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honey-on-your-tongue · 3 months ago

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Sfw and nsfw alphabet headcanon for Logan!! PLEASEE

-🌸🌸🌸

I live laugh LOVE this idea omggg

Sfw

A for aware. Logan is always, always, always aware of you, no matter where you are or who you're around, he's making sure you're comfortable and safe and that you know he's there for you if you need anything. And the moment he senses any discomfort from you, he'll get you out and to a safe space <3

B is for baby. The first time he calls you baby, you two are just chilling in the mansion and you playfully ask to see his claws. They amaze you, intrigue you, and you want the opportunity to see them up close for once without him swinging them through someone's neck. He sighs but smils and draws his claws. You grin, fingers tracing the metal. “Careful, you'll cut yourself, baby,” he says. Your eyes snap up to him and a slight blush covers his cheeks. You didn't say anything about the nickname, just kissed his cheek, and he's called you baby since.

C is for cuddles. He may seem like the big, bad wolf, but really? He's super soft when it comes to cuddling with you. He loves to lay down on the couch or the bed, watching TV or just chatting or hanging out, and he always has you close, his legs tangled with yours, his fingers tracing your soft skin be it on your shoulder or your stomach or your thigh, wherever he can touch.

D is for detailed. Logan keeps up the facade that he doesn't care about anything and that he doesn't pay attention, but he's actually hyper-focused. You have a favorite type of flower that you mentioned once? He'll bring them to you again and again for date night. You're bothered by a specific situation or person? He'll make sure to keep you away if he can. And if not, he'll be there for you to hold your hand and reassure you.

E is for embarrassed. Logan is sometimes a little shy about how whipped he is about you. Like, really. He feels like a puppy around you, always keeping his eyes on you, always needing to feel you close. And yes, he's aware he's sometimes got separation anxiety. Especially when you're apart for too long, like when he's gotta go on missions you're not included in :((( but when he comes back, he'll stick to you for hours and refuse to let you go.

F is for fights. He hates fighting with you, hates whenever you're upset at him. He knows it's healthy to disagree, but it frustrates him so much because he's just constantly afraid that you'll get enough of him and leave him. But then after fights, when you two apologize and make up, he'll hold you close and pray to God or whoever is up there and listening that they never take you out of his life.

G is for greedy. So so so greedy. He wants you always, all the time, in too many ways. He can't let go of you, won't ever get over you. He adores you and he can never ever get enough. He wants everything you can offer and more, and sometimes he worries he demands too much. But when you're with him, so willing to love him, he knows it'll be okay.

H is for handsy. Logan's super super super handsy. Whenever, wherever, he's touching you. His hand on your lower back, your hand in his, his arm around your waist. If you're sitting somewhere, he has a hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder. He's always feeling you next to him because it makes him feel safe.

I is for immature. Not in a bad way, really. Just sometimes he can be very immature. When you get busy, when you don't pay enough attention to him, he'll get pouty and upset, maybe even only grumble every now and then when you try to talk to him. Once you realize what's going on, however, all it takes are a few kisses and hugs and he'll melt in your hands, forgetting any slight.

J is for jealous. C'mon, Logan is crazy jealous, especially because of your age gap. He's worried that maybe those younger guys might someday seem more attractive to you than he is, and that scares him. And when he sees some twenty-something kid eyeing you, he gets pissed. He'll grab you closer, glare at whatever boy is watching you, and then he'll kiss you, maybe groping you a little for good measure. He ensures his message is clear: you're his.

K is for knuckle kisses. He'd never admit it to you, but he loves when you grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, right where his claws come out. There's something about the gesture, so soft and sweet, that makes his heart race and butterflies fill his stomach. He just loves when you show little hints of affection, it kills him in the best way.

L is for the L-word. He's so scared that you won't feel the same way, that when he realizes he loves you, he doesn't say it for almost months. He's terrified of scaring you off. If he lost you, he'd be done for. But one day, it slips out of him and when he sees the way your eyes light up and you smile, he knows you feel it too. And you tell him you love him more than he tells you, but that's just because he doesn't say it. He shows it. At first, he'd say it and nuzzle against your neck as he spoke the words. Now, he nuzzles into your neck and kisses your jaw and says, “You know I do, right?” And of course you know he loves you. He makes it so clear and he's not ashamed to.

M is for mornings. The first morning you wake up in his bed, he's mesmerized. You look so beautiful asleep there, tranquil, happy. So vulnerable, like someone he has to protect from this cold, fucked up world. He will never let anyone hurt you, he'll never leave you alone or in danger. He'll always be there for you, every morning for the rest of your life, if you'll let him.

N is for nights. Nights with Logan are the best. Especially if it's a weekend and neither of you has any work to do. You'll relax while he puts on a movie and makes popcorn, and you'll cuddle while you watch TV. Then, he'll let you put a face mask on, even if it's pink and shiny, because he knows you enjoy it and he also likes doing these things with you. He'll let you give him massages and do a skin routine. And he'll draw a bath and carefully wash you, his fingertips grazing over your skin with reverence. And then you'll go to bed to sleep, (among other things) and he'll hold you close all night long.

O is for ordinary. Logan knows he's a mutant and he's one of the X-men.. There'll never be anything ordinary for him. Never. But when he's with you on a tranquil morning and you two are lazying around or he cooks for you and you walk up and hug him, he thinks that maybe someday, you two could have a simple, domestic life. You and him, a picket fence, maybe kids if you want. He feels like maybe he deserves that kind of ordinary life, and he knows he wants it with you. Only you.

P is for period. When you're on your period, Logan is the sweetest, most caring man ever. He'll buy you whatever you're craving. He'll let you stay in bed, wearing his shirt and a pair of his boxers. He'll bring you pills if you need them and warming pads. He'll spend all day with you, babying you, making sure you don't lift a single finger. Not when he's around.

Q is for quandary. Logan isn't a big love man. He isn't used to relationships and he isn't sure about how to manage one. Especially when he's with you because you're so sweet, you're so young. He'd hate to break your heart or hurt you in any way, and he's terrified whenever he realizes how serious things are getting with you. He'll have a few panic attacks when he overthinks it. And one day, when he finally admits to you that he's not sure how to love, you smile softly and tell him, “Me either. I kind of just go with it.” And there. Right there, he knows you're the one.

R is for ring. Yes, ring. It's hidden in his closet, in a corner far away where you'll never find it. He never thought he'd be the type to marry and settle down, but the idea constantly haunts him every time he sees you. And now he knows, you're the one for him. All he's struggling to do is figure out how to propose. Should it be all fancy and well planned? Or spontaneous, when all the love he feels for you just gets the best of him? He's still not sure, but he knows he doesn't want to let a single month pass without asking if he can be your husband.

S is for safe. He's always alert, always on edge. But around you, his guard is down. For once, he's living in the moment, just enjoying the time he's spending with you, not worrying about whatever may be going out in the world. You're his safe space and he adores it. Whenever he comes home from a mission, stressed and on edge and upset, he'll just get back to the mansion, go into your room and lay in your arms. He'll let you hold him, make everything that happened go away until he's at peace. Until it seems like the world isn't gonna end the next day. Until your love consumes him.

T is for true. True because he knows how you feel about him is real. There are so many people that want something from him. But not you. No. You accept all of him. His mistakes, his flaws, his strengths, all of it. You just accept him. And what's more, you love him for it. And he knows how you feel is real. He knows you only want him. And it's the kind of love he's been looking for his entire life, the kind he can't ever live without, the kind he'll never let go.

U is for unwavering. Logan's love for you is unwavering. There is nothing, nothing you could do to make him stop loving you. For starters, he's a very bad man, much worse than you could ever be. The things he's done...And yet you love him. Compared to him, you're a saint. And it's so easy to love you. So easy. He sometimes feels it's unfair to you because it must be more difficult to love him. Still, he's extremely grateful for you and he knows nothing and no one will ever make him stop loving you.

V is for vulnerable. Logan's walls are made of steel. He never, ever opens up to anyone. He hides his emotions, expresses everything only through anger. But you make him vulnerable. You can read him like a book, there's no point in hiding anything from you, so he's found out it's easier to just open up to you. And he's surprised to feel...relieved. When he talks to you, his shoulders feel lighter. He's not as angry, not as mean. You make him a better person, and he loves you a lot for it.

W is for worship. The way Logan treats you is damn near to worship. He takes care of you like you're a goddess, a divine being he's not worthy of. But he tries his best. He cooks for you, he pays for everything if you let him. He'll take you out on dates, put his jacket on your shoulders, carry you if you two have gone dancing and your feet hurt. He sees you as a deity and he loves you. He worships you and he will continue for the rest of his days if you allow him to.

X marks the treasure. He's not sure what he did to deserve you, what superior power decided to put him in your path. He's even more amazed you're into him too. You're his treasure. He feels like he's been wandering around aimlessly until he ran into you. Until he found you, his treasure, his love. You're all he's ever needed.

Y is for you. You perfect, sweet, smart, young thing. You're gorgeous. You're funny. You're everything any guy would ever want. And you chose him? Him, out of all people? He can't believe it. He's not sure he ever will, but he's always grateful. You are his world. You are his everything. His motivation and his patience and his safe space. You're his life, his universe. Without you, there is nothing.

Z is for zeroed. Ever since he met you and you two started dating, Logan's entire perspective has shifted. Now, everything he does and thinks is zeroed in on you. You and your needs and how to make you happy. You're what gets him through every mission, what gets him out of bed in the morning. He feels like you give his life meaning. And that's not something he's ever gonna lose.

Nsfw

A is for addict. Because that's how Logan feels about you. Whenever he fucks you, when your pretty pussy is wet and clenched around his cock, he knows he'll never get enough. He knows only you'll make him feel this way and that he's going to start fucking you more often if he doesn't wanna lose his goddamned mind.

B is for breasts because Logan loves yours. He knows sometimes you feel insecure because they're not like this or they're like that, but he's never seen a prettier pair of tits on anyone. Yours are perfect. He can suck on them, bite them, nuzzle into them all day and still want more. And when he comes on them? Fuck. That's heaven right there for him.

C is for cockwarming. I imagine it would go like this. Really, Logan loves feeling your cunt around his cock. He loves seeing you squirm as you ache for the pleasure only he can give you. It sends his ego through the roof. Plus, he's just a man, how is he gonna resist you looking so beautiful and desperate on his cock?

D is for dacryphilia. One of his favorite things to do is fuck you for hours, slow and deep, making you come over and over and over again until you're crying from the ecstasy. He loves seeing you so weak, so vulnerable for him, so unashamed to show him how good he makes you feel. There's nothing better for him than when he sees those tears of ecstasy in the corners of your eyes and he knows he's doing a good job.

E is for endurance. Logan's healing ability also means that his body doesn't wear out as quick. So he can go for hours, literally fuck you an entire night without breaking so much as a sweat. You may be weak, panting, almost sobbing with pleasure, but he'll keep going until you tell him to stop. He'll fuck you dumb just because he can.

F is for “Fuck!”. That deep, low rumble that leaves his lips when he comes. Or the way he says it in your ear as he slides his cock into you. And when he sees you wearing some skimpy outfit, he'll murmur it under his breath. It's his go-to word, really, whenever you do or say or make him feel something that blows his mind.

G is for g-spot. Logan considers you to be a very knowledgeable woman in regards to your sexual pleasure. That's why he's surprised when, one day as he's fingering you and he curls his fingers against that spongy spot, your body convulses and you gasp, asking him what he did. So now, he redoubles his efforts when he fucks you, making sure his cock rubs your g-spot just how you like it, and he enjoys teaching you about the pleasures of that particular spot. But also, G is for guilt. You gorgeous, perfect, young thing. What are you doing with him? He's fucked up. Broken. A whole fucking mess. And you still love him. He feels guilty about it, as if he's stealing your life away. But when you look at him with those precious eyes and he sees the love in them, he knows he must be doing something right to deserve an angel like you.

H is for hickeys. Hickeys everywhere. If you've been with Logan, everyone's gonna know. He leaves hickeys where others can't see—the swell of your ass, your inner thighs, the underside of your tits and between them—but he also leaves them where everyone can see. Your shoulders, your neck, your collarbone. And you wear them with so much pride, it drives him insane. And knowing you have his marks under your clothes? Yeah, he loves leaving hickeys on your perfect body, just a little reminder that you're his.

I is for insatiable. No matter how much he gets, he always wants more. If you two have a couple of free days, it's guaranteed he'll fuck you senseless the entire time. His stamina is impressive, his dedication to your pleasure otherworldly. He can never get enough of you, and he takes more and more each time, always pushing you to your limits and then some.

J is for jealous. So right after he's established that you're his, he'll drag you to the nearest private corner and fuck you. He fucks you hard, rough, deep, making you come as many times as you can until you're weak and sweating and whimpering. He wants you to feel how much he loves you, how much he appreciates you, and he's hoping you'll never ever leave him.

K is for kink exploration. Logan will never, ever shame you for whatever you like. In fact, be quite enjoys learning what you like and, in turn, teaching you, as well as finding out what else you two enjoy. Not only does he feel more connected to you that way, but seeing the look in your eyes when he's doing exactly what you like the way you like it? Jesus, he lives for that.

L is for lingerie. Pretty lacy lingerie, usually tiny skirts and half-cup bras with little bows. He loves seeing you in them, he loves fucking you in them even more. The way you look in them has his mind reeling, and he also adores tearing them off you when you take too long to take them off. He adores it. So much so, that he can spend hundreds of bucks on lingerie he knows he's only gonna tear into pieces a few hours after they're bought.

M is for masturbation. Be it mutual or when you're not around, he likes to fist his cock in his hand and jerk himself while he imagines you or watches you. It's not the same as being in you, and it's not the same as you touching him, but it's better than nothing. What he likes most, though, is watching you touch yourself, his eyes fixated on your pussy as your fingers work eagerly to bring you to your orgasm. More often than not, he can't help but do it for you himself.

N is for naughty. You can be a naughty little thing sometimes, especially when you're trying to rile him up. He'll let you misbehave a little, like wearing those pretty skirts he likes on you or leave him Polaroids of you naked under his pillows. But he keeps count. When you strike out, he'll punish you. Rough, deep, hard, edging kind of punishment as he fucks you, taking out every little ounce of anger or frustration or jealousy you've made him feel. It'll keep you nice for a while, but Logan knows you'll act up again. And when you do, he'll be ready.

O is for oral. Now, yes, Logan loves when you suck him off. He loves seeing you on your knees, his cock all the way down your throat, the way you gag as you fit him. But he loves eating you out more. He can—and has—spent hours between your thighs, licking your cunt, enjoying your taste and your scent. He loves how you grind against his mouth, how you tangle your fingers in his hair and lead him to where you want him. He likes giving you that little ounce of control while he worships you like the goddess you are.

P is for pregnancy. The idea of you pregnant with his baby...Fuuuck. He imagines you nice and round, breasts heavy, his little child kicking in you. So he'll fuck you again and again, wanting so bad to fill you up and give you a baby. But P is for pullout also. Which he also enjoys, especially when he spills his load all over your stomach, or your lower back, and he gets to see the mess he's made. But one day, be promises himself, he'll give you one of his babies.

Q is for quarrel. Logan is in a constant state of war with himself. He loves taking control, loves how you submit with so much ease. But sometimes, he just wants to give in to you, let him do whatever you want. The thought haunts him at night and he's constantly considering asking you to take control for once, to let you do as you want with his body...

R is for raw. He's a very careful man, and you a very careful woman. But after being together for a few months, going raw is the obvious option. And once you do, Logan will never turn back. Your bare, soft, wet, tight pussy around his cock is a vice. Nothing with no one has ever felt as amazing as fucking you raw, and he needs it daily now. He has has has to feel your gummy walls on his cock if he wants to function properly, otherwise you'll all he'll ever think about and he doesn't want anyone reading his mind when they realize how distracted he is, especially since you're naked in there all the time.

S is for spit. Logan is a dirty, dirty man when it comes to sex. And there's not much he likes more than seeing you coated in his saliva. He likes to lick you all over, a thin trail of spit decorating your skin. He loves to spit on your tits, in your mouth, on your pussy and your ass. God, it makes him crazy. It's a small way of marking you, but it means the world to him.

T is for thigh fucking. Logan is a thigh man through and through. He'll finger you and make you come as many times as you need until your slick is all over your inner thighs, and then he'll stand behind you, slipping his cock between your soft thighs. And it's the only time during sex when he whimpers for you, his hands digging into your hips as he thrusts his hips, his long, thick cock rubbing your clit in the perfect way for him to pull more orgasms out of you.

U is for uninhibited. When he fucks you, Logan's mind is completely focused on you and the feeling of you. He doesn't even realize it when it happens, but he'll start murmuring, “Pretty pussy. So tight, so wet. So ready for my come.” Or, “Perfect tits. Perfect. Can't wait to knock you up, see them swollen with milk, maybe try some...” It's like he can't hold back his thoughts and they just leave his mouth without his permission. “Gorgeous. Fuckin' gorgeous, always so good to me. This cunt is so good to me, I'm gonna make her feel so good.”

V is for videos. His phone is full of videos of you, either of you touching yourself or spread out while he fucks you or your pussy wet and raw with his fingers pumping in and out of you. He'll watch those videos again and again, especially when you two are apart because of missions, and it's the only thing that keeps him going. He'll jerk off to the videos of you, groaning, gasping. He can almost feel your warm cunt around him, your wet walls tightening around him. He never lasts long when he watches your videos. And when he returns to you...Let's just say you won't be walking around the next day.

W is for whipped cream. Logan loves to spread whipped cream all over your body. On your stomach, your nipples, your pussy. And he licks it off. Little by little, the sugar mixed with your taste driving him almost over the edge. He's, maybe once or twice, actually comed in his pants just from licking the whipped cream off you. He loves it that much.

