#mostly because he has a fucked up body and is sore or hurting a lot so i dont know if me draping an arm over him or something is comfy

[domesticated-whores]

can't be trusted to say something sexy and cute because last night I was cuddling with my man and I went "hey, you're like the same width as my cat!!!"

[unitato722]

Thinking about the first few times with the turtles in a more realistic light.

The first time you decide to let him inside of you, you don't expect too much. This is his first time having sex, so it's only fair that it's more of a learning experience than anything else.

You start with lots of prep. He doesn't want to hurt you, even when you assure him that you might feel a bit sore. He's so nervous that by the time he finally puts his dick in you he's full on trembling. You talk him through it as much as you can, but let's be honest- there's no way you can be completely there when he's stretching you so wide on his fat cock.

He pushes in slowly, and with every inch your breath hitches. He only gets half way inside of you before he's moaning and cumming buckets. He's barely conscious enough to pull out after the first three seconds, and even then he's still letting out the most sultry "hahhh~" and "oh fuuuuuh~".

That's how it's going to be the first few times. Their bodies slowly becoming used to the sensation of entering your velvety cunt. Nine times out of ten you won't end up getting off, but it's not because they didn't try, it's mostly because they're so braindead from how hard they came that you have to take care of and love on your man until they remember how to speak.

The first time they are able to finally start focusing on making you feel good you better be ready.

Chances are that he's been doing his research on how to make you cum. He probably feels bad that you haven't been enjoying it as much as he has, no matter how many times you insist that you don't mind.

He's between your legs, eating you like a man starved. He makes you cum at least twice before he's shucking his pants and boxers. He crawls up your body slowly as he trails kisses from your hips up across your chest and neck, nipping at your pulse point in the way that makes you gasp. He lets his cock rest against your pussy and slowly slides it up and down, collecting your arousal on his shaft while he shoves his tongue in your mouth.

The kiss is so dirty that you completely lose yourself in it, nearly missing when his head catches at your entrance. He pulls away from you and slowly starts to push in, watching as your mouth falls open in a breathless moan. Once he's half way he stops and tilts your head to look at him. "Beg for me baby." It's like a plea against your lips, and who are you to deny the one who stole your heart?

"Please," you moan out. "Need you so fucking bad~ babyy~" and then he's bottoming out leaving your brain in pieces on the floor. All you can think about is how good he feels, how good you feel.

It starts out slowly, him pulling all the way out before slowly feeding it back into your gushing folds. Once he knows you're ready he starts speeding up, hips snapping against yours as his hands hold yours next to your head. All the while he never looks away from you, too obsessed with the way your face portrays your arousal.

He's able to hold himself back from cumming until he feels you clamping down on him, and then he's losing himself as he spews out praise and sweet words as he jackhammers his release into you.

After that he takes care of you, holding your face and telling you how well you did as he cleans up the mess between your thighs. He's kissing all the bites he left on your neck as he lays with you on his chest, fingers running through your hair comfortingly.

It takes you quite some time to come back to reality, but he's patient and he never rushes you. The second you regain your sense of mind you look up at him, mouth agape in shock. "When the hell did you get good at sex?" You demand, and he laughs.

"You'd be surprised what I've learned the last few weeks baby," he replied with a kiss to your forehead. "Maybe I can show you after you get some rest."

"Deal."

You've never fallen asleep so quickly.

[wowcatboys]

Can you do the head canons set for Yone and Sett like you did for Kayn??? Thank you !!!!

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HEARTSTEEL SETT / READER ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW (Light sexuality, nothing explicit.) ♡ Hi my dear! Wasn't sure if you meant the relationship ones or kiss ones—Yone is getting both in upcoming separate posts, and I've already done Sett kisses here ! Hope you enjoy these :D

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SETT

Sett's most sensitive spot is his ears. They're dreamy soft, like velvet but thicker, and oh-so-warm. When you play with them he goes weak in the knees, tilting his head towards your gentle hands and letting out a low groan. He adores when you play with them. If he plops his head in your lap and looks up at you with pleading puppy-dog eyes, chances are an ear-rub is what he's begging for.

After Sett smashes out a great lifting session, he usually sends you a mirror selfie. He just wants to tell you he had a great workout, and he loves when you encourage him, so it's mostly innocent. But come on...he's shining with sweat, his muscles look fucking huge, and he's got that flushed-cheek, out of breath smile. How are you not supposed to ogle him a little bit? If you accuse him of trying to turn you on with his gym selfies he goes 'no wayyyyyy'. The next picture he says—one of him winking at you, with the hem of his shirt pulled tight between his sharp teeth and his glorious abs on display—says otherwise.

Sett's social media pages consist of basically two things: gymbro shit and cute animal videos. He spams you with the latter. Expect lots of pictures of housecats cuddling ("us", he captions) and videos of dogs doing tricks ("do u think we could teach earnest that??" Probably not, you tell him, but you find him on the kitchen floor the next morning trying to get the poor dog to do a flip anyway).

Sett is all for pet-names, and rarely calls you by your given name. He  goes with the classic "babe" a lot. Sometimes he likes to spice it up by sprinkling in nicknames like "hot stuff" or "sweets". If he's being cheeky, he'll give you a teasing smirk and call you his "favorite groupie".

Sett loves staying active (obviously) and he's always down to try something new. If you're for hurting date ideas, take him rollerskating, rock climbing, or swimming. And, if you're really brave? Ask him and the rest of the Heartsteel guys to go paint-balling with you. Bless his heart, he will try so hard to protect you and hyper-carry your team but his aim just isn't that good. (Predictably, Sett ends up covered in paint-splashes. He's nothing if not a good meat shield.)

For your first Christmas together, Sett's mom knits you a beanie to match his. "Oh, you two are adorable," she beams as her son excitedly tugs the warm hat over your ears. Once you've earned the beanie, trust that you've got Mama's approval on lock.

Anyone that wrongs you is on Sett's shit-list for life. He's a hothead and he knows how to hold a fucking grudge. If you complain about your boss or come to him teary-eyed because a friend blew off plans, he's fuming. "That fucking asshole," he snarls. Of course, he sets aside his fury to comfort you. Just know that a lifelong beef has been started and he's going to scowl every time you bring that person's name up again.

After a hard workout, Sett loves to tease you by pulling you in for a sweaty bear-hug. Don't worry, though—he's always down to hit the showers with you right after.

Sett knows his way around the human body—he's got a near medical knowledge of muscle groups, nerves, and effective stretches just from his time in the gym. What does this mean for you, though? The best fucking massages in the entire universe. The moment you complain about a kink in your neck or a sore back Sett's cracking his knuckles. "Okay, hot stuff," he says, placing his gentle hands on your tight muscles. "Where exactly does it hurt?" Of course, you don't need to be in pain to get a massage—Sett's eager to touch you any chance he can get. Pout a little and ask if he can pretty please rub your neck, and his hands are on you before you can finish your sentence.

Since he's a cuddle-bug and serial napper, plan on spending a fair amount of time snuggled up in Sett's bed. He keeps sweatpants in his closet for you so you can be comfy during cuddle-seshes. Honestly, though, he prefers if you skip the pants altogether and chill out in your underwear and one of his old t-shirts. He tends to take a fabric scissors to any of his shirts with sleeves—your favorite sleep shirt, though? He mercifully leaves that one alone.

Sett's a massive show-off. Anytime you're on your tippy-toes trying to reach the top shelf or you're struggling with the pickle jar, Sett swoops in with an "Oh, lemme get that for ya!" And if he's flexing extra hard opening the jar or stretching his arms so that just the teeeeeeeniest bit of his shirt slips up, exposing his six-pack...well. You might as well enjoy the show, right?

Even though he wears lifting gloves, Sett's hands get chapped and calloused, anyway. He constantly steals your lotion. If you catch him swiping it out of your bag his ears go back and he offers you a sheepish, "sorry, hon...", but does he stop?�� No chance. He pops the top and slathers it on his hands, anyway. "Whaaaaaat?" he whines as you stare him down. "If I'm all rough and whatever you'll stop holding hands with me."

You and Sett have a frankly obscene amount of plushies. There's an endless sea of plush on your bed, plus a good handful on his, but he just. keeps. buying. more. You'd complain, since it makes finding a comfy position to sleep a battle sometimes, but come on... how can you say no to a sugarcone furyhorn? Fucking impossible.

Sett's favorite way to pull you closer is by your belt loops. He hooks his fingers through and gives your hips a light tug, loving the surprised squeak you give when you bump into his massive frame.

Sett has a metal water bottle with him at all times (gotta stay hydrated)! Even though he rolls his eyes when you paste cute stickers on it, you notice that he never peels them off.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hellooo, I was wondering if you could do MCYT with an S/O who has ADHD? (Mostly hyperfixates on horror games, etc.) I personally have a bad habit of walking around till my legs are sore (my leg has been sore for the past three days please help I can't get rid of this energy ahh-) and how MCYT would react to that/stop Y/N from. Doing that lol

HELP THIS IS SO REAL BAHAHHAHABA ; thank you for the request 🫶🫶 ; sorry if anything seems a little wrong, I'm kinda looking into if I have adhd but obv idk and I'm not diagnosing myself, but I obviously am not diagnosed so I don't know the full ins and outs and I know it's a spectrum, so uh yeah 👍 hopefully I did good lol

MCYT ; ADHD shenanigans

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

he'll walk into your stream, sit down, look at your screen, then blankly stare at you when he realizes what you're playing

"Dude. are you streaming FNAF again?"

you nod with a smile "yupppp"

he spends the rest of your stream talking to chat and trying to scare you more

you're just talking about the lore and shit and he's loosely hanging onto it LMAO

if you're just like pacing around the house he'll look up at you like "bro you okay?"

will genuinely join in as well, he's always got the energy

he doesn't mean to enable like hurting yourself to a point, but once he realizes he is kind of enabling it he'll immediately stop

"sit down, here, skip leg day for once, focus on those noodle arms of yours"

"says you! the fuck?"

RANBOO

let's you rant about your fixations and the lore and whatnot

I mean they won't deny that the Blair Witch Project video game is really good

they even buy you posters of the Blair Witch Project movie and video game (we don't talk about the movies after the first...)

even gets you merch off the official game site too (if that exists? I'm not sure istg there was merch tho)

they start to get a little fixated on it too considering they love hearing about the lore and theories from you and stuff

they even play it on stream and dedicate it to you

"thanks for the content y/n"

when you're running through the house, he'll race with you for a while before finding some other ways for you to release energy without making yourself sore

at one point he just gives you coffee that way you'll crash and burn after a few hours

I mean at least you don't feel like your legs are about to pop off your body

FREDDIE BADLINU

invested in the resident evil lore because of you

"I saw this and thought of you" AND ITS A LEON KENNEDY EDIT LMFAOOO

I mean yeah

loves hearing you rant about the games and everything, he could listen to you talk for hours

when you're all strung up on energy he also enables it without realizing at first

when he can tell it's more than just being energetic he'll help you find ways to calm down

if need be, he'll read to you, instant sleep I swear

or when he starts talking you'll be fully invested in his words

"yknow, Google listed among us as a horror game and I really cannot-"

NIKI NIHACHU

the amount of dead by daylight merch and the amount of money that you've spent on it is kinda concerning

but she loves listening to you rant about how the kill animations are so awesome and about new maps and characters and dlcs

I mean it's your current fixation, of course she'd listen to every single word you'd have to say

she even plays with you on stream a lot as well

when you're strung up on energy, she'll take you out for a run, you're like a dog on a leash though because she's not trying to lose you

"niki, come on! I wanna see the water snakes!"

"I'm coming, I can't sprint like you do, darling!"

