#it is your turn beloved it is your flesh i wear

[pealeii]

Oughhh Avalance will never not be that song its so good oughhh

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( tenth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , smuttish , pure unadulterated fluff

୨୧˚ an; thank you all for the patience 😭😭 so sorry i’ve been busy getting back into uni shit but omg!!! slowburn is peaking!!! also the tag list is officially closed because i have reached the max # of tags!!!

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

Nanami’s morning routine doesn’t deviate from the norm. An alarm clock was built into his genetic code, and he rouses at half past six in the morning. Unfurling his long limbs from the confines of the couch—the suede thing was big, but Nanami was bigger. Joints popped under sheets of muscle and flesh when he gave a hearty stretch, and with that, he was ready to start his Sunday.

Fueled purely on motor memory, he filters through each step of the habitual customs he’s grown to associate with mornings. You’re still sleeping soundly in his bed, and the risk of waking you condemns Nanami to his downstairs bathroom rather than the personal en suite tailing off his bedroom. It doesn’t pose much of an inconvenience; Nanami was nothing if not prepared. The slender closet in his downstairs bathroom housed spare toiletries—handkerchiefs, tooth brushes, soaps and oils.

He brushes his teeth first, watching his reflection with tired eyes. Minty foam froths at the corners of his lips. Nanami collects the mess with his tongue before spitting into the porcelain bowl of the sink. He’s thorough, scrubbing every corner of his mouth, followed by a pass through with charcoal infused floss. Next, the man is dabbing a button of facial cleanser onto a small square of towel, wetting it under the faucet. Scouring his cheeks, then forehead, then nose. His hair is mussed from tossing in his sleep, and if not for the guest upstairs, Nanami would probably leave it as is. But you’re his guest, and for some reason that means something to him, so he slicks back the blonde frizz with wet hands. 

Another staple of Nanami’s morning routine: a good cup of coffee. The machine was expensive—Nanami tends to splurge when it comes to matters that mean most to him. He doesn’t mind spending a little extra on his suit wear, his beloved watches, and certainly not his coffee. Crafted from titanium and stainless steel, it sat heavily on the black marble countertop and whirred quietly as it compressed beans into the filter. 

Ingredients line the island at the center of his extravagant kitchen. Weekends were the only days in which Nanami had enough time to cook breakfast for himself, rather than grabbing a bagel or danish from the convenience store on his way to the office. It was a shame, really, because he enjoyed the gratification of cooking his own meals. And not to toot his own horn, but he was rather proud of his skills. 

He never cooks for two, though. 

Nanami peruses the ingredient assembly line, looking from the organic eggs, to the all purpose flour, to the carton of mixed berries. It would be rude of him not to consider your palate. Did you prefer a savory breakfast? Or perhaps you’d rather have something on the sweeter side like pancakes? He nibbled his lower lip in thought. 

A divine aroma saturates the entirety of downstairs. Nanami focuses on folding a second omellette, tucking the concoction of whipped egg, chopped bell peppers, caramelized onions, diced tomatoes, and grated sharp cheddar on itself with the delicacy of a surgeon. He’s knee deep in concentration, back turned towards his staircase so your presence goes entirely unnoticed. 

Hands clap together somewhere over his shoulder. He jerks with a startled gasp, the fork in his hand clattering to vinyl tiles. Nanami presses a palm to his racing chest, twisting to find your hands just inches away from his ear. What a little shit, you are. He doesn’t waste effort trying to stifle his grimace. “Was that necessary?”

You’re crouched down, retrieving the silverware off the floor. “Now we’re even.” 

“Even?”

“Yeah,” you hand him the fork, to which he blinks at the useless thing. It’s been dirtied by the floor, so Nanami instructs you to toss it in the sink and grab another from the utensil drawer at the end of his pointed finger. As you play fetch, you explain. “Do you know how scared shitless I was waking up in a strange bedroom? In strange clothes?” He’s watching you toy aimlessly with the abundance of extra material bunched up around the trussed waistband of your—his—sweatpants. Nanami’s clothes cloak you more than enough; cotton t-shirt hanging just below mid-thigh, and those damned oversized sweats rolled up in stupidly big cuffs at the ankles stopping over your socked feet. You must’ve adjusted them accordingly when you stepped out of bed. Something akin to apprehension pulled at your face. “We didn’t…”

Blonde brows scrunch as he attempts to decipher your blathering. When you beckon a hand between your chest and his, Nanami abruptly chokes on his saliva. “Are you out of your mind?” He’s quick to sputter, spinning back to face the sizzling pans and contain the tickle in his throat. A white bowl and whisk are gathered into strong arms—homemade blueberry pancake batter sloshes against the wiry bristles of Nanami’s whisk. He pours three more precise circles of batter onto the second frying pan, and the sweet paste fizzles against nonstick cookware. “You were intoxicated, Y/n. Couldn’t even remember your own address.” He paused. “A change of clothes seemed ideal in the moment. Something cozier.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Footsteps pad closer, and you appear beside him, resting your back against the counter. Your head lolls, cheek falling against your shoulder. He can feel your eyes gouging into the side of his face while he flips the pancake triplets. “You changed me?”

There’s a foreign tonality bleeding into your words, something almost playful, and he’s vexed. Are you teasing him? A trimmed thumb nail burrows into the silicone grip of a spatula. Or is that genuine curiosity? “I did,” Nanami gives you honesty, licking his lip as he does so. On it, he tastes a vague note of spearmint. “You needed some help.”

“God,” you touch a hand to your forehead and laugh, “that does sound like me.” There is no perturbation or embarrassment there, only relief, and he thanks God for your uncanny ability to bypass awkwardness in situations such as these. Had the roles been reversed and it was Nanami receiving word that a coworker of the opposite sex had dressed him in a period of inebriation, well, he’d probably send in a letter of resignation to the company the next day. “Sorry for being so difficult for you.”

He wags his head, dismissing the remorse. “Please, your apologies are far from necessary.”

“Oh I think they’re completely neces—”

“Aht.” A spatula stabs through the air stopping a few inches shy of your nose. There’s a sharpness that eclipses sepia eyes behind the crystalline shield of Nanami’s wire-framed glasses; a barbed glance that telepathically urges you to drop the argument before it begins. With that same spatula, he dives below fluffy circles of speckled cake and transports them from pan to plates, divvying up the pancakes into two even portions. “You took the medication I left for you, yes? They were beside the glass of water on the side table.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m feelin’ better already.”

“Good,” he nods with a subtle, tight-lipped grin. “That’s good. Though you should probably get some food down. Fill your stomach with something other than tylenol.” Nanami stops his ministrations, satisfied with the presentation of both plates of breakfast, and pitches you a simple question. “Coffee?”

You practically moan, “coffee sounds really fucking amazing right now.”

Coffee it is then. Nanami proposes that you go settle yourself in a seat, and that he’d handle the rest. Forfeiting another argument, you buckle and slip into a high stool at the breakfast bar that is associated along the island in the midst of the kitchen. Two twin mugs are poached from the highest shelf, crafted of gray ceramic with uneven, white polka dots. He owned a whole dining set donning those same frivolous dots; Nanami always had an absurd fascination with peculiar patterns, they were charming to the man. Perhaps his collection of ugly things were meaningful because of how violently they contrasted to his otherwise ordinary life. In both mugs, scalding coffee brimmed and emanated laces of smoke slithering up to the ceiling. Nanami didn’t bother asking you how you took your coffee—he just knew. Knew from stealing glances at you over the past year, watching you concoct a disastrous potion of lukewarm coffee poured from the communal pot that you so desperately despised, skim milk from the carton in the office floor’s minifridge, and a concerning amount of sugar packets that made him feel inclined to alert your doctor. Nanami does his best to match the ratio of coffee to milk to sugar, gives it a stir, and hopes it’s up to your eccentric taste buds. 

He sets your plate and mug down, sliding it across the counter’s surface to sit before you. Nanami chooses to stand where he is, leaning against the opposite end of the island. His foot, clad in a thick, black sock, taps quietly against the floor. “I wasn’t aware of your preferences so—”

“So you made…” You go quiet, prodding at the unusual combination of food on your plate: a vegetable-ridden omelette on one side and a few blueberry-encrusted flapjacks glazed in a modest squirt of maple syrup on the other. You hate it, he thinks shortly, but then a smile splits on your lips and Nanami fears he may have jumped the gun. “Eggs and pancakes?”

“You do like eggs and pancakes, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” you respond, enthused. “It’s perfect.”

Nanami cringes. “I’d like it if you didn’t call me that outside of the workplace.”

“What? Sir?”

He hums. “Formalities remind me of work; I don’t like to think about work when I’m eating my breakfast.” He punctuates the request with a sip from his mug. Black, unsweetened coffee scathes his tongue with powerful calidity, but he’s well acquainted with its heat by now, and doesn’t wince.

“I’ll just stick to Nanami, then.”

“Actually, I—” Was it even worth mentioning? That he’d handed you the rights to use his first name last night? The tiny, bothersome devil on Nanami’s shoulder was whispering yes. “Kento will do.”

True, unadulterated glee beamed from your person, wafting a certain warmth across the counter to smack him in the face. “Holy shit, yeah that’s right! I remember now!” Using your fork as an arrow to point at the man, “last night, you told me that. You said I can call you Kennnn-Tooooo—”

“Okay, alright.” He’s jaded by your antics, swatting his hand in the air lazily. It’s too early in the morning to get serenaded by his own name. “Say it normally, or don’t say it at all.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so crazy to think that we’re on a first name basis now, y’know?” You ask before shoveling a forkful of pancake into your mouth, sighing blissfully at the taste. Gratefulness oozed into your gestures, materializing in the way you simpered up at him following each and every bite. Smiles so broad that Nanami wondered if they were out of politeness or if you really just enjoyed his cooking that much.

He can cheers to your observation. “If you would’ve told me five months ago that you’d be sitting across from me in my home—sharing breakfast with me, no less—I would have…” Laughed in your face? Had a conniption? A combination of the two? Nanami trails off into thought, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

So hellbent on sticking to his judgment, Nanami rarely changed his mind about people post first impressions. First impressions were something he valued, both in himself and in others. A snap perception is made based upon the first bits of information he collects from a person, and it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to say that your initial communication was less than stellar. Since then, Nanami’s one-track mind had pinned associations onto you like a bulletin board, assigning your name with attributes like sleazy and trashy and (God, he felt the worst about this one) slutty. This entire time, it was Nanami’s stubbornness and penchant to be right that shielded him from the realization that you were none of those cancerous aspersions. 

You are you.

You are a diligent worker. You are never on time. Your favorite color is (f/c). You are easy to talk to, easy to approach. You like pistachio cheesecake and criminally sweet coffee. You are insecure about your presentation skills, though Nanami can’t understand why. You are determined. You are rarely shy about asking for something you need, a quality he appreciates in someone. You make him laugh. You can’t hold your liquor. With the way you’re drooling over your plate like a hungry puppy, it’s apparent that you like his cooking. And he likes you. 

