#my headboard shelf falling on my head

[martyrbat]

i think im the most commonly concussed person you'll ever meet

[kairoot]

── 𝒮𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝒩𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠． 에이티즈 (HYUNG LINE.)

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when your pregnancy prevents you from getting a good night’s rest 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : husband!ateez x pregnant! 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : pet names, reader is slightly afraid of becoming a new parent, not proofread, lmk if I missed any !

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : ateez song reference in here somewhere 😫 pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

hyung line’s headcanons under the cut ! ♡︎

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐡𝐣.

as you sit up in bed, you throw the duvet off of your body. you felt like you were melting and the growing human inside of you wasn’t making your state any better, the kicks growing more and more painful by the minute.

you tapped your phone, the screen lighting up immediately as the time read, ‘2:34’. you sighed, running a hand down your face, growing irritated at the restlessness that you felt.

after giving up on trying to sleep all together, you ventured to the room next to yours.

it was your husband’s home studio, to which he sat in at that very moment, one side of his headphones hanging off of his ear.

he hadn’t noticed you until your arms wrapped around him, resting your head on his shoulder.

he jumped slightly, removing the headphones, “babe? what are you doing awake?”

you moved your arms from around him, standing next to him as a hand came to rest on your growing belly.

“your baby’s like a champion soccer player in here.. also, the room is warmer than usual tonight.” you chuckled.

he smiled slightly, his eyes coming to meet your stomach. he placed his hand next to yours, feeling the constant thump.

“sunshine… are you hurting mama?” he asked in a soothing voice, the baby kicking in response. hongjoong chuckled, rubbing where his hand rested.

“careful with her, okay? she needs some sleep. and so do you.”

with that, he closed the notebook that he had been scribbling in before, placing his headphones elsewhere. he turned off the lights in the studio before leading you back to your room.

you both took your spots on the mattress, cuddling in close. hongjoong’s hand came to your belly once more, continuing to rub it gently. soon enough, the kicking had ceased and your eyes had fluttered shut.

joong smiled, kissing the top of your head.

“love you so much, pumpkin.”

໒˚⋆ 𝓅𝐬𝐡.

the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you entered your kitchen, flicking the overhead light on. you sighed, the cool air giving you some relief from the warm air you felt in the bedroom.

you pulled the fridge open gently, not wanting anything to fall over. the only thing that seemed appetizing to you was the last bit of leftovers that you and hwa had from the other day. you grabbed it from the top shelf, taking it over to the oven to heat it up.

as you transferred your meal into an oven safe pan, you heard soft footsteps behind you, causing a smile to appear on your face.

a pair of warm arms wrapped around you, larger hands resting on your baby bump.

“what are you doing up so late?” seonghwa mumbled into your neck, voice low and raspy as his eyes remained closed.

“come back to bed, love..”

“your daughters’ up, so i’m up.” you chuckled, making him hum in response as he placed small kisses in the crook of your neck.

“she’s always up.. how do you sleep at night?” he asked, letting out a laugh.

“i don’t.” you shrugged.

he giggled once more, watching you prepare your meal.

“do you want me to help with that? i’ll put on our favorite romcom.”

you smiled, nodding, “yeah, but i wanna get my food first.”

“of course, baby.”

໒˚⋆ 𝒿𝐲𝐡.

the light from the tv brightened up your bedroom as you sat against the headboard, watching one of your favorite shows.

the bathroom door opened and your husband walked out, hair springing in random directions. his gaze turned to you, seeing you wide awake and not an ounce of tiredness in your eyes.

“honey?” he looked between you and the television for a moment.

“what’re you doing up? thought you were asleep..” he walked over to the bed, settling back in his spot and pulling the comforter over his legs.

you shook your head, “no, i’ve been awake for a few hours now. can’t sleep.”

yunho slid down in the bed so that he was lying on your belly. your bundle of joy seemed to know he was there, as you felt two kicks right where your husband had laid his head.

he giggled, placing a kiss on your belly.

“hi, baby,” he mumbled against it, placing another.

your baby kicked and kicked, getting excited at the sound of yunho’s voice. you smiled but winced at the force of the kicks.

“whoa, whoa, okay.” he rubbed where the kicks were, not wanting them to cause any more pain.

“you’re too excited, love bug. it’s very late.” he spoke to your baby quietly, trying to calm them down. and it seemed to work in a way, as you felt your baby move around a bit but eventually settle down.

“why don’t you try getting some sleep, baby? i know how tired you’ve been.” he looked up at you, smiling softly.

“but i can’t.” you pouted.

“how about i sing to you then, hm? would you like that?” he asked, continuing the gentle rubs on your belly.

you nodded, reaching down to play with his hair as you closed your eyes, waiting to hear his voice.

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐲𝐬. (i swear these are just yeo’s initals)

you sat in the nursery that everyone had helped make for the baby on the way, refolding clothes and reorganizing. you tried not to be loud, seeing as it was nearly 2am.

you had crept out of bed about 30 minutes before, your thoughts not letting you get a wink of sleep. you’d been so caught up in your thoughts, worried that you wouldn’t be the parent that you wanted to be when your baby arrived. you and yeosang were first time parents so you didn’t wanna mess things up.

as you sat on the floor, the door to the baby’s room had opened slightly, your husband peeking in to see you sitting down.

“babe?” he called softly.

you turned around quickly, not expecting him to be awake.

“yeo.. what’re you doing awake?” you asked. you could tell that he had just woken up, as he squinted his eyes, trying to adjust them to the dim light in the room.

“i should be asking you that.” he chuckled, entering the room and leaving the door cracked.

he took a seat next to you on the carpet, looking down at the pile of clothes you had folded.

“you bored or something?”

“no,” you laughed. “i just..”

he looked over at you now, letting you know that he was listening.

“i just don’t wanna mess things up, yeo.”

“what do you mean?”

you sighed, “i mean we’re first time parents. i just wanna make sure i’m doing what’s right for our baby.”

“honey,” he started, smiling, “yes this is our first time. so you know we’re bound to make mistakes, right? not everything will be perfect.”

you nodded in agreement, knowing he was right but you couldn’t help your overthinking.

“we’re a team, okay? you aren’t doing this alone, i’ll be with you.”

you didn’t respond to him verbally but just hugged him instead, silently thanking him. he held onto you tightly, rubbing your back and reminding you that everything would be fine.

᪥

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

[lokis-army-77]

A Text Away

Modern!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7k

You've been horny all day and Eddie is at band practice... but you know a way to get him home.

Warning: 18 +. face sitting/riding, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex.

And thank you to @strangerxperv for the absolutly fabulous idea 💗

Masterlist

After a long day at work, there were two things you wanted. One, a nice hot shower, and two, your boyfriend to fuck you into next week. 

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that watching him get dressed to go work at the local record store made you horny. He couldn’t help the fact that every time you saw the little trail of hair dipping past the waist of his pants, your legs clenched, and your body grew warmer.

You dealt with your racing thoughts all through your own shift at the bookshop, imagining your return home and how good he would feel against you. 

Only, he wasn’t home when you unlocked your apartment door. 

Sighing in disappointment you trudge to the bathroom to start warming the water. As you wait, you text Eddie.

Where are you? I need you..  like really bad.

Your phone dings a few minutes later while you are in the middle of scrubbing shampoo in your hair.

Wiping your hand off on the towel, you reach for your phone, lying on the small shelf above the towel rack. 

Eddie had responded.

In a bit baby. I'm at practice.

You pout as you read the text only to smile mischievously. You message him as fast as you can with one dry hand.

But Eddie.. if you come home I'll sit on your face. And I mean really sit on your face.

There is no ding of a notification once you set your phone back down and continue your shower routine. 

Twenty minutes later, you've given up on Eddie answering you, have put on your comfiest pajamas, and are now snuggled up in bed. 

You're startled when the front door slams open and you hear thick boots pacing in your direction. 

"Take your fucking pants off right now," Eddie commands as he bursts into your shared bedroom. 

You're sat up, back against the headboard, staring at him, bewildered as he practically flops backward onto the bed.

When he hadn’t texted you back you assumed he just wasn't interested at the moment, you never could have imagined this. 

You start to giggle when he starts making grabby hands at you. "Pussy on my mouth, now." 

When the words leave his mouth, you practically choke on a laugh. 

"Babe, quit laughing and get up here. Set on my fucking face like you promised." He grumps. 

You have no choice but to obey as you say, "Okay okay, patient much?"

It's only fair that you tease him a little. So you slowly emerge from under the covers, fingers delicately pulling at the waist of your pajama pants. 

Eddie watches with a hunger in his dark brown eyes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips when you begin to tug your pants down. Slowly but surely you are exposed to him and he almost dies when he realizes you weren't wearing panties. 

Before you can even get to your knees, Eddie is gripping your ankle and pulling your body down the bed to him with a strength acquired from years of hauling heavy amps and other musical equipment from place to place. 

"Eddie!" You squeal, more laughter leaving you when your head falls, bouncing on the mattress. 

"You're going too slow, baby." He cries, letting his hold up but hands never leaving you.  

You shake your head, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. Finally, you get to your knees and straddle him. He is impatiently pulling you up his body, only stopping when you are hovering over his face. 

Your eyes meet his as you stare down between your legs. He'd got a big, goofy grin plastered on his face. 

"Fuck." He sighs. "I've died and gone to heaven." His large hands wrap around your legs and right before he pulls you flush to his mouth he says, "Don't hold back."

When his hot mouth makes contact with your waiting pussy, you gasp. The need you had been feeling all day long now has an outlet. 

Eddie's tongue swipes through your folds, lapping up the arousal that had already started to seep from your cunt. His nose rubs against your clit, pulling a strangled moan from you. 

A hand shoots down to tangle in his hair when his tongue plays at the rim of your cunt, flicking ever so slightly in and out of you.

He's like a man starved as he devours all that is given to him. You feel his fingers moving up to your hips. There's a slight pressure as he pushes you and in a flush of worry, you pull off of him.

The desperate whine that falls past his already swollen lips makes your heart flutter.

"Why'd you move away?"

"You were pushing me.. are you okay? I thought you couldn't breathe." I exasperate.

"No, I was trying to get you to ride me. Hump my face sweetheart." He doesn't say another word, he just grips onto you once more and pulls you down. 

You understand what he wants now, so you lean back, hands resting on the tops of his things behind you, and you canter your hips. Slow and steady you used him for your own pleasure. 

"Eddie-" you sigh breathlessly, head falling back between your shoulders. 

He hums in response. The vibrations travel up through your core and into your body. Shivers accompany them as you feel a knot forming in your stomach.

"Eddie please-" Your knees and arms are burning as you continue to grind yourself against him. "I'm gonna- shit I'm gonna cum."

Your lungs are struggling to fill with air as you get closer and closer to release. Eddie's hands are wrapped over your thighs, fingers searching for your clit. 

When he finds it, you double over. The knot pulls tighter and you feel a sheen of sweat cover your body. 

Quickly, your first orgasm comes to light. There's a blazing fire erupting within you and it takes all you have not to fall flat on your face. Long, drawn-out moans flow from you and Eddie does not stop. His tongue pushed into you, tasting your release. 

His fingers now grip the fat of your ass harshly. He keeps you on top of him and he moves his face from side to side as best he can with you practically smothering him with your pussy. 

This time he does actually push you up off him. He takes a deep breath and groans. "Fuck baby, taste so good." He turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh and then he bites you. His teeth sink into the soft skin in the crease where your inner thigh meets with your body. 

In a series of fluid movements, Eddie has you on your back in an instant. He unzips his pants and pulls himself out of them, tugging on his hardness before getting into position. Your legs are being pushed back by his hands holding you at the bend of the knee. 

"You're so pretty like this… pussy all wet and needy for me." His voice is muffled by the loud beating of your heart in your ears. "Mmm gonna fuck you full."

You whimper as you feel his hard length run through your glistening folds, his hips jutting against the backs of your thighs. 

"Yeah, you like that? Want me to fill you with my cum?" 

You nod, crying out when his cock finally pressed through the tight threshold of your cunt. "Need it, please, I need it."

"Just my little cum baby aren't you?" He asks, fully sheathing himself in you.

Your back arches off the bed and you groan. Fingernails scratching at Eddie’s forearms. 

He pulls back and slams into you. "Aren't you?"

"Yes!" You cry out. His cock reaches into the very depths of you, the tip hitting in just the right place to make you scream. "Yes! I am, I am, Eddie!"

"Mmm, good. Gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. Gonna breed this pretty fuckin' pussy." His fingers adjust themselves as his grip slips and then he's pounding into you at such a brutal pace. Back and forth, in and out, he is fucking you raw.

Your walls clamp around him, the drag of his cock stimulates you more and you clench harder. 

Skin on skin, the noises that they make are obscene. The squelch of him entering you has your face burning, not in embarrassment but desire. His gruff growls and fucked out moans accompany those other sounds and all they do is make you even more horny. 

Eddie fucks into you with reckless abandon, mind full of images of your belling swollen with his child. How much he would love for you to sit on his face like that, all pretty and pregnant. 

Your toes curl when Eddie flips your t-shirt up to expose your breasts. A strong, calloused hand reaching out for the mound of flesh. He kneads it and pulls on your nipple before swiping a gentle thumb over the hardened bud.

The way he fucks you is savage. Hips snapping at a speed you couldn't imagine, his fingers squeeze your skin so hard you are sure you will have brushes in the shape of his hands all over you. 

The knot pulls tighter once more and your body begins to lock up in anticipation. Your eyes flutter before rolling to the back of your head. Your hands reach for his, interlocking your fingers, hoping he will keep you down on Earth. 

As your orgasm hits once more, you wail. A long, monotone cry bursts from your lungs, whole unattractive but who cares when you feel so so so good? 

"That's it. That's fucking it." Eddie gasps. Your cunt is practical milking him. He's trying to hold off but it's all just too much. A shiver runs up his spine and his balls pull taut. He's lost his rhythm, hips now bucking unevenly and with desperation. 

All it takes is another whimper from you and he's a gunner. With one last hard thrust, he keeps himself buried to the hilt. Your walls are spasming around him, your release gushing out along with his own sticky, milky white cum. 

"Yes, fuck yes. That's it, baby, take all my fucking cum." 

He falls forward, letting go of your knees.  His forehead rests in the crook of your neck and his lips press softly into your skin. He kisses you, a needed juxtaposition from mere seconds ago. 

His breath is warm on your salt-slicked skin as he speaks again. "Such a good little cum baby, taking all that. S'what you wanted, hum?"