X marks the treasure. And in this case, you've marked a big yellow X on yourself. You're lying naked on his bed, the paint going from your shoulders, over your nipples, and crossing on your belly button, ending just at your thighs. You're waiting for Logan like this when he returns from a mission he'd said was particularly stressful over the phone. And when he sees you. Fuck, when he sees you. He shuts the door after himself quickly and walks to you, standing in front of you, stunned for a moment before he reacts. He's on you in seconds and he doesn't stop until you're a mess, sweating so much that the X painted on your skin is smeared everywhere. It's still one of his favorite times. And now, whenever he sees the X on his suit, he thinks of you.

Y is for yearn. Logan yearns for you, your touch, your body. And it's not always wild, rough sex. He actually enjoys making love to you, as corny as it sounds. Slow, deep thrusts, gentle kisses on your neck and face. He loves it. Holding you, his hands tracing your body, feeling your skin underneath his fingertips...He knows that everything that's happened to him is worth it since he gets to be with you. He yearns for your love, your approval, yearns to be worthy of you.

Z is for zeal. Logan is around 200 years old. He looks somewhere around thirty five, maybe more maybe less. But he fucks like he's in his twenties. He has so much enthusiasm when it comes to giving you pleasure. His stamina is crazy, his endurance unbelievable. You always end up more exhausted than him, body weak and sweating and trembling, and it fuels his ego. Knowing he can make a mess out of you even though he's much older than you makes him proud of himself.

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Omg I'm so sorry this literally took me so long 😭😭😭 but I hope you guys enjoy it 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

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aquaticmercy · 18 days ago

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Not a request but just some thoughts! I don’t know how to explain it but:

Bucky: girl dad through and through

Steve: Boy dad (I love him so much but i genuinely feel if he had a daughter he would raise her like a son because he don’t know what he’s doing)

Sam: Both boy and girl dad, but the boy always turns into a carbon copy of him while simultaneously being a mama’s boy

omg thank you anon for these thoughts!

Enjoys these Dad! Bucky, Steve, and Sam blurbs!

Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes would make the best girl dad. And he’s the best girl dad precisely because everything he’s been through. Because all of the violence and trauma. It’s why he’s so gentle with his daughter, why he’s extra careful around his little girl.

He spent years being nothing but a weapon, and now that he has the life he shares with you and your daughter, he is so scared of hurting either of you that he treats you both like you’re made of glass.

He still has that 1940s mindset buried in there, though. Not because he’s a jerk— he knows better than that— but because it’s just there because it was drilled into him from a very young age.

He catches himself sometimes thinking her daughter should be all dainty and protected and doted on 24/7, and he reminds himself that she has to learn how to be on her own someday.

Still, he treats his daughter like he’s her bodyguard, the way he does with you. He still opens doors for you, stands just a bit too close on the sidewalk. He’s got this invisible shield around both of you. He doesn’t even mean to; it’s just there instinctively.

So now imagine his face when his little girl starts ditching dolls and princesses for more traditionally masculine things.

Bucky is very supportive, although he has to manually override some of his 40s brain.

She loves the drums, and he’s all for it. He gets her lessons. He sits next to her during practice to catch all the sticks she drops trying to do complicated tricks. He high fives her whenever she does a sick beat.

She’s also all about football (soccer). He notices it when she’s cheering for the women’s national team during the World Cup like her life depends on it.

Bucky immediately starts looking at tryouts and academies. When she has a game, he’s out there on the sidelines, grinning whenever she does anything even remotely good, screaming encouragements when she loses the ball, and celebrating with her when she scores a goal.

But god, it’s hard for him to watch her take a tumble, all elbows and skinned knees. She hits the ground here and there and he winces every time, heart in his throat. He’s so adorably worried until she gets back up and gives her daddy a big thumbs up.

And yet when she goes in for a not-so-great tackle, he’s the loudest one cheering on the field (and the first one complaining when the ref gives her a yellow card).

But then. Then she decides she wants to try Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She says she wants to be tough, like him.

This is where Bucky might draw the line. “There’s no way,” he tells you. Not his little girl, rolling around on some mat with kids twice her size, learning to choke people out.

It makes him think of all the things he’s done, the things he was forced to learn, the violence he was engineered to deliver, and he can’t bear the thought of her going anywhere near that world.

He wants to shield her from it, to keep her protected, untouched by any of that.

You, of course, see right through him. You sit him down one night and tell him, gently but firmly, that she’s her own person.

That she’s got his strength. And if she wants to do this, it’s because she wants to be more like him. Because she looks up to him. Because she thinks her daddy is the best person in the world.

It takes a while, but he comes around. But not only because his little girl wants to be like him, but also because he sees so much of you in her.

You both have the same spark, the same drive, the same way of nudging him to grow. To challenge his thoughts and beliefs.

He watches his daughter march into her first Jiu-Jitsu class with this fierce little smile, the kind he remembers seeing on his own face back in the day.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s terrified. But he’s proud, too. Because she's challenging him to be better, braver, just by being herself.

And every time he watches her spar, he finds himself cheering—softly, at first. Soon, he’s the loudest parent in the room. His little girl, fighting her own battles, just like her dad.

Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers would be a fantastic boy dad.

He’d never admit it, but part of him always fantasised having that kind of relationship with his own dad—playing catch and putting on barbecue, doing all those white picket fence father-son things. But his dad died when he was young, and even if he hadn’t, Steve would be too small, too sickly, to keep up.

Now, with a son of his own, he absolutely craves bonding with the kid. And of course he’d love him no matter what, but there's just enough super-soldier serum running through his son’s veins to let him be strong and athletic.

And for a while, everything’s perfect. Steve takes his boy to baseball games, teaches him to throw a curveball, and they spend endless afternoons in the yard sprinting (Steve slows down a bit) and throwing frisbees. During the summer, you could hear them both laughing and talking from sunrise to sunset. It’s everything he dreamed about.

But as his kid grows, Steve starts to feel a distance.

His son’s childhood is just... different.

He’s popular at school and his biggest worries seem to revolve around sports day, acing his tests, and keeping up with all the clubs and extra classes he’s signed up for. His son doesn’t have to fight his way through the day just to be heard or seen. People listen to him. He’s the kid everyone wants to be around. His friends look up to him.

Steve can’t help but remember how different his own childhood was—every day a fight just to prove himself, to survive in a world that didn’t give a weak kid like him any breaks.

He remembers those long, lonely days where he’d sit at the edge of the playground, watching the other boys run across the field, laughing and tackling each other in games he could never join. Sometimes, he’d be nursing a bruised rib or hiding a scraped knee, feeling a bit isolated. He remembers how desperately he’d wanted to be a part of it—to have a world that embraced him instead of challenging him at every turn.

Now, watching his son grow up so different from that—so at ease in his own skin—fills him with happiness. Still, Steve feels a strange tug in his heart.

Steve can’t help but feel like he’s on the outside looking in, wondering if he can truly understand this world his son is growing up in. He’s scared that him and his son wouldn’t have anything in common anymore.

One evening, after the kid’s asleep, Steve finds himself talking to you for hours about his anxieties.

He tells you how strange it feels, how he doesn't know if he can relate to the person your son is becoming. He can’t shake the feeling that, in some way, his boy’s growing into a world Steve himself never got to experience. A world he cannot help him with.

But you’re there, holding his hand, reminding him that love doesn’t need to look like a mirror.

A few days later, Steve goes to pick up his kid from school, and what he sees, he will never forget.

His son was on the playground, standing tall, facing down some older kid who’d been picking on another student— a little boy in a wheelchair.

Steve’s son was defending someone who couldn’t defend themselves, just like Steve would’ve done back in the day— just like he always does.

When they get home, Steve’s got tears in his eyes as he hugs his son, barely able to say how proud he is. He runs upstairs to tell you what your son did.

After that moment, all his worries vanish. Steve’s son might not have his struggles, but he's got his heart.

And that’s all you ever really wanted.

Sam Wilson

Sam Wilson as a dad? He’s wonderful.

You’ve never seen someone so comfortable just rolling with whatever his kids throw at him.

His little girl has him wrapped around her finger.

When she drags him into one of her imaginary plays, he dives right in without hesitation.

The two of them have this whole routine now: she’ll declare herself the “Queen of Cupcakes,” and before you know it, Sam’s transformed into her nemesis, “The Grumpy Troll.”

He’s got a whole stash of masks and scarves just for these characters. He looks ridiculous in a pink tutu and tiara, but he’d never miss the chance to be part of her little kingdom.

But his daughter is not only about tea parties— She’s only eight, but she’s strong-willed and headstrong. She insists on trying things herself first, even if she has to wrestle with it.

One time Sam reached over to help her open a jar, and she looked up with the most serious little frown, shook her head, and said, “Daddy, I got it.” And she did, after two minutes of huffing and puffing.

Another time, Sam finds his daughter in the kitchen, a stool dragged up to the counter, sleeves rolled up, determinedly making her own peanut butter sandwich. She’s got peanut butter smeared from cheek to elbow, but she’s concentrating hard, tongue poking out a little as she spreads it just right. When Sam offers to help, she shakes her head without even looking up, determined to get it done.

Then there’s his six year old little boy, who’s gentler, in that way that Sam is. He’s kind-hearted and hilarious in a way that catches you both by surprise.

After every mission, his son’s the one who toddles over and asks, “Daddy, are you okay?” like he’s got this radar for how people are feeling. He reminds Sam of himself, especially when he worked at the VA.

Sam even found him in the backyard last week, carefully placing a bowl of water and crumbs of bread on the grass. He said “The little bird with the hurt wing might come back, and I don’t want him to be thirsty.”

Another time, he offered his favourite blanket to his sister when she had a cold, even though he always sleeps with it himself. He just tucked it around her shoulders, giving her a quick hug before running off.

And just like his dad, your son is very clingy— very attached to you. If he sees you’re tired, he’ll nestle up on the couch next to you. And when you’re out of the house, he’ll carry your sweater around, or ask a hundred times when you’re coming back.

On the first day of school, your son’s practically clinging to your leg, not quite ready to let go. His eyes are all big, and you could feel how nervous he is without you there.

Sam crouched down and starts giving him one go his famous pep talks. Before he could finish, his big sister steps in.

She promises him they’d sit together on the bus and during snack and lunch time, and that she’ll teach him how to be “brave like Daddy.”

Your son squeezes your hand one last time, then lets go, holding onto his sister’s instead as they both walk on the school bus.

“Did you see that?” Sam whispers, his voice full of pride.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. You lean back into him, watching your kids grow up in front of your eyes.

-end

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #sam wilson imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers fluff #sam Wilson fluff #captain america x reader

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latenightreadingpdf · 10 days ago

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Beneath the Moonlight - Remus Lupin

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: In the days leading up to a full moon, Remus Lupin receives an anonymous gift basket filled with potions, chocolates, and a carefully-brewed Wolfsbane Potion.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Y/N considered herself a rather observant student, especially when it came to the Marauders. It was hard not to notice them, really. They were practically a four-person parade through the halls of Hogwarts—pranks, laughter, and charm trailing behind them like a comet's tail. James Potter with his messy hair and endless attempts to impress Lily Evans, Sirius Black with his dazzling grin and effortless cool, Peter Pettigrew following close, always eager to please. But one Marauder stood out to her more than the rest. Remus Lupin.

There was something about him that had Y/N hooked from the beginning. Perhaps it was his quiet brilliance or the way he seemed to carry a world of mysteries in those warm, honey-colored eyes. Or maybe, it was the way new scars seemed to appear on his face and hands every so often, faint but unmistakable. They fascinated her, those scars, and as her gaze lingered on him in class or at meals, she found herself trying to figure him out.

And, admittedly, somewhere along the way, Y/N developed a bit of a crush on him. But who wouldn’t? He was brilliant, always top of the class without trying too hard, and—and yes, he was gorgeous. Handsome in that annoyingly effortless way. Soft, tousled hair that practically begged to be touched, sharp cheekbones, and—Merlin, those knit jumpers that always made him look so adorable. How was that fair? It was like he’d been sculpted by some benevolent god of tall, bookish, sweater-loving dream boys.

But Y/N’s interest in him was more than just attraction. There was something… otherworldly about him. She’d started to notice patterns—how he would seem worn and pale every few weeks, how he would disappear entirely from school grounds for a day or two, only to return looking exhausted and, if possible, even more scarred than before.

A month ago, after endless speculation and careful observation, Y/N had arrived at a conclusion: Remus Lupin was probably a werewolf. She wasn’t completely certain; it was more of an educated guess. But what could she do with this theory? It wasn’t like she could walk up to him and blurt out, “Hey, Remus! You don’t know me, but I’ve been watching you for months, and I just wanted to ask, are you, by any chance, a werewolf?”

The thought alone made her cringe. Y/N sighed, tapping her quill against her parchment. Remus Lupin might be full of mysteries and maybe—just maybe—she’d get the courage to actually talk to him someday.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The full moon was only a few days away, and Y/N could already see the toll it was taking on Remus. He was limping slightly, a stiffness in his stride that made her heart ache, and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping in days, and though she knew he had his friends—the Marauders, always fiercely loyal—she couldn’t help but feel he needed more comfort than they could provide. She wanted to do something for him, something small but meaningful.

The idea hit her while she was rummaging through her bag in the library: an anonymous get-well-soon basket. She could leave it outside his dorm, a collection of little comforts to ease the days leading up to his transformation. She’d make sure it was subtle, not too personal, just enough to lift his spirits without drawing attention.

Excitement and nerves mixed in her stomach as she mentally listed what she’d need. A couple potions to help with sleep, pain, and anxiety, some of Honeydukes' finest chocolate, a soft blanket to keep him warm, and a few baked goods from the kitchen elves. She might even add a small note with a simple message—“Hope these bring you a bit of comfort during the full moon. Take care of yourself.”

Over the next couple of days, Y/N carefully gathered everything. She bought him a midnight-blue wool blanket that felt like a hug in fabric form and a variety of different chocolates. She used her advanced potion skills to make Murtlap Essence, a Calming Draught, and a Healing Potion.

But the most important addition was a small bottle of Wolfsbane Potion. She’d somehow managed to get her hands on the recipe, even though it wasn’t officially taught at Hogwarts—and she’d acquired a secret stash of the rare ingredients needed to brew it, though she'd never admit where from. It had taken several nights of brewing in the abandoned classroom she’d found, but she’d done it.

The full moon was only two days away when she finished assembling the basket, carefully placing the note on top before leaving it right outside the boys' dormitory. With a final glance over her handiwork, she quickly walked back to her dorm, satisfied with her work.

As she returned to her room, a little thrill of satisfaction bubbled within her. Maybe, just maybe, her small gesture would help Remus feel a little less alone, a little less burdened by the full moon’s approach. And that thought alone was enough to fill her with quiet joy.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Just a few floors below, the Marauders were still lounging in the Gryffindor common room, sprawled across chairs and couches as the fire crackled low. They’d spent hours discussing pranks, arguing about the latest Quidditch match, and bickering about everything from Potions homework to the best way to dodge Filch. When the last embers started to die, they finally decided it was time to call it a night.

As they made their way up the stairs, it was James who first spotted the basket. He froze mid-step, eyebrows raised as he pointed it out. "Er, lads... anyone know what this is?"

The other boys crowded around, peering down at the unexpected sight.

“No clue,” Peter murmured, squinting at the note resting on top.

Sirius, with his usual curiosity, leaned down and plucked up the note, inspecting it with a grin before his eyes gleamed mischievously. “Ooooooh, Remus, it’s for you!” he cooed, reading the note aloud for the group: ‘Hope these bring you a bit of comfort during the full moon. Take care of yourself.’

The boys’ faces all fell at once. Whoever had left this knew. Someone had figured it out. Their carefully crafted excuses, the timing of their sneaking around, all the little tricks they’d come up with—they thought it was foolproof. But apparently, someone had been watching more closely than they’d realized.

Without another word, they grabbed the basket, exchanging uneasy glances as they rushed into the dormitory, shutting the door firmly behind them. They gathered around Remus’s bed, where James set the basket down, and just stared at it.

“Well? Open it already!” James urged, his voice a mix of curiosity, excitement, and a tinge of concern.

Remus took a steadying breath. His friends were watching him closely as he slowly lifted the wrapping, half-expecting some kind of prank to burst out at him. But instead, he found an assortment of thoughtful items neatly arranged within the basket. A stack of Honeydukes chocolates, carefully tied together with string. A blanket, dark blue and soft, lay folded at the side. Several small bottles—potions, each labeled with precision, sat in the center, cushioned by tissue paper.

They all scanned the contents in awe and curiosity, but Sirius was the first to notice something unusual. He gasped, eyes widening as he pointed to one particular bottle.

“Holy shit, is that—”

“Wolfsbane,” Remus finished quietly, staring at the vial with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

They all fell silent, taking in the implications of that single bottle. Wolfsbane Potion was incredibly complex, nearly impossible for a student to brew, and yet here it was—crafted, sealed, and ready for him. Someone had not only figured out his secret but had gone to lengths far beyond casual concern. The potion’s presence in the basket hinted at more than just kindness; it was a deeply personal gesture, an unspoken understanding that spoke volumes.

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers brushing the cool glass of the bottle. "Did the card say who it was from?" he asked, looking over at Sirius, who shrugged and handed him the note again.

Remus read the short message over and over, searching for any hidden clues, some hint that might give away the sender. But the note was short, simple, and entirely anonymous. He turned it over, checked for invisible ink, even held it up to the light, but there was nothing.

“Not a single hint?” James murmured, peering over his shoulder, a frown deepening across his face. “Nothing?”

The group exchanged baffled glances. They examined the basket once more, handling each item carefully to make sure nothing seemed dangerous. The potions were labeled clearly and accurately, the chocolate smelled rich and sweet, and the blanket was incredibly soft—perfect for a night when he’d be feeling cold and drained. Every item seemed genuine, carefully chosen, with not a hint of a prank or hex.