He… what?

“Yeah, well,” you tilt your head, and the melodic chuckle that follows is enough to yank Nanami from his dazedness. Lifting your mug, you push it towards him in a sort of gesture. “Good thing the past doesn’t matter, huh? We were both lame in the past, but look at us now.” You retract the mug to your lips, taking a swig. “Future us is awesome. Are awesome? Is?”

You mumble to yourself, befuddled by grammar. Meanwhile, Nanami brews in thought. Your undying fearlessness of what’s to come in life always rendered him bewildered. 

“I’m jealous,” he admits, idly tracing the rim of his cup with his thumb. 

You perk up. “Of?”

“Your ability to embrace the future. It’s brave.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” you sweatdrop, itching your cheek. “I wouldn’t call it bravery. Maybe security? I’m—yeah, I’m secure with the route I’ve taken in life.”

“You’re secure with white collar work?”

“I can’t see myself in any other profession,” you smile, flicking him a brow. “What about you?”

Honesty permitted, Nanami would describe his job as the bane of his misery. There used to be a point in his life in which he was sure that this was his ultimate goal: a senior executive position with an esteemed, high-profile company. Younger Nanami was content to endure years of early mornings and late nights with busy schedules jammed in between because it’d all be worth it when he finally tastes that sweet senior title. Except, now he’s tasted it. He’s licked it dry, and despite that, that feeling of fulfillment Nanami had been vying for his whole career remains frustratingly dormant. The notion that this will be his routine until retirement kills him.

He chews thoughtfully on a sliver of pancake before responding. “We touched on this a little over text.”

“You want to travel.”

You remembered. He hums. “I do.”

“And you want a family.”

“I do,” Nanami sighs longingly. 

You don’t make an effort to stifle a chuckle at his supposed foolishness. Shaking your head and cutting your eggs with the blunt side of a fork; “You talk about these things as if it’s all some sort of cushiony pipe dream. It’s really fucking hilarious all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Perplexed, Nanami pries for an expansion. 

And with all the seriousness in the world, you begin to count on your digits. “You are probably the most charming, most intelligent, most wealthy—”

“Y/n,” Nanami yawps at your conviction. When you jest, you do it in such an obvious way. He’s come to familiarize himself with the clever quirk of your mouth’s corner, or that playfully irritating glint in your smile-squinted eyes. But now, Nanami can’t find any evidence of joking in your stoney expression. You’re sincere when you say these things about him. It makes his heart pound so viciously that it vibrates his ear drums. 

“Most hard-working man I’ve ever met.” Unfazed by his apparent flusteredness, you finish with a nonchalant shrug. “Just funny, is all, that you of all people are stressing over these things when you have the ingredients to make your ambitions a reality.”

“Your compliments are… thanked…” The blonde ducks his head in an awkward, halfhearted bow, “but I can’t ever hope to truly begin my life when I don’t have the time granted to do so.” Nanami touches an index and middle finger to his temple, rubbing in soothing circles. It doesn’t do much to quell the oncoming migraine that this nightmarish topic never fails to cast upon him. “I’ve tried. Believe me when I say that I have worked my ass off trying to balance my job alongside nurturing a relationship. But I’ve come to realize how unfair of me that is—to ask a woman to bear with my neglect because I got held up at the office for the fifth night in a row. A relationship isn’t much of a relationship at all if both people still feel lonely.”

Unbeknownst to him, his tone had slipped away for a moment. He became bitter, recalling the lineup of failures that made up his dating history. Bitter and lonely. It’s been almost two years now that Nanami has abandoned the dating scene, if not for his sake than for the sake of his next girlfriend. Though, he can’t help but have moments of tenderness in which he thinks that maybe all of his occupational achievements would have been more gratifying if he had someone to share them with.

He clears his throat, lowering his voice back down when he apologizes for getting emotional. 

“Don’t say sorry.” You offer a reassuring grin. “I’m sorry for assuming shit about your life. That was uncool of me.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Nanami parrots, returning your grin with a sheepish one of his own, and tilts his head toward his shoulder. “I didn’t exactly mind the compliments.”

“Conceited bastard.”

He hides his simper well behind his mug. “I’d still like to know what makes you happy, if that offer is still on the table.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just would like to.” Nanami licks his lower lip, eyes grazing yours. “Do I need a more convoluted reason than that?”

Your face reads like a book. It tells him don’t be a smartass, so he yields to your unimpressed frown. “You’re not gonna like my answer. Working makes me happy.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him. “You are demonstrably proficient, Y/n. In my professional opinion, I have no doubts that you’ll be successful.” Nanami does his best to mirror your sincerity. 

“More successful than you?” You tease.

“Oh forget me, I give it five years before you’re replacing Gakuganji,” he laughs gently before pressing a finger to his lips, mimicking secrecy. “Let’s keep that between us, though.”

“The day you take orders from me is the day I can die happy.”

I wouldn’t mind that day.

“But to be honest, I think it cuts deeper than the success aspects. Ah, It’s kinda hard to put it into words…” You take a moment to string together an explanation while Nanami waits patiently. “I’m sort of a mess in my personal life. I fuck a lot of things up, I make bad judgement calls, I can get a little lazy sometimes—I just do shit wrong. Or at least, that’s what I feel like.”

Nanami hangs on every word.

“So, like, to come to work everyday and be organized and–and put on this presentation of competency,” your tongue clicks sweetly, “I need that. I need people to see me that way—I think that’s why it affected me so much when you… when you saw me…”

“At the party?” He clarifies.

You purr in agreement. “Yeah. That. I felt like, I don't know, like I shattered my whole ‘persona’ and you saw me. You really saw me.”

He can’t look away from you. The way you’re visibly shrinking, collapsing in on yourself like a wounded animal. Constricting your own torso with your arms in a self-soothing hug. Are you ashamed? 

When Nanami finally speaks, he keeps his voice calm. Soft and cottony. “Do you always have such degrading thoughts about yourself?”

“I wouldn’t call it degradation…”

“I would.” Brows furrow, and he leans further into the conversation with his elbows on the island’s surface. “You talk about yourself as if you’re two separate people.”

“Don’t you see it, too?” You ask him gravely, as though you’re hinging on Nanami’s opinion. Like his insubstantial assessment of you is the only thing that matters. “You won’t offend me, I swear.”

Unperturbed, he blinks. “Not at all.”

“Then you’re fucking blind,” you cluck. “Those glasses aren’t doing much for you.”

Nanami nips the inner seam of his cheek, unamused. Right now, he isn’t much in the mood for jokes. Not when he now understands the extent of the disdain that you have for yourself. It irks him that you can’t see how rare of a person you are. 

“My eyesight has no relevance, stop deflecting with humor.” “I’m not deflecting!”

“Yes, you are. Now please, stop and let me talk for a moment,” Nanami shows you his palm, and you find your silence. “You are not two people, Y/n, you’re just one. Just you. Sure, you have your quirks and flaws—as does everyone else—but they are what makes you you. They make you nice to be around.”

“You think I’m nice to be around?”

“We meet nearly every weekend now, have you been under the impression that I hated your presence?”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. I assumed you were still hanging out with me because you felt like you owed me. Which you totally did, by the way.” You purse your lip together, stiff. “But, um, your debt has long been paid, especially with this delicious breakfast. So… y’know, if you don’t want to go out, you can just tell me.”

A breathy, humorous exhale huffs through Nanami’s nostrils. “I am a grown man. If I don’t want to do something, then I won’t do it. This,” he gestures between himself then you, “isn’t occurring out of pity or some strange form of charity. You’re here right now because I want you to be, okay?”

That little declaration pulls a coy smile from you, something Nanami introspectively overthinks. He tells himself that you’re blushing, just barely noticeable past your complexion. “Okay.” You whisper, the apples of your cheeks more pronounced than he’s ever seen them before.

Baring witness to a skittish Y/n was not on the docket for Nanami’s Sunday. He’s aware that this little discussion should stop. It was enroute to breaching something—something intimate and foreign and never to be acknowledged between you both. Unspoken chemistry that Nanami intended to let shrivel up and rot within his core because he doesn’t have the strength to snuff out the beacon of light you’ve shown in his life when he inevitably ruins yet another relationship.

But…

“I’ve had more fun in the past month than in my twenty-seven years of life. With you, I mean. So please don’t shun the side of you that exists outside of the office, because you have this spark that I haven’t seen in any of my associates in a long time. I’m… I would be upset if you let yourself turn into another copy-and-paste corporate zombie.”

There is an obvious shift in the kitchen air. It’s blossomed deep and heavy; Nanami feels like it’s become a struggle to keep himself from sinking into the floor. Your gaze is bolted to him, his to yours, in a quiet exchange of consciousness. Can you hear his thoughts? You look at him so intensely, he fears you might be able to hear how beautiful he thinks you look under the fluorescent light bulbs fixed into the ceiling.

You slip off your stool. Nanami watches your trek around the curve of the island. Onto his side.

It’s through feathery lashes that you look up at him.

“Do you find me attractive?”

The spine you have to ask such an audacious question. Visceral palpitations strike through the beating organ in his chest. His hand brushes the ledge of the countertop, then grips it for stability. “Yes.” So attractive, that he felt he could die right now. 

“Even after I vomited on your shoes?”

“I thought you didn’t remember last night?” Nanami goads.

“It’s coming back to me.”

You feign cheekiness. “Yeah,” he swallows, taking a shaky breath for himself. “Still beautiful.”

Beautiful, even with remnants of day-old eyeliner smudges below those doe eyes. Messy in the most enticing way. An urge swells within Nanami, to cradle your precious face and swipe the makeup off your flesh with his thumb. However, you moved first.

Reaching upwards, you pluck the pair of glasses off his nose. He lets you. Folded, they sit on the island.

Nanami gives a subtle shake of his head, tonguing the sharp corner of his lip. “What are you doing?” It comes out hushed, like he’s telling a secret.

“I don’t know,” you reply impishly. 

The following events can only be categorized as amorous. Ever so slowly, your hand touches. Pressing to his chest, feeling every valley and peak on its ascension to his collarbone. It peeks out from over top the collar of his raggedy, white tee shirt, and you feel him there. Offhandedly, he believes this may be the first time you’ve seen him outside of suitwear. Long, languid breaths keep him grounded, but Nanami can barely stand this torture. Though for you, he does. He lets you touch everything you want, biting his lip all the while. 

“What are you doing?” It comes again, more breathy than the last.

You don’t answer, far too enraptured by the panes of his neck. He feels you drag a fingertip down the trail of a vein. Resolve unravels, he’s slipping.

“Kento.”

If he looked into a mirror at this moment, would he even recognize himself? Nanami knows he’s a better man than this. It should take more than the pillowy drawl of his name to snap the wavering thread of self-discipline within him. 

Chest touches chest; he’s got you trapped against the kitchen island. The same island you both were sharing breakfast with five minutes ago. The same island, Nanami kisses you now.

