#it's smaller than my tiny palm

[astronomicalunit32]

I saw a littol babie mouse outside of my house this past monday amd I wanted to take a picture but he got away so I drewed h him.

he was so round. and wet from the rain yet still soft like little fuzz ball. his fuzz was impenetrable, his cuteness tranquilizing. very small wet beast. just barely a beast yet. I was in love. but he scurried away into the dense forest of the grass around my neighbor's garage. which is right next to my house. but hewas so small. so young. I hope he is happy wherever he is. living a good life and knowing he changed mine for the duration of an evening.

[gauloiseblue]

You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive a fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

[arminsumi]

geto who's way bigger than you. just imagine sitting on his lap while he hugs you. he might kiss you in the hair or make you ride him until you're dripping all over his pants <3

TOO SMALL TO TAKE IT ALL, HUH?

𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑

🔞 smut / n.sfw / 18+ content

NOTE: did I just read Geto Suguru with a size kink or do I need to get my eyes checked out again 🥴 anyways hehe my dearest mama pieck in my inbox good to see u angel 💗

WARNINGS — fem reader, size kink, implied clothed sex, implied unprotected sex + creampie, hair pulling, light roughplay, teasing/playfulness, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamic (?), nicknames (daddy, good girl, baby, etc), lmk if i have missed a warning thank u lovelies

That’s the first thing he noticed about you – you and him, the sheer size difference. It made his eyes light up, it made him smirk. He immediately compared his body size to yours and relished in the fact even your shadow was smaller.

Satoru had introduced the two of you to each other years ago during one especially hot summer. You’d coincidentally stayed at the same hotel in Okinawa for the holidays. Geto Suguru very unashamedly chuckled when you looked up at him, noticing how your eyes skimmed the strip of his physique that showed through his Hawaiian shirt. One of the first things he said to you was “You’re so small” as a playful, cheeky little remark.

And it wasn’t the last time he said it. That was a very common phrase to come out of him. He loved making you very aware of how much bigger he was than you.

Never mind the obvious height difference, he was just bigger than you in every aspect. Hands, feet, forearms, chest, torso, shoulders. So often in the early stages of your relationship, he would put his hand out and splay his fingers so that you’d bring your own hand up to compare, showing off his finger length by curling them over yours, with a suggestive smirk too. At some point he made the very expected dirty joke, “Bet you’d prefer mine over yours, huh? Yeah. I could reach much deeper.”

The size difference between you and him was on his mind whenever he hugged you. He made sure that you felt the tones of his torso pressing tight against your chest.

And it was killing him inside whenever you perched yourself on his lap. You felt his muscular thighs supporting your weight.

Pair those together – hugging him while on his lap? He was conscious of every part of your body that pressed against him, as were you; how could you ignore the press of his biceps against your sides? No one could.

His pants started tightening when he mentally compared every aspect of your body and his body. Your hand and his hand, your shoulders and his shoulders, your leg length and his leg length. You wouldn’t expect nasty thoughts to be circling his mind when he’s pressing such innocent kisses into your hair. But he’s thinking of pulling on that pretty hair, making you squirm on his cozy, comfy, big lap while he stuffs his cock inside your tiny hole.

He sweet talks you while palming and kneading your ass, feeling the supple skin bounce and jiggle makes him giddy.

 Geto was a giant, but a gentle giant. Well, mostly gentle – gentle when he wasn’t thrusting up into you.

He fucked you like a real show-off, ‘cause Geto wanted to make your pussy remember his size. Splitting you open and stretching you out always earned a wolfy grin from his lips. “Feel that? ‘so deep I’m in your tummy, baby. If I cum inside I’m sure not a single drop will spill out.” He coos into your ear, firm grip unmoving from your hips.

The curve of his cock had you seeing stars, it made your body so weak – he liked that. He liked that he had the ability to make your body practically melt in his embrace, he savored the feeling and sight of your body going half-limp like a ragdoll when you were getting fucked too good by him.

Sometimes he was so needy to feel you stretch around him that he didn’t bother fully taking off his clothes, he’d just unbutton and unzip his pants.

“But I’m gonna soak ‘em.” You forewarned.

“Yeah.” He hummed with a smirk, “I like that, baby. Soak daddy’s jeans with your pretty pussy like a good girl. Make a mess on me.”

Now, Geto only gives you a bit of freedom when riding his lap. Those big hands are always attached to your hips and helping to work you up and down. Sometimes he’ll give you the liberty of bouncing on his cock all by yourself, as clumsy as you are in that cock-drunk state, so he can hold the back of your head and give you feverish kisses all over your face. When he feels the tickle of your hair as it slips through his fingers, that’s when he takes a grip of it and pulls back so gently. Geto’s so sweet and gentle – ‘till he’s cumming, that is, then you feel a slight tingle across your scalp as he really pulls on your hair.

“You’re so fucking tiny, baby. Too small to take it all, huh? Deep breaths, there we go – angel you’re so good for me, always listening to me – fuckkk – s-so fucking small, so fucking small ‘n tiny, ‘gonna milk my cum out with that tight hole of yours? Yeah? Good, be good and milk my cum out.”

When he’s through with you, he always praises you like a princess.

“You impress me.” He tells you, “it's so hot that you can take all of me like that, even thought you’re so small. Mhm, that’s right, you’re my baby angel, aren’t you? C’mere, let me kiss you.” He feathers tenderly against the crown of your head, ignorant of the fact his pants are soaked through with his pretty girl’s juices, and presses pretty kisses to your skin.

[miguelhugger2099]

Hands

Summary: His hands are...big. A/N: I saw someone say this mans hands are 11 inches and i genuinely started tweaking. bro. his hands are larger than my head......

Miguel x Reader, Fluff?, Little suggestive, Drabble,

Spider-Man 2099 was probably one of the biggest Spider-Man ever. Well, if you're not counting the robots and dinosaurs–Miguel O'Hara is abnormally large for a human. Half-Human.

Standing at a whopping six foot and nine inches, his bulky build didn't help with his intimidating aura and height. So yes, he was tall but also wide.

Which also meant that everyone, at least, most people were shorter than him.

You could tell that it even became a problem. While talking to him, he'd have to bend his neck to talk to you. His posture would slouch just so he could hear you speak. When he'd look away, Miguel would rub the back of his neck, massaging out the knots that were forming from craning his head down so much to talk to the other Spiders.

You've seen tall people and you've seen others with muscles–however you were more focused on something smaller. As Miguel would type away on his monitor, viewing and discarding dim yellow screens in the air, you'd not so subtly stare at his hands. A part of you was amazed and a part of you had some sort of sick guilty pleasure watching his fingers move around. You coughed into your fist and looked away when Miguel snapped his head down at you, the familiar heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” He grumbles, his eyes squinting down at you.

“Huh? Wuh?” You turn your head around, pretending to think he's talking to someone else.

Miguel rolls his eyes, a soft scoff escaping his lips before he grabs your chin. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel’s fingers squishing your cheeks and pulling you forward to him. His fingers stop near your temple and you can barely hear his voice through the haze of your mind.

“Wait–wait, say that again?” You whisper while Miguel just stares at you.

He lets go of you and you miss the heat from his palm. “You obviously aren’t focused. Either get it out of your head or leave. I don’t need someone distracted right now.” He tsks and focuses back on the monitors, hands waving in the air. You shuffle from side to side, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists. You fought with yourself wondering if you should let the impulse get to you. “Can I see your hands?” You blurt out. Miguel freezes but his eyes are in a confused wide stare at his screen. “What?” “For like a second!” You defended yourself, holding out your palms and raising your eyebrows in a pleading way. Miguel looks between your hands and face, an uncomfortable and confused glint in his eyes. Pouting, you take it as rejection, sniffling dramatically to yourself. But Miguel looks away as he places his hand in yours gently. You gasp in happiness and bring it up to your eyes. You press your thumbs to his palm, both of them looking tiny. Pressing harder, you notice little slits of his talons coming out and you giggle. Pressing over and over again, you watch as the little claws extract and retract repeatedly. Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. Then using one of your hands, you place yours and his hand together, wrist to wrist as close as possible. You blink and take a closer look at the size difference. Your entire hand barely reached past his palm, his fingers even longer.

