorry," he managed to say, "couldn't breathe in that position."

So, you move on to something more fun for him: giving him head.

His hand slides down your cheek as your beneath him, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

"I bet a U.S.S Butterscotch isn't the only ice cream you wanna lick."

The room is silent as you both process his words. Eventually he says, "Yeah, I'm gonna pretend I didn't say that."

You've barely got his Scoops' uniform shorts pulled down before his dick springs into action, slapping you hard on the chin. You laugh as you take it in your hands, ready to proceed with the task at hand.

"Told you Little Steve was needy today."

You're tempted to leave again, but his dick looks so nice, you can't just say no. Next thing you know, he's sliding his dick into your mouth, moaning louder than he ever had before.

He's barely a third of the way in and you're barely licking the vein when he just releases, sending so much cum down your throat you nearly choke.

His eyes bulge as he runs over to the bathroom, making a cup of water and sprinting back over to you, his cock waving about. The sight only had you choking harder.

After a couple minutes of catching your breath and washing down his seed, you finally feel up to doing what you'd been in his bedroom for all along.

He grabs a condom from the bedside table, jokingly lifting it to his mouth. "You think I could make balloon animals with one of these?"

"Steve that is SO unsanitary."

"Look, my mouth's already been where this is going anyway, right?"

Despite his last sarcastic comment, you soon find yourself laid back on his mattress, his dick sinking into you. His hands are clasped around yours, he's trailing kisses from your boobs to your neck to the shell of your ear. The moment feels happy, close, intimate.

When all of a sudden... you queef.

At first, you're mortified, until Steve just continues pounding into you, letting out low, rumbly laughs from deep within his chest.

But finally, after all the ups and downs of this afternoon, you cum for the first time and it's pure bliss as he follows soon after.

He lies down beside you, a hand raking its way through your now sweat-matted hair. The moment is peaceful and quiet and overall, just feels like bliss.

"Isn't it funny how vaginas can make noises like that?" he says out of nowhere.

You roll your eyes, slapping him hard on the chest. "It's not funny!"

"I'm sorry, did you hear the same noise I did?"

You pout, sticking your tongue out at him. "Yeah well, at least it didn't make the same smell it does when your ass makes noises like that."

He slaps your buttcheek hard, a chuckle nearly escaping his lips as he watches it jiggle. "Says the one who's asked if she could eat my ass before."

You grab one of his pillows covering your face in embarrassment. "OK, that was one time and it was Eddie's fault." "How was that Eddie's fault?" "He gave me the weed in the first place."

He slaps your butt again. "Oh, don't blame the weed for amplifying your cravings for my ass."

Soon enough, the conversation has turned into a fit of giggles from both parties. You watch intently as his eyes scrunch closed with laughter, admiring the cute lines that form by his eyes.

He notices that you've gone silent, and gives you a soft smile.

"So... I'll be here all week, you know."

☆ taglist: @liberhoe @writer-in-theory @esoltis280

[rishas-pepero]

✦.˚ // just a simple note, this whole fanfiction was made by ChatGPT. Yes. ChatGPT. I was immensely bored so i thought of making a story that includes Fyodor using ChatGPT and it was to good not to post so.. 🤷‍♀️

( sadly no smut today so suffer. But maybe in the next part it will *wink wink*)

contents: just argument and shit

warnings: harsh words ( not really tbh ) Basically not that much of NSFW

The room felt smaller than it was, suffocating under the weight of unspoken frustrations that had finally surfaced. The argument had become a spectacle of words, sharp and relentless, though their substance had long lost meaning. It wasn’t about reason anymore, just the clash of pride, the rawness of emotion.

Fyodor’s eyes darkened as he stared at you, his voice a mixture of bitter accusation and cold curiosity.

"You’re always like this," he began, the words deliberate, almost cruel in their precision. "What are you? A monster, perhaps? Trying to disappear, to blend into this world already teeming with monsters, as though you could mask what lies beneath?" His tone had the icy chill of indifference, but beneath it was something more—a thread of frustration unraveling.