Your face is sandwiched between two large hands. Nanami holds you to him, angling your neck back so he can grind his tongue deeper into your warm throat. There is no buildup, no preemptive apprehension that repels him from committing to bury himself in your mouth. He kisses you with no regrets, just desire and stifling yearning. 

Moans vibrate the slobbery mess. Nanami feels a bouquet of fingers latch onto his hip and pull—he rewards you, sucking sensually against the tip of your tongue. It’s fucking hot. He’s hot. And hard. Nanami’s sweating. He’s grabbing. He’s rubbing. He’s—-

Beep!

The kiss stops synchronously with twin gasps. You gawk up at him, wide-eyed at the sudden auditory intrusion. He’s looking right back down at you, panting. 

“It's the oven.”

“Oh.”

All the passion had seemingly drained, Nanami felt the altar in the atmosphere. With all the reluctance in the world, he pushes himself back to give you sizable space. Unsure of how this aftermath would play out. Awkwardly, he clears his throat, swabbing excess saliva from his chin with a palm. “I uhm—I was baking some bread.”

You nod, avoiding eye contact. “That’s cool.”

You look mortified, and that makes him feel mortified. “Y/n, I’m sorry for—”

“It’s fine.”

His heart sinks to his guts. “No, it’s not fine. Please, let me ap—”

“Kento,” you cut him off, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Like, at all, so stop apologizing. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

Nanami’s brows pinch together, and he gapes at that. “You haven’t done a single thing wrong either.” You don’t seem to believe him, what with the way you sway from left foot to right foot, hands twiddling restlessly. Cautious, he takes a step closer. “You look anxious. I’m by no means kicking you out, but I don’t want to keep you here if it makes you uncomfortable. Just say the word and I’ll call you a ride home.”

A sigh graces your kiss-swollen lips, and you bow graciously. “Please, that would be great, thanks.”

“Yeah,” Nanami says gently, moving to fish his phone out of the pocket of his flannel pajama bottoms. “Of course.”

“I’ll go change out of your clothes—”

“Keep them on, I insist.” He’s quick to halt you. “And leave yours upstairs, I’ll run them through the washing machine. We can exchange them tomorrow.”

“I—okay, thank you.” You look so apologetic, it wounds him. “Thank you for everything. For taking me home last night, for breakfast, for–for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. But you’re very welcome.”

Your taxi shows up a few minutes later. It’s hard to watch you go, especially when you left him on dubious terms. Were you upset by his kiss? Nanami hopes to God that’s not the case. Or maybe you were appalled? Fearful, even? 

Nanami needs to turn his brain off—this cancerous spiral of thinking would only send him into a dark pit of guilt, and he had a web meeting later in the evening. After washing the dishes leftover from the breakfast endeavor, he sits on the sofa with his head in his hands

You tasted like fucking maple syrup.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni @lololooolleonnaaa @nanamiswife22 @r0ckst4rjk jk @mizzfizz @saiki-enthusiast @taelattecookie @enchantingkitty @kindadolly @reinam00n @hqtoge @syamamas @numblytemporary @xxravenxstarxx-blog @bloomedintome @guacam011y @jameinfrau @luvvmae @kazisupreme @nowhoremones @https-tank @venjrnjrbhrr19 @ya9amicide @darkstarlight82 @archivefortoji @alczam02 @kaiparkerwifes @kenz1eluvs @iaminyourfloors @queeen-goldfish @beautifulloverwitch @nxuriah @invisible-mori @hexrts-anatomy @katharinasdiaryy @moonlightazriel @mermaidian02 @squishies0102 @saintkaylaa @vi-ola666 @alettertonana @seeyapizzazz @jtoddlover @macthevirgo

[makeyoumine69]

Being Bateman's Tradwife | NSFW HEADCANON

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; CW: SMUT, Romance and mostly Fluff. Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: Isabel LaRosa — i'm yours; A/N: This is dedicated to @batemans-malewife, I hope you like it, my dear friend! 💗 If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know.

At first, the whole idea of being a tradwife made you nervous, especially when Patrick insisted that you quit your job and let him take care of all aspects of your life; not to mention his complex personality and unhealthy perfectionism in almost...everything?

But then, when you finally decided to give it a try, the hurricane of domestic life consumed you faster than you could imagine, and you didn't notice how you got used to making him breakfast in the morning before he went to work.

Bateman would watch you float around his modern kitchen like a fairy, wearing something neat and tight that would make him hard even after the morning sex you had a few moments ago; his hazel eyes would peer over the Times he was reading, not missing a sway of your delicious hips. And when Patrick would trap you between his massive frame and the kitchen counter, you would just gasp and smile innocently, pretending you were not seducing him all this time.

Romance. Oh, sometimes Bateman could be such an old-fashioned romantic, who loved to give you flowers, lingerie and various other gifts because he wanted nothing more than to make his dear wife happy; although his generosity was charming, there were moments when you found it embarrassing, particularly when Patrick took you to Tiffany & Co. and asked you to pick out any jewelry you liked. After all, Bateman enjoyed spoiling you because he COULD afford it.

Living under the same roof as Bateman meant being ready to be caught by him anywhere — even if you were just going to take a shower, this man would catch you there too, hugging you from behind and pressing your wet body against his strong one, kissing your neck while his hard length rubbed between your legs, turning you both to the point of no return when your single moan was enough to ignite his desire.

"Mmhhm-Patrick..." The way you called out his name drove him absolutely crazy, especially with your eyes closed like that, Bateman couldn't resist it.

"Fuck, you look so cute like that," he purred in your ear before tugging gently on your hair to make you arch your back. "Spread your legs wider, yeah, just like that," his praise was sweet as honey, warming your heart and inducing you to forget how to breathe. "Uh, such an obedient little Bunny."

The way his thick cock brushed over your ass would set your body on fire, his tight embrace would make you feel so small and fragile but at the same time so protected and cherished; it was the best feeling in the world to be held in the arms of your beloved man.

Hot and bothered, Bateman would nip at your shoulder blade and give himself a few hard strokes before leisurely pushing himself into your tight hole, relishing the way you clung to his brawny biceps and gasping at how perfectly he was stretching you from the inside out.

"Mmm-so good, you feel so fucking good," his low groan echoed off the shower walls, mingling with the sound of the flowing water. "Relax, honey, I got you."

And he really meant it when he said those words. 

Every time you had sex and Patrick saw you struggling to take his huge dick, he would soothe you, but never stop ramming into your malleable flesh, forcing your legs to shake and your throat to spasm in lewd whimpers.

This man was everything to you, and you were everything to him.

Waking each other up by giving oral pleasure would become your favorite ritual that would help you unleash your carnal desires, because there was nothing shameful about making the person you loved feel as good as possible.

Bateman's breath would hitch at the touch of your wet tongue on his swollen tip as you lapped at it like a curious kitten, your coy ministrations would amuse him but at the same time they would be the most powerful fuel for his arousal.

On top of that, there would be evenings of watching his favorite slasher movies, which would turn into something spicy as soon as you snuggled up against his broad chest, seeking protection because you were scared. Patrick would make you sit on his lap and kiss you so passionately that you would moan into his mouth, spurring him on to use his hands more brazenly, squeezing your ass and hips without shame.

And if you were jealous, he wouldn't punish you for it, no. It would boost his ego for sure, but he would do his best to show you that you are the only one he desires at all costs. Bateman would worship every little part of your body or fuck you senseless if it would help demolish any silly thoughts about you not deserving him.

"Baby, look at me," Patrick mused, cupping your sad face in his big palms. "I want you to remember what I'm about to say."

Lowering your head, you closed your eyes for a second before finally daring to look into his dark ones. "I'm sorry to bring this up again. It's just..."

"Shhh, (y/n,) listen," his voice became even more affectionate after your words. "You are my darling, my beautiful wife. I chose you and I don't need anyone else," Bateman's hand slowly traced your cheek, wiping away your shimmering tears. "Because I've found myself in you."

To prove his words, the man sealed your lips with a kiss full of love and tenderness, constantly caressing your face and holding you close.

The two of you wouldn't even remember how long you stayed like that on the Manhattan Bridge, hugging each other so tightly as if you were two magnets. Even if the whole world was against you, you would always have each other, and that was the only thing that mattered.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader are married. he refers to readers breasts and makes a lewd joke. divider by cafekitsune my most beloved | wc 822

“That one looks like you.”

Squeezing Satoru’s bicep where your hand rests against it, arm looped through his, you giggle and shake your head. The statue in front of you is flesh made marble, a woman with thighs that maybe on a really good day resemble yours so painstakingly crafted that crowds gather to see her. She’s beautiful, a depiction of a goddess from fables you are both vaguely familiar with.

Is this really how he sees you? It makes those same butterflies he always manages to create stir in your belly and you wrinkle your nose, taking a peek up at him but looking away to admire the beauty depicted in front of you.

“You’ve already charmed me, Satoru. You don’t have to tell tall tales.” His gaze shifts from the sculpture to you, something you can feel rather than witness. He scoffs and tilts his head, shifting from standing beside you to in front of you, arms still linked together.

 “You always say that when I compliment you. Why?”

Laughing, you reach to pinch his side with your freehand and he dodges just in the nick of time. It’s preventative, he always giggles and causes a scene when you touch the tender ticklish spot right at his hip bone, and a museum in another country on a trip the two of you had to bend your schedules to go on is not the place to have a tickle fight. He traps your hand in his and deposits it at your side with a smug half smile.

“Let’s not get into it right now. I’ll just say thank you for the compliment and we can move on.”

Never one to take being put off gracefully, he crowds against you until there is zero space between your bodies. You worry about the PDA being seen as offensive or too much and glance around the mostly empty on a weekday museum where everyone else is fairly ignorant of your existence. It’s just the two of you, as always and not just in your head this time. Smiling, you let him embrace you and rest his balled hands against the small of your back, your entire body leaning into his side.

“You know, I’d have a house full of sculptures and paintings of you just like that if you’d let me,” he mumbles under his breath to bait you. You laugh aloud, pressing your cheek to his arm. “What, nude?” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and raises his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses. “Obviously. Or clothed or in a gown or in water or tangled in our bed sheets.” 

Pausing to take a breath, he’s surprised to see you already looking up at him when he gazes down at you. He wishes he could capture this with more than just his eyes, his phone and heart. He has painted you before and would create a thousand more odes to his beauty if he had more time on his hands and you’d let him. You’re so eager to disbelieve your own beauty, you haven’t sat to be painted by him in years. 

Satoru makes a mental note to rectify that as soon as the two of you get home but continues to speak now that he has your undivided attention, smirking, all dimples and mischief and the things you love the most about him, the tenderness in your glance a reflection of how you feel.

“I’m just saying. I’m sure I could find some sculptor to carve my pretty wife and would do those,” he glances down at your chest and you roll your eyes half-heartedly, still wearing the smile he put on your face with his casual comparison of your likeness to that of a goddess. “The artistic justice they deserve.”

Despite the tongue in cheek joking, he can be such a romantic when he wants to be. You kind of feel he’s laying it on a little thick because you’re on vacation but what’s the harm in having fun when it is luxuriously just the two of you, the rarity that it is?

