#inflatable travel pillow

[svmproducts-blog]

Is an inflatable travel pillow better than memory foam?

When it comes to comfort during travel, we often find ourselves at a crossroads, debating between different pillow options that can enhance our journey. In this blog, we will delve into the realm of travel pillows, specifically comparing inflatable travel pillows to memory foam pillows. We'll examine the pros and cons of each to help you make an informed decision on which type of pillow is the ultimate companion for your adventures.

The Quest for the Perfect Travel Pillow

Defining the Needs of a Traveler

Every traveler knows that the quest for a comfortable travel experience begins with the right pillow. Before we dive into the specifics, let's establish what we require from our travel pillows.

Portability and convenience

For travelers, portability is key. Whether you're on a long-haul flight, a road trip, or simply lounging at the beach, your travel pillow needs to be easy to carry and use.

Neck Support on the Go

Neck support is a top priority for many travelers. A good travel pillow should provide adequate support to help you prevent that dreaded stiff neck after hours of sleeping in an upright position.

Versatility in Comfort

We all have our preferences when it comes to pillow firmness. A great travel pillow should offer adjustable comfort levels to cater to various needs.

Durability and Maintenance

A travel pillow should be built to last, capable of withstanding the rigors of travel. Moreover, it should be easy to clean and maintain for hygiene purposes.

The Battle: Inflatable Travel Pillow vs. Memory Foam Pillow

Now that we've outlined our criteria for the perfect travel pillow, let's compare inflatable travel neck pillow and memory foam pillows to see how they stack up.

Inflatable Travel Pillow: The Pros

Ultra-Compact Design

Inflatable travel pillows are renowned for their compactness. They can be deflated to a small size, making them easy to carry in your luggage.

Customizable Firmness

One of the most significant advantages of inflatable airplane pillow is their ability to adjust firmness. You can inflate or deflate them to suit your comfort level.

Easy Maintenance

Inflatable travel pillows are typically easy to clean and often made from materials that can be wiped down or even machine-washed.

Inflatable Travel Pillow: The Cons

Potential Leaks

The main drawback of inflatable pillows is the possibility of leaks, which can leave you with an uncomfortable experience.

Setup Time

Inflating and deflating the pillow may take some time and effort, which can be inconvenient during a quick nap.

Memory Foam Pillow: The Pros

Exceptional Comfort

Memory foam pillows are known for their plush and luxurious feel, providing excellent support for your neck and head.

Durability

Memory foam pillows are built to last and can withstand frequent use without losing their shape.

Memory Foam Pillow: The Cons

Bulkiness

The density of memory foam makes these pillows less portable and less convenient to carry around.

Fixed Firmness

Memory foam pillows usually have a fixed firmness level, which may not suit everyone's preferences.

Making the right choice

So, is an neck resting pillow better than memory foam, or vice versa? The answer depends on your specific travel needs and personal preferences.

For those who prioritize portability, adjustability, and easy maintenance, an inflatable travel pillow could be the perfect choice. However, be prepared to address potential leaks and the time needed for setup.

On the other hand, if you value exceptional comfort and durability, a memory foam pillow might be your ideal companion. Keep in mind that these are bulkier and have a fixed firmness level.

Ultimately, the choice between inflatable travel pillows and memory foam pillows comes down to what you value most during your travels.

Conclusion

In the quest for the perfect travel pillow, both inflatable and memory foam options have their merits and drawbacks. Your choice should align with your unique needs and priorities. Remember that the right pillow can make a world of difference in your travel comfort.

FAQs

Can I use an inflatable travel pillow for everyday sleep, not just during travel?

Yes, many people find inflatable travel pillows comfortable for everyday use at home or work.

How can I prevent leaks in my inflatable travel pillow?

To prevent leaks, ensure the valve is securely closed after inflation and avoid overinflating.

Are there memory foam travel pillows that are more compact for travel?

Yes, some memory foam travel pillows are designed to be more compact and travel-friendly.

Can I wash a memory foam travel pillow?

Most memory foam pillows cannot be machine-washed, but you can spot clean them or use a removable cover that is machine-washable.

What's the average lifespan of a memory foam travel pillow?

The lifespan of a memory foam travel pillow can vary but typically ranges from 2 to 5 years with proper care.

[userlando]

call me your fool — oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader [1.7k] summary: he's pretty good at making your legs shake, but he's even better at taking care of you in the aftermath. warnings: 18+ implied smut & explicit language, aftercare and fluffy banter a/n: wrote this initially as a blurb, but it took on a life of its own and I just kept expanding on it until I got this. thank you for all the love lately, it means the world to me!! please don’t hesitate to leave feedback <3

It feels like your breath has been stolen from you, sucking in air through your mouth because simply breathing through your nose isn’t enough. The ache in your lungs remind you of when you go for those intensive runs with your boyfriend, where your ten kilometre jogging makes you tap out as your side cramps, whining until he eventually leads you to the nearest shop to treat you for an ice cold drink.

The sweat on your skin lays like a film, clammy and warm and it takes a while for you to blink the spots away from your eyes. It takes even longer to turn your head where it lays on the pillow, finding brown eyes staring back at you with a smile dripping with so much amusement that you would’ve laughed if you had the strength to.

“You alright?” Oscar asks, like he hadn’t just rocked your world and simultaneously turned it upside down fifty times over.

There’s a lot to be said with the way your legs are shaking, splayed out in front of you on the bed. He eyes them up appreciatively before reaching for the covers to cover your lower half as best as he could. It makes your chest expand with adoration for him, a smile playing on your lips when he scoots closer to you.

“It feels like I’ve ran a marathon.” You reply after a beat, throat dry as you swallow. “Your stamina is on a whole new level right now.”

It makes him laugh when your eyes widen in amazement, reaching a hand up to smooth your hair away from your face. He watches your skin pebble at the touch of his hand, trailing a finger up the side of your throat to your jaw.

“The perks of being a formula one driver, I guess.” He says it so modestly that you laugh, your warm huff of breath hitting his finger when he thumbs your lower lip lovingly.

You accept the kiss when he bends to give it to you, a little chapped from the previous activities but you lick into his mouth like you’re starved. It makes Oscar’s stomach turn, how needy you always are for him. It makes him feel good. Great. Like he can conquer anything if he has you by his side.

He can’t help but trail his unoccupied hand up to grasp your throat, hearing you whine and feeling you swallow against the palm of his hand. You press into his hold, almost urging him silently to put pressure on it but Oscar knows that you’ve reached your limit for tonight, you’re way too sensitive and he’d hate to cross the line even though you’re asking for it so prettily. But he can’t resist his hand travelling down your sternum, feeling the pudge of your stomach and the way it dips when you suck it in, in anticipation. Like you’re waiting for him to touch your centre and bring you to the fifth high of the night.

He stops right over your bellybutton, smiling against your lips when you stop kissing him to glare. Your faces are too close and it makes the both of you go almost cross eyed. Oscar pulls back a little to get a better look at you, breath hitching in his throat at the way your eyelashes frame your eyes so prettily; How kissable your mouth looks. You look well and truly fucked, and Oscar’s chest inflates in pride because he did that.

“You’ve really missed me, huh?” He bites his bottom lip to keep the smug smile at bay, and you roll your eyes even though your mouth is twitching with a held back smile.

You act like you hadn’t missed him, but you really had. Granted, you’d only been away from each other for two weeks but they had felt like years. There was only so much video calling and texting you could do before you grew tired and sad, wishing that the distance between the two of you could lessen and you could touch.

Oscar knows how much you had missed him, not only because you’d voiced it out loud, but because he’d missed you just as much; If not more. That’s mainly why he’d skipped the dinner with the team in Singapore in favour of locking the both of you in his hotel room, determined to make the most of this night before the race sucked every ounce of energy from his body.

“Only one part of you.” You grinned as you palmed the top of his thigh, watching him squirm at your touch as you got dangerously close to where he was sensitive and spent.

He needed at least half an hour to recuperate, but there was no stopping the slight twitch in his groin when your thumb nudged him.

“You’re a shit liar.” He leaned his head down far enough to bite your shoulder, making you squeal with laughter. He always loved how ticklish you were.

“You’re a shit boyfriend.” You said with no heat behind it, the smile on your face defeated the purpose of it. “You’re supposed to be carrying me to the bathroom and draw me a bath. Where’s my bottle of water and the tiramisu you promised me, Piastri?”

Oscar’s smile grew wider the longer you rambled, watching you silently. He loved when you got into these moods, playful and teasing after sex. Especially when he’d wrung you dry of orgasms and could get his fill of you by looking at you, letting you playfully jab at him when just moments ago, you were begging for him to be nice to you. To let you come.

“You’re not allowed to leave this bed.” He said lastly and your eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“Oh really?” You sat up in bed and stared him down. “What if I starve to death?”

“Then you’ll just have to resort to cannibalism and eat me. I hear it’s a trend these days.” He offered and you stifled a giggle.

“That’s a generous offer, I’ll take it.” You said with a nod, scrambling to swipe away the covers so you could swing one leg over to straddle him.

Oscar’s hands immediately found your hips, placing them there as you palmed his chest for support. You almost got lost in his beauty, how he managed to look as gorgeous as he did beneath you. The pink of his cheeks and the redness of his lips, it was all too breathtaking.

“Now, where to start?” You posed the question to yourself, bending down and making a show of inspecting his body. Like you didn’t know every inch of it already.

Oscar suppressed laughter as you hummed.

“This looks like a good place.” You said, touching his collarbone. “But this does too.”

His breath hitched in his throat when your fingers stroked the delicate skin of his throat, right over his pulse. It jumped in excitement under your fingers, and you must’ve felt it but he didn’t have time to analyse your face before you bent down completely to mouth at his neck.

The way you licked and sucked was way too aggressive not to leave marks, but his nerves sang with pleasure and excitement because a big part of him wanted you to mark him up. It would make things more fun when the both of you arrived at the paddock tomorrow, and he’d surely go for a shirt that did fuck all to cover it.

Oscar stroked his hands up your naked back, mouth falling open in wordless pleasure as you found his sweet spot; Right under the lobe of his ear.

You were so into it, his heavy breathing in your ear and the taste of his sweat on your tongue that you barely noticed when one hand left your body. What you did react to was when his palm made contact with your asscheek, a resounding sound echoing in the room and you jumped at the contact.

Oscar was grinning when you sat up, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock and he didn’t dare to blink as he gripped a handful of flesh in his palm; Watching your eyelids flutter in pleasure.

“No funny business.” He warned you and you opened your eyes to pout at him. “Don’t give me that look. I’m fucking spent and you are getting in the bathtub.”

“Aren’t you getting in with me?” You frowned sadly, finding one of his hands to grab.

He pulled it closer to his mouth and separated each finger to kiss the tips of them. The little loving gesture made your stomach tighten.

“I’ve got some room service to order, don’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted that tiramisu, no?”

You gave him a slow smile as you slid off his body, swinging both your legs over the edge of the bed and Oscar took a moment to stare at you. His eyes flitted from head to toe and you squirmed a little under his attention when he sucked his lips into his mouth; Like he was holding back on saying something.

He didn't have to say it though, everything was showing in his eyes and the flush that was creeping up his neck and blossoming gorgeously over his cheeks.

"I think I want a different kind of dessert." You said, stretching a hand out and wiggling your fingers dramatically.

It made your boyfriend smile, and eventually grab your hand so you could pull each other up. It was a struggle and your legs were still shaking like your legs were bambi on ice, which was a little embarrassing. Oscar placed both hands on your naked hips in silent support, guiding the both of you into the vast bathroom of the hotel room.

"What am I gonna do with you?" He asked the question in your ear, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine as you craned your neck to peer up at him over your shoulder. "So insatiable."

The grin that you were working to keep off your face finally broke out, and Oscar leaned his head down to press a kiss to it.

"With you? Always."

