#its just a matter of when. and only THEN will he be able to move forward i think. instead of just being stuck the way he is.

[cargopocketcottagecore]

Right. Had a new experience along these lines today. Short version, it went well eventually and I got thanked. Still fucking sucked.

There's someone very close to me who is cis and straight. I'm their first and major touchstone on anything queer, especially anything trans^.

I was asked about "it/its" pronouns. I explained as best as I could as someone who has acquaintances with a variety of pronouns but only goes by "she/her". Used some examples. Yes, it's another thing to remember about a person. So is their favorite movie. File the info in the same place.

Things got a little heated. I shouldn't have started laughing, but this person had moved on to being legitimately *upset* at the idea of trans folks with non-standard names, like "November" (hello.) or similar. I've known folks named after deities, after seasons, after damn near anything in nature. And that was just in the cis/het community.

I pointed out the proliferation of (hyperbolically) "Keighleigh" because people wanted to be unique. Just with trans folks they were the ones choosing, not their parents. And did this person actually know anyone who used pronouns besides they, she, and he? Well,... this one person for a few weeks. Alright, so they tried something out. Ever try a style and realize it didn't fit? Me too. Anyone else? No? Alright, so you're upset about something that doesn't actually affect you.

I finished by pointing out that remembering someone's pronouns (whatever they are) is part of their identity, something to remember about them. This person fucking *hates* onions, and I said hey, you know how you feel when someone includes onions in a dish in spite of knowing you hate them? Or when someone mistakes your name for the gender that you aren't and gives you the wrong honorific (a thing that happens damn near weekly)? You know how much it feels like you don't matter to them when they do that?

That's how these folks feel. And it's at a societal level. I've seen you tear into someone for purposefully calling me "he". Those folks deserve the same, even if it's not what you're used to. No, not that it isn't normal please. That it's new. That you aren't used to it. Like when we say STI instead of STD, or call an STI test negative instead of clean. You've been worried in the past about those tests coming back negative, you didn't want to deal with the implication of being "dirty" or the like.

I saw them slowly wilt. I'm not saying this to brag about dunking on them. As I said above, they're very close to me, very important to me. What I mean is I saw the bullshit-fueled fire evacuate all at once. They got it. They saw the unnecessary outrage.

Then they apologized asked for a hug, and thanked me several times for the patience and for taking the time to explain it to me.

I feel like I need a fucking nap, but I might also have done a bit of good. And hopefully this person is able to better explain to others why trans people aren't fucking weird.

^- Do they have other trans/queer friends? Yeah, but this person doesn't really discuss those things much. Speculation on why is a fucking case study into conservativism, desperate poverty, generational trauma, possible denied introspection, and reactionary political parents I have neither time nor patience for.

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | slight smut chapter

you haven't been able to get off for a while now. every time you try to orgasm, you suddenly get so frustrated and it never happens. even your vibrator was annoying you now. your fingers never reached the right spot anymore. it's like your body just wants something else. something more.

you rise to the notification in your phone.

caleb

you saved my name as just caleb?

thought you liked me more than that, princess

you

i like a lot of things and you're not in that list

jk ill change it

kale 🥬

almost cried but alr

you

get annihilated

kale 🥬

if its by you, gladly

kale??

really???

you

you asked for it

kale 🥬

ouch

you

bye

kale 🥬

bye

"hi," a familiar voice suddenly calls out and you jump from your initial position. "holy fuck, caleb!" you clutch your heart in a dramatic way. "you ended that conversation so quickly, whaddya expect?" he says it in a matter-of-fact tone.

"do you not have mc to bother?" you ask, your brows knit together in faux annoyance. "do you really want me gone?" you notice the sudden shift in his tone, making you feel guilty. you just meant it playfully. "no, no, i was kidding," you try to reason with him.

"that didn't sound like it," he points at you. "you didn't have to be so mean, it hurts my feelings. mind you, you're the only actual human i talk to, you should be a little considerate about that," he explains.

"i'm sorry, i was just a little frustrated today," you explain, making him frown. "what happened?" he asks. "it's nothing, i just need a little time to myself."

caleb raises a brow at this. he notices your cheeks were flushed, your expression looked like you were in a daze and you were looking at his......hands? the entire time you were talking. something was up and he had to know, because it was eating him up inside. could you really blame him?

"fine, i'll talk to you after a few hours. hydrate and sleep until then. keep your phone next to you, i'll wake you up," he instructs. you nod and wave to him with a smile. you take this opportunity to try something new.

you play some music, trying to rile yourself up. caleb could hear everything from his side. you slowly take off your shorts, completely unaware that your phone was still propped up against your bedside lamp, and a certain someone could see everything.

you rest on your back and you lick your fingers, sliding them downwards. you start circling your clit slowly, doing it until wetness builds up near your slit. your fingers move towards your hole that was waiting to feel something. you slowly insert your fingers inside, gasping at the intrusion.

you moan as you thrust them in and out, curling them inside to intensify the pleasure. you grab your vibrator and turn it to the lowest setting. the dim buzz makes your pussy clench in anticipation. you draw it towards your clit, whining when it finally touches it.

the music was blurred into the background, your entire focus was solely on your body, trying to reach the climax you've been chasing for days.

caleb watches you intently, playing with his shaft that was covered in precum. god, you looked so hot right now, he swears he could cum in a minute after seeing you. cold sweat trickling down your temples made everything look even more sensual than it already was.

you increase the vibrator's setting even more, and your moans amplify. you buck your hips at the stimulation, wanting more and more. "oh, fuck!" you cry out loud when your fingers hit that one spot. caleb halts his movements, not wanting to cum before you.

this was what you were so frustrated about. he chuckles internally, thinking how nice it would be if he could take care of you, drinking your sweet moans in while making sure you're too dumb filled with his cock to even think.

your thoughts suddenly shift to caleb, imagining it was his fingers that were inside you and you gasped when you felt your pussy getting even more wet. you increased the pace, feeling a familiar twist in your tummy. you tug at your clothed nipples, drunk on the feeling.

you increase the setting on your vibrator and it becomes overwhelming. "caleb!" you moan out loud. caleb freezes when he hears his name, thinking that you caught him but when he sees that you were still high on pleasure, his eyes never leave you. he smirks to himself. his cock was pulsating in his hand, aching even more after he found out you moaned his name. he wonders if you had done it on other occassions too.

your vibrator and your fingers that you imagined were caleb's were making you come closer and closer to your orgasm. "ah, fuck, caleb," you moan desperately. it finally hits you like a tsunami. waves of pleasure washing all over your body as you twitch at the sensation. your vibrator was now lonely beside you, buzzing as your chest heaves from the intense orgasm.

he lets out soft moans as he fists himself, thinking it was your cunt instead. when you moan his name again, he finally gives in. ropes of cum shot out of his cock, coating his abdomen. sweat coating his soft skin, his ears were red, and he was so down bad.

your entire world was spinning, the pleasure still lingering around. all your senses were overwhelmed, and the music was louder than ever. you flinch as the cold air hit your sensitive pussy.

you freeze when you hear a cough. from your phone. "caleb...?" you call out, praying to yourself that it wasn't him or you were definitely going to jump out. caleb immediately freezes too, realising what he had just done. "d-did you hear anything?" you ask in embarrassment.

"no, i came to check up on you just now, what happened?" he plays it off cool. you sigh loudly. thank fucking lord. "no, i was just wondering," you stray away from the topic. caleb closes his eyes in relief as you bought onto his lie. images of you still playing in his mind. "i'll go back to sleep then," you say softly, earning a hum in response.

fuck, that was close.

[kiesbrainjuice]

— PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ! kuroo tetsuro

➥ pr : kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

➥ syn : he is the first in science while you need a tutoring…it’s serious

➥ wc : 2k

➥ tw : established relationship, insolent reader toward the professor, use of y/n, pure fluff.

➥ a/n : got this idea while listening to Sabrina Carpenter 🤷🏼‍♀️

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as the science professor strode through the rows of desks, handing back graded tests. The atmosphere was thick with tension—students exchanged nervous glances, some even holding their breath as they waited to see how they had fared.

You sat near the back of the room, tapping your pen against the edge of your desk with feigned indifference. Science was not your thing, and you’d been fully aware of that while taking the test. It hadn’t stopped you from throwing out half-hearted answers and the occasional snarky comment in the margins just to amuse yourself.

Two rows ahead of you, Kuroo Tetsurō sat with his signature laid-back posture, long legs sprawled out beneath his desk. He looked utterly unbothered, even bored, as though he had already anticipated his grade and found the whole process beneath him. That confidence of his was something else, but it was one of the things you secretly liked about him—though you’d never admit it out loud.

Not here, anyway.

Your relationship with Kuroo was your little secret. Only Kenma knew, and even that was because Kuroo trusted him with just about everything. Kuroo had insisted on keeping things under wraps; he didn’t want his classmates teasing you or, worse, his swarm of admirers targeting you for “stealing their captain.” You hadn’t minded at first—keeping things lowkey had its perks—but sometimes it was hard to sit back and watch him act like the cocky idiot everyone knew without being able to call him out for it.

“Ah, Kuroo,” the professor’s voice broke through your thoughts. The man stopped by Kuroo’s desk, holding up his graded test like it was a trophy. “Another excellent score. Perfect, as always.”

Kuroo accepted the paper with a smirk, holding it up just enough for those nearby to see the big, red 98 at the top. He leaned back further in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “What can I say? Science is my thing.”

A few students snickered, and the professor shook his head in amusement before moving on.

Your stomach sank as he got closer to your row. Unlike Kuroo, you had no illusions about how this was going to go.

When he finally reached you, he didn’t just hand over the test. No, he held it up for the class to see, the glaring 27 circled in red practically blinding you.

Science wasn’t your thing, and you’d long since made peace with it. Besides, the grade didn’t matter to you nearly as much as the professor’s insistence on dramatizing every low score like it was the crime of the century.

Professor Iida got his sharp eyes narrowing as he placed your paper face down on your desk. But before he even moved to the next student, he cleared his throat loudly, ensuring all eyes turned toward you.

“Ah, and here we have the perfect example of not applying oneself,” he announced with a scathing tone, holding up your test like it was a piece of incriminating evidence. “This,” he continued, shaking the paper, “is what happens when you don’t care enough to even try. Absolutely abysmal!”

The room broke out in muffled laughter, and you could feel eyes darting your way. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, and while it should’ve embarrassed you, it didn’t. If anything, it irritated you—and maybe gave you a little thrill when you thought about the scathing response you were about to unleash.

You leaned back in your chair with an exaggerated yawn and muttered loud enough for the professor to hear, “Wow, Professor Iida, what a dramatic little speech. Are you grading science or auditioning for a monologue?”

That earned gasps from a few students, but one particular sound caught your attention—a familiar, low chuckle. You turned your head slightly, and there he was: Kuroo Tetsuro, sitting a few rows back, slouched in his chair like he had all the time in the world.

He was staring right at you, of course. His amber eyes glimmered with mischief, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to suppress his amusement. It wasn’t working—his grin was unmistakable, teasing, and undeniably smug. He knew exactly what you were doing, and damn him, he was enjoying it.

You shot him a pointed glare, mouthing What? but all you got in return was a slow raise of his eyebrows and a subtle tilt of his head, as if to say, Don’t mind me. I’m just admiring your work.

“Miss l/n,” Professor Iida’s voice snapped you back to reality, sharp as a whip, “if you spent as much time studying as you do coming up with your insolent remarks, perhaps you wouldn’t be at the bottom of the class.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the heat of Kuroo’s gaze on the side of your face. “Maybe if you made the material more interesting, I wouldn’t fall asleep halfway through,” you shot back, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

The class erupted in scattered laughter, and for a moment, you thought the professor might actually combust. Before he could yell, though, someone else drew the attention of the room—Kuroo. He leaned back further in his chair and coughed loudly, his smirk now impossible to miss. His eyes glinted as he looked directly at you, completely unbothered by the professor’s impending wrath.

That teasing look—half admiration, half you’re gonna get in so much trouble—had your blood heating for all the wrong reasons.