Smiling up at him, you offer a better solution.

“Maybe they can sculpt both of us. We can see if they’ll do that,” you subtly reach down and pat just below his belt buckle before he can swat at your hand or turn on his Infinity to keep you away, pulling your hand away as quickly as you can. “Some justice too.”

Now that’s an idea he appears to like, his smirk sliding into a full smile. You pat his arm and separate yourself from him, only to be met with a whine. You reach behind you and grab his hand, fingers intertwining as naturally as they always do, pulling him along with you.

“Now let me show you which one reminds me of you,” you tease him, smiling over your shoulder. 

[moraxsthrone]

WHEN HE EATS YOU OUT FIRST THING IN THE MORNING...

ft. diluc, itto, kaeya, thoma, zhongli (x f!reader)

warnings: nsfw. mdni. somnophilia (itto, zhongli). mention: piss (thoma).

⋆｡°✩ DILUC —

rouses you with sweet, loving kisses on your shoulder. your eyes are still closed when a sleepy smile spreads across your face. you stretch, looping your arm around the back of diluc's neck, his soft, crimson hair tickling your sensitive skin. he traces his fingers down along the inside of your arm towards your chest, making you giggle with his titillating touch. you can hear his smirk when he hums next to your ear, his voice deep and heavy with the weight of sleep. "good morning, beautiful," he drawls. "mm~good morning, my love," you reply. his wandering hand reaches your breast, earning himself one of your sighs when your nipple is carded between his calloused fingers, gently squeezing your soft flesh. he moves to roll you onto your back as he lowers himself between your legs, taking your other nipple inside his scorching mouth before leaving a trail of kisses along your naked belly. you relax, your eyes sliding closed and your pretty fingers finding purchase in his messy hair as he blazes a path all the way down to your core. he kisses his way around your dewy lips before teasing your clit with kitten licks. your fingers curl in his wild mane when his dainty tongue strokes quicken, flicking with increasing fury as he begins to drag his leaking cock against the sheets beneath him, staining them with his precum.

⋆｡°✩ ITTO —

you awake to the unmistakable poke of your beloved oni's morning wood against your naked thigh. your head is on his barrel of a chest, your leg propped over his. he doesn't even know though bc he's still out cold. some of his cum is still leaking out of you from a few hours ago, but with the way he turns you out, you're ready for more. he's a hard sleeper though. you know the traditional methods of trying to wake someone up are not going to work with him, but you go through the motions anyway just so you can say you did. dragging your fingers up and down his huge arm, running your fingers through his thick, white hair, kissing his sexy neck, squeezing his horns, whispering sugary sweet and naughty things in his ear...nothing works. it's time to get creative. you know how much he loves it when you sit on his face so you get to your knees and position your thighs on either side of his head. you dip your finger inside your wet pussy and smear your slick on his lips. finally he grunts and you have to fight back the laughter when he starts sniffing the air. "itto?" he hums, but doesn't open his eyes. "itto, baby..." you coo, "i brought you breakfast in bed." after a dramatic yawn, he takes a deep breath through his nose again, smiles, and in his deep morning voice he says, "mmm...smells delicious, babe." he wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls them further apart for him. "i'm fucking famished," he growls, latching onto your clit. soon his hands are cupping your ass cheeks, guiding you back and forth, making you ride his face, his tongue deep inside your cunt as his nose nudges your tight bundle of nerves, wearing you down like a feed bag. he's a sloppy eater but you're not complaining. the way he opens his mouth wide and sucks your whole pussy while dipping his tongue into your semen-flavored hole has your eyes crossing.

⋆｡°✩ KAEYA —

our cryo casanova is a goddamn superfreak. you're both still hazy with sleep when he gets on his knees behind you. he hooks his hands around your hips and pulls your ass up in the air until you're presenting for him. your arms are still hugging the pillow that your head rests on as he leans over your body, his arms caging you in from above when you feel his hard cock slap your clit a few times. "keep your ass in the air for me, lover." his sultry voice has an edge to it that you'll only hear right after he's risen, and it goes straight to your needy core. "i wanna taste you before i ruin you for the day." you shiver as his cool lips travel down your spine. he massages your soft ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them, forcing them apart to expose your winking pussy. "kaeya...baby..." you're pushing your ass higher into the air, back arching, hips rocking, practically begging to feel his tongue, his lips, his anything. finally, you feel the tickle of his hair on your skin, then the merciful drag of his tongue over your dripping slit. you moan loudly into your pillow, gritting your teeth as kaeya flicks his silver tongue over your pink bud a few times before sucking it in hard, pulsing his tongue against it like he's trying to drink you down to the last drop. but he settles for just a taste before he's back on his knees, straddling the backs of your thighs to sink his purple, weeping tip inside you.

⋆｡°✩ THOMA —

THIS SWEET BOI IS A PLEASURE DOM FIGHT ME. you basically wake up making out with this boy. one of your hands is playing with his dark pink nipple while the other is wrapped around his pretty cock, stroking him slowly against your precum-coated thigh. he hasn't even taken his morning piss yet when you start to lower yourself to taste the sticky, salty essence of his cock. but this pyro-wielding waifu stops you, kisses you, his hand framing your ear before gently pushing you back down on the bed. "let me take care of you first, milady..." you're so weak for this precious pussy-pleasing boy you go along with every word he says. "your pussy always tastes so good in the morning..." the word pussy sounds naughtier when it rides on thoma's sweet, innocent morning voice. his fingers drag their way along the column of your neck, down between your cleavage, all the way to your pretty kitty where he spreads your pink petals apart. his soft lips ghost over your hard pearl, your back arching off the bed when you grab a fistful of his blond hair, feeling his hot breath when he whimpers quietly against your clit.

⋆｡°✩ ZHONGLI —

almost always wakes before you. this morning is no exception. his erection is full, tenting his silk pajama pants as he pulls up behind you. he doesn't want to disturb your slumber; he knows how tired you've been lately what with planning the wedding and all. by the same token, however, he can smell your sex. you must be ovulating, he correctly deduces. your earthy scent is so full-bodied he can taste it on the back of his tongue and my me, he thinks, is it delectable. before he's even decided what to do, his hand moves on its own. he slips his golden hand beneath the thin waistband of your undergarments, dipping his graceful middle finger between your moist folds. you shift a little, but he removes his hand, bringing it to his mouth to taste you. he wraps his lips around his finger and sucks, tongue swirling around his digit to collect as much of your flavor as he can. warm precum leaks from his cock as he moans lowly around his own finger. it nearly drives him to madness and he can't help himself. well, he could, but he's willing to suffer the consequences in exchange for devouring the delicacy that's hiding between your legs. your eyes flutter open to find yourself on your back, your legs spread, zhongli's hair tickling your inner thighs and his long, radiant fingers curling inside you, glowing and fucking your gushy walls as amber eyes burn into yours through his long bangs. his flattened tongue drags over your swollen clit in quick pulses while he basks in your sobs of just how good he feels to you. "fuck, zhongli~~hmnn~~yeah, eat my pussy just like that..." girl, when the geo daddy moans with a mouthful of your pussy, the vibration of his deep voice on your clit hits the richter scale and you come crumbling into his hot mouth.

m.list

i hope you found this as "inspirational" to read as i did to write. i give kitheth to 18+ rebloggers and commenters and followers and likers and readers who otherwise enjoy my naughty musings. mwah!

[iluvzaddies]

imma need some tommy shelby w equestrian!reader omg like anything

(i’m a sucker for this man)

admiration

pairing: thomas shelby x equestrian!reader

warnings: none, just tommy fanboying over reader

summary: you are the first woman to ever join and win a horse-racing competition. thomas shelby, who loves horses, deeply admires you and your skills. you meet him in a pub called the garrison and there, you witness his admiration.

“well, i’ll be… win after win. victory after victory. all in different places. proud to say this woman’s a birmingham resident.” arthur shelby said as he held up a newspaper, a cigar in his mouth.

“i’m guessing it’s about that (y/n) (l/n) girl, eh?” polly gray or aunt poll as the shelbys liked to call her, asked as she downed a glass of whiskey. “she’s become quite the hot topic.”

“oh, she’s hot, alright.” john shelby smirked, fiddling with the cigarette in between his two fingers. “still a turn on despite wearing fucking trousers all the damn time.”

“john.” thomas shelby warned, not wanting to hear sexual remarks about you, especially from his own brother.

thomas admired you. how could he not? you were the one who raced his beloved horse, monaghan boy, and brought victory to his name.

he hadn’t gotten the chance to meet you yet. unfortunately. he wondered when you would be done with your little world tour and back in birmingham.

but lo and behold, you stood there at the entrance of the pub, wearing a loose blouse and a pair of trousers as you always do.

“what can i get for you?” grace, the new irish barmaid, noticed your presence and asked.

“you choose. i’m fine with anything.”

“you look worn out.” grace pointed out.

you did look worn out, like you hadn’t had a wink of sleep in ages, but you were beautiful nonetheless. actually, more beautiful than thomas imagined. he stared at you, mouth slightly agape, captivated by the mere sight of you.

“been rough for the past couple of months.” you sighed. “traveling, competing, attending social events. haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“i see.” grace nodded, pouring whiskey into a glass and handing it to you.

thomas couldn’t believe it.

you were here.

in the garrison.

in the flesh.

“well, aren’t you gonna talk to her?” aunt poll raised her brow at thomas, who couldn’t get his eyes off you.

“if you aren’t then i will.” john volunteered.

thomas quickly snapped out of his daze, whipping his head to john. “no.” he pushed his seat back and stood up.

“i never thought i’d see the day tommy boy falls in love.” arthur chuckled.

“i thought he was in love with the new barmaid.” john scoffed, taking a long drag from his cigarette. he was upset that his older brother wouldn’t allow him to talk to you let alone talk about you.

“apparently not.” aunt poll shook her head as thomas eagerly made his way towards you.

“how much for the drink?” you questioned.

“it’s–“ grace was cut off by a deep voice, belonging to the one and only thomas shelby.

“–it’s on the house, ms (l/n).”

“mr shelby.” you shot him a look of surprise. you had forgotten the shelbys practically owned the place.

“leave us be, grace.” he ordered the barmaid and she followed, resuming back to her duties and leaving you two alone.

“here. take a seat.” he pulled out a chair.

you did as told and he pulled out another chair, sitting across from you.

you took a sip out of your glass. “you’ve some fine whiskey, mr shelby.” then looked around the dimly lit pub. “nice looking place as well.”

“please, call me thomas.”

“okay… thomas. call me (y/n) then.” it felt weird to call him by his actual name. you had only just met and he already wanted to be on a first name basis.

“so, what brings you here, (y/n)?”

“felt a little homesick.” you shrugged.

“no, i mean, in the garrison.”

“oh, it’s been a while since i drank. i wanted a drink, so i went to the nearest pub. why?”

“nothing. just curious.”

“is that all you have to say to me, mr sh– thomas?”