As they finished examining the basket, they slowly started getting ready for bed. Remus sat quietly on his bed, his mind racing as he took in the kindness of it all. He tucked the potions into his bedside drawer, hiding the chocolate where he knew Sirius wouldn’t be able to steal it, and spread the blanket over his bed. It was soft, warmer than his own, and the weight of it settled over him like a quiet comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.

Sliding under the blanket, Remus felt a warmth blooming in his chest. Someone out there knew his secret, but instead of using it against him, they’d tried to make things a little easier. And he knew, without question, that he had to figure out who it was.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The full moon had passed in a calm that Remus had never experienced before. He woke that morning still feeling sore, but the aches were manageable. Normally, the transformations left him scarred and hollow, as if all the energy and warmth had been drained from him, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. But this time, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion and the potions from the basket, he felt… human. Less broken.

After seeing the other Marauders off to class, Remus leaned back into his bed, feeling the softness of the new blanket wrap around him like a gentle hug. He’d spent the morning drinking one of the calming potions, using the healing salve for his aches, and nibbling on a bit of chocolate to ease his nerves. And though he was grateful, he couldn’t shake the strange blend of curiosity and unease that swirled in his mind. Who knew? Who cared this much? The secrecy felt like a burden, yet he couldn’t help but feel a small glow of warmth every time he glanced at the basket.

Meanwhile, James, Sirius, and Peter were trying to answer that very question in their own way. During Potions, they’d had an idea. Whoever had brewed Wolfsbane Potion had to be incredibly skilled, so finding out who had the best marks in Potions could narrow things down. The second Slughorn dismissed them, they pounced.

Sirius leaned casually on Slughorn’s desk, grinning with exaggerated innocence. “Professor,” he began, “say I wanted to improve my Potions skills. Just hypothetically.”

Slughorn’s eyebrows lifted, clearly intrigued by Sirius’s unusual interest. “Oh? Well, it’s about time, Mr. Black. I’d say your marks could certainly use a bit of boosting.”

“Oh, I know, I know!” Sirius waved his hands, laughing a bit. “That’s exactly why I was thinking maybe a bit of tutoring could help. So… who would you say is the top student in your class?”

James sidled up next to him, nodding earnestly. “Yeah, Professor. Who’s the best at brewing?”

Slughorn looked delighted, his chest puffing with pride at the idea of his Gryffindor students taking a sudden interest in his class. He lowered his voice as though he were sharing a prized secret. “Ah, if you’re looking for someone with real talent, you’d want to speak with Y/N Y/L/N. A truly gifted student! Absolutely meticulous with her brewing, and a Gryffindor as well! You boys ought to know her.”

Sirius and James exchanged baffled glances. “Y/N Y/L/N?” James muttered, frowning in thought.

Peter piped up, looking a little surprised. “Oh, I remember her. We did a project together in second year. She’s very sweet. I suppose she’s easy to miss, always keeping to herself.”

“Right…” Sirius trailed off, scratching his chin. “Doesn’t sound like the type to be sneaking around in the dead of night to drop off mysterious gift baskets, does she?”

“People can surprise you,” Peter shrugged. “I bet she’s got her reasons.”

After classes were over, the three Marauders nearly sprinted back to the dormitory. They’d waited all day to tell Remus their findings, and as soon as they saw him, they launched right into it.

“So,” Sirius said, flopping dramatically onto Remus’s bed, “we might know who left the basket.”

Remus looked up, eyebrows raised, though he tried to appear casual. “Really?”

James nodded, practically bouncing with excitement. “Y/N Y/L/N. Slughorn says she’s his top student in Potions. And she’s a Gryffindor, so she’d know where to find us.”

The name caught Remus off guard. “Y/N Y/L/N?” He knew exactly who she was—quiet, always hanging at the edges of things, never drawing attention to herself. He remembered her from their earlier years, especially a few years back when she and Peter had done that project together. She’d been kind and incredibly smart, but she always seemed to fade into the background.

Sirius shot him a curious look. “Wait—do you actually know her?”

Remus hesitated, carefully picking his words. “I mean… I remember her. We’ve been in classes together since first year.”

But what he didn’t say was that he’d once felt drawn to her quiet kindness. She wasn’t like other students; there was a thoughtfulness to her, a gentle intelligence that had always intrigued him. He remembered her now, the shy girl who had somehow made him feel seen, and the idea that she might have left the basket stirred something inside him—a mix of hope and nerves.

Sirius smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Oh, you remember her, do you?”

Remus rolled his eyes, trying to hide his blush. “Look, it’s probably not her. There’s no way she’d still remember… I mean, we barely ever talked.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Barely ever talked? That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t care. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you clearly want it to be her.”

Remus glanced away, not trusting himself to deny it. Because if it really was Y/N… she’d have gone to extraordinary lengths just to help him. It would mean she knew his secret and, rather than fearing him, had quietly found a way to ease his burden. And perhaps the most surprising part? He found himself hoping it was her.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Alright. I’ll talk to her. See if there’s anything to this theory of yours.”

The next morning, with a hint of apprehension and excitement, Remus set out to find her. He decided to look in the library first, where he thought she might be studying between classes. But as he crossed the common room, he spotted her in the far corner, curled up in a chair with a thick book on her lap.

He took a steadying breath and made his way over to her. She looked up, clearly surprised to see him, her eyes widening as he gave a small, nervous smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Do you mind if I join you?”

She blinked, a little flustered, but nodded, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Um, of course, Remus.”

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a moment, and Remus could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of her attention on him.

“So… I, uh, wanted to thank you,” he started, not sure how to bring it up. “For… everything.”

She stiffened slightly, her cheeks flushing, but kept her gaze steady. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied quietly.

He watched her, seeing the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips, and knew then, without a doubt, that she was the one. “The gift basket. The potions. The blanket.” He lowered his voice. “The Wolfsbane. It helped me… more than I can say.”

Her face softened, and she nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I’m… really glad to hear that. I just wanted you to have what you needed. It’s not easy going through all that on your own.”

Remus felt his heart swell. Here she was, fully aware of the truth and yet sitting here, calm and kind, accepting him exactly as he was.

He met her gaze, feeling a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in ages. “Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of kindness from you, but… it means a lot.”

They sat there in a comfortable silence, the unspoken words passing between them, understanding filling the space. He knew he’d found a friend in her—someone who saw through the mask he wore and had chosen to help, not out of pity, but because she understood what it meant to care quietly, deeply, and without expectation.

And perhaps, he thought with a hint of warmth, this was only the beginning of something much deeper.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ this is kinda rushed sorry, school is killing me :P

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justmymindandstuff · 23 days ago

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welcome home soldier -Robb Stark x WifeReader

summary: Your husband Robb Stark defeats the Lannister army in the Battle of the Whispering Wood. His first real battle. But the only thing he could think about was you and that he might never see you again. You gladly welcome him back into your arms.

words: 3.160

warnings: angst, talk about battles, blood and death, smut, MDNI (18+)

a/n: Robb Stark lives rentfree in my head. I will never get over him// English is not my first language //no beta// A03

Hope you like it

requests are open // main-masterlist // GoT-masterlist

Restlessly, you pace back and forth in your tent. Hot anxiety burns into your stomach and does not let you rest for a single second.

"Lady Stark. You should get some sleep," your guard sounds a bit concerned while his watchful gaze never leaves you.

"I will sleep when my lord husband is back beside me," you snap at him.

Robb hat left twenty-five men here with you. To protect you and bring you back to Winterfell, if something happened to him. Just the thought that he might die brings tears to your eyes.

Was the kiss you gave him before he rode into battle the last one you will ever share? Was it the last time you saw his blue eyes? Was it the last time you heard his warm voice? "I will be back soon, my sweet girl." Gods, please bring him back to me. You chew on your bloody nail bed as you pace back and forth. You listen outside. Waiting for war drums or the trumpeting of a horn that announces their return. The sun is slowly rising again, and the fear within you grows with each passing minute.

Is it normal for it to take so long? Should you have heard something? Is Robb still alive? You wish you had an answer to at least one of these questions. But this is Robb's first real battle. This is the real war. With real consequences. And the real death.

As you took Robb as your husband at Goodswood and he draped the cloak around your shoulders, you never thought you would someday be sitting in a war camp waiting for him to return from battle.

He will come back, won't he? The thought makes you feel sick. You stop, take a deep breath, and sink to your knees. You close your eyes and begin a new round of prayers to the old gods. If you just pray desperately enough, they must listen, right? There are no weirwood trees here, how can the gods hear you if they have no ears here? You shake off the thought and focus on your prayer.

But it doesn't take long before you hear loud shouts from outside. Immediately, you are on your feet and running.

"Lady Stark, we don't know…." your guard tries to hold you back, but you pay him no mind and storm into the cold morning. The sunlight briefly blinds you, but after you blink you see the Stark banners on the horizon, drawing closer. They are back.

But has Robb returned with them?

The army is approaching quickly and you now recognize the faces of the banner bearers, but you pay them no attention. You just want to see Robb's face. Your eyes search over the front row of men. You see Grey Wind and at his side, Robb. Your gaze meets his a wave of relief washes over you and tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. You close your eyes for a moment and send a prayer of thanks to all the gods of this world.

The noise around you swells as the soldiers stream into the camp. But you ignore them all, your gaze fixed on Robb. He recognizes you and his lips curl into a smile. You run towards Robb. He dismounts his horse, the mud splattering lightly over his boots as he lands on the ground. When you reach him, you crash into his arms. His Armor feels cold and hard, the dirt and dust clinging to him ruin your dress, b ut it doesn't matter to you. Robb's arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing embrace as he pulls you close. You snuggle into him. He smells of sweat, blood, and death, but you don't care.

"Hello my sweet girl," he whispers into your hair. When you hear his warm voice a shiver runs through your bod, and you let out a relieved sob. "hey hey hey." he slightly moves away from you to look you in the face. "Don't cry."

Your gaze sweeps over his face, it's a bit dirty, there's a scratch above his eyebrow but otherwise you can't see any injuries.

"You are alive," you say. "You've come back. Are you hurt?"

He laughs softly. "Yes, I have come back. I will always come back to you.” Robb gently wipes the tears from your cheek. “Just a few bruises.” He lets his hand rest on your cheek and leans down to you. His lips meet yours, the kiss tasting slightly salty from your tears. You are surprised by the intensity of the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close to you. Breathless you pull away from each other after a moment and Robb leans his forehead against yours. His eyes never leave yours.

"I was so scared for you," you whisper.

"I was scared too," he whispers so softly that you can barely understand him.

You reach for his hand and only now notice that he is slightly trembling. He closes his fingers around yours. You notice how tears gather in his eyes, but he blinks them away. He can not cry here. Not in front of his men. You scratch the sweaty curls in his neck to calm him down a bit.

"Do I get a welcome kiss too?" Theon's voice pulls you both out of your little world. You look over at him, he also seems exhausted but uninjured.

"Gladly, if you're ready to take my husband's sword through your heart afterwards," you reply to him with a slight smile. You are glad that he is unharmed. You release Robb and pull Theon into an embrace. "It's nice to see you."

"What a happy little family you Starks are." at the mocking voice of Jaime Lannister you flinch. You look at the Kingslayer, who is being led through the camp in chains. He looks miserable and defeated. Only the arrogant smile of the golden lion who not so long ago rode through the gates of Winterfell has remained.

"Lock him away." Robb uses his Lord Stark voice as he gives his command and his men drag the prisoner away.

"You have captured the kingslaye,” you say incredulously.

"Yes." Robbs hand finds yours again and he pulls you a little closer to his side.

"What do you plan to do with him?" you ask. Robb's jaw tightens slightly. He would love to chop off his head, you know that. But he can't do that. Not as long as the Lannisters have Ned, Sansa, and Arya as hostages.

"I don't know yet," Robb replies quietly.

"Let's think about it later. Now you need a bath and sleep.” you order, trying to adopt his commanding tone.

"As you command, sweet girl. But first I have to make sure the Kingslayer is well guarded. Can you do me a favor?”

“Everything.” you answer.

“Please make sure that the injured are adequately cared for."

"Of course." you say, squeezing his hand and standing on you tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the lips. You turn to leave and your hand slips out of his. You immediately notice how you are getting a little restless again. But you straighten your shoulders. He is Lord Stark and you must be Lady Stark now.

"Grey Wind." you hear Robb behind you and the next moment the Direwolf presses his wet, warm snout into your palm. Flanked by the wolf, you get to work.

When you later return to your tent with Grey Wind at your side, the camp has gotten a little quieter. You feel the sleepless night catching up on you.

Robb has taken off his armor, his curls are still a little damp from his bath. When you enter, he looks up. His eyes look tired, but he still smiles at you. Grey Wind's large body scurries past you as the wolf lies down on his blanket next to the entrance. You walk the few steps to Robb. On the way you take a cup of wine and hand it to him. You notice how his whole body slightly trembles as the tension of the battle finally falls away from him and he finds a bit of peace. He takes a few deep breaths and drowns his cup.

"Your guard said you haven't slept." it's not a reproach, he sounds a bit worried.

"Did you really think I could find sleep while you ride into battle?"

"Don't you have any faith in my war skills, wife?" he asks with a slight smile.

"The greatest faith my dear husband" you reply. "But I have only contempt for our enemies and fear that they will take you away from me."

Robb reaches for your hips and pulls you closer to him. You place your hand on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat. Nothing ever made you happier than the steady pounding in his chest.

"No one can ever take me away from you," he says his voice trembling slightly. It sounds like a promise. But you know that he might not be able to keep that promise. From his look, you can see that he knows it too. Tears well up in your eyes.

"I was so scared," you whisper softly.

"I know. I was scared too." Robb buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. You snuggle into his arms. "The kingslayer. He screamed for me and slaughtered our men in the process. I thought for a moment he would reach me, and then I could only think that I would never see you again." his voice trembles slightly. You dig your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. You never want to let him go. "The fear almost paralyzed me."

Fear grips you again and you have to press yourself closer to him. "I want to go home." you whisper. You wish to return behind the safe walls of Winterfell. Back with your family.

"Me too. We will win this war and then we will go home and never travel south again.”

You nod. "That's a good plan." your voice still trembles.

You just stand there for a moment in your embrace. You let it sink in that Robb really has come back. He survived this battle. You don't want to think that it was just one of many. Now you want to enjoy that your husband has come back to you. Robb's warm breath on your neck tickles lightly.

When you suddenly feel his lips on your skin, you shudder. Robb's grip on your hip tightens slightly as his lips kiss their way up your neck. You tilt your head slightly to the side and close your eyes. He kisses from your neck to your cheek and then your lips. The passion, longing, and desire in his kiss surprise you and ignite a hot fire in your lower abdomen. The fatigue is gone. Your lips move in sync with his. You press yourself closer to him. A hot shiver runs through your entire body.

Breathless, you part your lips from each other again. Robb leans his forehead against yours. Your gaze meets his. His hand glides up over your hip. His knuckles glide over the side of your breast, over your collarbone and up your neck. Then he places his warm hand on your cheek.

"I need you." he whispers.

Instead of answering him, you lean forward and place your lips back on his. Your hands begin to unbutton his shirt. As your fingers caress his chest, he moans into the kiss. His fingers unfasten the clasp of your cloak and it slides from your shoulders. Robb breaks the kiss, places his hands back on your hips, and turns you around.

Immediately, he begins to untie the strings of your dress. He is skilled at it, you notice how the dress loosens. Robb's lips find your neck again. This time, you can't suppress a soft gasp. You lean against him. You feel his body heat on your back. Robb pulls the dress over your shoulders and you slip out of the sleeves. Immediately Robb's lips attack the newly exposed skin. He pushes his hips slightly forward, and you feel his hardness against your butt. In your lower abdomen, a pleasant throbbing spreads. All the fear, the uncertainty, and the panic flow out of you and are replaced by desire. You pull at the skirt and the dress slides down your body so that you are left standing there in your white undergarment. It is made of thick wool to keep you warm and not particularly sexy. You turn in Robb's arms, catch his lips in a brief kiss, and then tug at his shirt. Robb raises his arms and you pull the shirt over his head. He tosses it carelessly into a corner.

You examine Robb's bare chest. Apart from a few bruises and scratches he really seems to be uninjured. You send another thanks to the gods. Then you look into Robb's face. His eyes are on you.

"I told you, just a few bruises." He kisses your forehead. "You are beautiful," he says before taking a step back. Robb extends his hand to you. You reach for it and let yourself be helped out of the dress. He kisses your hand. Then he gently pulls you closer to him. Your lips find each other again as your hand rests on the back of his neck and begins to caress his curls. "I'm so lucky that such a beautiful woman is waiting for me at home," he whispers against your lips. You apply gentle pressure to his chest so that he has to take a step towards the bed.

Robb's lips curl into a smile as he pulls back a bit from you. "Eager sweet wife." But then he reaches for you and lifts you in a swift turn. He takes the few steps to the bed and sets you back on your feet. You feel the edge of the bed in the back of your knee.

Robb quickly sheds the rest of his clothes while you slip out of your underwear and boots. You let yourself fall backward onto the soft covers, and in the next moment, Robb is above you.

You open your legs for him while your arms wrap around his neck. He supports himself with one arm next to your head. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss. You feel as if your entire body is on fire. You lean into his warm body, wanting to feel every inch of his skin on yours. Robbs kisses along your neck while his cock rubs between your wet folds. You let out a soft moan. Robb's hand wanders over your body, your breasts, and then rests on your hip. He gently pushes you back into the soft furs.

"Fuck," Robb curses softly against your neck. His voice heavy with his northern accent. His tip rubs over your clit, your fingernails lightly scratch over the skin on your neck, leaving red stripes.