You turned fully to glare at him, mouthing, Stop laughing, but Kuroo didn’t. If anything, his grin widened, and he gave you an exaggerated shrug, his expression so smug you wanted to throw your pen at him. It didn’t help that a few of the girls sitting near him noticed and giggled, already whispering about whatever “joke” he seemed to be in on.

“Mr. Kuroo!” Professor Iida barked suddenly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Do you find this amusing?”

Kuroo straightened slightly, his face the picture of faux innocence. “Not at all, sir. I was just thinking how lucky y/n is to get such personalized attention. It’s a rare privilege.”

You almost choked, your eyes snapping back to him. He didn’t even look at you this time—his focus was solely on the professor, his face carefully blank except for the faintest upward curve of his lips.

“Well,” Professor Iida said, narrowing his eyes at Kuroo before turning back to you, “perhaps you’re right, Mr. Kuroo. And since you seem so invested, you’ll be the one responsible for tutoring Miss l/n until she can pass a science exam without embarrassing the both of us.”

The silence in the classroom was deafening. Your stomach sank, but not because you cared about the grade. You knew exactly what kind of opportunity this would be for Kuroo to tease you endlessly. And judging by the gleam in his eyes when he finally turned to look at you again, so did he.

You slumped back in your chair and groaned, muttering under your breath, “Great. Just what I needed.”

But Kuroo only smiled wider, his gaze trailing after you like a hunter zeroing in on its prey. Oh, he was going to have so much fun with this.

—

The quiet hum of the library felt suffocating as you sat across from Kuroo, the table between you littered with books, notes, and a dreaded stack of practice problems. You leaned back in your chair, tapping your pen against the edge of the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm, while Kuroo ignored you completely, eyes glued to the textbook in his hands.

“Alright, baby,” he said without looking up, his tone calm but filled with that ever-present teasing edge. “We’re starting with the basics, because judging by that test of yours, I’d say you skipped straight to advanced slacking.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to rest your chin in your palm as you stared at him. “You’re so dramatic, Tetsu,” you murmured, your voice deliberately soft and honeyed. “We both know this is pointless. I’m just going to fail again so Professor Iida can keep yelling at me.”

That finally earned you his attention. He placed the textbook down and fixed you with one of those smirking, knowing looks that always managed to leave you simultaneously irritated and flustered. “First of all,” he started, leaning forward to close some of the distance between you, “you’re not failing. Not on my watch.”

You tilted your head, letting a sly smile creep onto your lips. “Your watch? That sounds serious, Tetsu. You wouldn’t want your girlfriend dragging down your stellar reputation, would you?”

He huffed a soft laugh, his amber eyes glinting as they scanned your face. “You’re not dragging me down, babe. If anything, you keep things interesting.”

You decided to push your luck, leaning forward even further so that your elbows rested on the table, your face now far too close to his. “Interesting, huh? Is that what I am to you?” Your voice dipped lower as you traced the edge of your notebook absentmindedly with your finger. “You know, I was thinking we could use this time for something… more fun.”

Kuroo didn’t flinch, though the twitch of his jaw betrayed him. “Oh, I’m sure you were,” he muttered, his tone light but his gaze sharp as he straightened in his chair. “But that’s not how this works. You’ve got problems to solve.”

You bit back a laugh and raised an eyebrow. “I have you to solve my problems. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it, baby?” You emphasized the pet name, watching the faintest hint of color rise to his cheeks.

He didn’t falter, though. “Oh, I’m solving your problems, alright,” he quipped, flipping open the notebook and tapping a practice problem with the butt of his pen. “And the first one is figuring out how to calculate molar mass without staring at me like I’m the periodic table of elements.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Did you just—”

“Make a science joke? Yep,” he said smugly, leaning back with his arms crossed, clearly pleased with himself.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Tetsuro, you’re killing me. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend, not my torturer.”

“Wrong. Right now, I’m your tutor. So…” He gestured to the paper again, his smirk widening. “Work, baby.”

The sound of his teasing tone—throwing your own nickname back at you—was enough to spark your defiance again. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re really going to make me do this, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Fine.”

You stood abruptly, and before he could react, you rounded the table and slid into the chair beside him. Kuroo’s smirk faltered for a split second as you closed the distance between you, leaning in so that your faces were barely inches apart. His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but he didn’t get the chance.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or fleeting—it was intentional, a slow press of your lips against his, your hand gently resting on his jaw to keep him in place. For a moment, the library and the books and the stupid practice problems all melted away. You felt the way his breath hitched, the way his body tensed before relaxing into yours, and when you pulled back, his stunned expression sent a thrill of satisfaction through you.

“There,” you whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of his face with your fingertips. “That’s so much more fun than solving equations, don’t you think?”

Kuroo blinked, and for a moment, you thought you’d won. Then, slowly, his expression shifted back to that infuriatingly confident smirk. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping an octave as he murmured, “You think that’s going to get you out of this?”

You stared at him, your confidence wavering as he plucked the pen from your hand and placed it firmly back on the table.

“Nice try, babe,” he said, his tone low and teasing, “but you’ve got ten more problems to finish before I let you distract me like that again.”

Your mouth fell open, and he grinned wider, sitting back with an air of victory.

“Now get to work,” he said smoothly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Unless, of course, you’d rather earn another lecture from Iida.”

“Tetsurooo…”, you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. Kuroo Tetsuro, the smug genius and your secret boyfriend, was going to be the death of you.

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[glossykissies]

i think this was like one of the first scott fics u posted but reader was in college for like fashion design? i think 😭 but anyways reader got a bad grade in one of her classes and scott says she cant touch him cos u cant reward bad behavior!!!

it’s funny because scott thinks he’s handling it the right way.

it’s how he was raised — it’s why he ended up in the working environment he did. his mother was a sweet woman, but his father was hard, never impressed, always pushing scott to achieve more. of course there were times he resented him for being so cold and unyielding, but he supposed he had him to thank for everything. now as a grown adult, scott saw himself in his old man, rearing his ugly head when least expected.

you’d come home to scott, all wired up and manic looking for a distraction. the project you thought you’d been slaving over ended up bringing you your worst grade yet. it wasn’t failable, and you knew you’d be able to pull yourself back — but it was certainly a wake up call. you felt ashamed.

you’d mentioned it in passing to scott as you were toeing your shoes off, thinking that if you treated it as a casual thing, it would be less damning. you were known to work hard, and you’d hate if scott thought any less of you. if there was anyone who’s opinion mattered to you over your professor, it was him.

“— and i’m gonna have to retake that class because i flopped so hard, anyway i had icecream for lunch—”

“hold on.” scott frowns, arms folded over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall, narrowing his eyes at you. “retake the class? explain.”

he makes note of the way you swallow and avoid his eyes as you gather up an excuse. “its fine, i failed the class. its fine.” you shrug a shoulder, and scott stares before shaking his head with a sigh.

“look — i told you, if you’re gonna be here all the time you can’t let it interfere with your projects. i think — i think it’s best if you start spending some weekends from home so you can get back on top of—”

“no!” you bark, eyes wide and desperate, which actually silences him in surprise. you are incredibly quick to adjust yourself, releasing a tense chuckle to let it be known that you were on your best behaviour, smile straining your cheeks and not quite meeting your eyes. “scott it’s not that serious, i swear. i’m passing all my other classes, this happens to everyone atleast once.” you figure your tone is reassuring enough, especially as he doesn’t follow you into the kitchen to make your daily green tea.

you spend a little longer than usual in the kitchen as you sip away at your drink, giving your boyfriend time to hopefully forget about the bad grade you received so you could potentially start the evening over, feeling things were a little chaotic. the hot liquid seems to soothe your nerves momentarily too, aiming to leave the day behind as you eventually slink out into the living room, eeking out your distraction as you join scott on the couch.

he’s watching some kind of documentary, naturally manspreading with that concentrated frown like a man much older than he was. you let a mischievous smile slip as you wriggle up to his side, stroking at his arm. this was nothing unusual from your usual behaviour, so scott doesn’t react — continuing on with his show.

“scotty.” you breathe in his ear, beginning to dot kisses gently along his jawline.

“hm?”

“missed you. needed daddy all day.” you pout as a manicured hand rises to rest on his broad chest before sliding slowly down his stomach toward his belt. you nearly jump out of your skin when he grabs your wrist and moves it away.

“no.” he hums, voice low. you blink your wide eyes at him in confusion — maybe you were just spoilt, because it wasn’t often you heard that word so firmly.

“huh?”

it’s only then scott looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “you think i’m gonna reward you for failing a class? you know, if i had been you — i’d already be at the desk with my laptop out, getting to work so i don’t fail my class again.” he’s stern, and whilst you’re used to his blunt ways you’re stunned by how cruel he was being. to him, he wanted the best for you and this was how he showed it in the moment, but to you it was the ultimate rejection.

it’s unnoticeable to the human eye, but he softens when you’re so quick to submit without argument despite his words, bashfully climbing off the couch to silently grab your bag and head to the bedroom where scott’s desk was. he watches you go, arms crossed — before he sighs, closing his eyes. that wasn’t him, it was his father. you didn’t deserve that.

he thinks up what to say to you, standing up to retrieve you approximately seven minutes later. he finds you at the desk where he suggested, laptop open on an empty document, crying quietly into your hands. scott closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath before starting towards you.

“hey. hey.” his voice is quiet as he scoops you off the chair, replacing you with himself as he cradles you on his lap. “c’mon.” he whispers, feeling you wrack with another silent sob into your hands.

“i’m sorry.” you squeak.

“you don’t have to be sorr—”

“you’re disappointed in me. i’m disappointed in me too i just wanted to forget for a few hours.” you cry like a baby, stripped down to your most vulnerable self and his jaw clenches, mad that he was the one to upset you like this. this relationship shit was harder than it looked.

“hey i’m not, okay? i’m not. i was… hard on you because i think you can be great. okay? i think you are great. most talented girl i know. i don’t wanna get in the way of that, you know?” his large hand slides up your back to pull you closer and he feels you nod.

“i know. i’m sorry i get so upset about stupid stuff. i tried to be a big girl about it. i tried to… start—” you pull away to gesture to the empty document and he breathes out a chuckle, pulling you back to his chest.

“i know. i see… and it’s not stupid. i was mean. you should have kicked my ass.” he shakes his head but hears you giggle against his shirt, likely staining it with tears and mascara.

“next time.” comes out muffled.

“great.” he sarks before pulling you back to mop up your face, trying not to grimace at any snot or drool as he swipes it away with his thumb. “look. get started on… all this tomorrow. i’ll help in any way i can. what do you need right now? hm?” he jogs you on his lap with his knee once to signify that he wants a verbal and decisive answer. you press your lips together, glancing down at his belt once more. “oh yeah?” he confirms in that deep voice that makes between your legs ooze. “still after that?”

you nod, and he squeezes you hip. “alright. i think i can provide.”

[ally1uvsu]

Dream Drabbles | Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu

⨉⠀⠀─⠀⠀Series .⠀›⠀Trans Namgyu Week 2025⠀‎ꪆৎ day 2; Somnophilia — Day 1

·⠀warnings info⠀· NSFW — . wc; 1.4K

summary; Thanos had a particularly draining day at work today, lately, he hasn’t been able to spend time with his boyfriend. But something Nam-gyu said a few weeks prior to today made him quickly change his mind.

info; Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Namgyu is a heavy sleeper, Bottom Namgyu (Squid Game), Top Choi Subong I Thanos, Domestic, Alternate Universe - No Squid Game (Squid Game), Alternate Universe - No One is in Debt (Squid Game), Thanos is a famous rapper (living his dream), Namgyu is in college for law school, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Whining, Theyre so cute I'm going to implode, Penis In Vagina Sex, Trans Male Character, trans namgyu, Creampie, sober Thagyu!!

notes; Hi guys!! Thank you sm for the love in the first day of the series, here’s day two!! Feel free to leave reqs for day three, it can be any genre!! Btw this is not proofread! Tysm and enjoy<33

Work was particularly busy today for Thanos, he sighed as he fell into step towards his car, opening it and turning the keys.

He has been working on a new album, and he barely has any time to spend with his beloved boyfriend, Nam-gyu. Especially when he was so focused on studying for his finals since he went to law college.