A hint of sadness flickered in her eyes, the brief glint of emotion catching in the dim light, as if her very soul was trying to speak where her voice could not. The weight of her silence pressed down on the room, thicker than the argument that had raged just moments ago. It was a silence that did not merely quiet the air—it suffocated it, drawing out the tension like a slow, inevitable pull. Her expression, though unreadable, carried a sadness that reverberated through the space, more cutting than the sharpest insult could ever be.

Each breath seemed to stretch the distance between them, amplifying the quiet, until the room itself felt too large for the two of them. His words, which had just moments ago filled the space with anger and accusation, now seemed to crumble in the face of her quiet sorrow. The walls, once echoing with the force of their voices, now seemed to press inward, shrinking under the pressure of her unspoken pain.

She didn’t need to say anything. The glint in her eyes, the way she held herself, her stillness—it was enough. Her silence screamed louder than any retort, drowning out the noise of his earlier outburst. In that quiet moment, the weight of her sadness became palpable, as though the room itself could feel it, pressing down on him until he had no choice but to fall into the stillness with her.

"i wasn't born the monster i turned to be."

Fyodor’s eyes studied her closely, his gaze as steady as it was intense. The silence in the room grew, each breath a heavy gasp, and the tension twisted until it felt as though the air itself was compressing.

There was something in her words, a flicker of vulnerability in that sadness that caught his attention. The usual steel in his eyes softened, if only for a moment, replaced by a look of deep, perhaps even unexpected, curiosity.

"Then what forced your hand?" he asked finally, his voice lowered. "What event cast you into the role of the monster you now play?"

Her eyes, still heavy with sadness, flickered at his words, as though the weight of his question pulled at something deeper within her. She held his gaze, refusing to look away, but the silence between them thickened. The sharpness of his inquiry cut through her like a knife, demanding an answer she wasn’t sure she could give.

“What forced my hand?” she repeated, her voice low, almost a whisper. The question lingered on her tongue, heavy with memories she hadn’t revisited in years. “Perhaps it wasn’t an event,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if seeing through him. “Maybe it was a series of small betrayals, each one pushing me further away from the person I once was. Or perhaps… it was simply time. Time that wore down every bit of innocence I had left, until there was nothing to cling to but the monster.”

Her words trailed off, and the room seemed to shrink again, the weight of her confession pulling everything inward. She shifted, crossing her arms, as though trying to shield herself from the vulnerability she had just laid bare. Her eyes flickered with something darker now, a mixture of defiance and regret.

“And what about you, Fyodor?” she asked, her voice steady but filled with a quiet challenge. “Are you any different? Or have you simply become so accustomed to your own role that you’ve forgotten how it all began?”

The tension hung in the air between them, thick and unresolved. For a moment, the two stood there, caught in the heavy silence, waiting for the next storm to break.

Fyodor's eyes darkened, mirroring her defiant gaze. Her words had touched a nerve, a spot of self-awareness he'd rather keep hidden. He stepped closer, his steps slow and deliberate, until they were face to face.

"You're a bit too perceptive for your own good." His voice was like frost, cold and smooth. "Perhaps I've become accustomed to my role, as you put it. But don't mistake it for forgetfulness."

His eyes narrowed, his gaze dissecting her. “You say you were pushed into your role. I say I chose mine."

She held her ground, refusing to back down even as his presence loomed over her. A faint smile tugged at her lips, though there was no warmth behind it.

"Chose it, did you?" Her voice was steady, yet laced with a hint of mockery. "Then I wonder, is that what you tell yourself every time you feel the weight of it?"

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his. "Because from where I stand, it seems like we're both wearing chains. The only difference is, you’re proud of yours."

Fyodor's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile as he leaned in, his breath barely brushing her skin.

"Proud?" he repeated, his tone low and edged with amusement. "No, not proud. Just... aware."

He straightened, his eyes cold and calculating. "You see chains. I see leverage. And unlike you, I don't waste time resenting them. I use them."

His gaze pierced through her, voice soft but laced with venom. "Perhaps that’s the real difference between us."

