#not even necessarily in an inappropriate way

[yawchi]

CLEANSE MY SOUL

yukimiya kenyu x gn!reader

includes: pro/model yukki. small soap maker reader. flirting. pining. late night encounters. just cuteness idk.

notes: this has been haunting me. i’m gonna throw up.

Staring at your front door, barefoot and half dressed with your robe thrown lazily around you is not how you intended to be spending your Tuesday–is ten p.m. still considered evening?–night. It’s not how you spend any of your nights, really. But there are knocks coming from your door.

You never get knocks at your door. 

You blink, and again. You had just managed to drift off to sleep after a long day of working your second part time job. After all, small businesses never really fund themselves the first year (or the second, it’s looking like..) Then, you’re taking a step forward.

“Who is it?”

No answer. This worries you. Only two things strike fear in your gut: the all high and the IRS. You’re thinking it’s too late for either to be showing up at your door unannounced. So, with all the poise a half asleep human has at ten in the evening, you reach for the padlock and flip it. You regret it a second later.

Because there, in all of his beautiful, stained glass glory, is none other than Yukimiya Kenyu. Hair wet and wavy, laying charmingly messy atop his head, in a button down that’s halfway undone. No coat–even with it being the middle of January. He’s going to catch a cold.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you level, throw a glance over your shoulder just to double check the time on your stove. 

“Oh,” and he’s breaking, now. Finally relaxing out of his poise in just the smallest way; the tiniest bits of imperfection in a showcase you have never seen from him. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. This is so rude of me. I’ll go–”

“No! No, I mean,” you’re fumbling, reaching out a hand as if you’re going to make a move to grab him. Of course you’re not, that’s absurd. It would be inappropriate. Then again, you’re not sure how appropriate it is for him to be here, at ten p.m. You shrug that off. Nuance or whatever. “What do you need, Yukki?”

And it comes out so easily, tonight. The nickname your client told you to use to address him after the second (or was it third?) meeting. He gazes at your hand, then your face. Rubs the back of his neck and smiles and–if you didn’t know any better–blushes, ever so slightly.

“Soap,” he pauses–potentially at your quirked brow, you find tiredness makes it hard to clock yourself–and fixes his broad shoulders squared again. “I’m out. I guess I left my spare at the agency and I had a late shoot and they were locked up by the time I got back and–”

“You came by this late for soap?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. This is so inappropriate to turn up unexpectedly. I should’ve just bribed security to–”

“I’m out of your soap.”

You want to kick yourself for saying it because the defeated look on Yukimiya’s face at your admission is sick. Not in a way that’s necessarily heavy or holds any true weight, but like staring at a kicked doberman. Something that shouldn’t be so easily wounded so it catches you off guard–on edge–enticed. 

“Oh,” he sighs, “Oh, okay. I’m sorry for bothering. I’ll just go–”

“But I could make some real quick!”

What. The fuck. No, seriously, what the fuck has come over you tonight? There is no “quick” about this, none of it is. And it’s ten p.m. and you were already asleep and all of your supplies are put up and–

“Really? You could do that for me?”

I could do anything for you.

“Totally,” you say, instead, and take a step back to open your door wider, “Come in. Pardon the mess.”

You walk further into your apartment and snatch the underwear off the back of the couch, kick a sock out of sight. Curse your cat for poising himself directly in the way of Yukimiya’s path but halfway thanking him because it buys you some time to do some spot tidying before your habitat is exposed.

Not like you can really hide much mess in a studio apartment, but whatever.

“I’m surprised you remembered my address,” you settle on saying, to break the ice, as you pull your box of supplies out from behind a makeshift closet of tapestries and curtains. What can you say you are if not crafty. “You just came by, what was it? Once? In November?”

“October,” he corrects you, slips his bag off his arm and sits in one of the chairs in the kitchen. (Or what you could call it, anyways). “Halloween.”

“Right,” you smile as you carry your box over to him. You place it on a stool by the stove, intent on getting to work. “You had a surprise shoot. You needed it because of all the–”

“Face paint,” he finishes, and you both chuckle. 