A huff left his lips as he looked ahead into the street, fingers basically itching to reach towards his phone and call Nam-gyu.

What stopped him was the late hour as he checked his phone, nearly midnight. It only proved that Thanos had been far too busy with work, he'd definitely talk about it with Nam-gyu whenever they both could sit down and relax.. he hoped tomorrow, since it would be Saturday.

So, instead of calling him, he opened the app connected to his phone, showing images of the cameras they both agreed on setting up in their apartment for safety reasons.

Once Thanos paused on a red light, a small smile found its way into his lips to see Nam-gyu asleep on the bed, the TV turned on into some nature documentary, Thanos didn't quite get why he liked those but he wouldn't question it. Hey, if it made Nam-gyu happy, so be it.

As soon as he saw the shimmer of the green light into the his skin, though. Thanos put the phone away, maybe driving a bit faster to get home and just have a little time with Nam-gyu, even if it meant only cuddling to sleep.

Thankfully for Thanos, it wasn't a long drive. And soon enough, he was opening the door and kicking his shoes off. He moved quietly towards their bedroom, even moving the handle slower than usual as to not make any noise.

A contented sigh left his lips to see Nam-gyu lying under the blankets, face buried into a pillow and belly down. Before anything, however, Thanos got out of his not so comfortable clothing and just put on a shirt comfortable enough for sleeping, not really bothering for undergarments since he normally slept in boxers.

Once he brushed his teeth and made sure everything was okay, he shut off the TV and lifted the blankets slightly, rolling Nam-gyu to face his front. Quite frankly, Thanos wasn't really sure why he was so quiet when Nam-gyu slept like a fucking rock, but still, the intention is what matters, right?

He kissed Nam-gyu's forehead, a hand gripping his waist gently, rubbing circles onto it through his shirt.

Well, once he paid enough attention, he realized it wasn't quite Nam-gyu's shirt. Nam-gyu was wearing Thanos' 'stay at home' clothes.

Not that Thanos minded, he found Nam-gyu to be hot as hell in his clothing, but sometimes Nam-gyu mainly did it whenever they were not really in contact, little things to remember each other. Just like how Thanos wore some of Nam-gyu's rings.

A grunt left his lips, burying his face into Nam-gyu's neck as he pressed a few kisses there, cuddling up to him closer. His skin felt oh so warm, and Nam-gyu looked so fucking handsome while he slept, it's not like Thanos could resist his boyfriend's charm! (Even if he wasn't doing anything at all.)

Only when he pulled away, though. Did Thanos notice his pants were a bit tighter than usual, did he cursed under his breath, Thanos wasn't about to wake up Nam-gyu from his sleep just to have sex with him.. so he'd just have to handle himself.

He was about to leave bed, until a few familiar words rang through his mind.

- "You know, you might as well wake me up while fucking me whenever we're too busy to have intimacy. I won't complain, hell, if anything I'd probably like it." Nam-gyu said jokingly while they had dinner together, it eas a joke but it was without doubt, laced with truth.

"Does that mean I get to do it everyday?" Thanos said, joking back and giggling as Nam-gyu's eyes became wide and his mouth agape. "I'm joking, I'm joking! But hey, you might wake up to that when you least expect it." -

Thanos looked at his sleeping boyfriend, and then bit his bottom lip. Hey, he had consent, maybe Nam-gyu would like it?

Deciding to not ponder on it too much anymore, Thanos swapped their positions once again, having Nam-gyu on his back while Thanos was hovering just above him.

Quickly discarding his boxers, Thanos slipped off the sweatpants Nam-gyu was wearing, same for undergarments. The sight of Nam-gyu half-naked state or naked state in itself never failed to make him starstruck, how could Thanks get so lucky with his boyfriend?

Biting him bottom lip, one of his hands moved over Nam-gyu's body. One held one of his thighs apart from the other grasped his dick in his hand, head ducking down as he nestled his dick right between his folds, a hiss leaving his lips as he thrusted forward slightly, feeling his tip hit the other's clit, causing Nam-gyu to let out a quiet whimper. The bastard was asleep but sure was enjoying this.

Thanos bit down on his bottom lip hard in a particular moment the head of his cock got caught into Nam-gyu's entrance, and he slowly began sliding in. He bit his lip so hard he could taste blood, it took all of his self control to not go in as far as he could at once, he wanted to wake up Nam-gyu as late in the act as possible.

He only stopped biting his lip the second he felt his hips snug against the latter's ass, letting out a shuddering breath Thanos hadn't even known he had been holding. Both of his hands had a hold on Nam-gyu's hips as he began pulling out ever so slightly before slamming back in, giving a few shallow little thrusts to test the waters.

Once Nam-gyu only squirmed a little in his sleep, Thanos began thrusting slow but yet deep. Head pressed against Nam-gyu's neck as quiet (at least in Thanos' vocabulary) as he could.

His stomach did a little flip at the thought of Nam-gyu waking up to this, being pleasured. The thought made his cock throb, and Thanos moaned.

Already giving up on not waking up Nam-gyu, who again, like mentioned, slept like a rock, Thanos began picking up the speed, not bothering to keep quiet as he chased his own orgasm, and that was more than enough to wake up Nam-gyu.

"Su-bong?.. are you home??" Nam-gyu mumbled at first, not catching on what was happening. But then, a few seconds later, he realized it. Thanos was fucking him awake, not even slowly, he was shamelessly fast.

"hhng- ohmygod- su-bong!" Nam-gyu moaned, he already felt so close.. just how long had he and Thanos been at it? He wouldn't question. "You told me you wanted me to wake you up like this," Thanos said as he tried to control his panting voice as his eyes met Nam-gyu's droopy and sleepy gaze, capturing his lips on a kiss.

The kiss was impatient, both of them too pent up and missing each other due to their responsibilities, moans from each other were swallowed, and Thanos' thrusts became sloppier, indicating he's close. Nam-gyu caught on the hint, Thanos' name slipping past his lips in a mix of moans and groans as he touched himself, the stimulation just enough to send him tipping over the edge, gushing around Thanos' dick and his cunt weakly fluttering around it in timed spasms.

Unable to take it anymore, Thanos gave only a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself to the hilt, head pressed firmly against Nam-gyu's neck as he released inside of him.

Familiar hands carded through his hair, and Thanos let out a soft sigh. Pulling out slowly, he lay with his front to Nam-gyu, who looked a tad blissed out but content.

"What the fuck drove you to do this?" The other said with a small laugh, and Thanos shrugged. "I just missed you and didn't want to disturb your slumber." Thanos said before closing his eyes, ready to knock the fuck out.

"Don't be gross, we need to shower." Nam-gyu grumbled, but Thanos held his wrist, leg tangling with his as he trapped him into a bear hug. "Laterr, let's just rest for a bit." Thanos suggested, and was met with a kiss and a nod, maybe fucking Nam-gyu awake wasn't such a bad idea after all.

[inquisimer]

7 or 35 for Arlow from the Rook story prompts, whichever catches your fancy more c:

thank you mo!! going with 7, as it suits a headcanon I've been meaning to write out for a while re: Rook's inability to swim.

Arlow has hydrophobia and water-related trauma, and though she can swim (physically at least) by the time of Veilguard canon, she could not when she originally joined the Crows.

Mind the CWs - in the early days, especially before he is Fifth Talon, Viago is far more focused on ensuring Arlow's survival and usefulness as a pawn than he is on kindness.

7. Rook being taught an important skill

Arlow de Riva & Viago | T | 1460 words | cw: child abuse, hydrophobia, whump

-

She cannot swim. Viago learns this, not because she tells him—for which she will face his wrath later—but because one of the other fledglings teases her for it. She decks him, which is fair, and the trainer brings them both before Viago for admonishment.

He taps gloved fingers on the edge of his desk. Sends the boy off with Heir to learn the value of trust within his House. But Arlow—Arlow he keeps for himself. As always.

“Is it true?”

She’s standing loosely at attention, hands clasped at the small of her back, chin jutted out a bit too defiantly to convey respect. Her gaze is fixed somewhere over his shoulder. She nods, just once.

Of course it is. His question was only a formality—she would not have assaulted the boy over a falsehood, he knows. He made her more resilient than that. Still, his jaw tightens; his lips purse into a thin line.

She is not meant to keep secrets from him. Even by omission. Anything could be a weakness; anything could leave them vulnerable, and she is meant to be the one piece on the board that he can move without thinking—without doubting. He lets his anger bleed into his eyes, into the flare of his nostrils, and he sees her teeth dig into the flesh of her cheek. So, she knows that she is in the wrong.

Of course she does, because she is not stupid. An idiot, and a fool, sometimes, but not stupid, never stupid. They take contracts on, in, and around the water with great frequency. Under the water, even, on the rare occasion. With this, she puts herself at a disadvantage, she puts herself at risk—and by extension, puts him, puts their House at risk.

Unacceptable.

In theory, she could weave spells to breathe and propel herself through the water. But such a thing leaves her vulnerable, in turn, to dispels and Purges and magebane, to simple exhaustion at the end of a fight. More importantly, no mage casts well under the pall of fear—and he suspects that this is not a simple lack of skill, because she knows that he will teach her. Harshly, and with a demand that offers no yield, but he has always taught her, as needed, no matter where her abilities faltered.

No, she kept this hidden, for a reason, on purpose. Concealed carefully for years, which is vexing on its own. She should not be able to hide such a weakness, not from him, not for so long. Concern gnaws behind his careful mask. How deeply embedded must the claws of terror be—in her gut, her throat, her chest—that even knowing the consequences, knowing that eventually her secret must recoil with a snap, she had not been able to unclench the protection her mind had warped around it.

Frustration simmers in his mind as he turns over his options. She would need to learn—to swim, yes, but also that she cannot keep secrets from him. Not of this magnitude; ideally not of any magnitude, but absolutely not one that leaves them so blatantly vulnerable.

Learn is not quite right, though. That lesson has already been taught. She must be reminded. This insubordinate impulse burned away and the instincts of fear replaced by the muscle memory of rote training. He stands, suppressing a sigh.

It will not be pleasant. But it must be done.

“Come.”

She falls into step at his shoulder, not looking half as contrite as he would have liked, though her lower lip pulls into her mouth when he scowls.

He watches her from the corner of his eye. As they walk, she keeps the normal surveillance, checking idly for tails or threats or movements of interest while he winds their way down the roof paths and through the market. In this way, he sees the exact moment when she realizes their destination; her teeth release her lip and her eyes widen, ears flattening against the side of her head. Her fingers tighten around the spellblade at her hip, but she does not stumble, stays in perfect step in his shadow.

Her tongue darts out over her lips. “Viago—“

“No.” The word is steel and sharp and in one syllable it is the verbal whipping she was clearly expecting before. She flinches, and lapses back into silence.

In the shadows farthest from the bustle of the city, there is a dock without any vessels and this is where Viago leads her. Still watching from the corner of his eye, so he sees when she loses control and begins to shake. Little shivers that pass over her from tip to toe, like a breeze rippling through an endless wheat field, as much at the mercy of her fear as the chaff and straw in the wind.

The lapping of the water against wood is not bothering him today, but her ears twitch with each wave that comes to shore. Ignoring that, he stands aside and jerks his head, indicating her to walk ahead of him.

She hesitates, and he glares. Hesitation gets an assassin killed. She knows this, and he knows that she knows how to quash the instinct. That she is receding like this, falling backwards into bad habits, is almost as maddening as the secret that she kept.

The secret that he failed to notice.

He does not move his head again—Viago does not ask for things twice, and Arlow does not need to be told more than once. Not by him. This time she pushes past the hesitation; a thread of relief slips through his anger and frustration.

Her shakes come more violently as his presence at her back forces her forward at a steady pace. Released from her blade, her hands fist at her side and she stares resolutely at the sky, as if keeping the murky, dark waters of the Rialto Bay out of her gaze will remove them from proximity as well. Finally, when the toes of her boots align with the last plank of the dock, she stops.

“Give me your weapons,” Viago orders. Mutely, she unhooks her blade and her focus and passes them to him. “Your leathers, as well.”