QUACKITY

"of all the games, why is five nights at freddy's the one you're fixated on?"

he loves hearing you rant and explain lore and theories to him tho

genuine love language

he'll even play it on stream with you

"and the purple guy basically killed all the kids, and the kids basically scared him into the springlock suit and it literally killed him so he possesses that suit now-"

he'll just joke about the amount of energy you have

like Ranboo, will serve you coffee so you can crash and burn considering you end up begging him to help you

[septimusmoonlight]

Anonymous: I miss a lot of your birth stuff, so how about your a 5’4 cuminflated baby factory for the biggest magical creatures known for hard births like Orcs, Orges, Minotaurs, etc. For while you’re boypussy has no problem pushing out this absolutely massive babies but then a half Orc/ half giant breeds you one day with three massive babies and your so big and stretch everywhere it hurts. You go so overdue the father has to fuck you into labor and your cunt is gaping and almost ripped apart by the three babies and just when you think it’s over there’s a fourth that just tears you in two. Your relieved that it’s over that is until your  permanently sold to the half Orc/half giant and become his baby factory forever.

Oh, I really like this <3

It doesn't matter who I used to be or how I ended up here, really. All that matters is that I'm constantly round and swollen with the latest young, babies from whatever monster needed to use a hole, needed to continue a bloodline, needed to watch a pathetic human give birth to their too-big babies. Not allowed clothes except for a collar, chained wherever is convenient for my latest client, used constantly for breeding until it's finally time for me to push out whatever is taking up space in my womb. I'm just lucky my boycunt is used to it all at this point, because otherwise it would all be a lot more painful. It's painful nonetheless - that's part of the appeal, after all - but my body has, at least, acclimated.

Sometimes, a client will enjoy my "company" so much that they don't let me give birth, keeping me in agonizing labor for days on end so that the contractions squeeze their cock and so that they can keep using me for as long as possible. Orcs will gladly let the rest of their band use me, despite the terms of rental clearly being set at one client, so they're especially bad about this - it's unfair to let a toy go so soon if someone has gone without a turn in some sloppy boycunt, after all. Minotaurs are stubborn by nature, so they're also reluctant to give me up, but they know the terms of a rental as well as the rest of my clients. They can't keep me without repercussions.

My stomach sinks one day when an absolutely enormous client approaches my handlers and asks for a rental. Based on his looks and size, he must be half orc and half giant, if not mostly giant. His tusks and yellow eyes, plus the powerful shoulders, speak to orc ancestry, definitely, but his size is something else entirely. My handlers gladly recommend my services, handing me over upon the exchange of sufficient gold.

His cock alone is big enough to compete with even the largest of births I've ever had, so the prospect of bearing his children scares me - but it gets worse when he determines that I'm carrying triplets after breeding me thoroughly. He praises my proprietors in keeping a cuntboy so fertile, so ready to carry children for whoever is in need, and continues using me even as I swell to obscene sizes with his young at an uncomfortable speed. I'm sore, I'm tired, everything hurts, but I get no rest during the day, constantly impaled on my client's impossible cock. He's been pent up for a long time because nobody wants to handle him, he explains, so it's just better at this point to find somebody who can't say no.

He gets concerned when the supposed due date passes and I just keep swelling. He doesn't want health problems to befall me or the children, and he wants to continue his bloodline - but he has to admit that there's appeal in having a hole around that can take him. Still, he decides to take matters into his own hands one day, and just picks me up bodily, sliding me up and down on his cock like the toy I am, pummeling my cervix to prompt a response from my body - and a response is exactly what he gets. Labor rips through me, and I scream, arching my back as my body finally makes its needs known, but he doesn't let me off, too busy chasing his own high. The squeezing of my boyhole around his cock is just too perfect for him to ignore, even if I'm finally giving birth like he wants.

When he cums, at least that means my hole is loose and sloppy for him when he finally lays me on my back and tells me to push. I obey, screaming, crying, tears falling endlessly from my cheeks as I struggle through the first of three enormous children. The head alone is easily the width of a large watermelon, stuck crowning for a ridiculous amount of time - and that just seems to get my client hard again, stroking his cock as he watches me struggle, watches me ruin my body trying to give birth for him. Drenched in sweat, I finally manage to dislodge the head, and the rest of the body follows with comparative ease.

The second is much the same, except he makes it harder on me. With a gentle palm, he pushes the child back into my body, forcing me to bring it to a crown all over again. And again. He doesn't do it a third time, though, apparently unwilling to delay the birth of his children further, and allows me the privilege of bearing his young, bringing them into the world while I'm in agony, shaking with the effort. If anything, the struggle just turns him on even more - his cock bobs, precum slicking the head even when he's not masturbating to my tears.

Finally, the third. Finally, there will be some rest. Once I'm finished with this, the most difficult task I've ever had to face, I will finally get to relax, just for a little bit, before he fucks another set of babies into me and makes me bear those ones just the same. As I push, though, something feels...off. Something doesn't feel right, like my belly is still too heavy. It can't be the afterbirth - I know what that feels like from dozens and dozens of births over the years - so what else could it possibly be?

I get my answer after the third slides out, my boycunt protesting as it's stretched to its limits for the third time in a row. There's a fourth. My heart sinks as the weight of a fourth child becomes clear to me, now that I'm not distracted by the rest of them, and it feels like it may be bigger than the others by a significant factor. I don't even know if I'll be able to properly birth this thing - but I'm not left any choice when my client presses on my swollen belly, forcing the last of the batch towards my already overworked cunt. I try to plead with him, to tell him that I can't take it, that it hurts too badly, but the way his cock twitches in response tells me that he's looking forward to that. All I can do is brace myself.

It's not enough. A wave of pain rocks me to my absolute core, worse than anything I've ever felt, and I can't even hear myself screaming as the baby fights its way out of me. It stretches me to my limits, meets my limits, and then shoots right past them, my cunt ripping open to make two holes into one, my body permanently changed to reflect my true purpose as a breeding slave, a baby factory, nothing more than a walking womb that makes funny noises sometimes. The air smells like metal. Blood pools beneath me, but my client doesn't seem concerned - in fact, he's jacking off as his final child comes into the world covered in my blood.

My vision is dim, but I can still tell when my client looms over me. The brand-new pain of him sliding his throbbing cock into my fresh wound-cunt isn't even that bad, not compared to when his child made it, so I don't even cry that much anymore, not from the intrusion alone. What makes me cry is when he jackhammers his way to another orgasm, shooting his seed directly into my womb to knock me up all over again, and and his cock stays hard. He pulls out and jacks off, using my blood as lube, painting my sweat-covered body and my open, torn injury in another load of seed.

When he brings me back to my handlers, he apologizes for breaking me and offers to pay for my repair. My handlers, however, see how happy my client is now that he has a body to use and children to continue his bloodline, and they just offer me to him outright - for a price, of course. They've gotten plenty of use out of me over the years, and the majority of toys they keep around break eventually. I'm just lucky I broke in a way that turns my new owner on even more instead of a way that kills me outright.

My owner, now free to use me as much as he likes and free to make me give birth as many times as possible, breeds me again the instant we return to his dwelling, regardless of the fact that I'm still in pain. He's not sewing up those wounds or repairing them, oh, not at all - he's going to let them stay open so that I can give birth over, and over, and over again.

It doesn't matter if they need more time to heal - what matters is how soon he can knock me up.

[farfromstrange]

Ease The Pain | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Matt helps to ease your period pains.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), vaginal fingering, description of blood and period pain, use of "Good girl", hurt/comfort, praise kink

Word count: ≈ 3.1k

a/n: I love how Tumblr just keeps not showing my works in the tags so I have to post them again. Fun. Anyway! My period pains are the fucking worst. I hate my life. If men like him were real I'd sure feel a lot better. Anyway, I wrote this in like an hour or so because I'm that desperate. Hope you enjoy!

Pain. 

That’s all you can feel in every inch of your body. The core of that pain lies in your lower stomach and back, but it has already spread to your head and the rest of your muscles, even your legs, and feet. 

It’s Saturday, and you should be up and enjoying your free time but instead, you’re bound to the bed while the worst cramps of your existence ripple through your uterus as it brutally sheds its lining just because you chose not to get pregnant again this month. 

Every position you try feels only comfortable for a split second before another surge of pain appears somewhere in your body, mostly your stomach, but every time a cramp hits, your head seems to explode too, and shifting is futile. 

You’ve tried everything you could think of. Painkillers, heat, curling up into a fetal position, standing up, sitting down, you even took a hot shower, but none of it managed to take the pain away for more than a minute or two. So you have accepted defeat, realizing you don’t stand a chance against the monster that is mother nature. You decide to suffer in silence until the cramps ease up, which could take another day or two. 

Every once in a while, your eyes flutter close and you find yourself blinking back to life a few minutes later disoriented and almost shaking from the pain. Another wave of cramps tears through your body, keeping you wide awake as you roll onto your side and pull your legs up to your chest. 

The door to the bedroom opens and it creaks, which makes you grind your teeth. You feel the sudden urge to tear the glass apart, nerves thin from exhaustion, and the noise only adds to your pain.

“Sweetheart,” Matt’s voice is gentle from where he’s standing against the door frame. 

You bury your face in your pillow. “Go away!” you groan. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. 

“You’re right, I’m not, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I just hate my fucking body right now and it hates me.”

“Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

You lift your head to glare at his stupidly attractive person. He’s not wearing a shirt, that bastard, and his grey sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

He ducks when you toss a pillow at his head. “Fuck off!”

He wants to laugh, but the sound of your pained moan into the pillow has him sprinting toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. If it’s that bad, maybe you should take some more Advil.”

He strokes over your upper arms, pulls the hair out of your face, and presses feather-light kisses to your shoulder blade, which feel soothing at first, but the cramps ruin it for you once again. You’re forced to switch positions, curling up on the other side of the bed. 

Matt follows, sitting up against the headboard on his - previously your - side of the bed.

“I’ve already taken the full dose today,” you tell him. “If I take any more, I’m gonna have more problems than my fucking uterus stabbing me to death. Ugh!”

You hate this. You’re in pain, exhausted, and bleeding so badly, you’re sure you’re going to have to go to the bathroom soon. Every last contraction of your uterus has you cursing Eve for eating that stupid apple. 

His hand moves from your arm to your lower back. Gently forcing you onto your stomach, he starts digging his fingers into the sore muscles of your pelvis. You sigh. Now that is something you haven’t tried yet, too embarrassed to ask him for help with something like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You keen into his touch, letting him loosen your muscles one by one. The cramps continue in the front, but the tension in your back finally releases and gives you a second to breathe. 

“You need anything?” he asks, leaning over to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Tea, maybe? More pillows? Or do you want me to run you a bath?”

Sleep threatens to take over. “No,” you slur. His hands are working wonders and you start to question how you even deserve him. “Keep going. Feels good.”

Your approval is all he needs to knead firmer at the flesh protecting the bone of your pelvis. You melt into the mattress. His lips move back to your shoulder, leaving messy kisses over your heated skin.

“Ow, fuck!” The next sharp cramp directs itself toward your entire front, tearing your abdomen apart. “Why does this keep happening?” you cry. “I hate this!”

You’ve been suffering from periods for so long, you should have gotten used to it, but every month feels different, and sometimes worse.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I wish I could help you.”

“Yeah, but you can’t. Too bad!”

That was rude.

You whimper a small apology into your pillow.

“It’s okay, I know you’re in pain. If it helps to yell at me, go right ahead.”

You want to laugh, but you’re too worn out to make any other sound than pained puffs of air from deep within your chest.

Another harsh cramp has him moving his arm around your body, his hand continuing the massage on your stomach now, and you can’t help it; The pressure offers sweet, sweet relief for the pain that has kept you on edge for the past eight hours and his touch sets every fiber of your being on fire. You push your hips back, wanting him to push his fingers deeper into the flesh. In response, his other arm comes to rest around your shoulders from the front, and he pulls you flush against him. 

In his attempt to make you more comfortable though, he accidentally brushes over your sensitive nipples, and you moan, so oversensitive from the hormone outburst, it hurts. 

He “accidentally” does it again, just to test a theory, and when you moan again, louder and higher this time, Matt realizes he just opened Pandora's box. You wouldn’t have asked him to even if it killed you, which it might, and he read somewhere that orgasms produce enough oxytocin to help with period cramps. He knows you don’t care much about studies, but he can’t deny that there is something plausible about this theory. Most importantly though, he just wants to help you. Hearing how much pain you are in hurts him, and he wants to stop your suffering in whatever way he can. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes into your ear, fingers moving lower until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts that you haven’t bothered taking off. “Do you trust me?”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin. He keeps sending electrical shocks down your spine with his touch alone and no matter how hard you try to refuse yourself such a lucrative treat, your body has a mind of its own during this particular time of the month. Even though you’re in pain, the arousal is only a foot away. 