[sideblog-ver3]

big dick steve (18+)

spider webs and vampire boobs

“if you were to throat fuck me, i’d probably vomit from my gag reflex.”

the rustling of steve moving his head on his cotton pillow filled the quiet room. “what the hell are you talking about?” his voice holding a bit of thickness in the back of his throat.

now you turned your head from staring at the ceiling to look at steve on your left. “well cause you have a big dick-“ “thanks for the ego inflation.”

you teasingly smack a hand into steve’s chest, he held it down with his own limb. “i can barely take half of you when going at my own speed. and i was just thinking about how when you put your hands on my head and give me a little push, i worry i might vomit. i’ve had girlfriends tell me it’s happened to them before. and if that were to happen to me i’d ask you to kill me right on the spot.” all seriousness coating your words.

steve’s big brown eyes stared you down as his bushy brows rose at your last sentence. your linked hands gently rising and falling with steve’s even breathing. “first, you’re being extra dramatic. second, if you even feel that way when i get more…forceful, you should smack my thigh or something. don’t just take it.”

you pushed up to your elbow and halfway leaned over steve, bed head framing your face, “no, yeah, i know that. you aren’t like forcing me all the way so i’m fine, but something i just think about those guys in porn. you know?” a squint to your eyes trying to determine is steve understands what you mean.

now steve pushing onto his elbow with a similar squint, “what kind of porn are you watching? and why?”

a painted finger traced over steve’s hairy chest, “nothing crazy. and it’s mostly just for inspiration. that one trick i did yesterday, got it from porn. and you seemed quiet pleased if i remember correctly.” smirking as you leaned forward to peck at steve’s rosy lips.

he hummed in content, “and i absolutely did. but anyway, why don’t we train you. if you want we can prep your throat better.” a palm rubbing at your bicep comfortingly.

“anything to suck your dick, baby.” already shuffling your way down his body and pulling away his comforter.

his bare lower body was a delicious sight to behold. dark hairy thighs on display, your mind wanting to bite into them. his thick, long cock starting to move on its own, going from soft to hard in a minute.

“excited for my training?” a teasing tone with seductive eyes directed towards steve who laid back down, hands folded behind his head. a cocky smirk tugging his lips. “anything involving you gets me excited quickly.”

“just don’t get too excited. gonna need your cock for a while, baby.” planting your hands to his thighs while positioning yourself.

“take all the time you need.”

you leaned closer to steve’s cock, allowing a small glob of spit to drip from your mouth. his dick twitching at the sensation. steve moaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut and mouth opening in a small gasp.

moving in for the action, you swiped the flat of your tongue to the underside of his dick, going from his hairy balls to the top. hungry eyes watching steve’s every reaction, it only spurred you on for more.

“just getting started, baby.” finally wrapping your right hand onto his cock, fingertips not touching. you started with slow strokes, using your spit for lube.

steve quietly whined with each stroke, his stomach flexing to control himself. seeing that his cock was fully hard, now was the time to begin. sticking your tongue out, you kitten licked at the tip a few times, enjoying the twitch of reaction from the wet muscle.

“baby- fuck-“ a groan cutting steve off as you opened your mouth and took about four inches confidently. lips wrapping around the skin as you bobbed your head, right hand stroking at the lonely bits.

steve moved his hands from behind his head to sit on his torso. one touching his v-line while the other traveled to sit in your hair. you couldn’t help but stare at his long fingers, digits that fuck your cunt or get stuffed into your mouth and you happily suck on them.

slowly you pushed yourself forward, gaining another three inches. only about two more and you have him completely sitting in your mouth. his cock was heavy on your tongue, saliva slipping from the sides of your mouth.

you pulled away quickly when you felt the telltale sign of a gag. you coughed a bit when your throat was free, spit falling to land on your chest.

“not- not bad, but you could do better, doll.” steve grabbed a fist full of hair and tugged. a signal to show what he was about to do.

“yes, daddy.” allowing for steve to guide your mouth back to his awaiting cock. with a bit more force he shoved your head down onto him, nose almost brushing with his bush of pubes.

“atta girl.” he purred with his head thrown back and hips bucking up, tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

you closed your eyes and just focused of the feel and weight of him. letting your tongue toy with his underside and nails dig into the meat of his thighs. you took slow inhales through your nose, calming yourself and relaxing your throat.

giving yourself a minute of composure, you started to bob your head back before going in. out and in, out and in, out and in. more drool pooling from your filled mouth, soaking steve’s dick nicely for easily traction.

“al- almost there. swallow or spit?” steve looked down at you with a fucked out face. teary eyes just stared back up to him and you didn’t budge an inch.

“swallow. good girl.” steve took back some rein and pushed your head down as he fucked his hips up. you moaned in pleasure at the sensation, both from the grip on your hair and the roughness in your mouth.

“i’m- i’m gonna…” shots of warm liquid hit the back of your throat. you hummed on his dick, his groaned at the action.

steve released your hair and you slowly pulled off his cock, wanting to lick it clean of his cum, humming to yourself at the salty taste.

“see, all we had to do was train you.”

[ms-demeanor]

Okay but also putting the panic aside part of what is going on here is that I'm feeling stressed because I'm feeling helpless; I could be cleaning right now but I am at work so it's just a thing that's sitting there hovering over me and filling me with anxiety so ignoring the specifics of my weird timing and odd mess situation, here's the "So You're a Disaster Guide to Preparing Your Home for Guests"

Here are the things you should be able to offer your overnight guests:

A clean and comfortable place to sleep with clean sheets, pillows, and blankets.

A clean and sanitary bathroom with towels (and, optionally, toiletries)

Depending on the space you've got, a comfortable place to spend time outside of the area they will be sleeping in (this may also be your primary socializing or relaxing space)

Access to clean dishes and a source for (at the very least) water (and possibly snacks/drinks/meals depending on the length of the stay and your relationship to your guests).

Here's a quick guide to providing those things in the shortest amount of time possible based on order of importance.

Make sure that you've got clean bedclothes and towels for your guest; if you do not have these things immediately at hand your first priority is doing a load of laundry to get clean towels, sheets, and blankets for your guest [and wash bath mats if necessary].

Tidy the area they will be sleeping in by clearing away clutter. Your goal is to achieve an unobstructed sleeping surface (so if they're sleeping on a fold-out couch or a futon in a shared space make sure that it will require minimal effort to turn into a bed when they are ready to sleep; if they are sleeping on an air mattress move any furniture blocking the mattress out of the way and inflate the mattress then make the bed; if they are in a guest room make sure that anything stored on or near the bed is cleared away then make up the bed). Provide a space for your guest to put any travel bags and provide a place near their sleeping area for them to put their phone/medications/glass of water/etc. that they may need in the night. [This is where you stop and move on to the next area unless you have lots of time. If you have lots of time, completely sweep or vacuum the floor of your guest's space, dust the room, and ensure that there is a power strip or phone charger handy for your guest]

Make sure the bathroom they will be using is clean and functional (it's actually a tossup for me about whether you clean the bathroom or the sleeping area first; I'm less willing to clean a bathroom while guests are present than a sleeping area so I'd say bathroom first honestly). My recommendation for this is to do things in the following order (make sure the space is well ventilated): - Spray a cleaning solution in the tub or shower, focusing on any problem areas. - Let that sit while you spray the same cleaning solution in the sink. - Let that sit while you use a brush and your preferred toilet cleaning solution to scrub the toilet bowl. - Use a brush or sponge to scrub the shower/tub then rinse the shower/tub. - Use a brush or sponge to scrub the sink then rinse the sink. - Use a cloth with a cleaning solution or a cleaning wipe to clean the exterior of the toilet - Use a cloth to wipe down any surfaces like the countertop - Place fresh hand towels in the bathroom - Sweep and spot-mop the floor then empty the trashcan and spot clean the mirror tada clean bathroom [This is where you stop and move on to the next area unless you have lots of time; if you have lots of time do a full mop of the bathroom floor, clean the mirror, and dust any surfaces that need it]

Clean the kitchen in the following order: - Put away any clean dishes - Clear countertops of clutter - Wash any dirty dishes or load them into the dishwasher so that the sink is clear and rinse the sink - Use a cloth with a cleaning solution or cleaning wipes to wipe down countertops, dust appliances, and do a quick wipe-down of the range. - Place fresh hand towels in the kitchen - Sweep the floor and empty the trash [This is where you stop and move on to the next area unless you have lots of time, if you have lots of time mop the floor, do a deep clean of countertops, clean and sanitize the sink, check whether your refrigerator needs to be cleared of aging food or have any spills cleaned up, clean the kitchen range, and clean the oven door]

Prepare a living room for your guests in the following order: - Make sure there are clear seats available for at least every adult who will be in the household; pick up and put away crafts, toys, or projects that may be in the way of visitors. - Clear the surfaces of tables next to any seating options so that a seated person could easily set down a drink; consider placing coasters on each of these surfaces so they are handy if someone wants one. - Sweep or vacuum the floor as needed. [This is where you stop and move on unless you have lots of time; if you have lots of time consider vacuuming the creases of furniture, dusting shelves and surfaces in the room, and possibly cleaning the windows.]

My approach to this is basically "if you were picking someone up from the airport at midnight and bringing them back to your home, would they be able to get ready for bed and comfortably go to sleep right away?" which is why things are prioritized the way they are. Things would be different if I were cleaning in preparation for a party or if I were having people over for dinner, this is just the 'clean a house after you get off work and before you get in the car to go to LAX' list.

[stereodaydreams]

Safe & Sound

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader, 2.3k (18+, smut, oral(f!reciving), pnv sex, established relationships, use of baby/baby girl, no y/n, smidge of angst)

Notes: I write for another fandom in a different blog and couldn’t help but jump on the Miguel train. 💛✨

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18+

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Nueva York’s metro moves like a metal bullet tearing into a lavender and yellow sunrise. Birds break out into the skies, traveling from one tree to the next. Steam rises from vents as those waking rush to heat their homes, covering the streets and taxis in a man made fog. The thick mist drifts past cafes where open signs have just flipped and welcome bells ring. But high up on the 76th floor of a condominium, two bodies intertwine beneath warm sheets, too far to be awoken by the commotion.

Miguel’s legs drape over the edge of a bed, bare feet caught in strips of golden sunlight. It’s a king sized bed and somehow he manages to spill out of it, especially when he bullies his way over into your side, broad shoulders blotting out the sun and keeping you in the shadows where your sleep remains undisturbed.

There’s a wide gap from where his side of the bed should be. No matter how many times you tease him about a hostile takeover of what little domain you have of the king sized mattress, Miguel finds a way to fit himself around you. Your bare skin is warm and soft against his. You smell like a blend of your body wash, the pile of bed sheets, and a little like him and it drives him fucking wild. He’ll take whatever time he can have pressed up against you because... well.

Being Spider-Man is more demanding than a full time job. Try as hard as he might, there are nights where his superhero duties don’t end in a timely fashion and you sleep alone with a hand on his pillow. He tells you it’s because no one else can do what he does and… well, it’s half of the truth.

“I’m the one and only Spider-Man,” he laments to you. “The city needs me.”

“You have to come back in one piece. Promise?” you ask as worry etches itself on your face and on your body.

Large fingers wrap around your chin and Miguel pulls you in for a chaste but sweet kiss. Brown eyes blink slowly and his cheeks wrinkle in a smile.

“Always,” Miguel answers.

While you know his big superhero secret identity, there’s another secret that’s he’s been keeping from you— a little white lie. Miguel O’Hara is the only Spider-Man of Earth-928 but he’s not the only Spider-Man. He’s seen alternate realities, other universes where he’s an ordinary man working at a lab while a teenager gets bit and becomes Spider-Man or one where he’s a bodybuilder turned movie star. The multiverse is vast and entertaining to pick apart until Miguel gets a peek of realities that make his stomach twist and drop.

The fortunate events which link you two together often leads to roads where one of you is doomed to an early grave. So he decides he doesn’t want to leave your lives up to chance. Everyday, he whittles at his algorithms, tinkers with new wrist tech, all in the hopes of containing the status quo of his reality.

Miguel’s confident. Statistically, there has to be a reality where it all ends well for you both and it very well may be this one.

He watches your chest rise and fall as you doze and slowly moves his arm from your waist to your wrist. His fingers idly trace a band of metal on your ring finger and he smiles to himself, turning his gaze to a matching gold band on his hand.

You’re his, as he is yours and you are here, alive and safe and—

Miguel buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Your back tenses as you wake, lungs inflating from a quick and deep inhale. With one eye open, you find the time on a wall clock and wince at the numbers you see.

“Mig…” you protest. It’s early, but not unreasonably so and you wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t your day off together. No superhero business, no work calls, just the two of you and a lazy morning. “Five more minutes. No… wait, half an hour.”

“Baby,” he purrs back in your ear.

You make a noise while burying your face into the pillow, your body twisting away from his grasp. Miguel laughs and exhales a warm breath that tickles the nape of your neck.

“Are you still tired?” he asks, voice low and laced with desire.

You know that tone and if his wandering hands slipping from your waist to your backside are any kind of indicator, Miguel won’t be letting you slumber for much longer. You can’t help it. Your back arches to his touch, lips parting in a half moan.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, your face digging into cotton as you nod. “Can’t wake up m’too sleepy.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. You’re lucky he finds you cute. Miguel’s palm grips your butt and gives it a small squeeze before the weight behind you dips as he shuffles his large body further down the bed. His hands engulf your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them apart. You’ve no choice but to reorient yourself onto your back, following his movement down your thighs.