Fyodor's smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes. In one swift, deliberate movement, he stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. His fingers, cool and steady, tilted her chin upwards, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Perhaps that's the real difference between us," he repeated softly, his thumb brushing her jawline. His eyes, sharp and unrelenting, held hers captive, as if searching for a crack in her composure.

"While you struggle against your chains," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "I hold the key to mine."

She didn’t flinch under his touch, her breath steady despite the closeness. Her eyes remained locked on his, defiant as ever, though her voice softened, taking on a dangerous edge.

“Hold the key, do you?” she murmured, her chin still resting against his fingers. “Then tell me, Fyodor—why does someone with so much control need to prove it?”

She leaned in slightly, her lips almost brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Maybe you’re not as free as you think.”

Fyodor's grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly, his breath warm against her ear as he responded, his voice a low, chilling whisper.

“Proving control is not about freedom,” he said, his words sharp and deliberate. “It’s about reminding myself that I am the one holding the reins.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his eyes glittering with a cold fire. “As for freedom—perhaps it’s not about how free you are, but what you’re willing to sacrifice for that freedom.”

Fyodor's eyes traveled slowly from her gaze to her lips, the intensity of his stare betraying his struggle to maintain control. He paused, his breath shallow, as if weighing the gravity of the moment. The silence between them deepened, filled with a charged anticipation that seemed to stretch time itself.

His thumb brushed lightly along her jawline, the touch almost absent-minded as his focus remained on her lips. The seconds ticked by in a taut, unspoken tension, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her mouth. The air grew thick, each breath a shared caress that seemed to amplify the space between them.

Finally, unable to bear the pull of the moment any longer, Fyodor closed the distance with a deliberate, slow motion. His lips brushed against hers, soft yet insistent, as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that belied his earlier composure. It was a kiss that spoke of hidden desires and suppressed passions, a connection that transcended words and left the world outside their shared intensity.

[trampstampbrbie]

What Do You Call A Bunny That's Been Tied Up?

'If only you were Batman...

The Riddler was tied up on your bed, completely handing himself over to you...but you weren't vengeance...you were just some mean ol' bitch who liked to see little nerds cry and make a mess of themselves.'

dom!reader x sub!edward tags: one shot, minors dni, smut, piv s^x, bd^sm, nmcm, rope bunny, snowballing, description of gender envy

masterlist

You'd been running your hands up and down his soft stomach for a while now. Here and there, the long strokes would pause below his belly button, you'd twirl the mess of tawny hair and gently tug on it before going back to your caresses. Though that's all you'd done to him since tying him up to your bedpost, he was a hard and throbbing mess, already.

"Please." His sweet voice cut through the silence and his hips jerked a bit as your hand ventured below his navel once more.

You completely pulled your hand away and instead of answering, you merely hummed.

"A-Aren't you going to touch me?" Big green eyes peered up at you. It made you chuckle.

"Baby, I have been." You chided, gently placing your hand upon his cheek. "Was I not making you feel good?" You feigned a pout and retreated your hand once more. He seemingly chased it, seething as you were just out of reach.

"No–No! You were. You were, you were. I promise."

Edward Nashton was a cry baby, that's for sure. His bottom lip quivered as you stood from the bed, completely ignoring the bobbing red tip that was just besides you. He'd been a leaky mess ever since he'd gotten undressed just minutes ago.

You had made your way towards the closet on the opposite side of your room, shrugging a bit as you reached for something inside.

"I guess if I don't make you feel good and you don't really want this, then I'll just go…" you revealed a jacket from your closet, fixing the outfit you already had on before slipping one arm in, "...I'll leave you here and run to the store. I don't know how long I'll be…"

You feigned innocence with your own pair of big eyes at the foot of your bed. That's when he snapped. He finally snapped.

"No! Please don't go!" He jerked his hips once more and you salivated at the sight of his swollen cock moving in tandem. Tears started to twinkle along his lashes and soon fell down his cheeks. "Please? Don't you see how hard I am? It hurts so so bad, please."