He pulls at the waistband when you don’t answer, letting it slap against your skin. It’s not painful, but you can feel the burn spread from your stomach straight to your core.

“But-” you try to interject. 

He won’t let you. “Do you trust me, angel?” he asks. 

“Always,” you say without hesitation. 

“Then let me help you.”

You’ve never done this before. You’ve never let him touch you during your period before, ever, not since you got together. You’ve always felt far from sexy, bloated and bleeding, and moody most of the time, if you’re not uncontrollably eating whatever you’re craving before puking from the pain, but you can’t help the whimper that passes your lips this time when a certain gush of wetness that isn’t blood starts coating the walls of your cunt. 

He’s shirtless and so incredibly hot, he looks almost biteable. His muscles flex, you can see every last dent in his bicep, and it grows seemingly two sizes every time he moves his hand to touch you. 

The way he’s almost choking you with his elbow has you clenching around nothing. And it hurts because God, you’ve never been this sensitive, not even after several rounds of sex with him, but you don’t care. Your clit pulsates and it rubs against whatever fabric is closest. The friction is bittersweet. You try to move your hips to feel the same jolt of electricity again, to get rid of the pressure resting between the sore folds of your cunt, but you can’t seem to find relief.

Matt grows confident in his actions and starts to cup your breast ever so slightly. You gasp, tears shooting into your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy. Your body tingles. Your nipples get hard the second he brushes them, and the more he squeezes, the harder they seem to get. Your skin flashes hot. You’re not sure what feels better – the hand on your stomach or the one on your breast. 

“Do you want to stay like this or can you sit up against the headboard for me?” you hear him ask. 

In your state, you can either nod or shake your head, and you’re not sure which one is the better option. The curled-up position is the only one you can feel comfortable in, but if you don’t sit up, he can barely touch you. It’s a desperate situation and you’re so overwhelmed, you want to cry — but it’s not a question of wanting anymore, you need to cry because your body is a bundle of hormones and your mind isn’t yours to command. 

He tilts your head toward him to kiss you. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You whimper again, tasting the coffee on his lips. 

Slowly, the hand that once rested on your stomach inches lower and lower and lower until… you throw your head back into the crook of his neck and he tightens his grip to make sure you don’t slip away. 

The moment he presses his calloused fingers to your clit, your vision explodes. You try to spread your legs while at the same time scratching at his arms and pulling at the dark hairs that adorn them. Your muscles are too sore to throw your leg over his hip, a familiar position from the many lazy mornings spent drowning in each other, and you can’t seem to find another way to get his hand closer either. He’s already cupping your pussy with his entire hand, drawing circles on your clit, and with how swollen it is you jolt with every stroke, but it’s still not enough. You need more space. 

“Wait,” you say. “I need… can you…”

The systems in your head completely shut down. 

He reads your mind. His hand slips away, pulling you up with him against the headboard. Instead of forcing you to sit up though, he places you over his lap, a pillow under your stomach, and your legs spread over his thighs. The slight bow in your back from the positioning of his knee works better than any position you could have thought of. 

“Better?” he asks.

You spread your legs wider. There’s enough space now, you can move freely and still roll over if you need to, and the sheets can easily muffle your moans.

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” he strokes a hand over your exposed ass cheeks, “are you okay?” 

You don’t want to imagine the mess you’re making, lying naked over his lap while actively bleeding out of the very folds he’s touching with his skilled fingers now. You’re wet enough for him to slide across them, returning to your clit. 

“Just touch me,” you whine. “Please, Matthew, just touch me.”

And for the love of God, you think, don’t think about the sheets. 

“Anything you want, baby. This is about you,” he says and finally, God finally, he gets to work.

There has to be something he takes to make his fingers feel so amazing every time he touches you. He never fails to amaze you with his skills. The fingers he uses as fists more often than not to beat criminals senselessly only do good for you. They comfort you and bring you pleasure where and whenever you need it most. He would never hurt you, especially not with his hands.

You cry out when he picks up the pace. “Matt,” his name is only but a breath on your lips, “Your fingers…”

“What about them?”

“I need them,” you say.

His thumb stays on your clit while he circles your entrance with his ring and index finger, pushing in only slightly and you hiss, as he expected, from the soreness of your walls.

“Fuck!”

“Relax,” he tells you. 

He moves his fingers deeper, slipping right in, the wetness and heat of you engulfing and hugging him like you were made to take him. He sighs and curls his fingers inside, finding your g-spot with ease. He knows exactly where to press to have you crying out in ecstasy, and you have to bite down on the sheets to keep yourself from screaming. 

Pain is the last thing you can think about. All you feel is the burning pleasure in your core, the electricity that spreads through your cunt like an explosion and rests in your lower stomach as the biggest knot you’ve ever felt, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel the pressure that has your legs shaking as it waits to be released.

All the while Matt keeps massaging your back with his other hand, matching the circles he draws on your clit and the thrusts of the two fingers that he has shoved deep inside of you. With every painting he draws, you inch closer to the edge of release. It’s only moments away, you can feel it. 

The sounds you’re making are incoherent, muffled through the sheets, but he can tell from the way you’re bucking into his hand that you’re closer than ever. 

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he’s purring the gentlest of praises into your ear, “You’re such a good girl, letting me take care of you. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good.”

You moan, reach for his shoulder, and cling to his skin for dear life. Your legs start to shake around his hand, locking him in place. You’re thrashing around wildly, not letting him finger you but rather riding him in a way that has you coming faster than you thought possible. 

Matt only chuckles. “That’s it, take what you need. You can come whenever you need to,” he says. “And I know you need to, baby, so do it. Let go for me and come.”

“Oh, fuck, Matthew!”

Your walls spasm around his fingers as you come apart. You’re crying, moaning, possibly even screaming and you clench so hard around his fingers, you’re scared you might break them.

His tongue is silver, trained, and too damn good at articulating words that drag out your orgasm to the point it hurts, especially now. “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

It wouldn’t stop. You’re wasted, exhausted, and spent, but you can’t stop from pulsating heavily around him. 

Only when the pleasure turns into an uncomfortable soreness does the wave of the orgasm start to ease back into the ocean. 

Your clit is aching, swollen, and wet from how coated his fingers are, and you can already feel the wetness trickling down your thigh. The blood, you think. It’s not just arousal or your cum, you’re sure of that. 

The bed probably looks like a crime scene now. You have to change the sheets. Not even as you’re crying, quivering from the intense orgasm, you can help the shame from swallowing you whole. He can’t see it but he can smell the copper. It has to be more than uncomfortable.

You whimper when you finally come down from your high, still holding onto his arm.

“The sheets,” you manage to choke out. “Matt, I’m so sorry…”

He shushes you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t not worry about it. I just bled all over your sheets.” 

He helps you sit up and into his lap where he holds you close to his chest.

“It’s just blood, baby,” he reminds you with a gentle kiss on your lips. “I don’t care. It’s natural. Besides, have you ever seen me not covered in blood?”

The crinkle in his eyes is playful and you manage to laugh softly.

“Hm?”

“No, I guess not,” you say. “But still…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

Your head drops to his shoulder. “I love you.” There are a million other things you want to say, but for now, those have to be enough. 

The pain is gone, finally, and you can breathe again without getting an excruciating headache. He hugs you tight to him, stroking your hair and kissing your scalp to make sure you’re okay, that you know you’re safe and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s with you, until the end of the line.

“C’mon.” He manages to tear himself away from you eventually. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?”

You pout, feeling his dick more than hard in his sweatpants underneath you. “What about you?” you ask.

Matt shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ll take care of that.”

“We can-“

“No,” he cuts you off with a finger to your very tired lips, “You’re too sensitive for that. Let’s wait another day and then we can think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you already are.” 

Thanks to your hormones, his considerate nature has you crying like a baby in seconds.

He is confused at first, touching your contorted features in worry before he reminds himself that it’s normal. You’re more emotional than usual, but it’s okay because your body is doing unspeakable things that no man could ever understand, and you’re going to feel better soon enough. The world just sucks for now, then maybe again in the next twenty minutes if you happen to come across the picture of a very cute dog or watch one of your comfort movies, but you’re going to be fine. 

So instead of making fun of you for something you can’t control, which he never would but he knows that some of the men in your life have and it scarred you for life, he holds you to his chest and tells you, “You’re going to be okay.” And he keeps telling you this until you manage to stop crying and are smiling again, thankful and so in love, you forget how fucking awful you feel for just a second. 

It wouldn’t take long for the pain to reappear, but until then you could enjoy the relief in the arms of the man you love.

Having Matt Murdock by your side is much better than painkillers, and much more effective, too.  

And as you lie there on his lap, his arms around you and his lips on yours, you can’t help but keep wondering,

How did I get so lucky? 

[deleteddewewted]

Ghost Learns That Patience Runs Out

Ghost x Gn! Reader

W/n: Ghost angst cause i said so. This is also very OOC mainly because I like some angsty and fucked Ghost concepts. Im basing some of this off of his comics since there are some concerning scenes with him having very concerning behavior towards vulnerable people. DO NOT TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY (P.s. Commissions are open! You can commission me through my ko-fi. Dm me for details and commission specifics. Kofi Link Here!)

Summary: You love him, a lot. You are always so quiet and patient with him, wanting to make sure that his needs are met before your own. When he comes back from deployment you cook and clean for him. You make sure that everything feels relaxed and stress-free but its too much at times. Sometimes he looks at you and sees someone whom he hates. Sometimes he yells and breaks down while you're in the middle of helping him get clean. You take the verbal lashings and the occasional remarks in stride but you've hit your limit.

W: Unhealthy relationship, Simon "Ghost" Riley has issues, Break up, Hurt/ No Comfort, Hurt Ghost, Hurt Reader, Sad Ghost, OOC Ghost

You made sure everything was spotless. You knew how grimy and dangerous his work was, how much it weighed on him to do it and you wanted to make sure that your partner if that's what you could even call him, came back to a clean home.

You both hadnt said it out verbally, not that you thought you needed to, but you were together. Kinda. You knew he was only seeing you and he knew that you were only seeing him. It made sense to you to say that you were together but he never really enjoyed labeling your relationship. It started off as a mutual agreement to help each other destress but here you both were moving in together and sleeping in the same bed every night.

You did the laundry an hour before you knew he'd get home just so he'd have something warm and fresh smelling to put on once he took off his gear. You cooked something that would be rich in flavor and aroma while also being easy to eat since he didn't really take his time eating his meals.

You did everything to make the place feel like home to him.

Instead, when he opened up the door the first thing out of him was a grunt followed by his silence. He took off his gear, toeing off his boots by the door before taking off his socks. He was silent and had his back facing you but you didn't allow it to deter you.

"So, how was the flight back? I hope it wasn't too stressful. Im still cooking so you can go ahead and shower before eating, ok?" He didn't honor you with any response and instead walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and turning on the shower.

You're used to it, his cold gaze and his uninterested attitude. You cold usually get him to relax with a meal or a quickie in the kitchen while your trying to cook. But you're tired, and your body is sore from working earlier in the day and preparing for his arrival.

"I'll set the table for us so you don't need to wait to eat!" You called out but you doubted he heard you.

When he came out of his shower, he was wearing the clothes you had set out for him and was toweling off his hair. The eyeblack was mostly removed but still stained around his eyes.

He said nothing, just sat down in his chair, and began to eat all while ignoring you.

"Did things go smoothly? Are John, Kyle, and Johnny ok?" You attempted to start the conversation again but were met with the sound of utensils scraping against the ceramic plate.

"We can talk about it later so you can unwind." You cut the conversation short and ate your food all while holding back the urge to cry.

His absence from your shared home was noticeable his presence was overpowering. He wasn't affectionate but he at least would answer your questions. He would at least touch you and pressure you that he was home. He would at least say a quiet "thank you" for the meal.

Instead, you both cleaned up the table and cleaned the dishes. He finished his and walked straight into the bedroom. You follow him once you finished cleaning the kitchen and began to undress. Maybe he wanted to have sex tonight. Maybe this would get him to speak to you or pay attention to you.