“Mig, what are you up to?” You eye him warily with a lazy smile tugging at your lips. Your vision blurs as your eyelids threaten to shut.

He lays a kiss on your inner thigh. Bright red tints the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill over and replace the soft brown.

“Do you need help waking up?” At your nod, he continues, “That’s what I’m up to.”

He smirks, fangs catching the light of the morning sun and it’s gone once his face dips lower. His tongue drags along the seam of your sex, dipping between your folds for a quick taste. Miguel lets out a rumbling sound, pushing his face in deeper to breathe you in. Your fingers work their way into his hair but your grip is loose, a sleepy sort of pawing at his head. Still half awake, your thighs are slack, tensing only as his tongue rises and reaches a hard nub of nerves.

“Mig…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my baby. Come here.”

A hand wraps around your back and lifts your hips up for him while thick fingers prod at your cunt. Miguel wraps his lips around your clit, licking flat, broad strokes as amber eyes watch you writhe and jolt beneath him.

“You don’t look so sleepy anymore,” he goads. You shake your head and he chuckles. “No?”

“Nuh uh-h. Oh god—”

He eases two fingers in knuckle deep, groaning at how wet they get. Pumping them in slowly, Miguel curls them around sensitive nerves, feeling you clench down on his hand. It’s easy to lose yourself to the feel of your husband’s mouth on you and the stretch of his fingers pounding into you, but you eventually notice something’s off.

You can feel him grinning while he licks and swirls his tongue around your swollen nub, hands beginning to slow to a halt. His fingers pull almost all the way out you, causing your eyes to finally open and a noise of protest leaves your lips.

“Mig—” you begin, swallowing down a hiccupy moan. “Miguel, please.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Wicked as ever, his tongue moves at unrelenting speeds. Heat flares from your abdomen, thighs twitching out of your control. Between you and him, there’s a damp mess between your legs as Miguel bullies your clit. Your hips try to chase his fingers as they leave you for good, desperate to clench around something, anything. You let out a sob when he stops to press a kiss to your clit.

“Babe!” you cry out, pulling harshly at his hair.

His face rises just enough for you to spot how drenched his chin is. A pink tongue darts around his lips and he smirks.

“You want it, baby girl?” His voice takes on a rougher quality as he challenges you. Large fingers push at your cunt, almost in but not quite. “Work for it.”

Your limbs are still heavy from sleep but the need to feel Miguel makes you roll your hips until you feel yourself push down and squeeze around his fingers. He doesn’t move though, grins wider while he watches you fuck yourself on his hand.

“Isn’t that better?” Miguel asks like he doesn’t know the answer. The hand on your back slips away, flattening onto the bed as he rises above you. You’re too busy trying to follow his other hand to realize he’s right by your head, wide shoulders blotting out the morning sun.

Breath hot and heavy, he snarls in your ear, “Does it feel good when you listen?”

“Mhmm!”

You cling to him, clumsily grabbing his arms as an anchor. Between gasps and moans, his name is a chant on your lips, drawing him closer.

Miguel’s an odd entity. Without the mask, he’s soft with you, cracks smiles throughout the day and fills your ears with loving whispers of devotion. He’s not demanding of you in the way that he is with his team of superheroes at his beck and call. You’ve overheard him being prickly and impatient when things don’t go to his plans, seen him bare his teeth in anger. But never at you.

In here, where the sheets are silken, the atmosphere a little lighter, a little slower… Miguel’s a different man.

“You’re so close… I can feel it,” he growls out. He places a hand on your hip to still your twisting form and it’s infuriating how little effort he uses to hold you like a limp doll. With slick sounds, his fingers slide in and out of you, dragging across taut nerves. “Not yet, baby girl. Not yet.”

“Mig, please. I need you. I need…”

“Hmm?” He lays a kiss on your cheek, lips lifting in a smirk. Miguel wanders down, repeating his hummed reply, kissing your jaw and nipping at your neck. “Say it again.”

You whine and rake your nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders, drawing red lines on sun-kissed skin. “Need you in me, Miguel.”

Your words seep through his skin and into his bones. Every fiber of him aches for you. He’s the king of edging himself, of self control as he fights to ignore the throbbing twitch of his cock. You call to him once more, needy and desperate for him, and Miguel’s done. His hips rut forward, seeking your soaked cunt and he finds it, the fat head of him nudging at your entrance.

He groans out your name, head hung forward and his hands splaying around your face. The sheets strain from his claws retracting and returning and all you see in his eyes are red. Miguel’s shoulders push into the backs of your knees as he hinges forward, forcing your thighs further open for him. There’s mumbled Spanish flowing past his lips as he claims you slowly, your husband taking his sweet time filling you up.

“Fuck, sweet girl. My wife. So fucking tight for me,” he groans.

The pace he sets is fast and devastatingly deep. Miguel reaches spots that makes you incoherent, makes your head toss back as you spew whatever your fucked out mind can give him. It’s messy, rough and he fucks you like you’d never break. And you never do. You always give him what he needs and knowing that brings him to his knees.

Red eyes find you in the waves of passion and Miguel’s looking at you as though this moment is finite. He’s never going to tell you about the other you’s— can’t let you know the statistics which haunt him daily.

Instead, Miguel devours your every moan, lips crushing yours so he can taste you as you tremble. You’re impossibly tight around him, muscles clamping down on him and skin slick with sweat. Your nails mark his back and shoulders, smaller fingers winding into his curls and tugging hard. He can feel you falling off the edge and leans into it, all too happy to chase the end with you.

His hand works its way between you, firm thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. There’s no reprieve from the cascade of sensations he’s building. Miguel chases your climax until you come around him with a cry of his name.

“Yes, baby girl. Fuck. Fuck,” he moans.

Hips rutting faster, cock pushing you towards hypersensitivity, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you in close. His back muscles seize beneath your hands as he comes with a groan. Miguel’s muttering your name in a breathy chant, hips slowing to a roll as more of his thick spend fills you.

His nose bumps yours, eyes brimming with warmth and fondness. It should feel dirty and hot with how wet it sounds between your legs but you don’t hear it when Miguel murmurs in your ear.

“Still sleepy?” he coos.

You grab at his cheeks and squeeze, receiving an eye roll on his part. He’s handsome but stubborn, your husband.

“Mig…” you laugh. “Can’t feel my bones after that.”

He nuzzles your cheek and hums an acknowledgment. You’re warm, still clinging to him in more than one way. Outside, the sky’s turned blue as the sun finds its way through the windows, shining brightly on your skin. Beads of sweat caught on your neck and chest glitter in the light. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

“Breakfast?” he offers.

“Shower,” you insist and twist your hips to remind him of the stickiness which coats both your bodies.

“Mmm. But I like you like this,” Miguel teases. He rolls his hips, cock still hard and buried deep, eliciting a moan from your lips. “So full of me, baby.”

“I like it, too,” you answer and squeeze his cheek again.

Miguel smiles as if he’s a man unburdened. Here in Spiderman 2099’s universe, you’re safe and sound.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi! need me sum fluff rafayel x reader content 🥹 like if mc were sick, how would d fishman care for her! Thanks a lot 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

You felt like utter shit.

For one your nose was all bummed up, followed by your throat feeling as though it was rubbed raw with sandpaper from your frequent coughing fits, which only made swallowing or opening your mouth to speak a more difficult task without breaking into another coughing fit; and over all just feeling absolutely drained of any energy to move an inch from your warm bed.

If there was one thing you hated more then anything, it was being sick, but it seemed as though the fates were was being extremely cruel to you after being caught out in rainfall in inadequate attire and being forced to sit out and be bed bound for the foreseeable; you naturally blamed Rafayel for convenience, seeing as he was the one who wanted to stand out in the light rain before it became a heavy downpour.

Rafayel on the other hand…

‘Aww, is my sea bunny a little sick?’ He asked rhetorically as he sat down a cup of tea, a bottle of water and a packet of medicine onto the bedside table.

‘Nice to know that me being sick brings you joy.’ You said sarcastically before going straight for the tea and taking the first sip, humming in content when you felt the warm liquid travel down your throat, leaving an aftertaste of honey and lemon in it’s wake. ‘That’s nice.’ You groaned, leaning your head back on the heap of pillows that Rafayel had fluffed up for your comfort, closing your eyes briefly.

‘What a kind way to tell me that you like being in my care.’ Rafayel said with a cheeky smile, obviously enjoying this a lot more than you were. How was it that you were the only one out of the two of you to get a cold was a mystery, but considering how hands on Rafayel had been with nursing you back to health, it was only a matter of time before he was the one sick and you having to take care of him.

‘He’d enjoy it way too much, the overdramatic prick.’ You thought to yourself before you noticed that something didn’t add up.

‘Wait a minute-‘ you abruptly sat up in bed, not heading Rafayel’s warning about sitting up too fast but you didn’t heed them and grunted as you held your head between your hands. ‘Aren’t you suppose to get that painting done for that charity art exhibition that Thomas had been reminding you about for the past two days? What’re you doing taking care of me?’ You asked, trying to decipher what Rafayel’s eyes were conveying but the cold too much out of you to sum up the energy to figure out what.

Rafayel shrugged as he helped you lie back down against the mound of pillows, leaning over you to fluff some of them up, his eyes gauging your every reaction for any signs of discomfort before leaning back and shrugging his shoulders as though the topic of discussion wasn’t of any particular importance. ‘It gets done when it gets done and besides I’ve got much more important things to take care of…even if they’re too stubborn to accept my help.’ He then booped on the nose, causing you to scrunch it up, making him chuckle. You couldn’t help but feel warm at the implication but decided that you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words affected you -you didn’t want his ego to become too inflated- and instead burrowed yourself deeper into the covers in an act to get warm.

‘I was doing just fine.’ You said, voice being muffled by the covers over your mouth.

Rafayel scoffed as he looked at the time on his phone before reaching over for the bottle of water and packet of medicine. Was it that time already? Time surly flies by when you had Rafayel for company, whether you wanted it or not. ‘Yeah, walking about the place and looking close to fainting on several occasions whilst sniffling and coughing up a lung. I’d say you did an excellent job in taking care of yourself there.’ He replied and you tried to swat his arm but it came off as weak and pathetic.

‘Shut up nurse Rayafyel and give me my medicine already.’ You muttered, holding out your hand.

‘What’s the magic word.’ Rafayel smiled cheekily, withholding your tablets.

You sighed. ‘Nurse Rafayel will you please give me my medicine already.’

‘Here you go.’ Rafayel chirped as he then gave you the tablets, followed by the bottle of water to help wash down the pills before getting up to his feet, much to your confusion, which must’ve been clear enough for him to read as he then said. ‘I’m going to make you something to eat, so why don’t you take a nap to stop yourself from missing me so much.’

You scoffed, raising the covers higher up your face. ‘In your dreams.’

‘Actually correct answer is in your dreams, sweetheart.’ Rafayel replied mischievously and narrowly avoided a pillow that you’ve thrown at him and pouted, hands on his hips. ‘You don’t know how long it took me to fluff that up for you and this is how you repay you repay your nurse?’

‘Just get me something to eat and leave me to sleep.’ You said, hiding your smile when you felt Rafayel gingerly brush away hair and sweat from your forehead to press a kiss to your forehead before leaving the room just as sleep began to weigh heavily on your eyelids, forcing them to close as you were transported to your dream.

[nanaminsmoon]

busy boy. - a. arlet.(mdni.18+)

a/n: i haven't written smut in a minute y'all so bear with me lol.

wc: 3000+ & lazily proofread.

armin never thought he’d see the day that his every limb would be consumed by the guilt spawned in his chest by the sight of his hands and your golden ‘eren’ necklace fighting for a spot on your bare chest. small tinges of the sickly feeling deformed every cell in his body, as he had you on his bed with your face buried in his pillow and your ass cheek meeting his open palm.