While you marveled at how giant Miguel was, Miguel looked down at you with a flushed expression. Blush scattered across his cheeks as he noticed how small you were compared to him. He knew he was a big guy–he knew that compared to him, everyone was pocket sized. But particularly about you, it was more in his face. He had an urge to wrap his fingers over yours, wanting to see how it would engulf yours. You move his hand to the front of your face, your nose bumping into his middle finger. Even then, his hand was still very much larger than your head. “Holy shit. Do they even make things in your size here?” You laugh, your breath hitting his suit and he feels the warmth of your laugh through the fabric. Miguel squirms slightly, watching how his hand is covering your entire face. If he wanted, he could grab you right now. He could grab you, pick you up, cover your blabbering mouth easily, and maybe he can easily push your head into the mattress with a single hand– Miguel burns, looking away and pushing your face away from him. You yelp and stumble back from the force, catching yourself before you hurt yourself on the floor. “OW?” You glare at him. He’s turned away from you, back to bringing up video files and camera recordings of different universes. “Get back to work now.” He growls and you dust yourself off with a huff. You take another glance at him before sighing and facing the other way–failing to notice the tips of his ears a dark red shade.

[arieava]

i wish i had a better camera bc i’m currently looking at the tiniest fucking turtles i have ever seen in my life and i can’t get close enough to take a good picture 😔

[k0yaz]

shackled.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, arranged marriage, arle referred to as your husband, use of her real name, idk if this is angst so I’ll tag it as angst and fluff, wlw, I actually fucking hate arranged marriages irl but it’s interesting to write about, fun when it’s the character you like and not a 10 year old girl getting married to an ugly ass 60 year old man who gets no bitches, uhm anyway not proofread.

A/N: nobody gonna request arrange marriage? I’ll do it myself with my husband/husbwife arlecchino 🕯️

Uneven beats of your heart pulsed in your eardrums continuously as you stared out the open window, a cool breeze caressing your downcast face gently. Your pupils flickered down to your extended left hand, dilating smaller out of disdain upon catching sight of the cold silver ring encircling your ring finger.

You dreaded it. This arranged marriage parted an endless uncomfortable pit in your stomach, which you had felt would remain as long as you were trapped in a bind you didn’t want. Gazing down at ring once more, you couldn’t help but find it difficult to swallow the choked feeling in your throat whenever you laid eyes upon the ruby, nausea enveloping every possible sense you had in the moment. Rather than a promise ring that bound you to someone you loved, the one on your finger felt like a tiny silver collar clamped around your flesh. An irking feeling that forced you to love a stranger.

Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Arlecchino. The woman had actively attempted to respect your personal space, being able to tell how much you loathed the inescapable grasp of your arranged marriage. You could tell that she opposed even the thought of this, especially from the way her eyes would stare down at her own ring with an empty and unfeeling expression.

Sighing deeply, you reached an arm up to grasp the satin curtains, before tugging your arms inward in a single dynamic motion. As you turned your back to walk away from the now closed up windows, you felt a gust of light air brush against your nape, causing you to spin around and lower your eyes from slight annoyance. Right. You forgot to shut the windows first. You just went over to shut the windows, still harboring a hint of irritation. Ever since that marriage, you always tended to feel unwilling to do anything anymore. Frequently always irritated by the smallest of actions as you’d always think to yourself—what’s the point?

Upon closing up the windows completely, you fell back onto the intricately decorated sofa set situated in the corner of your shared bedroom, your mind still a cluttered mess from all your thoughts being scrambled rather than neatly arranged in an array. You began to ponder once more. How things could’ve been different. Ran away, or disobeyed your parents to a full extent.

There wasn’t anything you could do. You didn’t see a point in even trying to keep a happy front anymore. All of your aspirations that you had, every little dream, was now out of your reach as you were shackled into this marriage. The warm air of the heater hit your skin as you rested your cheek into your palm. A small smile made its way onto your lips as you mused at the possible scenarios that could’ve happened if you were free. Perhaps if you were wallowing in your delusion, you could smile atleast once.

“I’m home.”

You blinked from sudden surprise, jolting as the bedroom door creaked open—albeit a bit roughly. Arlecchino’s emotionless voice rang in your ears, had she called out upon entering before? She often enters the living room first, and doesn’t enter the bedroom until nightfall. Then again, you tend to reside in the living room to await your husband’s return, so maybe she simply wondered where you were.

Stray specks of blood decorated her cheek, scattering small splatters ranging in a variety of spots across her face. Right. She was the fourth harbinger after all. You folded your arms as Arlecchino towered over you, still standing upright while her x-marked eyes pierced into you. Shifting uncomfortably, you decided to clear your throat, gesturing towards your own cheek in an attempt to break the thick fog of tension between you two from the lack of words.

“You got some-“

“I’m aware.” Arlecchino replied coldly, making you bite back a scoff at the harbinger’s dismissive response. Well, excuse you for trying to make this shitty marriage more bearable.

Still, it didn’t seem intentionally rude although it did come off that way. You only looked away from her, eyes fixating on a random painting hung over the flower pot on one of the shelves. Hunching your shoulders, you bit down on your quivering lip subtly so that Arlecchino wouldn’t notice. Although you were the one that distanced yourself from her. Although you were the one who only focused on despising this marriage, rather than even trying to get closer to Arlecchino in the slightest for atleast a small hint of peace. It still hurt seeing your husband brush you off like this.

Her seemingly exhausted expression remained glued to her face as she dragged the folded white washcloth along her cheek, eyes staring at the ground aimlessly as she continued to clean her stained face. The weight of all of this had clearly taken a toll on her as well, yet she had to keep a sturdy front for the sake of her profession as a Fatui harbinger. Yet her actions regarding you had always been courteous and respectful. Consistently respecting your boundaries and trying her best to avoid making you feel uncomfortable must have taken a toll on her, especially knowing full well that your resentment for this marriage could have set you off at any given moment.

A sudden wave of sympathy flooded you upon seeing Arlecchino’s tired eyes, dark linings shaded below her eyes as well. Just maybe, you could try to repay her for having your comfort in mind throughout the course of this resented relationship. This relationship wasn’t her fault, and you knew that. She hated this just as much as you did.

Deciding to swallow your pride, you rose to your feet, standing before her as you awkwardly shifted for a couple moments while remaining standing there. Arlecchino paused her movements, raising an eyebrow at your sudden motion of getting up off the couch. She simply stared at you with a puzzled gaze, trying to figure out your sudden want to interact with her.

Hesitantly, you reached out a shaky hand, lining it up with her cheek and gesturing her to lean in. Arlecchino on the other hand, wasn’t expecting you to switch up suddenly like this, only keeping her skeptical gaze locked onto your own eyes. It felt like a trap to lean in to someone who was so hesitant to even look at her. No matter how badly she wanted to lean into the soft skin of your palm, her hesitance seemed to uphold her rationality despite her exhaustion.

“Arle…it’s okay, you can lean in…”

She needn’t be told twice as you felt her hand grab ahold of your wrist to keep it in place, her head nearly collapsing against your hand. Deep breaths echoed within the vicinity, her breaths cancelling every other noise around you two as Arlecchino slowly composed herself from your touch. She pulled back after a couple moments, her cold front faltering for a moment with a flash of tenderness, before immediately snapping back to her calm demeanor.

However, you didn’t stop there. You don’t know what flipped that switch in you, but you just felt the urge to grow closer to Arlecchino. Perhaps it was the realization that you weren’t alone in the hellhole of a marriage, and that you two may be suffering together. Knowing she hated this as much as you was comforting, it remedied your internal turmoil slightly, and made you detest the idea of anyone else going through what you were. Or maybe, it was the fact that Arlecchino didn’t push anything in this marriage, and respected you, preventing your mental state from growing worse. It could even be both.