Her fingers slip on the fastenings of her cape—not yet the finery of a full-fledged Crow, but a mark of…something, something like security and belonging, nonetheless—and it takes her several tries to strip it and her armor from her skin. Left only in a thin tunic and leggings, barefoot and shaking from the cold now, as well, her toes curl over the wood and she looks back up at the sky.

He does not give her any warning before he pushes her into the water.

Because she is expecting one—he can tell. She thinks he will ask her to jump, force her to take the fear into herself and swallow it, disperse it, tie it away in her gut where it cannot see the light of day. That is what they would have done, had she revealed this to him in the normal course of things, and they had come to this point under different circumstances.

That would have been a lesson. This is the reminder.

There are guildmasters who would find their pleasure here, take this as a hobby rather than a necessity. But Viago’s stomach sinks as Arlow does beneath the water. This is not a pleasure. And it is only a necessity because she made it so.

He glowers at the bubbles that mark her depleting breath, counting a measure of sixty before he lowers his walking stick into the water, handle-end first so that she can see where moonlight catches on the metal snakes, and latch on.

Back on the dock, she sobs and splutters, spitting the bay water out of her lungs and struggling to replace it with air even as fear seizes them. Better here than on a job, he tells himself, schooling the sour taste on his tongue into careful neutrality. Better here than at the mercy of a rival House. Better here than anywhere without him, anywhere that he could not supervise and smooth out this chink in her defenses that she has allowed to fester.

He presses his walking stick into her shoulder and she gasps, winces, turns her eyes—wide and glassy with fear—up to him.

“Viago, please, let me—“

“Do not beg,” he says. Not coldly, not quite, but not kindly, either. Stern, unyielding; like the hands that break a poorly healed bone before it can be properly set. “Know yourself. Control yourself, and you will control this.”

He shoves and she rolls over herself, back into the water once more.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 26

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake making Donnie as scrumptious as possible. What's better than crib flexing? 🤤

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

This one goes out partially to @obstinatejules who actually asked for one thing, but I can't count, so now they get two and this is the first half.That will probably be offset by how heavy the chapter opens so…. Sorry about that 😅

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Trigger Warning: This chapter addresses themes of anxiety, stress, negative body image, and mentions of harming others and self-harm associated with pregnancy. Please prioritize your well-being while reading.

You were sidelined.

It was a blow to your entire being. 

Even if it was just.

You hadn’t started out as a nuisance; your day had begun with all intention of being helpful. Today was the day Donnie brought in the near completed crib pieces. He had been working on it for weeks up on the roof. He cut down the best pieces of wood and spent the long hours while you were at work sanding. It had been the bulk of his project  and he described it as therapeutic. You weren’t sure you would have been able to muster the many hours of work, but Donnie had just the fortitude to make sure everything was perfectly smooth and safe. After staining, curing, drying, and a simple coat of baby-approved paint, he presented the sides of the crib for you to assemble together.

It was supposed to be an event.

A celebration of your 30th week and Dr. Kuro had confidently decreed that you were on track for a typical human 9 month gestation.

All your baby’s progress was at a predictable rate.

The only intrigue left was birth.

With everything now on a known timetable, Dr. Kuro felt it may be possible for you to safely pass that oddity of the egg shell. Her myriad of tests seemed to indicate that its makeup was unlike your husband’s spiny softshell genes. His species typically laid hard eggs and with that she launched into a commentary on the chicken myth. She pressed that not all eggs laid are hard, especially when it came to reptiles. Either something in the mutagen’s cocktail or the fact that your body wasn’t equipped to create one had sent your egg toward the heavily calcified and flexible territory. Since you were only incubating half a shell, what was there appeared malleable enough that it could pass through the birth canal without incident. She projected that it would bend through the pressures of birth and because of that you would also be protected from any sharp bits of plastron. There was really only the matter of orientation left and Dr. Kuro plainly said she wanted to see if your baby would move into the typical head down position. 

You were in for an all natural birth if you wanted it.

It was frightening and you weren’t sure.

Pros.

Cons.

It seemed meaningless when you had everything else to deal with.

Time was slipping through your fingers and you barely had a hold of your heartburn. You were drinking water nearly as fast as you would urinate it out. Your ankles had somehow contracted all that supposed water weight and ballooned. It felt grossly in time with the child inside you that took on a half a pound per week. Every inch of you was going into creation and what was left was a nervous husk who had to also contend with pushing said baby out or getting sliced open and having your organs laid out to retrieve the little person you worked so hard to make.

It was bad.

Everything was bad.

All that and more.

Hemorrhoids.

Sketch marks.

Varicose veins.

Exhaustion.

Constipation.

Back pain.

Leg cramps.

You set it all aside to build a crib. 

You clung to the building like a single ray of sunshine burst from the clouds of your discomfort. Donnie laid out the crib pieces and was downright ecstatic. You shared his joy and it was infectious. You had to kneel down to start construction. It was there that those clouds gathered up. 

You immediately found yourself unable to get on your knees.

You teetered and almost fell.

With Donnie’s help and a tick that said you were optimistic about the weather, you were in position. 

The clouds hadn’t budged. 

Leaning over pressed your bladder and you needed to get up.

You couldn’t.

Your center of gravity was far too low.

Your pelvis was spread too wide.

You were stuck again and sent weepiness up to your husband.

It broke actual tears with only a trickle.

He helped you up with overbearing concern.

A concurrent wave hit and you were angry.

Why were you crying?

Your eyes watered when you yawned; this wasn’t that much different than fatigue.

When you were upright, you tugged away from your mate to go to the bathroom. You took a solitary moment behind the bathroom door to breathe. Your belly protruded wide in front of you and all you could sense was all the things you needed to do in just this room. There was getting your pants down, an agonizing process. You had to sit, which was always a thing. Then there was undoing all that had been undone; you had to get back up and put your pants back on. It came with pain and irritation. 

All to do it again in less than an hour.

Your crib was meant to be a testament.

It was a prelude to when you wouldn’t be struggling to move and your baby would be in your arms instead of attached to you via your organs. You executed each annoying step of peeing until you were done and by the door again. There, you breathed out the negativity and joined Donnie where he was waiting.

Getting on your knees wasn’t an option, but you had others. 

You bent over to get the wood.

You were thrown off balance from your weight and almost fell again.

Donnie caught you and tepidly offered to grab the pieces you pointed.

Rage boiled up and you subdued it with a soft, “That works.”

You could hold things.

That was helping.

He held up a side for you.

“I’ve studied all necessary safety regulations and protocols. This was built to the utmost standard. With these last pieces affixed and secured, our first child will have their first bed.” He told you.

Something about the way he phrased it made you think this bed would be used again.

Fresh tears sprouted at the thought of the future.

The joy of creation and your child having a sibling.

How they interacted.

Donnie experiencing his youth more than once.

He had a name for that period back then, you vaguely thought, as each joint perfectly fell into place with little more than guiding.

You couldn’t remember what it was.

It wasn’t his name and it wasn’t his villain name.

He never named the latter.

He had named another.

You thought and thought.

“If you could.” Donnie gestured for you to switch sides with him.

He clicked more lengths of wood together until the crib developed into a frame.

You remembered it ended in an ‘O.’

Something that sounded like Donatello.

You were hung up on it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you heard it, but you wanted to remember.

You didn’t want to ask for more help.

All Donnie did was help.

He minded you.

He followed you.

He had to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

He fussed.

Got you drinks.

Got you food.

Got your pills.

Endless.

Always.

You could do this.

You could remember something as simple as a name. 

You had a good enough memory.

An ‘O.’

Hugo.

Bruno.

Antonio.

How many syllables was it?

Mikey’s judgment passed through your ears.

“Battle shell? S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.? Talk about on the nose!”

Your defense had been that your husband was just a kid.

A name a kid would come up with.

Donatello.

A name he picked from his precious books.

A name for the library that had given him the closest thing to an upbringing of all he knew.

A literary name.

Representative.

You hadn’t talked about baby names yet.

Was that because Donnie had picked his own name?

Who picked the other turtle’s names?

The ones that infuriated him for sounding similar to his own.

For encroaching on his territory.

Splinter didn’t seem much of one for classic art.

He liked game shows that had a high rate of contestant injuries.

He did movies.

Was he classically trained in theater?

There was Draxum.

He had the boys first and he was a baron.

He also hated humanity.

Were the old masters secretly yokai?

You would believe anything.

“Awaiting the mattress delivery.” Donnie chirped stability as he reviewed how there was space for one now. “I hope its softness was not exaggerated.”

“I’m sure it’ll be super soft.” You were almost amazed at how on task he was.

You also weren’t.

You were off.

It felt like things were flying in and out of your head at a constant rate.

“Blankets…” He mooned softly.

“Safe and soft.” You heard yourself say.

Donnie’s eyes closed in the moment.

You felt the peace until they popped open.

“Slats!” He was bliss as he gestured to the pile. “Now that the frame is assembled, we affix the slats.” 

“I think I can manage that.”

He nodded and grabbed two at a time.

You were passed one slat and observed the two dowels on each end. They matched up perfectly with holes along the frame. Donnie took a moment to grab some adhesive of his own making and showed you how best to apply some to each dowel. There was something about it being baby safe after it cured and how long it would take to bond to the wood, but the explanation didn’t permeate. You had to do a good job on this since you already said you could do it. This was now a test and you were going to pass. 

He got in position across from you and you both slid your respective slats into each side. You marveled at both how easily and sturdily the pieces fell into place. They were expertly cut. You never thought lightly of your husband’s handiwork, but experiencing it like this was something else. Each inch of this crib held  his craftsmanship and care. You bet he daydreamed of the baby for all the hours he was sanding.

You spent most of your evenings now with him between your legs.

Not in an unsavory sense, but ever since he figured out that he could settle with his face upon your stomach to commune with your baby, it was all he wanted to do. Just like that, he had fallen asleep more than once. You always felt bad stirring him, but you saw glimpses of your near future. 

They would surely sleep together.

Your eyes welled up as you placed more slats in their holes.

You saw Donnie collapsed on the couch with one hand holding up your baby securely, even while unconscious. Your small child fit so perfectly upon that ledge of his plastron. They were both tuckered out after a bout of crying. Donnie had a rag for spit up still sitting messy on his shoulder. He smiled even in his sleep.

You were done with the row before you even realized.

Next came the headboard and baseboard which had far fewer pieces. You got those lined up into a small protective jail cell. You had caps for all the looming slats and it took great care to line up all the holes. Donnie came around with a level and you directed him by eyeballing as best as you could. The moment everything was in place, Donnie pounded with the hammer of his palm to make sure it was secure.

“I should get some clamps.” He ruminated as he held the seemingly finished piece in place.

“I can hold it while you do.” You offered.

He openly thought.

“I think I can handle it.” You pressed.

“Not my concern.” His head tilted. “I wonder necessity.”

“‘Cause of the glue?”

He nodded.

“There’s still screws to put in right?” You tipped only your head to see where there was a clear exterior hole to fasten the sides. 

“Brackets. Yes.” He gestured that he would step back.

You held the crib firmly.

He reviewed the object as a whole. “Safety begets nothing less than adequate tightness. I will be right back.”

“Sure.”

He departed for what you guessed was the roof as he jogged out the front door. As soon as it closed behind him, you looked over the crib. While the slats were glued into place, the four sides were only connected by their seated joints. You could see Donnie’s concern as the headboard and baseboard had the unit’s legs. It was built with the future in mind. Not gluing the side panels onto the head and foot of the frame meant the crib could eventually be converted into a toddler bed. The screws were the last piece currently necessary and you spied the small tub of them off to the side.

They were housed in a tub that detached from a larger unit. Your husband’s organizational skills were a wonder and he had every bit and bolt you could fathom. You bet he made the hole on the bed the same size as the brackets he already had. You scooted in the direction of the tub to see after checking that the bed would hold.

The glance over the crib made you wonder about the bottom. While you left most of the crib choices up to Donnie, you had both discussed the mattress platform. You had opted for the support of more slats as the box spring mechanism freaked you out when you considered a fragile baby. Everything was built snuggly enough that there was no way your child could get to the springs, but now you thought further into the future. You weren’t sure if slats would hold up to inevitable jumping when your child became more mobile.