“eren stretch you out like this?”, armin asked against the skin at the top of your back and, fucked out beyond measure, all you could do was shake your head against the pillows. remorse wasn’t a concern for either of you; any loyalty to eren riding the stream spilling out of your eyes, to leave your body and sink into the armin-scented textile pushing against your cheek.

you had expected nothing from armin; he was an unassuming suburban boy, raised by a wealthy grandfather who was loved by everybody in his community, and had instilled immovable morals in his grandson. the first, on a long list of many, being extreme loyalty—a value you wouldn’t have guessed he held so dear to his heart with how fast he let you in after seeing your pretty face on his gate camera. that was because the former was the armin he allowed to leave the confines of his home. and in reality, behind a tightly shut titanium door, was the armin that wanted nothing more than to fuck his best friend’s girlfriend senseless.

that fact unbeknownst to you, walking into it, you felt that expecting armin to bend his personal ethos for the sake of your retribution was self-serving at best, and asinine at worst, but you’d still given it a try. because the chances of your plan backfiring may have been high, but your dignity would not allow for anything else. and receiving a text that was evidently meant for someone else meant that you wanted to hurt eren in a way you knew would cut deep, and rid him of any trust he held in anyone. if he wanted to fuck around, then you’d do him the honour of helping him find out.

as the gate slowly opened, anxiety would inflate and deflate your lungs raggedly as you let go of a very deep breath. though your brain was void of any thought, your body would work for you—moving your legs to walk through his gate once there was enough space to do so. then your path to armin’s front door would be illuminated by the light casting a shadow around the figure stood in the doorway, watching you with their hands in their pockets. judging by the frame, you knew it had to be armin. and that’s when your anxiety increased tenfold.

the surprise brought by you pushing past him so suddenly twisted armin’s lips, making the corners of his mouth rigid. cerulean curiosity would begin a journey; starting at your choice of clothing—a dress unfit for the cold spring night air—before moving down to your legs. smooth brown skin was covered by a translucent façade of comfortability that, judging by the light convulses in your upper body, was not doing much to keep you warm. every intricate detail drew the conclusion that your hasty actions were a consequence of the, less than kind, weather conditions. but that conclusion was made before the scorching words brewing within you, travelled at lightening speed to leave your mouth,

“fuck me”. those two searing syllables rolled off your tongue, sweeping the space separating the both of you—their intensity causing armin to blink dramatically. and the thud caused by the closure of the heavy door would be the only thing to fill the deafening silence.

“huh?”, was all armin could gather amongst the heap of his scattered thoughts flooding the ground beneath his laden feet. but yours would move towards him, cautiously; three steps in his direction would be the extent of your movements towards armin, before you took your coat off—noticing the way he watched you narrowly—and casually let it drop to the ground.

wool lined slippers left the wooden floor, to meet it again, as your advances had armin retreating. one step backward would be the extent of his withdrawals—his limbs frozen by the way you moved towards him in a sensuous slink. not one thought of what to do next came into armin’s head, even as your arms rose—forearms delicately resting on his shoulders and impatient digits entangling themselves in his golden locks, each carrying their own portion of your ulterior motive.

“i said, fuck me, armin”, you reiterated, and words had never carried a physical weight until that moment. their gravity overtook the presence of that already in the air, forcefully pulling him into the ground.

“eren set you up to do this?”, armin asked, his question accompanied by a harsh swallow of whatever he could gather in his dry mouth. tawny lashes flittered longer than they should have at the foreign warmth sat at his nape, before armin grew irritated at their obstruction of his view; your face, the closest it’d ever been to his, with its features firm at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. your fingernails would cease their gentle scratches on armin’s neck, and you’d let out a heavy sigh,

“nah, he's too busy fucking other girls to do that”, you commented, sarcastically. but that one comment would be all it took to clarify your intentions to armin, and the dismay that realisation birthed made his stomach turn.

“so this is your getback? fucking his childhood friend?”, he scoffed in disbelief, mixed with anger. the usually cheerful visage of the blonde boy disfigured into something that made you lower your head; his evident disappointment drowning you in shame.

armin could vividly remember the acidic stinging in his throat when the pretty girl at mikasa’s birthday party introduced herself as eren’s girlfriend. any glimpse he had caught of you, before that, had inspired paragraphs of rehearsed lines he had prepared to ask you on a date. but his best friend’s protective arm around your waist had sent all his preparations falling to his feet. but now, they were all resurfacing and ascending very quickly—leaving his skin blushed and blazing in their wake. the sudden increase in his blood flow all migrated to one place. and, for the first time in all the years he had known eren, armin’s loyalties dissipated and anything holding him back evaporated; leaving behind a desperate man with the only woman he wants right in front of him.

“i don't know if you're brazen, or just a slut”, he said quietly. that last word would surprise you more than it offended you. and, though your vision was zeroed in on the floor, armin could see a slight head tilt of confusion present itself. so he'd place two fingers under your chin, forcing you to face him,

“you're not a slut, are you baby?”, his eyebrows would furrow in feigned concern, as he mirrored your shaking head, “no~, you're not. you're just a very needy girl”, he'd say to you, laughing when your features scrunched in rejection of his statement. albeit far too late, the voice of reason in your head began contesting your previous decisions. the lascivious hands embracing your waist to pull you into the body of the man in front of you had you questioning every thought process that had gotten you to this point.

“the fuck are you doing?”, you asked, moving back. but the hands on your waist would move to the bottom of your spine, to bring you even closer to armin than you were before.

“you said you wanted to fuck, so we’re gonna go upstairs and fuck.”, he answered, kissing the exposed skin on your arms and shoulders. the salacious sounds resounding from just below your ear, mixed with the feel of his wet lips on your skin made you pulsate underneath your underwear, as you let out a deep breath.

it was obvious that your want for him was surface level; shallow, and just a reactionary course of action. but armin’s was the exact opposite. he could feel his affections for you buzzing throughout him; first growing aflame in his heart, before every pump of the muscle distributed them throughout his entire central nervous system. that funny feeling, he couldn’t quite ascertain, circulated throughout him—making his palms and fingertips fuzzy as they gently smoothed over your skin. the moment an explorative hand up your mini dress had discovered the wetness at the front of your underwear, armin had metamorphosed into anticipation incarnate; the thought of drowning himself in your arousal tightening his already taut boxers. yet, despite this, he peeled your dress off you at an agonising pace—practically pausing after every square inch to exhale, as he slowly stroked himself through his pyjama bottoms.

“fuck”, lowly slid out of his mouth. with the way he was acting, it was laughable to think this was the man who had called you ‘needy’ not too long ago. because armin was anguished in front of you.

“you good, arlet?”, you teasingly asked—the sweet taste of your gloss dancing on your tastebuds, as a portion of your bottom lip found itself sucked into your mouth. the rest caught the minimal light from the lamp on armin’s bedside table. cerulean orbs scrutinised the shimmer that wasn’t sandwiched between your teeth, his tongue simulating different variations of how your lips would taste. his hands would take on the responsibilities of his transfixed eyes; traversing your bare body, fingertips feather-light as they did so. and his busy hands left his hardened bulge far too lonely for your liking. so your hand would pay it company—stroking at it gently. and only then would armin’s eyes break away from you, quickly shutting before his head tilted to rest on his shoulder.

“shit.”

once his head raised again, armin’s eyes would be greeted by your provocative ones; coquettishly looking at him as if to taunt him. it was as if you knew of his thinning resolve, and how easily he’d yield to you. as if you knew one look would be all it took for him to lay you flat on your back, your legs elevated by his hands; his palms flat against your thighs, as his lips pecked the insides of them. and, unlike your boyfriend, armin took his time: he languidly made his way to your core, humming against the wet patch on your underwear as he kissed it. the thin barrier between the blonde and the consequences of his actions would be gently pushed aside, exposing your wetness to the gentle breeze blowing into the room through armin’s open window. the only solace provided to you was armin’s delicate lips moving to peck your bundle of nerves, before it was sucked into his mouth. it’d shortly be joined by his tongue; the muscle swirling around it as ungodly noises left both of your mouths. after a few moments, the fabric under his fingers would become annoying, so you’d be hazily lifting your hips so he could slide it off you, spreading your legs wide open as soon as he did.

admittedly, eren ate your pussy well but, for him, it was merely just a means to an end. but you were armin’s end. you were his beginning, as well as his ruin, and the reason why the heavens had given him tastebuds. the nth time his eyes explored their sockets that night would follow his tongue licking one strip from your hole to your clit, and that motion would be all it’d take for armin to taste liquid insanity. once he had, his sole objective became to ravish you and, judging by the cramping fingers he could see in his peripheral vision, he was succeeding. too busy arching, your lower back hadn’t touched the navy duvet since armin had laid you down on it. pleasure was storming its way through you; leaving behind, a light layer of sweat glazing your heated body, adhering you to the fabric beneath you. subconsciously, your hips would search for armin’s mouth and your hand ran through his hair to push him further down onto you. your legs would be clamping around his head, and he’d welcome it; happy to be smothered by your scent and the heat exuded by your blazing skin.

this wasn't about foreplay for armin. it most certainly wasn't about reciprocation and, with the way he was rubbing himself against the bed, you were starting to question if it was even about your pleasure anymore. a myriad of various daydreams his mind had thought up over the years meant that armin was in heaven in between your legs. every year, you and your friends rented out a beach house. and, after he had passed out on his bed half-drunk, armin had been rudely awoken by the muffled sounds coming from you and eren’s room. abashedly, it ended in him pulling his dick out and stroking himself until he had to bite his lip to hide the moans. he knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn’t just turn his ears off. so he had just laid there, listening intently. focused on every vocal fluctuation and different intonation of his best friend’s name, armin couldn’t help but imagine all the positions eren had to have put you in to make you sound like that. at that point, his dick was so hard that there was no way he could possibly go back to sleep. so he’d sat up, the back of his head against the wall, as he fucked into his hand. at the end of it, he’d been left with a wet hand and a soaked ego. but today he had you all over him, and armin had always been a messy eater, so it was no wonder he had you on his chin, cheeks, lips, nose, and anywhere else your wetness could reach.

“armin, i'm gonna cummm”, you cried, and armin’s ministrations slowed—his tongue moving slower against you. there’s nothing he wanted to hear more than you whining underneath him, and he got it. as well as your acrylics scratching at his scalp, and his arms. once you did finally cum, armin licked it all up with a smug smile.

any second armin spent with his dick in his boxers, instead of in you, was time frivolously wasted. so they, as well as his pyjama bottoms, would be landing somewhere on his floor very quickly. red with rage, and leaking, his tip flirted with your hole for a moment—collecting any arousal that hadn’t dripped onto the bedding beneath you and tapping the combination of that and his precum on your stomach and thighs. a sick part of him wanted his nut all over you, cloaking you so he could coerce his brain into thinking that you were his. even if it was just for the night. those fantasies distracted him from what was in front of him and once he’d come to, and taken a look at your face, he’d find that you were a mess. so his palm would meet your cheek gently, a fond smile plastered on his face once your eyes glimmered again.

“wake up for me, baby, i need you here for this”, he said, picking up your hand to kiss it. following this gesture, romanticism would seem to fizzle out; your face would soon be in armin’s pillow, while his hand carved out an arch in your back. missionary seemed too personal; intimate. wanton need was radiating off armin, and the last thing he needed was it being fuelled by the hazy fucked-out look in your eyes. because he could only imagine how he would’ve felt seeing the facial expression that accompanied that small whine that came out of your mouth when he slid his tip into you—the small action driving you to insanity already. impatience would push you further onto him, but armin’s smart wits would hold you before you got any further.

“what’s eren been doing to you for you to be this needy?”, he chuckled, kissing your shoulders. initially he pushed himself into you very slowly, giving the both of you time to adjust to each other.

the buried anger armin felt when he realised he was just a pawn in a lover’s spat would soon reappear and you'd feel every inch of it. it was vengeful and unforgiving in a way that stuck your drooling lips to the pillowcase. swallowed emotions flowed through him, concentrating themselves at the place your bodies met, as he slammed into you. discipline was a concept too far gone for the both of you, and all you had to go off of was unfiltered carnality weaving between your bodies. five of armin’s fingertips imprinted themselves into your hip, while the remaining five grappled to grab onto his headboard, after trusting you to maintain the deep arch in your back. helpless hands had been searching for a grip on reality, but they were denied every time,

“don’t tap out on me, y/n, you wanted this now i need you take it”, armin chided. yet your hands wouldn’t cease their search for solace and, in gross irony, they had knocked over the only framed picture armin kept in his room; an old image of him, eren, and their other friends. and, as if an act of orchestrated symbolism, it’d be ignored. the framed expression of their friendship would dramatically fall to the floor, while armin remained hyperfixated on your soft whines—melodic and far too quiet. he’d lean forward, but the only coherency you’d maintained allowed you to turn your head in embarrassment. obviously he’d make you face him, smirking when he saw the teeth marks below your lips,

“nobody’s home, so be as loud as you need, baby. we got too much money to have neighbours, ain't nobody hearing you but me”, he smirked, kissing your skin, and approvingly humming against it when your volume raised.

each time armin slammed into you, it displaced any sound thought—leaving behind a babbling mess and a mouth fighting to beg for something armin couldn’t comprehend.