You close your eyes, tired. "Yeah," you whisper. "Just what I wanted."

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Onychinus Personal Chef III

ꩇׁׅ݊ You became Sylus' personal chef based off of pure chance. He's picky, he's annoying and he is just so damn fine. ꩇׁׅ݊ fem!reader, sylus x personal-chef!reader pt 3 of a 4 part series ꩇׁׅ݊ pt. 1 .... ꩇׁׅ݊ pt. 2 .... ꩇׁׅ݊ pt.4

6 months later…..

You grew to tolerate Sylus as time went by. Who were you kidding you had such a big crush on your boss it was ridiculous. You kept your feelings to yourself though because even though you would let him bend you over his kitchen island this was your job and you needed to draw a professional line somewhere.

Besides he could have any woman he wants there's no way he'd want his personal chef. You needed to remain professional you couldn't afford to lose a once in a lifetime job like this. You blatantly ignored his flirting hoping that would help keep your feelings from growing.

'He’s a calculated man he just enjoys the games' That's what you told yourself whenever he flirted.

“Girl you are quite literally living the life what’s the problem?” Your best friend said over the phone as you were laying in bed after a busy day of back to back orders from your boss and the twins; mainly the twins.

“Yea I know it’s just it’s getting hard having to be around him every day and my thoughts are just getting worse and worse” You palmed your forehead and fell back against your headboard. “Let me guess you were folding an omelet and imagined him folding you like an omelet instead?” You stared at the phone in silence. “Well?”

“Bitch I almost burned the omelet” You two burst into a fit of laughter just as you heard a knock at the door. “I’ll call you back” You quickly hung up the phone and ran to your bedroom door. “Yes?” You cracked the door open and see two faces that always make your day. “Luke! Kieran! Hi what can I do for you?”

“Uhh me and Luke were wondering if you’d be up for making those lemon tarts you made yesterday we know it late and it’s fine if you just want to sleep-”

“Of course I'll make my favorite boys some lemon tarts go start zesting the lemons and I'll be right there I just need to tie my hair back” You always enjoyed cooking and the twins made it all the better. They’d become your closest friends while living here.

Once you’d made one too many lemon tarts and the boys were now yawning after their late night treat you started cleaning up. “Go lay down you know how Sylus gets when you two fall asleep at the counter” They nodded and disappeared out of the kitchen.

You were just finishing up cleaning when you felt someones presence. “You know the cleaners can do all of this for you right?” You kept your back to Sylus as you finished scrubbing the last bowl. “I know, but why give them more work when they already have this entire place to keep clean”

“You made lemon tarts?” Sylus asked seemingly ignoring your response as he picked up one of your tarts. You finally turn to see him standing on the other side of the kitchen in nothing, but a pair of gray sweats. His entire upper half was drool worthy and so was the print in his pants. You had to quickly divert your attention before you actually started drooling. “Yes you can have that one”

“They’re my favorite” His low sultry voice had your skin hot and your heart racing. “There’s only one left?” You nodded as you continuously scrubbed the obviously clean bowl in the sink. “Yes Sir I hope you enjoy it”

“Did you get one?” He asked and you could hear his footsteps getting closer and that heady scent of his beginning to waft around you "and what's with the sudden formality?"

You shook your head as you moved to dry the bowl off by hand. Anything to make space between you and him. "I tasted as I made them and you're my boss sir" You were unsuccessful with the attempt to put any space between you two because once you were done drying the bowl you couldn't reach the shelf that it needed to go on. Suddenly you felt Sylus' hand brush yours as he grabbed the bowl and placed it on the shelf. Just as you were about to run again he turned you to face him.

“Speak. What's wrong?” He questioned with a quirked brow. You looked anywhere, but at him as you searched your brain for anyway to keep this conversation professional. “The twins ate the rest …. they requested them Sir” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out breathy. "That's not what I asked" His voice was as smooth as velvet and it had your stomach doing back flips.

Damn it.

"Sylus it feels like you're playing with my emotions and I'm trying my hardest to remain professional" Your frustration was palpable and all Sylus did was eye you with a smirk before putting his attention on the tart in his hand. A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as he took a bite; relishing in the taste. “You have some on your lip” You reached up to wipe it and stopped yourself only for Sylus to grab your wrist and use your finger to wipe his lip. He then turned your hand and guided your finger onto your bottom lip smearing the sweet and tangy filling on your lip. Your tongue darted out instinctively tasting it and for some reason it tasted even better this way.

“Is this what they call an indirect kiss?” He questioned as he held onto your wrist and continued to close the distance between you two. “Y-Yea I guess” Your voice was nothing but a breathy whisper. Why was he acting like this? His gaze was so intense it almost seemed like he wanted it to be a direct kiss. That’s when you notice Sylus had you backed up against the counter. You panicked as you realized your composure was starting to slip “I should probably get to bed I have a lot of prep to do tomorrow for a certain someone who likes to give me complicated ass meal requests” You mentally high five yourself for not stuttering considering the fact that his scent was so intoxicating you were damn near melting. You needed to get away from him before you did something you’d regret.

Sylus sat the tart down behind you trapping you between him and the counter. “Complicated?” He said as he tipped your chin up and leaned in closer giving him direct access to a searing kiss if he wanted it. Part of you really hoped he wanted it as much as you did. “Yes you’re very picky Mr. Qin” Sylus could feel your breath on his lips; his gazed snapped down to your lips which immediately parted. “Why do you think I chose you?” Before you could question what he just said he dipped his head connecting his lips with yours in a heated kiss. You froze for a second your brain not wanting to believe what is happening when you felt Sylus swipe his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened up moaning into his mouth as you melted into the kiss.

Sylus held you close to his body, one arm snaking around your waist and his other hand gripping the nape of your neck. You pulled away out of breath; your heavy breaths mingling with his. He placed one last quick kiss on your lips before grabbing his half-eaten tart and turning to leave. Just as he reached the doorway he stopped and glanced over his shoulder “I hope that was clear enough for you about where I stand” and with that he turned and headed down the hall.

You fell to your knees immediately once he was out of sight. “Did that really just happen?”

ꩇׁׅ݊ taglist ; @mangooes @mourning-into-dancing @ladyparamount @kindalonely-ngl @everythingistaken00

ꩇׁׅ݊ Just realized this could have another part …. I like baby cliffhangers though. Maybe there will be a part 4 no promises MUAH💋 update: y'all got pt 4 outta me love ya

[lis-likes-fics]

Pancakes, Bottle Tops, and Jell-O on the Side

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 3.5k words Warnings: Character with ADHD, fluff :) A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble....so... I am going to go ahead and continue the bau!adhd!reader stuff because I think it's a lot of fun! ANyway, thank you and enjoy. Special thanks to my beta reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen

“Spence.”

His lazy hum rumbles under you as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you both lay wrapped in the covers. It's late, a glance at the clock says nearly one in the morning.

You cross your arms over his chest, leaning up to look at his face. He looks peaceful, not sleeping but closed-eyed and slow-breathed. “I'm hungry.”

He smiles, but his eyes stay closed. “It's too late to eat.”

You shrug lazily, drawing circles on his chest. “But I want pancakes.”

He opens his eyes. “You know,” Spencer sits up, laying back against the headboard, “late night snacking is bad for digestion.”

You hum. “Is it?”

He nods. “Your metabolism slows while you sleep, so it's harder for your stomach acids to break down the food.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “Eating late at night can lead to weight gain and interrupted sleep.”

“Really?”

His hand rubs your arm. “If you need to eat close to bedtime, it's best to choose small, healthy snacks so you sleep better.”

You sit up, crossing your legs as you look at him. You set a hand on his hand, looking him straight in the eyes as you say it. “But I want pancakes.”

He laughs lightly. “Sweetheart–”

“What if we put chocolate chips in them?”

You know you’ve piqued his attention. He glances at you, his brows raised to his hairline. “Chocolate chips?” he mutters.

You almost feel bad for tricking him, but he’s too cute for that. Your smile grows as your second hand envelopes his own until you’re holding it like you’re keeping it warm. “Yeah,” you nod. “We can even eat it with Jell-O. Not, like, Jell-O on it. But, like, Jell-O on the side.” You clear your throat. “But we can also have Jell-O.”

He gives you an almost pained expression, like you’re gonna pull his arm off. “You know I love Jell-O.”

You smile your best smile. “I know, that’s why I said it.” Then you give your best pout, scooting closer to him with his hand in your hands. “Pancakes and Jell-O? Please?”

There’s a short pause as he lays his head back, sighing as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

“Yay!” You erupt in smiles, pumping your fist in the air as you stumble out of the bed (and you quite literally stumble because your foot gets caught in the covers, and you fall to the floor with a thud). Spencer almost feels guilty for laughing as he asks if you’re okay, but you almost seem like you’ve hardly noticed when you get to your feet and rush to the kitchen. He takes his time following after you, but he’s becoming more and more excited about eating chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry Jell-O with you with each step he takes.

You’ve already beaten him to starting a CD, something from Mozart’s collection playing in the background as you try to reach the pancake mix from the top shelf. You’re almost certain he puts things there on purpose, especially when he comes up behind you with a hand on your hip as he easily reaches for the box and sets it next to you on the counter.

You turn to look at him, nearly swooning at the sight of him so close to you, his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid pretty face just waiting to be covered in your kisses. You settle for a peck on his chin, teasing him, before stepping around him to grab the box. He snatches it before you can, and you would pout if you didn’t know that’s what he wanted. Taking your chin between two gentle fingers, he places a very loving kiss on the very tip of your nose before he’s walking away to grab the pan. You settle for everything else, grabbing the milk and the water and the butter and the chips and whatever else is needed for your late-night snack.

As Spencer replaces the butter on the butter dish, he watches you out of the corner of his eye. He watches you pour the milk into a measuring cup half full of water, your other hand busy with tapping the counter three times. When you set the milk back down, you don’t move on until you’ve grabbed the handle with the opposite hand and let the other tap the counter three more times. You rub the condensation into your hands.

“They need to be equal, or it feels weird,” you’d said. He thinks you’re really cool.

When he’s flipping the pancakes, you’re gliding on your feet through the kitchen like you’re a ballerina. It’s as simple as you trying to stand on the very tips of your toes, and then him grabbing your waist to help you. He laughs every time you step on his feet, which makes you feel better about stepping on his feet so much.

And then when the pancakes are done, you’re waltzing with him between bites. He’s weirdly good at it, given the fact that he’s not a good dancer (neither of you are that great on your feet, but it doesn’t matter when it’s just slow dancing in the kitchen). You laugh every time he steps on your feet, which makes him feel better about stepping on your feet so much.

“Should we like…” you trail off, leaning over your plate next to Spencer’s, “...do some jumping jacks after?” You take a bite, speaking as you chew on it. “It’ll burn some of the calories, and then it won’t be so bad.”

Spencer’s smile is one of those ones that makes you feel that stereotypical “warm and tingly” feeling that settles in your stomach somewhere. It’s fond and sweet, and his eyes glitter with it. He chuckles lightly. “Maybe.” To the jumping jacks. He doesn’t much like jumping jacks.

“And then we’ll also be tired, and we can just go to sleep.”

He hums. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t need jumping jacks to make me sleepy.”

You sift through the last couple of bites left of your pancakes, turning your nose up. He can already tell that you’ve suddenly grown sick of it. There’s no way you’re eating the last two pieces. You set your fork down, gesturing to your head. “My mind is fast right now, so I may need a few.” You glance away, “On the other hand, that might make it worse…” Then you look at him. “I’m keeping you up late, I’m sorry.”

It’s almost two in the morning, and you both still have work in a few hours.

But he just smiles, loving as usual. “Sweetheart, we’re usually up late anyway on cases. You don’t have to apologize.”

You reach over, nudging his fingers with yours on the counter. “I feel like I do.” You tap your untouched fingers with his untouched fingers. They need to be even, otherwise it feels weird.

Spencer reaches over and locks your fingers together. “I promise you, I would’ve been awake anyway.” Meaning he was not going to sleep until he knew you were asleep to make sure you actually got some sleep.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You raise a hand to his cheek, your fingertips brushing over them and adoring the way they turn the slightest pink. “You need rest.”

“So do you,” he mumbles. “We’re staying awake together.”

There are nights where he pretends to be asleep to get you to rest. Tonight was one of those nights but when you say his name so sweetly, he has no choice but to reply.

And also, you’re a profiler. You know when he is or isn’t sleeping, you just pretend you don’t.

“Do you wanna do jumping jacks?” he suggests, gathering your plates while you’re distracted with the strands of hair misbehaving on his forehead, out of place from the rest.

“Maybe a few,” you hum.

He straightens his posture, stuffing his last bite in his mouth. “I’m going to make you some chamomile.” He already has the kettle in his hands, filling it with water to set to boil. “We can do some jumping jacks while we wait for the water to boil.”

You smile sweetly. He takes such good care of you, especially when he reaches his hand out and cups your chin so gently. “Thank you, honey,” you say as you slowly slip the plates into your hands. “I’ll get the dishes.”

He reaches for them, but you pull them closer to you, like a dragon hoarding its treasures—which is a strange simile, considering you’re talking about dirty dishes covered in his DNA. “I can do them,” he tries.

“I know you can,” you have to dance around him to get past him and to the sink. He turns the heat all the way up and leaves it, holding his hands out for the plates. You slap his hand away lightly, a teasing little swipe as you shake your head. “But I want to.”

He tilts his head, his confusion contaminated by his amused grin. “You hate doing the dishes.”

More than anything. “Yeah,” you agree, “but you’re being so nice.” You set the dishes by the sink and turn to look up at him. He’s freakishly tall, so you have to crane your neck up to see him because he stands so close. He has no sense of personal space with you, but you don’t mind it because you love him and you also don’t give him any personal space in return. “So either I fight you or you let me do the dishes.”

He sighs. “Okay, you wash and I’ll dry and put away.”

You stick your hand out to make it official. “Deal.”

“Great.” He takes your hand, surprising you when he twirls you in a clumsy circle and pulls you into his chest as you both giggle. It’s sappy and gross, like those scenes in rom-coms where they’re doing this exact thing: dancing around the kitchen late at night while they giggle like school kids because they’re so in love. You’ve always wanted this for yourself, and you’re beyond happy that you’ve found it with your Spencer.