You watched a vision of your baby scrambled up onto their bed a hundred times. Each leap got shorter. Everytime they hoisted themselves up it was easier. They were growing like a weed in your mind and you jumped developmental stages. Your tiny helpless baby would outgrow this bed and need another. You were getting weepy again and you reached up to rub a tear that had matted itself amongst your eyelashes.

Your baby kicked suddenly and you heaved.

“Why…?” You whimpered out loud and hunched over slightly.

Your child was quiet in a sort of pouty way.

“You don’t like it…?” You brought your other hand down to your stomach.

You felt some wriggling.

“What’s wrong?” You turned to better hold your stomach. “You didn’t like lunch? I thought that soup was pretty good…”

Your baby hadn’t settled.

“Yeah… You know, I didn’t think sweet potato and black bean would go together, but your papà did a good job.”

Your baby kicked a second time.

You jolted backwards at the sharp strike, bumped wood, and heard a creak.

Your adrenaline wrapped its hand around your throat. 

The front door opened. 

“I gathered the entire set.” Donnie called.

You barely lifted your head and saw the bed teeter in your periphery. “Ah!”

 “What?!” Donnie appeared in a blur as all four sides of the bed fell outward and apart.

The headboard clipped the tub of screws.

In a perfect arch, they shot up into the air and scattered down like pelleted rain. The little plops trickled and your husband was still in motion. He yelped to a halt and it was enough that you caught a glimpse of all the clamps. They lined his arms and he reared in pain. It caused a few of the clamps to snap off and, with their combination of plastic and metal, they bounced harder than the screws. One landed directly on the headboard and carved out a chunk of its wood from the force.

Donnie brought his good leg up and grimaced as there was a screw embedded in the center of his bare foot.

“Donnie!” You moved forward on instinct.

You could only see the head of the screw. 

The metal bits weren’t lengthy screws, but they were long enough.

Over an inch was shoved straight into his arch.

“It’s alright…! It’s-!” He found the couch for stability.

You kicked one of the legs of the bed frame and the pain shot straight through you.

“Y/N!”

“Fuck!” You couldn’t reach your stubbed toe to nurse it.

There was nothing near you to hold on to.

You scooted forward, but the bed pieces were scattered.

If you stepped, you chanced landing on those same screws.

It was dramatic.

You felt the absurdity right at the crest.

The emotion continued to rise.

Anger.

At your baby for kicking.

At the bed for falling.

At the screws that hurt your husband.

At his insistence on making a bed instead of buying one that would have been just as serviceable.

At yourself.

At your constant needs.

You sobbed.

Drops fell onto your belly.

Too large and angrily in the way so that you couldn't even cry in peace.

“Darling. Dearest. My heart…” Donnie approached you and was clearly offsetting any sort of hobble.

You looked at him through fat tears.

“Let me clean up.” He told you.

“Your foot.” You blubbered.

“It’s alright.” He ushered you away from the scene. “Here. Sit a moment.”

He led you to the edge of your bed.

You sat.

He checked in with you for a solid look.

You returned a watery one.

He squeezed your arm before he moved to clean up.

You watched him.

He moved mechanically to pick up each and every screw. Like clockwork, they went back into their awaiting tub like sheep herded from their time in the field. He tended to the fence next in the form of the crib. He got the sides of the bed and clamped them where he saw fit. The unit appeared whole again and he propped it up out of the way. It was in the process that he found the divot in the headboard. 

He mumbled something about filling it in.

That meant wood filler. 

That meant drying time. 

He would have to sand it a second time. 

Stain.

Dry. 

Cure.

Paint. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Because of you. 

You sat with your enormous ass on the bed.

An uncomfortable lump.

An unsightly and useless shape.

That’s why pregnancy clothes were ugly, you thought then.

They were meant to make you disappear.

A frumpy look for your final shame.

When you were too large to be anything but a problem.

What had upset your baby had settled.

You had been mad at them.

You hugged your stomach the best you could.

Even for a split second, you hated that the feeling had flashed by.

What happened when they drew on the walls?

When they spilled food?

When they broke something?

What would your anger do then?

You had punched Donnie long ago.

You had warned him and thought you were justified.

Violence.

It flashed by you with anxiety.

You saw yourself as a vicious person.

A swirling image where your guts were rotted pustules.

Not part of you, but something you harbored.

A cyst to be excised.

Your baby.

You almost screamed aloud.

Your baby wasn’t some parasite.

Fear shot like an icy injection through your veins.

It coursed and took your anger and morphed it.

Its born frustration consumed you.

“My love…?”

Donnie touched your knee.

Yet another bulging knob that ached.

You looked up at him through streaked cheeks that sagged.

Dull vision met his where he tensed at the sight of you.

Hideous.

He tenderly took your head.

His hands felt warm.

“What can I do?” He asked in a voice that was soft.

It blanketed over you.

You needed to order those blankets.

Your lids closed and your attention bottomed out.

You slipped straight through yourself and caught on the huge weight hanging off your front.

“I don’t know.” You spoke all you understood.

“Describe it…?” He tried.

“I don’t feel good.”

“Your stomach? Heartburn? The lunch?” He asked.

You shook your head between his hands.

“The bed? Were you injured?” He clearly looked.

You repeated the negative motion.

“The baby?” He stopped moving. “Are they-?”

Third.

You weren’t sure if you were happy he had asked about your wellbeing first or mad that he waited so long to ask about your precious child.

Both occurred.

They trashed your mental form where it was already in tatters.

More tears leaked from you.

You would have to drink those up and pee those out.

The endless cycle.

The discomfort.

The pressure.

“Help.” You felt yourself whisper.

It rattled up and out like something clawing from within.

Your child begged its parents to stop being like this.

It affected them too.

Donnie squeezed the base of your skull.

Open your eyes, he said without saying a thing.

You did so with lopsided curtains.

Your husband was there with a stern expression.

You expected concern.

The bubble of confusion popped to clear away your muddled emotions.

“Donnie?” You murmured to his apparition.

His thumbs swept down from your eyebrows.

He made you close your eyes.

The redundancy bred further confusion.

Hadn’t he asked for your attention?

Your uncertainty made a noise.

He chirped in response.

What did that mean?

You ran through definitions, but came up short.

A chirp was a multi-faceted sound.

Highly dependent on a frequency you couldn’t actually hear.

A tongue you didn’t have.

An appendage that didn’t exist in humans.

“What do you feel?” Your mate asked.

“Confused.” You responded immediately.

“I need to get something.”

“O-kay…?” You wondered slowly.

His fingers lightly massaged your neck.

He played pressure valves and you sank into his touch.

He gave a final squeeze before he departed.

You looked after him and watched him scour a drawer.

He produced a sleep mask and you felt your brow crease.

“Dearest.” He approached with it.

The mask had been a recent purchase for himself. Your thoughts had become too loud at night so you had started to compensate with the television. You turned it on a low volume in the living room for a drone. Instead of counting sheep, you tried to make out the voices which took your focus until sleep could have you. The noise didn’t bother Donnie as he could easily tune such things out with his implants, but he was far more sensitive to the flashing lights beyond the bed. With him acting as your pregnancy pillow, he often couldn’t turn away if he needed to face them. The mask was a simple solution that worked. 

“May I?” He offered it to you.

You looked at it and then him.

You didn’t understand.

It leaked from you.

“To help.” He whispered.

Could it?

You nodded once.

He eyeballed the measurement, adjusted the band, and stretched the elastic to apply it to you. When he came away, it was a snug fit that allowed for no light to leak in. You were entrenched in darkness and that spoke to the mask’s quality, you guessed. It felt a little like his hands without the warmth which you missed until they quickly found you. 

They coasted down to show you their destination. If he wanted to sit in his favorite position between your legs, then you were nowhere near ready. You weren’t adjusted for it and everything about you was far too broken. He would have to prop you up like something lifeless and with that came more of his help. 

You heard your breathing pick up.

Donnie caught your knees and held them firm.

They would not be moved.

Then what was he doing?

If he wanted to confer with your child then he needed to go about the necessary steps. 

All that needed to be done.

Everything.

He slid his grip up and squeezed the outside of your thighs.

The pressure tipped just a bit stronger than it should have. A prickling of his calluses caught your smooth skin. Your flesh had been supple from the constant moisturization. It’s the one thing you felt alright about. The thing your mate helped with that you didn’t mind. You let him churr against your stomach and he rubbed you down with all sorts of creams at least once a day.

Skinship.

You pressed against him.

You offered to be his weighted blanket once.

It felt like a fond memory.

You were just you then.

Not this person housing another person.

Not a version of you that was so bloated that two of you would fit in place of one.

You were someone who had time once.

Selfish cares of your own. 

Donnie’s hands moved again.

To the widest part of your hips where he added pressure.

It reminded you of a dancer’s hold. 

You used to dance. 

Before there was a bulbous growth separating you.

He traveled further up to what was once your waist.

He could easily hold you once. 

His fingers tingled along your ribcage and he touched your arms. He pressed and tested the flesh like he was performing an examination. You knew that as well. He had his pound of flesh and then some. There was nothing left of you that was new. That was why you bred a new creature.

You had gone stale.

Bloated.

You would pupate and another would claw out of your remains.

Endlessly used.

Tears cropped up within your mask.

Donnie grasped your upper arms and held you there. “Y/N.”

You startled, but he had you. “Y-yeah?”

He knew.

You tried to hold your expression.

“When I hold you here…” His fingers sank into your limbs. “What do you see?”

“See?” You felt yourself parroting.

“Imagine.” He pivoted.

“You.” You spoke softly.

“When I touch here you see me?” He flexed his digits. 

You nodded. 

“And here…?” He returned to your waist.

“You…”

His hands drifted downward.

“All you.” You felt embarrassed to say.

You heard him move.

His clothes rustled as if he was sitting up. 

In a split second, you felt all the hairs in your body rise on end.

Would he kiss you?

Your lips puckered in preparation.

Maybe he’d kiss your cheek instead.

You felt the readied flush.

He could also hug you.

Readiness tickled your spine.

You heard a puff of air.

You blinked into the darkness of your mask.

He chuffed with an affectionate noise.

As if you were cute.

“Donnie!” You scolded and squirmed.

He was gone, you realized then.

None of him was touching you. 

You searched for him with your hands and knees, but didn’t find him. 

The pads of his fingers ghosted over your cheek.

You squeaked involuntarily.

It didn’t feel like fear.

It felt like relief.

From not to knowing.

Your husband was absent once again.

“Donnie?” You tried softly.

“I’m here.” He sounded like he was right where he had been.

You thought for a moment before you searched for him with your toe.

It was your injured one, but it only ached faintly when you curled it curiously into the air. 

You heard his pant legs rub as he adjusted.

You toed his shin.

He had been injured.

“How’s your foot?”

“I’ve yet to remove the screw.”

“What?!” Your hands flew out to him.

That time you heard him dodge.

“Hey!” You waved your limbs.

You felt he was pleased with himself as he maneuvered your blind advances.

“You can’t just leave it!”

“I’ll tend to it later.”

You felt a whiff of him and tried to come down on that. “Gotcha!”

In a duck, you felt him dip through your palm and shove his head up into you.

You held him with wide fingers before you pet over him.

He was facing you based on what you could feel.

He added a bit more upward pressure before he left your grip.

“I don’t want it to get infected.” You told air.

“I won’t. Promise.” His nail brushed your chin.

There was another flicker of excitement at the connection point.

“Raised sensitivity.”

“Hm?”

“Depriving eyesight.”

“I can’t tell where you’ll be.”

“I’m right here.” He spoke plainly.

That conjured a bit of a smile. “Sure, but I can’t tell where you’ll touch me.”

He trilled softly and a tap came to the back of your calf.

You slid your foot.

He brushed his knuckles against your forearm.

It left goosebumps in his wake.

A curled finger touched the center of your sternum and led up.

You looked down through darkness.

He didn’t make contact with your chin again.

“You’re overwhelmed.”

“Yeah…”

He skimmed around the mask.

You let your eyes shut as there was no point in leaving them open.

“There’s no remedy.”

“I don’t think there is.” You nodded solemnly. “Not until the baby is out of me.” 