Regardless, you wanted to atleast provide a sort of ease to her. Cupping her cheek once more, you pulled the washcloth from her hand, rubbing it against her cheek in circular motions as stains of blood began to soak up onto the cloth and coloring it red. Arlecchino didn’t seem to protest your attempt at soothing her, face pressing further into your shaky palm as it seemed to be working. The quiet buzz of the heater reverberating through the silence, and the general tidy atmosphere of the neatly arranged bed made everything feel so right. As if this marriage wasn’t so awful after all.

Arlecchino exhaled a swift sigh as you finished washing up her face, remaining silent. The two of you awkwardly awaited for the other to speak up, the crickets outside chirping louder than the two of you by this point. You finally decided to say something, face tinged a light pink from moderate embarrassment

“You didn’t want this either did you?”

Arlecchino shook her head in affirmation, her eyes still avoiding yours—as if she was afraid that your vulnerability would shift over to her, and shatter her calm self at this moment.

“I’m well aware of this situation. Your parents are already closely associated with the Fatui, and want wanted you to marry a harbinger in order to elevate their own status for the sake of the family.” She replied. A sour taste seeped onto your tongue at the mention of the reason why you were forced into this in the first place, unpleasant memories beginning to race through your mind for a few moments.

“Why did you accept the offer then? You could’ve easily declined if you didn’t want to be in this marriage either. There’s multiple other harbingers my parents would’ve auctioned me off to.” You said bitterly, strangely hating the idea of getting married to anyone who wasn’t Arlecchino at this point. Arlecchino merely shrugged in response, raising her shoulders to remove the white fur coat cloaking her and draping it neatly over the coat hanger drilled into the wall.

“I’m not sure.” She paused, taking some time to think over another answer to compensate for her vague response. “I believe I just felt it was necessary in that moment.”

You sighed back collapsing onto the mattress. Suddenly, you felt an arm circle your waist, pulling you closer as you felt Arlecchino push her torso flush against your back. Your face burned from the sudden intimate action, the warmth of her body only serving to make you lean into her further as her sharp nails raked along your stomach lightly. Arlecchino whispered out against you, visibly less uptight than when she came in. She was a bit more relaxed and clingy with you simply with a mere touch against her cheek, it was sweet honestly.

“I still care about you, (Name).” She muttered against your neck, voice muffled as she was evidently quite tired. Pale rays of the moonlight illuminated Arlecchino’s now eased expression, watching her eyes lowered shut as her exhaustion began to catch up with her. Surprisingly, you found yourself relishing in the comfort of her arms as you flipped onto your side facing her to examine her rested features.

“…I’m starting to care about you too, Peruere.”

Your hand drew down along her arm, all the way from the skin of her shoulder down to the black faded enveloping her arms from her curse. Maybe, just maybe, this could work. You found solace in the fact that you could make the best out of this marriage with a woman who kept you in mind and tried her best to care about your interests.

Maybe, you could warm up to her.

A/N: im screaming idk if this turned out good guys pls asaaawaabshshs but yayyyyy arlecchino MY CONTENT WARNINGS WERE ASS ON THIS ONE WHY ARE THEY SO BORING AND SAD ‼️

[beachyma]

orange soda.

a. donaldson , you | nsfw |

The quiet sprinkle of evening dew quiets your racing nerves with each pitter-patter splashing against the pavement. You lay rested comfortably on the mattress of your boy-best friend's dormitory. You can hear the quickening hum of his heartbeat as you lay against the headboard. You estimated a near 120 beats each minute. A soft smile tugs on your lips at this realization, gently adjusting your position so that your forearm rests recklessly close to the curve in his aqua tennis shorts. He faintly chokes back a cough, a pink hue tinting his cheeks and nose. You glance up at him warmly, "You need water?" a sarcastic laughs leaves your lips. His flushed-red lips widen into a teethy smile, "It's on my nightstand, if you want to hand it me." You snootily roll your eyes in 'way to brush me off' way, twisting your body to grab the aluminum water that rest on his wooden night stand. "Why don't you get a smaller water bottle- this thing weighs a shit ton Art." You complain, surveying the vividly scattered stickers casually placed on the bottle. He places the water bottle to his lips, taking a sip before leaving it to lay in between his thighs, "I need to stay hydrated." he promptly says. You notice the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, his jaw flexing to a cast a gentle shadow, lining his chin and neck. You scrunch your eyebrows together in disagreement, "and there aren't smaller water bottle that can do the same thing?" you quiz. His coy gaze softens your facial expression, "No." he denotes. "Doesn't it get heavy carrying around every day?" You urge, grabbing the water bottle, swiftly grazing his inner thigh. The sudden movement causes him to flinch, wincing as the cool metal is subsisted by your thumb and pointer finger. You cock an eyebrow at him, a curious look coats your face, "You good?" His body shifts as he sits up from leaning on the headboard, the wooden bed frame creaking in retaliation. "Yeah, I'm fine." he opposes. His pink-hue is punctuality replaced by a cherry-red tinge. A vivid red tints his face, followed by his neck and hands. He almost looks like he'd be hot to the touch. "Never had a girl touch your leg before?" you sarcastically joked, positioning the water bottle back onto the nightstand. "Shut up." He palms his face in mortification, brining his knees to his chest. "Stop acting like a virgin Donaldson." you tease, gently shoving his shoulder to the side. "Fuck off." he groans in desperation. "Oh I bet you'd love me to do that to you." your index finger playfully tracing the length of his thigh. He can only whine in an effort to retaliate, his skin glowing a deep red. "You can do better than that." you mockingly place your hand on his upper thigh, tenderly messaging the muscle, your fingers working carefully near the leg-holes of his tiny shorts. He whimpers at the contact, jerking his leg to the left. A grin dances across your lips, the grip you have on his thigh loosens. Your fingers begin to sketch the lining of his waistband, gently tugging on the stretchy fabric. You pause, gazing attentively at him for a brief moment, his eyes struggling to meet yours. " Art?" you ask, his stare coming to acknowledge yours, a look of desperation masks his face. "Please." he mutters, voice low and soft. "Please what-" you are interrupted by the warmth of his lips against your nape, his hands trailing down the length of your waist, to your hips. A soft moan escapes your lips, fingers rushing to pull at his blonde locks. You can feel the sensation of a cocky grin tug at his lips while he bruises your neck with his mouth, his hands desperately gripping your hips. "Art-" your voice breaks, husky, and rough. "Shit-", you breathe. Art places gentle kisses from your neck to your jaw, finally meeting your lips with his own. They are soft, and have that generic chapstick flavor. He kisses you with a gentleness you're not used to, like as if he made one wrong move, he would hurt you. That thought brings a warmth to your stomach, its tickling and teasing you.

Art beckons you closer, pulling you to his chest with his bicep. You lean into his muscular body, palming his jaw with your hand. His hands restlessly travels your body, cupping your ass with one hand, and gripping the fat of for waist with the other. You shift your body so that your leg rests between his thighs, and you both are kneeling on the mattress. You groan in the kiss, your free hand trails his clothed abs. He whines at your touch, the veins in his hands pop as he shifts his attention to massage the fat of your ass with both hands. Your body jolts at the sudden gesture, causing friction between Art's thigh and your sensitive bud. You moan instinctively, lips parting from his. A quiet whine of absence leaves his lips, his eyes glare lewdly at you."Do that again." he presses, guiding your hips to move forward. You groan at his words, bucking your hips up to achieve that friction once again. Art remains silent, his grip on your hips tightening each time you move back and forth, the lining of your athletic shorts is the only barrier between skin. "Art-," you breathe, "Fuck." your head falls into his shoulder, your hands resting neatly on either side. He winces when your knee promptly grazes his cock. "Please Art-" you slur, the warm feeling in your stomach is replaced by a tightness, Art needily rocking your hips on his thigh, quiet whimpers of approval every time you moan at the slightest change in pace.

(not proofread + im cooked) 👩🏽‍🍳🥰

[lilozzzyo3569]

Stay Still

Summary: Bucky Barnes comes back from a mission, and instead of going straight to the shower decides to come see you first Warnings: MDNI, female reader is smaller then Bucky, I don't own this man (but I guess I wasn't meant to be happy), General fluff, Bucky is touch starved, you got this man in the palm of your hands *wink*

Bucky had just made it back to tower and was just happy the "mission that wouldn't end" was finally over. The mission ended up being successful but not before he damaged his arm. He was covered in god-knows-what and all he wanted to do was see your face.