"Simon, I want you." You did your best, you even put on a bit of a show for him. But he wasn't looking at you. He just lifted up the sheets and laid down.

Maybe you were being too overly sensitive but his rejection hurt. It had you questioning if you were good enough for him if your body was pleasant to look at or to even touch.

You put on your usual sleeping clothes and joined him in bed. You slept with your back facing him. Sleeping next to him felt suffocating.

In the morning things weren't any better. He was talking to you but he was being crude and rude about the smallest of things. You had to go grocery shopping for something small and he began to berate you.

"How did you forget to buy more cooking oil? You're the only one in this house that cooks." It was getting annoying. His eyes never left you and it felt like you were a caged animal that he was keeping an eye on.

"I'm sorry, ok? I forgot. I was just excited that you were coming home and I forgot." You wanted to be patient, he was stressed all the time. He had to watch people die as part of his job but it didn't stop you from growing more and more upset with him every time he started these petty arguments.

"You don't leave the house most of the time. You're always here or at work. How could you forget something so basic? This is incompetence, Y/n." He had his face mask pulled down so you were able to see the majority of his face. He looked disgusted.

"Simon, please. You just got back, can we please just enjoy that? Can we enjoy that you're ok and back home for once?" You had the car keys in your hand, you were ready to head out to grab what you needed but he wouldn't leave it alone.

He snatched the keys from your hand and pushed you to the side.

"Why should we? I can't even trust you when you're alone and now you think you can go do it now?" He slammed the front door as he walked out.

The silence was deafening and relieving. He was gone.

You cried. You used to do it often when he would leave for a new assignment or when he would go without contacting you for months on end. But this was different. He was here. He was home. This should be the happiest time for you. Instead, it was painful. You wished he wasn't here. You wanted him to go away again.

You knew that he was nicer, calmer, and more understanding with his colleagues than he was to you. You knew this because of how he would talk about his coworkers. They were his family, his anchor. You wanted to be that support for him, to be his anchor that removed him from all of the gore and violence of his world.

But you weren't that person for him. You were his punching bag. His toy to fuck and use. He wasn't always rude but it was normal for him to be. You wanted him back, the man you fell for, the one who held you and told you that he adored you. You craved Simon back but it seemed that all that remained was his facade. His mask.

You didn't want to do this again when. he got back from the store. You didn't want to argue anymore with the person you thought you were committed to. He had problems and you weren't going to blame him for it but he wasn't the man you loved. This was not the person you met all those months ago.

You packed a bag with the essentials and started clearing up some of the mess that had started to appear since last night. You took everything you thought you might need for at least a few nights at a motel. You were tired, your body begging you to take a moment to breathe and relax but your heart was pounding in your chest and the. tears began to flow out.

When Simon got back, he noticed that the lights inside your guy's home were off. He stepped into the home, toeing his shoes off because he knew how much you hated cleaning the floor. He called out for you, he walked around the first floor of your home before placing the groceries on the table. He had bought some flowers and your favorite snack because he saw that you were low on them. He also felt like an ass for having been rude in the morning. He shouldn't have been mean to you. You were just trying to accommodate him. He did a around the house, calling your name.

The house was empty.

All of a sudden the space was too big and too small all at the same time. He was suffocating in his own skin, the air too hot for him. He ran up the stairs and barged into the bedroom. Some of your clothes and your suitcase were gone, and so was your toothbrush. But everything else was there, it looked like home. Yet, the picture you kept framed of the two of you that was on the nightstand was faced down and your keys were gone too.

He called your phone repeatedly. Message after message was sent to you and after a while, they stopped going through. He put on his shoes and ran out the door to see if he could find you in the general area but you were nowhere to be found.

You vanished into thin air and he was left to go back to an empty home just as he would have you do.

[rain-world-headcanons]

Here are my HCs about Rivulet's ADHD (note, these are based on MY OWN EXPERIENCES with ADHD)

- He gets legs sores quite a lot. That's because they pace so much. Riv feels strong emotions very easily which causes a lot of excess energy and pacing gets said energy out the best. And the pain is never equal in both legs. One leg always hurts way more than the other what the fuck body-

- Has a tic where he'll quickly stroke one of his gills a few times. When asked why he does it he just shrugs.

- Will never sit with both feet on the ground you can't make him.

- Whenever he feels like pacing they'll announce it and Moon will go "Yay walkies!" (It's not to infantilze Rivulet. It's just her being silly and Riv very much knows it) because it means Riv will start talking to themselves and Moon loves hearing Rivulet ramble. Riv has also picked up on this without realizing it.

- Has a stim where she hits her wrists together repeatedly. It doesn't hurt by any means

- Had like, no filter due to a lack of understanding what's socially acceptable to share/say. Nowadays they only filter the stuff that should be kept private (which isn't too much in Riv's case) and that's how it's gonna stay. Survivor honestly envies how open Riv is without worry.

- They don't like loud sounds at all, despite being a loud sound /aff

- Will not try new foods you can't make them

- Often forgets or doesn't feel like washing. Smelly fish

- Will get distracted while making food and it might take a bit before it actually finishes prepping the food for consumption

- Stims a lot, mostly happy stims

- Had a fixation on rocks one time and food another time

- Has RSD. He accepts criticism but don't be to mean or angry or they cri <:'<

- Has memory issues. Also, xyr memory is so wild. Ze can remember something 4 years ago and the exact day it happened but forget if xey ate breakfast that morning.

- Can make eye contact but often doesn't. They're listening. Trust them /gen

- No internal clock whatsoever. She could NOT tell you how long a minute feels

- Doesn't really see his ADHD as a disorder as it doesn't cause them much disorder. The worst of it is the leg sores, RSD, and noise sensitivity

- Monk helped him find out he has ADHD (Monk is very in tune with others and also had inattentive ADHD themselves)

-

[hockeynoses]

R/oy x Ja/mie ficlet - Cold Denial

Summary: It’s Roy’s birthday and Jamie isn’t going to let a little cold ruin it.

No applicable warnings. 800 words.

Notes: I wrote this for myself a while back and decided to clean it up. It’s not much but I figured I’d throw it out there. The beginning is kind of boring because I had to go back and add a bit of exposition. Clearly when I wrote it for myself I jumped straight to the snz part. 😅

-

It’s the first time they’re celebrating Roy’s birthday together, and Jamie wants everything to be perfect. Or Roy’s version of perfect, which is much more low-key than Jamie’s usual celebrations. They’re sticking to some takeout from Roy’s favorite restaurant and a movie that he’s been wanting to show Jamie.

All things considered, it’s the easiest birthday celebration he’s ever had to plan, and of course his body is trying to ruin it. He’s been in denial since yesterday about his sore throat and the run-down feeling that’s seeping into his bones. More symptoms are starting to set in at this point – his nose won’t stop running and his sneezes are becoming more frequent and harder to contain. But he’s determined to hide it and not let it ruin Roy’s special evening.

The food arrives and he gets everything set up. When Roy shows up, right on time, Jamie does his best to hide his symptoms and act like nothing’s out of the ordinary. But his nose is starting to turn a bit red, and his voice has a weak, strained quality to it.

As they eat, they catch up about the past few days. If Roy notices that something is off, he doesn’t say anything. Jamie thinks he can feel Roy’s eyes on him when Jamie isn’t looking, but Roy keeps his mouth shut for the time being. He knows Jamie is trying to make tonight special and doesn’t want to put him off.

Jamie manages to survive through dinner with his façade mostly intact, but he knows he doesn’t have much longer before the jig is up. He’s forced to stifle several sneezes at the table, doing his best to turn away and unleash them as quietly as possible into his pinched fingers. He’s mostly successful; only once, now that they’ve just finished eating, does he need to use the emergency tissues he stuffed in his pocket to haphazardly cover a spraying barrage - “hah’ESSSHH! tch’ISSH! Hih’ERSHH’IUE!” that’s too intense to stifle.

Roy quirks a bushy eyebrow at him. “You seem to be sneezing an awful lot.”

“Idt’s jusdt allergies,” Jamie says, fighting against the persistent tickle in his sinuses that’s threatening to make his eyes water. He scrunches his nose up in an effort to relieve the itch, but that only makes it worse.

“I thought you didn’t get allergies until summer?” Roy narrows his eyes, suspicious.

“Well, I guess they came early this year! Fuckin’ hell, I dunno.” Jamie gives a gurgling blow into the bunch of tissues. His bluff isn’t helped when he clears his scratchy throat and gives a couple of dry coughs into the wet cotton.

“You sure you’re not sick?” Roy asks.

“I’b sure.”

“And you’re not just hiding it because it my birthday?”

Jamie hesitates. “I’b – heh – I’b fi-iihh -heh-ITSCCCHHah!” he freezes. That one fucking hurt. He snuffles back some of the congestion that had loosened in the outburst. “I’b fine,” he says again, this time with some uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Come on, Tartt, just admit it. I’m not going to be mad at you for being sick.”

“Ugh. You always have to – hah – have to – hah’ESSHH’IUE!” He groans into the soaked tissue. “Have to be right, don’t yeh?”

“Kind of my job as your coach to know when you need rest, yeah?”

Jamie looks forlorn as he scrubs a finger under his achy, pink nose. “Budt idt’s your birthday.”

“It’s fine, Jamie. I’ve had a lot of birthdays.”

“But this is our first one together! I wanted it to be special,” Jamie says with a pout. “hih’EH’TSSSHOO!” He wrenches forward as he’s overpowered by another miserable, scraping sneeze. Lightheaded, he resigns himself to the fact that they’re getting more out of control by the minute.

“We can do something next week when you’re feeling better. You look like you’re dying,” Roy says. Jamie’s brows knit together as he glares at him, his vanity taking exception to that. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

At that, Jamie perks up a bit, giving a mischievous eyebrow waggle. The effect is kind of ruined by his red, glistening nostrils.

“Not for that! Fuck.” Roy says, exasperated yet fond.

Jamie’s face wilts into a pout. The puppy dog eyes are interrupted when his breath starts to hitch again, and he curls forward into his mass of soggy tissues, expression crumpling. “heh…hih’AEESHH’uh!” He glances up at Roy with defeat in his eyes, the destroyed tissue still pinched around his rebellious nose.

Roy brings a warm hand to the back of Jamie’s neck, a solid and commanding presence. “Please? It’ll make me feel better. It can be my present.”

“Sombe present.” Jamie sniffles thickly, cross with himself. But he eventually gives in, knowing Roy is right. Roy manhandles him up the stairs to the bedroom, grabbing the box of tissues on the way.

[itsbeenclaireified]

So at the end of July I did RAGBRAI, Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. And it took a while for me to like…mentally recover from this one? Which was then like tough/disappointing to feel like I had to?

So what happened was on the very first day my dad and I crashed our tandem recumbent bike 3 times. We spend like 4-5 hours just trying to get the patch to hold and get rolling, but it just wasn’t working. And on the last crash we both got injured (dad some road rash and muscle soreness, me landed hard on me knee).

So we limped into camp (me literally limping) and my mom graciously drove several hours down to us with her bike and my dad’s bike. So we biked the rest of the week on those.

And that’s how I learned that I didn’t know a lot of stuff about long distance biking. I’ve always biked these long repetitive distances on a recumbent bike. But like day 3 on the upright bike I was experiencing a level of chafing I had never experienced before because I’m an idiot and didn’t know you shouldn’t have cotton underwear under your bike shorts.

So that chafing day I biked 45 miles and then my bike popped its tire, and that freaked me out and my whole body hurt and my knee was better but not great (it did okay on the bike but not walking around). So I bailed, and I’m both glad I did and also was like wow weak of you.

Which is rude of me to think??? Like I had biked 85 miles 4500vertical the previous day, but I thought I was like just not mentally tough enough to get thru it??

And the second to last day I also just decided to not bike because my hands were staying numb, and I just needed a break. And I had a great day recovering, but lord the ol noggin was like “are you listening to your body? Or are you a baby backed bitch giving up?”