"Please, Robb," you moan and in the next moment he sinks completely into you with one thrust.

Your wet warmth envelops him. You both moan. You wrap your legs around his hips and push yourself forward to bring him even closer to you. Robb's body trembles and you feel his breath on your neck. Gently, you tug at his curls, making him look at you.

His eyes shine with warmth and love. His gaze sends a warm shiver down your body and makes your heart beat faster.

You lean up and your lips meet again. Robb pushes his hips back a little and starts to move. You move your hips in sync with his. Feel him deep inside you. Robb intertwines your hands on the pillow. You notice a pleasant tension building up inside you. Your other hand rests on his muscular shoulder. You feel that even now he is still not close enough. You never want to let him go again. Here he is safe. His deep thrusts make you moan again. Robb kisses your cheeks and then looks into your eyes.

"Please never leave me again," you say softly. His thrusts become slower, he hardly moves inside you anymore, and this fullness makes your toes curl.

Robb smiles sadly and then gently kisses your lips. "I will always come back home to you," he whispers. His eyes find yours, and after a brief moment, you nod slightly. you press your calves slightly into his lower back, making him thrust into you a little faster again. Robb moans. Hearing those sounds from him makes your lower abdomen flutter.

Robb picks up a faster rhythm again. His lips wander back to your neck and with his next thrust, he bites. Your scream of his name is so loud that you are sure the guards outside have heard you.

"The whole time out there I could only think about coming back to you. To feel you in my arms again.” He kisses the bitemark gently. "Wanting to kiss you. I cursed myself for not kissing you enough.” his words are followed by a passionate kiss on your lips. Your legs tremble slightly. "To be able to feel you around me again." his lips wander to your ear.

Robb lets his hand wander from your hip between your bodies and he begins to draw circles over clit. You lean into his hand, feeling yourself start to pulse around his member. He gasps, and his hot breath tickles your neck. You can't focus on anything else but Robb. He picks up a faster rhythm. You match your movements to his. Your bodies tremble together. Your orgasm washes over you, and as you clench around Robb, he follows you and comes. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer as he gently thrusts his hips a few more times. A shiver spreads across your entire body, and you let out a soft moan. Robb lets his weight sink a little further onto you, and you wrap your arms around him.

After a moment you notice how your breath and heartbeat slowly begin to calm down again. Robb sits up a bit and wants to roll off you. But you press your crossed legs together behind his back so that he falls back onto you again. He laughs warmly.

"Don't go away." you whisper and start to scratch his neck again. Robb's cock twitches slightly inside you.

"I'm not going anywhere." Robb buries his nose in the crook of your neck as he shifts his weight slightly, so you are not crushed by his weight. He distributes gentle kisses on the skin of your neck, and you sigh contentedly. You close your eyes and wish that the war, the soldiers and the whole world out there to disappear. You want to live forever with Robb in this moment.

#game of thrones #robb stark smut #robb stark x reader #got #house stark #got smut #robb stark #robb stark x you #got fic #got fanfiction #robb stark fic #robb stark x reader smut

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meldoujin · 3 months ago

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More Baby Effect WIPs

(and some nerd babble)

Hehe

Honestly when the day this chapt is out comes I'm seriously considering popping a champagne cuz it's taking so long it feels like a damn holiday

Snarky jokes appart, I'm really anxious to finish this! Plus, I'm already itching for the chapt after this one, so I went to check the comic's script and WOW. It changed a lot! Also it's bigger, has so many interactions that aren't even written down anywhere and a lot of deleted chapters.

There are some things that don't need to be written to be told and it's so fun to see them unraveling in the details.

Yes, I'm a total comic nerd

Anyway, backgrounds

No matter how wobbly they might look for me sometimes, I just love drawing random forms or anything that's just a lot of scribbles on top of the other if you look closely (I just googled it and found out you call it hatch drawing).

If I could, I'd draw everything this way. Still practicing though, and it's easier to do it as rocks/trees and other stuff. The best one I managed until now is that cave ceiling up there and the first WIP I posted. Honestly I don't even know how did I pull that out, it's just- I didn't even do any lineart or shading for it, but the scribbles made the cave's form, depth and angle so clear. It's so cool and I want to master it someday 🫡

I did try it before in BBE (very few of them looked nice) and I did it a lot in a previous one 'Haloween scare run!' . That comic is A TOTAL MESS. But eh, I like it

Like this one oh dear God the angle is so wrong ldjdrjsk but it really felt nice to scribble the trees like that

This one actually looks cool,

This panel is complicated, the trees are cool in the background but there's a lot of info and it's a bit confusing. Wait

THE HELL KDFHJREK I DIDN'T REMEMBER THIS

Get'em girlll being rotten ain't keeping you from twerking... kind of

Anyway, I'm putting a lot of myself in this chapter as you can see, and drawing it slowly is just as fun as it is unsettling XD (I want to finish ittt raaah)

I really hope you see it once it's done!

#one piece #zoro/sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #zosan art #black leg sanji #luffy #nami #usopp #babyeffect!#one piece fancomic #comic art #fan comic

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 10 months ago

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Coy Messages & New Love (Daddy Dom!John Price on Tumblr Headcanons)

Or: More headcanons for a story I might write someday.

CoD Masterlist

Username: CaptainBear

He’s a soft Daddy Dom but with a rough edge. So is it any surprise John is very possessive yet also genuinely caring?

And kinda heartbroken you don’t live in England despite coming across as British.

Is always the first to like your posts.

And despite the rules you set, especially the DNI if you’re 40+ (in my mind, John is about 42), you allow him to interact with your content.

Because there’s something drawing you to him, something inexplicable that craves his attention. Something that keeps you hoping there’s a chance.

Your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you receive a notification.

CaptainBear sent you a message.

CaptainBear: Hey, I just wanted to say I thoroughly enjoy your blog and you seem like a very darling girl. And pretty to boot! You probably won’t respond to this and that’s fine, but I thought I’d finally gather the courage to pop in and tell you.

CaptainBear: Also, if I may be blunt, seeing you wear that choker in combination with that bunny shirt makes it very difficult to think. If you were at base with me, I don’t think I’d be of any use. Mission planning would be nigh on impossible.

(your_username): Base? What do you do for a living?

CaptainBear: I’m in the military. Captain.

(your_username): Wow, seriously?! That’s incredible! But, with all due respect, what is a man like you doing in a place like this?

CaptainBear: Satisfying my curiosity. Maybe on a mission to find something.

(your_username): Which is?

CaptainBear: Companionship. With luck, yours.

(your_username): What’s your name, soldier? If you tell me, I’ll see what I can do.

CaptainBear: It’s John. Sorry, should’ve mentioned that. Quite a generic name too, I know.

(your_username): It’s alright, John. Is it short for anything or just John?

CaptainBear: It’s short for Jonathan, but only my Mum calls me that.

(your_username): But what if I did?

CaptainBear: God, you’ve got no idea how much I now want to hear you say it.

(your_username): Maybe someday you will.

He regularly checks up on you, even multiple times a day. Look, John just wants to make sure you ate, stay hydrated, and are healthy.

When he's on leave, it's not uncommon to get a message from him accompanied by a picture of a pint with the context he's at a pub with his pals. More often than not, it's followed by a confession he'd rather spend the evening with you.

Loves it when you send him photos, especially to show off new lingerie you bought.

Thrives on the knowledge he gets to see more of you than anyone else and loves the thought you’re showing others what they can’t have.

Because it’s all his.

Has confessed to jerking off to them… a lot.

Shares little bits of his day with you. He’d be at a bookshop and ask you to pick something for him to read or your recommendations. Or he’ll be cooking and be struck with curiosity because what is your favourite food? What do you like to eat?

CaptainBear: Y/N, I made a brownie.

(your_username): Oh, is it any good?

The photo he sends you answers the question. Nevertheless, just to be sure and give him the chance to give context, you send a follow-up question. (your_username): Did you use 90% cocoa chocolate or is it…

CaptainBear: It’s burnt… so now you know I can’t bake. I’m a man of many talents, but baking isn’t one.

(your_username): I’m sure you more than make up for it otherwise, sir.

CaptainBear: You’ll find out when we meet, my dear.

Assures you that when he’s away on deployment he’s not making up a lie to be with another. And in order to prove that, John will sneak in photos to show you he’s really in Iraq or wherever else.

Drives the task force up the wall because he gets quite lovey dovey in private.

Leaves compliments on your posts which are laced with possessiveness and his obsession with you (my pretty Dollie, sweet little thing, etc.) on your posts. He tags you in photos and reblogs too to let you know what he's into, thinks you like, and hopes for your relationship and possible future.

Furthermore, he also shows you claimed him via reblogs and by stating he’s ‘taken and proudly devoted to (your_username)’ in his blog’s bio (even before he's asked for your submission, which he is pretty sure you'll give him. Until then, it's a way to stave off unwanted attention).

Gets especially gooey with lust and affection when you show him the plushies you’ve crocheted (totally not saying this because I crochet, haha). Like, he’ll immediately brighten when he sees a '(your_username): John (and occasionally sir or even Daddy later down the line), look at this!' followed by a photo of you snuggling with your new animal buddy.

As time passes by and you two get to know each other in more ways than one, you finally decide to meet. The moment you tell John you booked a train to London during the time he’s on leave he’s overjoyed. Ecstatic even.

The moment you enter King’s Cross, he spots you and practically runs over to wrap you up in a warm bear hug before you can get so much as a greeting out. The only sound you make is a surprised squeal as he lifts you up and twirls you around. “My little lady, finally home.”

At last, you regain your voice. “Hello to you too, Jonathan.”

Though he loathes hearing anyone else use his full name, he melts on the spot when you do. Moreover, he’s flattered you remembered the promise he thought was an empty one, a fleeting wish.

Turned into a dream come true.

Takes you out for coffee and Build-A-Bear as a first date the day after because your first day together gets lost to unpacking and settling into the Hackney townhouse he calls ‘home’. Lost to getting the messages (holding hands all the while), learning how each of you likes their coffee, what his favourite cigars are, what your favourite food is.

Lost to the feeling of what it’ll be like to live together.

It’s surprisingly much easier for John to tune into you than he expected. Henceforth, he picks up on the hesitation that underlines your movements, the slight shudder in your lips while he tries his best not to get completely lost in you.

“We don’t have to do this,” he hastily says between kisses, needing to get the words out before you start something you won’t want to finish.

“No, I want to, John. I want you.” You told him you’re a virgin and have given off clues that the concept of actually having sex is, to be honest, quite frightening. Nevertheless, you’ve put your trust in him and feel secure in his touch, his embrace.

“I know, love, but I mean that we don’t, shouldn’t even, have sex if you don’t want to.” His features soften. “Don’t do it if you feel like you need to to please me because you don’t. I’ll wait for when you’re ready. I told you before, this isn’t about sex or the dynamic. I love you. Love who you, you as a person, are and I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want.”

After reassuring him and giving him your consent explicitly multiple times, he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom.

Tries to be gentle the first time, but ends up being rough anyway. He’s utterly enchanted, nay, enthralled by how you look, unraveling over and over again.

All because of him.

Nonetheless, John refuses to cum inside you until you’re on birth control and he has bought a box of proper condoms.

“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you or cum inside. Believe me, I do, every minute of the day. Drives me fucking mad, but,” he caresses your hair as he pries your legs away from his waist, ”I have to think about your health as well.”

You don’t protest, don’t want to after a soft kiss on the forehead and a husky “I’m sorry, love”. In response, you lightly squeeze his arm and shake your head. “Don’t apologise. I also won’t force you to do things you don’t want to do. Though it’s nice.”

“What is?”

“You looking out for me.”

“‘Course I do,” John snaps into you, picking up the pace again that has you seeing stars, “I’m your captain. Your man. Your bear.”

Those very words, combined with his warm presence, tips you over the edge.

A content echo of his name fills the room, rings in his ears as a satisfied sigh falls from your lips and tears stain your cheeks. It’s this image of chaotic beauty, of gorgeous ruination, which almost makes him break his promise. Nonetheless, after a few more sharp thrusts, he pulls out. Thick creamy white spurts draw an intricate pattern on your skin.

His mark.

John rests his forehead against yours, basking in the afterglow. “I love you.”

Today and the many days he hopes are ahead of you.

#Captain John Price Smut #John Price smut #John Price #CoD smut #John Price x Reader #Captain Price x Reader #Captain Price smut #Captain John Price x Reader #CoD x Reader

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slickfordain · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Yandere behavior, but we all know I always write Yandere on Tumblr. No specified gender for you. Also, reader with my personality again— since some people liked it very much.

Edit: I forgot to say the kids in Genshin are all platonic 💀

Teyvat is aware of their divine using them as a vessel. Teyvat is aware Celestia cannot defeat you either… As Celestia was obviously made by you. However, you have some concerning habits… Some are very very cute in your harem’s eyes ~ While some makes them worry for your health.

You have a problem with making your Genshin self-insert insert having such a gruesome backstory, it makes them wanna cry and hug your self-insert in their world. Apparently, your insert is indeed inserted in the game— ahah, when you shut off the screen and log off of course ♡

Perhaps, let’s say Zhongli would pick up on how you eat a lot of food… It amazes him. You even have a lot of mora, that you only spend it on food and nothing else. It… Does make him worry— But Yanfei would definitely sign the chefs to make your favorite dishes, just in case ~

Xingqiu would pick up on how you write an unfamiliar word called “Fan-fictions”. It has some Japanese words such as “Yandere” and “Tsundere”. He listened further into your works, and goodness, he has never felt so called out in his entire life when you specifically explained what Yanderes are. If you liked writing about Yanderes… You wouldn’t mind him being one for you, would you?

Childe would laugh his ass off whenever he hears you talking constantly to yourself, pretending as if you’re responding to them. But this makes him think you’re trying to communicate with him and Teyvat, makes his heart sore so much. You’re so sweet and acknowledging everyone, specifically him. ♡

Characters such as Pantalone and Baizhu have a realization you love spending Primogems on wishes, and always wasting them. So what do they do? Mischievously somehow gain Primogems for you, which you didn’t complain about at all.

People also have heard about your hatred towards Albert for being a creepy stalker. Now, this made Mondstadt furious at Albert. Not only does he stalk poor Barbara, he even dared to boldly disappoint you. (Barbatos killed him ehe)

Barbara has never felt so loved this much, she wants to bawl her eyes out — to show how much she loves and adores you.

Characters like Razor and Raiden Ei have come to realization you love sleeping around so much, they’ve gotten to know you sleep in work from time to time whenever it’s break. They take this advantage to make a setup room for you, where either of them can hold you in their arms and cuddle as they sleep against you.

Beidou, Lisa and Yae Miko would often see that you especially get easily injured. I’m not saying they’re the only ones terrified— trust me, many people in Teyvat are going to kill whoever hurt you,,, but they are the ones who ends up hearing about your condition. They’re so worried when they find out you don’t scream in pain, nor do you care about it because you’ve always been clumsy since childhood. They’re so worried, they might have a heart attack someday.

The Adeptus’ pick on the fact you like listening to “8-bit” version of music… It sounds hard to play, but they can’t deny you did have taste in music. Makes the guy from Lantern lite quest more inretested with you, and wishes to know you more! Or more so… Perhaps Enjou would take interest in this.~ He’s just as silly as you, why not?

Dainsleif notices how you stare at his character with adoration and love his design oh so much, that he also knows you love drawing, just like Albedo. Hearing this, Albedo loves you to death, like… Literally.

Aether hearing you’re also unstoppable that even Unknown God can’t stop you? Goodness this boy is falling in a deep rabbit hole for falling for you~!

Paimon sees you as a mother/father figure too honestly… Paimon relates to you so much about food, and always gets so happy when you agreed by getting food. Despite your tired expression, she just wants to cry because you did not once call her an “Emergency food”.

How about your complex theories? Tighnari and Al-haitham will have a whole set of a store with written details about your theories. You did die when Teyvat was made, so makes sense why you didn’t know everything. (…. You ate popcorn and watched your show as Archon war was a thing.) Every theories, is about very interesting things.

Snezhnaya and Tsaritsa would be so happy when they find out your world was filled with snow (to those who live in a snowy weather like me), and would flex it off to other nations like cocky little bastards. They see this as a blessing, and would try getting to know your culture by just the fact you and them have snow. That would mean you wouldn’t be cold in their place, right?

How about Fontaine being in horror when they find about your Creepypasta and FnaF books? They’ll keep themselves aware of the woods and will isolate any innocent beings from anywhere that involves woods and trees. Jeff the killer and Jeffrey C. Hodek (canon Jeff) definitely traumatized numerous of the people in Fontaine, considering their skins got burned a lot.

Yelan being also surprised she and other rich people in Teyvat, are in fact not the richest people in their own world after learning that… Moras aren’t actually real money? I can see Mona laughing at their misery, even though she’s sad she doesn’t exist literally in your world. How the fuck is she supposed to kiss hug you huh?

Venti and Nahida being so drawn to your morning voice, hearing you cursing as they didn’t know what the meanings behind those languages meant. Nahida would stare at your face in awe, listening to your stories as Venti would too, making a song about it probably— only for it to go downfall when they realize you occasionally hurt yourself in work. They’re horrified. YOU FELL OFF THE STAIRS??! They’re gonna faint.

Cyno who is in love with a heated face when he learns you love jokes, hearing you making a dark humor that just has him down bad for you— and ends up laughing. Your dark humor never goes too far, and he just loves it that you can accept his jokes. He is definitely going to be very loyal towards you…

Imagine Scaramouche/Wanderer lovingly gazing at your side view as you try to do makeup real quickly before playing your game. It didn’t matter. He loved your little habit of always doing your makeup first— and then play. He’s patient, and will always try his best… Ends up killing Hilichurls under one second, oops~

With everyone in Teyvat learning about your habits, learning about your talents…

They officially are definitely in love with you. They will always love you. They know when it’s you, even if someone tries to look like you and act like you to get attention. It will never work. They don’t care what form you take, because they’re obsessed and in love with the idea of you. They will only love you, you you you. You’re genderless? They’ll love you, you’re a bully? They’ll love you. It doesn’t matter what form you take.