You and Bucky have only been together for a short while but originally became close in Wakanda. You are friends with Shuri and helped her with her manipulations of Vibranium. She was actually the one that asked you to help her work on Bucky's arm as well as to reprogram him. That was how the two of you met and after spending so much time together decided to date.

When he decided to move back to the tower he begged you to come with him and how could anyone say no to those eyes. So fast forward to now you are in your shared king bed trying stay awake wearing his dog tags and one of his shirts and a tiny pair of shorts waiting for Bucky to come back to you when you hear your door open. Bucky calls out "Doll? Are you awake?" You smile and jump up out of the bed to go hug him, when you stop dead in your tracks after seeing him. "What the fuck happened to you?" He sighs deep and says "what didn't happen, I messed up my arm and I just Ugh-" you interrupt him saying "hey it'll be okay, we can fix your arm but first lets get you into a hot shower, while I fix your arm"

Bucky is in the shower when you finish fixing his cleaning his arm before you start to fix it when you hear him grunt in frustration. You put his now clean arm down and run into the bathroom. "Baby what's wrong?" you stand on the outside of the shower curtain when he responds with irritation "I can't wash my hair with one arm UGH!" he sounds angry so you gently tell him "well how about you just finish showering and then I can wash your hair?" He is quiet and happy that you can't see him start to blush when he says "Are you sure?" making you giggle "Of course plus it's going to take me a minute to fix your arm, so this way you won't have to wait."

Bucky finishes his shower and puts on a pair of soft low hanging grey sweats. Now you're the one blushing, you and Bucky had only gone as far as cuddling, holding hands and a forehead kiss now and then. With his past trauma you didn't want to ever make him feel pressured to do anything physical. Upon seeing him you smile as he still looks a bit frustrated as he comes back into the bathroom. "So how do we do this?" You smile as you sit on the edge of the bathtub advising him to sit in the bathtub and rest his head in your lap as you start to detangle his hair with a comb. You take the shower head down and rinse his hair before gently massaging his scalp and shampooing his hair. You spend maybe a bit longer than necessary doing this because this is the most physical contact you two have ever had and it is clearly affecting you both.

Bucky does his best not to moan at the feeling of your nimble fingers massing his scalp and washing his hair. Due to all of his time at Hydra Bucky had issues interacting with the world around him physically which was not a problem until he met you. You were so kind and understanding of him and were always so patient, he doesn't know how he got to so lucky to have you. He does feel a bit self conscious when it comes to anything physical with you. He doesn't want to scare you away, but he wants to be closer to you but has trouble telling you what he wants. But now here he is with his head between your soft bare thighs as you massage his scalp. He worries you will notice his sweatpants getting tighter, but you seem too focused on his hair.

Bucky can barely hold you at night without feeling overwhelmed by your soft skin, your delicious scent, your little hums in your sleep. Bucky always feels so conflicted, he wants to touch you, to feel you, but it has been so long since he has felt this feeling that he doesn't know how to handle it. You gently move his head from side to side to effectively clean his hair, but by doing this it forces his head deeper in between your thighs. You feels him wrap his arm around your thigh making you gasp as he nuzzles into your skin to deeply inhale your scent. You feel his lips press against your inner thigh as you blush and continue to massage his scalp. "Bu-uughh-Bucky are you alright?" He finally lets out the moan he was holding in due to hearing your sweet voice, "I'm sorry doll, you just smell so delicious, especially from down here" Bucky's arm moves up and down you leg as you notice the a very large tent in his sweats. You bite your lip, "Well if I had known that all I had to do was wash your hair to get you nice and relaxed I would've done this months ago. How about we finish washing your hair and then we can go to bed? How does that sound baby?" Bucky nods against your thigh feeling drunk off your scent, as you work to finish his hair.

I have had this stuck in my head since I saw this man long hair! Just had to get this idea out of my head, hope you all enjoy :D

[mead-iocre]

Not Like My Mama! | Viviannne Miedema x Wife!Reader

synopsis: a glimpse of Ducky at her football lessons.

warnings: nothing. just pure fluff

word count: 1.0k

————————————

Viv tugs on the laces of the red and white football boots to make sure they’re secure. She had a strict ritual whenever she tied her boots. She would start by aligning her laces, laying them out flat, ensuring there are no twists. This step is essential to her; any sign of imperfection can unsettle her focus.

Viv would always start with her left boot first. She would pulls the laces tight, securing the boot with exactly three knots. The first knot is a standard criss-cross, pulled tightly. The second knot is a loop, ensuring a firm hold. The final knot is a smaller, tight finish, securing the previous loops. To the Arsenal striker, each knot symbolizes control, strength, and precision. 

But the owner of the little boots she was tying did not care about control, strength, or precision. All she probably cared about was running after the ball, scoring a goal or two, and maybe getting an ice-cream after practice. 

“There you go, Ducky!” Viv pats the little boot before smiling at her little footballer. Her daughter was repeatedly glancing over at the pitch to find her friends, clearly eager to join them. Just like her Mama, Evelyn loved football, and she looked forward to all her weekly lessons where she got to wear her special boots. 

When she notices her slightly distracted daughter, Viv gently palms her cherubic face towards her, chuckling when her daughter whines lowly. “Hey. Look at Mama for a second. I have to go to work soon…”

“Quick, Mama. Ducky go play football!” Evie points a chubby finger at where the rest of her teammates are gathering, shouts of glee and excitement filling the park. Viv can see her wiggling her feet into her tiny football boots in anticipation. 

“Okay, okay” Viv admonishes lightly, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. Her wife usually did Evelyn’s hair– from pigtails and braids– she was far more skilled than Viv at that department. By some miracle, she had someone managed to tame the little girl’s curls into two, even-ish, pigtails– her preferred hairstyle today. She also managed to attach the little ribbon clips that are the same colours as Evie’s football kit to complete the look. Viv is grateful her daughter did not ask for braids otherwise there would’ve been a meltdown that morning. “Right. Have fun then, Ducky! Mama has to go to work, but Mummy will be here”

Evie perks up slightly, already knowing that she’ll be allowed to run over and join her friends in a bit. “Ducky go now!” 

Viv pulls the very excited toddler into her arms for one last squeeze, raining a few kisses all over her face, and revelling in the sweet giggles she gets in return. With one last kiss to her forehead, Viv stands up on her feet and watches her daughter run onto the pitch and greet her teammates. She turns to you, coming back from buying yourself a drink and a pastry from one of the stalls, and gives you one sweet kiss. You exchange goodbyes and promises to make plans for dinner tonight, and then you watch her walk to towards the carpark. 

————————————

The coach gently rolls a ball towards Evelyn. With determination written all over her face, she takes a few wobbly steps forward and swings her foot at the ball. She misses on the first try but quickly tries again, and this time, she makes contact. The ball rolls a few feet away, and her face lights up. She runs after the ball, her pigtails and ribbons bouncing wildly with each step.

For the next half hour, Evelyn is in her element. She chases the ball, giggles with her friends, and even scores her very first goal. You watch your daughter from the sidelines with a proud smile on your face.

Your little footballer, and your wife's mini me

During a water break, Evie is approached by a new teammate. Evie has never seen the girl before, so she reckons she must be new. 

“My Mama’s good at football” Evie turns to the new girl when she speaks to her. Evie learned earlier that her name is Ashley and she had just moved from up north but Evie doesn’t remember the name of the town. 

“Really?” 

“Mmmhmm. She can kick reeeeally far. Like all the way to the Moon!” Evie tilts her head at that. That sounds very far, but her Mama could probably kick it father than that. “but we only play in the garden when she’s not at the hospital working”

Evelyn makes a noncommittal hum, not disagreeing necessarily but not agreeing either “Hmm. So can my Mama”

“There’s Mummy” Evie points you out amongst the group of other parents. With your sunglasses onto of your head, you were wearing a bright coloured t-shirt so your daughter can easily spot you amongst the crowd. You were chatting with the other parents, but your eyes scanning the pitch, keeping an eye out for her. “But Mama is at work”

“Oh. Just like my Mama! But my Daddy is there” Ashley points to a man who is sitting on one of the benches, chatting to someone else’s parent. “Where’s your Mama?”