You remember him messaging your business page with an urgent request of the soap he likes, saying he needed it right then. And, well, his shoot happened to be close to your apartment and you were waiting on a package to arrive so, yeah. You forked over your address–something you never do–and he came by with his agent to pick it up. He’s always personable like that; makes sure to see you with every delivery. Actually, you’re not too sure why you’re so shocked he remembered.

Or why it has a weird sort of fluttering blooming in your stomach. 

“Right,” you hum, and pull your measuring cup out of the box. “I had you down for a week from now, I usually try to stay stocked for my regulars.”

“I lent some to a friend to try,” he supplies as an answer, but by the faint flicker of a grimace on his face, you think ‘lent’ is more akin to ‘was taken from me’. How funny. “I guess I didn’t realize how low I was.”

“Ah,” you nod, pull out your soap bases and your loaf mold. “I am constantly lending things to my friends as well.”

“So you understand.”

“Perfectly.” 

A comfortable silence tucks itself into the room; like a warm blanket over chilly legs. Something about Yukimiya is uneasy but so easy. Like you’re always on your toes but second nature takes over anyways. Talking to him is nice. He’s nice. Especially considering the difference in status between the two of you.

Are all models so humble?

No, that’s not right; you’ve read his interviews. Humble isn’t exactly the right word to describe him. Charismatic? Charming? Suave? Sure. but he is teetering the line of his ego–you know this. You bite the corner of your lip and start cutting down your bases.

“I’ll pay you extra,” Yukimiya breaks the moment, “For the inconvenience. And I brought some tea with me, as well.”

“You brought tea?” You quirk a brow at him, choosing to ignore his first offer (because, really, you could use the money, but you don’t want to seem greedy; you’d do this for him for free). “You always keep it strapped, or..?”

“No,” he laughs, a beautiful, angelic sort of thing. Your knees feel a little weak at the chimes of it. “But I brought some with me to the shoot today. I’m very.. particular about what goes in my body.”

You could go in my body.

“Ah,” you nod, snap your gaze away, try to swallow down the flush in your cheeks. “Tea is nice.”

That’s all it takes for Yukimiya to stand; something that has the hair on your arms beginning to rise; tickle the skin. He’s walking over to you, next to the stove, two tea bags in hand.

“Earl grey,” he supplies when he notices you eyeing them, “That alright?”

“Yeah. Yes.” You’re so embarrassing. “Love it.”

You’ve never had it.

He smiles again (or has he even stopped?), quirks his lips up in a way that is so devilishly handsome it’s damn near sickening. He pulls the kettle off of your back burner and turns to the sink to fill it up. He knows, somehow.

“Not many people love it,” he wagers, places the kettle back on the burner then turns; leans back against the counter beside you to wait. His strong arms cross over his chest in a practiced sort of leisure. You wonder how one man can exude so much divinity. “An acquired taste.”

You swallow, dart your eyes away. Useless, you find, as they keep trailing back to the broad build of the man beside you. You pray he is not close enough to feel the heat coming from your face; or you could pass it off as the steam coming from the stove. 

“You know,” you tease, pointing at him with the blade in your hand, “I’ve been told that I am an acquired taste.”

“I can see that.”

You gasp, he chuckles, and you smack his bicep with the towel that was over your shoulder. So easy, so light.

“Rude,” you huff, but there’s still a smile on your lips, a tingling in your fingertips. You add your base to your measuring cup and place it in the pot on the stovetop. 

There’s the comfortability again; the ease. You wonder when it became this way. When you could talk to him just so; where the shift was. When he turned from client to.. What, exactly? What is this? What is he doing? What are you doing?

This isn’t professional at all.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Yukimiya speaks up after a few beats. He’s fiddling with your oils, peering through them passingly. You nod. “What made you want to start doing this? Surely it is just easier to leave it all to someone else.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agree through a chuckle, blow it through your nose like a half handed sigh. Now, as you wait for the base to melt you turn to him, move the box off the stool by the stove and sit by him. “But I couldn’t find any soaps that would work for me. My skin is so sensitive and.. Yeah.”