If his words weren't enough, then the pathetic, pleading tone he used sure did. You immediately took the jacket off and tossed it to the side, climbing onto the bed and straddling his ankles.

"Please. What?" You spoke through gritted teeth, hands on either one of his quaking thighs.

"Please make me cum, please, oh please–god!" At this point he was a total mess and you hadn't even touched that starving cock yet. He'd finally thrown his head back against the pillow, tossing it right and left and pulling on the restraints you put on his wrists. Your bed creaked for a moment and you wondered if the wooden posts would crack.

"Mmm, good boy. You know I always need you to tell me what you want, right?"

He was blubbering, nodding his head and you weren't even sure he really heard what you said. So, you grabbed his dribbling dick with your dominant hand and gave it a tight squeeze at the base.

"Oh my–fuck–" his voice shot up to a whine, biting his pink bottom lip between two teeth.

You stroked his dick just once and already felt his pulse going wild beneath your hand.

"Oh…" you cooed, looking up at him through your lashes, "...baby you're about to cum, huh?"

As he was erratically nodding, you let go of his length and crawled up his torso. His face contorted and tears still fell down his chubby cheeks.

You kissed each one gently and took his chin between your fingers, guiding him to face you. Your lips pressed to his swollen ones sweetly, nudging your nose against him before pulling away.

"Tell me, what do you want me to do to this little cock–" you had begun to ask, but should've known that he was about to come undone. His chest was rising and falling with fervor, his knees kept shifting below you and those whines–though always this pathetic–grew more and more frequent.

You sat up off of him and saw the mess he made upon his stomach and chest. A glistening so delicious and enticing that you licked your lips, but nearly forgot your role in all of this.

"Are you fucking serious?" You spoke, frowning and gesturing to the cum that settled on his pale skin.

His mouth was slightly agape, moans still wavering even in the aftermath of his own orgasm. His lashes had fluttered closed and he was completely gone, lost in euphoria with a face powdered bright pink.

"You really had to cum out of this tiny cock, right in front of me?" Once more you roughly grabbed his softening length, squeezing it even harder this time. His eyes shot open and you gestured to the mess again.

"Clean this shit up."

"I-I–"

"You what?" You spat and watched as he struggled under the restraints. You could've laughed, you could've been that mean, but you simply scoffed instead.

"You can't, right? I'm the one who has to clean your mess up!"

He started to whimper again and under your hold, his softness was beginning to stand back up.

"Fucking gross." You uttered and with your other hand, scooped up some of his warm cum.

You pushed past his pink lips and fed him his own filth–but like the whore he was, he sucked it right up and cherished your digits in his mouth with a small moan.

"You like that? You like tasting your own cum like the little slut you are?" You teased.

He nodded crazily again, with those big eyes still staring up at you, because you were the best thing to him.

You removed your fingers and slid back to straddling his bare ankles once more.

"What am I going to do with you, hm?" You hum and took your nails up and down his tender thighs that still twitched every now and then. "What do you say?"

"I'm sorry…" he muttered, just barely moving his mouth to say the words.

"You're…?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry for what, baby?"

"I'm sorry f-for cuming without permission and making a-a-a mess of myself." He finally said, defeated.

"I forgive you." Your nails pressed harder into his skin, leaving white ghost trails in their wake. He began to whine again, though through his nose as to not make as much noise.

Both of your hands wrapped back around his aching cock and you bent over. He leaned up a bit to watch what you were doing and you made it a point to make eye contact with him, as you puckered your lips and let a big trail of spit leave your mouth, falling on the wet head of his length.

"Oh–" His head fell back and you retaliated with a winded-up slap to his cock. His stomach jerked and he almost came to sit up completely.

"Don't look away." You said nastily, through a stiff jaw. He let out a whimper and you smiled with gratification.

You bent over and gave the tip of his cock a chaste kiss, feeling the pleats of your skirt fall up your back. You watched as his eyes flickered to your ass, then remembered the rule, and returned to your gaze.