They will always love you, [Name].

I wanna do a small love hc with Dainsleif and Pantalone x reader because I’m in love with them ♡ but I also wanna do persona insert x canon… Man.

#various x reader #various #yandere x reader #sagau x reader #yandere sagau genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #sagau cult au #sagau brainrot #yandere sagau #sagau fluff #sagau headcanons

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tsuutarr · 2 months ago

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I am actually so in love with all ur yandere ocs!!! putting their designs in the back of my mind for future reference :] who knows, maybe I'll draw them someday tehee :333 I am especially a sucker for yandere angels so ur doing gods work here fr (no pun intended) Anyways I am kinda curious as to how the guys would feel abt a non-binary MC considering so far you've only described them using "she/her" pronouns ^^'' no need to answer if ur not up to it. I won't think of u or the characters any less<3 I'm also curious how they would react to mc having a very close childhood friend. I mean.. Those type of friendships are very likely to lead to more after all uwu~

Tysm for liking my yandere OCs!! I'm very very pleased to hear that you enjoy them <3 I'd be flattered if you drew them!

Yandere angels are so fun b/c they're supposed to be the pinnacle of purity, but what if they get corrupted by their desires? Then they have to grapple with their morals and desires, though their desires eventually win over because they love love love you so much!

Also, I am totally okay with a gender-neutral reader! I try to write mostly gn!reader, actually, but my readers may read more feminine occasionally due my background.

As for the guys, they'd all be okay with a non-binary MC~ though, I think Jiu's story would probably work best with a female leaning MC since his whole thing is that he dresses up as a woman to chase guys away from MC. Otherwise, I can visualize any gender for any of my yanderes!

Now, what if MC had a childhood friend? Well, here's how my yanderes would react:

Jiu IS your childhood friend, so he's already chased anyone else away from being too close with you since you were both kids. He's super smart in that he lets you interact with people (and even have "friends"), but he manipulates the situation so that you're mostly spending time with him. When someone gets too close to you, though, he'll chase them away, either through anonymous blackmail, some "accident," or something else.

Finley would be so so so sad if you had a childhood friend that was super close to you. He's not really allowed to harm any human but... it's not his fault that your friend is so so so clumsy and fell into a manhole!

Tynan would just kill the guy, honestly. Nothing's stopping him from killing your childhood friend, after all. BUT, he's not stupid enough to make it obvious he did it. After all, how else will he console you over your stupid childhood friend's death?

The abandoned water god just kidnaps you so he could care less, frankly speaking. It's not like you can leave him, so why should he worry about some powerless human? Though, talk about your childhood friend too much and your friend may meet an untimely death related to water.

As for the farmer... oh, he'd hate your childhood friend. You're his sugarcube, you know? You're just so cute and defenseless, he has to protect you! So, well, whenever you try to call your childhood friend, the signals all wonky. When you want to drive to visit your friend, your tires are all punctured. And when your friend wants to visit? Oh! Well, your friend can't visit because the area's suddenly super dangerous and there's like fifty bears that might maul your friend!

So, long story short, your childhood friend isn't safe and probably never will be (except Jiu, who is your childhood friend)!

#tsuuper silly #Finley Tsuu OC #Tynan Tsuu OC #Jiu Oh Tsuu OC #I gotta name the other yanderes I have lmao #yandere oc #male yandere oc #yandere imagines #tsuuper art #Mason Cane Tsuu OC #Mulsu Tsuu OC #tsuuper ocs

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celestialkiri · 1 year ago

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THAT MINI COMIC PANEL WAS GOD TIER!!! Macaque is such a terrifying bastard but he does it so well lol Ok! More questions if you’re willing to answer!

How does Wukong react when he finds out Reader has been kidnapped by the Six Eared Macaque? Not only that but how does he also react to the fact that he cannibalized one of his family members and made Reader cry as well? And lastly, when all is said and done does Wukong comfort Reader afterwards?

Sorry if this is too many! Feel free to pick and choose!

Oh man! Listen, I tried to doodle some epic fighting comic for this one but man fighting is not easy to draw. I might someday do a little part 2 of Sophie (aka Reader) and MC JUST before Wukong is going woop his ass bc that monkey will hurt her. But I did draw something for this you!

But for your question, Wukong would go APESHIT FERAL for Macaque! He would go mad if he even touches her in a bad way so imagine when he sees that she is bleeding AND the bastard ate one of his family members. He would make sure to destroy Macaque like there is no tomorrow! The fighting would be FERAL and epic not gonna lie!

After the fighting is over and MC is dead Sophie would have a breakdown. Be in her shoes for a moment: You are YEETED to a random world where you have no experience with demons, fighting, or even having a long long journey. Walking many hours every day. You are completely cut off from your family and friends and you have almost died. (and no internet or wifi to call someone) Not many people understand your feelings because for them this harsh life is normal. She would start to cry hard for stress, sadness, and adrenaline.

Wukong is not good when it comes to showing feelings, but he is not a completely narcissistic asshole! He has his own problems and might not sometimes understand Sophie's feelings and why she is so sensitive but at that moment it hurts him to see her like this. He knows that he's been an asshole to her many times despite her treating him as an equal. So for a long time, he would hold her and comfort her. This would be a part where these two would also become much closer and later there will be a romance between these two.

#good riddance MC #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #jttw reader #journey to the west #jttw sun wukong #ittw sun wukong #ittw reader #jttw tag #jttw six eared macaque #six eared macaque #my art #personal questions

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period-of-nocturne · 1 month ago

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I listened to Mizuki commissioned song again lately. All of them.

I actually had very little thought about most of it. Most of the song's meaning stays unchanged, but a few sentences now feel extremely foreshadowy to me (we're making up words today)

I'll use Amiaryllis' lyrics to talk about the song btw (go check her cover she cooked). It might lead me to see things that weren't intented in the original song's writing because well, lyrics translation. But some of the more literal translation of the songs can feel very cryptic + I'm obsessed with Amia's cover so idc bear with me.

And to clarify the color-coding. Mizuki, Ena, Mafuyu, Kanade. I'll color the lines to clarify who sings what, but I need to specify that as much as the line distribution is made to fit each character's situation, every line that isn't sung by the focus character (Mizuki here) bears a double meaning, as it can be read and interpreted entirely from their perspective. It's their commissioned song for a reason, after all.

That's a way too long introduction. Let's get into the topic!

Staring with IDSmile :

"I've given up- tried to keep my distance"

"I've found defeat here in hide and seek.

I've lost my way to melancholy"

"To feel this pain or fade away ?"

A few lines that took another dimension after Mizu5, I think.

If you lost in hide and seek, it means you've been found. You've been seen.

Giving up, setting a distance (1003), getting lost... Fading away. What can I say. I believe lyrics speaks for themselves.

Lower is something else entierely.

"Admiration fades to distaste"

"Quiet meeting dissolves into farewell"

Sounds like Mizuki's fear in general. Except it became near tangible now.

"I raise my hazy voice as it scorches my throat, forgetting everything I'd cherished the most,

My mind, it draws a blank, what was I supposed to utter ? "

And that is Ena's line. Ena, in shock, unable to process what she heard and answer accordingly. Ena, screaming Mizuki's name in the corridor.

"A quiet whispers echoes through the halls. Hear out the wishes, hear out the wishes shared by all."

It might be just me, but I can't help but think about the school's corridor. People whispering as you walk by. Typical school bullying.

To Mafuyu, the 'wishes shared by all' are the high expectations pushed on her. To Mizuki, though...

"I don't know where to start, don't even know what I've lost sight of now. I don't know the answer but I pray they come to me somehow."

Kanade's but makes me think of how Mizuki was afraid to speak to Ena and wished someone did it for her. Ha. Ha. Ahem. It's not the first Kanade line that gives me that impression.

The full thing makes me think of how Ena is probably confused and not sure how to proceed. And by the way we know Mizuki is gone from real world but has Niigo noticed yet ? Do Ena knows what she has lost sight of now ♪ ?

I'm focusing on Mizu5 foreshadowing but I'm still freshly out of reading Mafuyu Engeki event and

"I promise that we'll make our great escape, someday and somehow" line sang by Kanade and Mafuyu together. Although it's a line from a Mizuki commi, Mizuki who's the one who told Mafuyu to run away Aaaaaaaa- anyway back on tracks!

"Whispered secret once obscured by tinted glass" Past tense. No more tinted glass. Secret exposed for everyone to see. Ena why is this your line oh my god I need to scream--

"Wondering how much longer could this truly last ?"

Well. It's Mizuover now.

I'm glad the chorus exists, still.

"I know we'll be connected in the end, no matter the cost."

It might be hellish as of now, but there's no need to worry. It will end up being fine. Trust.

Give me Your Night.

I want to talk about that song but there's little to say in Mizu5 context because that song. Isn't about Niigo.

I wish I had the source, but I heard Hinata Satou (Mizuki's VA), thought of the song as Mizuki speaking to Rui as they were recording. And. I can't not scream about the song seen through that lense.

But the Mizurui brainrot is too strong so I'll make it into its own post. Just to avoid this one being way too long.

I'm less confident about Kitty.

If there's foreshadowing here, it's not in lines you pick up.

The song is telling Mafuyu to run away. But I also somehow see Mizuki who start to question things.

Mafuyu is being told to run by a girl who start considering facing things. In that exact moment, they both share the feelings of doubt about how to proceed. Not sure they should speak up. Apprehending changes. But the will to make the first step for that change is right here, starting to grow. Something like that.

Escape for our Survival was the last Mizuki focus event before the Thorns, so it makes sense the hints are less subtle. Listening to it now, I feel like the song is telling me "Hey. It's coming."

On a side note I can't help but notice the use of the world Telecaster. In a Mizuki song. Mmh.

Bonus Keitai Renwa ?

Bonus Keitai Renwa. It was a commissioned song after all. Using Ami's lyrics🌸 again where I can. Filling the rest with wiki EN translation.

"All the things I say, they only seem to lead us astray, so what now ?"🌸 Ena trying to get closer to Mizuki desperately only to--

"Even though I try, I've only found a time for goodbye"🌸 MIZUKIIIIIIIIIIIII. YOU COME BACK HERE.

"The sweet sensations of the past, why is it they weren't meant to last ?"�� *Dies in 'Mizuki is afraid of change.'*

"Your fabricated kindness makes my heart goes insane." Why. Oh why. Why the concept of made-up, fake, kindness. Why here. Why now.

"It makes it hurt so much." Okay. Fine. Sure. I'm fine. No problem.

"I got lost searching for you" Go Enanan, go. Technically that line fits mfyd too.

"The whispers that don't exist in the chat history, I don't need them at all" mention of whispers again.

I can't make sense of the sentence tho. For the funfact, that song was commissioned for an alternate universe, as the plot of Niigo changed after the song was made. So they asked for another song for the Untilted track. Namely, Kuyamu to Katie Mirai.

So yeah a lot of Keitai Renwa lines are a bit cryptic, because they're talking about another story entirely. Any sense of foreshadowing here is purely coincidental.

Back on tracks

"Love me if that's what you please, hate me if it gives you ease"🌸 Mizuki asking for hate rather than a made-up kindness.

"Screaming out my deepest fear : Please don't leave me yet !"🌸

To an extent, it could fit them both. But it went to Ena. Ena would had to look at Mizuki running away without having the chance to speak.

Wait- please, don't go.

"Even if this love's gone cold, like the tea I've left alone, I would not lose hope and throw it all away"🌸 Unfortunately you didn't exactly did that, huh...

"Searching through my heart to find what to say"🌸 why does so many lines brings me back to lower ?

/"I still want to hear you speak with words [...]"

I still want to hear it from you. I haven't waited all this time for naught.

"To just connect with you, so, please... Are you there ?"

They sing that like together, except the 'with you' part that is only Ena. But in our specific context, the line feels like Ena's.

And that's about it. I can't say much more.

Sure, I could go through every Niigo cover that includes Mizuki and pick up every line that feels suspicious to me. I'm down the rabbit hole enough to do that.

But that post is long enough. If I find something earth-shattering in the covers, maybe I'll share it. Maybe.

#project sekai #pjsk #project sekai colorful stage #hatsune miku colorful stage #projectsekai #proseka #mizuki5 #akiyama mizuki #mizuki akiyama #nightcord at 25:00 #25 ji nightcord de #ena shinonome #shinonome ena

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

Text

Lessons Applied

Lessons Series Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: it’s time the Viscount learned a lesson…

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, threesome, d/s relationships - sub!Anthony dom!Benedict switch!reader, dirty talk, light bondage, pussy spanking, hair pulling, handjobs, edging, nipple clamps, fingering. cockwarming, anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration. Watch out, there are also some emotions in this one.

Word count: 10.0k (I'm so sorry...)

Author's Note: Please read the warnings, and if you are looking for something romantic and vanilla, please look elsewhere. If you don’t mind DP filth, step up. Thank you to @colettebronte for her invaluable advice when knocking this into shape. I'm still not sure I like this, but I can't mess with it forever. So my apologies go to @iboopedyournose, who gave me a brief for this installment where Anthony has the tables turned on him and is submissive. Enjoy <3

You are on the balcony observing Anthony Bridgerton as he effortlessly makes his social rounds at the latest soirée. Your bottom is still smarting a little from the riding crop he used on you last night.

There is movement behind you, and you know who it is by cologne alone. You can’t school the smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t sit down yet?”

“Not comfortably. He was particularly harsh,” you reply dryly.

“Mmm, yes, I thought it a little excessive,” Benedict opines softly, drawing up next to you. “You should turn the tables; give him a taste of his own medicine,” he chuckles.

“Hah!” you laugh, glancing sideways to catch his handsome profile as he scans the crowd. “You are very droll.”

“I mean it. For the right person, he would be willing to cede control,” Benedict says quietly, not wanting your inappropriately intimate conversation to be heard by others milling in the vicinity.

“Really?” you feel sceptical about it. In all of your time with Anthony, he has been a classic dominant even before Benedict became part of your dynamic. But Benedict knows his brother much better than you.

Below, the master of ceremonies announces for everyone to gather in the gardens, and the balcony starts to thin out as people move towards the staircases.

“He’d only do it for someone he truly trusts. And I think that might be you,” Benedict’s tone is affectionate as you both track Anthony’s movements out of sight.

“Hmm, I’ll try it, on one condition,” your mouth ticks into an amused pout as you twist to face him.

He turns to face you as well, smirking in a bemused fashion. “Name it.”

“You help me,” you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow in challenge.

It is just the two of you left now on the balcony as the crowd files out of the French doors beneath.

He chuckles and then leans close, his lips near your cheekbone, and his hands settle on your waist. “Do I have to submit to you too?” His voice is a teasing murmur.

“Do you want to?” you whisper back, touching his forearms.

“Hmm, maybe someday,” he offers thoughtfully, his fingers squeezing you gently. “But I think I’d prefer the privilege he had that first time we met. He got to do whatever he wanted to you, but I had rules. I want him to be the one under rules, and I get to do whatever I want.” He runs a thumb slowly down the front of your dress. “And I want him to watch as I destroy you, darling girl.”

You are panting at the thought of Anthony under your control as Benedict unleashes his full potential.

“God, yes,” you breathe, swaying close to his face, hungry to kiss him.

“Mmmm, not here, not now,” he intuits your desire, his breath hot on your face. “Save it for our session. Anticipation makes it so much sweeter, I find,” his voice almost an octave lower, his hand hovering over the junction of your thighs through your dress. “But if you need a little something to tide you over…” he adds, eyes glittering with menace.

You nod enthusiastically.

Double-checking that the entire room is empty now, he yanks your dress up and sneaks a hand under the hem. Somehow he expertly locates your clit and pinches it between his thumb and pointer finger. Hard. Almost painfully. You gasp and stutter.

“This is mine, do you hear me?” his tone utterly authoritative.

“Yes, sir,” you quiver.

“You do not have permission to touch it until our next session, understood?” he intones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he rumbles, and the fingers are gone before you can even register your thoughts.

He sucks them into his mouth, staring you down, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth open a fraction—he loves to tease you.

“I will know,” he warns, “just one look at you, and I will know if you disobeyed me.”

“What will you do if I disobey?” you whisper fervently.

“I would probably tie you down, worse than you will to Anthony, tease you until you screamed the damn walls down. Just keep taking you so close to the edge of bliss but not letting you over,” his deep voice a warning bell to behave.

“And If I’m a good, obedient girl?” you query, already breathless.

“I will make you come so many times you pass out,” his devastating crooked grin in full effect.

“Sir, you are dangerous,” you smile in response.

“Says the woman willing to punish my brother,” he lobbies back playfully.

“Only if you help me,” you remind.

“Nothing will give me greater pleasure, my girl,” he assures lightheartedly, offering his arm to walk you outside to the festivities.

—

“My lord,” you bow and signal Anthony to sit in the wingback chair in Benedict’s bachelor lodgings.

At the end of the soirée, Benedict had suggested you all go back to his for a nightcap; as he did so, he had sent you a conspiratorial wink.

Anthony frowns, bemused by your theatrics, but takes the proffered seat.

“How is your bottom, darling girl?” he smirks, pulling you down to straddle his lap, pushing your dress above your knees so you can do so.

“Not great,” you pout, placing your hands on his shoulders as he huffs a laugh.

“Then do not be such a naughty one,” he replies, hands running heavily over your body.