“do you enjoy racing horses?”

you hesitated. “the fame can be overwhelming. i love racing horses, it’s my passion, it’s what i do… but i want to be away from people… just for a little while.”

“fame can be overwhelming, yes. i know a thing or two about that feeling. only difference is i’m not famous for being a horse jockey, i’m famous for being a gangster.” he joked. the thomas shelby, the man who always had a straight face, made a joke.

you let out a laugh. a sincere one.

god, your laughter sounded like music to his ears.

“i can’t believe i’m having a decent conversation with one.”

“we gangsters are capable of having decent conversations only with the ones who deserve it.”

you let out another laugh. “goodness. if that’s the case, i’m glad you approve of me.”

“you raced my horse, after all.” he reminded.

“monaghan boy.“ you remembered the beautiful, black horse that you were assigned to race. the horse that led you to fame. “he’s a good boy.”

“aye, that he is.” he agreed.

“you know, thomas, you’re not half-bad.”

he found himself gleaming, enjoying every bit of the conversation, whilst the two shelby siblings and their aunt watched the scene unfold from afar.

you took another sip of the whiskey, humming at the taste, while thomas lit up a cigarette.

then, came silence.

none of you spoke a word, but you enjoyed each other’s company. it was evident in the way you looked at each other. you looked at each other as if you were the only people in the room.

“i’d like to take you somewhere tomorrow.” he suddenly said, breaking the silence.

“oh.” you perked up. “where?”

“the stables. let’s race, you and i. no audience. it’ll be just the two of us.” he proposed.

“is that a date?” when he didn’t deny it, you couldn’t fight off the smile that was making its way to your lips. “you’re rather bold, aren’t you, thomas?”

“what’s your answer?”

“i’ll have to check my schedule first…” you trailed off, but then you decided, why not? it sounded like a good offer. “you know what. fuck it. sure.”

thomas grinned at your rebellious behavior.

“what do you think about two in the afternoon?”

“fine with me.”

uncharacteristically, thomas’ heart fluttered. it had never done that before. it was an odd sensation yet it felt good at the same time.

you informed him your address, so he knew where to pick you up. “need me to write it down or you got it?”

“i got it.” he reassured.

you finished your drink and got up. “it was lovely talking to you. thank you for the drink.” you began walking towards the exit, but before stepping outside, you turned to look at him and uttered. “see you at my doorstep tomorrow, thomas.”

“see you tomorrow, (y/n).”

[mallowmaenad]

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl With Eyebags whose wearing an Oversized Black Sweater: I recently remembered all of my past lives. Most of it was spent as various plant life and fungi in the same twenty foot radius in a forest by a rural interstate route until a robin ate the seed containing my soul and flew to another forest where I reincarnated as her child. I would then die a tragic death at a young age to a local fox where I'd live a long life as her kit and eventually die of old age, I then spent several generations as various plant life and fungi in that forest which was eventually destroyed by industry.

I was a tree during that time and my plant fibers were processed to manufacture paper used to make a sticker placed on an orange whose peel was placed in a compost bin, eventually leading me to the dark yet decadent life of a worm until I then eventually expired and awoke as a tomato plant in the care of a kindly older woman, it is that life whose memories I treasure the most.

She was a very skilled and warm woman, and many of my cycles afterwards were spent as my own kin in generations of tomato plants in a blink of an eye. One day she took me into her car in a pot, I remember how she spoke to me. At the time she had named me Reynolds, she had set into a trend of naming me after Hollywood actors she found attractive. It was the day before her daughter's birthday and I was to be her gift, I could not feel bittersweet about this a the time, because I was a tomato plant.

She buckled me into the back seat of a car as if I was a child of her own and drove down a rural interstate route, illuminating the black sea of the night sky with her headlights as the shadows seemed to drown out anything but us. A deer with bone wasting disease stood in the road like a grim reaper, white eyes shining as her aching foot tried to react in time on the break peddle.

The two embraced in a bloody collision, I remember the deer in its last moments weakly nibbling at her flesh as they both bled out in an agony they were ignorant to, I wilted and died in that car along with her and that deer, I do not know what the journey of my soul was like, but my next life was as a patch of semi-feral grass on the side of a similar road caught in the mouth of a possum eating a partially full discarded box of Wendy's fries who was then promptly turned into road kill, when the day was new a burly Appalachian man whose stern demeanor hid a soft heart would legally and cleanly collect the cadaver and break it down, using the remains for a meal some yuppies would find ghastly. This man was my father- or rather my father in this cycle of life.

I know in my heart of hearts that you were that old woman who nurtured me so many times as her beloved tomato plants, you had the rare privilege to live your life as an incinerator at a crematorium, but the march of technology and nut after bolt you grew broken, a death by a thousand cuts, a death by a thousand bodies. Your massive metal cadaver was melted down over time, the raw materials eventually finding itself to a factory that manufactured bullets, a life of darkness in a cardboard prison only to be shunted into a pistol's magazine... your entire existence is interesting, stretching the meaning of what it means to be eaten and to live. The meek 24 year old boy thought nobody would mourn him when he was gone, you lived as an amorphous patch of greenery ahead of his grave stone.

A curious thing would happen during a visit to this boy's grave, his childhood dog either in embarrassing coincidence or a moment of sentience began to dig at where the body was, being wrenched back as it began to desperately sink his teeth into the soil, ripping you asunder. Almost as divine penance, you lived your next life as a member of this dog's litter, you'd be named after the boy, despite being a girl. Maybe the dog was given some precognition and wanted to eat the boy and take his soul into its mouth to get her the life she always wanted. You were unfortunately born with a chronic condition that led you to a young death, the girl's mother crying just as hard after the vet put you down. You were buried lovingly in her back yard where you became a tomato plant, your same mother not being as much of a green thumb as mine but she devoured your fruits all the same, eventually giving birth to another meek boy after growing pregnant during the time when your last tomato was picked off your wilted stem. I have pursued you since that day with my whole body and spirit, one part unintentional one part in this moment of enlightenment. I love you, and I will love you for the rest of forever.

Trans girl who dropped out of high school to make Hello Kitty breakcore who has her girlfriend's dick in her mouth and is high as fuck right now: Waash dat?

Their shared girlfriend sitting across from them playing Wario Land Shake It on her modded Wii U: Was I the deer with bone wasting disease?

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl: ... Yeah...

[urhoneycombwitch]

#17 from that prompt list about seeing the marks left on their partner and getting turned on has got me all kinds of 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 It feels roommate-eddie coded 👀 especially if they have their no-marks rule, but he just kinda loses control one night.

Then we torture him, walking around showing it off, telling him he can’t touch until he learns some self-control…okay, I’m gonna see myself out…

(most assuredly not @rebelfell sending two asks in a row)

foreword: Sarah I’m being so fr how are you literally in my brain… I had a blurb on this very topic set on the back burner bc I couldn’t find a place for it so here it is spruced up!!! (prompt 17 from this list)

cw: Reader has breasts, visible marks, no skin tone/color mentioned, a wee bit of choking kink, not full smut but mdni as always. oh yeah and biting 😈

___

You can feel the weight of Eddie’s eyes on your form, even as you pretend to be oblivious, leaning into the reflection of the standing mirror in the corner of his bedroom.

A few swipes of your pointer finger and your lipgloss is perfect; with a smack of your lips, you straighten up again, tugging the hem of your tee down to meet the band of your jeans. “Almost ready?”

The friendly smile you turn to give Eddie is met with a glower, his dark brows slanted, a death-grip on both knees where he sits simmering on his bed.

“Did you come in here solely to torture me, or do you have other plans up your vixen sleeves?”

Briefly, your eyes flick to the ceiling as you turn back to your reflection, fussing with your hair to keep your hands busy. “Only plan I got is attending our beloved friend’s barbecue. Which we should’ve left for, like, five minutes ago.”

Eddie huffs. In response, you sigh, landing just-left of condescending. “Not my fault you want to fuck me regardless of what I’m wearing. It’s jeans and a t-shirt, Eddie, I’m basically fit for a nunnery-”

There’s a whoosh of spiced air that wafts over first, chills cascading down your spine made worse as Eddie moves in. His left hand lands on your hip, rooting you to the carpet, while the other tracks up, skirting between the valley of your clothed breasts, your collarbone, your neck…

He takes your chin between thumb and forefinger, silver rings biting cold against your skin as your neck goes lax, baring a long, tantalizing stretch of it as Eddie tilts your face up and to the side.

His lips press to the sweet spot behind your ear, then follows the slope of your neck down, stopping at your shirt’s collar that hides the rest of your skin. From your hip, his hand lifts to pull the fabric aside, revealing a scattered canvas of suck marks and teeth imprints that grace the top of your shoulder.

“You really gonna show up with these? Make all our friends wonder who’s been marking you up?”

Eddie’s voice is low, but you’d be a fool to mistake it for softness.

Another shiver licks along the length of your body, and this time Eddie feels it; he presses in closer, hand sliding from your chin to hold just under your jaw as he meets your fluttering eyes in the mirror.

“What’re you gonna say, hm? If Robin asks where they came from? If Steve makes a jock-y comment? If you get teased?”

It’s not like you haven’t been in this situation before- attending events with mutual friends, having to act like your roommate hasn’t been the one checking all your boxes, making up excuses for being late or looking like someone had been using your body as their personal chew toy.

You’ve always made excuses- pretty seamless ones, if anyone’s counting. You don’t even try to squirm away when you respond, swallowing around the light pressure at your throat- “I’ll tell them what I always do. Blind date hookup, one night stand, my dentist’s cousin’s friend that I’ll never see again-”

Eddie bites into the soft flesh of your upper shoulder, hard, free arm wrapping around your midsection like a seatbelt while his other elbow digs into your chest, hand still wrapped around the column of your throat.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush, white-hot adrenaline surging with the sting of the bite, body stiffening against the restraints of Eddie’s arms as you grit out, “Asshole!”

It sounds too whiny and pleasure-soaked to cause any real alarm, Eddie grinning into the curve of your skin (bastard) before tsking, kissing over the thumping mark in partial apology. “Mm. I think you like it. I think you get off on parading our little secret around the poor folks who don’t know any better-”

“As if you don’t.” Eddie may be the one doing most of the biting but you’ve got the bark to match, glaring furiously at the reflection of his maddeningly-cool black-caramel gaze, even as the pressure on your windpipe increases with a minute flex of his palm.

“Yeah. Y’got me there, princess.” His eyes flit across your exposed skin, like he’s trying to memorize all the shades and colors of you combined with the wreckage of his handiwork. “Maybe you should cover up some more. So it’s just you ‘n me who knows what’s under here.”

The cotton collar snaps back into place, covering almost all the evidence (save for the tail end of a day-old scraped hickey). Eddie releases your jaw and takes a step back, the warmth leaving your body all at once, frozen where you stand until sense returns.

You clear your throat before speaking, irritation prickling as you set to fixing your hair again from where Eddie’s interruption had stalled. “Whatever. Fine. But I’m only changing because it’s gonna be cold later, and a long sleeve will be better- not because you told me to.”