“speak to me, baby. i need words”, he said onto your jaw. and, again, that forbidden aspect of ‘intimacy’ would push any thoughts of kissing you out of his mind. so he’d refrain, and distract his eyes with the white ring forming at the base of his dick.

“’m gonna cum, armin.”, is all you'd be able to get out, but it'd be all armin needed to move his hand down to rub at your clit. and the extending rubber band in your stomach would endure one more poke from armin’s dick before it snapped unceremoniously, robbing you of your vision. lightening knuckles and cramping fingers accompanied unrestrained moans of armin’s name. in your body’s attempt to get more of armin, it’d push you back and, in turn, force armin’s release out of him. he’d already been on a thinning rein, but it finally gave in at the feeling of you tightening around him.

“i'm gonna—ffffuck—you want it, baby? want my nut leaking outta you?”, he asked, eyebrows scrunched at both the feeling, and deep contemplation of which part of your body would be painted by his release. but, ultimately, his stuttering hips would make that decision for him. as well as your bold words.

“nut in me, armin, pleaseee”, you begged loudly, and armin would fulfil your wishes instantaneously.

for a good few minutes, all that was audible in armin’s bedroom was heavy breathing, neither of you said anything. it was as if you had somehow mutually agreed that expressing how you felt at that point was ghastly inappropriate. though you both knew, and you could feel all of armin’s emotions leaking out of you to slip down your leg, you just remained quiet. the only sound you’d make would be a hushed hiss caused by armin hastily pulling himself out of you. the hands holding you would also remove themselves, not even bothering to catch you when your arms gave out and you fell onto the pillowy surface beneath you. turning around felt physically impossible; how were you meant to face armin when the trajectory of your relationship had been altered for life? instead you’d just lay on your side, staring at the wall.

“don’t tell eren, okay?”, you said to armin once he came into your line of vision. knowingly, his head would be shaking as his hands busily rummaged through his bedside draw.

“of course i won’t”, he smiled at you, finally pulling out a tube from the draw before closing it again.

“the fuck is that?”, you sat yourself up.

“lube”, he answered, prompting you to look at him with confusion scrawled all over your face, “you got your getback for him cheating, but i haven’t got mine for being used”, he smirked.

©2023 nanaminsmooninc. All rights reserved. You may not copy, reproduce, or modify works without permission.

[hell-drabbles]

Leviathan and Ra-on 2

Summary: You’ve never been more glad to have your guest bedroom be reinforced to stand even the most intense of devil king tantrums. Ra-on needs rest after too much intense fucking and Leviathan is being a demanding bastard.

(Being stuffed full to the point of inflated swelling cannot feel good on Ra-on’s inexperienced guts.)

“Mm,” Ra-on, on the floor and in a plush pillow fort you built just to have a nice little nook to read and relax in, gingerly shifted his bruised and sore self around, “Even… breathing hurts. Ow.”

Of course his everything would hurt. After wading through a disgustingly thick river of cum that almost leaked into your bedroom–thank fuck for weather strips–and stumbling into your bed with a stomach fit for rupturing from an hours long fucking session, the fact he’s lucid at all the next day was a miracle.

What is it with devils, with Leviathan pushing Ra-on way past his limit? He’s not rubber, not one of Ra-on’s many pocket sleeves but they treat him like that anyway!

Bastards. All of them.

“At least that’s all the pain you have. If you had ruptured intestines or a prolapse, you’d be screwed.” You have little clue how to go about fixing those and you wouldn’t trust any hospital in Hell with Ra-on. Knowing how devils worked, they’d fix him right back up and then fuck him as ‘payment for their work.’ And then Ra-on would be right back where you both started, with swelled up guts and internal injuries.

Fuck this place. Fuck Hell.

“Oh. Oh!” At first, Ra-on was absent-minded, then clarity cleared his voice, “That can happen?”

You blinked, “Yes. Especially since I know you don’t own any inflation toys. Or do prep-work.”

He flushed and his face pinched up horribly. Really, like his toy collection was a secret to you. Who does he think cleans up Minhyeok’s closet? Of course you would know what he has.

“…right…” And Ra-on sank back into the pile, practically disappearing. Probably wanted to vanish actually. “I think… I’ll sleep again.” Guess that line of conversation’s done. That’s fine, you wanted to get back to reading.

“You do that. I’ll just be reading, ‘kay?”

There was only a mumble. You gave a hum back.

You can only hope that, by the time you finish this chapter or when Ra-on wakes up, the hallways will be clean and the smell will finally fade. You’d use an air freshener but you’d end up suffocating yourself with the combined smell, so all you can do is turn on the air conditioner and hope the circulation would get rid of it.

You think only an hour passed before there was a knock on your door. A knock. On your layers thick, reinforced door. The sound traveled through the very framework of this bedroom. Luckily, Ra-on was so deep asleep that the most he did was shift.

You walked to the door and turn on the intercom. You’re not surprised at the sight of Leviathan on the screen, head held at that irritating angle as though no one deserved to be at eye level with him.

The sea of cum was still flowing from the hallway behind him and the devil responsible was naked right before the camera’s sight. Ugh. You know exactly what he’s here for.

“You,” Leviathan seethed, like addressing you alone was enough to disgust him, “You have Solomon’s Son with you–”

You turned off the intercom and pressed another button. There was light clinking, the turning of gears and well built mechanisms, then it all stopped.

The only sound that remained was a very, very light clinking. Nice to know that that devil wasn’t joking about his skills and the quality of his materials. ‘Not even a devil king would be able to tear through this!’

You should take him out for drinks at some point.

“Hmm?” Ra-on raised his sleepy head up, eyes not even open, “Someone knockin’?”

“Nope,” you kicked back in your chair, “Just another one of those gross Hell mosquitoes.”

[wrxsslin-hours]

A oneshot where Hunter finds out about Shawn's messy love life

a/n: I saw this art post by @seraphskater and my hand slipped. Also inspired by that one good ass fic by @tameodesza go check em out!

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was a man of taste. He preferred the finer things in life, those wrapped in gold and silk. He had the tendency to follow around what he believed was good enough for him. This was how Shawn found himself being shadowed by the blueblood every second of the day. Shawn didn’t mind it; the hawk-nosed blonde was easy on the eyes if Shawn squinted hard enough. Hunter was posh to a fault, Shawn found out, but he didn’t complain as long as Hunter made him feel like a million bucks; it did wonders for his already inflated ego. It didn’t take long for Hunter to start pursuing Shawn for something beyond his little schoolboy crush. All it took was a bouquet as big as Shawn and toothachingly sweet words (and the dirty tricks he had to do to keep Shawn WWF Champion, but Hunter digresses).

Shawn was easy to please which was why Hunter already expected the other man’s colorful love life. What he didn’t expect was how really messy it would be.

“Wait, you dated Ramon?”

“Dated is a strong word.”

Shawn snuggled closer to Hunter’s side; his legs wrapped with Hunter’s own. He pressed a kiss on the corners of his lips, hair still tangled with the leaves and petals from the behemoth of a bouquet Hunter gave him hours ago. “You know, if you want to date me, you have to deal with my seven exes.”

Hunter sputtered, “Seven?” The smaller blonde pouted, his nose scrunched, “I’m hot merchandise, everyone wants a piece of the heartbreak kid.”

The blueblood pulled Shawn closer to his chest and Shawn was more than happy to lay on something bigger than the hotel bed pillows. “And who exactly has gotten a taste of the heartbreak kid?” Hunter asked, curious.

Shawn hummed in thought, mind scraping for all the details he may have already forgotten, “Well.”

જ⁀➴

Marty Janetty

- If Hunter had to ask Marty, the former rocker would say that he was Shawn’s first everything. First kiss, first love (Shawn begs to differ), first lay. It was only natural for them to get together after starting out as a tag team.

- The chemistry between them in the ring translated into their personal lives. Marty was the more laid-back, easygoing one, balancing out Shawn’s flamboyance. Their opposing personalities seemed to complement each other well. Keyword: seemed.

- They dated for most of their time as The Midnight Rockers. Seen each other at their lowest when sharing half a granola bar for dinner, Marty being Shawn’s shoulder when the high demands of traveling from show to show took a toll on him.

- Marty found that chasing after Shawn was way harder than chasing after tag team gold. It took him months to convince Shawn to have them share a bed, let alone to get a kiss from him. Hunter could see why.

- Marty wasn’t a dead ringer for Shawn’s taste in men. He wasn’t tall, shorter than Shawn clearly. He wasn’t big either. It makes Hunter wonder how they became an item in the first place (“He was the only guy I spent time with for more than a show,” Shawn explained, “I have needs y’know”).

- Marty had a controlling hand, easily jealous, and it left a sour taste in Shawn’s mouth. Shawn lost count of how many times they had an argument that sparked from Shawn looking at another man for longer than a few seconds. Shawn wasn’t that much of a fan of being trapped in a cage. So, it was safe to say that their relationship was doomed from the start. But Shawn let it go on anyway.

- Tension built up when Shawn was given the green light to start his singles career. He knew how Marty would react to the news, so Shawn decided not to tell him anything about it until he had to throw Marty through the barber shop window.

- Shawn broke off the relationship after that. Not much love was lost between them since there wasn’t that much to begin with. Now all their interactions involved Shawn immediately turning the other direction when they made eye contact. If it wasn’t for Diesel, Shawn’s newly hired bodyguard, Marty would’ve tormented him relentlessly, or worse: wanted him back.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The Sensational Sherri

- Shawn had this sugar mommy thing going on with Sherri. It was short-lived but it was the best few months Shawn’s ever experienced. She fed into Shawn’s ideas of his over-the-top ring gear and has bought him his endless array of jewelry.

- It only took Shawn to bat his lashes for Sherri to go on and convince the Million Dollar Man to give her the money to buy what Shawn wanted. From earrings to hats to luxury hotel rooms, Shawn got it all.

- The Sensational Sherri gave Shawn direction after being split from Marty and Shawn wasn’t quite sure how it would play out. But Shawn’s uncertainty was stomped out from Sherri’s experience. She raised his stock, so to speak.

- From an outsider’s view, they definitely had a thing going on. Shawn wasn’t even aware that he was in a sugar mommy relationship until a few years later.

- Shawn got pegged, 100%

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Diesel

- The two met at a convenience store of a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Shawn saw the top of Diesel’s head poke beyond the metal shelves of liquor and soda cans, and like a moth to a flame, Shawn hunted the other down.

- He was huge, was Shawn’s first thought. All legs and muscle. The moment Shawn had to tilt his head up just to make eye contact with the man, it was over for him. Braincells gone. He wanted to climb that man like a tree.

- Shawn did the most cliché thing imaginable to try and get the other man’s attention. And it involved him “accidentally” bumping into Diesel and spilling the bottle of water in his hands. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Shawn exclaimed in the most fake-friendly voice he could muster. “Let me buy you another one; I’m so clumsy.”

- Diesel was taken aback. Was that deep ass voice coming from that guy? Christ. He didn’t even try to fight the laugh that escaped his lips when Shawn started pawing at the wet stain on his shirt's sleeve, obviously coping a feel of his bicep.

- “You’re really tall, do you wrestle?” “I truck.”

- The blonde pouted, hand wrapped around Diesel’s arm, “You ever get lonely?” he asked, not-so-subtly. Diesel, bless his heart, was a weak man when it came to blondes. Shawn was a hundred ways of pretty, and Diesel would be stupid to refuse the other’s advances. He does get lonely, thank you very much.

- And that was how Diesel found himself with a naked blonde man sleeping on the makeshift bed in the back of his ten-wheeled truck. That post-nut clarity hits him real strong.

- They had breakfast in a diner and, through the moment of spontaneous confidence, Shawn offered him a job. A bodyguard gig. The offer left Diesel in a pause, the soggy eggs on his fork slipped and fell back on the plate with a splat. “A what?”

- Shawn’s smile widened as he nodded in a way that reminded Diesel of the bobbleheads he collected on his truck’s dashboard. “Come on Big Daddy, you got the build.” Shawn tried to convince, “Pays better too.”

- Diesel hadn’t been given that big of a decision since he made the choice to dye his hair black. His eyes traced from Shawn’s beauty mark to the skin of his chest that peeked from his too-large shirt. The silence that followed it made Shawn pout. The blonde grabbed a napkin and scribbled his number before he tucked it in Diesel’s hands. “I’m not kidding about it, y’know,” he kissed Diesel on the cheek, “Give me a call when you make up your mind.”

- Diesel watched the man disappear beyond the diner doors and he was left with his thoughts.

- It didn’t take long for Diesel to actually call him back. And Shawn was absolutely ecstatic.