“Well, that is just the thing. I do not think I was that naughty,” you counter, heart fluttering a little as you unbutton Anthony’s waistcoat; Benedict moves to stand behind the chair, catching your eye with a quick smile.

“Is that so?” Anthony's smirk grows bigger, his eyes sparkling, loving when you are a little mischievous and wilful with him.

“No, in fact,” you roughly tug the waistcoat down his arms so they are trapped in place, “I do not think you were fair at all,” your voice lively but with a hard edge.

“Does my girl have a problem with her lord?” his ask laced with intrigue, chasing your lips with his own.

“Maybe your girl wants her lord to behave himself for once,” you whisper as seductively as you can, teasing with your lips but never letting him meet them.

“Oh, does she?” his tone is low and mirth-filled. “What does she want him to do, hmm? Submit to her will?” He doesn’t seem to be objecting; in fact, he seems rather engaged with the tease of it all.

“Yes,” you say boldly, holding his arms firmly trapped, finally allowing his lips to land on yours. You kiss him deeply, setting the rhythm, and a thrill runs through you when he lets you, your lips and tongue chasing him for a change.

“Maybe he just might,” is his quiet whisper, and the euphoric buzz in your veins is electric.

Benedict was right. You don’t look at him, but you allow one hand to slide out of Anthony’s hair and reach for him over the back of the chair as you move to kiss Anthony deeply again. Instead of just perhaps holding it as you might expect, Benedict takes your hand up to his mouth and sucks your fingers obscenely, lathing his warm tongue over and between them. It makes you push deeper into Anthony’s lap as you kiss, plundering his mouth and rocking your core over his growing bulge, loving the power you have over him pinned under you.

“Oh darling girl,” Anthony sighs, sounding under a spell as you release his lips, and Benedict lets go of your hand, “you are doing so very well at this,” he flatters. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well, my lord,” you manoeuvre him out of the waistcoat, toss it aside, then grab his braces and twine them around your fingers. “Maybe I tie you down a little? Maybe I punish you just a little.” As you whisper, you watch his pupils rapidly dilate and feel his breath go ragged, his chest heaving slightly under you.

“My wonderful filthy girl,” he pants, “I have taught you so well.”

“Mmmm, I am a keen observer, and tonight you do not call me girl,” you trace a thumb over his lips, “you call me lady.”

“Yes, certainly, my lady,” he answers with a smile.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” you gasp and delve in for another bruising kiss, pushing down his braces around his hips, basking in how compliant he has become under your touch. You grasp his hair near the scalp, and he hisses onto your lips. “Now I have rules for you tonight, my handsome boy.”

His eyes flash at the new title you have bestowed on him. “I’m all ears, my lady,” Anthony says sotto voce, complying as you pull up and remove his shirt.

“You don’t get to touch me unless I say you can. You don’t get to touch yourself unless I say you can. But I can touch you whenever and wherever I want. Understood?” you bark as your eyes roam his toned torso.

“Understood, my lady,” he confirms with an almost blissful smile. “What about my brother? Is he to submit to you too?”

Benedict rounds the chair swiftly and grabs your hair, pulling your head backwards, so you look up at the sharp underside of his jawline.

“Oh no, brother,” Benedict responds with a bemused lilt, “she’s mine. You get to watch.”

Anthony groans, “I love watching you be fucked hard, my gi… my lady,” he amends quickly.

You smile at his correction and recall how Anthony’s eyes had burned into you, stroking his cock fervently as his brother fucked you for the first time a few weeks ago at Aubrey Hall.

Benedict releases his grip as you stand up from Anthony’s lap and place your left foot lightly on his knee.

“Remove my shoe,” you order softly.

He smiles at you and delicately grabs your ankle. His hand is warm through your stocking as he pulls the shoe off your heel, then slides it off your toes, placing it gently on the floor.

“Well done, my darling boy,” you smirk and watch him take a hitching breath as you push your dress up slightly and grab the ribbon holding your stocking above your knee, unfurling it slowly.

You know from where he sits that he can see up your chemise to your bare cunt. You watch his eyes track up your inner thigh.

“Do you like what you see?” you tease lightly as the ribbon falls away, and you push the stocking slowly down your leg until it pools on his thigh.

“Yes, my lady,” he answers keenly, licking his lip.

You see a wash of disappointment on his face as you lower your leg, but it’s only temporary, as you kneel and wind your stocking around his wrist and the arm of the chair—tying it in a neat bow after a few loops. The look on his face is now priceless, and Benedict chuckles from where he is leaning a few feet away.

You put your right leg up on Anthony’s other knee expectantly, and he knows instantly to remove the shoe, which proves a little trickier now one-handed. As it clatters to the floor from his hand, you inhale sharply as Benedict suddenly crowds into your back as you undo the ribbon on your stocking.

“Did you touch yourself since I warned you not to, my girl?” his tone sinful, a large hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his lips trace the shell of your ear, and you freeze your motions.

This is all for show. Benedict only warned you three hours ago; you’ve had no time alone since then to touch yourself, and he knows it. You push your body into his solid frame, clit throbbing as you feel his rigid cock slide across your tailbone.

“No, I promise, sir, I’ve been good,” you murmur.

His free hand tugs at your dress, pulling your hem all the way up around your hips, so your lack of underwear is apparent. Anthony is already breathing unsteadily; his trousers painfully tented. The hand at your throat releases and smears down your breastbone, the fingers spidering inside your dress and pinching your nipple, Benedict’s teeth grazing the cord of your neck.

“Undo my ribbon,” you call to Anthony, and his free hand shoots forward to unfurl the ribbon on your thigh.

Anthony’s fingers trace seductively down your leg, taking your stocking with him as Benedict teases your breast, flexing his fingers expertly, making you squirm into him. You know he is enjoying the liberty to play with your body as his brother watches on, powerless to participate.

“I love how you writhe when I squeeze your nipples,” Benedict drawls right in your ear, “I could do this for hours, just tease you, but I suppose I should let you tie him down properly,” withdrawing his hand from inside your neckline and giving you an insouciant bite on the neck.

You bend over provocatively, pushing your bottom right into Benedict’s crotch as you take the other stocking from Anthony and secure his right hand onto the chair. He is now tied down at your mercy, and the sight causes a hot wave of want to gallop through your chest. He could fight out of the stockings easily, it's a symbolic hold as much as anything, but he doesn't. He sits there docile, looking up at you through heavy lashes and a soft pout, cock straining against his trousers, the chest hair across his pectoral muscles rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You want to climb on and ride him so hard he cries your name.

“Kiss me right now, my lovely boy,” you command.

He smiles so happily and leans forward joyfully, meeting your lips again as Benedict surges his cock onto your bottom and maps your body with his hands. He starts to pluck open the buttons at your shoulder blades, each relenting with a small rock into Anthony's kiss. His hands round your shoulders, roughly tug your dress, and chemise down together, sliding until they hit the floor. You are naked now except for your stays, which feel too hot and tight over your breasts as you inhale deep at the sensation of Anthony's tongue and Benedict's greedy hands.

“Darling girl, you still have marks,” Benedict says quietly, his touch a gentle glide over the globes of your bottom.

Anthony breaks the kiss, his face contrite. “I am so sorry, my lady,” he whispers, ashamed.

“It is all right, my boy,” you assure, running your knuckles along his jawline. “But you will learn not to be so harsh again.” Your tone takes on an undercurrent of steely determination that makes his face morph into one of both admiration and trepidation.

“As much as I wish to spank this beautiful bottom, I think it needs a little longer to recover,” Benedict sighs and leans down to kiss your back, making your breath catch with the tender action. That he can make you feel so cared for causes a slight bloom in your chest, which feels too dangerously close to devotion. All you want is for the sentimental ache to be replaced with an erotic zing, a thrill of some kind that feels less emotionally vulnerable. You twist to look at him over your shoulder challengingly.

“Then fuck me right now instead,” you goad, knowing that being wilful with him always brings out his need to dominate.

He snarls and pulls you upright, backwards a few steps from Anthony, then spins you around, trapping you with his body, a hand snaking between your legs.

“I will,” his voice dripping with menace, a finger teasing your clit. The power dynamics at play are so beguiling as you switch between the domination of Anthony and submission to Benedict. You want to shock them both. Say or do something that makes them both crazed, feral—poking the proverbial bears under your thrall.

“Call me something derogatory,” you plead, almost ashamed of your request.

Benedict’s middle finger presses higher, pushing your clit against your public bone. You inhale sharply, and when he doesn’t move, you hold his gaze and slowly rock on his finger, loving the sensation of your clit being so trapped.

“You wanton little whore,” he growls.

That word on his sinful tongue causes a shiver down your spine and makes you flood over his hand.

“Only for you, sir,” you whisper back, sliding back and forth a little more, so you rub yourself from his fingertip to the base where his finger meets his hand, undulating your hips. “And for him,” you add, looking over your shoulder at Anthony, who is watching you with hooded eyes, longing to palm his obvious erection. The fact that he is so turned on watching you makes you moan, and your cunt clenches around nothing.

“I felt that,” Benedict purrs, surging his cock forcibly into your hip, moving his fingers back and sliding two easily along your slit. “Only we can touch you here,” he warns, and you are staring into his hazy blue eyes as two fingers suddenly spank your folds, making you squeal in surprise.

He spins you around to face Anthony, and you see his almost crazed wild look just as Benedict’s fingers spank you again. This is practically theatrical; he is putting on a show, aroused by the power dynamics and finally having free reign over you. Anthony’s gaze is licentious at the apex of your thighs. He watches you honeying over his brother’s questing hand as you gasp loudly, another spank there, wrapping both of your hands around Benedict's forearm.

“Please, sir,” you appeal for clemency.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t loving this,” he blazes, “you are drenching my hand.”

The sound of the wetness pooling there seems to echo around the room as he slides his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit with each pass. Anthony's responding moan is savage, gaze locked on you as you writhe hard. Benedict's eyes cut over to his brother.

“Isn’t she just beautiful like this, brother?” he taunts, “You should feel this; it’s exquisite.” Suddenly his hand is gone from between your legs, and he is sucking the fingers into his mouth with an appreciative noise. “And the taste is so delicious,” he adds.

Benedict’s large hand lands on your shoulder, and you feel the dampness of your arousal paint your skin as he presses down there until you kneel, still facing away from him. His other hand slides into your hair and pulls roughly.

“You always look so fucking good on your knees,” Benedict's voice is gravelly. “I have half a mind to use your mouth right now. Doesn't she look amazing, brother?”

“You are a goddess, my lady,” Anthony asserts, eyes glittering as his hands flex in their bindings, almost as if they want to dive forward and drag you to him.

“And don't you forget it,” you murmur, even as Benedict pulls your hair as if you were his puppet, forcing you to look up and back at him.

“Tease him, my girl,” Benedict recommends as he gazes down at you imperiously, “do what he made you do to me in my library.” The memories come flooding back—Anthony ordering you to fondle Benedict's cock repeatedly but never allowing him to release until he came down your throat, shaking with need. “You remember, don't you?” Benedict continues, “make him desperate and writhing, feeling the exquisite pain of being so close to ecstasy but denied it. Over and over again, until it bleeds into something so heady, your whole body wants to burst.”

The words fall out of him from experience, This feels like payback, and you look up to see the disquiet in Anthony's eyes—the karmic moment of realising that harsh lessons have a way of coming back to haunt one. And you want to do it. Edge Anthony until he is craving and needy, a panting wanton mess just for you. You remember the teeming desperation of Benedict’s kiss as you denied him over and over as Anthony ordered you to keep going. This will be the exact reverse.

Benedict releases your hair, and you fall forward onto your hands. Your gaze holds Anthony’s as you slowly place one hand before the other, prowling cat-like over the hard polished wood floors towards him. You watch his whole frame move with each inhale and exhale, like the act of breathing is laborious but also somehow pleasurable. You run your hands over his legs, loving the feel of his muscles tensing as he squirms, tied down in the chair.

“Hello, my pretty boy,” you tease with a smirk, “do you know what I'm going to do?”

“Yes,“ his whisper is ardent, and you can't help but hold his fiery gaze, surging up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

“Please, my lady,” he pleads as your hand falls to his crotch, the heat seeping through the material as his cock strains against it.

He makes a noise that is all animal as you squeeze him and start to pull open the buttons at his hip roughly. As you suspected, he's not wearing underwear, and his familiar cock springs out, already leaking so very eagerly. You take him in hand, and he growls. The chair squeaks under his thrust into your loose grip.

“Nuh uh uh,” you tut, the pointer fingernail of your other hand catching deliciously on his pursed lip. “You sit still like a good boy, and maybe I’ll take you in my mouth too.”

“Please…” his broken groan is lewd; you can see him fighting every cell in his body to stay still for you.

You begin a languid rhythm with your fist, and he closes his eyes, bites his lip and whimpers just a touch. His cock is so red and leaking so profusely that you genuinely wonder how long he will last. With your other hand, you tug his trousers further, and he pushes up his hips to allow you to slide them under his bum, and you have to temporarily release his cock to pull them down his legs and off. Now he is fully naked and looks glorious. He whines loudly as you re-grasp his shaft and start to pump again.

“You look so stunning naked, my darling boy,” you murmur, your other hand swirling a pattern in the hair on his chest, and his whole being seems to swell with pride.

“Thank you, my lady,” he responds humbly, and something about him being so meek makes you want him so much you just want to fuck him right now, ride him regardless of the consequences.

You keep hold of his cock and push up to kneeling. Anthony senses you want to talk to him and moves forward in the chair as much as possible while tied down.

“I want to ride you right now,” you whisper hotly but so quiet; it’s just for his ears.

The hitch in his breath is like poetry. “I want that more than air, my lady,” his voice a broken breeze over your face.

“I’ve never seen your cock so red and wanting; it looks delicious, my wonderful boy,” you flatter.

“Please, please take me into your beautiful mouth,” he is wrecked. So desperate for you; you can feel it in your bones. His body is calling to you, his lips pleading.

“Remove your hand,” the commanding voice from a few paces away interrupts your thoughts, and you obey without question, so conditioned to be the perfect submissive yourself. Anthony whines loudly at the loss of contact. “Sit back on your haunches and stop whispering to him,” Benedict orders, and you can hear the jealousy woven into words. He doesn't like that you are sharing an emotional moment with Anthony, and it makes you want to laugh at the irony—that is precisely what you shared with him when he was in Anthony’s shoes. He probably doesn't even see his own hypocrisy and certainly wouldn't appreciate you pointing it out.

Benedict moves behind you, long fingers plucking at the strings of your stays, loosening the criss-cross laces holding your last piece of clothing. It's somehow fitting that you and Anthony are both going to be naked before Benedict has so much as removed a stitch of clothing save his jacket. And again, a mirror image of that moment in Benedict's library, just next door, all those weeks ago, when you and he were naked as Anthony barely removed a stitch to fuck you. Suddenly you realise why he wanted to return here tonight, to redress the balance in the same building.

“You may touch him again,” Benedict chimes and instantly, your hand is back on Anthony, who whimpers with relief, leaking over your knuckle, his wrists flexing under their bindings.

Once again, you feel the weight of Anthony’s stare, and your eyes cut away from his cock to meet his—a ring of burnt umber iris around his dilated pupils. He seems to be silently begging you to let him release, but you both know it won't happen. There is something so beguiling about his desperation, though.

“Do not let him come,” Benedict warns cooly, and you slow your hand.

Your stays loosen to the point they fall down your arms, and Benedict stops your ministrations to pull your hands off his brother entirely and remove your last scrap of material.

“Look how sensitive her nipples can be, brother,” he riles his sibling as he snags them both almost painfully between the tips of his pointer and thumb. You inhale tremulously and grip Anthony’s knees hard, instinctively leaning back into Benedict, even as your eyes still hold his brother’s. His chin rests on your shoulder as he keeps teasing you until they are stiff peaks, you writhing slightly under his touch as the buzz of pleasure-pain grows. He is not gentle, and it's precisely what you need.

“I may have been in France lately,” he adds conversationally, addressing you both. “Tell me, my girl, have you read Justine?”

Your breath catches in your throat. The scandalous book by the Marquis de Sade was your sexual awakening.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm, good,” he rumbles as he continues to pull on your nipples to the point you gasp. “Grab him again. I shall be back.”

Even though Benedict leaves the room and is out of sight, you grab Anthony's cock as you were told and stroke him again.

“My lady, please let me come,” his eyes so large, his long lashes blinking so appealingly as his toned chest heaves.

“No,” you retort quietly as your nipples throb and miss Benedict's fingers, “I have more plans for you.”

“What plans?” he almost stutters, ragged.

“I cannot go tonight without this sublime cock being inside me,” you admit as Benedict reenters the room with a little box, a small bowl of water and a bottle of clove oil. You recognise the product - it is used to make anal penetration comfortable, and your heart leaps into your throat. You have not crossed that line with either of them yet.

“Release him,” he commands, and you do so.

Anthony almost howls, a vein in his temple throbbing, all the tendons in his neck tensing. Part of your heart goes out to him; part of you wants to keep him like this all day. Teeming with need and so wildly ravishing when so on edge.

“Turn to face me. Stay on your knees.” You do as bidden; Benedict feels so tall as you kneel submissively before him, keeping your head bowed. “Look at me,” and you lift your sights to him, not missing the straining bulge at your natural eye line.

He snaps open what looks like a jewellery box and holds out a small metal item, almost resembling an earring but with a small round loop and a teardrop blue jewel hanging from two prongs.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding it closer to your face.

“No sir,” you admit honestly.

“I remembered how much you enjoyed it when I slipped your hairpins over your nipples some weeks ago,” he smiles, and you blush at the memory. “So I purchased you a special gift in Paris recently. It is designed to clamp onto your delightful nipples,” he explains as you feel your body tingle at the idea. “They can be adjusted to make your pleasure more… acute,” he smirks.