“Fine.” Eddie adopts a neutral tone as he settles back onto the mattress with a bounce, tugging absently at the inseam of his dark jeans to relieve some of the mounting tightness. “Have it your way.”

“I will,” you snap back, turning from the mirror on a socked heel, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy on the bed. “And you better have your boots on by the time I’m changed.”

With that, you flounce from Eddie’s room in search of a more conservative neckline, while Eddie pouts and pretends to have the will to disobey you for all of five seconds.

And then he’s up, trudging to the bureau reluctantly to source a pair of socks while scheming for the perfect excuse to take you both on the extra-long route to the barbecue.

[de4dlyniightshade]

꩜ SERENE QUEEN

꩜ pairing: spencer reid x afab!reader

꩜ rating: 18+, mdni

꩜ word count: 1.6k

꩜ warnings/contains!: smut, oral(f receiving), munch!spencer(my beloved), cumming untouched, praise, little bit of dry humping, hint of somnophilia, one mention of a gun, no use of "y/n", proofread!

꩜ lyric: "He'd call me the serene queen"

© to de4dlyniightshade. no translations/reposts.

[WARNING!] - explicit sexual content! mdni!

꩜ A/N: ending is kinda ass but i had to finish it somehow before it became another 9k fic😭

Spencer loved waking up before you, which, admittedly, was more often than not, but he appreciated it just as much every single day. He adored how peaceful you looked while you slept; you were so calm and beautiful, not a single thought plaguing your mind. You looked utterly serene, and he couldn't resist leaning over to press a kiss on your temple, wrapping his arm around your waist, and tugging you into him.

You shifted in your sleep, letting out a sigh as your ass pressed back into his crotch. The movement made Spencer realise that he had a bit of a situation that was now snugly situated in the crevice of your plush ass.

Spencer let go of you briefly to check the time, deeming it late enough to wake you before he rolled back over, snuggling into you and beginning to pepper gentle kisses on your cheek, trailing down to your neck, his soft kisses turning into open-mouthed, needy ones. Spencer let his hand slide up your body to palm your breast. His touch was careful as he massaged your soft flesh.

Your eyes cracked open, your mind cloudy as you tried to focus on what was happening and what woke you, your eyebrows furrowing when you felt something warm and wet on your neck, everything making sense when you felt something hard press into your ass.

"Spence?" you mumbled, your voice still groggy and full of sleep as you stretched your legs out, bringing your hand up to hold the back of Spencer's head. "Sorry, you just looked so pretty," he said quietly, his voice still as sleepy as yours. His morning voice was always irresistible to you, and you couldn't help but turn in his arms, pressing your lips against his, Spencer returning it with desperation, letting out a sigh into your mouth.

"Someone's a little needy this morning," you giggled as you broke the kiss, tucking his hair behind his ear. Spencer's hands continued to run up and down your body, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

"Couldn't help it; you looked so beautiful," Spencer mumbled into your skin, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he gently pulled you back into him and tentatively rutted his hips into you, a whine leaving his lips.

"Please, can I?" Spencer practically whimpered into your ear, his hair tickling your face as he snuggled closer into your neck. "Spence, the day I say no to that question, I want you to take your gun and shoot me in the face," you giggled, pressing a kiss to his head before you moved to lay on your back.

A smile spread across Spencer's face as he moved to hover over you, leaning down to kiss you briefly before trailing down your body, all but throwing the sheets off of you, goosebumps lining your skin in the cold air. Spencer kissed his way down your stomach, lifting the shirt that you were wearing to kiss your bare skin, the feeling tickling and making you twitch.

You sighed as you placed your hand on his head. "You're too good to me, Spence," you mused, feeling Spencer smile into the soft skin of your stomach as his hands reached for the waistband of your underwear, his eyes looking up at you. You immediately knew what he was asking, lifting your hips from the mattress to allow him to carefully tug the thin material down over the curve of your ass, sliding it down your legs painfully slowly before finally pulling them over your feet and dropping them on the floor.

Spencer wrapped his large hands around your thighs, urging them apart. You complied immediately, spreading your legs nice and wide for him. Spencer groaned at the sight, his grip tightening on your soft thighs. Usually he would take his time to press kisses to your inner thighs and maybe even leave marks, but not this time. He couldn't resist surging forward for a taste, licking a broad stripe up your slit and immediately whining into you.

You let your other hand drop to his head, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as he began to lap at your pussy, whimpering as he became more and more pussydrunk, the vibration sending shockwaves through you, moaning out at the feeling as you gripped his hair tighter, your sounds of pleasure only encouraging him.

Spencer dipped his tongue into your entrance to get a better taste. Another groan fell from his lips as you rolled your hips into his face, desperate for more, and Spencer was quick to give it to you, sucking your clit into his mouth without warning. A loud moan ripped from your throat as your hold tightened on his locks, your back arching against the bed.

"So fucking good, baby," you whined out, your hips rolling into his mouth again as your eyes fell closed and your head tipped back into the pillows. Spencer moaned at your praise as his movements began to get more desperate, his tongue delving into you and lapping at your folds like his life depended on it.

"Taste so good," Spencer whimpered, his voice needy and desperate as he ate you out like it was his first and last time tasting you. You always adored how eager he was to please you; you'd go so far as to say that he enjoyed it more than actually fucking you; he'd get completely lost in the moment, drinking up everything you had to give him; you'd never complain, of course, not when he was so good at it, never failing to make you see stars.

You felt the bed begin to shift, opening your eyes to see Spencer grinding into the mattress, moaning into you with his eyes closed in pure ecstasy, completely pussydrunk. You whined at the sinful sight of your boyfriend eating your pussy like a man starved and desperately fucking into your shared mattress to get himself off.

"You're so fucking pretty Spence," you moaned, eyes fixed on him and the way he buried his face between your thighs, constantly looking for more. He was desperate for it, and your praise only egged him on as he took your clit back into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue over your most sensitive area. You gasped, back arching as you pushed your cunt into his mouth, a familiar feeling creeping up on you.

Spencer never let up his pace, consistently sucking and licking your pussy with desperation. He craved the taste of your release on his tongue and the feeling of your thighs clamping around his head as he drank it all up. Spencer knew that you were getting close by the way your thighs began to shake and your hips jerked into his touch, your sounds getting louder and more high-pitched.

"F-fuck Spence, I'm gonna c-cum," you rasped, eyes screwed shut as he became more precise, focusing on suckling on your clit and moaning into you, the vibrations making your body spasm, a constant stream of moans, and his name falling from your lips.

Spencer loved nothing more than making you fall apart with just his mouth, and he wasn't ashamed to say he was addicted to it. The way you'd moan his name and let out pretty whines, grinding into his mouth and tugging on his hair, it was his own personal heaven, and right now he wanted nothing more than to taste your sweet release, nuzzling his face deeper into you and slipping his tongue into your entrance, a loud gasp falling from your lips as your body began to shake and your thighs closed around his head.

"F-fuck baby, just a l-little more," you moaned wantonly as he fucked his tongue into you, hands gripping your thighs to keep you from moving. Your hold on his hair was so tight that you knew it had to hurt, but he didn't care; he remained completely unfazed as he brought you dangerously close to your orgasm.

Spencer took your clit into his mouth again, sucking harshly and letting out a particularly loud groan, the mix of his mouth and tongue on you and the vibrations sending you over the edge, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream while your back arched into his face, your whole body shaking and twitching as your orgasm shot through you, white hot pleasure rendering you completely dumb.

You felt Spencer desperately lapping at you, not wasting a single drop of your release, a constant slew of whines and whimpers falling from his lips as he finally got what he so badly craved. You only stopped him when you became oversensitive, squirming away from him and letting out a whine. Spencer got the message and pulled away, making his way up your body to press a kiss to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue as he did.

Spencer lowered himself onto you, resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arms around you. You could see the content smile on his lips as he lay with his eyes closed, bringing your hand up to stroke his hair, both of you sitting in comfortable silence as you caught your breath.

You shifted slightly underneath him to get comfortable, Spencer lifting himself off of you so you could move easier. Your intentions were to just go back to sleep, all of your energy taken out of you when you felt something slightly cold and wet on your t-shirt, looking down to see a dark patch.

"did you?-" You didn't even have to finish the question, looking up to see Spencer's cheeks flushed cherry red as he buried his face back into your chest, whining into you.

"shut up."

[zorosdimples]

AFLOAT

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ this fic is slightly suggestive, but it’s more fluffy than anything else. reader has an unspecified devil fruit power, and thus cannot swim. reader wears a bra and underwear, and is implied to be shorter than zoro, but no gendered terms are used.

word count ༄ 1365

notes ༄ my birthday fic for zoro! this has been in my drafts since july. it’s disgustingly self-indulgent and filled with emotion; i hope you all enjoy regardless <3 tagging my beloved wife @redskyvenus!

sitting on the edge of a rickety, weather-worn dock, you dip your legs in crystalline water and try to keep your focus on the depths: on the flora that roots at the bottom and reaches to the sun, on the schools of tiny fish that flit around the underwater jungle.

but your gaze keeps drifting to the man swimming laps around the spring, admiring how gracefully his strong body cuts through the water. the midafternoon sun hotly caresses your skin and presses into you like a greedy lover. you lean back on your palms and tilt your head up to soak in the barefaced sky; its cerulean is only obscured by the dense foliage that surrounds the secluded watering hole.

you’re startled from your thoughts when you feel something tickle your toes. with a strangled yelp you scramble back from the edge of the dock. as you steady your breathing and wonder what the hell just touched you, a familiar mint green head bobs up to the surface.

“asshole!” you shout, slamming your hands down on the wooden planks for emphasis.

zoro laughs heartily as he hoists himself out of the water and plops down next to you. he ruffles his hair, sending sparkling droplets flying in the sunlight, landing on your sweat-damp flesh. your eyes flicker to the rivulets that ebb and flow down his naked torso into a little pool beneath him.

remembering your irritation, you half-heartedly punch his tricep and scold him. “you scared me so badly i could’ve fallen into the spring and drowned. and then you have the audacity to laugh at me?”

zoro snorts at your dramatics, but glosses over them, nudging you with his elbow. “i’d never let you drown and y’know it.”

he’s right, of course. zoro is certainly strong enough to haul you out of the water. you’ve watched him save countless people—friend and foe alike—from a premature grave. you put your feet back in the spring, playfully kicking the swordsman’s leg in the process. the chilled water cools your body but isn’t enough to stop the perspiration that beads at your hairline.

“i miss swimming,” you state, thinking aloud more than speaking to the man beside you. you can’t see the way his lone eye maps your profile as though he will forget the cant of your nose and the curve of your lip once this moment passes.

silence hangs comfortably for several breaths before zoro turns to you with a sly—or is it sinister?—smile. “let me take you swimming.”

you blink at him a few times, face scrunching into the signature scowl he secretly adores.