“I wish to alleviate your discomfort.”

“Thanks, but you do enough already…”

“Y/N.”

“I know. I know you don’t mind. I know.” You shook your head and didn’t feel him. “But this can’t be fixed and there’s… no use.” 

He had paused.

He was thinking.

Your head moved as if to look for him.

“Can I describe what I see?”

The thought struck you as curious.

A hand settled above your knee.

You mimed looking down at it. “I guess.”

“My mate.”

You took a turn giving an amused chuff. “Donnie…”

“My stunning heart.”

“Hey…”

His thumb warned near the corner of your mouth before it landed on your lips.

For a moment, you thought you could see him.

Half crouched and looking up at you with adoration.

Your husband.

“These lips…” He waxed.

You listened.

“How they speak what I most hope to hear. The longing in which dispels fear. Take nary but air between sweet sips.”

A poem.

It wasn’t too flashy, but you were still surprised.

Donnie preferred to drum up romantic drama with his actions.

You took a shaky breath.

“My heart…” He continued.

His hand felt down above your breast and pressed to the beating organ.

“Displaced for one I hold dear. Left in your presence to steer. For no other does it dare chart.”

Your hand came up and covered your mouth.

“Your strength…”

His hand moved away only to be replaced with his head.

“Your canter, your walk, all that you do. Raise earth and touch fire as if you always knew. No measurement possible per your distance lengths.”

You delicately traced his head.

“Your prowess.”

You felt his breath warm your breast.

“Watching you is an undeniable show. You cast forth in life and erase my woe. An honor that which allows us.”

He turned his head and listened.

“What words could I have.”

Your heart beat layers.

“Any which to label the entity of you.”

You leaned your head against his.

“Of all language combined there are still far too few.”

He moved slow until he could kiss the underside of your chin.

“Without you I am but a half.”

Othello.

You knew it then.

Amongst his sonnet.

That was his pseudonym of a bygone era.

The ego death of the character he could have been.

If given the chance.

A love of theater and something dyed the tragedy of Shakespeare.

You pulled up your mask.

Your husband appeared against your chest and was clearly embarrassed by the dark flush to his cheeks.

Your eyes widened.

“Juvenile.” He spoke in a sudden moping. “Why I thought that may help…?!”

“Sweet…” You reached for him.

He watched you warily. “I have encyclopedic knowledge. Possess all prose and yet I come up with such paltry drivel. It is not comparable.”

“I liked it.”

“You are not moved.” He chuffed.

“No?”

“No.” He decided. “I thought how to quell concern that I cannot give name. I will need to be better. More creative. Lullabies. Stories. All while suiting you.”

You smiled as he included your child. “Young kids are pretty forgiving. It’s the whole ‘never experienced the world’ thing.”

“After that?”

“They judge anything you do, no matter what.”

Donnie sighed slowly.

“You wrote me a poem.”

He twitched.

“While you were reciting it or before?”

“During…” The self-consciousness returned.

“Why the blindfold?”

“Limit your stressors.”

“If you’re practicing then you should know you can’t blindfold a baby.”

“I’m aware.” He scolded you with a nudge of his beak.

You smiled and let your head loll.

He waited a moment before he kissed your neck.

It went straight through your pulse.

“I thought I’d mention it...”

“Your troubling root is abstract cause. Errant emotion. My prime concern lies with you. I would have no other practice partner. Produce heirs with no other. You alone are my life.”

Your cheeks warmed. “That might be a better poem.”

He made a lightly disgruntled sound.

“I think instead of flowery words, poetry is more… connecting emotions we can’t name so easily. It’s basically impossible to capture and compare certain feelings, but you try.”

He looked up at you.

“As long as it comes from the heart.” 

“My heart.” He leaned further into you.

“Donnie…”

“My gorgeous, stunning heart.” He stopped just shy of a kiss.

You wondered why and searched him.

“You are beauty.”

The honesty coming off him was palpable enough that it conjured adolescent giddiness. 

“You always are.” For the first time, in all that time, he touched your stomach. “Not for this. Not the glow. The chemicals. The hormones. You, my dearest, are ethereal. Without compare or language. You are all that I see and knowing I conjure the same…?”

You knew he was talking about how each touch reminded you of another of his.

“I will woo you for all our days.”

“You’re doing a good job.” You blurted out.

He was quiet.

It felt like building courage, but you looked at him.

He was blushing again.

You knew you were doing the same.

Heat broiling, you gazed into each other’s eyes before you both flicked glances down to one another’s lips. They were the next to connect. With all your years of practice, it was almost embarrassing that your kiss was a sloppy miss. You were far too eager to linger on the mistake. You both immediately moved to correct. It bumped your noses and melded your flesh.

You parted for gulps even though you hadn’t kissed long enough to starve yourselves of oxygen. Desire scented the air as Donnie ghosted close. You breathed each other in literally and made figurative your need. When you connected again, it was you each raising up to consume the other.

A push and pull in tandem.

Two bodies moved of the same necessity.

His grip plied into your limb.

You tugged at the material of his shirt.

The thin separations were too much. 

He avoided the expanse of your belly.

It wasn’t the point.

Your giddiness was reassurance.

A comfort.

Your love.

Safety against him.

With him.

Your devotion.

And his.

He found the fallen sleep mask and gave it to you suddenly. You gawked at it from where you were nearly nude. He dipped down momentarily and you heard a rip of fabric. He came up with a length from the sheets and a stunned vowel left your lips. In a whip and curl, his fangs glinted a smile as he tied it off around his head.

On top of the mask he already wore. 

Instead of giggling, you felt the continuing urge to match him and donned your mask. Both unseeing, you felt one another. It lit all your nerve endings to each touch. His being was all the more enhanced by your imagination and all he sought of you was the same. 

Your body.

You messily fell back into bed.

Your heart.

He hoisted your legs up.

Your mind.

The scald of his dropped cock swiped against your inner thigh.

Your soul.

Messy and directionless, he felt out his path with his hands before trying to follow it with is prick. His tip dragged pointed need across your leg. It leaked his passion and surged with all that was built up inside you. Tangible and more, until he ran his cock over the length of your cunt. Pleasure centers fired all over your body and brain.

Your thigh where he had a grip.

His knuckles about your labia where he adjusted his cock.

His dick that ached to slip inside your inviting caverns.

Where your two joints fit under master craftsmanship.

Fated to be matched and connected snuggly.

His glans pressed your entrance and fed ins. That glue of his was his cum and had stuck you with quite the entity. When he bottomed out, you felt the edge of his plastron press your bulging body. He churred a reverberation that shook through your bounty. You the fruitful horn to bear harvest.

With discoordination, you found each other amongst thrusts. You giggled as you blindly caught his arm after a few missed tries. He laughed when he incorrectly wove your fingers. You got hold of each other and you wound your legs around him. You weren’t that youthful version of yourself and you weren’t the one who only received.

You had long grown.

More powerful.

Learned.

To handle him.

To match him.

To exceed him.

You captivated him.

You heard him gasping for your attention.

“Here.”

You beckoned.

“Here.”

You called.

“Here.”

You told him just where.

This time when you kissed, it was exact.

Firm.

Established.

“I’m turning you.” He spoke intensity.

“H-huh?” You felt settled.

He swiped around you and you felt what had to be a pillow messily drag down your torso. He ushered you onto your side and lifted your leg to stay connected. The pillow tucked under your belly to mitigate the hang and he scrubbed his pelvis forward. It met flush with yours and your child was out of the way.

“Donnie!” You harked.

“Y/N!” He returned the call.

Your leg hiked up and bled into his form.

Each jostle shook you to your core, but the resulting shake wasn’t jiggling out of your mate’s reach.

He moved all of you.

Into you.

Around you.

He had you.

“Close.” He warned.

“I’m not, but please!”

“Won’t stop.” He promised. 

You knew he wouldn’t.

He never would.

No matter the mood or temperament.

Your stubborn mate.

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

Beep boo-boo bop boo bee bop, is robot for thank you to my betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup

[genekies]

tag vent

[bumblingbabooshka]

A Star Trek Novel called “Pocket Full of Lies” really has NO business going so hard.

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

Remembering the brief period in my life when i was obsessed with ashido, the only filler character with rights bc kubo originally planned to include him in the manga but had to cut him for time

[arolesbianism]

I think Moon should be a sore loser. I think the local group can't have game nights and it's entirely because of Moon. And Moon Wants to have game nights. She looks at the others oh so sweetly when she asks and they have to pretend to be busy or smth and the Pebbles calls out their bluff and scolds them until they reluctantly agree and then Moon insists on playing The Game Which Purchase Are Made, Hoards Become All, and Moon faces a mild inconvenience and flips the digital table and has to sit herself in a corner so she doesn't start sending the others death threats

[ddejavvu]

this is depraved, but grinding on logan’s happy trail to get off 🫢

Hands Free - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

You've caught Logan at a bad time. The surly mutant is a complicated man, and one with less psychological damage than him might be eager to whip it out whenever, but Logan isn't. He's busy brooding, and he's not to be interrupted when he's got a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other.

But you need him. There's a pit in your belly that's only made worse by the scowl on his face, and your cunt aches beneath your now-slick panties for something to envelop. You're desperate for Logan to fuck you, but there's no way you'll convince him if he's not in the mood.

"I can feel you staring," He grumbles, eyes still cast to the floor as he takes another swig of burning liquor, "What do you want?"

There's no polite way to say you.

"Uhm," You shift on your feet, thighs clenched, "I'm just feeling- I'm a little, um, I-"

"Spit it out."

"I need you." You breathe, ashamed by the sentence, but Logan's face remains untouched, nothing moving but the lingering smoke from his smoldering cigar.

"I'm not in the mood." He grunts, like it isn't obvious.

"I- I know." You fall awkwardly silent again, rising onto your tiptoes and falling back to your heels. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"Don't make a mess." He shifts in the chair, lowering his hips until they're level with his abdomen, offering you the best seat in the house.

He's shirtless, which means that if you can't have his cock, or his fingers, you can get the next best thing. A combination of the friction from the waistband of his jeans, and his toned abs, blanketed with coarse, wiry hair.

You mount him eagerly, which isn't hard to do seeing as his chair has no arms. It's got a back so that he can lean against it, but your support system is his chest, where you firmly plant your hands in preparation to get yourself off.

There's a dark line of hair that trails from the bottom of his navel and disappears beneath his waistband, flanked on either side with a sharp line of muscle that tapers down towards his cock in a V. His body is a work of art, and you only wish his equally gorgeous face was pointed your direction.

No matter- you won't push. You're lucky he's letting you get off on his lap, you'll take what you can get.

"Easy," He grumbles, rocked by the sudden jerk of your hips. As you settle into a steady rhythm you realize you've already failed his one directive of not making a mess, but there's no way to stop or slow the steady stream of slick that's pouring from your weeping cunt. It's sobbing, slobbering, begging for a cock, but you drag it flush against Logan's abs and mat his happy trail down with your translucent arousal.

"One fuckin' job," He gripes, reaching down to swipe two fingers through the slick that's glistening on his stomach as you find better friction near the waistband of his jeans. The texture of the denim is rough, and you realize with giddy desperation that he's getting hard in his pants despite his insistence that he wasn't in the mood.

He sticks his fingers in his mouth for a taste, his cigar left behind in its ashtray on the side table. He doesn't relinquish the bottle, but he takes equal sips of that and of the mess you're making on his abs.

Finally, thanks to the sizeable bulge in Logan's jeans, you're able to hump your way to completion on his stomach. It's not hard, considering you'd been achingly horny before, but without something inside of you your release feels empty and wasted. You'd use your fingers if you could, but you can't move your hands or you'd faceplant on Logan's chest, and you don't want to invade his space any further in case he decides your privileges have been revoked.

"Poor thing." He murmurs when your hips slow and you're panting against his chest. You glance at his face but he's staring at your cunt, not at you, "She's so hungry."

It takes him one, two, three seconds to reach for his belt, "Well, c'mon. Up now, there y'go." As you shimmy up his abdomen, slicking his happy trail up with your release once more. As soon as he's able to free his cock he slides a hand under your ass, boosting you up so that you're finally able to sink down onto his red-tipped, leaking cock.