“Thank you,” you say as you duck under his arm, taking your place at the sink as you start the water. Neither of you talk much as you scrub all the dirty dishes clean, your face scrunched in your focus, un-scrunching only when the water rinses away the suds you’ve built up on your dish. He takes it with eager hands, wiping the dish clean and retreating to put it away.

“You know,” you mutter, frowning at the way the pancake batter mixes with the water and sinks down the drain, “the jumping jacks before bed will be really good because, when we sleep after, our muscles will recover and get really strong.”

He nods, wiping at your elbow when it brushes the edge of the sink and you squirm away from the cold metal. It’s thoughtful, though it’s such a subconscious movement. “That’s correct.”

You shrug a shoulder, teasing easily. “I’m often correct.”

He laughs. It’s a big one that ruins your stoic expression. “That is also correct.” He’s proving your point, and he doesn’t mind doing it.

When the dishes are clean and put away, the kettle is whistling in perfect time as he removes it from the heat. You’re already scurrying to the cabinet to pick which mug you want to use (he already knows you’re going to pick the blue round Christmas Snoopy mug that curves in at the lip). It’s one of your favorites, like a mug-bowl hybrid that you love to cradle in your hands, especially when it’s warm.

He takes special care in making your tea while you sit on the counter next to him and watch. Your feet dangle over the edge, and you find yourself watching his face more than what he’s actually doing. He’s got eyebags. You can tell how tired he is, though he insists that he’s just always had them.

It’s partially true, anyway. When you first met him, he had those same dark circles around his eyes that gave a warning to how irregular these hours would be.

Other than his eyebags, he’s got a loving look on his face. It’s not forlorn and lost in sweet little smiles, but it’s thoughtful and content and at peace. He’s happy to stand there and make your tea, stirring the contents together with the little spoon because he knows you hate using the big ones. He’s happy to fish a single ice cube from the freezer to plop into your scalding tea so that you can actually drink it and not burn your tongue. He’s happy to hand over your mug and watch you take a tiny sip, closing your eyes and humming and giving him your softest thank you as you practically melt. He preens under your praise.

After a couple more sips, you’re pushing yourself off the counter and onto the floor, doing ridiculous stretches as you beam at him. “Okay, ready?”

Spencer lets out a huge sigh, bending down to set his hands on his knees. “Give me a second to catch up,” he says, already out of breath.

You furrow your brow and laugh. “We haven’t even started.”

“I mean mentally.”

“Spence!”

“Okay,” he straightens his posture, moving you both to a more open space as he stops in front of you. “I’m ready.”

You smile wide, “We’re going to fifty.”

“Fifty?!” he exclaims, but you’ve already started. He has to do the first five jumping jacks really fast just to catch up to you. But he’s in love with you, so he’s dedicated to these curséd things.

It’s somewhere before twenty when he speaks, already out of breath and lagging behind as his hands struggle to come as far up. You know he’s partially exaggerating, but you’re also getting tired already. “You know…” he gasps like he desperately needs water, “I hate…” another gasp, “doing these.”

You roll your eyes, tired but not as dramatic as him (currently). “I watched you chase an unsub down three blocks before and then proceed to tackle him, and you can’t do a few jumping jacks?” You don’t know where you are in the count. You forgot as soon as you started speaking, but you think you’re somewhere near thirty.

“Okay, that’s different…” He stops huffing and puffing, but he is genuinely getting tired as he breathes between words. “I was running on adrenaline…” a breath, “and I couldn’t stand straight for…” another breath, “for ten minutes after.”

It’s true. You had to hold his hand because he kept complaining that he was going to pass out, when really he was just trying to make you feel better because you had been so worried he would get hurt in pursuit. You’d been all over him worried sick, loving hands to his face and soft kisses to his forehead.

“I was so proud of you though.” You would shrug if you weren’t already busy. “Derek was impressed. Also, I don’t know where we are.”

He could have lied and said you were on 49, but he decides against it purely because you genuinely look like you’re enjoying yourself. Plus, you’re smiling. How is he possibly supposed to think straight if you’re smiling?

“38.”

You grumble but you stick it out together. And when the last counts come out (“47, 48, 49, 50!”), you are the one to huff and puff and say, “Oh, thank god.”

Spencer leans forward on the counter, gripping the edge of it as he bends all the way down to catch his breath. You skip that altogether, climbing on top of it and laying on it like a couch. You drape an arm over your face, completely limp and entirely unwilling to stand. “I hate jumping jacks,” you complain on a heavy breath.

He nods lazily. “I’m glad we agree.”

You both stay there for a while, two pathetic FBI agents who are far more capable of even more physical exertion than this has offered. Derek would tsk if he was here.

Spencer recovers first, but only because you allow him to (you don’t want to move yet, and if you act long enough then he might actually carry you to bed). He runs a hand through his hair, “I’ll put your shark in the microwave.”

This makes you forget that you’re pretending to be completely incapacitated. The shark in question is a small heatable stuffed animal named Nadia that smells like lavender. During your month-long hyperfixation on sharks, Spencer bought it for you as a gift because he thought you’d like it. He was right, as Nadia sleeps in bed with the two of you now on most nights.

You sit up, raising a slow hand in his direction as you fawn over him. “Thank you, honey.” He lets you take his hand, pulling him in to kiss him gently.

You and Spencer have been together for a while, and you’ve been saying “I love you”s for a good amount of time, but Spencer has yet to (and will likely never) master the art of casualty when it comes to telling you he loves you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to give you a brief call over his shoulder, or a passing kiss on the forehead as he mumbles it into the side of your head.

He says it in an in-your-face kind of way that you adore. He stands so close, kissing your forehead and your lips, and really any part of your face that suits him as he grins. “I love you.” He takes care in whispering it against your lips, your mouths touching with each consonant.

You hum. “Love you, too.” His hands rub your palms, and he kisses your lips again before reluctantly pulling away to go retrieve your shark. You smile as you watch him leave, grabbing your mug and cradling it in your hands as you take small sips. You do feel tired, so at least everything is working.

Spencer is holding Nadia in his hands like a baby before he sets it in the microwave, the both of you standing side to side, bodies touching, as you watch it spin around and around and around in very slow circles. You rest your head on his shoulder while you watch. He’s afraid to move and scare you away (like he could ever scare you away).

Before the microwave can beep, you open the door. He grabs the shark from where it sat, handing it to you like sacred text. “Good?” he asks, waiting as you take the weighted stuffed animal in your hands and feel its warmth. It’s very nice.

“Perfect.”

That makes him happy.

With an arm around your shoulder, he takes you both to bed, turning off the lights as he goes. Taking one last generous sip from your tea, you snuggle in the bed next to him, and as grabby as you are, he's the one holding you like he's going to make sure you never leave.

You hold your warmed plush to your chest, letting out a long breath as you rest against Spencer. “What do you wanna hear?” he asks, already flipping through his mind palace to unlock all the stuff he knows just to lull you to sleep.

You've always insisted hearing the sound of his voice helps you sleep (in a good way, not in the “listening to you speak is a snooze fest” kind of way). He knows there's a study on it, it's scientific, but there's always going to be the tiniest part of him that doesn't believe you (though he'll entertain the idea because he loves you).

“Um…” you wonder, your mind suddenly going blank as you try to find something for him to talk about. “Give me the history of…” you shake your head, “bottle tops.”

He furrows his brow, though his grin betrays him (as per usual). “Bottle tops?”

“Yeah?”

“Why bottle tops?”

You shrug, closing your eyes and letting your finger rub into his shirt. “I don't know.”

He shakes his head like he's sick of you, though he could never be sick of you. He's surely sick with you with how dizzy you make him every time he sees you. “Okay then…” he mumbles, wondering where to start. He keeps his voice soft, but he can't seem to keep it slow.

“The crown bottle cap was invented in 1892 by William Painter–”

“Why do you know about this?”

It was partially a challenge, choosing bottle tops. Sometimes you name random things just to see if he actually knows these things, and he surprises you every time with information he's a total nerd for knowing.

He tilts his head, glancing at you. “Why do you know so much about sharks?”

You hum, laying back down. “Touché.”

He smiles. You feel his thumb stroke your shoulder, a slow and steady thing that easily makes you putty in his arms. “As I was saying,” he says, all sass but also too much of a dork to work, “the name ‘crown’ was chosen because the cap resembled the crown of the British queen…”

It doesn't take long to drift off as he speaks, his loving hands and loving voice and loving lips the perfect remedy for your overactive mind. You could listen to him talk all day.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic Tag yourself here...

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Your fiancé wants to fuck you raw.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm), blurb

Warnings: swearing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), breeding kink, talk of having a child, possessiveness

~ this was an ask i got today and i just couldn't resist so i wrote a small blurb 😵‍💫 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

When he first brought up the idea of fucking without a condom it was the night of your engagement. You were having light-hearted banter at dinner until a pleasant silence fell upon the two of you, which was then promptly broken by Tangerine's inquiry.

"Padron?" you ask, almost choking on your champagne.

Tangerine smirks behind his napkin and leans forward over the restaurant table, his warm palm covering your hand. You realize he must have chosen this table in the corner of the patio for this reason.

"I asked if you wanted to try without a condom tonight," he whispers again, his voice husky and your cheeks feel warm. 

"You can't ask me that here!" you exclaim in a murmur, avoiding his gaze. 

Tangerine smirks, clearly not concerned as he looks around the restaurant, "No one's here. It's just us," he says and squeezes your hand. He's right, the only other people on the patio are an elderly couple in the opposite corner.

He tilts his head, "So?"

"You wanna get me pregnant, is that why you asked me to marry you?" you half-joke, looking at your new engagement ring sitting pretty on your finger. 

Tangerine laughs, "Wanna find out?" his smirk widens and he shifts to pull out his wallet, "C'mon," he whispers as he pays and then extends his hand to you.  

It's a miracle you both make it home clothed considering the moment you walk in your shared apartment, you're in his arms. Your back is pressed against the wall, near the shelf where you keep your mail and keys, his lips marking your neck, as your legs hook around his middle. He's kissing you with passion, his body pressed hard against yours. 

"My luv," he mumbles in between his kisses and he's holding his hands under your thighs now as he moves you from the living room and into the bedroom. "Mine," he nips at your ear, his voice low and wanton. 

"Yours," you echo as he places you down on the mattress like you're something so precious and then he's hovering over you, kissing you like it's his last day on earth. You feel all warm and flustered, your smile widening as his lips move against yours.

Tangerine's hand strokes up and down your thigh, sliding under your dress until your dress is bunched up enough so that he can see your panties. 

"Did you think about what I asked?" he whispers in your ear, his hand pausing on your thigh. He won't continue until he has your permission. 

You hook your arms around his neck, pretending to think for a moment, "You wanna fuck me raw, honey?" you ask, knowing those words would turn him on and when you hear the groan he produces, you know your mission was successful. 

"But, you know I'm on the pill, yeah?" you add in a whisper.

Tangerine smirks and kisses you again, his knee parting your thighs a little. "We can fix that later, darlin'."

You feel his hand caress your cheek, his eyes searching yours for permission, "I'm clean," he mumbles and you nod.

"So am I," you say and pull him down using your arms, your hands in his hair.

You kiss him as passionately as he had kissed you, granting him the permission he so badly wanted, and it doesn't take long until you've both shed your clothes and his bare cock stretches the walls of your pussy, dragging out your second orgasm of the evening.

"Bloody fuck," Tangerine groans, one of his arms holding the headboard as he thrusts into you, watching your expressions. It all feels so intense and you're moaning. "Good girl," he says, brown sweaty curls falling over his lidded eyes as he fucks you over and over again. 

You whimper, eyes shut, as his cock feels too good. Why haven't you done this sooner? 

"I wanna fuck a baby into ya, luv," Tangerine groans, unable to control himself, as he clenches his hand on the headboard so hard his knuckles turn white. "Do'ya want that? Wanna carry my child, darlin'?" he moans, leans down, and kisses behind your ear as his hips smack against yours. 

You're a moaning mess, unable to answer him as you nod. 

"I wanna hear ya say it and then I'll give you what ya crave," he orders, his voice strained and stern from his arousal. You can feel every inch of him inside you and it's so overwhelming in the best way. Your mind is hazy and all you can focus on is his cock.  

"I w-wanna carry your baby, please," you moan, arching into him. 

"Shit," Tangerine grunts when he feels you clench around him and your cum drips around his dick. This sends his own orgasm into motion as he spills his release into you, kissing your face as he does so.

He whispers loving praises in your skin as he lazily fucks his cum into you. When he pulls out, there is a dripping mess underneath you and you moan, feeling tingly and exhausted. 

"C'mon, I'll run us a shower and I'll clean ya up," Tangerine murmurs as he strokes his hand up and down your thigh to soothe any soreness you might have. "And then we'll throw away your birth control, hm?" he half-jokes and kisses your stomach. Your hands find his hair and you massage his scalp.

"We'll see, baby," you mumble with a small smile, completely fucked out. 

[aurmisery]

- a little death -

ronin b. x gn! reader !!

inspired by a friend of mine in the rose's rot discord, vanity! @vanitywoo

hi erm this is my first time putting down a killer chat! work of mine on here uhhhhhhh

cw // mentions of sh scars on mc -

please tell me if anything else in here can be considered triggering !!

okay enjoy!!!!!1!!1!!!!2! sorry if this is ass and or ooc for ronin bro i TRIED MY BEST I TRIEDMYBEST

1878 word count!!!!!!!

FUCKIFORGOT THIS US FLUFF BTW

-

you know when you walk into someone's room, you can immediately tell what kind of person they are? what posters they roll on their walls, what decor they line the edges of their room with- if they have LEDs, what merch they willingly buy and if they have a whole shelf for said merch, etc?

if you were to walk into ronin's room with no idea of who he is other than his oh so charming looks, you might just say "typical, makes sense given his aesthetic." even if the jars of human remains seemed a bit too hardcore and realistic.

it all fit though, the color palette ranging from all hues of red, black, and white, the masks, the lava lamp, the VHS tapes, the illuminated 'KORN' sign hung in the corner of his room matching the 'still alive?' frame with a cartoonishly drawn heart- it was all him- it screamed ronin.

the plainest thing in his room was probably his bed- and he knew that. it was just a black headboard and footboard, with a red duvet and pillows with a white blanket overtop it. it did match the color scheme, which was enough for now, but it was missing something.

.

.

.

but as his pupils grazed over your steady form, warm and breathing, he realized something.

the slight flush of your cheeks, the way your eyelids fell heavy over your unblinking stare, the hazy glare of his TV burning a light glow over your side-

the ruffle of your hair, your legs snaking awkwardly with his, fingers mindlessly tracing invisible doodles over his forearm, and the slight quirk of your brow as your eyes retrace back to his.