“Oh, thank you so much, sir. They are splendid. Please put them on me,” you beseech, and a tart-tasting thumb hooks into the corner of your mouth.

“You are such a good obedient little thing, aren’t you?” his tone impressed, and you blossom under his praise.

You would do anything to please him. You shuffle forward on your knees and nuzzle your face onto his straining cock, as it almost threatens to tear the seams of the wool.

“Not yet,” he clucks, “you get your treat later,” he proclaims, pulling you away as you attempt to suckle him through the material. “Shoulders back,” he taps your skin, and you do so, presenting your breasts to him. “Good girl.”

Those two words are always catnip to you; you want to do everything he says when they roll decadently over his tongue. He could parade you naked in public on all fours, like a little pet, and you would do it.

“What delightful thoughts are running through that sharp mind of yours,” he asks with a knowing smile, stroking your cheek fondly.

“Just how much I enjoy pleasing you, sir,” you reply truthfully without giving specifics.

Suddenly he grabs a nipple and slips the clamp over it. The pinch and pressure he selects takes you by surprise.

“You’ll have to give me more detail than that, or I slide this tighter,” he cautions.

“How I would do anything for you, sir,” you amend, your voice going a little reedy as your nipple starts to tingle and throb lightly with your pulse.

Before you know it, the other nipple is trapped with the same force. You gasp as both start pulsing. It makes your clit throb, too, in sympathy almost.

“How I would let you parade me naked in public,” rushes out of your lips with a hiss before you can stop it.

“My darling girl,” his voice suddenly rough. “I want that; everyone should know you belong to me.” Behind you, Anthony growls. “To us,” Benedict amends quickly with a nod.

That Anthony thinks he has a right to claim you when he is tied up submissively makes you want to laugh.

“Sir, may I have your permission to deal with my defiant boy?” you request drolly.

Benedict barks a laugh. “Granted, my love.” It’s the first time he’s used such a term of endearment, and your eyes dart to his. You see a sliver of panic slicing the usual calm of his demeanour, the dominant mask he wears slipping a fraction. You don’t want to say anything to jeopardise the moment, but something feels tender and taut like an invisible cord could snap if you react wrong, unravelling the wonderful scene you have built together. You opt to ignore or treat it as if it means nothing.

“Thank you, sir,” you respond brightly, and he seems to exhale a relieved breath.

Your nipple throb as you swing around on your knees and address Anthony.

“What makes you think you may lay claim to me, pretty boy?” your voice steely. “I think you may be forgetting who is in charge of you here tonight,” your eyebrow almost at your hairline, so excited to see how he will react.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he bows his head. “I am so used to thinking of you as mine. I am, of course, yours,” he assures, not daring to meet your gaze.

His long-abandoned cock throbs in his lap. He has sat patiently without reward as Benedict clamped your nipples. But you want to punish him some more before you reward him with your body.

“Sir, do you have any clean paintbrushes?” you ask over your shoulder to a bemused Benedict.

“Of course,” and he walks to his easel returning with a medium bristle brush, handing it to you.

“Thank you, sir” you smile up at him, and he pets your hair affectionately.

“More importantly, what are you planning to do with it?” his tone amused.

“I’m going to make my boy here a moaning ticklish mess,” you reply with a wicked grin.

Anthony groans as you immediately run the bristles lightly up his inner thigh, the muscle quivering.

“Maybe this gentle torture will teach him that sometimes the harshest punishments of them all are the softest,” you say pointedly to no one in particular. Still, the ironic laugh from Benedict suggests he appreciates it. You swirl the brush over the head of Anthony’s cock, and he groans gutturally, heavy puffs out of his nose. “And you don’t need to leave heavy marks on someone to teach them a lesson.”

“Oh dear brother, there are most definitely some lessons being applied here,” Benedict says with a wry smirk, perhaps a touch uncharitably, revelling in his freedom as his brother is teased so thoroughly.

Anthony leaks again over the bristles of the brush, and you paint his precum down his shaft as he pants and squirms harder.

“Please, my lady,” he implores on a jagged exhale, “please do not tease me more. I promise I have learned my lesson not to treat your body so harshly.”

“And do you promise that if you ever leave such harsh marks on my body again, I have every right to do the same to you?” It's a daring proposition you make, knowing he’s hardly in a position to negotiate as you slowly drag the bristles over his balls.

He snuffles, and you can see him warring with the idea, his eyes a maelstrom. “Yes, my lady,” he agrees through clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” you compliment and push up to kiss him hotly, invading his mouth with a predatory kiss.

“Well, I think he has earned a show,” Benedict opines rhetorically, “And it’s high time this lovely girl had an orgasm,” he adds, taking the brush from your fingers.

He walks away and drags another wingback chair right in front of the one Anthony is tied to. Then he sits in it while you are still kneeling between them.

“Climb into my lap, darling girl,” he coos invitingly, and you obey instantly, curling into his lap almost catlike. He kisses you hard and heavy, a hand holding your jaw. “Face him,” Benedict nudges your nose as your part. You twist and face Anthony as you perch in his lap. “Now open those legs wide and show him your pretty cunt, do it,” the words are murmured warmly in your ear, and you obey. Bringing your feet onto Benedict's knees and splaying your thighs out wide. “Good girl,” he flatters, and you moan as his fingers slide over your pubic hair and into your folds.

You know this is to rile Anthony even more. He cannot even touch himself as you are being pleasured.

“Be nice and vocal now; show him how good this is,” Benedict lectures, his fingers instantly making you flex your toes around his kneecaps, and you savour the heat of his cock branding your lower back as he circles your clit with just the perfect amount of pressure.

‘It feels so good, sir,” you raise your arms and wrap your hands back around his neck without prompting, which he greatly approves of, the jewels of your clamps catching the light and sparkling brilliantly as you flex with each touch.

“Good girl, cling to me; look how pretty your nipples look. All swollen and sparkling with my jewels,” he compliments, staring down the plain of your body. “Now tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers inside me, sir,” you respond, ensuring you hold Anthony’s gaze, jealousy and covetousness written all over his features.

Benedict does as you ask, sliding two long elegant fingers down your labia, hooking them into your pussy. His thumb pushes gently on your clit, moving his whole arm as he teases you with expert strokes. He knows exactly what you need and wastes no time taking you right where you want to go.

“Is that what you need?” his voice like rich honey.

“Oh god, yes, sir,” you nod and bite your lip for Anthony’s benefit, playing up just for your captive audience.

“Talk to me, pretty boy,” you call to Anthony.

“You look angelic, my lady,” he responds instantly.

“Tell me what you would do to me if you were free,” you goad, wanting him to talk explicit detail as Benedict expertly plays your body like an instrument.

“I would like to be on my knees between your legs, my lady. I want to bury my face into your beautiful flower, enrapture myself in your aroma, drink your nectar, caress your petals with my tongue,” he offers, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yesss,” you hiss, your mind conjuring the image of him knelt before you deferentially, his wrists bound together behind his back with your silks as his mouth brings you untold pleasures. You move one hand from around Benedict’s neck down and push it between your bodies, grabbing his rigid cock through the wool of his trousers, needing to feel steely power under your fingers. As you do so, you stare at Anthony’s cock, almost pulsing in time with your moans.

Benedict growls as you palm him, and his hand inside you speeds up. The room fills with the sound of his movement in your wet channel and the scent of your arousal. Your moans getting louder and more urgent. Anthony’s knuckles turn white where he grips the arms of his chair, his eyes trained between your legs.

“I bet your boy wishes this was him,” Benedict baits, “his fingers inside your gorgeous cunt, you grabbing his cock….”

You giggle and blow Anthony a kiss, knowing the jibes are winding him up even further.

“So close, are you not?” Benedict mutters richly in your ear, somewhat superfluous; he knows your body so well now that he can sense all the signs of your impending orgasm.

You nod, panting loudly, climbing that invisible ladder where your skin feels flushed and your lips tingle. Benedict's other hand suddenly spans across your chest, and he is able to flick both clamped throbbing nipples at once. The jolt is like fire—the catalyst that hurtles you breakneck fast, screaming almost instantly.

“Make a good show for him.”

It’s the last thing you hear before the rush of blood in your ears, and you convulse hard, throwing your head back and shuddering full-bodied on his lap. You writhe, trying to evade the intensity, but he holds you open with his body strength, drawing it out into something that makes you scream again, leaking onto his fingers as he spouts encouragements.

Spent, you slump back onto his chest, gulping deep breaths and pleading for him to stop. He stills his motions and withdraws his fingers, taking them to his mouth and licking them clean obscenely, staring down his brother, who is breathing raggedly. After a few moments, when you return to normal, Benedict senses your need for something else.

“What is it, my girl? What do you want?”

“I want to fuck my pretty boy,” you stumble as he caresses your face, your speech still drowsy from your orgasm.

Both men make a noise that exhilarates every ounce of your being.

“I will allow it,” Benedict concedes, “with one condition…. I get to fuck you too.”

Your brow knits. “Of course, you will, sir,” your voice portrays how facile you think his request is.

Benedict grabs your jaw to the side to ensure you look at him, into his eyes. “Oh no, you don’t understand,” he chuckles darkly. “At the same time,” he specifies, and your stomach feels as if it has taken flight.

“Sir…?” your disbelief a broken whisper, staring at him, mouth agape.

“You heard me. You will take both of us at once. And I get to choose which place I want.”

“But sir….” You begin to protest, nerves flaring.

“Give me your colour,” he demands, cutting right to the point.

“Green,” you mumble your truth.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” he smirks.

You climb off Benedict’s lap and go to Anthony’s, like a safe harbour in a storm. Even though his hands are tied down, he strains his fingers to touch you, and you lace them with yours, taking comfort in him.

“I am nervous,” you confess quietly, sitting on his knees.

“Do not be my lady,” his tone pitched to reassure. “You know your sir would never hurt you,” he reminds.

“I know that; it's the intensity,” you answer. “You are both blessed with, how should I say, a familial trait of impressive size. I fear my body may be unable to accommodate you both at once.”

Benedict is suddenly close behind you. “Is your word closer to yellow or even red, my girl?” his commanding voice replaced with a gentler tone of concern.

“No sir,” you state clearly, “I just…. I have never experienced penetration into my other place beyond fingers.”

Benedict looks at his brother. “You have never…?” he asks quietly.

Anthony shakes his head.

“My apologies, darling girl,” Benedict mutters, “I made an error in my assumption. We do not need to do this…” he places a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“NO!!” you exclaim rather more forcefully than planned, taking them both by surprise. “I want to do this,” you clarify, “more than anything. I will just need for it to be slow.”

The brothers share a look you have long since realised is their silent communication. Somehow they know how to care for you without breaking the scene. It is why you cannot resist playing with them—the wonderful way they can both intuit your needs and work together to take you places you have never dreamed of. It's why you are so desperate to take them both at once; you trust them implicitly to make it unforgettable for you.

“You are a wonder, my lady,” Anthony murmurs, his eyes shining with reverence, squeezing his fingers around yours.

“Truly special, my girl,” Benedict adds, rubbing a soothing pattern over your spine. “I have a suggestion for how we can do this.”

“Tell us, brother,” Anthony breathes, his status as the elder statesman of the family somehow seeping out into the way he says it.

You realise it must be a strange dynamic that, as firstborn, he is willing to submit to the will of his younger brother for you through you. Your admiration of him ratchets higher as your gaze falls again to his hands and how he has continued to respect the hold you have placed him in; a few easy moves, and he could be free.

Unsure how to process the feeling, you surge forward and capture Antony’s lips in a searing kiss that takes him by surprise, as he does not respond for a split second. Then he is opening under your assault, and its fire in your lungs, burning bright. With the hand not holding Anthony’s, you reach blindly back for Benedict, and sweetly he brings your hand to his jaw and holds it there, leaning his face into your touch. Your tongue spars with Anthony’s, and it takes every fibre not to climb onto his cock, but you want to hear what Benedict has to say about how this can be done. Breaking your kiss with Anthony but keeping your hand tight in his, you whip around and pull Benedict down into a similarly passionate kiss, your nipple clamps dragging delightfully through the ruffles of his shirt as you press your body into him, moulding around him, his hands hot on your skin.

“What do you suggest, sir?” you pant over his mouth, squeezing Anthony’s fingers.

Benedict's lips run over your cheek and land hot on the column of your neck. “My brother should be the one you explore new territory with; I think you should take him inside your bottom while I fuck you, darling girl.”

You love the idea. And so does Anthony, based on the noise he makes. You twist slightly to meet his gaze.

“My lady, I want that. So very, very much. Please.” He whispers, his eyes imploring.

“I want that too,” you concur as Benedict’s lips run down to your shoulder.

“I believe you may find this easier laying down,” Benedict counsels, “my chaise over there may be best,” signalling a piece of furniture reminiscent of the one you all used in his art studio at Aubrey Hall. “But you could not tie him to it, alas.” he ends drily.

“I believe he may have learned his lesson well enough to be untied now,” you state, moving to unwrap the silk stockings over Anthony’s wrists.

Anthony looks overjoyed as his hands are finally freed, and without asking your permission, he bands his arms tight around you and stands, wrapping your legs and arms around him like a vine.

“My darling lady,” he dotes as he walks you over to the chaise, nuzzling your face.

“My beautiful boy,” you smile, running your fingers over the contours of his face, something so profound at that moment.

This night seems so emotionally charged compared to others. As if this final hurdle of intimacy between the three of you represents a new chapter. You know these men will be so physically close doing this, with just you between them, that must represent a new level of understanding between them.

“I need you both so much,” you admit honestly as Anthony sits down on the chaise with you in his lap.

“We need you too,” Anthony responds, his voice a little tight, and his lips find yours again in a sweet kiss as if sealing a pact as he shuffles to lay down with you on top of him.

“We really do,” Benedict concurs as he draws up behind you. “Let me prep you, my wonderful girl,” Benedict says gently with a quick kiss on the slope of your shoulder.

You whisper your consent and widen your stance on top of Anthony. Benedict pulls your cheeks apart, and you jump slightly at the sensation of oil being poured there. You release a calming breath as Anthony whispers reassurances, your fingers entwined with his, your lips tracing his cheekbone, feeling a slight rasp of stubble there.

You groan as the sensation you have felt only once before, a swirling around your tight ring of muscle, then gradually fingertips applying pressure there that your body doesn't want to yield to.

“Relax, my girl,” Benedict’s voice is a soft tutor, “take a breath, let me in.” You do as asked and moan as a finger breeches inside you, fighting your body’s urge to push him out. “That's it,” he adds, and you relax into the invasive feeling, his finger moving deeper as another joins it.

You hum and close your eyes, rocking slightly back onto his hand, starting to enjoy the unusual sensation, the drag of his knuckles against your passage.

“Yes, darling girl, take me all in,” he says velvet dark, “you are doing so well.”

Anthony strokes your hair and peppers light kisses on your face as you gaze at him with no doubt blown pupils and wide eyes, getting used to being filled somewhere new. Benedict adds a third finger and starts to make a scissoring action inside, and you can’t help but groan at the stretch as he pours more oil around and into your body.

“Anthony…,” you murmur his name, not your titles, on reflex, feeling susceptible, and he smiles reassuringly.

“You do this so well; I cannot wait to try this new experience with you,” he offers honestly and kisses your lips delicately.

“I think you are ready, my girl,” Benedict states quietly, his fingers deep in you, spreading your muscles and coating you with more oil. “Rub some of this on his cock,” he coaches, placing the bottle in your hand and gradually withdrawing his fingers.

Anthony whimpers lightly as you lubricate his cock, ensuring it is glistening and shiny, looking somehow more appetising now than ever. Benedict cleanses his hands in the small bowl of water, then sweetly helps you to your feet to lay down backwards on top of Anthony. All you feel under your spine is the tickle of his chest hair and the play of muscles across his toned chest as you settle over him, glancing at the ceiling as if in a short prayer.

“Whenever you are ready,” Benedict whispers, “take him into your body, my darling.” Once again, it's a term of endearment without the girl moniker that you try to ignore.

You shuffle on top of Anthony, who just holds your waist loosely. Taking a deep breath, you line him up. They are quiet as you do, giving you the space and time to do this at your own pace. You place your other hand over Anthony’s as you feel an entirely new sensation of his cock sliding bluntly between your cheeks.

“You are doing wonderful, my girl,” he reassures, grasping your fingers between his, and you give a brief nod in acknowledgement.

You groan as he breaches your body and puff out air. It’s all heat and pressure. It feels so different, not unpleasant, just… odd. Anthony groans, too; his forehead rests on your shoulder as he seems to babble nonsense words. It must be intense for him too. So slowly, you sink down, taking time and deep relaxing breaths. Inch by inch, you sink lower, cataloguing each reaction your body has. After what seems like ages, you reach his root and let out a long low whimper—feeling so invaded and stretched.

‘Well done, darling girl. Benedict touches your face dotingly, and you beam up at him, the praise doing wonders for you. “Brother, you should hold her open,” Benedict advises, and Anthony moves his hands down to either side of your legs.

“I hope you like my hand imprints on your thighs, my lady,” he says softly into your neck. You don't have a chance to ask what he means before Benedict is giving orders again.

“Hook your legs up his onto his arms. My brother will hold you,” Benedict lectures, and you slowly move into position, moaning as you feel Anthony flex inside your bottom as you do so.

Anthony’s strong fingers wrap around your inner thigh, and then you gasp as he pulls his arms upwards and outwards. You feel a slight burn in the tendons of your pelvis, legs forced so obscenely wide open and exposed.

“Perfect,” Benedict opines and stares at you. “I wish I could paint this moment. Look at you, all open and leaking, desperate for another cock.”

You can't stop the noise you emit; it's apprehension, want and nerves all wrapped in one. He starts to strip, enjoying his captured audience of you staring at him, almost open-mouthed. Your mind is still turning over the idea of taking both of them at once. As he roughly unbuttons his trousers, you find your voice.