“did you hit your head on a rock or something? i’m a devil fruit user. it’s physically impossible for me to stay afloat in water, let alone swim in it.”

his grey eye shines with mirth. “just listen for a sec, will ya? no need for insults,” he chuckles as he rises to his feet and offers you a hand.

you appraise him with a quirked brow. you will yourself to push away thoughts of how beautiful he looks bathed in sunbeams and how you wish you could chart the planes of his body the same way you are charting the grand line. how you would see and count and kiss every scar etched in his flesh and tell him how happy you are that he’s alive.

zoro keeps his expectant stance, and you focus on his outstretched hand, just as sinewy and scarred as the rest of his body.

“d’you trust me?” he inquires. his eye searches yours for truth.

“more than i trust myself,” you answer without thinking. the admission is perhaps too honest, but you catch his dimpled smile and feel a little lightheaded as you grasp his rough palm and stand up beside him.

zoro leads you off the dock and around the rocky curves and edges of the spring to an ideal point of entry. you reach a stretch that resembles a beach: a sandy shore that slopes into the water. he starts walking into the spring expecting you to follow, but when you hesitate, he pauses and spins to face you.

“somethin’ the matter?” he asks.

you wordlessly glance down at your jean shorts and white top. “ah,” he says with a curt nod. “you should just wear your swimsuit. don’t wanna get all bogged down with wet clothes.”

you absentmindedly fiddle with the edge of your shirt and clear your throat. “i don’t have a swimsuit, zoro.”

“huh? nami’s always got one on. you’re tellin’ me you don’t?”

you rub your temples. “oh my god, zoro. nami can swim—i can’t. why would i ever wear a swimsuit when i have no intention of swimming?”

after a few tense beats, he tries again. “so—”

you interrupt him with a huff. “just turn around and wait a second. please?”

he obeys without question and you sigh. before you second guess yourself, you undress, leaving your shirt and shorts in a tidy pile on the sand. you’re left in your bra and underwear. they’re nothing special: just a matching cotton set that has seen better days. they are well-worn and comfortable—perfect for the sticky summer heat. you muster all your courage and start walking toward the shoreline.

it’s not a big deal.

it’s just like a swimsuit.

he won’t care.

it’s not as though he likes me.

zoro can hear your tentative steps, faint splashes in the water behind him. he doesn’t turn to you since you never told him he could. once you reach his side, he angles his head so he can look you directly in the eyes, saying, “we’re gonna walk until the water is up to your shoulders. is that okay?” if you saw a rosy flush on his cheeks, you could have easily mistaken it for the heat or too much sun.

“yeah,” you breathe.

the two of you walk in silence. you feel fine until the water hits your waist, then reality sets in. you haven’t been in a body of water since you were a young child. icy panic surges through your veins when you feel a fish graze one of your legs; you instinctively grab zoro’s tanned forearm to steady yourself.

“easy there, s’okay,” he soothes, stopping so you can get your bearings. when you don’t let go of him, he adds a simple “c’mere,” securing a strong arm around your waist. the water is cold, but his touch burns you.

it’s a strange sensation, delving deeper in the clear water, the surface lapping at your shoulders. it’s both nostalgic and new, familiar and foreign, frightening and exciting—even more so with the man holding you.

“see? you’re a pro,” zoro teases, calloused fingers gentle as he squeezes your waist.

usually, you would bite back, but you’re transfixed by the feeling. you attempt to turn and face zoro, but stumble in the process, unused to how clunky your legs feel underwater. he wraps both his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him.

it dawns on you how close you two are: your bodies pressed together, a thin layer of sodden fabric separating your flesh from his. the swordsman hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. (you would if you weren’t so focused on your own heartbeat.)

you peer up at zoro, hands splayed on his firm pecs, and for the first time, you see unguarded longing in his steel gaze. it’s awkward, the way neither of you can bring yourselves to speak. but leaning into one another feels right.

uncharacteristically, zoro breaks the quiet. his voice is rich—husky—as he asks, “you okay?”

boldly, you link your hands around his sun-warmed neck, thrilled when he doesn’t pull away, but instead sinks into your touch. you stand on your tiptoes, inching closer to him. zoro’s head hangs low, chapped lips parted, breath heavy. he’s so close that you can see him and smell him and hear him and feel him, but you want to taste him, too.

“let’s just stay like this,” you murmur.

and in the middle of the chilly spring, two burning souls stay afloat, zoro’s lips moving, melting, blurring against your own.

[dragon-ascent]

You're thirsty and Morax is dense.

★彡suggestive, dumdum Morax (he doesn’t understand human nuances yet), bit of unneeded comfort

When your beloved Lord Morax approaches you after a day-long outing, you grin to yourself and lean against a pillar. Tonight you crave your newlywed husband.

"Ah, my lord," you sigh, jutting your chest out as dramatically (and as sexily) as possible. "Have you come to indulge in me?"

You bite your lip in delight when you hear your beloved Morax chuckle, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Why, yes I have, my darling." He takes your hand and kisses it ever so tenderly it makes you want to melt right there.

But you're not done yet - you close your eyes and bemoan, "Oh my, in the middle of war?"

See, you're expecting him to say, "Of course, my love. My desires wait for nothing - and I could use a moment of respite in you," and then he'd sweep you away to his private chambers and make the most of the night.

Which is why your eyes snap open in shock when you hear him instead say, "Ah, you're right. My desires can wait, can they not?" He lets go of you, his expression hardening like stone. "There is yet much to be done this moon cycle. Once the dust settles, we shall enjoy ourselves thoroughly, hm?"

Uttering this, and planting a firm kiss on your forehead, Morax turns and leaves, leaving you standing there sputtering.

----

You two convene for dinner together later in the evening, and you smile to yourself, cheeks heating up as you get ready to seduce him. "All this food is lovely, but I was wondering if you were craving something even better..."

Raising a brow, Morax sets down his chalice of wine. "Oh? And what does my beloved propose?"

Fidgeting in your seat, you let out a coy, "How about having me?"

But instead of sweeping aside the empty dishes and spreading you out on the table for dessert, your husband only tilts his head in concern. "My love, I know you have had your qualms about marrying the Prime of Adepti, but I assure you I do not consume human flesh."

You shrivel up like a prune as he pets you, lamenting that you'd even entertain such a frightening thought, reassuring you that he would never harm you like that.

----

A more direct approach is in order - but surely you can still be poetic in your methods, no? You're now sprawled in the bed you share with Morax, wearing your best night-garments.

Your god finally arrives, smiling as he sees you lounging comfortably in bed. When he joins you there, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and purrs softly, enjoying your warmth. You run your hand through his silky hair.

You let him stay like this for a bit before you speak. "After countless vicious battles for dominion, perhaps you and I could engage in a battle more...passionate."

"Darling!" His head snaps up to look at you worriedly, horns nearly poking you in the eye. "What makes you think I would ever fight you?"

You blink. "Er...no, I meant that-"

Morax cups your face tenderly. "There shall never come a time where the two of us are on opposing sides. Wherever you go, I follow. Never shall an arrow of mine fly in your direction."

"No no, listen, I-"

He's having none of it - he pulls your head onto his lap and strokes softly. "My wedding vows included my oath to protect you. I intend to keep that oath, darling, so please, perish the thought of a battle between us."

"Actually I meant that-"

Morax shakes his head, eyes lowered in sorrow. "I hope this thought of yours has only just blossomed, and had not taken root fourteen moons ago on our first night together when you witnessed a portion of my divine strength-"

"Okay fine! My apologies! It was just a silly notion! How about you just make love to me?!" "Oh, of course. If only you had asked sooner."

[yourlocaltreesimp]

The First to be Forsaken

been in the works for a while!! This was actually a request that got deleted.

So to the anon who requested a reader who was cursed by Hylia like Eda in the owl house, this is for you!

tw: chronic illness, death

۵♡۵

The ache in your hands never lessened and the maring cracks in your skin never healed. It made for a rather ugly sight, all considered. The creeping vine-like scars showing in rather gorey details the tainted flesh.

No medical salve nor healing spell could rid you of the malice that poisoned your blood. And according to the words of the fairies themselves, it’s latched to your very soul. It festers, feeding off of your energy until you’ll be left as a husk. A puppet with no one to pull its strings.

It’s not pleasant knowing you’re going to die, but it’s less so knowing that no matter how often you pray to the goddess it will not be fixed. The divine never needed to give reason for why they shunned that which gives them power. Still, the chain did what they could, and for that you had many thanks.

Wild always had hearty food to replace the energy stolen from you, Legend let you wear whatever charmed jewellery you wanted, Time would never let you take night shifts, Warriors would carry you on the days you were too fragile to walk, Twilight doubled as a bed and his pelt as a blanket, Four made braces for your brittle joints, Hyrule was always testing different mixes in hopes that one might lessen your pain, Sky would hold your hand and talk to you on the days you could walk to make sure that you had something to distract from the crying of your nerves, even Wind spared some of his grandmother’s soup in hopes that of it didn’t rid of pain, it might ease your distress. Your Heroes were funny like that, sacrificing whatever they had for anyone that needed it, no matter how precious their time or belongings are. Certainly not a coincidence they act this way. They’ve seen what’s become of you under the neglect of the gods. And you’ve seen the familiar ache in their eyes, the recognition of themselves within you.

The newest hero, First —well perhaps then he’s the oldest— was in many ways similar. He too would offer you stories and ballads from his time, forgotten by the time the next era rolled in. His words had a majesty that had the whole camp turn an ear to follow whatever tale he recalled. And by the time it came for you to lay your head and rest, your woes would be far off from the front of your mind.

He’d sweep you off your feet both in the figurative matter and the literal. With only the gentlest graze of your skin and only the sweetest words that could be uttered did he regard you. He did not hold you to a sense of pity, as was common among many who knew of you, but a genuine care. A care for you beyond measure that he’d shown on many occasions that he would stop at nothing to ensure that if you could not be comfortable, you could be content.

And currently you were, despite it being a bad day.

The champion watched over the cooking pot carefully and the traveller flicked through one of his journals, looking for a combination of herbs that might be of help to you. The two passed questions back and forth in an effort to find an overlap of medicinals they haven’t already tried.

You had Twi’s pelt, Sky’s sailcloth and First’s scarf to try and dull your cold flashes. You leaned back against the First hero as his arms warped around you and his face buried into your shoulder. You shiver as the next cold wave hits, wincing. The moment sits in silence before his arms around your abdomen gently pull you closer.

“I am sorry for what she did to you, My beloved.” His voice was deep and poetic as usual, the unwavering strength he displayed to the world melted to softness at your touch. Through the staticky emptiness that settled in your brain, the question stood, alone and without any real context nor answer.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow and you look over at where he rests his head on your shoulder. He draws a heavy breath, mumbling something into your layers of clothing.

“Hylia- all of this because of her vanity. I am sorry you fell victim.” There is a pain in his voice, a guilt he’s held for long. Shackles upon his wrists that he’s not willing to let himself be freed from. You suppose it is him where their united care for the world came from, no matter how unrequited. He’d bleed himself dry for the world if it meant that it’d be better.