“I see,” he nods, and he’s standing so close, you realize now. He shifts, your knee is touching his hip. You wonder if it feels searing hot to him, too. “I can admire that. Finding a solution for yourself. It’s very respectable.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” you wave off, chuckle nervously. Why does it feel like you are a specimen being observed under a petri dish? “It’s just soap.”

There’s a beat of silence, of understanding. Then, Yukimiya is moving again, pressing in closer. Not enough to be fully inappropriate but more so than any of your other clients have gotten, for sure. (Or anyone, recently, for that matter).

“Well, your skin is beautiful. So you must be doing something right.”

You want to die. You want to curl up in a big, deep, dark hole and die. Right here, right now. What the fuck. What the fuck. The kettle is whistling, you tuck tail and turn your attention to your soap on the stove.

“Well, thank you, Yukki.”

“My pleasure, (Y/n).” 

And it’s soft, sweet; the palm to the small of your back as the man pushes off the counter and goes to search for two mugs. He finds them in the drainer and brings them back to your shared work space. Joins you in tandem like this is what you normally do at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night; like you’ve always done this. How, you ponder, is it so easy?

You stir your oils in as Yukimiya fills the mugs up, places the tea bags in. Your attention is so sparse tonight, so all over the place. You hardly notice your arm getting too close to the pot on the stove. But Kenyu doesn’t.

“Careful,” he warns, grabs your wrist to pull it away from its impending doom. His grasp is warm; stern, but soft. He’s so close, you blink up at him. “You almost burned yourself.”

“Oh,” you mumble, gently pull your arm from his warm clutches, “Wouldn’t be the first time. See?”

You hold out your arms to show him your battle scars; faults of the trade. Working with hot and melted substances isn’t easy, and while your face’s skin may be good, your arms have seen better days. You chuckle, Yukimiya does not.

No, he pouts. “You should take better care,” and he’s reaching for you again, both wrists in his palms this time. He’s observing, cataloging. You want to shrink under his gaze. “I have some scar cream, that would help.”

“Okay,” you aren’t even sure what he said but you don’t care. It’s fine, you can agree. “We’ll call it a fair trade.”

“Okay,” he levels, but you both know full well he is still going to pay you (and extra at that) for your services tonight.

After that, he lets you be for a bit. He takes his seat once again and watches as you get to work. No dyes because Yukimiya doesn’t like that. Extra shea butter because he does. Oatmeal bits to soothe his skin after so much makeup throughout the day. Piece my piece you construct his soap until it is time to pour. And you, well, you’re nothing if not a hospitable host.

“Do you want to pick the mold?” you ask, because he’s here. And this batch is just for him. “I know I normally just use my square one, but if you wanted a change..”

“Flowers,” he says, smiles, “I’d like one with flowers.” 

“I can do flowers.” You pick one that’s still rectangular, but has flowers printed on the top. Something old and something new. A subtle change, something you think suits him better. He doesn’t protest and you think that to be a good sign. You set it on the counter and begin to pour.

It’s always painstaking; this part. Trying to make sure you don’t spill or overflow or pour too fast and get bubbles on the top. It’s even worse when you have Japan’s next top model and top ten soccer pro watching and dissecting your every move. Still, your pour is good and when you’re done you set your measuring cup in the sink.

Usually, you like to clean up immediately after. Now, though, it seems rude to do so when you have a guest. So you discard your things to the sink and come back over, drag your stool and sit across from the Yukimiya Kenyu at the counter. You tug your robe higher over your shoulders, lean forward a little on your elbows. 

“It takes a while to cool,” you bit the corner of your lip, fiddle with your thumbs as you peer through heavy lashes, “I’m sorry, there’s–”

“It’s completely fine,” Yukimiya grins, fingers skimming your arm across the countertop, and you wonder what has happened to that line of professionalism, “I have all night.”

“No shoot tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. And you know–not because you watch every single one of his games or anything, don’t be absurd–that it is the off season for soccer, so there’s probably no practice either. You hum, nod to yourself. You’re doing that a lot tonight, nodding like a bumbling idiot. You can’t help it, you think, not when a man such as this is in your apartment.

Your counter isn’t very wide, the two of you are much closer than either of you think. And Yukimiya is still playing with the hem of your robe sleeve. Toying with it and your heart and the heat in your tummy. You peer at him and he adheres to you and you, well.