“Sir, I'm not sure I can do this,” you pant, nerves flaring as his sizeable cock stares you right in the face. You feel so very full, impaled as you are on Anthony.

“Yes, you can,” he answers gruffly. “You know your safety word,” he warns.

You clamp your lip between your teeth—that is the last thing you want to say. It’s like he senses you need a slight roughness of tone in this moment, a balance to the unspoken emotions bubbling away this evening.

“You know you can do it, my lady,” Anthony’s soft voice rings in your ear. “I’m right here, with you, inside you; you feel so wondrous.”

“You feel so good, too,” you whisper, surprised that is the case. The more you adjust to the feeling, the more you enjoy it.

Then Benedict is climbing over you, all warm skin and lithe muscles. He is careful not to put too much weight on your body, his lips finding yours in a kiss as you feel his cock nestled hot on the apex of your thighs.

“Alright, sir, I'm ready,” you murmur as your lips part, and he cups your jaw, the blueish ring of his eyes flaring as his pupils dilate.

“I will go slow, I promise,” he rumbles, his thumb swiping tenderly over your cheek, and you feel his speech vibrating your ribcage.

Your body feels so hot pressed between them, Anthony's chest hair tickling your back as Benedict's warm skin covers yours, dragging your jewelled clamps, your nipples still throbbing insistently. And then you feel him reaching down to guide himself into your body.

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your cunt. You have never felt so stretched in that region before. A curse falls from your lips, and Benedict pauses, allowing you to get used to this small amount.

“Are you alright?” he checks, his voice filled with affectionate concern.

“Yes sir, it's just…. it's so much,” you reply truthfully.

Anthony’s hands holding your thighs up and open, caress your skin in a soothing pattern as Benedict starts to move again, sliding deeper inside you. You have no words to describe the feeling except utterly full. Anthony is making small panting sounds under you, and you know they must be able to feel each other; you can feel them pressing against each other through the wall of your body. You make a long, continuous whining noise as he pushes further until finally, Benedict rests entirely inside you.

“Well done, my wonderful girl,” Benedict gusts, sounding a little breathless already, “you feel so exquisitely tight.”

They both make sounds of pleasure as you move to kiss them both, swivelling to capture Anthony’s lips and then Benedict’s. You have never kissed them as much while you play as you do tonight. Something indeed so profound is happening between you.

“Im going to move now, slowly,” Benedict advises.

You find yourself incapable of words, so you just nod, one hand covering one of Anthony’s on your leg and the other resting on Benedict's shoulder.

You feel him withdraw slightly, then surge back in; your mouth falls slack, and your eyes roll back. Nothing could have prepared you for this. How it feels, how the motion and fullness pulls all your skin taut, your clit being pulled down towards his shaft so strong that you may not even need anyone to touch it to come.

You whine a curse as he repeats the motion, and you just know you won't last long like this, your body already so overwhelmed. Anthony behind you is already moaning gently too.

“Go faster, sir,” you goad, greedily chasing what you feel is headed for you.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” you answer with clenched teeth, “give it to me, sir, to us,” knowing the friction and tightness will probably be enough for Anthony without moving.

And that is the permission he needs.

Benedict starts to fuck you properly as he always does, and you cling on for dear life as he wrenches the most debauched noises and the most extreme sensations from your body. Every ounce of your being feels on fire, and you are hyper-aware of everything, the puff of their breaths on your damp skin, the noises each of them make, the pressure and intense pleasure you feel as Benedict ploughs into your cunt repeatedly while Anthony holds your ass open. And then Anthony begins to ripple under you, fractional surges into your body, and you lose all sense. You go limp and slackjawed, just letting them both take you somewhere that is so far away and yet so rooted in your body.

You know you are moaning and babbling nonsense, and you know they are wrenching the most filthy noises from your body, and you just don't care. All you want is for them never to stop. No words are spoken; in fact, you have temporarily lost the power of speech, so engrossed in just chasing all the feelings in your body, getting lost in the fog of both men moving inside and around you. All three of you are panting and moaning in unison as the rhythm you hit together adds another layer to the explosive dynamic. Over and over and over, you move as if one, some carnal dance that is astonishing and almost mystical. This is something so other, so uniquely shared and incredibly intimate, that you know things could never be the same between you again.

“Please…” you gasp, broken and panting, and they intuit precisely what you need. Benedict kisses you hard, all tongue and biting intensity, as one of Anthony’s hands snakes to your breast and pulls off one of your clamps.

The rush of blood to your nipple as it is released makes you yell out and convulse around them, and they both groan so deeply your whole body vibrates.

“Holy f….” Anthony’s curse is broken and wrecked. “Do that again, just please, please do that again.”

“Take off the other one,” you implore desperately, and Benedict's fingers find the other clamp and yank it off roughly, and you scream. The throbbing in your clit is almost painful and in sync with your nipples.

“Oh my god,” Benedict groans, his hand roughly cups your breast, his mouth falls to your nipple, he sucks hard and then bites down, as Anthony snakes a hand between bodies, and as soon as his thumb brushes your clit, that is it, you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is almost frightening. Your whole pelvis convulses, contracting and rippling around both of them to the point they howl more like beasts than men. Every cell in your body feels changed, altered, broken and rearranged in a new pattern, your skin hums like static after a storm, and your heart feels ready to burst out of your chest. All you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears. You know the boys are calling out, but they have stopped moving, the crush of you tightening like a vice around them, faltering their movements. Vaguely, you feel something warm bloom in your bottom, and Benedict withdraws from your body suddenly.

When you return to presence, they are both breathing so hard your body is being pushed with their chests heaving, and you feel sticky wetness all around your thighs as Anthony slips from inside your body, and you groan at the change of sensation there.

“I… I don’t have the words for that,” Benedict admits, his head slumped onto your breastbone, sounding so overwhelmed.

“Same brother, same,” Anthony chimes in over your shoulder, his voice so rough that he clears his throat.

You cannot even speak, rendered dumbfounded, earth-shaken, mind-altered. They seem to accept your muteness, and their soothing hands skim your body silently as you all absorb the intensity of the experience you just shared. Your insides ache, but in a way that you are desperate to feel again. Part of you wants to pipe up your usual witty remark about ‘same time again tomorrow, boys’, but another part of you stops short. The atmosphere feels too precious to be glib, too tender and profound to dismiss with humour.

And as they help you to your feet, they are extra loving, with lots of kisses and tender touches. Anthony goes to sanitise and relieve himself, and while he is gone, Benedict sees you stifle a yawn and convinces you to do something you never have before. To rest in his bedroom, Anthony joining you.

You argue that it will just be for an hour, and then you will leave, but you fall asleep almost instantly. Sometime later, you awaken in the middle of the night and are sandwiched between their warm bodies. Both look so angelic as they sleep soundly, their limbs wrapped around yours. And for the first time ever, you choose to stay—to spend the night. As you drift back to sleep, your only thought is how a large part of you wants this, just this, always.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @queenofmean14

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housewarningparty · 3 months ago

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hyped that you're writing again!

Fuffy (Faith/Buffy) + scrape, rain, dame

(maybe a noir vibe?)

okay lmao i know you've been wanting this for a minute, I hope it satisfies

Faith's never seen rain like this, not in the entire time she's been in California. And she might be a recent transplant but she's not stupid — this is no regular summer storm. No, this has to be something else. Driving winds, great freezing wet gouts of water gushing from midnight black clouds, like God himself opened a vein. An arterial baptism for the City of Angels, a place so choked in sin that the blood of lamb wasn't cutting it anymore and the Father, despairing, had no choice but to offer his own.

That or Buffy was right and there's a powerful coven at work and they're running out of time to stop them.

Speaking of Buffy—

She's got her hand clamped tight— bruising tight— around Faith's wrist, heels that couldn't be worse for this weather for if they were trying splashing noisily through filthy puddles in the sidewalk as she ran ahead, tugging Faith along behind her.

“Come on, Faith, come on,” Buffy's saying and Faith wonders, dazedly, why she sounds so scared until she feels herself falter on the slippery pavement, shoots a hand out to steady herself on a glass storefront beside her and sees, even through the dark and dim, the bright red streak of blood her palms leave behind.

Oh, yeah. She's shot.

It's a struggle to tear her mind free of the gauzy haze that surrounds it, but when Faith's ears pick up the distant sound of a motor getting less distant by the second, she manages it.

“They're coming back around,” she wheezes, sure that her voice is too pained and weak for Buffy to hear over the weather.

But she does, judging by the quiet curse she lets out, the way she squeezes Faith's hand. “Okay, okay. I know a place. Hang on, okay? Just a little farther.”

Faith would be the first to admit, if anyone would bother to stop and ask her, that in her current circumstances she is probably not the person best qualified to judge her condition. She's biased, in her own way, and being down a few pints of blood is probably not helping. But she's a detective, or at least Buffy has asked her to play the part, so she can do what detectives seem to do in those dime novels she reads from time to time: look at the evidence, draw a conclusion.

Faith + shot + the goons in that old beater coming back around to take another shot at putting the chill on her and it all adds up to one thing: she doesn't have much of a choice about whether to trust Buffy or not or if she wants to keep running after her through all these dark, filthy allies.

All her life, Faith has been sure that she'd kick off this way someday: running. Running a con, or from the cops or after some dame with a face too sweet and a mouth too pink and inviting for Faith’s own good. Faith knows enough to know she doesn't know exactly what kind of scheme she's let herself get drawn into, but she figures whatever it is, her chances are still better with Buffy than with those hoods and their irons.

So she goes.

And within a few minutes, Buffy is tugging her to a stop in front of a nondescript door in the alleyway of some big brick building Faith doesn't recognize, someplace downtown. Faith, no stranger to running for her life, is a little disappointed that she'd failed to memorize how they'd ended up here, but she figures she can afford to cut herself a little slack tonight, given the circumstances.

She sags, exhausted, knees shaking, against Buffy, no doubt getting blood all over that smart dove gray coat she'd shown up wearing, that Faith had, a few happier hours ago, fantasized about peeling off her. Ruined now, no doubt.

“Sorry,” Faith mumbles, or tries to, because what comes out of her mouth is more like “Shrrrgghh.”

“Shh, it's okay, hang on,” Buffy says, voice a little too frantic to be comforting. She pounds on the door again, again until she finally lets loose an aggrieved sigh and puts her shoulder through it. She makes it look effortless but Faith hears the wood splinter, sees the metal of the steel lock bend like putty.

Everything else happens in a blur. Buffy hauls her through the doorway, down a dark hall until a man… a green man? With little red horns? Intercepts them. He's wearing a plush royal blue smoking jacket and a look of perfect terror but he does as Buffy bids him and ushers them into a sparsely furnished room with a mattress on a metal frame and not much else.

Buffy settles Faith down on the bed, saying over her shoulder to the man, “Sorry about the blood. And your door.”

He waves her off and rushes back out of the room, returning moments later with what looks like a doctor's bag.

“Now, let's see the damage,” he says, sounding far too cheerful for a man peeling her bloodstained shirt up from her skin. “Sorry, darling,” he at least has the good grace to say. “I know this is terribly ungentlemanly of me, but please bear with me now.”

At this Buffy stumbles back knocking into a dresser and toppling a small mirror onto the floor, where it shatters into bits. As if we needed any more bad luck, Faith thinks.

Aloud, she says, “Where y’goin’?”

Buffy shakes her head, voice quavering. “I'm squeamish. I can't watch.”

And then trips her way out of the room, falling all over herself to leave.

“She'll be okay,” the man says, kindly, warm hands easing her back onto the bed. He produces a bottle, something home brewed but strong that he urges her to sip. “So will you. I'm Lorne, by the way. I promise you're in good hands.”

Faith doesn't doubt him. Life has seen fit to instill in Faith certain skills for survival, one of these being discerning quickly and with good accuracy how much a man with intent to touch her wants to cause pain. There's nothing in Lorne’s hands that reads malice or danger.

No, that thrum of simple minded fear, that prey animal feeling pulsing through Faith's body isn't because of Lorne at all.

It lingers as she watches the door Buffy disappeared from with all the intensity of a rabbit struck still in the brush, waiting for the hawk to pass.

To distract from the pain in her side as Lorne goes to work with his tweezers and alcohol and gauze, Faith recalls Buffy's face. They've had their moments in the weeks since Buffy approached her, asked for her help. Long hot glances and lingering touches, loaded silences and innuendo both. Nothing has come of it, but one of Faith’s other survival skills, honed over the years, has been learning how to tell when a broad wants what she has to offer. And she’s felt that want from Buffy, choked as it is by what Faith had assumed this whole time was an abundance of caution. Maybe she had a secret beau, maybe she’d been burned before, maybe she just didn’t think Faith was worth the risk. But Faith had felt the want in her, before.

And that was nothing compared to the hunger she saw in Buffy tonight, when they’d finally stopped running and Lorne had exposed the sick oozing wound in her side and she had lurched forward, helpless as a drunk. Oh, she’d caught herself right away, pulled back, a little too far, but Faith had seen it. Had seen the way her mouth went slack before she tightened it to a pained grimace, had seen her nostrils flare, her hands shake, the way her pupils had gone big and black, like a gowed-up dope fiend.

Faith had seen. And so now, she thinks about it like a detective, lining up the evidence. How they always met at night, how Buffy had knocked that door in like it was nothing, the way she was able to lug Faith around like she was made of cotton and air.

By the time Lorne is finished, Faith is exhausted, and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep. She wakes up in the daylight, for Lorne to change her bandages.

“Buffy had to go home,” Lorne lies as easily as he stitches her up. “She’ll be back in the evening.”

They talk a little, before she falls back asleep. “Weren’t you green last night?” she asks.

“Guilty,” he says and explains.

“Demon was my second guess,” Faith says amicably, squinting and tilting her head to try to see past the glamour. No such luck, it's solid work. “First was that I was hallucinating from blood loss.”

She drinks some broth, has a few more nips of whisky, and falls back asleep.

It is indeed evening when Buffy comes back. She’s cleaned up, looking sober and genuinely concerned as she hovers in the doorway.

Faith wonders, for one terrifying moment, how much she still smells like blood. If she’s in danger from Buffy losing it.

Then she thinks, if all Buffy wanted out of her was a quick meal, she could have had it weeks ago.

“You might as well come on in,” Faith offers, eventually, sick of the silent staring. “You’re lettin’ in a draft.”

Hesitantly, Buffy steps into the room. She shuts the door behind her and pauses until Faith gestures to the chair at her bedside.

Settling down, Buffy asks, “How are you feeling? Lorne says the wound looks good. He doesn’t think it’ll get infected.”

Faith shrugs, regretting it immediately but hoping the pain doesn’t show on her face. “S’alright. Basically a scrape.”

“The bullet went all the way through you and out the other side.”

“A deep scrape,” Faith amends.

Buffy shakes her head and Faith, goddamn her, feels her breath catch in her throat, despite everything.

“Where you been?” Faith asks, trying to sound casual. “Catching up with the mugs that tried to give me lead poisoning?”

“No. I couldn’t find any sign of them when I left here last night.”

“Grabbing a bite?” Faith tries, watching carefully for—

Buffy freezes.

Faith waits.

“Yes,” Buffy answers slowly. “I had something to eat.”

“I could tell,” Faith says. “You look steadier than last night.”

She waits another beat while Buffy looks at the floor.

“So, who was he?” Faith asks.

There it is. Buffy’s gaze snaps up to meet hers. “The man who tried to shoot you? I told you I didn’t find any trace of him.”

“Not him.” Faith says, then, despite the pain, she leans forward, holding catching Buffy’s eye and holding it. “Who’d you eat?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy says in a rush. “On the square. I didn’t.”

“C’mon, drop the veil,” Faith says. “I know what you are. A vamp, in both senses of the word.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy insists.

Faith frowns. “So, what? Thralls? Heard about a guy back east who paid hookers for it. That your bag?”

“I… There’s this butcher shop—”

Faith rolls her eyes, “Don’t give me that—”

“I mean it!” Buffy practically shouts. “I don’t feed from humans. I swear.”

Faith wants to believe it. She wants it so badly she’s not sure she trusts the feeling.

“If you don’t, you’re the first bloodsucker I’ve ever met who doesn’t hunt.” Faith says. “So, what’s different about you?”

“I have a soul.” Faith rolls her eyes and Buffy, affronted, cuts her off before she can speak. “I do. Look, it’s a long story and I’ll tell it to you later, but for right now I need you to trust me. This shouldn’t change anything about our deal. You keep helping me, I’ll pay you what you’re owed, and together we save this city from a whole heap of trouble.”

“You expect me to trust you?” Faiths asks, head aching, wound aching, heart aching, and a special new kind of exhausted she's never been before. She wishes she knew how to stop the way her heart still speeds up when Buffy looked at her just like this — big eyed and sincere. “After lying to me?”

“No.” Buffy reaches out, tentatively and lays her hand over Faith’s. “I expect you to trust me after saving your life last night.”

Warmth flows up Faith’s body, from her belly all the way to the roots of her hair. Just like that.

Dizzy over a dame, she thinks, exasperated. A vampire dame. Ain’t I the world’s biggest chump.

“You said it was a long story,” Faith says, finally. “You ending up with a soul…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” leaning back into bed, Faith is careful to let her hand continue to rest under Buffy’s grip. She jerks her chin down toward the patched wound in her side. “As you can see, I got nothing but time.”

Buffy waits a beat, then nods. “Okay. It all started with a man. His name was Angel…”

#replies #juanabaloo #btvs #fuffy #tbf i haven't read a lot of hardboiled detective stuff in a minute so i'm probably not very in the style #this is really just me throwing noir slang at the wall lmao #still! it was fun to mess with #not sure how in character it is but yknow

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