“Playing football…” Evie stares at her football boots on her feet. They were red and white and given to her by Auntie Leah. She said she bought them because they were Arsenal colours. 

“Oh! My Mama plays football too! Just like your Mama!” 

“My Mama plays football.” Evie emphasis. Turning her head to find you again, partly for reassurance, and also because she was getting slightly angsty because of her new friend. When you catch her eye, you give her a quick wave from where you were seated, pausing your conversation to focus all your attention on your daughter. When she gives you a quick wave back and turns to her friend, you figured all was fine. “My Mama plays for Arsenal"

Evie looks back at Ashley when she begins to speak again. “Just like Mama! My Mama likes Arsenal too! She likes the colour red very much” 

“No.” Evie stomps her red and white boot once, flattening the grass beneath her boots. She narrows her eyes slightly at her new friend. She didn’t like Ashely anymore. She didn’t get it, she didn’t understand.  

“Not like My Mama. My Mama is Vivianne Miedema”

Short and sweet. I was inspired (and currently have a case of baby fever) so wrote this in like 30 minutes, and have not spelt checked/grammar checked it throughly lol.

next couple of fics will all be leah fics so I wanted to get one more non-leah fic out before I overwhelm you with so much leah w. x reader, so stay tuned for those!

-- butter.

[gojoshooter]

hewoo! sorry for bothering u, but I'm just really into sukuita and humm... maybe u could write something about how sukuna loves to have his little brat yuuji sitting on his lap? just if u want of course! god I love those two so much😭💕

Suku-nii's Best Boy

an. with my returning sukuita fever i present you this lil hybrid fic ;) hope you like it @wukxon

Tiger!Cub Yuji in his big brother Tiger!Hybrid Suku-nii ’s lap, all sobby and snotty as he complains of his ongoing teething process.

-

The little Tiger!Cub Yuji had been found by his aniki on the kitchen floor, whines spilling out his tiny babbling mouth out of discomfort when Sukuna comes to check up on him.

Big brother Sukuna wasn't the type to hoist a little cub up on his hip and coo to lul him quite, instead just propping him up on his feet by his underarms so his little yuji stands in front of him instead. The action reduces the cub's sobbing into sniffling, as he peeps up at Suku-nii with big watery golden-brown eyes.

Sukuna bends his knees to come closer to his tiny brother's height, inspecting while pulling his cheek “Huh, what is it little snot?”

“...hurts” Yuji pouts, water brimming the brink of his doey eyes again when he projects baby arms towards his big brother, making grabby hands. “Chuku-nii... uwp” his pout too big for a more coherent sound.

Now—Tiger!Hybrid Sukuna knows he's a tough man, but he would rather die than not scoop his little brother Yuji who pleads his comfort so purely, which he does a moment and a sigh later. Sukuna saunters to the couch, bothered Yuji clutched to his side.

“Where does it hurt,” the little cub now seated in his lap, Sukuna wipes the tear streams off his little brother's fluffy-soft fat cheeks “tell me brat?” his tone softer than his words.

“Aa!!” Yuji opens his tiny mouth, an acusatory finger pointed towards his small buccal cavity. The bigger feline hums, taking the smaller one's face in his palms—thumbs pushing on the cheeks to pry open his mouth wider. Little pointy canines could be seen halfway out into joining the cub's set of teeth.

Sukuna frowns, gently pressing on one of the cub's canines causing Yuji to flinch away with an angry whine. The elder hums again in confirmation, cupping Yuji's sulky face and dragging it closer. He's teething—Sukuna concludes. The elder bounces his seated tiny body on his knees for distraction.

He brings a finger near the younger's mouth, pushing it slowly on the cub's lips for him to take. “We will get some toys for your sore jaw, 'dori.” he grins watching his troubled little Yuji who depends on him so much.

Tiger!Cub Yuji nibbles on his Aniki's finger, leaving small tents of his canines and droll on the skin. His tiny palm forgetting to loosen the grip to his Suku-nii's shirt.

Sukuna might have a hunch or so for why his little brother has gotten more attached to him rather than their any other relative or friend—who comprehensibly wanted Yuji's attention more than him,, but he never really understood.

Whatever the case... he has already grown affectionate to the stinkingly adorable and clingy brat in his lap for life is what he knows.

masterlist! sukuita hcs!

an. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AAAAA😭 hope y'all like it, thank you for reading, likes & rbs are appreciated <333

tags. @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts @dianagracesworld @pupkashi

[t34-mt]

I'm sorry if this is a silly/fairly obvious question, but do mierthri and kyhuine babies/chicks look similar? They are very cute babies. I want to give a kiss to their tiny heads (with consent of baby and parents of course)

Also do mierthri babies do the wing flapping thing baby birds do? Thanks!

i cant tell if you're aware that they're ugly as babies, i think they're cute in my opinion as a bird fan

but yes mierthri kyhuine hatclings are different!

they're much smaller than the non-gliding species, which are already small and can easily fit in your palm. mierthri kyhuines only have 3 functional fingers while the fourth is elongated for the wing structure, but even then mierthri fingers are not good at manipulating objects. manipulation is through the mouth and feet for them. They're born with more fuzz on average and have shorter tails, ierthri kyhuines faces are also more narrow.

my malicious mold!

[loquarocoeur]

btw do you notice the difference between charles's and max's hands or is it just me going insane over this

because charles' hands are so veiny and big (cue how he held baby leo) and max's are a bit small and delicate and soft compared to his whole stature AND did you see how their hands look clasping with each other

sorry im having some very intense feelings im sorry

HELLO omg no, I also have very intense feelings about this and I don't think we talk about it enough!!!

I was actually having a whole pinterest spiral about this the other day, but it was during my self imposed tumblr ban, so I had to suffer alone, but I can yap today, and let me use this ask to do so

Okay, okay, okay so:

Call me delusional, I don't care, but you can kind of see the difference here in this picture with how they're holding their hands, especially with the veins and fingers

I'm telling you Charles' hand is bigger than Max's, I swear, I think Max just has longer fingers and it throws you off a bit

But Max just has these delicate, pretty little hands and I don't think this fandom talks about that enough, because it's not very top Max coded of him, and there aren't enough of us modern thinkers out there, but I'm here and I can and will talk about Max's pretty hands, and you will listen!!

Because LOOK

Look at his long, thin fingers and the tendons on the back of his hands looking so thin, and somehow his knuckles are just so ridiculously dainty

He just has hands made for shiny things, and he never wears any rings or bracelets, he's always just walking around with them criminally naked like this

But now look at Charles' hands, perpetually bedazzled as they should be of course, but oh my GOD

Because no just look at his palms are so much broader and he's got very noticeably thicker fingers that Max I'm telling you LOOK

It's just asdfghjkl, the forearms, the wrists, the watches, the bracelets, the VEINS

And I feel like we never get a good picture of them doing the handclap, but this one from Monza is so good.

Like look at how Max's hand is just swallowed by Charles'!!!

Like okay, call me ridiculous and delusional, and maybe these specific pictures are a bit research biased, but I don't care, this kind of delusion is an essential practice in fandom shipping to me

But idk, there's just something about how every part of Charles is just a little bit smaller than Max except his hands, (unless we talk about shoulders, but that's a whole different spiral)

He's just one centimetre shorter, he's just a tiny bit leaner, no matter how ripped he gets, I think Max's biceps will always be just a bit bigger than Charles', but his HANDS.

And there's also just something about how Charles never gets his fists out for anything, but in the mad max era especially, but kind of now even, Max is always two seconds away from throwing a punch even if he has hands that just aren't made for that kind of thing

I don't know, in that last picture especially, it looks like Charles' hand just swallows Max's whole

I need them to compare hand sizes right now. For science. And gayness. Mostly gayness

[coryosbaby]

mmmmmmh i wanna teach coryo how to suck dick w sejanus as my toy to demonstrate and coryo and i make out w sejanus' tip between us

Just like Candy

content warning . 18+, mdni !!

note: idk if u wanted dom Sejanus but omfhgg i couldn’t stop thinking ab sub sej and sub coryo in this im literally rocking back and forth ab to rip my hair out bc why r they both so fine

Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth are two big, intimidating men. At least, at first.