“I don’t mind being here with you all” You hear the distant rowdy laughter of Wind and Twi, and you find it in yourself to bask in this one moment, “It’s certainly worth it. To me, at least.” He grumbles happily, kissing the nearest place of unscathed skin he can find, right below your jaw.

“I am glad, Dearest. But that-“ His voice wavers as another chill wracks your body. You can only find a wince as you try to block away the ever advancing chill.

“That is not what I meant. I- It’s because of her that you cannot find rest. It is she who whittled down your bones and set alight your nerves” You find nothing to say as you stare at him, urging for more. “She thought it was wrong for me to love you, to long for your care and yearn to hold your heart. So, she tainted y-“ You wish to hear his words. A muse longing to read the poets works, and yet-

The words grow fuzzy as the gloom within you swells, gnawing painfully at your bones. It seems that you had forgotten exactly how brittle you were. It was always hubris that killed heroes, wasn’t it? But that didn’t make sense. You were no hero. How could it be hubris if you never meant to taunt the gods. How could that be- you weren’t dying, are you?

They said you’d be ok.

You’ll be ok right?

Everything will be ok?

The pressure in your head doesn’t stop growing and your stomach hurls.

The sun is so bright.

It hurts.

She’s taking you again, isn’t she?

[moodymisty]

The discussion of primarchs stealing other primarch’s beloved got me thinking, how do you think the primarch’s sons the astartes react to another primarch trying to woo away their primarch’s beloved. Because you can be sure that astartes will have their own opinions on the situation.

Now initially I’m sure some legions would be stoked, (Iron Warriors, Iron Hands, World Eaters, Death Guard, and Dark Angels), seeing this as way to rid themselves of their “legion mother” and that she would be a different legion problem.

However, some members of the legion probably have the hindsight to see that if you were no longer around then their primarch’s mood would take a turn for the worse. So regardless of their own feelings they have to make sure you stay because they couldn’t handle their genefather becoming even more unrully. Or possibly, as the only parental figure that dispenses praise and emotional validation, they could discover that they miss your presence

As for other legions, (Luna Wolves, Ultramarines, Thousand Sons and Imperial Fists) now while these legions do not initially like you they have warmed up you over time so you suddenly being poached by another legion wouldn’t be welcome news. But more than that, for these prideful legions the fact another primarch’s thinks they can so easily take you away from their primarch is a grave insult against their primarch’s qualities as a partner and ability to keep you happy, an insult they take personally.

Then you come to the third option, (Blood Angels, Salamanders, White Scars, and Emperor’s Children), the legions that actually like you and enjoy your company as their “mother”. Now these astartes will be much more primed to head off any attempts made by other primarchs to seduce their mother away. Because beyond your position as their primarch’s beloved, they actually independently enjoy you as person. So attempts to remove you will be met with opposition. The strength and violence of this opposition tends to range depending on legion though, with White Scars being angry but still able to keep a cool head. While the Blood Angels absolutely losing it if other primarchs or other legions think they can take away their mother from them.

As for some of the others (Raven Guard, and Space Wolves) I think they belong to a combination of category 2 and 3. They have there reservations but they do warm up to you in time. Also the news of another primarch attempting to court you is unwelcome and received with hostilities, especially from the Space Wolves.

Now as for the remaining legions (Word Bearers, Night Lords and Alpha Legion) I’m not quite sure which category they fall into or if the necessitate their own category.

I love all this thank you for sending, I agree with it all the primarch soap opera grows larger.

Night Lords are definitely in the 'don't necessarily like you but you keep Konrad in check so they want to keep you around' tier. We have to remember that NLs were VERY different pre heresy, even if they were still deranged murderers they as a whole weren't as horrific as Konrad was and oftentimes found his more extreme behavior weird (EX the flesh statue)

Word Bearers I think warm up to you overtime, especially if Lorgar has all of his 'goddess' talk. It wears on them.

Alpha Legion I don't know, I think they'd be a combination of them all. They enjoy having you keep the twins on track, they genuinely like you somewhat especially if you're active in their plans (ex spying) but also they don't like you cause you're a liability.

[ken-dom]

can you make a ryan smut to this link??

https://x.com/daddyyrough/status/1809004178221478197?s=46

I don’t have twitter so my trusty pal @heresthestorymorningglory took one for the team and described the content to me (WARNING if you follow the link it is NSFW and may require headphones!). It reminded us of the first Driver fic she wrote which is delicious (you can find it here). And in answer to your ask dear anon,

Imagine wearing only Driver’s jacket in the passenger seat ∘₊✧

Driver x afab!reader

∘₊✧ NSFW, semi-nudity, fingering, glove kink, horny Driver, semi-public

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Driver never takes long to rest a hand at your thigh when you reach the deserted bit of road you’ve made a habit of frequenting.

His breath hitches. Even through the conditioned leather he can feel the silky warmth of bare skin. You’re wearing nothing below the waist. He smirks.

You’d snuck so quickly into his car in the pitch dark, his eyes distracted by your upper body clad in his beloved scorpion jacket, shining in the dim glow of the courtesy light, that he hadn’t thought to check the rest of you out.

He wonders if you’re wearing anything under the jacket, whether your soft flesh is rubbing up against the lining each time you take a breath, silk dragging deliciously over your hardened nipples and sending shivers running through your sensitive body.

He wonders if it will still smell like you tonight when he’s alone again.

He knows you like his gloves, like it even better when he fucks you on them, rocking his fingers in and out with calculating precision. Your reactions drive him wild, your scent on his gloves makes him dizzy. He never imagined how much he would like his own jacket on you, though. His cock twitches.

Foot pressed firmly to the accelerator, the hand at your thigh doesn’t grip you, digging fingers deep into flesh to tease as he normally would. Instead it darts between your closed legs, dipping immediately into your slick folds and curling up inside your entrance. God, you’re so wet already. He feels his cock leak against the denim.

He shudders as your legs drop apart for him, spread out, dripping onto the passenger seat, breath heavy and laced with quiet moans. He nestles the heel of his palm against your heat, each thrust of his fingers inside you dragging leather over your clit in turn. It’s a rhythm that feels fucking incredible, but isn’t enough to tip you over the edge yet, and he knows it.

You grab at his wrist, rolling your hips to meet his movements.

His blood is boiling, pounding in his ears, mingling with your moans. He needs to bury himself inside you or he might lose control. He needs to stay inside you forever, in fact. Warm and wet and safe.

He finds somewhere to park.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

temperature’s rising (it isn’t surprising)

jake jensen x fem reader

words: 717

warnings & tags: jakey’s general endearing awkwardness, attempts at humor, wandering hands, innuendo (?), no smut lads i’m so sorry, but there is super mild hand kink!

a/n: uh.. surprise?? for my beloved essie’s @bigtreefest summer lovin’ 300 follower celebration 🥰 i chose the prompts (a few of them used very loosely or very much implied) character gets a sunburn + hand kink + friends to lovers + beach. she’s very short but sweet, i think. also idk what it is with me and beach related fics but this is like my third one lol. anyway! congratulations on 300 followers, sugarplum!! you deserve all the love and appreciation in the world. i hope you like this ♡

Jake hisses through his clenched teeth, grunting before exhaling shakily. His head drops down, chin to his chest, as he focuses on his breathing instead of the intense feeling of your hands on his skin. Your touch is light as it traces a path down his back and he can’t fight the shiver that runs down his spine.

“So hot,” he hears you murmur.

He bites his lip before releasing it with another hiss, forgetting how sore even they are, all red and swollen.

“Does it feel good, Jakey?”

He releases a sharp breath and nods jerkily. “Yeah, s’good, feels good,” he confirms.

“You’re almost there, so close,” you say, your warm breath fanning out across his flesh, creating goosebumps that almost physically hurt as they rise. “Just a little more.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, body tensing further and further as your hands continue their work. One of them ventures past the waistband of his shorts, sweeps across uncharted skin, as of yet, and he fails to bite back his whimper.

“Okay, your back is finished,” you announce suddenly. “Turn around and I'll get your front.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly as he spins to face you, “I can do my front.”

You smile and wiggle your shining fingers in his face. “My hands are already covered in aloe, it’s no biggie! No sense in you getting your hands dirty, too.”

“Oh,” he repeats, much more faintly.

You reach around him to pump more of the gel into your hands, rubbing them together to try and warm it before spreading it across his chest. Not that it really helps, he thinks, when his skin is fried and molten to the touch. He still jerks and grunts from the cold.

To distract himself, and also so he isn’t staring at your scantily clad bikini covered body, he watches your hands as they work the aloe in. It’s a good plan, at first, but then he gets lost in how gentle you’re being, how soft and smooth the strokes of your hands are. He has to roughly clear his throat when you circle your thumbs around his tender nipples, otherwise he’d have probably done something embarrassing, like moan or beg or both.

Jake can tell you’re trying not to hurt him, and he’s thankful, really, he is. It’s just—well, he can’t stop his mind from wandering. If your hands feel this good on him when you’re just rubbing aloe on his sunburned body, he can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like doing… other things.

You tsk, reaching up to carefully rub at his red ears. “Did you not wear sunscreen at all today?” you tease.

He’s glad his face is as red as the rest of him already so it can hide his blushing cheeks.

The truth is, yes, he absolutely forgot to put on sunscreen. And if he wanted to be petty about it, he’d even say it’s your fault. How was he supposed to remember to put on fucking sunscreen when you came out of your room in the condo wearing the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen? The bottoms are thong bottoms, for fucks sake! It’s sufficient to say he was distracted and didn’t think twice about following you and the rest of your friends outside onto the beach where everyone was going to play volleyball.

Let’s go on vacation, his friends said. It’ll be fun and relaxing, they said.

He hasn’t relaxed since the moment he heard you were going to be in the room next to his, which shares a bathroom—the very one you both are standing in now. But he did have fun playing volleyball with everyone, even when he face-planted directly into one of the poles holding the net up because he tripped over his own feet watching your boobs bounce when you jumped to hit the ball. He’s pretty sure he played it off well, though.

“I—I think that’s good,” he stammers when your hand dips below his waistband again, but in the front this time. “The sunburn doesn’t go that far down.”

You glance up at him with a wide-eyed innocent look that he’s beginning to have a sneaking suspicion is actually not all that innocent. “It’s good to be thorough, Jakey,” you implore, fingers running along his hip bones.

[baylardian-1]

I have begun to long for you I who have no greed I have begun to ask for you I who have no need You say you've gone away from me But I can feel you when you breathe Do not dress in those rags for me I know you are not poor And don't love me quite so fiercely now When you know that you are not sure It is your turn, beloved It is your flesh that I wear

My piece for Merry Month of Cohen, 2024 on @what-happens-to-the-heart. :) Nothing fancy but I wanted to revisit this old piece of mine in my Threshold AU for Voyager.

I've always loved the idea of Kathryn being at the lowest point she's ever known here and thinking she'll never be the same again. (The theme!!!!!!!!)