Once more you chuckled and opened your mouth, sticking an inch or two inside, never letting your lips or cheeks touch him.

He yet again, turned into a whining mess.

"I liked it when you were begging before, so could you…?" You said, momentarily pulling back and gently stroking his cock, awaiting his pleas.

His throat bobbed and eyes rolled back as you wrapped your lips around his beautiful, pink tip.

"Please, oh my god, please–" It was breathless–there was no energy–he was spent, but you knew he wanted it and loved to hear him struggle. So, you hummed along his cock as you took it inch by inch with ease.

"I want you to suck my dick please–please–need you. I want that mouth around me–god, you're so pretty–p-please."

That was it, you'd gotten so lost in sucking his cock that you only heard bits and pieces of his praises.

"T-Too good for me–fuck–too pretty–my cock is way too small for you."

You moaned against him and he knew he was doing well, he knew he was being good. However, as soon as you took a hand and wrapped it around his balls well, he knew then, that he was done for.

His cock was covered, slick, drenched, throbbing and ready to cum any moment. You squeezed his balls and went as far as you could go, nuzzling your nose against the curly bush of dark blonde hair.

He tasted sweet and salty, musky and sweaty. You loved his taste and could never get enough of it.

He couldn't either and you loved sharing.

Once he was back to being a whiny, twitchy mess, you geared up. You flicked your tongue over his length, pressing hard against it, making sure the softness of your throat caressed and jerked his cock well. His heartbeat was growing steady from his stomach and thighs and went right to his tired tip. His thighs shook underneath you and you moaned once more against him.

"Oh my god–oh my god–yeah–yeah–" He was overflowing with confirmations and wants and praise and lust. He was lost in whatever magic you were using against him with that mouth of yours. And before you knew it, he was cumming right down your throat. Loud. With cries of satisfaction, cries of overwhelm.

You climbed up his body again.

Out of breath and spent, he looked up at you, mouth already opening and wanting. You gripped his cheeks roughly and leaned in close, spitting the milky cum from your mouth into the pink cavity of his. The two of you moaned in unison, swallowing the taste of his orgasm, his delight.

You watched the lump in his throat bob as he exhaled in satisfaction. His eyes fluttered closed again and you left a wet kiss to his cheek.

There was a bit of cum that fell out of the corner of his mouth and you wasted no time in pushing it back through his lips with your thumb.

A bit sore and raspy, you spoke to him, gripping his cheeks roughly again.

"I wish I had a big, fat cock, so I could make a mess of this pretty little face." You let go and traced his forehead, nose, lips and chin with a finger. His eyes still fluttered; lost in moans and the struggle of trying to catch his breath. "You'd look so good like that, don't you think?"

He nodded his head and it eventually lolled to the side.

You let go of the hold on his face and brushed some of his hair out of the way. Leaning back down you kissed him sweetly, moving your hands over his shoulders, down his arms, wrapping them around his waist and then finally coming up to his chest where your thumbs brushed over his peaking nipples. He jerked a bit and breathlessly moaned.

"What? You're tired?" You mimicked a pout, tilting your head to the side and he nodded his head.

"But what about me? Do I get to cum?" You asked and played with his nipples some more.

Tiredly, he nodded his head.

"Well, how am I going to cum if you're so tired? Hm?"

He pulled against the restraints and could just barely pick up his head to look at you.

"You've only cum twice, this is no fair." You crossed your arms over your chest and deepened the pout. "Guess I have to do it myself–"

You went to slide down to his hips, but his second tug at the restraints stopped you. He bent his legs, making you fall forward a bit–stopping you in your tracks.

"Want me to untie you?"

He nodded his head.

"You better ask me nicely, then."

"Please–" It was the ghost of the word, but he cleared his throat and tried again. "Please untie me." And it was oh, so sweet. Of course, you had to listen.

You reached above him, untying the rope from his red wrists and moving so he could properly sit up.

Both of his hands reached forward and you forgot how strong he was for a moment, as he pulled you directly onto his lap. Defeated, his head fell to your chest and his arms and hands climbed up your back to hold you close.