Though Sejanus is the sweetest angel he can be, his large stature is quite intimidating. Coriolanus is the smaller of the two, but the way his cold blue eyes stare into your soul as he talks gives you the impression that he’s a lot more dangerous than he lets on.

Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth are two big, intimidating men. And you have them completely at your mercy.

One of them—Sejanus— sits up against the headboard of your pretty pink bed. His girthy cock is sitting proudly against his stomach, the tip leaking drops of precum down his shaft. The other boy—Coriolanus— sits on his knees, watching as you take the other boy’s member into your hand. He watches curiously, examining. Today you’ll teach him how to make a man cum.

“Start slow.”

Your voice is gentle, but doesn’t stray away from being strict, too. Coriolanus— Coryo, as you like to call him— bites his lip shyly as he takes in his best friend’s impressive length. Coryo’s cock is average, maybe a bit bigger, but Sejanus’ is quite intimidating. He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to fit it all the way into his mouth.

He listens to you anyways. He knows what he himself likes, so he starts with that. Hesitantly, gently, he peppers small kisses along the tip of the other boy’s cock. Sejanus, ever the shy boy, lets out a whine before tilting his head back against the headboard. If he looks down and sees his gorgeous friend touching him, he’ll cum instantly.

Coryo makes sure to feel the skin of Sejanus’ cock on his lips, get used to the feeling of stringy precum coating them. He takes in this new, heady scent— Sejanus’ scent— and groans. His cock humps the sheets, desperate to get friction.

“Good,” you praise, your fingers wrapping around the boy’s blonde curls. “Doing so good, Coryo. Sejanus, why don’t you spread your legs some more, honey?”

The brunette obeys, spreading his thighs so Coryo can slot himself more in between them. You move to Sejanus’ side, your hand grabbing ahold of his to comfort him. He shoves his face into your neck, lets out tiny whines and gorgeous pleas.

Coryo’s tongue peeks out, just a bit. It lands on soft, engorged skin. He swirls it around the head, sticks the tip of his tongue into the slit. He tastes precum— warm, liquidy, salty. He likes it. He wants more.

He goes in too quickly. He downs Sejanus’ cock in one go, and the other boy whimpers, his hips surging off the mattress, as Coryo almost presses down against the base.

Almost. He sputters, his throat contracting, and drool spills out of his mouth as he quickly pulls up. You chuckle, reaching out to stroke his cheek as he recovers.

“I told you to go slow, remember?” You say. “Why don’t you try to take half first, hm? Maybe that’ll help, sweet boy.”

Coryo flushes, embarrassed. He uses his wrist to wipe his mouth. When he looks up at Sejanus, the boy is looking down at him for the first time since Coryo had touched him. He feels Sejanus’ cock twitch when he gazes into those sweet doe eyes and slips the warm member into his mouth again. He doesn’t break this intense eye contact, instead deciding to use it to his advantage. His palms splay across Sejanus’ thighs, watching the boy’s pretty face contorted in pleasure. He slides his mouth down halfway, pulls back up again. Coryo can see the way the boy’s thighs shake.

Sejanus speaks for the first time, something coherent. He mumbles your name, pulling you closer to him.

“Want you, too,” he sighs, burying his face into your neck. “Want your mouth, please?”

You smile, your lips grazing his neck as you press a soft, sweet kiss into it. You slide down next to Coryo, and he looks over at you and pulls off slowly.

You both seem to have the same idea. Your tongue lolls out and dances across the base of Sejanus’ cock, experienced and invigorating. Coryo’s tongue begins to clumsily run along the vein protruding down the middle.

When your tongues both meet, Coryo lets out a moan, desperately lapping at your tongue, Sejanus’ dick, anything he can get. Sejanus watches with fascination, his cheeks flaring, and he can feel his balls beginning to tighten from his upcoming orgasm. The salty taste of Sejanus on Coryo’s taste buds makes his eyes roll back, and Sejanus lets out a loud cry as he cums.

A smile dances across your lips, and you and Coryo fight with your mouths to see which one catches most of the boy’s creamy spend. His hips fuck up against the both of you, his hands deciding to grab onto Coryo’s blonde locks. The boy moans out, letting Sejanus glide his tip up and down the boy’s cum coated mouth. You pull away, licking your lips, and move your hand down to Coryo’s aching member. You begin to stroke him, rewarding him for getting his tummy full, and he collapses against Sejanus’ thigh. The brunette boy looks down tiredly, hand still in Coryo’s hair, and watches with a watering mouth as you bring the other to completion.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

cw: angry (unprotected) sex, afab reader, ungodly amount of tension, some dirty talk. you’re fucking viktor after a fight with him. that’s it. pretty much plotless — just some poetic filth written on a whim (well, i tried, at the very least). very, and i mean very poorly proofread — but i’ll fix that a bit later.

word count: 1850~

“Fuck you.”

It’s a clumsy, uncoordinated thing — hissed through gritted teeth and suffocatingly stinging exhales — a threat you spat out with the sole purpose of poisoning, of mingling gall with thick saliva and shoving it down that pretty throat, secretly aiming for the heart instead; if only he possessed such a thing, that is. 

The arrogant prick pants into the havoc of tangled tongues and bleeding bottom lips, the inviting stretch of his mouth utterly helpless against the sharpness of tortuous canines — you’ve crossed the line where a kiss turns into a bite, choking each other with liquid sounds and gawky clashes of teeth. 

He grins into the sweet heat of you, forces a wheeze out of what feels like the very depth of your lungs, and a pair of narrow hips nails a resonant snap into the pliant curve of your ass. 

“No,” he shakes that irritatingly wise head, “no, I suppose— ah,— that’s my job.”

Damp foreheads press against each other in an angry search of proximity, eager fingers gagged to crawl under his scalp, pulling at those disheveled strands with desperation — as if trying to find an entrance into Viktor’s very brain — to rearrange it in whatever way he does it to your guts and dignity. 

The handfuls of you — well, the weight of one breast and still burning under his handprint hip, to be precise — were melting. He reduced your body to a hundred sensitive pieces, demerging something whole and coherent you were presenting before he first had you in his damned bed. He dragged you in, acquaintening with exceptional filth he’s capable of producing — and you hated just how much better having his mouth on you felt than merely shutting it in ways that involve rivalry.

“Oh, save it,” you lick the metallic taste of him off the sharp angle of his chin — tongue wiping a glistening stripe in a rush to destroy the tiny evidence of your a little overly enthusiastic nibble, but Viktor — oh this utterly revengeful creature — brings a cruel palm to the smaller of your back, demanding you bend in half for him. Demanding you drown your face in the pillow as he fucks from behind; sweetly humiliating and sloppily hard — it’s the kind of sex making you arch in whatever ways you can manage. And so your spine forms just that delicious curve, slightly changing the angle of penetration — and Viktor moans a quiet curse, somehow pulled even deeper into the divine warmness of your pretty cunt, tip buried so deep inside it you might have to arch even more — to avoid the not so pleasant experience of it roughly slamming against your cervix. 

His thrusts are precise; well-aimed enough to benefit from that slight curve of his cock, had your spite for him drooling onto the sheets, each moan sweeter than the previous one. He stiffens for a split second; most likely to reposition the sore knee into a softer gap of the mattress, and you whine at the loss of him, hips wiggling backwards in a needy seek of his girth. Involuntary vulnerability — all squints, and flushed cheeks, and threatening ‘pleases’ — the embodiment of impatience. 

He laughs. He fucking laughs, letting a sly hand crawl under you, then dive in between widely parted thighs, and his fingers snake down your navel, travelling lower, preciser, filthier — just where you throb for them, just where you need assistance to collapse boneless onto the mattress. It’s a compromise, of sorts — an apology to your abandoned for a few minutes clit, and you’re shamefully thankful for it, awarding Viktor with a single, reluctant ‘yes’. 