And I think I was listening to by body, because here I am 5 weeks later and my fingers are finally not tingly anymore. And I’ve been to PT consult now and he thinks I have a bone contusion and that I didn’t fuck up my meniscus. Which is what I was hoping to hear, because I don’t want to fuck up my knee joint if I can avoid it. But also like …lol, what a weird vibe to HOPE for a bone contusion. And my knee still sort of aches but it’s still getting better.

So yeah there were good times, but mostly this Ragbrai was a fucking slog and was hard and then I was sad/disappointed that I didn’t have like a transformative happy experience. And a podcast I listened to used a phrase of “putting a ceiling on your suffering” where you can just…stop. Like you can be like my body is hurting and I don’t have to keep pushing. And I guess I’m glad I have learned that lesson. But it was tough.

And then I turned 32 and I was like dude my body and I did that together and it was scary that things could have been worse. Or like that could have been an injury that gives me a trick knee for the rest of my life, and so I’m thankful to past me that has done a bunch of pre-hab strengthening work to keep my acl protected etc.

Anyway, I avoided posting about Ragbrai because I had such complex feelings about it. But now I’m more ready to celebrate the accomplishment that it still was.

[heytheredeann]

Whumpcember 2022, Day 12 - Broken Bone

Tags: Vague setting, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Broken Bones, Hurt/Comfort            

Notes: Could be set either somewhere in the show or in the books, though maybe the characterization is a little more book-ish. Enjoy!

.

(Ao3 version)

He wakes up with his head between her knees, her face directly above his. He smiles before he has even registered how heavily she’s breathing and how strained her face looks.

“Are you okay?” she asks, quiet and shaky. Noticing the fear behind the question, he frowns, trying to take quick stock of his own body, realizing that he’s lying flat on the ground, that he’s sore but not really in all that much pain, that exhaustion is sitting heavy on his chest—there was a griffin, he remembers then. Or rather, there was supposed to be one, and he found two.

“Fine,” he says, because he is, and he has more important concerns right now. He rolls over, spots the dead bodies testifying that at least the job is done, pushes himself up to take a look at Yennefer. All his joints feel rusty as he straightens himself, his limbs re heavier than they should be and there’s a metallic taste in the back of his mouth, but he can sit, so he’ll count that as a win.

Yennefer seems to be alright. She’s kneeling in the dirt, hands on her thighs, taking in big gulps of air like she just ran a marathon. And she’s glaring at him.

“What happened?” he asks, against his better judgement.

“What happened,” she hisses, her glaring somehow growing even angrier. “Is that you got cocky and that griffin snapped your back in half like a fucking twig, you idiot.”

Yeah, he has a vague memory of that, though it’s mostly a blur of white hot pain. He grimaces. “You saved me, I presume?”

“Do you see anyone else here to look after your sorry ass?”

Fair enough.

“Well, thank you, then.” He smiles at her, genuine and affectionate, and though she’s still giving him the stink eye he can see the fondness seeping through, quieting some of her anger.

“You’ll make it up to me,” she counters, though it’s an empty threat: she would help him even if he refused to ever see her again, but there isn’t much that he would refuse her anyway, debt or not.

He snorts, giving a brief nod and scooting over to sit next to her: she looks unsteady, likely because saving him took a lot out of her. She isn’t going to ask, but she probably needs to sit for at least another few minutes, to catch her breath. The least he can do is positioning himself next to her, letting her lean against him as she recovers.

She slides her arm around his waist, closes her fingers around one of the straps of his armour, and doesn’t let go.

[hisdirtymutt]

02-16-24 Date 3

We spent Friday night and almost all of Saturday Day together. He's got the cutest puppy. Plus he's just so cute. So seeing them both together. Is oof. We had an amazing night Friday night. But all Saturday was pretty stressful. It's good to write about the good and the bad.

Friday night was the best anal of my life. He fucked my ass mercilessly like it was my pussy. And it was barely any pain. Omg his cock fits so perfectly in my ass. Like I was made to be his filthy mutt. And he woke up like every 3 hours to fuck me or make me suck his cock and it was hot. But I was really wiped and tired from all the play. But it was amazing.

Saturday started out stressful... We had gotten hot and heavy the night before and he had me go down on him and eat his ass. All amazing. But it was like a joint panic attack of us both being hella paranoid because my cold sore wasn't entirely gone. Like a red spot still. Even if mostly healed. And I don't wanna give him anything. We ended up taking a nice bath together to calm down. That was cute though. My Daddy is so fucking sexy and handsome and cute. Obviously biased. Fuck his body is sexy. He has a yummy cock. I love his tummy. And he has one of the cutest butts I've ever seen. Makes eating it so much better. 😈I hope we do foot worship soon.

The second thing was him giving me my first suppository. He wanted to turn me into his little stinker. And have more bathroom control power. No potty at Daddy's place. But it didn't set well with my stomach. Mainly because I kept trying to push and force it. But when I finally stopped it just happened so easily and naturally. But of course that was immediately when he put me in a new diaper. It's weird because I liked it. 😳🙈🤭 I want a redo. 😛

The third thing beyond the suppository not sitting well with my tummy. And the anxiety of the unknown of my first one is me having to call out. I did find it incredibly hot that since I was indecisive he chose for me. 🤭 He knew it was a limit I was okay with pushing and at least trying once. Now that I know what to expect there should be minimal or no anxiety with it. But anyways my tummy was hurting. I was dehydrated and dizzy and still had upset tummy. So I called out. Which won't happen again and he felt bad. And it wasn't ideal.

Fourth thing and the biggest thing was our first conflict sort of thing. And how we both handled it. But adhd brain wants to add that he peed on my clit in my diaper and made me cum twice and that was so hot. And last visit he peed in my diaper and had me wear it and that made me wet too. Anyways. Back to scheduled programming. Daddy ordered me to pee on his face. Well moreso not a force. And I froze up emotionally because I wasn't comfortable doing it but couldn't find the right words. And then I was gonna use the puppy pad. And I didn't know what I was doing. So it felt like he was disappointed in me and upset. It felt like he was kinda huffing off and angry after. By his body language. Even though he said was okay. So I thought he was upset and I upset him and he was upset about disappointment triggers too. It was a double land mine. I was emotionally shutting down a bit. He felt emotionally distant and almost cold. He wanted to get work done and not have an overnight anymore. But he was asking me what I wanted to do. And my headspace wasn't great. So we wasted a lot of time in conflict. Because I was in a bad headspace and wanted to go home because I thought staying would make it all worse. But because I was in a bad headspace due to the conflict and not wanting to end the night on a bad note I didn't feel okay to leave. It felt like a lose lose. If I went home my headspace wasn't great and had to deal with that alone. If I stayed then he would remain with extra stress over clean up and taking me home and not being able to be CG ish while he worked. Even though I was gonna nap or sleep and entertain myself. It was just a lot. It was very emotionally charged. We both could have done stuff different but importantly we got through it. We had time apart to process. And decided to keep moving. Even though my headspace was really hard to deal with for a while. I cried and reached out for emotional support and help. And I felt better.

I'm so excited for our journey. I love serving my Daddy.

[sebstanns]

Slow

Adrian Chase x female reader.

Summary- You teach Adrian to have some patience.

Warnings- 18+ for sexual content, descriptions of rough sex, cock-warming (kinda), edging (kinda).

Adrian's still there, lying on your bed and watching TV when you finally exit the bathroom. You had hoped that a hot shower would alleviate some of the soreness and it has, but you still find yourself limping across the bedroom.

Adrian's gaze flicks from the action movie playing on the TV. "Shall we order a pizza? I'm starving after all of that fucking."

"Yeah, sounds good." You murmur, gingerly perching on the bed.

"Why were you limping?" He asks suddenly, brow creased with concern. You thought he hadn't noticed.

"Er, you were a little too rough with me tonight Adrian." You admit quietly.

His face crumples in horror. "What?! I hurt you?"

"A little bit, yeah." You say.

Adrian gasps and sits up. "But I thought that you liked it rough....I mean you came, a lot. Unless you were faking. Were you faking??"

"No, no I wasn't." You reassure, stroking his arm. "I DO like rough sex but not....all the time. Sometimes I'd rather we make love than fuck."

Adrian's eyes widen and his cheeks flush. "Make love?"

"Not because we love each other or anything." You say quickly, feeling your own face heat up. "It's just what it's called."

"Good." He snorts. "Because I definitely don't love you. It's not like I think about you all the time or anything."

"OK Adrian." You chuckle.

"And I don't ever think about what our kids would look like."

"Yeah, I got it. "

"They'd have my hair and your eyes." He mumbles, eyes turning back to the TV.

Figuring that was Adrian's way of changing the subject, you turn to get up off the bed.

"Hey." He says, softly, pulling you back by the cord of your robe. "Wanna show me?"

Adrian had come over unannounced, as usual. Voracious, as usual. He had bent you over the kitchen table, not even taking his Vigilante mask off until halfway through, so he could kiss the nape of your neck while he fucked you.

But had held onto your waist a LITTLE too tightly, leaving finger marks. Slapped your ass a LITTLE too hard, leaving a stinging handprint, and it wasn't the first time. Or even the second or third. It was always rough with Adrian and you loved it, mostly, but you felt it might be time to introduce him to a slower pace.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He says as you straddle him. "It's usually a time saving thing you know, I need to fuck you fast and hard in case I need to rush off and -" He gasps as you gradually lower yourself onto his cock.

As he bottoms out, he looks down to where your bodies join. "You're not going to move." He gulps.

"Nope." You're breathless, stretched out. "Not yet."

He forces a chuckle. "I know that you said slow but.."

"Just wait, Adrian." You say softly, kissing him on his temple and removing his glasses, as he places his hands tentatively on your hips.

Adjusting to his thickness, you clench around him and Adrian's mouth falls open, staring at you dumbly.

"That's awesome." He breathes, slides his hands under your robe. "Can I touch them?"

"Yes." You laugh.

"With my mouth?"

You nod, struggling to keep it together when all you want is to ride him into oblivion. Adrian groans against your breast as you begin to move slowly, rocking your hips. He flicks his tongue over your nipple and you are SO close to losing it, just letting him fuck up into you. You distract yourself with his shoulders, dropping little kisses onto the muscled area.

Adrian's resting his head on your chest now, his curls tickling your skin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you continue to ride him. You comb your fingers through his hair and he looks up at you, smiling dreamily. "Your cunt feels so good like this." He sighs.

You smile, your thighs starting to tremble as the heat rises at your core. "Adrian...I'm gonna cum."

"Let me help." He says, dipping his fingers in-between your legs, giving your clit a little rub as you start to unravel.

You can't help but speed up your movements, bouncing on his cock and opening your thighs wider, wanting to take as much of him as possible. You feel him thicken inside you as he approaches his own orgasm.

"Oh Jesus. Fuck!" Adrian moans, his fingers digging into the flesh your ass cheeks. "Fucking fuck!"

You hold onto each other, still joined, as you come down from the carnal high.

"Can we do that again?" Adrian pants.

You chuckle and rub your face into the crook of his neck. "You liked it? Going slower?"

"Yeah. Making love." He says softly, kissing your shoulder.

[yeraskier]

the one where yennefer and geralt keep fighting over jaskier, aka the tale of three idiots in love (aka jaskier being oblivious for 4.5k words, teen audiences and up)

read on ao3 <3

Things have been… weird, to say the least.

Jaskier didn’t realize at first but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to simply ignore how strange Yennefer and Geralt have been acting.

The first time he noticed something was up was two months ago when Geralt and Yennefer essentially began a game of tug-of-war with him in the middle.

Geralt had needed him for something, then Yennefer showed up, apparently also needing him for something. Geralt had a hand wrapped around his left wrist and Yennefer’s hand was on his right one as they pulled at him, arguing over whose situation was more urgent. Jaskier didn’t exactly feel like his presence was a huge necessity in either situation but it wasn’t like he was in much of a position to protest.

It was Ciri who saved him in the end, scolding both her parents as she pulled him away.

Both of Jaskier’s shoulders were sore the next morning, and Yennefer, surprisingly enough, had decided to give him a massage. Then Geralt walked into the room and saw what was happening, glared at Yennefer, and left in a hurry. When he came back only a few moments later, he held a salve that he swore would be a lot more helpful than dainty little hands kneading at his shoulders. That sent them straight into another argument which left Jaskier feeling a lot less relaxed. He stormed out with a huff, their squabbling mercifully dying out the further he got.