"what's up?" your lips curl upwards slowly as his eyes noticeably fade from the trance he planted himself into, brows slanted upwards as he slow blinked.

"...youuuu good?" a small giggle slewed unevenly from your grin, and he scoffs, a playful jab at the side of your waist following the roll of his eyes.

"'m fine, jus' thinkin'. what about you, darlin'? feelin' comfortable in the devil's den?"

you flop over on your right side, facing him rather than the TV, propping yourself up on one elbow with your other arm tracing the angle of his jaw.

"for a devil, you're rather accommodating, i'll give you that," you tease, and he revels in it; in your warmth, in the fiery trace of your finger along his jawline, and for once, his hell is starting to feel a bit hot.

"in a literal sense, if i'm laying in your bed, wearing your shirt, cuddled up with you, watching old slashers, i think i'm as comfortable as i can ever get."

it's his turn to grin, moving his hand from its resting position on your hip to the small of your back, letting a small exhale he didn't even know he was holding fall from his lips.

his downcast eyes flicker from the graphic tee bagging low under the curve of your shoulders to the width of your thighs, and he couldn't help but feel a little warmer.

you did look good in his clothes.

and as your hand caressed his cheek, his head melting into your warmth, he spots something along the flex of your arms.

his blackened irises almost narrow at them, but they reverted back to whatever you would call normal as his hand drags from your back to the base of your arms, fingers gently rubbing over the faded marks of your pliant skin.

at this, the knitted furrow of your brows came together, a slight wrinkle in your expression as you awkwardly chuckle, a defensive grin uneasily firming itself on your cheeks.

"what's this for?" you question, a wry smile on your face as you realize the implications of his stare, and the look on his face...was just blank.

"no reason, just glad you don't...do that anymore, i guess."

with a shiver up your spine, you firm up your lips into a sheepish smile, nodding with a creak to your voice. "aww, c'mon. can't even say that without the 'i guess' at the end?"

and then he laughed, the tiniest hue of cherry blending into his ivory skin, his onxy irises filled with amusement.

"is it like me to carve open my chest and bare it fresh? i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'."

it was your turn to scoff, turning over onto your stomach and reaching out to cup his chin with the flex of your fingers, thumb lolling over his bottom lip.

"'i'm not that much of a romantic, darlin'," you mock, voice whiny and pitchy before you deadpanned, eyes narrowed at him.

"oh please, cut the bullshit, ro. not that much of a romantic my ass."

ronin weaved a palm through the plum tresses sitting upon his head, a dismissive hum resting in his throat as he looked you over. "i'm not really, i mean- i kill people?"

"yeah- abusers. usually, anyway."

you then fanned out your hands, your digits extending with each gesture you were about to point out, pupils darting upwards into your lashes as if recounting your times together.

"our motorcycle dates? the shirts you give me each time i come over? the way you snuggle against me while we watch movies, when you complain about being cold to get me closer to you, when you crack cheesey jokes about how lonely your lips are, how-"

"okay, okay, i get it."

and as you took a glance at your boyfriend, a bead of sweat brimmed at his forehead and neck, face flushing a hue of carmine as his words spewed out in an exasperated rush.

you grin.

"oh, and that time you rushed me through your front door after i got drenched by the rain despite the fact that you were also soaked. when you prepared me soup in worry that i would get sick, and while i didn't get ill, you did the next day."

you were trying to be subtle, but with how his pupils were blown out and watching your every move, he was probably more aware of your slow crawl over to him than you were, the mattress making a small dip where your knee paused.

"then, i stayed over the whole time and nursed you back to health while we watched your favorite movies? or when i stopped by your job and you purposely wiped your face with the front of your shirt to flash your-"

"okay, fine! fuck, you win!"

his face was hot and covered by a thin sheen of sweat, a hand flayed out over his jaw to hide his most-likely embarrassed expression, brows arched downwards into a glare. he couldn't even look at you.

ronin beaufort, flustered? ronin fucking beaufort, embarrassed?!

you just made the devil bow his head.

a boisterous laugh bounced out of the pits of your stomach- jesus christ, you've rarely never seen him like this before, all shy and flustered.

your arms snake over your own abdomen, trying to pat down the rumbling giggles orchestrating from your gut with a roll onto your side, and you feel his elbow butt between your ribs playfully.

"give ya an inch and you take a mile, huh?"

he grumbles, giving you a nudge as you only cackle further, slapping a palm over your eyes to smear the tears pearling at your lash line.

"god, your face is fucking priceless when you're embarrassed! geez, i shoulda taken a picture, would've been amazing to have that spammed in mai-"

without skipping a beat, he reeled you into his arms, before turning and slamming you down right in the middle of the bed, hands jabbing and feverishly dancing over your sides.

all the sudden, your laughing increased tenfold- tears springing out of your eyes like sprinkles as you jerked, bucked, and kicked in protest of his tickling, but you couldn't do anything against his iron grip.

you felt like you were dying, stomach exhausted as you guffawed and blabbered, hiccups along the lines of "i can't-" "wait, my stomach hurts-" "have mercy-" following between the tears pitifully steaming down your reddening face.

he lets out a soft-hearted snicker, his body over yours and his knees pinned on either sides of your hips. his plum locks tickles your forehead, reminding you of the teasing grin on his face as he mercilessly dug at your sides- before his fingers traced upwards to your collarbone, and-

his fingertips padded over your neck, before your head jerked instinctively and you could only cackle further. is he trying to kill you?

and finally- you fought back, hands reaching up into his shirt.

he stiffened, eyes widening as your hands snaked up into the black fabric and wandered over his lower waist, making him jump and bubble his cheeks- as if that would quiet his laughter.

but you powered through the pain in your gut from laughing your vocal cords out and frenzied your hands up his abdomen, he gave out, falling pathetically besides you as you took your sweet, sweet retribution.

his arms flexed over his head in defense, lashes clenched shut as his face buried itself into the pillow besides him, almost as if taking cover from your violent antics.

you curl over against him, hands jabbing and frantically scurrying up his shirt as his laughs and pleas muffle besides you, and then-

your hands seemingly touched a sore spot, his laughs dying out and his breath hitching, as if he was in pain. finally taking a second to feel the skin below your palm, you handle it with deft, and...

it's smooth, slightly arched in size, extending from the middle of his chest to the side of his pecs. you lift up your head to look up his already hiked-up shirt, and...

it's his scars. a cringe forms in the side of your gut, fuck- did you piss him off?

"sorry," you usher lowly, withdrawing your hands, only for his to grab your wrists, placing them back right back on his chest.

his thumbs roll over your wrists, reassuring your tense frame back into ease, and you eye his facial expressions carefully.

his eyes are beady, sucked into the way your thumbs navigate the faded discoloration of his torso, brows furrowed and watching with a slight quirk in his lips.

and then his eyes harden.

"do you, uh," he begins, tone devoid of that usual bite he has to it, gaze wandering away from your hands on him, from your face and to the corner of his room.

"do you see me as, y'know, uhm-"

"the devil? hell yeah."

he smiles.

it was so... genuine, so adoring, blooming through the erasure of his doubts, of your validation- even as his soft hair messily spiraled into his vision, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

and as you slink besides him, letting your head sink into the pillow conjoined with his- he realized something, and this time he took full joy in memorizing it.

your touch, your voice, your sweet, sweet lips- even the messy, unbothered display you shroud around.

the way you smile at him in the dim light of his room, the warmth radiating from your body as your lips brush against his.

you're all the decoration he needs.

-

okay hi i hope you liked itsorry for the words being kinda clunky here n there???? ok bye

[vashs-turtleneck]

Not So Sneaky.

✧ Dad!Vash Drabble

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY)

Summary: You and Vash try to take advantage of a quiet evening, but things never go quite as planned. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x f!reader WC: 1.1k CW: post trimax, pwp, p in v sex, cumming inside, slight breeding kink, daddy kink. AN: another one I wrote at work lmao I love getting paid to write smut

“I love you,” Vash mutters against the column of your throat, his lips tracing a wet path up to your jaw.

The moons hang up high in the starry sky. It's quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the worn bed, a pillow shoved between the headboard and the wall to keep it from smacking the surface every time he pushes his hips forward. You'd both much rather not be interrupted and take advantage of the peaceful night. Nights like these are a rare treat nowadays, after all.

“I love you so much.”

Vash pulls back from your chest and sits up on his knees, keeping your calves perched over his shoulders as he savors the graceful sight of your body rippling every time his pelvis slaps against your ass. His eyes look lower, following the black and blonde path of his happy trail down to the base of his cock, watching shamelessly as he pulls back to the tip before slamming right back in over and over again.

“So beautiful, mayfly,” he mutters, his voice quiet and strained. “Always so beautiful for me.”

He takes in the gorgeous sight of you all spread out and so pliable beneath him with your expression contorting into something euphoric. It's enough to break his last ounce of restraint, his patchwork chest trembling with every deep breath he takes. With a deep rumbling groan, he leans back over you, keeping your knees slung over the broad shelf of his shoulders.

“Gonna come, baby. Ah f-fuck! Gonna come!” Vash whimpers with a desperate and pleading edge to his tone. “Can I… inside? Can I come inside, mayfly? Please,” he begs.

“You're gonna get me pregnant at this rate, daddy,” you tease, your voice wobbling from feeling his cock hitting you in all the right places despite your best efforts, and Vash practically growls against the shell of your ear at your response.

“Yes! Yes, please! Want it so bad. Wanna fill you up so good!” he moans brokenly, pressing his forehead to yours and shutting his eyes tightly, his teeth gritting together as he tries to delay the inevitable.

“Let me put a baby in you. Please, angel. Wanna get you pregnant so bad!”

He looks up at you, his pleading eyes brimming with tears. With a look like that, you'll give him anything and everything he wants.

“Want it too, love. Come inside me. Please, come inside me, daddy!” you whimper meagerly, your hand tangling in his long dark hair and tugging, pulling a choked, angelic whine from his pretty lips and exposing the lovely bob of his Adam's apple.

His hips move more fiercely, the sound of his hips crashing against yours filling the room. The sounds you're making are far louder than you mean them to be, but you're both too beautifully blissed out to notice as he chases that euphoric high he can only get from the warmth of your body.

“Mmph– you're gonna come. I can feel it. Fuck, your pussy is massaging my cock so good, baby!” Those beaming azure eyes flutter open and look right at you, not wanting to miss even a second of your pleasure.

“Come on my cock. Come with me, mayfly! I'm begging you!”

His hands rest on either side of your head, tightly gripping at the pillows as he builds you both up to your peaks. Your back arches off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent moan, your eyes shutting tightly as you feel that coil inside you about to burst, and you can tell he feels the same.

You're right there. You're both right there.

But he pauses suddenly and goes completely stiff, halting your oncoming orgasm and robbing you of the delicious feeling of his stuttering hips.

“A-Ah, no…wha-” you whine out in confusion, the denial of your release almost enough to bring you to tears. You buck your hips against his, your body aching for climax, but as you open your eyes, ready to give your husband an earful, you go silent, the burning need in your body immediately put on the backburner. 

His eyes are wide, unblinkingly staring at the empty space above your head. His dark brows are scrunched together, willing himself to quiet his heavy breaths and listening intently to the dead silence in the air.

“Vash? What's wrong?” you whisper, your hand coming up to cradle his scruffy cheek, running your thumb over that cute mole under his eye. 

He stays quiet for another few moments, unmoving, unspeaking, and every second he stays silent fills you with anxiety. What's going on? Does he hear something? You try to listen too, but your ears aren't as sharp as his. It's just… quiet.

Before your mind can start spiraling too much, Vash's body relaxes. He lets out the breath he was holding and hangs his head down, sighing in defeat before he turns his head back and towards the door of your shared bedroom.

“Kids! Back to bed!” he shouts.

It's then that you hear the gentle pitter patter of two pairs of feet echoing through the hallways, followed by the quiet whisperings between your first and second child.

“How does he always know!?” the little one utters in disbelief.

“Shh! Quiet, Nico!” your eldest mutters back, no quieter than her brother before she calls back out to her father, “But Papa, we're hunting for ghosts!”

“Not tonight, loves. Bedtime. Don't make me say it again.”

“Aww, man…” they both say in unison.

The two of you listen to your children's footsteps, hearing them walk away on creaky wooden floorboards all the way back to their rooms, until their doors are shut and you know that tonight's ghost hunting operation has been successfully shut down.

When he hears the clicks of the doors, Vash turns back to you, letting his body slump over yours and sighing, pressing the weight of himself on top of you with his face nuzzled to your neck.

Not even a moment of peace in the dead of night for a couple of parents.

“You had to use your dad voice a little bit,” you chuckle, running your hand through his raven hair.

Vash laughs breathily against you, shifting up to look you properly in the eyes.

“Where do they get these ideas from?” he asks, exasperated but undeniably amused by his little ones' late night shenanigans.

“I told you they've inherited your… eccentrism.” 

“Wish they'd inherit less of my quirks,” Vash chuckles. “At least they got your brains.”

“Well I love your quirks,” you coo, pulling him in by the jaw for a brief and tender kiss. “You sure you want more, daddy? They're already a handful.”

“Absolutely I do,” he whispers hoarsely without even a hint of hesitation, moving his hands to the backs of your thighs, folding you in half and parting your legs further, letting you feel the fullness of his cock.

“And you're just asking for it, calling me ‘daddy’ over and over like that.”

divider source.

[nelapanela94]

“Levi?”

You push the door open with your back and the weathered hinges creak. It’s dark and quiet inside, Levi’s leather jacket hangs over the chair backrest. The window behind his desk is closed, the quill stands in the holder.

The plate and tumbler clatter on the tray as you inch toward the door that connects his office to the room. It is ajar and you, uninvitedly, slip inside.

“Levi?”

A faint glow flickers from the nightstand, and Levi is tucked in bed, like a bundle, covered from head to toe.

Your eyes squint, lines mar the space between your brows. Something doesn’t seem right. You set the tray on the side table and pad gingerly to the bed, lay a hand on the quilt where his shoulder should be.

“Levi? Are you ok?”

What is someone kidnapped him and left the corpse of an animal behind? Panic rises in your chest.

“Y/N?”

His gravelly voice tames the drama snakes in your head. He rolls onto the opposite side. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed dinner. I thought you’d be hungry, so I saved some leftovers…”

“Not hungry.” His voice is shaky, like the rest of his body.