"Jesus, she's sucking me in," He grunts, his voice gruff and ragged, "How long were you waiting to ask me?"

"Too long." You whine, pussy already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now in utter bliss from finally being penetrated after all that teasing, "I- hnngh! My toys don't work anymore. They're- they're nothing like you, I can't use them. I can't ever finish."

Logan scoffs, still in a mood as sour as the liquor on his breath, but his hands find their place on your waist as he helps bounce you on his cock, "Shame. Those were supposed to keep you busy. Guess I'll have to do it then, hm?"

You nod vigorously against the crook of Logan's neck, your nose buried where his neck meets his shoulder, and where sweat accumulates sticky on his skin. You lick it up, and Logan hisses against the mouth of his bottle as he takes another swig.

"Fine." He grumbles, butting the bottle up to your head and forcing it against your lips, "Take this, take a nice big- there you go. That'll make you sleepy," He vows, and the head rush comes just like he'd warned. His hips begin shifting, circling slightly in gyrations that only add to the pleasure of bouncing on his dick, "And this'll knock you out, crazy."

[sukunasweetheart]

oh, to fit him like a glove...

WARNINGS; ooc sukuna, virgin!reader (well... not for long), size kink, BREEDING, vaginal fingering, sukuna only has one dick here cuz i wanted to make it less complicated, COCKWARMING, stomach bulge, degradation, praise, sukuna is a four armed king, overstimulation, mouth-hands, EXCESSIVE CUM

based on this anon's ask! dividers credit; @/cafekitsune

word count; 3k

imagine being sukuna's precious princess of a wife-- whom he spoils and dotes on because its in his interests to do so. like any other woman, youre tiny compared to him, so having you take his cock eventually will be very tedious work, and sukuna will need a lot of patience.

and we all know, sukuna is the most patient man in the world... at least when it means that it'll be worth it for him at the end. and to him, you are worth everything.

he's proud and pleased to be your first... sukuna can't help but feel keen about the idea that he will be the only one ever to have had the pleasure of being so intimate with you.

he watches you intently, as you struggle to take even two of his thick fingers in your tight hole, tearing up and whimpering as he tampers with those delicate spots inside you.

"nngh.. sukuna... that feels so good..." you whimper his name delightfully, it almost makes his enduring patience snap.

outwardly, his face looks calm as he looks down at you with soft lust that takes the form of an almost blank expression.

"does it?" he asks, with a certain playfulness in his voice.

his fingers move a little faster, scissoring you inside and pressing in an upwards manner, where it makes you gasp the most. you're producing so much slick, but your hole is still so tight and unrelenting, clenching around his thick digits even more. sukuna thinks about good it'd feel if his dick was inside instead, and he feels himself aching with desire, twitching and leaking precum from his hidden erection.

...not yet.

he dutifully touches you to your orgasm, and watches with a hitched breath as you tremble on his fingers, walls fluttering against them. your sighs and soft moans reach his ears like nothing else.

his extra hands grope at your breasts, finding solace in them.

"do you think i'm ready yet?" you ask tenderly, after your breath returns to normal.

"... hardly, my love. that was only two of my fingers," sukuna tells you languidly, as he feeds your slick on his digits to the mouth on his stomach.

"only two? oh dear..." you sigh with sorrow, "will i ever be able to take you whole one day?"

he smirks at the question, and leans down into your chest while holding ahold of your hand.

"well of course. i'll make it happen no matter what. i promise."

the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

when it does happen, you best be ready for him to breed you full every night.

however, on some days, the urge gets unbearable, even for himself. he's been saving himself up a little, so he could pour everything inside you when the time comes, but the lust gets overwhelming, clouding his sight and judgement.

one night, you gesture towards the bulge in his pants, with a shaking hand.

"what about you? isn't it painful to always withhold yourself like that?" you ask, wanting for him to feel good as well, instead of just yourself.

sukuna grows silent, sweating bullets as his dick throbs upon your mention of it.

the next minute, he's taking it out and slotting it between your thighs, rubbing up against your slit and seeing how the size compares to your stomach.

the temptation is too great.

not. yet.

this was the whole reason he was avoiding using his cock with your body in the first place - because he was afraid he'd cave in and attempt to deflower you when you weren't ready yet, still too tight for him to squeeze in, causing you pain only.

if it were anyone else, he wouldn't bother... but you're one that he cherishes too much... he wants to work to make the end result even tastier. the moment where he'll finally claim you entirely.

the bed creaks as he thrusts in and out between your thighs, rubbing his twitching dick against your hole oozing with slick, also brushing up onto your clit that's swollen from arousal.

" 'm sorry... i wish... there was more i could do..." you whimper sweetly, squeezing one of his large hands.

"there's no need for that. whatever i can't put inside you now... i'll pump in twice as much, once you're ready for me," sukuna whispers gently, holding your hand back, a groan resounding in the back of his throat.

rewards become so much sweeter after restraint. like how you wouldn't pick and eat an unripe fruit from a tree.

"you're doing plenty enough for me... for now," he tells you breathlessly. he adores the glossy look in your eyes.

his cock continues to glide back and forth, and he feels so hot between your thighs.

"i... i want your tip inside when you cum, please," you say, eyeing his dick with a certain neediness.

"are you sure, love?" he asks, hoping you'll say yes. you nod fervently.

sukuna feels lightheaded at the thought of it, all the while his dick gets more and more sensitive against your thighs... his balls feel so heavy and full, all those times he held himself back coming to catch up on him.

you squeeze your legs around him harder, making him groan, cock pulsing for all it's worth. he thinks about how tightly your walls would clamp around him. the heat from your insides, and your slick covering his shaft. he's close.

he suddenly spreads your legs.

at this stage, he's only barely able to get his tip past your entrance. it's possible when he does it slowly enough. you whine beneath him, doing your best to not go against his arms that are pinning your legs down.

a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face. sukuna uses an extra hand to stroke the rest of his dick as his tip remains snug inside your puckering hole. when it comes, he gives a choked-off gasp from how good his first-in-a-while release feels.

he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from burying himself any further.

the ropes of cum seep and trickle into your womb in thick, heavy spurts, and the hotness of it gets you breathing unevenly, being so aroused by this sensation. there's a copious amount. he continues jerking himself off to get every last droplet out, and his own hand can feel the intense twitches of the veins on his erection.

it's not nearly enough to satisfy him, but it's enough to keep him patient.

once his tip pops out from your wet hole again, his spend come out of it in large globs, and sukuna can't help but admire the sight, his dick twitching weakly in his hand.

he abstains from cumming all over again for another few weeks- another few weeks of stretching you out with his fingers, and prepping you to perfection.

when the day finally creeps up, where he believes you're ready to take him whole, sukuna hears and feels his heartbeat in his own ears.

ever so slowly. he's sitting down on the edge of the bed, and he has you lower yourself on his throbbing cock as he's face to face with you, ever so slowly. your body trembles lightly and he feels it on his hands and fingers as they're placed against your hips. sukuna senses your anxiousness that flows from you in large waves.

your hole is so tight, trying to push the intrusion out, but the wetness from your slick helps his cock slip inside easier, and sukuna's breath is kept within the back of his throat as you swallow him up deeper and deeper.

he's sweating. you're sweating. but soon enough, you're sat on his lap completely, having gotten all of him inside you at last. you can barely breathe with how tightly you enclose around him. how his cock is nudged up snugly against your cervix, pushing the literal air out of your lungs. and the way you feel it twitching inside.

sukuna has never been more patient, more self disciplined, more repressed than in this moment. one wrong movement and he feels like he could snap and start thrusting in without concern for you in any moment. no. he shouldn't do that. it would ruin all everything he's done to build you up for this moment.. but your walls keep tauntingly squeezing around him...

"i- i can finally fit all of you inside..." you say with glee, tears on your lashes, but looking very proud of yourself. it snaps him back to sanity, a little bit.

"of course... you were made for me, after all. so perfectly mine, fitting me like a glove," sukuna mumbles, as his bigger tongue licks against your clit, arousing you more so that you could loosen up for him. his praise gets to your head and makes you feel sheepish, wanting to do more to please him. but you don't think you can do that, just yet.

"can we stay like this for a bit, please?"

"that would be...for the best. can't have my wife splitting in half, can i?" sukuna jests rather sinisterly.

"oh, you..." you pout at him. the larger tongue rubs against you more persistently to distract you, and he smirks as it does the trick. you whimper, and your walls pulse gently around him making him groan. your eyes get half lidded, already feeling somewhat exhausted, and you lean your face against the large man's chest.

veins are bulging out of his arms, and one on his forehead. you seem so relaxed, unbeknownst to the fact that he's currently doing everything to keep himself together. you're like a tiny mouse trapped in the claws of a tiger.

sukuna starts to bite and kiss down your neck and shoulder to satiate himself.

few minutes after you've calmed yourself a little, your eyes start wandering down, taking notice of the bump on your stomach, from having him inside you.

"it goes without saying, but you're so big..." you press against it without thinking, and you feel him throb inside you intensely. sukuna grabs your wrist with a growl.

"are you trying to test my patience right now?"

you look at him with wide eyes, from how unusually on edge he is... something about him being all restless makes you feel aroused. you're doing that to him. a man who rarely ever feels. but you've gotten him all sensitive.

" 'm sorry. kiss me?" you ask sweetly, lips curling up in a foxy way.

his gaze softens.

"when you ask me so sweetly... i can't deny you, can i?"

and he leans down to press his lips onto yours, despite seeing the mischief in your eyes. your arms go around his neck, and as he's kissing you, his hands go for your breasts.

you tighten up on his leaking dick, making him moan into your mouth. his grip on your hips squeeze harder, but he doesn't stop kissing you.

you want to make him cum. you want him to lose control from being inside you.

sukuna breaks the kiss with a little choked off heave, when you begin to roll your hips around him slightly.

"you're getting awfully ahead of yourself-"

you cut him off by latching your mouth to the side of his neck, suckling and running your tongue against his skin while your hips keep moving.

he'd call you cute, but it's working. sukuna grits his teeth and his eyes get heavy lidded, dick getting impossibly harder. his heavy breathing adds to your excitement.

"i never knew my wife was such a whore. i'll be sure to return this favour later," sukuna tells you with a low voice, his hands now guiding your hips against him.

you're wordless, as you continue running your lips and tongue up his skin, moving onto his jawline, only giving a whine in response, feeling his tip press into the entrance of your womb.

such lousy movement usually wouldn't be near enough for him, but...

his head lulls back, exposing the way his adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly, getting close... your little kitten thrusts and the way you're tonguing the sensitive area under his jaw...

sukuna's hips jolt into you for the last time.

" 'm cumming-"

his mouth hangs open as he releases - dumping weeks' worth of seed into your cunt. his body jerks against you and you bite into his shoulder.

his cock throbs erotically in your clamping walls, and you milk him effortlessly, and you moan on his neck, while still suckling and tonguing the same area, feeling the hotness of his cum as it thickly pours into you, making your belly swell a bit from it.

sukuna groans as he seeds your womb properly for the first time, two hands on your hips, one against the back of your neck, and the remaining arm wrapped around your waist to keep you still as his dick pulses inside you.

your head is whirring from the tense situation, being creampied so lewdly for the first time, to think that he's released inside, and the feeling of his every breath as he orgasms, is enough to make you feel so exhilarated.

suddenly, he stills.

it makes you a little nervous, so you detach your upper body from him and aim to look at his expression. but before you can make any further movement, you're suddenly thrown onto your back against the soft mattress of the bed in the speed of light. he keeps himself buried in you, making sure to plug you up nicely.

when you meet his eyes after a shocked gasp, you see his darkened expression, his eyebrows furrowed, but his mouth curved up in a toothy, sinister grin.

"you really tested me back there, didn't you?" he rasps, grabbing your face and forcing you to keep your gaze on him.

"i hope you're aware that i'm not letting you get a wink of sleep tonight."

not a word gets out of your mouth, before sukuna pulls his dick back, and slams his hips into you, his thick cock dragging against your tight walls.

your voicebox makes a noise that you never thought was possible, a noise that's mixed with both a moan and a scream.