Since then, things just kept happening.

Things like Geralt snarling whenever Yennefer and Jaskier joke about being married, and her grinning at him triumphantly when she thinks Jaskier isn’t looking.

Things like Yennefer muttering insults like slag under her breath whenever Geralt gets extra touchy during training and it affects Jaskier.

Things like Yennefer running a hand down his chest, only to hiss seconds later as she yanks her hand away like it’s been burned before turning to glare at Geralt’s retreating figure as he whistles into the air.

Things just won’t stop happening, and Jaskier… Jaskier has never been so confused in his life.

—

Jaskier releases a relieved sigh as he sinks into the hot springs underneath Kaer Morhen.

His body hurts, which isn’t exactly unexpected after a day of training with Lambert. One would think that he’d be used to it by now but it’s like the bastard purposefully makes each session more challenging than the last. Jaskier knows it’s meant to be helpful— well mostly, because he’s aware that sometimes Lambert is actively trying to be a dick— but fuck, he’s only human.

The one thing that gets him through training with Lambert is the knowledge that at the end of the day, he’ll find sanctuary in a lovely and peaceful bath.

Jaskier ducks his head under the water to wet his hair, and when he pushes his head back up to the surface, he’s nearly frightened right back under when he sees Geralt standing a few feet away.

“Fuck, don’t startle me like that.”

The witcher grins, looking amused, “would have thought after all the time you’ve spent traveling with me, you wouldn’t scare so easily.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes at the statement; they both know how unlikely that is, though he has become a tad more badass over the past decade.

“Mind if I join you?” Jaskier shrugs, gesturing with his hands in a way that says be my guest.

Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing the man naked. It’s always equal parts a blessing and a curse. The blessing of it all is very obvious, it’s Geralt. The curse comes from the fact that it pains him to be able to look but not touch, at least not the way he wants to. And lately, it’s been feeling like Geralt makes a game out of it. He undresses slower than he has in the past whenever Jaskier was around. It’s like he’s deliberately teasing.

Tonight, Geralt looks the bard right in the eyes as he peels off the layers. Jaskier looks away, flustered, and decides he’ll blame his reddened features on the heat of the water if it’s brought up.

He busies himself with scrubbing at his skin and sees Geralt swimming towards him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Are you feeling alright,” the older man asks once he’s mere feet away, “I watched you train with Lambert today.” That’s all the explanation he gives for his question, though Jaskier supposes that explanation is enough.

“Ah yes, well you know Lambert.”

Geralt hums in agreement, “I do.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures, “it’s about time I learn to protect myself anyway. I can’t always have you running in to save the day, can I?”

He laughs when he says it because it’s meant to be a joke, but Geralt’s features turn very serious as he moves in closer.

“What if I like protecting you?” Geralt’s giving him those eyes, that look that makes Jaskier want to kiss him and run away at the same time. It’s too much, too intense, and keeps Jaskier yearning for something he can never truly have.

“You always did enjoy a damsel in distress,” Jaskier tells him.

Geralt rolls his eyes.

Silence falls over them as they bathe. Jaskier tries not to look too much but it’s proving to be difficult with Geralt being right there. Geralt isn’t doing much of a good job at not staring himself, so Jaskier supposes it’s alright.

When he moves away to grab one of the soaps for his hair, Geralt follows and takes it from his hand.

“Let me,” he insists before moving around to Jaskier’s back.

The heat of the water doesn’t stop chills from breaking out over his skin at first touch. The only point of contact between them is Geralt’s hands in his hair, but Jaskier feels it all over, and Gods, it feels so good.

He says as much, tilting his head back further to give Geralt more access. The witcher massages the pads of his fingers against the sides of Jaskier’s head and his eyes roll back, a low moan escaping his lips.

Jaskier can’t be blamed, he’s always had a thing when it comes to his hair. It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to get him to come by just pulling on it once he’s nearly there. He feels like he might be right now.

“You boys having fun?”

His eyes fly open. Yennefer’s standing where Geralt had been minutes ago, a tight smile plastered on her face.

“We were,” Geralt grunts from behind him.

“Well, why don’t I join you.” She chides, and it isn't a request. She’s already beginning to remove her dress.

Jaskier has seen Yennefer bare a handful of times, and much like Geralt, he’ll never get used to this sight either.

She swims towards them slowly, eyes on Jaskier the entire time. It makes him squirm.

“Jaskier, be a doll and wash my hair for me, would you?” Yennefer leaves no room for argument as she picks up another soap and puts it in his hand. It’s not like he’d try arguing against it anyway.

Jaskier feels Geralt’s hands move down to his shoulders as he runs his hands through the mage’s soft locks of hair. Once she’s satisfied, she submerges herself into the water. Yennefer’s facing them when she comes back up, and unsurprisingly, does not thank Jaskier for the deed.

She does however blatantly ogle his chest, eyes scanning over the area appreciatively. Yennefer hums, tilting her head to the side, “all that training has paid off, it seems.”

He registers Geralt’s growling as his brows shoot up. “Thank you,” he responds. It comes off as more of a question than an answer, Yennefer seems pleased by this.

She reaches for another soap, “may I?”

“Yes,” the bard says immediately despite not being sure what he’s agreed to.

Yennefer begins washing him. Her hands glide from the sides of his neck to the center, then down his chest and across his nipples. He takes note of Geralt’s hands also beginning to move further down, as well, first working along his shoulder blades before traveling down his spine.

Jaskier notices himself growing hard and starts thinking about that one rather hideous professor back at Oxenfurt who would spit every time he talks. It doesn’t do much to will his erection away.

Yennefer bounces between maintaining eye contact as she cleans him, and letting her eyes follow her hands as they trail over the skin. He can feel that Geralt’s closer now than he was before and it’s taking everything in him to not pull them in and let them ravish him.

This is starting to feel like the beginning of a very vivid wet dream.

Jaskier watches as Yennefer’s eyes narrow into slits, her gaze landing over his shoulder instead of on him. It becomes clear that she’s looking at Geralt when Jaskier hears the man snarl.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being pulled back and forth between the two of them, and being manhandled does absolutely nothing to rid him of his erection.

“Okay, okay!” Jaskier shouts, “off! Both of you, take your hands off now!”

They do so immediately and he tries not to whimper at the lack of contact he requested.

“What was supposed to be a tranquil bath has been soiled by your neverending passive-aggressive behavior towards one another,” the bard exclaims, making sure to level them both with his glare. Yennefer glares back, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to my room and lock the door so you can’t disturb my peace in there, too.”

He swims away, leaving the two to their own devices. He doesn’t even grab his clothes out of fear that it would give them the chance to catch sight of his erection.

The moment he’s safely locked away in the privacy of his room, Jaskier wraps a hand around himself.

He groans, flashes of fucking into Yennefer while Geralt pounds into him swaying him into a quick release.

—

There’s a hat on his bed.

It’s a deep purple with a wide and extravagant brim that’s slightly wavy. There’s a slim gold lining around the base that has a small gold obsidian star attached at the center. It’s stunning.

“Do you like your gift?”

Jaskier turns to face Yennefer who’s standing at the doorway.

This is usually the point where he’d make a joke. She’s giving him an honest Gods gift, their friendship has never had space for such… intimacies.

The joke is at the tip of his tongue, his lips stretching into a smile until he takes in her form.

She seems nervous. Her face looks stern, but she’s biting her lip. She has her hands clasped in front of her, but her fingers twitch. The thought is almost laughable because Yennefer of Vengerberg doesn’t get nervous, but Jaskier recognizes the signs.

His smile melts into something fonder, something more serious and less playful. “I love it.”

Jaskier can see her relax, shoulder’s lowering and chest widening on an exhale.

“Good.” She stands there for a moment longer, then smiles the way she had when they first saw one another again after the mountain. It’s as unexpected now as it was back then.

She walks away without another word.

Jaskier turns back to the hat and lifts it, heart thrumming as his fingers dance over the velvet.

—

It’s only a day later when Geralt approaches him in the hall.

Jaskier slows in his tracks when it becomes clear that the witcher is intentionally moving towards him.

Geralt has this determined look on his face that visibly melts the closer he gets. By the time he gets to Jaskier, he looks more anxious than anything. It worries the bard.

“Geralt,” he greets, sure to keep his voice mellow.

Geralt opens his mouth, closes it, then frowns. Jaskier frowns too.

He opens his mouth again, gets as far as, “I–” before he stops again. The witcher glares at the ground, fists clenched at his sides.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats as he steps closer, “are you alright?”

The older man looks up at him, eyes much warmer now than they were when he was looking at the ground. He lifts one of his hands and opens it.

He holds a necklace in his palm. It’s a silver chain with a wolf attached, one that matches Geralt’s medallion exactly, except smaller.

Jaskier stares at the necklace longingly then looks up at Geralt to see the man already watching him, searching for his reaction.

“Is this for me?” His voice croaks when he asks, throat suddenly too dry.

Geralt nods once.

He takes the necklace from the witcher’s palm and holds it in both of his own, “it’s beautiful.”

When he looks at Geralt again, he notices that they’re close enough that he wouldn’t have to lean too far forward for their lips to meet.

Jaskier doesn’t get the chance to entertain the thought because Geralt’s gone a moment later, leaving the bard alone in the hall.

It’s fine, he probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do it anyway.

—

Jaskier wears the hat the next time he performs for Ciri, Yennefer, Geralt, and the other witchers. The only time he gets dressy at Kaer Morhen is when he plays as their entertainment for the night, so the hat fits perfectly for the occasion.

Yennefer beams when she sees it.

Jaskier wears the necklace every day, much like Geralt does with his pendant, except Jaskier’s is usually hidden beneath his clothes.

Still, Geralt’s eyes soften whenever he catches sight of the chain peeking beneath the collar of Jaskier’s tunic.

—

A bowl of stew with a big chunk of bread is set in front of him, followed by Yennefer sliding in beside him on the bench.

He blinks at the food, then at her, “did you poison this?”

She glared at him. “Just for that question, I might.”

Jaskier grins. “I’m only teasing,” he tells her as he picks up the spoon, “but I must say, you’ve been rather pleasant these last few weeks. First the massage, then bathing me, gifting me a lovely hat, and now feeding me. If things keep going like this, I might start getting the wrong idea.”

Yennefer’s silent for a moment. Jaskier doesn’t take note of the silence until he stops eating long enough to catch her stare.

The mage doesn’t avert her gaze, even knowing she’s been caught. “Maybe I want you to,” she says softly.

For a moment, it feels as though his heart has stopped beating completely. He’s frozen in place, able to do nothing other than look at the woman before him. Her eyes bore into his like she’s expecting a response. She probably is, but Jaskier has not a single clue of what he should say to that.

He’s saved from having to figure it out when Geralt takes a seat at his other side.

“Why hello,” he drawls pleasantly.

The witcher hm’s in acknowledgment before placing an apple in front of Jaskier’s bowl of stew.

Jaskier gasps. He picks up the fruit, knowing the way he’s gawking at it probably makes him look ridiculous. “How on earth did you find an apple?”

Geralt shrugs, and of course, does not offer an answer to the question.

Jaskier finds that he doesn’t care as he bites into the fruit, taking much satisfaction in the crunch it makes as his teeth sink into it.

“Thank you, Geralt,” he says as he nudges the man lightly.

“Hm.”

“As talkative as always, Geralt,” Yennefer chimes in.

Geralt rolls his eyes at the remark. “I think you talk quite enough for the both of us.”

Jaskier pretends he doesn’t notice the two scowling at each other as he silently eats his food.

—

Weird seems to become a part of Jaskier’s life that he has to accept. He doesn’t attempt to fight it when Geralt and Yennefer act bizarrely.

Like, the time he mentioned being thirsty and suddenly had two different cups of water being shoved in his face. He didn’t ask any questions, just thanked them both and drank both goblets of water.