“What’s wrong then? Why are you in bed?”

“Why couldn't I be in bed?” He coughs. “I’m not a child. Get out of here.”

You frown, tap tapping the floor. “You’re acting like one now. And I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re fine.”

He flings the covers off and reveals himself. “I’m fine.”

His eyes are glassy, his lips dry, cheeks red, his hair glued to his face in sweat. He wriggles up against the headboard to a sitting position. You sit next to him, making him curse under his breath, and bring the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re far from fine. Why don’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I don't want to waste their time. Besides, there are others who need it more.”

“You could’ve asked for help at least.”

“I don’t want shitty glasses entering my room.”

“You could’ve asked me.” You jab a finger to your chest, pouting.

His cheeks sizzle with a deeper blush. What a shame it is that you see him in this deplorable state. He is the one who should be protecting you and not the other way around.

You peel from bed and scuff to the washbasin. In the shelf next to it, Levi keeps towels and linens. You take a lavender-imbued cloth, soak it and wring the excess. “Lay down, Levi.”

“Leave me alone.” He grunts and reluctantly complies. You brush his hair off his face and place the cloth on his forehead.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, it’s just the fever. Thanks. Now, you can leave.”

“Are you kidding me? What if you get worse?” You plonk on the wing chair, arms folded on your chest.

“You’re worse than lice.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.” You stretch out your legs, and your ass sinks into the cotton canvas.

Thirty minutes later, your soft snores swarm the room. Your chest rises and falls steadily in your peaceful slumber. Levi sighs. And you were the one who was supposed to take care of him? His lips curve in a half smile. The ache in his bones and muscles is ebbing, the trembling in his limbs is easing. It's not of him to catch a seasonal flu, but a little attention from you doesn't hurt, does it?

He throws a cushion at you, and you jerk awake.

"Water."

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fifty One)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and is all total bollocks.

Warning a for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Fifty One: Y/N notices that while intimate touches have continued since their fall out, sex has not. With Cillian leaving for America the next day, Y/N wants him to know she still wants him to give her all of him like he needs to, even after a fight. She wants to ensure he leaves for the US with that knowledge, with that memory. [Sexual scenes]

@cherrycilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions @borntodiemp3

In the days since your epic fallout, Cillian had been extra attentive but very quiet. You'd made sure one another felt loved - he ensured he validated your feelings constantly, and you allowed every hug and kiss he searched out - but it felt a little distanced even in your deep love, and you hadn't had sex once. You hadn't denied him at all, but he hadn't instigated a single round. He had, however, taken care of himself twice in that time, which had both amused and annoyed you. You were not at all opposed to him masturbating; it wasn't a reflection on your sex life, you knew, except during those days, it was. With him leaving for America imminently, you want to make sure that the parting is a sweet one. You pull another coat hanger from the wardrobe, and hold it out towards Cillian. A sheer, black shirt with a rounded neck. He shakes his head, and you thrust it back into the wardrobe again. It's the fifth thing you've shown and the fifth thing he's rolled his eyes at. He's standing at the bedside with his suitcase open on the bed, making his way through his packing. It's five pm, and the two of you have been at this for a half hour already, since you'd finished work for the evening. He leaves for LA in the morning, and you wish you were going. Last year it had been an unreal experience to be beside him when we won his Oscar, and now he is returning to present the same award to this year's winner. You feel a little jealous to be missing out on seeing it come full circle. You have work, and you're halfway through your pregnancy, and you don't want to risk anything! “Are you bringing a couple of sets of PJs?” You ask, looking into the boxes at the bottom of his wardrobe that hold various items beneath the hanging ones. 

“I'm only there for three days, sure. And it'll be roasting. I'll sleep in my fecking boxers - or in the nip.” he laughs. “The doors have locks, Y/N; nobody’ll be in to be looking.” You giggle at his comment as you continue looking through the wardrobe. You toss two standard t-shirts over your head, taking them off the small shelf inside, and laugh again when he moans at you. Evidently your shot with both items was a little off - turning around, you see him bending to the floor to pick up the navy and white striped one, while the plain black one is slowly sliding off the headboard and about to disappear down between the bed and the wall. He's quick, though, and snatches it off before it drops. “Ah, here, are those black, high-waisted trousers with the clasp in there?” He asks, “Or are they in the ironing basket?” 

“Basket,” you say immediately. “Knew you wanted them so I washed them. I'll iron them when we're done with everything else here, I need to do my work blouse, too. I'm meeting the solicitor and Amanda tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I'll iron them all,” he says quietly. “But will you hand me out that bowtie, and the thin black tie, please?” He asks. Grabbing both items, you walk them over rather than throwing them. “Ah, go raibh maith agat.” He smiles and takes his opportunity, now you're closer, to loot a kiss. He hums against your lips, a contented sigh at your closeness. He takes the items from your hand and pushes them into the case near his pile of boxershorts and socks.”I wish you were coming. But I'll be glad to be getting back and, what is it, two days after I'm home is your scan?”  

“Scan's next Friday afternoon,” you say, nodding. “Gives you time to try and reset yourself after you're back Wednesday morning. It's the anomaly scan - the community midwife was telling me what to expect at my last appointment. It works out I'll be twenty two weeks or so, but she said it's fine. She said the screen is huge, and it's in 3D so we'll be able to make out her little face, and her fingers…Cill, what if she has your nose? Oh!” you beam at him, and he smiles back at you with his pillowy lips and his doughy cheeks, and those eyes sparkling. You don't want to miss him preemptively and make yourself maudlin before he's even left, but you already do. You remind yourself of your intentions for ensuring he leaves for America with his mind consumed by thoughts of you, cheering yourself up with the idea. “What time do you fly in the  morning?” 

“A quarter after ten,” Cillian says. You watch him fold the t-shirts you had thrown at him. He folds them in half then rolls them up into small sausage shapes. You had to hand it to him - stupid as it looked, it prevented creases and gave him more case space. He stands a moment, examining the case before him, with his hands on his slim hips. He'd been lounging for a lot of the day, comfortable in a pair of loose joggers bottoms and a t-shirt that was stretched, baggy, and strained with something weird along the torn pocket that sat over his right nipple region. His hair has been crazy all day, too, but that was mostly due to braving multiple trips into the garden, where the wind and rain had battered all day, smoking more than he had in the last couple of weeks. He smells of himself and cigarette smoke more than usual days, and probably could use a shower, but it was the fiercely domestic appearance and aura all of that combined gave him that made you want to pin him down and fuck him senseless. In your dry spell, whilst Cillian had taken matters into his own hands, you had not. 

“Oh, so we'll need an early night then.” You say, turning your back to him. You pretend to be examining the wardrobe, but you're trying not to either fall into a fit of giggles or make him immediately aware of your innuendous intentions for the night ahead. Nothing spectacular, by all accounts, but you want your mouth around him, and the taste of him on your tongue, and you were even willing to repeat your less preferred task of the whole operation, knowing full well it was something he'd been wildly turned on by (whilst never expecting you to do it). 

“Ah, y’know me, I wouldn't be turning down sleep, now!” He says, focused on his task. “I'll iron those things when I've done this, then we can get some dinner, yeah? I'll throw myself in the shower there before I get into bed.” 

“What, am I not getting a proper goodbye tonight then?” You ask him, turning back to see his reaction. He hasn't looked up at you but he's grinning towards his suitcase. “You're really going to disappear to America and leave me without a farewell fuck?” he scoffs a laugh and looks up at you. His eyes go all over you, as you stand near the end of the bed between it and the wardrobe, and smiles lopsidedly causing his left cheek to dip into a deep dimple. He's taking it as you'd hoped - I miss you, I miss your body, come back to me. 

“Have I ever?” He asks, and there's a gentle seduction to his voice, and in his expression. He's on board with the suggestion, of course, and you know when he gets what you're willing to offer a little later, you'll definitely be sending him off to the US with a memory to keep him going during his time alone. 

You laugh, “Yeah, one time.” 

His head tilts to the side slightly and he frowns but there's a small, if a little confused, smile across his lips. “What?” 

“Well, during the Small Things press - off you went for, what was it, two days of interviews? And, well, you didn't give me a hard going over before you went. To be fair to you, we'd had a row over that fucking car thing before, and I think you were punishing me.” You laugh. You are teasing - he was sweet and loving, you two just hadn't made love the day before he'd left - and you're thankful he catches that there's no malice in your words. He draws back his head, wrinkling the skin beneath his chin, and his mouth falls open, letting his tongue protrude onto his bottom teeth, as he laughs at your words. You rub your hand across your stomach as the baby twists and as your hand touches over your shirt, you feel a limb of some persuasion push in against your palm. ”Cill…” you thrust your free hand forwards. “Come here!” You open and close your fingers eagerly. You push lightly against your belly with your hand and once again you're treated to a return assault, bringing a wide smile to your face. Cillian tramps across the floor. As he stops before you, you lift your hand from your bump and grab his, planting it down where yours had been. You apply a little pressure to the back of his hand and watch his face - as you feel the baby move, your eyes are fixed on Cillian's face. His top teeth push down hard against his bottom lip and his eyes shine up, feeling his little girl responding to the pressure applied by his hand. You smile watching him, feeling and waiting for her movements again, and your smile widens when he brings his eyes up to you. 

“My girl in there,” he says as he releases his bottom lip. He brings his right hand up to your cheek and brings his face to yours, kissing you softly. “And my girl out here.” He whispers, close to your face. He keeps his left hand against your belly as he kisses you again, and you want to abandon all preplanning and fuck him right here as he applies a deep pressure to your lips with his. He presses his forehead to yours as he breaks the kiss. “I can forgo dinner and ironing…” he says breathily, taking his hand from your belly. He brings it up to the other side of your face. He kisses you again gently, then you feel him smirk against your mouth. “...and a shower.” He giggles softly. “And we can just…” he kisses you again. “...stay here, and…” 

You place your hands against his slim hips, feeling the groove of his bones even through the material of his joggers. If he's standing to attention, it's lost on you by the way your belly prevents pulling his hips flat to yours in his position these days. God help you when your belly grows more! “Your suitcase is on the bed, the room looks like a bomb went off in Dunnes, and…” you draw your head back slightly. “If you don't get this packing finished beforehand, you'll be going to America in your boxers.” You smile at him, and he pokes his tongue out at your refusal to grant him what he wants - even though it is you who planted the seed! 

“I've only to get the trousers,” he raises his eyebrows. “And I'll put that yoke on the floor.” He jerks his head towards the bed. “C’mon….” He pushes out his bottom lip. “Can't be going away tomorrow with the horn for days.” You smirk at the needy voice he moans at you with. And sure, I'm all for it now. If we go and fuck about downstairs I might lose the wind form my sail and then we'll both be disappointed.” 

You smile at his analogy, “Finish this first.” You say, tapping your hands against his hips. “Then I'll finish you!” 

As you fill the dishwasher after dinner, Cillian disappears upstairs for a shower. It is close to half eight by the time you follow his path up the stairs. You push your way into the bedroom, tidied and neat again now after the earlier clothing explosion, and Cillian's case was beside the armchair in the corner, waiting to be dragged down the stairs in the morning. With Cillian still in the bathroom, you strip yourself of your clothes and bra, and pull an old oversized t-shirt style nightdress over your boy-short knickers. You're exhausted, and keen to curl up in bed and sleep snuggled up alongside Cillian for the night, but you are determined to have an intimate and exciting night. You want the memory of his smell and taste in his absence, and you want a reminder of the feelings you have been missing since your blowout argument. You're not especially horny yourself, but you're needy for him - after Valentine's morning you've been thinking about how it had made you feel to take oral sex further than you usually did; it had turned your on to turn him on in that way, and you want to do it again. 

Leaving your removed clothes in a pile by the chair, you drop down onto the bed and move up awkwardly until you're smack in the middle. You intended to cross your legs, but it hurt your hips, so you sit with your arms back and pushed into your mattress and your legs stretched out before you. You feel a zip of excitement in your stomach when you hear the bathroom door drag open and the sound of Cillian groaning as he steps out into the landing. The colder air hitting his skin must have bothered him. You stare at the door, waiting for him to step into the bedroom, and you know you're smiling like a fool when he finally appears through the doorway. 

“Well, missus,” he smirks. “What's that face for?” He asks, clutching his towel around his waist. His hair is dripping wet and his body hasn't even been modestly dried at all. He's all freckles and angles, moist chest hair and a silly smirk, and you wonder if it's a blow job you're going for or you've changed your mind and want to ride him til the morning. “What?” He smiles wider.

You grin at him again, “Drop the towel.” You raise your eyebrows. 

“I'm soaked, Y/N, and I'm fucking foundered.” He tuts, but he's smiling.

“I'll warm you up.” You giggle, feeling ridiculous. “C’mon - drop the towel. I want to do something.” 

He raises his right eyebrow, “Like what?” He's slightly nervous, but still he is smiling. 

“Make you cum,” you say, and it feels like a terrible porno, but you can't help yourself. How else do you put it? “...with my tongue.” you keep your eyes on him, fixed on his face, and he flips from amused to surprised remarkably quickly. “If you're not feeling it, that's fine. We can sit in that chair and fuck, or you can eat me out… but I wanted to send you to America with at least one reason to want to come home again quickly.” His face changes and you worry for a moment. 

“I've a million reasons to come home to you,” he says, earnestly, but his voice has thickened up so you know your words are turning him on. “You know that.” 

You draw down the corners of your mouth. “You haven't had sex with me since the fight.” You say, risking ruining the mood. “But you wanted it. I know you did. You did it yourself at least twice. Why haven't we had sex?” You watch his Adam's apple bounce as he swallows hard, you're not sure if it's embarrassment at you calling out his masturbating (which he knows you don't care about) or if he's thinking about any specific reason for the lack of sex. “I want to give you head, I want you to know I want to do it. And I want you to know I want you, and we can have sex whenever you want, even if we've been fighting because I know it's…I know it makes things better for you, being intimately connected like that. And I want to fuck you right now, but I've promised myself that I want to give you a blow job…the way you like but never say.” 

Cillian tilts his head and frowns, “I don't expect…” 

“I know you don't.” You cut him off. “I want to. Like, I really want to. It's actually turning me on so much, so if you'll drop the fucking towel, and show me everything, then you'll be making me as happy as I'll be making you.” 