You kiss him, because he’s right there.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” you’re blubbering, pulling back. Whatever kind of sleepy delirium you're in has really caused you such a deadly demise. You want to keel over right now. “That was so inappropriate, I’m–”

“Completely alright,” he levels, takes your hand and pulls you back in, as much as the counter separating you will allow. 

“You sure?” you’re leaning in again, he’s pressing forward.

“Yes,” he breathes, hot and heavy against your lips and, oh. You’re kissing, again.

His lips are velvet and his skin is silk and you think such delicacies do not belong in your shoddy apartment, but maybe–just maybe–belong in your arms. You kiss him back and revel in it for as long as he lets you. A prince and pauper, in the open kitchen of your studio apartment. 

He pulls back enough to gaze at you, rub his thumb over your knuckles. Reach a hand up to do the same over your cheek. You blink, dumbfounded and dazed.

“So,” he says, finally, after what feels like an eternity, “Does this mean I get to have a soap named after me?”

You laugh, light and airy and warm, and nod your little head again for the millionth time. 

“Yeah, I think we could work something out.”

You do, name a soap after him. And it becomes a best seller overnight. And, suddenly, you can afford much more than a studio apartment on the semi-rough part of town for you and your cat. 

And Yukimiya Kenyu makes you tea every night, and kisses you too. 

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[madame-mongoose]

i need this robot like i need air in my lungs and blood in my veins

[emotional-moss]

if i have to see someone use the word “grooming” one more time in an incorrect way i’m going to start throwing things. like YES this person had an inappropriate relationship with this other person. YES this person was abusive and manipulative. YES this person seemed creepily obsessed with this other person. etc etc etc. but that doesn’t automatically equal grooming !!! abuse isn’t necessarily grooming, stalking isn’t necessarily grooming, even pedophilia isn’t necessary grooming ! grooming refers to a SPECIFIC PATTERN OF BEHAVIOR that predatory adults will use on children before actually abusing them in order to normalize and suppress the abuse beforehand! it’s specifically nonviolent and is used to make the predator harder to get caught, to get the victim to trust and fear them, and to normalize said inappropriate behavior before it actually happens. i cannot fucking stand what the internet has done to this term. if you’re talking about domestic abuse, use the word domestic abuse. if you’re talking about rape, use the word rape. if you’re talking about stalking, use the word stalking. if you’re talking about straight up pedophilia, use that word. this is one of those words i’m putting on the shelf until the internet knows how to use it properly

[radbelinda]

One of the things that strikes me about the whole Neil Gaiman thing is that people really want to portray Amanda Palmer as being a remorselessly complicit figure, when a lot of things that are very obviously fucked up and menacing when you put it next to the actual assaults going on - are perfectly normalised and accepted within poly/ENM world. All of these things are fucked up and menacing, but the bubble of pseudo-feminist poly world is incredibly effective at making you totally oblivious to the fact that you're opening the door to abuse and emotional damage.

The thing of 'oh we just slept together and I took a consensual nude of you, now can I have your consent to send it to my husband' is a feature of poly culture, not a bug. Suggestive and inappropriate comments to a woman about how hot your husband will find her are completely normalised. A statement from your husband like 'I don't get to play with my Dom side with you, so I need to be with other women who are natural subs' (which I suspect is the reason he gave when he kept having affairs when she was eight months pregnant, after agreeing to be monogamous) is something that culture will expect you to be completely Cool Girl about. Being blasé when a woman comes to you and says 'your husband made a pass at me' is also the expected Cool Girl reaction. Bringing women into your circle that you think your husband will find hot is completely par for the course in those mindsets and part of being a good and fun and sexy partner - no one doing that in poly culture thinks of themselves as 'feeding him women to rape' or grooming. Lots of people seem to find Amanda telling Neil that he couldn't hit on Scarlett, but still leaving him alone with her, to be jawdropping - but, as someone who has had people in ENM relationships exhibit poor boundaries around me and try to insinuate me into their sex lives in inappropriate ways, I know that that kind of thing is seen as due diligence and an appropriate way to navigate a situation. My experience of people immersed in that kind of culture is just this general assumption that words and agreements are magic - that all you need to do is communicate and agree terms and everything is fine, and if an agreement is violated you just need to communicate more and agree terms and everything is fine, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

What a lot of people want (and have wanted all along when they were making jokes about how understandable it was for Neil to 'fly across the world to escape having lockdown with her') is for Amanda Palmer to have been a truly abhorrent person, when the truth is that the whole culture around poly/ENM/open relationships - not necessarily the stated rules everyone claims to be abiding by, but the actual culture itself - encourages this stuff, especially from women.