There was also that time Geralt walked in on Yennefer giving Jaskier a scalp massage and the witcher took that as a sign that he should be massaging Jaskier’s hands. The bard completely ignored the very obvious tension in the room between Geralt and Yennefer and kept his eyes closed as he hummed a tune, basking in the random, but very much welcomed, attention.

Jaskier didn’t even bother questioning it when he walked in on both Yennefer and Geralt making his bed, fluffing three new pillows that weren’t there when he left, and patting down animal furs that also weren’t there when he left.

Even now, with both Geralt and Yennefer in his space as he tries to cook for everyone in the keep, he mentions nothing. He doesn’t usually like people being in the kitchen with him, it messes with his process, but neither of them seems willing to leave so he lets them help. Yennefer cuts ingredients and Geralt passes him spices.

Jaskier even lets the mage taste the rice he’s cooking. Instead of taking the spoon from him as he expected her to, she leans forward and wraps her mouth around the utensil that’s still in his hand, licking her lips rather lewdly after she swallows. It leaves Jaskier gaping like a fish.

Upon hearing a low growl from beside him, Jaskier fills the spoon with rice again and turns to hand it to Geralt. Geralt does nothing until Jaskier thinks he gets the message and brings the spoon closer. Like Yennefer, the witcher leans forward to taste the food. Unlike Yennefer, Geralt releases a throaty groan when he swallows. Jaskier feels his cock twitch in his trousers.

Then comes the glaring contest that they always seem to have nowadays whenever Jaskier’s around. It only distracts him further so he shoos them both out of the kitchen.

Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever seen two people who have sex regularly hate each other this much.

—

It takes Jaskier getting sick for Yennefer and Geralt to get along in his presence.

They might have made a challenge out of taking care of him, he thinks. Perhaps if he weren’t so frail in his current state.

They don’t, and Jaskier is grateful for it. They feed him soup and bring him tea. Geralt reads to him while Yennefer strokes his hair, and Yennefer hums his ballads while Geralt runs a soothing hand over his back.

When Jaskier starts feeling better, they bathe him. It’s not like the last time. This time, their touch remains gentle from start to finish.

After, they both hold him close like they’ve been doing every night for the last week. The three of them snuggle on the massive bed of his room as if they’re all meant to be there together.

Perhaps they are.

—

Jaskier rounds up all the ingredients he can find to bake them a simple cake in thanks.

Yennefer offers him a bright smile and he swears he sees Geralt’s eyes go glassy.

—

Things go back to normal after a few days. Well, their new version of normal any way, with all the touching and the glancing and the rather suggestive remarks.

Jaskier is beginning to think he might actually die from the combination of blue balls and a confused heart.

—

It all comes to a head on an unassuming Wednesday night.

“Oh for the love of Gods,” Lambert exclaims as he slams into Jaskier’s suite, “what is wrong with you?!”

Jaskier lowers his notebook to stare at the very angry-looking redhead and cocks a brow. “I don’t think I’m the one who just stormed into another person’s room in an unnecessary fit of rage, but please, continue.”

Lambert looks like he wants to strangle him.

“Geralt and Yennefer are in love with you, you insufferable little shite,” the pitcher barks, “and I know you feel the same way about them, and I speak for everyone in this keep when I say we are tired of this game of cat and mouse between you three. It’s the most extensive foreplay any of us have ever witnessed. Now, if you don’t do something about it soon, I will make it my personal mission to make sure you don’t make it out of our next training session with all your limbs intact!”

Lambert turns away sharply and leaves as quickly as he came in, retreating footsteps stomping down the hall as Jaskier stares at the space he stood only seconds ago.

What the fuck?

—

It takes Jaskier about thirty minutes of pacing around his room before he makes a decision.

—

He finds them in Yennefer’s room.

“Lambert says you two are in love with me!” He cries out as he barges into the room, much like Lambert had done earlier.

Geralt looks up at him from where he’s laid out shirtless on her bed, and Yennefer looks at Jaskier’s reflection in the mirror she’s facing.

“Well, hello to you too, Jaskier,” Yennefer greets at the same time Geralt says, “does he, now?”

“No,” he bellows, “no, none of that! No deflecting! I need to know if it’s true.”

Things were easier when he had not a single clue why they were acting the way they were, but now that does have a clue, Jaskier feels like he might burst into tears at any moment if he doesn’t get some level of confirmation.

Yennefer turns in her stool and simply stares at him for a moment. “After all the hints we’ve thrown at you it took Lambert telling you for you to come to that conclusion?” She almost looks offended by this.

“Well you,” Jaskier begins, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “are usually much more forthcoming about your feelings, and you,” he points the same finger at Geralt who raises his brows, “tend to run away from the very idea of feelings. So excuse me if it took me a while to realize that either of you wanted me!”

Now, Yennefer does look offended. So does Geralt.

“Don’t look at me like that. You two have been acting like lunatics these last few months and I had not a single clue what was going on and then I find out from Lambert, of all people, that you’re in love with me? What’s up with that?” Jaskier thinks he might look a little crazy. He certainly feels crazy.

“We didn’t want to scare you off.” It’s Geralt who says it and it makes Jaskier want to laugh. Decades of running after Geralt as he chased monsters and the witcher thinks that this, of all things, would be what finally did him in.

“I’m… not easy to be with,” Geralt continues, “and Yennefer is definitely not easy to be with.” The mage glares daggers at Geralt for the comment, so Jaskier keeps his agreement to himself.

“We’re… a lot. But we both wanted you and didn’t know if you wanted us in the same way,” he explains, “so, we decided to see whether or not you’d want either of us individually. If you wanted to be with one of us and only that one person, the other would just have to be okay with that.”

“Admittedly, we got a bit carried away,” Yennefer adds, not looking even slightly remorseful about it.

“A bit,” he mutters under his breath. The look they give tells him that they heard it anyway. “Why didn’t you guys just say something?”

“Because you prefer people using actions rather than words to express how they feel about you.”

Yennefer’s right, because of course she is. He hates that, it makes him frown.

“Could’ve still said something,” he accuses half-heartedly.

They both give him a flat look that screams really? and Jaskier deflates immediately.

He steps closer to the bed, skin heating up at the realization that their eyes have yet to leave him. “For the record, I am madly in love with you both. I have been for… well, an embarrassing number of years. I thought the endless number of ballads made that very clear.”

“No, Jaskier, they didn’t. Perhaps you should also take a lesson on being more forward about your feelings.” Yennefer suggests, judgment clear in her tone of voice despite it dripping honey.

He opens his mouth to speak, but whatever words were about to come out died immediately at the challenging tilt of her head.

“Yen…” Geralt says, “no intimidating him into submission.”

Yennefer gasps, bringing a hand to the center of her chest, “I’ve done no such thing.” She looks at Jaskier and smirks as she gives him a seemingly thoughtful once over, “not yet, anyway.”

Jaskier nearly falls to his knees right then and there. “So… where do we go from here?”

Yennefer and Geralt look at each other, then back at him.

“Well,” Yennefer says, “you can start by shutting the door.”

He does.

—

They fuck him like they’re still fighting over him.

There isn’t a single patch of skin on his body that’s left unappreciated under their touch. He’s kissed and licked and fucked within an inch of his life and it leaves him breathless and sobbing.

Then, when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, they work together to slowly take him apart before making him whole again.

Jaskier loses track of the number of times he cries out I love you that night.

—

Surprisingly enough, the first thing he notices when he wakes up the next morning aren’t the two witchers standing over the bed.

No, the first thing he notices is how fucking sore he is. It’s a good kind of sore though, so he doesn’t mind. Then, Jaskier notices how good Geralt’s hair smells as he nuzzles his face deeper into the man’s neck. Then, he takes notice of Yennefer’s arm still wrapped around his waist.

Then, he notices Lambert and Coën standing by the bed looking pleased by the scene before them.

Jaskier screams, and it wakes both Geralt and Yennefer.

“Well, well, well, it took you three long enough to get it together and get together,” Lambert says smugly to which Coën cackles.

“I’m going to kill you both,” Geralt hisses, and if they didn’t have an audience, Jaskier might have just gotten an erection from the sound of his morning voice. Truthfully, he might get one anyway.

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, Ciri comes waltzing into the room.

“I heard screaming, what happ… ened…” She trails off as she takes in the sight in front of her, and then she’s the one screaming, hurrying out of the room as she cries out Ew! Ew! Ew! over and over again.

Lambert and Coën do look like they feel slightly guilty after that, but it doesn’t stop Geralt from pouncing on them.

“Don’t you just love it when our boyfriend defends our honor?” Yennefer asks, snuggling in closer to him.

Jaskier does love it, but he loves the way our rolls off her tongue even more.

It’s a lovely reminder that he is theirs and they are his.

[sukirichi]

defeat (m.)

no thoughts, just sparring with naoya in his black tee and fucking him all sweaty

cw. sweaty sex, breeding kink, naoya and his wife are both ass people, doggy style, naoya is very touchy, lame fight scenes lol, creampie, unedited and just brainrot tbh

note. in honor of naoya being a canon ass man and overall just celebrating his sexiness (plus talking to my wife about naoya genuinely awakened my breeding kink) prompted by this ask!

# part of the trophy wife collection

“Let’s train. Gym, in five minutes,” your husband commands with a playful glare. Rolling your eyes at him, you lean back to make yourself more comfortable on your seat, arms crossed over the robes to show your defiance.

It’s not every day you tease him like this, but training in the middle of the day? You’re not in the mood of it.

One quirked brow from Naoya, though – merely a premise of what is to come if you don’t follow him to the training grounds – has you switching to your yoga pants and a fit shirt to match his outfit. The whole way there, you shamelessly stare at his backside that looks enticing and begging to be squeezed, especially in his light grey sweats that cling to his thighs deliciously.

“You done staring at my ass now?”

“Nope,” you chirp, popping the ‘p’ as he begins to stretch, rolling his eyes at you when you still very much openly stare at his ass. But it’s fine, since he’s doing the same and you’re prompting him to in the first place.

Out of your extensive wardrobe that your husband spoils you with, you had to choose a pair of dark yoga pants that are hugging the outlines of your legs, your shirt barely even keeping you modest as you extend your arms side to side. You and Naoya smirk at one another, cursed energy kept brimmed to the bare minimum as to not hurt each other. Despite always being cooped up in the Zen’in Estate per Naoya’s orders (and you don’t really feel like going out anyway), neither of you doubted your skills in sparring.

Long before he met you, he’s heard of your name spoken in high esteem, another special grade one sorcerer just like he was. This fact remains even as you’re married now, and Naoya closes the gap between your bodies, his gaze directed at your lips and hands trailing up to squeeze your neck, his eyes so hazy that it seems as if he’s not entirely aware of his actions.

“My love,” you purred, clasping the wrist connected by the hand where his thumb is rubbing circles over your vein. “Are we here to train or are you too distracted?”

“A sorcerer must never be distracted.”

“So keep your eyes wide open, sweetheart,” Ducking your head under his grasp, you ram yourself into his chest where he immediately falls on the ground, the wind knocked from his chest. Naoya’s reflexes are fast before he’s up to his feet again to mimic your stance, his arrogant grin showing that he’s not that irritated by how devious you could be, using your allure as his woman to take his attention away, if only for  a little bit. “You look a little tired. Want me to go easy on you, babe?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Cheater, he’s a fucking cheater! Faster than you could comprehend, Naoya already has you pinned before him, your legs locked in place with how he’s shifting his weight onto your ankles. You hated it so much every time he used his technique against you, but then again, there weren’t any rules that stopped him from doing so.

“Well?” he prompts and leans down, hovering his lips right before your ear while you pant under him. “Aren’t you going to fight back? I didn’t invite you here to be boring with me.”

Stifling a laugh, you use your strength to push him off you, and you spar heartily with your husband who seems to be in a good mood, considering the rare influx of compliments leaving his otherwise harsh tongue. It’s no easy feat as he’s skilled even without using his techniques, and the both of you are breathless by the time you’ve delivered and handled the other’s blow by blows, your palms and muscles sore.

Your husband is in no better state.

He’s struggling to catch his breath, his legs bent and his arm drawn over his knee. Naoya chuckles under his breath when you drape your sweaty arms over his back, shameless and wanting as you tap his cheek to urge him in for a kiss.