He scoffs an awkward, embarrassed laugh and draws his bottom lip in with his upper teeth. His left eyebrow rises up again and he keeps his eyes fixed on you. Not releasing his lip, he breathes in deeply and lets the black towel drop to his feet. The angles of his hips draw you in first, and then your eyes fall to his bellybutton, down his dark happy trail, and to his grown but neat nest of dark pubic hair. He isn't exactly at full mast, but your words and the intentions are starting to have an influence - his penis is slowly moving away from his scrotum and thickening before your eyes. He shifts his legs slightly, and you know he feels exposed just standing there naked with you simply staring back at him. You can't help it, though; you dance your eyes around his whole body, drinking every inch of him in. Every hair, every freckle, every protruding bone and mark on his flesh, and every miniscule twitch of his anticipating cock. 

It's awkward with your hips and bump, but you push yourself up into your knees and shuffle towards the edge of your side of the bed. Staying high up on your knees, you hold out both hands. “C’mere,” you whisper softly, watching his face. After a moment of deep breathing, he walks towards you with his hands out. You don't take his hands, though. Instead, your hands around his freshly shaven face and press your hips hard against his. Immediately, his hands go to your arse cheeks - just peeking out beneath the hem of your nightie. You lay firm kisses against his marshmallow lips, moving your head to alternate pressure and taste every corner of his mouth. He gives the same pressure back, and runs his tongue across your bottom lip as you sigh into his mouth. You're certain you're needier than him right now, and you're not sure why. His hands knead against your bum and he pulls your body to his carefully - mindful of your position and or your belly - and you can feel his now fully at attention cock against your groin as he moves you closer. In your head you want to be on your knees and serving him, and for that you want him sitting. You draw back your head but keep his head held tightly in your hands. You nod towards the chair behind him in the corner. “Sit down.” 

He stares back at you, and those eyes of his are so intense it's nearly impossible to keep to your desired plan. “In the chair?” He says, and he's so husky that you know you have him in the palm of your hand. 

You nod your head slowly, “In the chair.” You repeat. You can see he's self-conscious about his nudity as he walks, frowning a little as he sits into the chair, and you stay kneeling on the bed as he looks back at you. When he goes to cross his right leg up onto his left, you shake your head. “No…” you smile softly. Reaching down for the hem of your nightshirt, you drag it off over your head and drop it down beside you on the bed. But for your underwear, you're now naked too. He looks back at you still, and he smiles ever so slightly into his left cheek. “Touch yourself.” You say, and you surprise yourself at the request just as much as you know you've surprised him. 

“What?” He scoffs. 

Going with it, especially as you feel an intense throbbing around your vulva, you nod your head. “Touch yourself,” you repeat..”I want to see. Show me what you do when I'm not there. What you'll do when you're in LA and I'm here.” He swallows hard, and you can hear it as clearly as you can see it. “...and I want to make sure you're fully ready, so I can take every last bit if you in.” You watch him swipe his tongue across his bottom lip. You shift a little so that you can come down off your knees, and move so that you're sitting on the edge of the bed, let's hanging over the side. “Please?” You're not sure if he'll comply, and if he says no you won't push it at all, but you can see something in his eyes that has you wondering which direction he'll go. Still, even in your indecisive mind, you're surprised when he casts his eyes away from yours and shyly reaches down with his right hand. You raise your eyebrows and bite down against your bottom lip as you watch him. 

He curls his right hand around his penis, and in one slow stroke draws the foreskin back gently. You watch as he shifts his hand slightly, and wonder then if he isn't a fan of when you resheath him. He makes sure his hand positioning would prevent that as he begins to slowly glide his hand back and forth. He keeps his thumb almost raised away from his body, more fucking his hand than stroking himself, and you can't take your eyes away. He moves slowly, in a way you would consider to be teasing him if you were giving him a hand, and then it occurs to you that he likes the slower, deeper movements and that that must be what he imagines. You watch as he finally closes his thumb down and begins stroking only right below the head, moving still in slow movements but in an enclosed palm. You can see he looks thicker, firmer, and you know he's making himself painfully ready for whatever you're offering. And still - still - he hasn't looked at you. You get down off the bed, dragging your pillow with you, and walk across the space to the chair. You drop the pillow at his feet and place your hands on his thighs for leverage as you get down onto your knees on the pillow. He stills his hand at your touch and releases himself, and his cock stands proudly, jolting slightly at its abandonment. Not that you'll leave him like that for long, you know, but what a sight it was a small, pearlescent droplet if precum oozes down the underside of his swollen head. 

He legs his legs drop wider, knees spreading, and you look up at him. His eyes are fixed on yours again now, and his pupils are blown wide. His cheeks are pink and his lips are bruised from his constant biting. You move towards between the space he has created for you and inhale his smell deeply as you get closer. You move both hands up to his hip bones, though you're not sure it's comfortable for either of you, and without touching him with a single finger, you lower yourself down over the head of his penis with your mouth open wide. As you close your lips around his thick shaft, he you hear his first breathy moan. Almost instnatly, his left hand cups around the back of your head. There's no pressure, no forcing, but the weight of his palm is there as his fingers pushed into your hair. You slowly sink down as far as you can, flattening the back of your tongue whilst cupping it around the underside of his cock. You practically lock your mouth into this position and glide up and down his full length in slow and seductive slides. He's breathing hard and loud - moaning in husky whispers - and you want to hear him like you did before. Little high-pitched moans, mewls almost, and you know that you'll get them if you just don't stop. You aim for a little more speed, and begin lifting and dropping your head quicker. You lap your tongue against the base of his head every time you pull back, then cup it around his entire underside as you sink back down again. You can feel a specific vein that runs underneath throbbing against your tongue, and each time his cock twitches it taps into your palate. He leaks precum almost in a rhythm - every time you sink your head back down and make a point of taking him to as far back in your throat as he'll go, you draw back with the delightfully unique taste of him falling onto the middle of your tongue. 

He's beginning to push his hips up, despite your hands against them, and you grant his persistence with even quicker movements of your head. You pull back and focus on the head, not that he's particularly large, but you consider that the head and half the half is going to achieve him what he's straining for. You move quickly, and even as you do his hand stays against the back of your head. He moves his legs back and forth beside you body - tightening around you before dropping open again - and you know how needy he is. You keep your lips rounded, and your tongue cupped, and you bob back and forth over the head of his cock. And there they come - those delightful sounds. 

“Uh…fuh… ah! Y/N…” he gasps, higher pitched and unintelligible. “Fuck…fuck…” he thrusts up towards your face, and you second guess your choices. You keep your quicker speed, but return to taking his entire length. Down as far as you can, back up with a lapping tongue. Down, up, down, up… his hand is heavy on your head and it pushes you down ever so gently, like he's sorry he's doing it. Down, up, down, up….your tongue is wrapped around his entire underside and he is almost constantly leaking down your throat. “Shit…shit…Y/N…shit…I'm…fuck…ahhh…” he thrusts up as you sink down and then sensation is a strange one as his cock twitches violently three times towards your palate. It isn't a nice feeling, but it isn't gag-inducing either. He cums hard towards the back of your mouth, and those spurting feelings you adore inside of you have a different sensation in your mouth. His fingers bend and flex in your hair, and he continues to huff high, breathy moans. “Jesus…fuck…ah…fuck.” You wait until the violent twitches have stopped before you slowly draw back your head, swallowing whatever remains in your throat as quickly as you can. His hand drops form your hair. 

You sit back a little and glide your hands up and down his thighs. His head is back against the chair back, and his mouth is wide open as he sucks in air. His cock, still swollen, sits back against his pubes and his balls still sit tightly up high. You move your hands up his legs and slowly run your right index finger up the underside of his sensitive penis. He huffs a laugh through his nose and his legs twitch dramatically..

“Ah, no… stop…,” he's smiling but his over-sensitive penis cannot take another second of attention. He sighs, his head still back, and drops his eyes straight to you. “You are…fucking good at that.” 

You smile at him widely. “I kinda got that by the fact that your cock was treating my soft palate like a bouncy castle.” He giggles and his tongue pushes out between his teeth. You place your hands on his thighs again and push yourself up to your feet awkwardly. “Love you, my love, but I can't sit on my feet any longer.” You laugh, stretching your back as you stand. “Stay there,” you hold out your hand as he moves a little. “Get your strength back because I can't carry you to bed.” 

He holds out both of his arms, though you can see he's putting effort into it to keep his sated body working. He opens and closes his hands and you reach yours out to him. He interlocks your fingers and drags you close. Once you're back between his knees, you bend down and grant him the kiss he's silently demanding. You wonder if he tastes himself, because you still can. “I love you,” he says as he draws his head back again. His eyes are sleepy and his face is still flushed. 

“If you don't wank yourself off to that while you're in America, I'm going to be so mad!” You smiling widely. 

“It's always you,” he says, frowning softly. “Always.” 

[smuttyelectricwheelchair]

luz de mis ojos

summary - - - just a oneshot of sweet domestic life . . . ooc!miguel x chubby!male!reader (cock and balls)

content warnings - - - blindsided by horny miguel . . thats about it !

wc - - - 605 (lil baby)

miguel loves you very, very much, and he almost never lets you leave your home of nueva york or barely even your shared apartment. you've gotten used to it by now, and are comfortable in the penthouse of one of the tallest buildings in the city, as you've made the whole place much more cozy. on one shady evening, when the moon is hanging low in the sky and the horizon is a sweet shade of dusty blue, you're trying to figure out where you put the red measuring spoons for your latest chicken-preparing adventure. you hear a click after a beep on the other side of the kitchen wall, and you know it's not the housekeeper, because the housekeeper doesn't groan, grunt and moan every time she steps foot in the door.

"sweetface, ohhh, my sweetface," you can hear the tension in his voice and the scowl on his face, "what did i ever do to desrve the things these kids make me put up w-" he stops. "what smells so damn good?"

you smile and reach even harder into the top shelf of your highest cabinet and almost fall off your stepstool, when suddenly you feel two huge arms wrap around you and hold you tight. even though you're a bigger guy, you always loved how easily miguel could snake his way onto you.

"hey, honey!" you exclaim, "guess what? i brushed up on some spanish today!" you turn to face miguel and hug him around his oh-so stiff neck. he relaxes, but only a little.

"really, mi tesoro? then what if i told you to quítate los pantalones y déjame saborearte, huh?" he grins at his own stupid joke and looks up at you with a smidge of beady redness in his eyes.

"okay, well, i understand 'pants', and i understand that look on your face," you sigh exhaperatedly. "what did they do to you this time, mig?" you let go of his neck and move to loosen his almost desperate grip on your waist when you're abruptly lifted into the air and slung over miguel's shoulder.

"hey, hey, hey! just what the hell do you think you're doing, miggy!?" your lover gently takes and tosses you onto his and your bed, making sure not to hit your head on the headboard. "miguel o'hara! what is your pr-"

"shut the fuck up, luz de mis ojos. please, please-" he kneels on the bed and crawls slowly toward you, placing one of his rough, taloned hands on your hip and shifting a claw underneath your waistband. "i need you so bad right now, please." miguel drags his gaze over your body and meets your eyes, stopping his movements to wait for a response. you're less than surprised, and honestly a little turned on.

"well," you start, "promise me you'll tell me about your day over dinner.." you lean forward and hook your index finger on the collar of the crewneck he always wears in public, pulling him closer, "and i'll let you do whatever you want to me, querido." miguel's irises set ablaze a fiery crimson. he moves at the speed of light on top of you, reaching his cheek to meet yours, and to whisper in your ear.

"prometo."

miguel rips a clean line down the side of your boxers, making you shiver at the sudden air chill. in a quick and precise set of actions, o'hara yanks down your him-themed underwear, lifts your tank top off your body and leans up and back to rest on his knees in-bewtween your legs, admiring the view only he gets to soak up.. only him.

you see him working it out in his head-

what he's going to do to you.

[somewherebetweendisorder]

My Little Star

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: none? fluff?