- So, there he was, following Shawn to the ring and watching his new employer dance around. They got together soon after. But it was short-lived, the two decided they were better off as friends instead of lovers. The breakup ended miles better than Shawn’s last one. Good on them.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Razor Ramon

- Shawn thought Razor was the most annoying man alive. And Razor didn’t have any good words to say about Shawn either. They were both stubborn and didn’t know how to take “no” like proper functional adults. It only took Razor spitting his toothpick on Shawn’s lap for them to start squabbling every chance they get. Diesel became their impromptu babysitter whenever that happened.

- They had this situationship going on that confused everyone to no end. One second, they were best buddies; then the next moment, Razor was trying to choke Shawn for mocking his accent. It went on like that for most of their budding friendship. There always seemed to be this tension between the two that was heavy and pungent.

- They boned. No surprise. It was a friends-with-benefits, no-strings-attached thing. They wouldn’t call themselves an item by any means. They always found themselves in bed together after every match they had. And there were no complaints from either of them. The morning-afters seemed to be the sweetest, with Shawn ordering hotel breakfast for the both of them while Razor would untangle the knots in Shawn’s hair made from the night before. It was a moment of comfortable silence, only broken by the rustle of the bed sheets and the noise of the television.

- They started being friendly the more they spent time together, and that led to Razor becoming a part of Shawn and Diesel’s ragtag crew. They made some sort of system together, having each other’s back whenever it calls for it. Best believe, the trio became everyone’s problem in the locker room afterward.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Sycho Sid

- Even Shawn wonders how he had the audacity to even consider Sid as a potential boyfriend. Shawn had the aching suspicion he made that decision when he was black out drunk one night.

- This all happened after an argument Shawn had with Diesel, and in a sorry attempt to make his former boyfriend jealous, he got himself a new bodyguard in the not-so-mentally there Sid.

- Shawn tried to make it work. Tried.

- But Sid was more interested in the gold wrapped around Shawn’s waist than Shawn himself.

- It was a fruitless attempt on Shawn’s part and he immediately stopped trying when Sid laughed all on Shawn’s face. The blonde can still remember the smell of his breath and it still makes him gag to this day.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Undertaker

- Shawn can’t even wrap his head around the idea of how he managed to convince the Undertaker to date him. He’d like to think his good looks did it for him.

- In true Shawn fashion, the blonde saw one wrestler that towered over him, and it was over. He was afraid of the Undertaker at first, but in all honesty, who wasn’t? He was an enigma. Came into the wrestling scene wearing all black, hair covering most of his face, and a tub-of-lard of a man following him around with his squeak-toy voice. Maybe Shawn’s thing for taller men overshadowed all the other red flags that said men might carry.

- Shawn didn’t believe the Undertaker was essentially a walking corpse, but after laying his head on his bare chest and hearing no heartbeat, he started to rethink his life choice. (“Okay, it was kinda hot.” Hunter made a face, “Shawn-“)

- Despite their odd pairing, Shawn and the Undertaker surprisingly hit it off. The Deadman turned out to be a gentle giant, and Shawn couldn’t help but be drawn to him. To Shawn's surprise, Taker knew a thing or two about motorcycles. Lord knows how he got into it in the first place.

- Their relationship started off as Shawn treating Taker as some sort of wall, talking on and on about anything and everything. And Taker, not knowing how to respond to Shawn's endless rants, never bothered to interrupt him. That was how Taker got up to date with the latest locker room drama, which to none of his surprise, had Shawn as the center of most of them.

- Shawn became a permanent fixture in Taker’s somewhat dreary routine. Shawn’s deep voice was a nice contrast to Bearer’s and Taker welcomed the change with open arms.

- They decided to end their relationship when Shawn realized that Taker still had some of his own stuff to figure out, particularly the brother-related ones. It was a quiet affair, both in good terms. But that still didn’t stop Shawn from talking Taker’s ear off.

- When come the time that Taker’s heart starts to beat again, he was sure that Shawn was one of the reasons for his second chance to life.

⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Bret Hart

- This was one of the relationships where Shawn genuinely saw himself loving Bret for the rest of their lives. They started out as friends when Bret, like the angel he was, offered some encouraging words to a still-green Shawn Michaels back in the early nineties. It meant more to Shawn than Bret realized, especially considering that Shawn was in a rather low moment in his career, unsure of how he was going to be used in the business. He’s heard of all the stories of how new talent became jobbers immediately after they debuted, and Shawn was worried he was going to be one of them. But Bret had more trust in Shawn than Shawn had in himself. The blonde can still remember how Bret complimented his form. It made the Texan blush a whole bright shade of red.

- They didn’t start out as all-out friends like what happened between Diesel and Shawn. They were acquaintances in the locker room, sharing small waves and the occasional “Nice match.” They had this unspoken respect for one another, and it continued to bloom as the years went by.

- Shawn had the tendency to fall slowly and hard. As much as he wants to deny it, his small spark for Bret was there since the very start, and it only got bigger when he entered the WWF championship scene. Shawn made a name for himself big enough to be a contender for gold. And that meant he spent more time with the Hitman.

- Their time together in the ring extended out of the ring too. It started small, sharing stories in the locker room and drinking together in bars after a show. And then they went on dates, sharing hotel rooms, and sitting next to each other during those long-hour flights.

- They shared their first kiss one random night while sharing a bottle of beer on the balcony of their shared hotel room. And it continued to something more in bed.

- It was afterward when they decided it was best for both of them if they only did hookups. Mostly because neither of them could ever bring themselves up to admit their feelings. Maybe it’s arrogance, maybe it’s a fear of commitment. Either way, they stayed casual, and it was neither of them wanted.

- They fell off like how they fell in love: slowly. They started arguing, having fights more than anything else, and it all collapsed on itself. Sometimes, Shawn would wonder what would happen if they did confess.

- This was one of the relationships that actually hurt.

જ⁀➴

Hunter stared at the ceiling, listening to Shawn’s voice fade in and out of sleepiness. The smaller man yawned, “But that was years ago,” he assured. And Hunter hugged him tighter. The blueblood smacked his lips after a stretch of silence, “They won’t just start beating up when we tell everyone of our status, would they?”

“I don’t think so.” Shawn placed a kiss on Hunter’s lips and smiled, “But I’m pretty sure Sid would beat you up just because he feels like it.”

[svmproducts-blog]

Are inflatable travel pillows any good?

Traveling can be an exhilarating experience, filled with new adventures and discoveries. However, it often comes with the downside of uncomfortable sleeping situations, especially during long journeys. That's where inflatable travel pillows come into play, promising a more comfortable rest during your travels. But are inflatable travel pillows any good? In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the world of travel pillows and assess their effectiveness.

The Traveler's Dilemma

Before we dive into the details, let's address the traveler's dilemma. You've likely found yourself in situations where comfort and quality sleep are compromised. Whether it's a long-haul flight, a train ride, or a road trip, restful sleep is often a luxury. Inflatable travel pillows aim to change that scenario.

The Popularity of Inflatable Travel Pillows

In recent years, inflatable travel pillows have gained immense popularity. They offer a portable and versatile solution to the sleep woes of travelers. Let's explore the key factors contributing to their rise.

Portability and compactness

One of the standout features of inflatable travel pillows is their portability. They can be easily deflated, rolled up, and stowed away in your luggage or carry-on bag. This makes them convenient to carry without taking up valuable space.

Customizable Comfort

Inflatable travel pillows allow you to adjust their firmness according to your preferences. You can inflate them to the desired level to provide support where you need it most, such as your neck or back.

Versatility

These pillows are not limited to air travel alone. They can be used on buses, trains, and even for a quick nap during a road trip. Their versatility makes them an attractive option for all kinds of travelers.

The Science Behind Comfort

To understand why inflatable travel pillows are effective, let's delve into the science of comfort and how these pillows provide it.

Ergonomic Design

Inflatable travel pillows are designed with ergonomics in mind. They offer support to your neck and upper body, reducing the strain on muscles and helping you maintain a comfortable posture during sleep.

Reduced Pressure Points

These pillows distribute the pressure evenly, reducing the chances of waking up with a stiff neck or sore back. By keeping your head and neck in alignment, they minimize discomfort.

The Variety of Options

Inflatable travel pillows come in various shapes and designs, offering something for everyone's comfort needs. Let's explore some of the options available:

Neck Resting Pillow

This design cradles your neck and provides excellent support for those who struggle with neck pain during travel.

Inflatable Foot Rest

For those who prefer a more relaxed position during long flights, an inflatable footrest can be a game-changer.

Inflatable Airplane Pillow

This classic design offers excellent neck support and is often shaped to fit the contours of an airplane seat.

Inflatable Travel Neck Pillow

It is a versatile choice that supports the neck and upper body, making it suitable for various forms of travel.

The Impact of Inflatable Travel Pillows

Are inflatable travel pillows any good when it comes to real impact? Let's discuss their benefits.

Enhanced sleep quality

Travel pillows significantly improve sleep quality during long journeys, reducing the chances of grogginess upon arrival.

Reduced Fatigue

With proper neck and back support, travelers experience less fatigue and discomfort, allowing them to start their adventures energized.

Increased Productivity

By ensuring a good night's sleep, these pillows help travelers stay alert and productive during their trips.

The Conclusion

So, are inflatable travel pillows any good? The answer is a resounding yes. They have become a trusted companion for travelers seeking a comfortable and restful journey. With their portability, ergonomic design, and various options, these pillows are a valuable addition to your travel gear.

Now, whether you're planning a long-haul flight or a scenic train journey, consider investing in an inflatable travel pillow to make your travel experience more enjoyable.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

Where can I find an inflatable travel pillow near me?

You can purchase inflatable travel pillows at various stores, both online and offline. Many travel accessory shops, department stores, and e-commerce websites offer a wide selection.

Are there any inflatable foot pillows for children?

Yes, there are inflatable foot pillows designed for children to provide them with the comfort and support they need during travel.

How do I clean and maintain my inflatable travel pillow?

Cleaning and maintenance instructions may vary by brand, but most can be wiped with a damp cloth and mild detergent. Be sure to follow the manufacturer's guidelines for your specific pillow.

Are inflatable travel pillows suitable for people with chronic neck pain?

Inflatable travel pillows are often designed to provide ergonomic neck support. However, if you have chronic neck pain, it's essential to consult with a healthcare professional before using any new travel accessory.

Can I use inflatable travel pillows for camping or outdoor activities?

Yes, inflatable travel pillows can be used for camping or other outdoor activities. Their portability and comfort make them a practical choice for on-the-go relaxation.

Are you ready to enhance your travel comfort? Invest in an inflatable travel pillow and experience the difference firsthand.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I can’t sleeeeeeeeep and I want cuuddleeeess

Legend tossed and turned irritably. His mind just refused to be quiet, and his back was killing him.

“Come on,” he grumbled, rolling over in his sleeping bag.

He’d agreed to spending the weekend at Sky’s place, despite Sky apologetically noting that he only had an inflatable mattress to spare. When Sky had offered his own bed, Legend had lied and insisted he preferred sleeping on the floor anyway. He’d brought a sleeping bag as extra precaution because he knew Sky kept his place cold.

He hadn’t banked on not being able to sleep at all.

Sighing for the millionth time, he grumpily and aggressively stuffed his face into his pillow. When he felt something bump against him, he inhaled sharply through his nose, pushing himself into a nearly backwards curl.

Sky stared at him sheepishly from his own sleeping bag beside him.

“What are you…?” Legend asked confusedly.

“You looked uneasy,” Sky offered feebly. “I was just gonna keep you company.”

“Sky, this is dumb.”

“You aren’t comfortable.”

“I like the floor.”

“You’re full of crap, Ledge.”

Biting his lip, the nurse switched tactics. “It’s just a little cold. Get me another blanket.”

“You can sleep on my bed,” Sky offered.

“That isn’t—”

“We could share it?”

“It’s a twin bed, Sky—”

“Okay, we’ll make a better bed of the floor, then.”

Despite the travel nurse’s protests, Sky managed to grab every blanket in his cabin and pile them both below and overtop of them, creating a blanket fort of proportions that Legend hadn’t seen since his childhood.

Turning so his back was against Legend’s, Sky scooted closer and said sleepily, “Good night, Ledge.”

Sighing in defeat, Legend wrapped a blanket around himself and pressed himself firmly against his friend. “Night, Sky.”

[monstrousvoice]

I need...Morgott being a pervert. Bare with me on this.

Tags: Smut, Pantie Stealing, Masturbation, Pining, Morgott being a pervert, But you want him to be one so it's all good, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight Cum Inflation, Guilt, Very brief mention of non-con but Morgott would never, it’s his guilt talking, Female Tarnished

You've been teasing him for weeks now, he's sure of it. How you learned of his affections for you he'll never know, and while he knew they would never be returned, he never expected...this.