You kissed his hair and raked your fingers through his locks.

You felt him begin to grow against your thigh.

His head rolled back and knocked against the headboard briefly as he lazily looked at you. His eyes were half lidded and if you never looked closely before, you would've thought that they were black–that's how blown out his pupils were.

Leaning in, you placed yet another kiss to his lips and gently opened them with your tongue. He tasted so warm and salty–you could sit there forever exploring his mouth. But you were throbbing and wet, and he was just the same; his erection poking through your skirt. You lifted the material and wrapped your fingers around him; this time, much more gently.

He shifted, giving you enough room to guide his cock right to your soaked core. You two were nose to nose and you spoke to him quietly.

"You want me to get on this dick?" You asked, less mean and paired with a quick peck this time. He nodded, brows furrowed together as he held your hips under the skirt.

"Oh, please." It wasn't as much of a plea this time to obey the rules, but he needed you. You needed to be the thing to satiate him, to call it a night for him–not a set of hands or your mouth. He wanted to be finished inside your pussy, right where he belonged.

You sat on his length, taking it slowly and making sure to hold yourself up a bit. You loved the way his eyes squeezed shut, as if this hurt, as if you–a person so small compared to him–could possibly hurt him with your cunt.

"You like that?" Your voice came out as a husk, a growl, and he completely collapsed because of it.

"I love it."

You fully sat down on him; your thighs on top of his, your cunt dripping right on his hips–the way you loved it and the way he needed it.

He let out a moan, deep from within his throat and louder than any noise Gotham had heard that night. The bedroom window was wide open and you wondered–hoped–that people heard his slutty noises. The noises you were the cause of.

You began to move up and down and for a moment, you allowed his hands to guide how slow you went.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned in and immediately attached yourself to his neck. There, you left dark marks and bites that would even be hard to cover up with a turtleneck. Your hands slid back down his chest, gathered over his forearms, and laced your fingers with his at your hips.

You grinded against him–a mewling and panting mess already beneath you–which made you even more wet and even more feral to cum all over him.

A moan came out of your nose, right next to his ear and once your hips met, he held you right against him and lifted into you–seeing how far he could get within your tight cunt.

"Fuck–" You choked and leaned back, removing the shirt you had on.

His hands flew to your chest, groping and grabbing and pinching all the soft flesh that was there for him to play with–all the meanwhile fucking up into you, just like how he fucked his pillow.

There were breaths of, 'yeah's and 'oh's and all the goodness that comes from such a good cock being within you. But there was something about Edward Nashton that got you to come undone faster than anyone else.

You knew that you were his first and probably only. He was some nerd that read obituaries and paid attention to the finer details of politics. He wasn't getting fucked. That you knew for sure when you met him and it's what drew you closer and closer.

He got hard from you just tapping his arm once. It was perfect. You needed him almost more than he needed to have contact with the outside world.

At this point, you were bouncing on his lap, both of you panting and wanting so much more. You went faster and faster and even he tried to help as his hands went right to your ass. He squeezed you roughly there and sucked the skin between your breasts.

But you both wanted more.

He sat up and completely flipped you onto your back, fucking into you with all of the strength and energy he had left.

The thrusts were sloppy and uneven, but he hit your insides just right and bruised the place even you couldn't reach.

You grabbed his glasses and tossed them off to the side, and while lost in your own pleasure, you couldn't help but to stare up at his face..

He was so lost in you and you loved that he was in complete awe whenever you allowed him to fuck you. The half-lidded eyes, the open mouth, the tongue just barely sticking out. He was like an animal–growling and thrusting so short and deep, chasing the light that was just out of reach.

There was a warmth that dripped down the back of your thighs. Your clit was throbbing against him and you were rocking into the pillow so fast, you hadn't even realized that you came already.

"Oh–oh–fuck." You couldn't even say proper words or sentences anymore. You were just as lost as he was and couldn't wait to be filled up. But you knew what got him off, you knew what would get you what you wanted.

"You gonna cum?" You whined, once more brushing his bangs out of his face. He nodded, drooling.