Albeit grumbling he doesn’t really want to touch you when you’re covered in sweat, he kisses you anyway, smiling before he hitches you onto his lap that you’ve proudly claimed as your throne.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Sometimes you forget I’m just like you, Naoya,” you rub your nose with his, foreheads pressed while you rock yourself over his groin. His eyes darken in warning, large hands coming up to knead your ass that you know he worships so much, though he makes no move to stop you, and really, he never would. “Just because I’m your precious little wife who would gladly serve you tea, doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to hand your ass back to you.”

“Oh, will you, now?” he chuckles, “I’d like to see you try.”

“I already did.”

“Only because I let you,” Naoya mumbles on your lips, his once curious kneading now turning more intentional, more heated. “You’re funny if you think I’m letting you win against me.”

“So then why did you?”

“Because if I do, you’ll let me do this.” This refers to tearing your shirt apart, exposing your sports bra to him that is now clinging to your skin from the sweat, droplets of perspiration dripping from the tips of your hair and down to your flushed chest. Gasping from the torn material, you try to slap your husband’s destructive hands away.

“Naoya, that’s my favorite shirt!”

“Because you like the brand or you know because I go crazy every time you wear it?”

“Both, of course,” you scoff, and Naoya silences your protests by capturing your lips for another feverish kiss. A cheater, a huge, immature cheater he was – he knows so well that you get so weak every time he’s like this, and it really isn’t beyond him to exploit other’s weaknesses for his own enjoyment. And as much as you enjoyed this too, you don’t really want to fuck in a room that smells like sweat.

“Naoya,” pulling away from his sweet lips (which is a shame, really, you could’ve made out with him a lot longer), you ignored the throbbing he’d caused deep within your core. “My love, if you want to fuck me, you should take me back to the room.”

“You’re ordering me around now?”

“You will take me to the room,” you repeated firmly, dragging him down by the collar to force him to look at you. “Be mean all you want, but at the end of the day we both know you want to be buried inside me.”

“You’re not any better, wife,” he remarked, and he squeezes your sensitive breasts as if to prove a point. “At the end of the day, we both know you want me deep inside your tight cunt.”

“So then let’s help each other out.”

Ordering him around was one thing, but compromise? Naoya is a man capable of it, he just doesn’t like to show it because he doesn’t want people questioning his power. Your husband who is mostly anger and greed, his mind clouded by the need to always be better than others, shifts a little just for you as he carries you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his slender waist like second nature.

Naoya must’ve been so eager that you’re back in your room in a flash, with your back bouncing on the mattress and him stripping above you.

“No!” you insist and stop him, “Keep the shirt on. Please?”

“What the fuck for? It’s sweaty and sticky.”

“Exactly, and you look sexy like that.”

“Fucking filthy,” he scolds, but keeps the shirt on anyway and lets you roll it back to his waist. His pants, however, they need to be off. Your husband watches with unmasked interest as you push the band of his pants until you’re throwing it somewhere on the room. In return, you shimmy out of your yoga pants that are now uncomfortably pressed to your skin, discarding all forms of clothing that irritated you. Settling down on the bed, you spread your legs right beside his hips, but Naoya only smirks, groping your knee with a chuckle. “What, you think I wanna fuck you like this?”

“How else then?”

“Oh, come on,” he prompts, “You kept staring at my ass the whole time. I think it’s time I return the favor.”

Without another word, he flips you onto your stomach and grabs you by the waist, giving you no time to relax before your head is pushed back down on the pillows. Naoya’s warm cock is throbbing from your backside and he groans, delivering a harsh smack to the skin before it aches under his touch.

“Such a pretty fucking ass that’s begging to be fucked,” in time to his words, you wiggle your hips at him in a silent complaint to get moving already. Naoya simply grips down on your hips to keep you still, spanking you once more as a lesson. “Don’t fucking move.”

“Naoya, please, just fuck me already.”

“Needy little wife, begging to be ruined, huh?” Another smack.

Shutting your eyes tight, you fist the sheets under you as tears come to life. “Yes, ‘em so needy for you, Naoya, want your cock so bad, please-” Your pleading is cut off when he slides into you in one fluid motion, his deep groans resonating around the room once he’s seated comfortably. Mouth falling open at the pleasure of being stretched so open and shocked by the fact you’d already been so wet, you could barely register the pace he’s started.

Naoya keeps fucking deep into you, slapping your ass repeatedly and calling you his dirty little slut – mine and all mine only, he said. You’re left immobile and whining under him, all of your consciousness centered on the burning sensation between your legs.

Beneath you, Naoya’s hands travel to tug your bra downwards. The material remains stuck under your breasts and you moan around his rough, calloused hands that are expertly kneading your breasts. His pace quickens until his hips are roughly slapping against yours, grumbles and garbled moans mixing in with your little gasps of his name in a desperate plea to be brought to your orgasm.

You feel so raw, so dirty, so filthy like he said.

Sweat and arousal is coated on your skins and everything about this position feels so primal, even more so when he begins to rub at your clit just to push you over the edge. “Oh, fuck!” you grasped his bicep with one hand, the soreness of your muscles extreme.

“Yeah? You like that? You’re such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like a bitch in heat,” he spits in your ear with lust dripping from each word, and his words are enough to make you cum around him.

Walls clamping down on his cock, you hear Naoya grunt above you, his chest now pressed onto your back. You’re crying around him but he only goes faster, he’s so close and like the good wife you are, you help your husband by driving your body back to meet him thrust by thrust. Naoya’s chuckles are stuttered and half mixing in with moans when he runs a hand through his hair, those same hands following in gripping your cheeks to face him.

His kisses are sloppy and short-lived; you’re too busy moaning and he’s struggling to breathe with your pussy convulsing around him. “God, so fucking tight!”

“Hmm, come on, baby, come for me,” you encourage by rolling your hips around his cock, ignoring the fact the oversensitivity is making your legs turn to jelly and your arms are seconds away from giving out on you. But you hold strong, this is the duty of his wife, and you look past your shoulders as Naoya digs his nails into your hips to keep you still while he cums inside you.

“Oh, fuuuuckkk,” prolonged groans spill from his mouth the same way his own cum is released in spurts from your pussy lips.

Satisfied and extremely tired, you fall limp on the bed. Naoya dips two fingers to collect the mess you’ve made and you shudder, but then he lets go of you until your lower body is sliding back down on the bed, eyes droopy from that heated fucking. The minute sounds of sucking is enough to let you know your perverted husband is most likely feasting on your cum, but nothing prepares you for when he pushes them back inside your pussy.

“N-Naoya!” you exclaim and stare up at your husband, whose attention is zeroed in on your pussy lips hungrily encasing his fingers and cum. “What’re you doing?”

“You think that’s enough to get you pregnant?”

“What?”

“Don’t answer that,” he narrows his eyes and begins to pump his cock that is half hard again, the sight making anticipation and arousal throb all over you. You’ve seen that look on him before, and it’s the face he makes when he’s dead set on accomplishing something. “I’ll keep fucking you until I’m sure you can grant me an heir.”

In combat, you’ll most definitely spar with your husband without fear of losing, but having Naoya in bed when he’s determined on breeding you is a different thing.

This, without a doubt, is the one thing you can’t beat him on. And not that you wanted to, anyway, having him fuck a baby in you does sound nice.

Locking your eyes with your husband, you willingly spread your legs open for him again.

[dontfeeltoohot]

Would honestly love a continuation of your first fic where they actually go out on a date/beginning of the relationship. Or if you’re going for something shorter I think a sick or allergic Steve would be precious. Just Eddie bringing in patients every few hours and he always comes up from the cafeteria with a cup of tea, a snack, or maybe some antihistamines for his bb

i have a LOT of sick nurse Steve requests, so here's something to hold you over!

XXX

Not entirely sure how Robin's roped him into night shift with her and Nancy for overtime; taking a whole day off away from him, Steve trudges into the ED freezing and exhausted. December in Hawkins has brought ice and slush and eventual snow, and, along with it, a pretty nasty strain of the flu. Even with the flu shot every year, the nurse still manages to catch it without fail sometime between November and January.

Navy scrubs on and a long sleeve grey thermal underneath, he heads to the nurses lounge, trailing his best friend. Steve's ninety percent sure he's got a fever, his body is aching, his throat's sore and he thinks if he closes his eyes for more than ten seconds he'll be out for the rest of the night. Rubbing his face as he dumps his bag into the assigned locker he's got, Steve goes to the coffee pot and grabs a disposable cup, pouring some into it and pouring creamer after. Fuck he's tired even just doing such a simple task.

"You sure you'll be ok tonight?" Robin looks at him with a furrowed brow.

He's aware he looks just as bad as he feels. His complexion is pale, his cheeks are slowly getting more and more red. That, combined with slightly dull eyes and an overall air of sickness, there's not really any way to deny he's sick.

"I'll be fine, Robin, just...hopefully it'll be a good night." The word 'quiet' is on the tip of his tongue but he refrains- anyone in the medical world knows not to say 'quiet' because all it will do is jinx the situation and make it forty times worse. Steve sighs and rubs his face, taking a sip of the coffee, wincing as it hurts his throat.

An hour into their 7pm-7am shift, Steve gets a silver lining through all the crap he's dealing with- Eddie Munson.

The paramedic walks in with his partner, both handling the stretcher, Chrissy at the head and Eddie at the foot. The teenager lying on his side seems to be in a great amount of pain. Steve's first instinct is to get up for intake but remembers Robin had volunteered earlier so he could mostly sit unless absolutely needed aside from rounds. He watches the long haired man pat the patients arm and then start walking towards him, Chrissy moving the stretcher into room 3.

"Well well, didn't expect to see my two favorite nurses here tonight," Eddie beams, and it makes Steve feel like of like a bowl of jello...or maybe that's because he's sick.

"Yeah, we took some overtime," Steve explains, wincing at how raspy his voice sounds.

Eddie must hear it too, because suddenly his bright smile falls, and his big brown doe eyes look Steve up and down.

"You sick, Harrington?"

"Uhh, just a little," the twenty six year old mumbles, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Sometimes he forgets Eddie and Chrissy work full twenty four hour shifts- hell, sometimes Eddie will do a 36 hour just to get overtime.

"A little?" Robin snorts, rolling her eyes when she walks back over, signing things on the iPad Chrissy is holding out. "Try a lot, Steve. You kind of look like a zombie."

"Hey! I do-"

"A very cute, nurse zombie," Eddie butts in, laughing. His aw furls fall into his face and he brushes them away lazily. "But seriously man, you look pretty sick. Take it easy tonight."

The way Eddie's voice drops a little quieter than usual makes Steve's heart clench. God he's got the stupidest crush on Eddie and he's never going to have a chance, not when Chrissy is right there, and they're both so beautiful. No, Eddie and Chrissy are obviously a thing, and it sucks. Brain hazy with fever, he looks between the two and huffs, coughing into his arm.

"We'll see you later," Chrissy informs, when Eddie's radio crackles to life again.

Around 11:30 PM, as Steve is finishing up making his rounds to check on the seven patient's they've currently got, an outstretched arm stops him. The arm in question has numerous random tattoo's all over it- Steve spots a few flowers, a jack'o'lantern, a heart with a dagger. Looking up finally, he's face to face with Eddie, who looks concerned. A hand goes to Steve's forehead.

"You weren't kidding princess, you should have called out, definitely have a fever."

Steve continues just to look up, eyes wide as he stares at Eddie unashamedly.

"Earth to Steve?"

Blinking, the nurse clears his throat and rubs his face.

"Sorry, I uh...zoned out." The hand on his forehead was nice, but Eddie's already dropped it now, looking far too worried for his own good.

"Yeah, seems like it. How're you feeling?"

"Like shit," Steve admits, knowing he can't pass it off anymore. Eddie looks genuinely concerned, and for once, the other doesn't feel like a burden.

"Alright killer, how about you ask the RN if you can take a ten minute break? I'll get you some tea from the cafeteria and maybe a muffin....you probably need some sugar."

"Tea sounds kind of nice," Steve admits, shivering. His cheeks feel too warm when he rubs his face.

"Alright, go at least sit down, I'll be back in five."