“My, such impressive… eagerness. I almost feel flattered,” Viktor quips, but a jab earns him just a single furious glance thrown over your shoulder. “I wonder just how frustrated you’d get if I were to leave you unsatisfied.” 

You scoff. “That would be an ultimate guide for never sleeping with me again.” 

That lie is half-assed, unconvincing. Your tongue betrays you — oh that pathetic excuse of a nimble muscle; and you decide to quit relying on it for verbiage in his bed. And his desk. And his workshop. Though that part required reticence nonetheless. Both in moans and semantics. 

Viktor doesn’t comment on the treacherous stumble of your words or the pitifully quivering delivery. You’re gagging to note that he’s losing his grip, but he proves you wrong — letting two deft hands grab your waist, then sinking back into you. No, his grip is as sturdy as ever — digging into your skin, pulling closer, sliding inside with ease; cunt an embarrassingly wet mess wrapped around him tight enough to strangle. 

He’s a quick learner — even quicker now that he has to keep up with you, to chase the frantic pace you’re setting, to not get too distracted with the waves roaming all over the skin of your ass whenever it hits his pelvis, offering a delicious view of just how perfectly you swallow him to the hilt. 

“Are you threatening me, miláčku?” he’s chasing your skin like a man starved to death — desperate to lick, to touch, to devour, chest falling flat on your back — narrow, and flushed, and sweatslick, ribs digging under the space of each one of your shoulder blades. It’s a cry for proximity — a literal one, vibrating against the nape of your neck when he sharply thrusts forward, hips jerking upwards to become one with you, rapidly trembling fingers circling your clit hard enough for it to be sweetly sore in the morning. 

“Ah— Yes,” you gasp, abandoning your attempt to master a dangerous enough warning, “yes, I am threatening you.” 

“I see,” it comes out of him choked up — almost equally breathless to your pathetically rushed outburst. “Then I shall refrain from — mh,— tormenting you. I would grow quite miserable if you decided to rid me of sojourning my favorite place in the world.” 

Your fucked out brain short-circuits, clearly reduced to its most primitive state; you’re going to cum and you need to dig your fingers into something — anything, eyes roaming all over the messy bed, choosing your victim — but your options are limited either to tangled sheets or a handful of Viktor’s hair. You instantly pick the latter — just as eager to touch him, to ignore the sharp angle your arm caught when it reached for him, grabbing the back of his neck and pressing his face to yours, thick eyelashes tickling your damp temple. It’s a distorted position; all contorted limbs and pre-orgasm spasms — can’t have him pounding you from behind and licking into his mouth in the meantime; but it doesn’t stop you from at least trying. You turn your head to whatever extent possible, pulling at the havoc of dark hair, struggling to cage his tongue into the sweet lock of your lips. 

“What- What did you just say?” your tone is demanding; urgent. You’re almost halfway through your climax, and he knows it — feels it when you clench around him hard and tight, lavish slick drying between parted thighs. 

“I- I meant… you. My favourite place in the world is… inside you. And I would hate to upset you in any, ah, way—” but you don’t listen past that part. Oh no, you don’t let that man ruin you any further — which, at this point, would be beyond recognition — and your tongue attempts to crawl into his mouth again, fingers tangling a rough tug into a handful of chestnut strands. 

“Kiss me,” you plead, hot and breathless against his lips — a sloppy thing, open mouthed and trembling. “Viktor, please, kiss me.” 

The last syllable rolls off your tongue straight into his throat — Viktor is at your whim even before you managed to form that request, suckling swells into your bottom lip with an occasional whimper — shy and gentle, just so utterly him — arousingly subtle, flavourful, nimble. Heavy on the nimble part, since the mere presence of him in your mouth helped you capture your undoing — beautifully clumsy; wet hot pleasure running down shaky legs — a mess of arching hips, pretty foreign swears and swollen under the thorough touch of his fingers clit. He broke you like he was made for it, vowing to never stop, to never let that weary wrist pressed above your clit rest — you’ve deemed him worthy of being the one whose cock you cum around, and Viktor — so intelligent, incorrigible, yours — would never waste such a privilege. 

He does, however, regret his greediness when his own orgasm impatiently reminds him of its approach. It had him moaning your name almost deep enough to sound devastated — and that he was, in a way, uttering one last hissy curse into that bruising kiss before abruptly pulling out, frantic fingers rushing to be wrapped around his width. Your vision — blurry, incompetent and drunk on bliss — still allowed you a pretty view of him pumping that throbbing cock, its heaviness palpable on your lower back even in this state of divine afterglow. 

He came to the sight of you — still bent over, half-lidded, ruined. Painted your skin in his release yet still stared at you in the most beautiful awe ever, amber eyes radiating complete devotion — so sweet and picturesque, cheeks the softest shade of pink as he cried, cumming on your pretty back — a pair of hot tears rolling down his face as you let him pour himself on your very body.

Rushed, unexpected climaxes — one might even assume they probably lacked in gentleness. And perhaps they would have — if only it wasn’t Viktor you’re fucking tonight; hands just as tender as they’re exhaustive. He collapses beside you — still careful, invariably contemplative, gaze needled into your face looking for any signs of remaining anger; touch explorative, approbatory. Lazily slipping underneath you and pulling closer, inviting into a loose knot of limbs — and you allow it, letting your hand wander to languidly count his ribs, then stopping to deliver an occasional tickle. 

He hums and tucks you under his chin. Probably hinting at a truce. A temporary one, at least. 

“I’m still mad at you though,” you decide to inform him, letting a curious index finger press into his dark nipple — earning yourself a quick yawn and a crooked little smile. 

“Hm, are you really?” he insists — the ever attentive devil, always catching that particular tremble of your words. He did a great job in fucking you stupid and now demanded you admit it: the fight is over, you’re appeased and completely witless. 

But you don’t budge. Not this time. You’re not any less vengeful and always so persistent on dragging the cheekiness out of him — either with fighting or with fucking. Both were equally entertaining nonetheless. 

“Yes. Really,” you finally reply, submitting to the chain reaction and yawning back, rubbing the watering eyes with a free from pinching at Viktor’s chest hand. 

“Hm, how inconvenient. In that case, I must’ve failed as a lover.”

“How so?”

“Well, my only intentions were to leave you senseless enough to forget about the incident. And, well, since you’re still perfectly capable of being spiteful—“ 

“How about you shut up before I smother you in your sleep?” 

[owlf45]

romance me with mosquito facts

mosquitoes, when in a condensed enough space, sound like gentle rain.

i work with a specific mosquito species, called the aedes agypti, which carries diseases like dengue virus, west niles virus, and yellow fever. the males are generally smaller than the females, though emerge into adults sooner. you can tell the difference between males and females by the fluffy antennas of the males.

gay mosquitoes everywhere.

mosquitoes tend to be social, if stupid creatures. if you stick two mosquitoes alone in a cage, they probably wont chill (and wont mate). it's just not their style. this is especially frustrating when trying to set up specific genetic crosses.

although i never met them, there used to be a researcher at the lab who did the most batshit stuff. we keep our mosquitoes in mesh cages, so they can't escape but they can feed through the mesh (so we don't have to reach in and out of the cages and potentially let some loose). this old researcher used to grab the morning newspaper, roll up his pants, collapse in a chair and settle his calves over the mesh cages for literal thousands of mosquitoes to feed from him. for hours. i want to meet this man so bad.

mosquitoes are stupid and annoying and prone to killing themselves akin to a goldfish constantly getting stuck in a filter. but strangely enough, you grow to love them. they are simultaneously fragile and durable, easily discernible and difficult to hunt. you can tear their hind legs off and put them through shock a few times and they'll be fine, but a single finger will smush them (quite inconveniently, when you know that bitch could've moved!).

directly after bloodfeeding a female mosquito, if you kill her—often by clapping her directly between your hands (female mosquitoes are the only ones to bloodfeed)—the blood will still be warm.