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY, REPOST, OR USE MY WORK IN ANY WAY

~~~

"Hey loser, hi baby. How was your day?"

You drop the book you were holding, startled by the sudden loud of Eddie's voice in your quiet place, unaware that he had even let himself in. Swallowing your surprised squeal, you pick up the book, gently sliding it back onto the shelf, nestled between your Eddie annotated copies of Lord of the Rings.

"I swear to God, I'm gonna buy you a damn bell if you do that again."

"Yeah yeah, that's what you said last time. Anyways."

He bounds across the small stretch of plush carpet from your bedroom door to your bed, flopping face-first into your soft duvet, a muffled groan echoing off the walls. His shoulders relax, and you smile knowing he can't see, liking him in your room, in your space, loving his pretty face next to the fake flowers curled around your headboard, his black black black clothes a nice contrast.

"Well, this time I'm serious. You're early. I've not even started getting ready and-"

You stop, words faltering on your tongue, sticking to your palette like a gooey wad of caramel, arms limp at your sides as Eddie jolts upright, nearly falling off the bed. He's clumsily crossing his legs, tongue stuttering over his dry lips, fingers drumming a wild beat against his knees, skin on display through the peekaboo holes in his pants.

"You didn't answer my question: how was your day? And it's fine, I'll help you get ready. C'mon."

"Eddie."

Eddie's not listening, he knows he's in for it, he can't focus to save his life, but he's rushing forward, hoping to distract you with warm hands on your neck, leading you to the bathroom.

"Eddie, you didn't take your meds."

He freezes, eyes wide, a deer in the headlights as your statement washes over him. He knows you're not mad, barely disappointed, really only concerned because you know it makes the day so much harder on him, but he's good today, he's happy.

"No, I forgot. But it's fine. S'totally fine."

Eddie settles for distraction, tightening his grip almost imperceptibly on your throat, kissing first one eyelid and then the other, down your cheek before he licks his way across your jaw, finally settling his sticky mouth on yours.

He tastes like strawberries, his flavor of the week, and something darker, bitter, nearly intoxicating on his tongue.

"You taste different."

The words are spoken against his plush bottom lip, sultry, unwittingly provocative, and Eddie shivers, fingers flexing, muscles clenching.

"Cranberries," he rasps out, earthy eyes dark, nearly black with the force of his emotions.

"Oh."

You lean back, hands coming up to encircle his wrists, the pads of your fingers tracing strange, soft patterns into the sensitive skin there.

"My day was good. To answer your question. Help me get ready?"

He nods, throat working harshly around words he doesn't know how to say, words he wishes he could vocalize. He wants you to know. You turn away, breaking his light hold, reaching back to grab his rough fingers, oblivious to the way he shakes his head, trying to force his derailed thoughts back on track.

The light in your bathroom casts an artificial glow on you, highlighting the sparse freckles across your neck that get more prominent across your cheeks and nose. He thinks it's pretty, the little dots like brown stars, the only constellations he's ever been interested in. Eddie thinks he'd like to map them out with his tongue, and wonders briefly if you'd let him, losing focus when you pull out a small bottle of foundation.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his large hand settling atop yours, interrupting your movements.

"Getting ready?"

"Don't cover them."

"Cover what?"

He pokes your cheek, watching the skin dip low, squishy, and soft, before removing his finger to observe the flesh spring back. He does it twice more before answering.

"My little stars. Your freckles. Don't cover them."

"Eds. I prefer to cover them."

"I know, I know. I know, and I'll never ask again, but you don't see it like I do."

You regard him warily, always self-conscious about the flecks that grace your skin, fingers tightening around the glass jar of foundation, squeezing so hard you're surprised it doesn't shatter beneath the pressure.

"They're happy. They're-" he stops to kiss your nose, lips faltering, tripping across your cheek, not really a kiss, something deeper, more intimate. "They're just so fuckin' pretty. I wanna kiss 'em all."

He stops to drop frenzied, sloppy kisses across your face. Eddie ignores your wrinkled nose, feeling your lips curl up in a smile against his cheek, reluctant to let his adoration affect you.

"You're being ridiculous-"

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well. Oh well. What's this?"

He leans in, the words squished into your cheek as he reaches around, plucking your tube of maraschino cherry red lip gloss off the counter. He unscrews the top before you can answer, jabbing the brush into your lips.

"Geez, Eds. Gentle."

"Sorry," he whispers, tongue poking out in concentration as he carefully smears the red gloss along your bottom lip, determined to get it on in an even layer as he's seen you do.

It's not perfect, but it's close, and you reward him with a jovial grin, enjoying the way his eyes light up with barely concealed pride.

"Okay, you're ready. Let's go."

You laugh, the sound spilling over him, bubbly like champagne, light and breezy, tying his stomach in a pleasant knot that he doesn't want to unravel. He loves the sound, wants to hear it again, and wants to be the cause of it always.

"I'm not done. Be patient."

"No. No, you're perfect, please, leave it."

You know what he means, knows he's being sweet, knows he couldn't make himself wait if he wanted to, but you can't resist teasing. "Do you not like my makeup."

"No! That's not it!" He's earnest, insistent, rushing to amend what he fears you misinterpreted, but you're cutting him off with a kiss, leaving tacky red gloss on his lips that he doesn't bother wiping away.

"I'm only joking, Eds. Let's go."

"Oh, thank God."

He kisses you again, further smudging his hard work, uncaring when he pulls away with more on his lips than on yours. You place a quick peck on his neck, nipping his silky skin, liking the hiss of air that blows past his lips, liking the claim, the red lip stain on his neck even more.

"Lead the way, freak."

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Thirteen

 Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader )

WRIST/ARM RESTRAINTS / TRIPLE PENETRATION / PET PLAY

Summary: After noting how you like to use your hands, Santiago takes that away from you.

Day thirteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, restraints, semi-restricted movement, Dom!Santiago, teasing, whipping, biting, bruising, marking, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.2k

“This doesn’t seem fair.”

Santiago had laid you down on the bed, kissed you and wound you up tightly. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, he hopped off the mattress with a smirk plastered on his face. Now he was giving you the look that means you’re in trouble, hands on hips, head slightly dropped as he arches one eyebrow.

“Arms above your head.”

“Nooo,” you retort.

“Don’t moan, honey, you know exactly what you’ve done.”

You blink at him.

“I honestly don’t.”

“You found my weak spot.”

You’re thrown back to almost a month ago. You woke up in the middle of the night horny and Santiago was dead to the world. Shaking him didn’t work, calling his name didn’t work either so you decided to start roaming a hand around his body.

You ran your palm down his chest and over his stomach, drawing a line along the v of his hip. His cock reacted but Santiago, nothing.

You rubbed his thighs, his arms and then his neck, thumb light over his jaw. He exhaled loudly yet didn’t wake. Just as you were about to give up, your hand went behind his neck to the bottom of his hairline. Your fingertips grazed the raised skin of his scar and a shiver passed underneath your digits.

“What are you doing?” He asked groggily, not opening his eyes.

“Teasing.”

He scoffed, “Roll over.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you closer, grinding his cock against the crack of ass before slipping in from behind. He fucked you until you were exhausted and fell asleep, his softening cock inside you.

“But that was an accident.”

Your voice was timid, your eyes breaking away from his as they drilled into you.

“Hardly.”

He smiles, striding over to the wardrobe and dragging a box from the top shelf. They always look so ordinary, the boxes where he keeps his toys. Slipping the lid off, he finds what he’s searching for almost immediately.

You hear the buckle before you throw your head up to see.

“Please Santi, don’t. I’ll be good, I promise.”

He tuts, “I don’t believe you.”

You whimper.

He knew your love language was touch. You didn’t necessarily know what you were doing yet sometimes, it was clear as day. Frankie could turn to jelly if you stroked his arm the right way, Will blushes every time you brush his thigh and Benny practically moans when you run your hands down his chest.

Ever since his operation, Santiago hated having his neck touched, he never told anyone especially you. On that night it felt different and rather than flinching, he melted, he just didn’t let you in on that.

He crawls up to your hands, his black brief taut as his swelling bulge strains against the fabric.

The good thing about you is even as you moan and beg and protest, you let him do exactly what he wants to do. The leather was soft on your wrists as he tightened the strap with the teeniest amount of wiggle room. Dropping your hand, he took the other and put on the restraint. He attaches one side of the strap before looping it around the bed frame, hooking your wrists together.

Your reaction is like everyone else’s when they have their wrist tied to something, you jerk and the headboard shakes. He looks at you with low lids and a straight lip, you know he’s judging you, you pout.

He jumps off the bed and explores his bedroom. He knows he’s put it somewhere, it’s been a very long time since he’s used it. Pulling back the baseball bat next to a set of draws, the item he wanted falls out without making a sound. He plucks it from the floor and comes to the side of the bed, looming over you.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

The pole he holds is stick thin with a leather coil on the bottom, you swallow.

“Is that a riding crop?”

He hums, expression nonplus.

“You don’t need to use that,” you words are caught in a nervous giggle.

The leather runs along the line of your jaw until you tilt your chin up for him, breath hitching.

“Oh, honey, I really do.”

Your heart is already pounding, mouth parting as you look at him with doe eyes, your playing innocent.

Removing the end of the crop from your chin, he brings it down to the side and pokes at your hip until you roll over. The restraints pull a little, not in a painful way, they just have more bite and you kind of like that.

“Remember the safety word?”

“Yes, Santi,” you’re quick to reply.

How could you forget?

The safety word was birthed from the pair of you watching a spy film. You giggled to yourself when a stereotypical rooting, tooting cowboy spy brought out a lasso. When he asked what you found so funny, you said how you thought the actor playing him had an uncanny resemblance to Frankie.

He smiled to himself, that connection would probably make a word easier to remember.

Whiskey, you hadn’t said it yet.

“Good girl.”

You closed your eyes and patiently waited for him to start.

There were two factors in this game you were going to find annoying, one, you didn’t know what he was searching for and two, you weren’t looking at him. It’s why Santiago deemed it the right form of punishment.

The moment the crop touched your arm, you flinched.

This is going to be fun, he thought.

You thought the exact opposite as he ran the tip over your shoulders and back up the other arms. Your breathing was already shaky, hands balling into fists as you braced for impact but it never came. He followed the outline of your body, dropping from your arm, the crop travelled down your waist, your leg before teasing your wet pussy.

You shudder, you always do.

Continuing back down your other leg and up the side of your body, he returns his attention back to your left arm. The crop brushes up and down and across, ensuring he makes contact with every piece of skin. You give him nothing so he tries the other arm unsuccessfully.

The sensation of it along your back makes you tingle, the goosebumps prickling to the surface. Whatever he’s doing, it’s doing things that you can’t complain about. Your muscles relax, hands unfurling and a pleasured sigh falls out of your lips. He watches your body drop as you rest into the mattress.

The sting follows after the whipping crack.

“Ow,” your head snaps round like an owl’s. “What was that for?”

He’s smirking, “Just making sure you’re still with me.”

“Dick,” you turn away from him.

Your quiet tone doesn’t stop him from hearing it.

He hits the other ass cheek.

You squeak, body rigid before the riding crop comes back softly and you slump. The stings are replaced with heat, the type that comes when your skin becomes red and swollen, it’s strangely soothing in it’s own way.

Like most people, you squirm when the tip traces the soles of your feet when he moves onto your right leg, nothing happens.

Something is different with the left.

As he swipes over the outside nothing really happens but as he moves towards the inside, he catches it out of the corner of his eye. Three quarters of the way up your thigh, there’s a spasm, a tiny ripple of the muscle as the leather goes over. It’s not enough for you to notice, he notices, his eyebrows quirking. He brushes it again and is given the same reaction.

He carries on as if nothing has happened, he stows that nugget of information for later.

You realise when he’s stopped.

“Turn over.”

You follow his order.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” he said. “That’s why I need to do the front.”

Your eyes narrowed, he was too chill for something that wasn’t going his way.

Santiago started as he had previously, outlining your body before drawing up and down your arms, your fingers twitching as he forces your palms open. He swoops over your shoulders and up your neck which you stretch as he inspects.

It was so much hotter facing this way.

You watch him under hooded lids, eyelashes fluttering when his intense stare becomes too much, a curl on his lips an indication of his power. Your chest rises and falls with great exaggeration as the crop moves over your collar bones. He circles your breasts, your nipples growing as the leather licks them. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you muffle a cry.

Raising the crop, he brings it down on you little than before. You hum, back arching as the satisfaction rolls through you.

“Harder?”

“Please.”

He snaps the object in his hand and watches you wriggle.

He’s kind enough to give you a few more before giving the other a lashing. Glancing down, you saw your breast flaming a florescent pink and you could imagine the markings on your ass.

Continuing, he trails the crop over your stomach and you hold onto your breath as it slips closer to your pussy. He fans the flames that are underneath the skin, the desire that pools between your thighs, he won’t act upon it, not yet anyway.

He goes for the right leg first, travelling from the tips of your toes to the crease where you meet your pelvis. On the inside, he purposefully flicks towards your folds, smirking as your pussy clenches.

You notice how he slows his movements on your left leg.

His eyes grow hungry, dark as he gets closer to the spot from earlier, he meets your face and your cheeks flush. Your body sinks back, your hands pulling against the restraints as if your desperate to cover yourself.

And there it was, that little spasm.

He pretends not to notice until it happens again.

The leather hovers above the twitch, “There.”

Your brows knot, “What?”

Pushing the tip into the plump of your thigh, you attempt to draw back, legs snapping shut. He grabs your knee and shoves them apart, pining your right one down with his own. You hear the riding crop slip through the air, the light snap as it hits the spot, the sting. The tears pricked in the corner of your eyes.

Then you feel his fingertips.

They’re so gentle in comparison, alleviating the pain.

“Your weak spot.”

He throws the riding crop to the floor.

Climbing onto the mattress, he takes hold of your ankles and pulls you down the bed, spreading your legs wide enough to allow him to fit in between. The restraints sink into your wrists, the pins and needles going through your digits.

“No, please, don’t.”

Your eyes are wide, glossy but you still won’t say the word.

“Honey,” he says in a hushed tone. “You don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”

You swallow thickly.

He leans to your left knee and presses three kisses up your leg before pressing a fourth on your so called weak spot. His palm stroking the other side relieves your tension, your body softening, sinking into the sheets. He licks your wound and kisses it over and over again until you release your bated breath.

When the timings right, he grazes you with his teeth. You shiver, eyelids falling shut as a sigh leaves your lips.

He soothes the spot one more time before taking a proper bite.

It’s weighted, not sharp enough to pierce the skin but enough to leave a bruise, he makes sure of that. He’s happy to not hear yelling at him to stop instead he feels the rock as your hips curve your back, the extended groan.

“Fuck, Santi.”

He growls, sending vibrations through to your pussy.

You choke, your hands instinctively wanting to reach for his hair. The headboard quakes with the force of your motion. He removes his mouth sloppily and he smiles as you grumble at your loss and the restraints.

“Do you want your reward?”

You stop, looking at him with a wide smile on your face.

He settles between your thighs, glimpsing at you from your mound, his hot breath teasing your pussy.

You whine.

“I never said I’d let you go.”

—

Santiago drew circles over your blemished skin, admiring his work.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“No,” he shook his head, searching for your eyes in the darkness.

He loved how enthusiastic, how obedient you were but to inflict real damage? A part of him couldn’t do that to you. It’s a reason why he doesn’t degrade you, call you his fuck toy because you were more than that.

“I’m just making sure you know.”

You’re his, you’re theirs.

You hum, “So you’re not going to say it?”

The corner of his lips curled as he stared up at the ceiling, moving his hand away as he lay on his back. You shuffle closer to him and he lifts an arm to let you in, your palm warm against his chest as your fingers dance along his collarbone.

“Love you, Santi.”

He turns his head and presses his lips to the crown of your head. Your fingers coil around his neck yet he doesn’t stop you.