"You think you're good enough to cum in me?"

He shook his head and his brows reached for one another. His eyes began to glisten again and a choked sob came from his mouth.

Moans and sobs turned into wails and groans as his hips that were once slapping into you, slowed down. A warmth jutted into you and you knew that was it for him. He came in you. That was three times. He was done.

His body completely fell onto you, still staying within the wet and stickiness that was your cunt.

"Good job." You whispered, petting his head as he sobbed into your neck.

You tried your best to shush and coo at him, letting your nails run along the expanse of his back.

He soon was hiccuping and rolled over onto his side. Your cunt clenched and throbbed around nothing, almost wanting him back in you–soft or not.

You crawled into the space against his chest and kissed the soft skin, still continuing to shush the shaking man.

His wobbly arms came around you hesitantly, squeezing you tightly once they were close enough. And soon came a soft and slow breath out of his nose.

You had fucked The Riddler right to sleep.

[aemiron-main]

I Lost It: Henry Lost His Innocence In That Cave

So, I talked in this post about ST vs It Follows & the idea of Henry’s experience with the scientist in the Nevada cave being sexual assault coded.

And now, I want to talk about that some more, specifically regarding the wording surrounding the cave incident and the use of the word “lost,” and talking about how Henry “lost it.”

Which, I hate to say this, but the wording reminds me of the wording surrounding a “loss” of virginity, especially with all the parallels between ST and It Follows that I already mentioned in that linked post, plus the way that they phrase the line as “I lost it,” rather than having Henry say something like “I lost my spyglass.” Using the word “it,” instead and leaving the line more open-ended/ambiguous leaves room for a double meaning.

On the surface, Henry lost his spyglass.

Beneath the surface, he lost something else.

And also, the Captain Midnight spyglass very much functions as a representation of Henry’s innocence- it’s associated with 7 year old Henry when we see him getting it for his birthday. And when TFS Henry talks to Patty about his Captain Midnight cipher + his lost Captain Midnight spyglass, Patty asks him if he’s too old for those things- point is, the spyglass is frequently associated with Henry as a child and his innocence pre-shadow- the spyglass that Henry lost. The symbol of innocence that he lost.

And in interviews about TFS, Kate Trefry talked about TFS involving the “loss of innocence:”

And specifically re: the virginity thing, there’s also a line from Hopper in TFS where he talks about how theyre looking for a “creepy little drama virgin” re: trying to find the person who killed the cats:

But then, EVEN THOUGH Henry is the person who killed the animals, Jim wrote him off as being a suspect because Henry “doesnt have the upper body strength.”

So, when we read between the lines, Henry isn’t a virgin because he doesn’t have enough upper body strength.

Gee, that doesn’t have absolutely horrifying implications re: sexual assault and not having the upper body strength to fight somebody off or anything. Especially not when we consider the idea of a flayed scientist attacking Henry and the extra strength that the Flayed seem to get (see: Flayed Billy).

And on the topic of upper body strength, I won’t be surprised if we get a parallel between Henry, Billy, and Barb with Henry trying to escape the cave and getting dragged back down the same way that Billy and Barb do when they try to use their upper body strength to save themselves, but don’t have enough upper body strength (especially with the lower levels of the steelworks having cave vibes & the lower levels of the library, where Barb’s body ends up, also having cave vibes):

Which, Barb’s very SA coded pool scene scene is cut with shots of Nancy losing her virginity:

Especially with how Barb tries to CRAWL out of the pool, and Billy tries to CRAWL out of the steelworks versus Brenner in TFS talking about how Henry will come “crawling,” back to him:

Especially with Brenner specifically being the one with the line about “crawling,” back versus Billy says “who’s there?” (see: Stav’s post about how “who” = Brenner) RIGHT before Billy gets yanked to the ground and tries to crawl:

TLDR: as much as I absolutely hate to say this, I won’t be surprised if Henry’s experience in the cave is likened to a loss of virginity and was the loss of Henry’s innocence and if Brenner was directly involved in this.