I'm not suggesting Amanda is a victim in anywhere close to the same way as any of the women profiled in the reportage, and I do think her learned obliviousness enabled her complicity in creating a situation like Scarlett being left alone with Neil, but she has clearly been manipulated as well. Think of how insanely manipulative it was for him to wait until she was in late-stage pregnancy to start violating the terms of their marriage, how he surprised her with a lot of 'dark' elements of his personality after they were already married with a child, how we don't even necessarily know how much control she had over the marital pursestrings, how (as covered in the Tortoise podcasts) he would pressure the woman who lived on his estate into sexual activity by saying that Amanda, not him, wanted to sell the house and kick her out - and that if she kept him sweet he'd be her advocate against his evil wife. He is so clearly a profoundly manipulative person and it's just lunacy to suggest that none of that manipulation will have been targeted at Amanda.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[fangswbenefits]

Everything

Summary: You're used to staying still whenever Astarion feeds on you. This time, he wants you to feel everything.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Vampire bite. Blood drinking. Blood kink. Inappropriate use of tadpoles. Dry humping if you squint. Handjob. Innuendo. PiV. Creampie. Precum.

Word count: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: At the time of posting this fic (Feb 11th), I was unaware of a fic by @bhaalism that had been posted on Feb 6th and that some similarities are present, even if totally unbeknownst to me. It was not consciously done, but I can understand how some people might see it differently. I've discussed the matters privately with Kita and, as such, here's the link to their fic so you can check them out and appreciate their work!

I also want to emphasise that no negative behaviour should come of this (in either direction) as we've both discussed matters privately, and no one else has to get involved!

You've done this so many times before that it feels as natural as second nature.

It feels right.

If the multiple scrolls of Lesser Restoration are anything to go by, this is meant to be a prolonged feeding session.

You don't mind.

And by the looks of it, neither does Astarion as he pulls you by the waist to sit more comfortably on his lap.

He has this ritual of sorts with you. It would be so easy to tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to his bite and let him feed comfortably, but he takes his time.

And you know it's only a matter of time before you start feeling it.

“You can just feed, you know?” you purr, pressing your forehead against his.

As expected, he huffs in feigned annoyance.

“Gods, are you about to lecture me with the ‘don't play with your food’ nonsense, darling?” he bites out dramatically, but you do know he enjoys a good tease.

“Maybe I should,” you say, swirling the soft curls at the nape of his neck around your finger. “You need to feed, after all.”

A devious smile curves his lips and you pull back to slip from his lap.

But he immediately halts you halfway with a firm grip on your waist, fingertips digging into your skin and holding you in place.

Oh?

This is new.

And that's when you first feel it twitch for the first time.

It's no surprise that Astarion gets easily hard with you and for you. In fact, it doesn't take much effort at all. It's as if his body is set to react to yours in unfathomable ways. 

But when you press down softly against him, and the motion earns a groan from him and yet another twitch from his cock, you know this is different.

Usually, he feeds on you as you lay flat on your bed, making use of the comfort a mattress can provide as he drinks your blood.

It is easy and quick and enough.

But tonight, it seems that Astarion has other plans and his lustful gaze paired with his hardening cock are proof enough.

He is evidently hungry for more than just your blood.

“As much as I adore you under me,” he begins, gaze dropping to your shirt, “I think I'd rather have you on top of me this time.”

Your hands come to grip his shoulders for balance, and your eyes widen slightly. “Why?”

A gentle tug at the laces of your nightdress nearly breaks your concentration, but you somehow manage to keep your composure as his crimson eyes find yours.