He thought if you ever found out it would lead to an explosive encounter. A confrontation. You calling him disgusting and a failure, hating him for feeling such a way towards you. Or for laughter, a mirthless glint in your eye as you mock him for thinking he could ever be good enough for you.

But never did he expect such...quiet cruelty.

You don't say anything to him, but it's clear you know. You keep...tempting him. Brushing against him while talking, your fingers bumping his hand as you walk in the halls. And flirting. 

By the Erdtree, the flirting.

Constant compliments and promises you can't possibly mean, that no person could possibly mean when speaking to or about him. 

'Oh, wow Morgott, you're so strong~ I would love to see what other things you can lift~'

'Morgott my King, what do you look for in a Queen? I'd like to be sure I'm making a good impression~'

And all manner of other remarks.

A man can only take so much. Morgott prides himself on his resilience, but truthfully? Laughter or anger would be preferable to this.

You're mocking him, he knows it. But it's in such a sweet way that he can't reasonably be upset with you when you do it. Especially because when he does start to become upset, you back off. 

You look at him with those big, earnest doe eyes, so apologetic for stepping too far. It's driving him mad.

The desire he feels boiling his blood...it's all too much. He needs to feel sweet release...

Which is how he finds himself in your chambers, digging through your drawers. He waited patiently for you to head outside to the training grounds, so he could sneak in with you none the wiser.

And he's finally found what he's looking for.

A drawer full of, frankly adorable, panties. Guilt churns his stomach inside out but the heat pulsing towards his cock is enough to burn it away for now.

He can feel guilty later. Right now? He needs to show you (or at least, his fantasy of you) what happens when you push an Omen too far.

He walks down the hallways at his usual slow and steady pace, a cute pair of well worn undies balled tight into his massive fist. He wants to marvel at how small they are, but first he needs to get to safety.

He passes by many servants, none of whom spare him a second glance. The guilt comes back full force.

'They don't even know how sinful you truly are. Stealing from her, even if it is just clothing. No, worse, it's her private clothing, inherently lewd, that you've taken. Disgusting.'

He can't help but agree with himself, but he doesn't stop.

Locked away in his bed chambers, the King finally looks at his prize.

It's a cute pair, made of red silk that the castle tailor must have made upon your request. His ears burn red as he thinks of why and when you would wear such a fancy piece of fabric. He wishes it could be around him...

But it will never happen. Because you could never love him, and instead you play this cruel game of teasing his senses until he breaks. Just thinking about it made his blood boil with anger and lust anew. How dare you do such a thing to him!? Where did you find the gal!? 

Such deeds deserve proper punishment.

His robe is off in seconds as he settles into his nest, a pile of blankets and pillows on his old but comfortable mattress. His cock is already growing firm, the pink head peeking out from his sheath and dripping precum onto his fluffy thighs.

"Damn thee, Tarnished..." He whispers, looking at the fabric in his hand. His other hand travels down to cup his aching balls, fingers massaging to help relieve the buildup of pressure he feels. His cock slips further from its sheath, drooping down with its own weight as his knot finally pops free of its confinement.

How would you look, he wonders, to see such a monstrous cock? Disgusted? Terrified? 

He could grab the back of your head by your hair, forcefully press your cheek and lips against his dripping cock and force you to swallow him till he shot his load down your tight throat.

But he didn't want to be feared. To be reviled...

What if you...you wanted to be here?

Your cunt aching for him, dripping in your red panties till they were soaked through...Letting his fingers hook the edge and slowly slide them down your legs...Bringing the fabric close to his nose and taking a deep inhale of that lovely scent of arousal, smirking at the way your cheeks glow red in embarrassed flattery. 

He does bring the panties towards his nose as his fist wraps around his cock. They're clean, but he swears he can just catch the slightest scent of you from when you last wore them...

He squeezes his hand tight around his knot, imagining it to be your lips, the rest of his cock slipping deep inside your throat. Those big doe eyes of yours looking up at him through your lashes, begging him to release inside for you to swallow, and he would do so.

Cumming ropes of sticky, thick cum down the tight squeeze of your throat, filling your tummy full of him. With how small you were...seeing your tummy slowly distend as more and more cum leaves him, your sweet lips draining him dry.

He can see it so clearly in his mind...

He pulls the panties away from his nose, bringing them down to his aching cock. He swiftly wraps the fabric around his length, the crotch that normally rests against your cute cunt being pressed against his leaking head. A wet spot is already spreading.

After filling your throat to the brim he'd flip you over. You'd squeak in such an adorable way at the sudden change, finding yourself on your hands and knees for him. Your belly would hang just a bit from the weight of his cum keeping you filled, and one of your hands would reach down to cup it as you moan.

You'd wiggle your ass against his cock, begging him to keep filling you, to use your holes and make you his Queen. To fill your empty womb with his children, to knock you up and marry you and keep you forever and ever.

And he'd do so.

He'd push deep and slow into your wet opening, tight heat enveloping his cock in a vice like grip. You would squeal and cry his name for all to hear, begging for an Omen to get you pregnant and fill your waiting womb with his seed. No matter how much he gives you, it's never enough. You want it all, forever, for him to hold you and never let you go...

It's then that he cums in his own fist. His fertile seed soaking through your silk panties still wrapped around his fat cock. The King lays there for a few moments, letting his breathing even out before the crushing guilt comes back to him.

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Bag Game!

Thanks for the tag, @kaylinalexanderbooks (here)!

Rules: Name five things your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

I'll go with some of the cast from Supernova Initiative and Enchanted Illusions.

(Since my characters live in a either fantasy or sci-fi world and are not school-aged, Imma just go with the contents of their regular bags to make this easier)

(Supernova Initiative)

Jack Tithus

Mint bubblegum

Ammo and chargers for his guns

A miniature first aid pack/painkillers

A holo-picture of him and Cassie

Sweet and crunchy energy bars

A to-go bottle of chocolate milk

Cassie Tithus

Extra parts for her projects and robots

Scrunchies for her hair + hair dye packets

A pocket knife/box cutter

An old, skrunkly plushie

An extra tablet

Inflatable neck pillow

Aleks Keldora

The "face-changer" (his high tech mask that can turn him into anyone's lookalike)

Dozens of stolen IDs, documents and government papers

A handmade drawing of his mothers

Tiny explosives and big explosives

A bottle of nail polish

Vesper Foxx

Self-repair kit for her cyborg implants

A bunch of extra parts in case she needs to replace something

The bracelet her little sister gave her for her birthday

Knives. So many knives. And guns. Don't forget the guns, and poison gas grenades.

A list of the names of each member of the mercenary crew she is hunting down

Artemis Zreeth

Leather gloves and old goggles

Cheesy snacks

His father's old scarf

Star-dust cigarettes

Eyeliner

A foldable speeder bike that becomes a tiny disk when deactivated

Pax Stellaryn

Void Program study material

Crumpled notes, messy journals and glitter pens

His diary

A picture of his cat riding a floating skateboard (don't ask lol)

Sour candy, and lollipops

Ethean Mirannir

Extra uniform

Pilot gear and an emergency kit for his spaceship

A holo-picture of his whole family and him during his graduation day seven year ago

Neon markers and a drawing sketchbook

Fidget toy for anxiety relief

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus Grimmure

Bloodstained handkerchief

A small dagger

Necromancy tome of spells and his journal

Recipe for instant magical coffee

An engagement ring he has yet to give Harriet

A bag of cookies from his grandma

Harriet Sharppe

Dainty silk gloves

Extra painkillers in case her cousin forgets

Pocket knife

The latest book she is reading

Lip balm

Chocolate bar

Agatha Greenwoods

Her overflowing journal, containing clues of the case she's trying to solve

A crumpled but well loved picture of her father

Sleep medicine

Switchblade

An extra change of clothes

Cailean Telkerly

His late brother's broken pocketwatch

Worn out brass knuckles and a pocket pistol

Multiple kinds of currency, all stolen

A bottle of cologne

Crumpled candy papers

Falsified documents for any given occasion

Sam Delaways

Snacks and extra food

A dusty old jacket

Very little spare change/copper coins, on good days

A bunch of useless knickknacks he proudly collects

His brothers' plushies when they don't want to carry them

Evangeline Daemitya

Her drawing sketchbook and a travel case for her pens and pencils

A locket with a picture of her and her father

Her intricate coinpurse

An enchanted rapier that becomes a tiny ring when not being used

Poison bottles and a botany guide

Tagging: @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @little-peril-stories

@the-ellia-west, @winterandwords, @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites

@leave-her-a-tome, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[padfootagain]

Where We Kept Our Magic (III)

How We Met Again

Hello lovelies! Here is a second part for my Muggle!Reader AU!! I hope you like this new scene, tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Warnings: none for this chapter

Summary: You and Sirius meet when you’re still young, and yet you fall head over heels for each other. But everything gets complicated when you learn that Sirius is a Wizard! Now, your whole world has to be reimagined. -This series is made of many independent snippets taken from Sirius and Muggle!Reader’s lovestory –

Word Count : 2175

Masterlist for the series - Sirius Black's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

A couple of weeks have passed, and Sirius misses you. And he hates it. He is surprised by it, too. The feeling has come out of the blue, unexpected and unwanted as it settled in his ribcage, carved his way into his heart.

He doesn’t understand it at all. He’s had only a couple of dates with you, spent two afternoons in your company, and this evening at the concert. He doesn’t know that much about you. He doesn’t know how you drink your tea, what you eat for breakfast, the colour of your eyes under the rain. And it’s making things worse, because he wants to know. He longs to ask you what’s your favourite flower and your favourite colour and how you drink your coffee…

And whenever he closes his eyes, he sees yours, wide open, so close to him, staring into his soul. And he can taste your lips on his tongue again, smell your perfume in the air…

He huffs, annoyed. He’s being ridiculous. You weren’t even together, you’ve shared a few hours and a kiss. You weren’t even his first kiss. Was he yours?

He pushes the thought away, sits up as if it’ll help his brain thinking other thoughts. It doesn’t.

“If I hear you sigh one more time, Pads, I’ll hex you so hard you’ll be sent to Antarctica.”

“You really do have to hang out less with Evans, you’re stealing her silly threats now.”

“I want to punch you in the face so hard.”

“Better, sounds more like you.”

In James’s bedroom, the sun pours in golden hues, fresh and clean and too warm. It almost burns, despite its travel through the windowpane.

Sirius is sitting on the ground, and James is splayed on his bed, a novel in his hand that he disregards in favour of his best friend.

“You really have to see her again.”

“Why? She doesn’t want to see me.”

“She doesn’t want a fling. She literally wants to see you too much for the two of you to be a meaningless fling.”

“And that’s impossible. We’ve been through this already.”

“Clearly we need to go through this one more time, because you’re still mopping…”

“I am not…”

“You are. You miss her.”

Sirius remains quiet, his back resting against James’s bed.

“You should try to see her again.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to look, I don’t know her address.”

“As if it could stop the Marauders.”

Sirius can’t refrain a tender smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. You three are as mad as I am.”

“That’s why you love us so much!” James laughs, nudging Sirius with his knee.

“Fuck off, or I’ll break your kneecaps!”

“And risk mom’s wrath? I believe you.”

Sirius merely chuckles, hiding behind a snicker the way his heart inflated with fondness. James isn’t calling Euphemia his mother anymore, but their mom. True brothers…

“She’s a muggle. We’ll leave for Hogwarts in a couple of months and…”

“Yes, I know,” James rolled his eyes. “You kind of repeat yourself these days.”

“It would be too complicated.”

“Perhaps she’s worth the complication.”

“That comes from a guy who definitely likes complications when it comes to girls…”

Sirius doesn’t finish his sentence, he’s hit by a pillow instead.

“Anyway, what I was saying is… you should try anyway. You’re missing her already.”

“That’s the whole point… what if I fall for her? Like… really fall for her?”

“Your life will get immensely more complicated. And you’ll love every second of it.”

“You and your bloody romantic antics…”

“Ha, yes, I had forgotten how our good old Padfoot is full of cynicism these days.”

Sirius checks the time, and he’s happy to offer a distraction from the current conversation. After all, James and he have to hurry up if they don’t want to be late to meet Remus and Peter at Green Park.

Still, when he’s tying his shoes, he’s still thinking about that smile of yours.

Summer is too warm this year, you wish for a fresh breeze to cool your skin, your head and your heart.

You’re still thinking about Sirius. You haven’t said a word of it to Jackie, besides telling her that it was over, that you were right and that Sirius didn’t want anything serious. It was hopeless, it would remain a silly crush on a stranger at a concert.