although i dont screen larvae for traits as often as I used to (I tend to do more database/mosquito caretaking work now), certain gene-linked traits can be found physically in the larvae and pupae stages—sometimes they glow bright blue/green under fluorescent lighting, for example.

like I said though, i mostly work with caretaking. i do the bloodfeeding, i replace their food and water, and i make sure they're in good health and can lay eggs on a proper surface. the mosquitoes under my care live for about a month and a half, though if they're still alive by the time we need to hatch the next generation, we simply fridge them and kill them off. put mosquitoes in the fridge for a few minutes and they'll go to sleep. put them in for a few hours, and they'll usually die— we keep them in for 24 hours to make sure, though.

mosquitoes are difficult to contain. compared to other biochemistry departments, you have tiny creatures that are mobile and can fly, and can't always be seen by the average person unless they're specifically looking for it. I've worked in microbiology labs before, but if there was contamination, it was solely on the researcher. contamination from a loose mosquito is hard to track. this is all to say that I work in a bunker—double doors, minimal vents, no windows.

mosquitoes are the deadliest animals in the world. mosquitoes kill over a million people a year (hence my research). i sit in the back of the bunker sometimes, in the side warm room where we keep our cages of mosquitoes, hundreds of different genetically modified lines in progress at a time, and I have blood on my palms— blood that I fed to my subjects before I squashed them because they escaped from their cages, and I think about the fact that for over 200 lines of this species, I grow them from eggs to adults to death and hatch their offspring again and again and again. i think of lovecraftian horror and I hear gentle rain and remember images of war that keep me up late at night, and I wonder what's the point, for a few numbers in my bank account, and then another mosquito has gotten loose and lands on my arm and doesn't bite me, because it's already full; because i already fed it; because it's just looking for a small, dark place to rest in the folds of my jacket.

mosquitoes love to hide on black surfaces.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Too Early

A/N: This is entirely the fault of @smw-on-kamino. We were chatting about Crosshair’s cuddling style (my personal HC: he’s very undemonstrative in public, but in private, he’s like Velcro), which led, inevitably, to thots.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (Fem, has hair and smaller hands than Crosshair)

Rating: M (mature contented intended for adult audiences; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: fluff; SMUT; sleepy morning sex; fingering; nipple play; PIV; creampie; biting; no kissing on the mouth bc morning breath is a deadly thing, yo.

Summary: It's just smut. Soft, grumpy, morning smut. In the kitchen. Like you do.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: ISO Gamma Super by Ellis Brooklyn (soft woods, crisp sheets, skin musk)

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Your eyes adjusted slowly to the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Outside the open window, the only sounds you could hear were the quiet rustle of wind in the leaves, the distant crash of waves on the beach, and the chattering of countless moon-yos as they frolicked through Pabu. 

It was early.

Too early to wake up on a Benduday, you thought.

You rolled over as silently as possible, trying not to disturb your bedmate: a task not easily accomplished, considering his tendency to sprawl across the entire bed, draping his long limbs over you like a blanket. A tiny smile tugged at the corner your lips as you watched him sleep, your gaze drifting over him in the dim light, taking in the contrast of the crisp white linens against his warm, brown skin. His silver curls were tousled and wild, and judging by the rumpled bedding tangled around him, he must have had another restless night.

The temptation to kiss him awake was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to rouse him now that he was finally getting some sleep, so after admiring him for a few moments, you slipped out of bed, pulled on some pajamas, and crept out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Far too early to wake up on a Benduday, you thought again as you ground your palms into your eyes, then headed to the kitchen. You began to assemble the makings for caf and immediately realized you’d need to grind fresh beans. Maybe he won’t hear it? From my lips to the Maker’s ears, I suppose.

You winced at the obnoxious grating of the caf grinder, but mercifully, it was over quickly, and you thought perhaps you’d managed it without disturbing him. The water heated at last, and as you poured it into the caf press, you heard a soft footfall behind you, and then he slid his arms around you from behind. He grumbled quietly, burying his face in your hair.

A smile crinkled the corners of your eyes as you leaned back against him, resting your hands on top of his. You should have known better than to try to escape your bed without paying the cuddle tax. Crosshair liked his routine, and that routine began every day with holding you.

“Good morning,” you murmured as he continued to nuzzle your hair and neck.

“Mm,” he grumbled again, apparently not yet capable of forming words.

He pulled you tighter against his lean body, and his hands began to wander over you, tracing down to your hips, up your belly, between your breasts to caress the side of your throat, and back down again. The nuzzles turned to kisses, and he worked his way down from your hair, to your ear, down your neck, and across your shoulder, slipping the strap of your top off your shoulder and out of the way.

“That feels nice,” you whispered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder.

His only reply was a soft growl as his left hand teased beneath the waistband of your pajamas and his right hand slid beneath your top to cup your breast and brush his thumb over your nipple. As his fingertips grazed over your clit and dipped into your pussy to find you already heated and slick with desire, he inhaled sharply. You felt the heat of his lips and tongue on the nape of your neck, the soft graze of his teeth on your skin sending shivers through your body and making your nipples harden against his palm.

He sank his finger into you and pulled your body more firmly against himself so you could feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your ass. A tiny moan escaped your throat as his long, lovely fingers played with your cunt, sliding languidly into your body again and again as he worked you open with a patience and skill that made you wonder just how long he’d actually been awake. 

His breath was rough and warm against your skin; his kisses roamed over you, tasting and savoring with thorough and unhurried attention to detail. Your hands drifted back to slide up his thighs, and you eased his pajama pants down his narrow hips and wrapped your fingers loosely around his cock. He thrust subtly into your hand with a soft groan, and his hand on your breast tightened for a moment, then slid down your waist. A quick tug, and your pajamas slipped down to puddle around your ankles.

He traced his hand up your body to your shoulder, then down your arm, until he reached the hand you had wrapped around him. His hand closed around yours, and he guided you over his length with a slow, strong grip. He sighed quietly with pleasure, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he worked himself with your hand. You shuddered quietly, biting your lip at the thought of him using your hand like a toy, or an extension of himself, as his strong fingers wrapped around your much smaller hand. You could feel him growing harder, and his cock grazed against your ass, leaving a bead of thick precum on your skin.

“Please,” you whispered. “I need you.”

“Mhm.” The warmth of his breath ghosted on your back as he let out a quiet, lustful sound that sent chills racing across your skin. 

He pulled your hand away from his cock and lifted it to his face, pressing his lips against your wrist, then guiding it to brace against the countertop. His fingers slid out of you, his knee nudged your thighs apart, and he leaned you forward just enough to slide his cock into your slick, desperate cunt. You gasped, pressing your ass back against him to welcome him fully into your body. 

“Fuck—” he grunted against your shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around you again and hauled you upright against his body. He cupped your breasts in both hands, massaging and rolling your nipples between his fingers as he thrust deeper into you, over and over, each movement pushing the breath from your lungs and drawing soft whimpers and moans from your lips. 

“I need more—” you whispered.

His teeth sank lightly into your neck, and he slid his hand from your breast down your belly, pressing his palm flat against you as his fingers circled just over your clit, working insistently as he continued to thrust into you. Pleasure shot through you, and you felt the tension begin to build in your body.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled, kissing your ear. “Pretty fuckin’ girl.”

“Oh—” The sound tore raggedly from you, and his hips stuttered as he heard the note of desperation in your voice.

“Gonna come for me?”

You nodded, your eyes glazed and unfocused with arousal. “Yes, I’m close—FUCK!”

Your orgasm slammed into you, and your vision exploded into a thousand stars. When your body convulsed against him and your legs gave out, his arms tightened around you, holding you securely upright. With a few final, hard thrusts, he followed close behind you, grunting loudly as the hot spurt of his cum flooded deep inside your body. 

He slumped forward abruptly, catching himself against the countertop so he didn’t crush you. His body was warm and heavy against your back as he leaned on you, pressing kisses to your neck and hair.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

You let out a quiet laugh and turned to kiss his cheek. “I think the caf’s gone cold.”

“Mm,” he grunted. “Too early for caf. Let’s go back to bed.”

---

Want more Crosshair? Here’s some hurt comfort and some fluff.

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