"oh, fuck..." sukuna mumbles gutturally, beginning to thrust in and out of you the way he's always wanted to. your hands fist the sheets behind your head, and his hands keep your legs spread apart for him, while the other two pinch at your breasts roughly, groping at your flesh so brazenly.

his heavy balls slap against your ass as his hips rut into you, making sure to drive himself in to the hilt, before pulling out to the tip and doing that all over again.

you squeal and mewl under him, eyes watering from pleasure and already getting overstimulated as he fucks you senseless. to think that only a few weeks ago, you were only able to fit two of his fingers. it all feels like a fever dream.

sukuna breathes heavily, his muscles glistening from his own sweat as he indulges in his reward, his reward of you, and your cunt that is finally nice and loose for him, sheathing him so nicely, coating his dick with your slick like the harlot you are. his laboured breaths stutter when your walls pulse around him as you reach your orgasm-- your head tilting back into the mattress.

cock leaking more precum into you, sukuna's eyes become half lidded again as he gets close to his second release.

"you're gonna drive me crazy," he grunts, as his tip reaches your cervix again and again and again.

his thrusts become erratic, and then halts as he busts another thick load into you, making you cry out pitifully.

"fuuck, fuck, fuck...." sukuna shudders, leaning down on his forearms, getting so close that you feel his breath ghosting against your skin, while his other two hands grip onto the sides of your hips. his pecs rub up into your tits and the tongue from his stomach messily laps away at your clit as he empties his balls into you, your pussy seemingly trying to squeeze him dry.

all of his eyes close up as he then kisses you like he's trying to swallow up your tongue. you whimper against his lips, doing your best to reciprocate, struggling to keep up with the pace of this kiss.

he breaks away from your lips.

"c'mon, not good enough. put your tongue into it more," he instructs breathlessly, with somewhat of a disappointed expression. your mind is too hazy from the intense lust but you give a short nod with teary eyes, which makes him smirk before pushing his lips onto you again.

you kiss him back the most you can, and he hums in pleasure, your tongue finally intertwining with his. it distracts you from how full you feel right now, even with only two of his loads in you.

his thrusts slowly start back up again.

"s-sukuna-!" you gasp, breaking the kiss.

"i warned you... it's gonna be a long night," sukuna tells you. he seems to have become more sound of mind after that second orgasm.

"give me more..." he mutters, leaning against the crook of your neck, and licking a stripe up against it, "my precious wife."

your arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight. he grins, and you feel it on your skin.

... eventually when his third load fills you up, he's running his tongue against the shell of your ear, two mouths sucking at each of your nipples, from the way he clasped his palms over your breasts at the last second.

you're trembling beneath him, tears now running down the side of your face, babbling nonsensical words at him.

sukuna leans back to run his third hand through his disheveled hair to slick it up again, and he grins at your state of overstimulation. he feels so good inside you. it was worth waiting and preparing you for so long.

once your orgasm subsides a bit, he finally detaches his mouth-hands away from your tits, making a line of saliva stretch between in the process. then, the mouths disappear. your body relaxes. but sukuna's cock is still inside you.

"you alright, my love?" he asks smugly, looking down at your state of fatigue caused by intense pleasure.

you mumble out something of a 'yes', and he chuckles. his eyes trail down to your now slightly pudgy stomach.

"you're so full with me, my dear wife. haha, it's quite the lovely sight," sukuna tells you softly, pressing his hand down softly against the swell of your tummy. you jolt a little, whining.

"sukuna... too full..."

he leans down closer to your face and wipes the sweat off your forehead, before bringing his lips to the same area gently.

"we can stay like this for a few minutes. rest up. but we're not done yet."

he hasn't even had the chance to sink his teeth into you yet. just a little more. you can do that for him, can't you?

Masterlist

[anantaru]

genshin man (your choice ofc) overstimulating reader ☺️🫵🏻☺️🫵🏻

・✶ ｡ including — alhaitham, kinich ☁︎ synopsis — he likes overstimulating his darling, he loves it, even <3

warnings — overstimulation, sweet talks with alhaitham <3 teasing genshin man, kinich is a little mean, fem! reader

— alhaitham

"if you could only see yourself the way i see you," alhaitham murmurs as his lips brush against your ear ever so tenderly— and his voice was like a soothing balm hovering on top of you, grounding you in the present moment even as your senses spiraled into near insanity.

with purpose, his hands move and explore your writhing skin, discovering every sensitive spot on your body as his hips thrust with vigor, the messy, wet squelches of your cunt making you arch your back as the bubble inside your belly threatens to pop.

with alhaitham, there was no rush in his actions, only a deep, profound care to give you the most intense pleasure until your body borders on overstimulation and love. his fingertips trace delicate patterns over your skin as his eyes, filled with an intense yet tender focus, watch how your legs shake and quiver around his narrow waist.

you continue to arch into his touch and whimper when you catch his lips curve into a small smile each time your pussy squeezes him, his gaze never leaving your face. he wanted, no, needed to see every expression you made, every moment of pleasure he could draw from you until you lose control of yourself, the feeling of his erection pressing into you over and over being unlike anything profanely possible.

"just let go for me, yeah?" he whispers, his voice like a husky command that sent a cold shiver down the entirety of your spine, "i'm with you, here with you," as he continues to grind his cock into you, the lazy, yet skilled drags of his shaft rushing around your spongey walls as you mewl out his name.

there was nothing you could do other than cling to his shoulders, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the sensations were beginning to turn overwhelming, each touch, each kiss, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you and feeling like a mountain was tied against your frame, looming and threatening to crush you.

his hands moved lower to find your swollen clit to pinch and press into the little pearl before rubbing you fiercely as it that had you crying out in deep pleasure until you just couldn't take it anymore.

your body felt so tense, the pleasure building to its pinnacle as you messily released all over his cock, intense waves of pleasure bursting through you as you simply shattered, your body convulsing in his strong arms as alhaitham held you through it all, his merciless touch on your clit never faltering as he rubbed you through your blissful orgasm.

— kinich

kinich's eyes sparkled with mischief as he traced a finger down your arm, his touch light and teasing while his grin was somewhat playful, quite menacing as well if being honest, yet promising a night of unrestrained pleasure until he could see you fall apart for him.

"you look so tempting to me, i can't wait to feel you over and over and over," the man purred, his voice resembling a seductive whisper as you leaned into his warmth, his breath hot against your neck as he kissed a trail down to your collarbone before biting into your flesh.

it's obvious he knows exactly how to drive you wild, how to make you beg and cry.

in a matter of seconds, you tremble underneath him, toes curled and your hips grinding up so your clit could rub into his pelvis as kinich chuckled at your eagerness, finding it rather amusing as it fueled the ego inside of him, "patience, ever heard of it, hmm?" he teases as his lips brush against your ear, "don't you realize we have all night?"

his fingers induce electric bolts into you as they danced over your skin with ease, never lingering in one spot for too long as he found it to be the most pleasurable if he was able to tease you until you would literally break— because you see, each touch was a tantalizing promise of the pleasure to come, leaving you breathless and yearning for more and kinich utterly adored that.

"how odd, you're so sensitive there," he remarks with a giggle as he messily thrusts into your cunt before grinding his hips down whenever he was fully inside, "i wonder why," as his voice turned in a husky whisper, his eyes meeting yours in a trice, a spark of amusement and desire in their depths and taking you by surprise.

"ugh, i love seeing you like this, so vulnerable,"

kinich's grin was wicked, insane, his eyes never leaving yours as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "more, come on," he whispers, "i want to see you fall apart for me, you think you can do that?"

and with a final, teasing thrust— so strong, in fact, that it made your boobs jiggle up and down, he sent you over the edge, your voice dying in your throat before you felt something pop in your stomach and fuck, it was so effortlessly quick like he didn't even need to try to make you feel this way.

©2024 anantaru  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[stars-and-clouds]

Astarion Romance Headcanons 🥀

SFW:

Side glances when you're besides him

Full on staring when you're not

Immediately looking away when you catch him

"You know the way he looks at you, don't you, soldier?"

His pinky itching towards yours when you're walking, wanting to hold your hand but unsure because, is it too much? Will you reject him?

His hands scrunching up your shirt tightly whenever you hug. He's always the last to let go.

You hold on longer and longer each time because he doesn't want to let go.

His kisses are tender and needy.

He likes the warmth of your hands.

Thinking of what tones will suit your perfume the best. He'll gift it to you after all this is over.

He'll sew the holes or tears in your clothes over the night and pretend he doesn't know what happened next morning.

When you move to kiss his cheek he will grimace in annoyance but lean in as you do it.

"Be careful around Astarion, (Tav). He's not serious about you.", the others will warn you. And Astarion will worry you'll heed their words more than his so he'll do so much to prove his love to you, not knowing that you already trust him (even if that is an objectively stupid thing to do lmao).

He started sleeping next to you from the moment you had sex but ever since you've entered the shadowlands, he ends up cuddling in the middle of the night. He misses the sun.

He likes kissing the palm of your hand or its back.

Likes to pack your bag before you leave camp.

"No one's ever going to love me like that again."

Ever since you told him that there's more to him than just beauty and sex, that he's hilarious, for instance, he finds ways to make you laugh. He loves it. He's started being a lot more sarcastic and makes more jokes just to hear your laughter. He'll never admit it, of course. Other than maybe when it's only you two.

Doesn't believe he will be able to love again if you let go of him.

"Don't be so nice to me." he says with round, needy and pleading eyes.

Thinking of ways he can show others you're together so others know you're not available.

Hiding his jealousy, terribly.

He will rip the throat out of anyone with malicious intent towards you.

"I will wait the whole of my life for you, Astarion." He doesn't believe it at first, but the longer you go on without sex the safer he feels and the more he wants you.

NSFW:

He sometimes cries silently at night, wishing he could make love to you without it feeling so tainted. He wants it so badly, but his past experience prohibits it. The pain of wanting something and being unable to have it only because of himself is too much. He blames himself too sometimes. Wishing he could give you more.

"I don't mind waiting.", you'd say.

"I do. I can't have you, no matter how much I want you.", he'd say.

When you cuddle him sensing he's upset, he will bury his face in your neck to hide his tears. The smell of you is comforting.

Needing you everytime you're tender with him.

Getting aroused when you hug during a kiss.

Wanting to kiss your skin all over, to make you cry from pleasure as you bury your face in his neck.

Wanting you to hold on to him for dear life as you climax.

When he's finally comfortable enough and takes charge of his own sexuality, he'll be so needy.

Realising that the two nights he had sex with you were nothing compared to how good making love to you feels.

When you give up all control to him, letting him do to you as he wants, the pleasure is almost too much bear. The power he feels is palpable and knowing it is you who trusts him so much will drive him near mad.

He will lose control many times so you have a safe word.

You both think of the stupidest word possible as a safe word. Something that makes you both laugh when it's used.

He likes over stimulating you, making you beg and he'll kiss you to calm you.

"It's okay, you can do it, darling.", he'll say stroking you even further and kissing your tears.

"Does that feel good, my love?"

The more you beg the more he loves it.

He likes playing with your hands, holding them in his, touching your fingers, comparing them to his while you rest on his chest, still warm from him being inside of you.

Resting his head against your chest to hear your heartbeat.

Staring at your face and body intently. Taking in every little reaction you make and replaying them over in his head throughout the day.

Staring at you longingly when you're both with the squad, failing terribly at focusing in battle or conversation.

Getting aroused when you're covered in blood.

Seeing you fighting, in general, turns him on. The smell of your sweat, your rapid heart beat, the way your body moves, all of it now only reminds him of making love to you.

Telling you to say his name whenever he's feeling good and you'll chant it as you cum. He loves how it sounds from your lips.

Resting his forehead against yours as he's close to cumming.

"Look at me.", he'll command you.

He likes when your hands rake his hair, pull his hair, tug it whatever. That slight bit of pain arouses him. Better yet, if you bury your nails into his skin.

He likes to look at you falling asleep. It's such a gentle thing. How can someone so strong otherwise be so soft around him? Why him? Why did someone like you choose someone like him? He can't believe he has you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50833876/chapters/128419966 I am updating these hcs on my ao3, if anyone is interested!