Your heart has other plans though. Because it aches just thinking about him. You can feel his lips on yours and your skin burns at the memory. You see his stormy eyes over and over again at night.

You miss him. You hate that fact, but you can’t deny the truth of it. You miss him, you want to see him again. Even if it means getting your life immensely complicated, even if it means letting him break your heart.

You don’t talk about it, though. What would be the point, anyway? Instead, you merely look sadder than usual, look at the sun through your sunglasses even if you shouldn’t, and try to breathe despite the longing in your chest.

Jackie has managed to drag you to Green Park, despite your terrible mood. She even managed to make you laugh, God knows how. You’re thankful for it, even if you hate it.

You’re lying in the grass, Jackie by your side is reading while you look through the branches at the blue sky and the burning sun. Your world is tainted pink by your sunglasses. You love it.

The park is busy, but you don’t mind. The unregular noises around you are numbed by the grass under you, the branches swaying gently, the superposition and mingling of voices. In the end, you barely notice the noise at all.

And it’s all relaxing, and for the first time in two weeks, your mind wanders not towards Sirius’s grey eyes but the shape of the leaves above you and you wonder how soft they can be up there, caressed only by the wind, before their fall.

Your quiet thoughts are interrupted though, by a frisbee landing right onto your stomach. You’re startled as it passes before your face and the next second rests on your abdomen; you let out a little shriek, that makes Jackie jump as well.

You sit up in a hurry, fumbling with the plastic toy. Damn, what kind of idiotic twat is clumsy enough to throw their frisbee on people…

You turn around, ready to throw hands with the culprit… when you’re left blinking instead.

A boy in a dark t-shirt is running towards you, freezing as he recognizes you.

Bullocks…

“Y/N?”

Sirius blinks. Once, twice, thrice, but you’re still here, sitting in the grass. He can’t help the smile that forms on his lips.

You look so beautiful, so adorable with your pink glasses…

“I…”

You look down at the frisbee, hand it over to him in a hurry without meeting his eyes.

“Oh, yeah… sorry about that. James is terrible at this game. He’s wearing his glasses, and still can’t aim for shit.”

His attempt at humour is met by a heavy silence and a terrible drop of his heart.

He looks down, cheeks burning, and not only because of his run. He takes the frisbee with a quiet thanks and is ready to walk away again when…

“Hey! Isn’t that your girl, Padfoot?”

You see Sirius wincing as a tall boy with glasses runs to him, half jumping on Sirius’s back as he comes to a stop by his side.

He shoots you and Jackie a grin.

“Hi! I’m James! And you must be Y/N!”

You nod, but can’t seem to find your voice. Jackie introduces herself, struggling not to laugh at you as you steal glances towards Sirius but look away every time his eyes meet yours. Meanwhile, Remus and Peter have joined the small group, introduced themselves, and are now quietly laughing at Sirius’s flushed cheeks, along with the fact that he can’t look away from you.

He's missed you. So terribly. He was a fool. He wants you so badly. He can recall the taste of your lips, and he longs for it now more than ever.

But he shakes himself out of his trance as he hears Remus asking if they can join you and your friend.

“These idiots have never played frisbee before, and I’m tired of trying to teach them. They’re desperate cases, at this point.”

“Thanks, Moony,” James mumbles under his breath, along with something about talent and a weird word… quid… something. You guess it must be a Scottish sport, as Sirius said he went to school there.

Why is he going to a school so far from home though?

You shake yourself. You don’t care. You don’t care about Sirius, about his friends, about their school, or about how the sun shines on Sirius’s magnificent eyelashes. You are about to decline the offer when Jackie grins and accepts… the traitor…

And you hate the rest of this afternoon. You hate it because everything goes smoothly. Sirius’s friends are a little weird but hilarious and nice. And Sirius is a little quieter than usual, but you’ve noticed the way his eyes linger on you, the way he can’t help staring…

And you hate it because you long for his gaze on you. Because you let your eyes drift towards his frame too. Because you feel happy and excited now that he’s near again. Because you want to kiss the cigarette taste away from his lips as he puffs out some smoke.

He catches you smiling dreamily as you look at his earing shining in the summer sun, and you hate the smirk that forms across his features as you shy away under his stare.

Damn, this charming boy…

And the afternoon passes too quickly, too soon already the sun has begun setting, and the park is about to close. You need to go home, and you don’t want to. You need to say farewell to Sirius all over again, and you don’t want to. And you hate him for that…

But as you’re about to part, about to say goodbye to turn around and never see him again, Sirius reaches for your hand, stare too intense to let you escape.

“Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat, but nod anyway.

And you hate the look Jackie throws at you, the knowing kind. You hate everything about today. You hate the softness of Sirius’s palm, the gentleness of his hold as he pulls you away from the group, the warmth of his skin spreading under yours.

You hate everything about him. You hate him… you hate him…

When he turns around, a wild strand of hair swings across his cheek, escaping from his bun, and you hate it too. You hate how good he looks right now, how you long to reach out and brush the hair behind his ear…

“Can I be brutally honest?”

He stares at you intensely again, and there’s confidence in his stature, in the way he leans towards you, in the urgency of his tone. Still, his voice trembles.

“Sure, go ahead.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I want you.”

Your eyes grow round at that, and you hate him. You hate him because you like hearing these words coming from his mouth, because you want nothing but to kiss him…

“I know that last time we… we decided not to see each other again, but… the truth is, I want you. And I… I want us to give it a shot.”

“Sirius, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but…”

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I have.”

You stop breathing altogether, your heart skips a few beats, and you hate it. You hate it so much you want to cry.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to try this.”

“Are you playing with me?”

“No, I’m not.”

And you hate the fact that you can read in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

“I want to try. I like you. A lot. And… these past couple of weeks… and seeing you again today, I’ve realized… I want to give this a try. Let’s go on another date.”

“But Sirius…”

“Give me another chance,” he interrupts you, taking a step closer. “Please… please give me another chance.”

And you want to say no. You want to slap him and you hate him because you’ve been hoping, dreaming of this moment even, and desperately so. And you hate yourself because you want to say yes, and you can’t help the words that pass your lips even if they’re so unbearably unwise.

“Okay,” you nod. “But you won’t get a third.”

He grins.

“Friday?”

Slowly, you nod.

“Friday.”

Before you can ask where you will meet, Sirius has reached up to cup your face, and has crushed his lips to yours.

And as you lose your fingers through his hair and melt into his arms, you love every second of it…

*************************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @hells-escapees @cloudbroomblog @omgrachwrites

[the-puffinry]

But among classical writers, it is Ovid (43 B.C.–A.D. 18) whose satirical use of parrots proves most outrageous and enduring. This use occurs in the sixth poem of book 2 of his Amores: a sixty-two-line elegy for the death of his girlfriend’s rose-ringed parakeet. Beginning the exercise in a heroic vein, Ovid summons all feathered creatures to join in the obsequies for Corinna’s pet: Parrot, winged mimic from the dawn-lands of India, has died: come in flocks, ye birds, to his funeral. Come, pious poultry, and beat your breasts with your wings, and rend your tender cheeks with the unyielding claw… As for the Ismarian tyrant’s crime, which you, Philomela, lament, that same lament has been satisfied in its own  time; turn now to the sad last rites of a rare bird. Your cause of grief for Itys is great, but it is ancient history. (2.6.1–4, 7–10; my translation). Both Ovid’s occasion and his tone here suggest mockery. Certainly—to compare early things with late—that is how the same subject matter functions in Evelyn Waugh’s gleeful trashing of all things American, The Loved One (1948). Waugh’s protagonist, the English expatriate Dennis Barlow, embraces a career as a pet undertaker in Los Angeles, which career culminates in a parrot funeral reminiscent of Ovid’s elegy: “Mr. Joyboy would have an open casket. I advised against it and, after all, I know. I’ve studied the business. An open casket is all right for dogs and cats who lie down and curl up naturally. But parrots don’t. They look absurd with a head on a pillow. But I came up against a blank wall of snobbery” (140). Waugh’s humor arises from the discordant juxtaposition of human obsequies with pet care, and this is what Ovid offers us as well, two thousand years earlier. Moreover Ovid—like Persius with his Pegasean nectar—is clearly engaged in literary parody. And in Ovid’s case, the literary victim has a name. By composing a dirge for the death of his beloved Lesbia’s pet sparrow, Catullus (c. 58–55 B.C.) influenced generations of Roman love-poets to come with his tender evocation of intimate feelings: “Lament, o Venuses and cupids, and whoever is most charming among men. My girlfriend’s sparrow is dead, that sparrow, my girlfriend’s delight, whom she loved more than her eyes…. It now travels by an obscure way to that place from which no one knows how to return” (3.1–5, 11–12; my translation). This kind of tremulous emotion, however, could not have been farther from Ovid’s approach to love and sex. Where Catullus and his imitators leave the reader “convinced of the sincerity and the seriousness of their love and their bitterness at finding that [its] fulfillment is impossible” (Du Quesnay 7), Ovid seems to relish the role of the lover, which he presents not as an emotional abyss but as a game of seduction.

 Against this background his grief for Corinna’s parrot sounds derisive rather than genuine, marking the distance between his experience and his predecessors’ innocence. For instance, Ovid’s language is a little too grandiose, a little too exaggerated, for the sentiments it conveys. Catullus keeps his verses strictly in the personal register, describing Lesbia’s feelings for her sparrow and recalling her behavior with it in intimate detail: “For it was sweet as honey and knew her as well as a girl knows her mother, nor would it move from her bosom, but hopping about this way and that it would chirp to its mistress alone” (3.6–10). Ovid, by contrast, presents the loss of Corinna’s parrot as an event of epic magnitude, grander than Philomela’s rape or Procne’s murder of her own son, Itys. (Likewise, he compares the bird’s proverbial friendship with the turtle-dove to Pylades’ friendship with Orestes.) As Catullus understands, the relationship between a pet bird and its owner is too fragile a subject to sustain the weight of heroic allusions. For a poet intent upon making that relationship look ridiculous, however, such allusions are perfectly chosen. Nor does Ovid simply inflate Catullus’ diction. He also exaggerates the structure of his poem so that where Catullus offers a delicate eighteen-line lyric, Ovid responds with a full-scale formal elegy. This extends from a call to the proper mourners (“Come, pious poultry”), through an outburst against divine injustice (“The best things are often carried off by greedy hands” [2.6.39]), to a death-bed (death-perch?) scene in which the expiring bird, sensing that its hour is at hand (or at wing?), squawks out a desolate “Corinna, farewell!” (2.6.48). This moment of high bathos, in turn, gives way to a formal consolation in which the parrot finds its place in Elysium, within “a grove of black ilex” (2.6.49) designated as “the good birds’ home” (2.6.51). As the classicist John Ferguson has remarked of Ovid’s poem, “the whole thing is amusing and utterly unfeeling” (353). It’s also brilliantly pitched, employing the death of a natural mimic as the occasion for a barbed exercise in literary mimicry. Even so, Ovid handles his subject so deftly as to leave many readers doubtful of his insincerity. Even a near-contemporary of Ovid seems to have taken his poem quite seriously. I refer in this case to the poet Statius (c. A.D. 40–96), who produced his own parrot-elegy (Silvae 2.4) in obvious (but to my mind misguided) imitation of the master. Silvae 2.4 bewails the demise of a parrot belonging to Statius’ patron Atedius Melior, and this shift away from parody turns his poem into a fawning thing. Yet his obsequiousness extends still further, for the poem is not just a token of respect to Statius’ patron, but also, in a way, an act of literary ancestor-worship. Imitating Ovid as he does, Statius abandons the attitude of irreverence essential to satire, and he replaces it with a bookish kind of bowing and scraping: Flock hither all ye scholar fowl, to whom Nature has given the noble privilege of speech; let the bird of Phoebus [the raven] beat his breast, and the starling, that repeats by heart the sayings it has heard, and magpies  transformed in the Aonian contest [the maidens who challenged the Muses and were turned into magpies], and the partridge, that joins and reiterates the words it echoes, and the sister that laments forlorn in her Bistonian bower [Philomela]: mourn all together and bear your dead kinsman to the flames. (2.4.16–23) In Statius, the parrot has ceased to be a vehicle for satire and has become once again an instrument of flattery, including the sincere form of flattery born of imitation. For poets, as for natural historians, the bird remains both a servile and a transcendent creature. Efforts to fix its meaning in one category or the other seem hopeless.

from Parrot Culture: Our 2500-Year-Long Fascination with the World's Most Talkative Bird by Bruce Thomas Boehrer.

[birdenpsikotik]

Lumbar Support Chair - Are You Sitting Comfortably?

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