You touch just the right spot and he melts.

[cressida-jayoungr]

Only Dreaming of Peace

(Note: I am neither the original author nor the translator of this piece. It is a favorite post from my LiveJournal days. The original post, by LiveJournal user Lilan14, can be found here.)

I know I still have my vacation report to finish, but that will have to wait, as I saw this wonderful real-life story in one of my LJ friends' journal. It was originally posted to ru_cats, a Russian cat-lover comm, by a mystery book writer, and her style is just as excellent as the story itself. So, sit back and enjoy! Oh, and make sure you're not eating or drinking something while at it, for your own safety...

The translation is mine.

Only Dreaming of Peace...

I've been recently asked to post to LJ a story of uneven struggle of Man with Cat for the right to sleep where they want, without the risk of dying shamefully underneath a cat's butt. I am doing this and hiding it behind the cut. Let it stay here as a reminder to posterity and the desperate ones who will decide to get a Maine Coon and a bed with a wide headboard.

Part One

Dear ru_cats people, I am here asking for advice.

There's a cat. The cat weighs ten kilograms. There's a bed. The bed has a tall soft headboard 10 to 15 cm wide. There are also the cat's owners, who sleep on the bed.

At night, the cat leaps onto the headboard and walks on it. The cat has a night promenade. However, since the cat was a cow in the previous life and transferred certain peculiarities to his present incarnation, during his fourth or fifth go he loses his balance and plops down. If I'm lucky, the cat lands beside me. If I'm not, the ten kilograms of the cat land onto my head, and always butt-first, for some reason.

Question: how to make the cat drop the habit?

Have already tried:

duct tape spread on the headboard. (As a result, we spent half the night taking them off the crazed cat, nearly scalping him).

the cat's hated smell of ylang-ylang. (The cat didn't care it was hated).

tangerine peel in large amounts (The cat swept the peel onto my head in disgust, following it in the process).

What else can be done? I've already slept with spray under my pillow. The cat runs away, then comes back.

The cat's picture enclosed for realizing the scope of the problem:

Part Two

Two days ago, I posted this cry for help to the comm: http://ru-cats.livejournal.com/19218540.html Got a lot of replies. Two were used at once. Reporting as promised.

I like simple and easily implemented ideas. That's why the suggestions to attach a shelf to the bed, to the cat, to my head, so that it would be comfy for him to fall onto, were postponed.

First I took six balloons from the kid, inflated them and placed them between the wall and the bed. It all looked very pretty. Husband and I admired them and went to bed.  

In the middle of the night, there was a bang. In my sleep, I thought husband had shot the cat (even though the only weapon in our house is a water pistol). When the lights were turned on, the cat was sitting on the floor amidst bits of a blue balloon, squinting disapprovingly. He got kicked, the balloons were moved, and we went to bed again. This was our strategic error, proving how little we knew about cats.

He exploded two more balloons about twenty minutes later and ran away, making derisive sounds. Husband insisted that I take everything away and be done with experiments for the night. While I was putting the balloons away, the cat sneaked up to the largest one and smacked it with his paw.

Results: minus four balloons, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nerve fiber per two adults. Plus cat entertainment.

Then we went for Plan B. The entire headboard was covered with several layers of foil, so it would rustle loudly. I assured husband he could now sleep in peace: the cat would definitely be afraid to step onto the foil.

Well, I was almost right. The cat showed up a couple of hours later, when we were asleep. He jumped onto the foil from the wardrobe. The foil rustled, the cat freaked out, leapt into the air and fell onto husband.

Results: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of sedative per two adults. Plus cat entertainment.

This is how he was looking at us in the morning, while we were trying to make breakfast with shaking hands.

I will try the shelf tomorrow.

Part Three

After the foil and the balloons failed, I started to think in a different direction: how not to let the cat into the bedroom at night.

First I used cat repellent. Unfortunately, the cat did not get it was repellent. However, husband did; he winced, sniffed and finally asked me to air the room. So I now have husband repellent; if anyone needs it, I can share.

The washbowl full of water turned out to be just as stupid. We placed it counting on the cat splashing in it and forgetting the bed (he loves water).

We had counted half-correctly: the cat did splash, but he didn't forget the bed. At night, he hopped back to us, shaking wet paws. In my sleep, I thought he had twenty-two of them. He used ten to step on my face, the rest to run on the sheets. Finally, he kissed husband soundly on the nose, nuzzling him with a wet face dripping with water.

After that husband said screw the interior, he agreed to the shelf.

In the evening, he brought a polished board, spent two hours with it, cursed the innocent bed, and, finally, attached it. I wanted to say that I preferred the cat rather than that thing falling onto us (no one would get from under it alive). But I looked at husband's face and decided to keep it to myself. Okay, I thought, so we'll sleep with it one night, and then I'll take it off.

In addition, the kid ran it before bedtime and left her toys on it. I waved it aside and didn't scold her, because I was thinking which relative to pick to raise our child, should we be buried under the shelf.

(I have to say my worries were silly: as it turned out, husband did a quality job with it.)

In the middle of the night, the cat stepped onto the shelf. He strolled nonchalantly halfway along the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw.

It turned out to be an interactive Zhu Zhu Pets hamster.

From the touch of a cat paw, the hamster turned on. It cried out cheerfully "Abuzuuuuuuuuuzyyyyyy!" and ran toward the cat, glowing with love.

I would gladly tell you about what happened next. But I won't lie: we didn't see it. And we didn't see the cat until morning. The hamster reached the edge of the shelf and committed suicide lemming-style, jumping off a rock into the full washbowl.

Result: we took off the shelf. We have a guard hamster sitting on the headboard now. The cat does not go into the room. If he happens to notice the hamster through the open door, he swells to manul size and retreats in horror.

Here is our hero and rescuer:

[atinystaypixie]

Your Struggle, His Pleasure

For my mootie @emeraldbabygirl ! I hope you like it 😚💜

18+ MDNI!, Mandy Sekiguchi - Exile Tribe

Mandy loved seeing you struggle. He would make sure to place your favorite snacks on the top shelf, close any lid too tights, and of course his favorite, you struggling to stuff your soaking cunt. His little baby being too impatient for him to get home always made him laugh. You know you can’t satisfy yourself like he can, so why are you even trying? Your small fingers pushing in and out of your needy hole is the visual he is met with when he comes to your shared bedroom. Your body being swallowed by one of his oversized shirts and you cry out for him unaware of his presence yet.

“Babe, you know that’s not going to work.” His voice sounds through the room making your pussy drip just from hearing it. You’re too horny to think straight, just sitting up and rubbing your clit while looking him in the eyes. “I know,” you whine to the tall man, “just need you so bad, Daddy.” He loves seeing you desperate for him, almost as much as he likes watching you struggle.

“Show me how bad you need me.” He’s wearing a slight smirk making your body heat up even more. You’ve been here before and he wants you to take it before he gives it. Moving to get off the bed you start walking towards him while removing the shirt you are wearing. Mandy adores every inch of your body, the thought of you alone makes his cock jump. When you reach him, he wraps a firm hand around your throat, “going be good for me?” He asks, making you get shy from being close to him. His frame looming over you as you nod your head. He reaches and hits your ass, “words, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy.” He lets your throat go with a hum of approval and gives you room to start. You start unbuttoning his shirt letting your eyes trail his pretty skin as it is being revealed. When you reach the last button, you start kissing at his chest and push the material off his broad shoulders letting it fall to the floor. Focusing the kisses to his neck, you palm him through his pants for a moment before unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants off. The man left only in his boxers as you started trailing kissing down his body. You drop to your knees, face level with his covered cock. Mandy groans when you kiss him over the thin material. The kisses were wet, mixing with the precum leaking for his tip.

You hook your fingers over his boxer and pull them down making his heavy cock slap against his stomach. Taking him in your hand, you pump him a few times, fingers not even meeting as you work him. He grabs the base of his cock and tells you to open for him. Sticking your tongue out, he slowly guides himself into your wet mouth. He can’t resist feeding his dick to you, watching as you struggle to make room for his girth. After he lets go and tells you to get to work, you start bobbing your head back and forth. No matter how many times you take him, there will always be a slight struggle.

Mandy’s a big boy, so naturally he has the package to match. His frame, his hands, his feet, and especially his cock. He knows this and can’t help but to enjoy himself when he outsizes you. You go to wrap your hand around the parts of his cock that you can’t reach  before he stops you. “No hands, baby. Take me all in.” He knew you needed them to help you, but he wants you to work for it. As you continue to push him in and out of your mouth, tears form in your eyes. His tip bruises the back of your throat causing you to gag. “Good girl, so pretty for me.” He moans, feeling you choke around him everytime you push him deeper. Rubbing his thumb over your falling tears, he starts moving his hips back and forth in coordination with you. He throws his head back in pleasure feeling his balls tighten.

Before he can cum, he pulls you off of him. “I’m cumming in you.” He picks you up and guides you both to the bed with him sitting at the headboard and you on his lap.”Come on. Stuff yourself like you were trying to do earlier.” You whine from him bringing up how desperate you were to feel full. You reach around you and line his member up with your opening, gasping feeling him going inside of you. The stretch so nice you claw at his shoulders as you reach the base. He suddenly gives a harsh thrust from under you, “ride me, baby.” He’s barely giving you time to adjust, loving the fluttering feeling of your walls around him. “Don’t make me do it myself.” This causes you to start moving. Despite him being soft around everyone else, and always to you, the man is torture in the bedroom. Bright, doe eyes turning dark and voice dropping an octave.

He takes your hands and holds them behind your back, pulling you closer so the only thing you have to rely on are your thighs. He wasn’t going to make this easy for you, not when you were touching the pussy that belonged to him when he wasn’t around. Mandy wasn’t the type to tell you never to touch yourself, he knew he could show you better than he could tell you. Anytime he caught you rubbing at your throbbing clit he would fuck you till you could only remember his name. You were ruined for anyone else, even yourself. Nothing compared to the stretch he gave you nor how deep he reached inside of you.

“Mannie, I can’t.” You complain to the man when your thighs start to burn. The mix of pleasure  and continuously sliding up and down his shaft were making you tap out. Mandy didn’t mind, it was his turn to have fun. “That’s okay, doll,” the way he soothed a hand down your spine and the faux sympathy in his voice let you know it was not fine.

He carried you off the bed and to the wall. Your eyes widening when you realize you should have worked through the small burn in your thighs. “Wait, no. Mannie-”

“It’s fine, doll.” Your back hit the wall with a thud making you gasp while at the same time he started pushing into you. “My baby. Look at you,” he cooed, “letting me fold and fuck you like a little slut. Tight cunt can barely fit me.” He chuckles at you crying over him abusing your g-spot. Your legs on his shoulders as he’s delivering rough strokes to your slick walls. The sound of your wet cunt and skin meeting fills the room as you moan for him. “That’s it let me hear you, baby. You wanted to be stuffed by this big cock, now you can’t even talk. Fuck,” he moans when he feels you squeeze tighter around him. “That’s what you wanted? Need this little pussy filled by me?” You nod your head, mouth agape as your moans continue to flow out. Mandy can’t help but love the fact he can manhandle you so easily. Carrying you around and fucking you however he pleases. He leans in to kiss you, tongue swiping into your open mouth, teeth scraping your bottom lip, lips pressing heavy kisses to yours.

He turns to take you to the bed, bouncing you on his hard cock as he walks back with you. He pulls out and positions you with your ass up and face in the sheets. He lands a heavy smack on one side of your ass and reaches to cup your pussy. The man could never get enough of how his hand covered the entirety of your soppy cunt. “So pretty for me, baby.” He says as he starts rubbing tight circles on your clit before you feel him lift your hips to make room for head underneath you. “Come on pretty girl. Fuck my face like you were fucking your hand earlier.” You feel your clit bump his nose as he pulls you to sit on his face. Large hands are groping at the flesh of your ass as he gives a couple rough licks to the mess between your legs. 

Placing your hands to ground yourself, you drag your cunt against his awaiting tongue. An airy moan releasing from you as his nose is stimulating your clit while his tongue is licking at every drop leaking from you. Your hands lock into his hair as you use his face like a bitch in heat. Your moans ringing throughout the room and the sounds of him slurping at your folds has your core tightening. A familiar sensation that Mandy always gives you. “I’m going to -” before you can finish your juices are releasing. The man catches every drop of it working you through your high.

You try to move off him until you feel him latch onto your clit. “Mannie, no! Please,” he just groans into your folds making you feel the vibrations from it. The more you try to wiggle away, the more you can feel his tongue fucking into you. The feeling causes you to cum into his mouth again. He isn’t satisfied till he pulls three more out of you, slipping from under your spent body and positioning his leaking cock at your opening. Mannie loves how his frame covers yours when he leans over you, the way his heavy cock compares to your small hole, the way his hands look when they are grabbing your ass to spread you open. He loves being bigger than you. He also loves how you whine for him when you realize he is pushing into you. You orgasms numbing your brain so much that you didn’t notice how he was still hard and how he hadn’t cum.

It’s too late to protest, your spongy walls are already being invaded by his veiny member. He coos at you when you start squirming, “you can take me. You always do so good for me.” The strokes are slow, making you feel every inch of him. The only thing holding you up is the muscular arm wrapped around your waist and the hand around your throat. Said hand turning your head to the plump lips ready to kiss you. Mandy knows how to drive you crazy when he’s fucking you. Giving you multiple orgasms, overloading your brain, then turning you to complete mush by making love to you. He moves his arm on your stomach slightly so now it’s his hand resting there. The pressure he applies has you grabbing at his hand, “feel me, baby. I’m right there.” He was so deep in you, almost making you wonder if it was possible.

A squeeze is given to your throat as he picks up his pace just slightly. It’s a pace that has you gasping and your breath getting stuck in your throat. Your vision blurring and eyes closing from the overwhelming feeling of Mandy. He smiles seeing your eyes flash white before he releases giving you room to breathe again. “Come on. Give me one more.” He speaks to you when he feels your walls start to flutter around him again. “Going to cum so deep in you, baby. Shit, love this little cunt so much,” he’s grunting as he pushes harder into you. “Love you so much.” He bites at the junction of your neck when he feels you releasing on him, triggering his own release. Thrusting his hips, working you both through your highs.

He lays you both on your sides, slipping out of you easily. You turn to face him, a smile on your face, “I love you too, Mannie.” You both share a loving kiss until you feel him anchor your leg on top of his. Reaching a hand to your well loved cunt, he rubs down your slit before pushing his fingers in. You grab at his arm, attempting to stop him. 

“You love me, baby? Then keep my cum in like a good girl.” Mandie loves making you struggle.

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

I didn't even know what was going to happen pt.2💀

These men aren't talked about enough!!

ENJOY!

[askaniritual]

things i don’t own and most need to acquire in order are

1. fan and ac unit - mostly because i can’t reasonably expect anybody to come over to my apartment until i have those things

2. bowls and silverware - i own like. enough to make it work but it’s very janky and i am tired of living like this

3. a kitchen cart - currently i have one working outlet in the kitchen and so i have been physically lifting my microwave onto the counter every day to use it and then putting it back on the floor because i need the outlet/counter space for my kettle in the morning and this obviously sucks and i want to fix it

4. book shelf and tv stand - this isn’t like. quality of life but it makes my apartment look so sad to just have stacks of books and a tv propped up on books and no place for knickknacks

5. headboard for bed - apartment building was built in 1920s and subsequently there is not a single straight line in the entire building. the wall the head of my bed is against is curved and so there’s a weird gap between the pillow and the wall that i am always falling into. plus i keep having to push my mattress back against the wall every night

6. kitchen table - i’m tired of eating dinner on the couch 😭