“Why not? Why shouldn't this delicacy be shared?” he asked with another tug and you felt the fabric  at your chest begin to loosen. “You should enjoy it, too, darling. And I want you to feel everything.”

He emphasises his words with a final pull that brings your nightdress fully apart, unravelling your breasts to his hungry gaze. They heave in unison with your quickened breathing and it's enough to transfix him.

You can't necessarily feel it, but you are certain his cock just got harder just as blood rushes downwards, swelling your clit.

The shift in temperature causes your nipples to slowly harden and that is what makes him groan.

“Enjoying the view?”

He nods. “You can feel how much I do.”

You feigned ignorance. “I don't think I can.”

The grip on your waist tightens and he pulls you against his cock, the flimsy fabric of your undergarments allowing your clit to drag along his covered length.

Hard and needy.

“You were saying…?”

Smug and cheeky and infuriating.

Three adjectives that fall short to fully grasp how he is with you when it comes to intimacy, but it's a good place to start.

He's good and he knows it and he wants you to validate him every step of the way.

“Connect your tadpole with mine,” he says unexpectedly.

“What? Why?”

“You know why.”

You do and it baffles you that he even suggested it in the first place. Connecting tadpoles intimately  is reserved for when privacy is a guarantee. And being inside one of the many rooms at the Elfsong Tavern offers everything but privacy.

“We're at a tavern, Astarion…”

He quirks an eyebrow, bucking his hips upwards ever so slightly. “Yes, I'm aware. Your point being…?”

“We'll be heard.”

“Do you not intend on being loud?”

Your mouth falls agape at the nerve. Silence is never an option with him. He takes pride in how he makes you feel, knowing fully well he's ruined you for anyone else.

“Would you have it any other way?” 

His cock twitches in response, but it's the way his half-hooded eyes roam deliciously slow across your face that makes you clench.

“And miss the opportunity to inconvenience our next-door neighbours?” he tuts with a smirk that bares his fangs. “I don't think so.”

In the midst of all the lust-heavy words and slow hip rolls, you manage out a chuckle.

“You're vicious. Shadowheart and Lae'zel will definitely not appreciate the midnight ruckus.”

He bucks his hips so that your face gets close enough for your lips to brush.

“And what exactly are they going to do, hmm?” he says with a smirk. “Kill me?”

Before you can answer, he leans in and captures your bottom lip in between his teeth. The suddenness of it all, makes you flinch back and when a fang grazes the frail skin, it draws blood.

It stings enough for you to curse, and you see his hungry gaze admiring the droplet that pools on your lip.

“They could do much worse to you,” you tease with a giggle, proving your point by denying him the taste of your blood when he leans in again.

He lets out a low rumble of disapproval as he slumps against the headboard. “If by ‘worse’ you mean ‘whispering healing prays and hurling nonsensical curse words’, then I agree. A torment,” he feigned pain dramatically.

There is something oddly satisfying about teasing Astarion to the brink of frustration.

You almost feel inclined to satisfy his bloodlust, but decide against it, wiping the droplet with a swipe of your tongue.

That immediately earns a deep frown from him and an obnoxious click of his tongue. “Honestly, what a waste.”

“Then be nice,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Astarion's hips buck and you're sure your undergarments are soaked enough for the wetness to seep through the fabric of his trousers. If he feels it, he doesn't say. 

When you pull away, there's a faint stain of blood on his lower lip, which he pulls in between his teeth to suckle on it gently.

The sight is enough to have you roll your hips twice.

Suddenly, he looks uncharacteristically serious. “Connect your tadpole with mine.”

There is urgency in his voice and you can only assume he is past warming up and ready to move on to the next step. 

And you're not one to deny the offer of a good time if there is a promise that him feeding on you can be pleasurable to you as well.

You allow your mind to stir the dorment tadpole, urging it to find his.

It is rather simple and you've done it before with him during your sexual endeavours. But this is different. It already feels different. It's as if the worm knows this connection bears other purposes.

Astarion lets out a groan when his body meets yours through his mind.

The tug inside your head is enough to draw a breathy gasp as you are made aware of his intentions.

He wants your hand.

Your… hand?

Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but not for long enough as his hand pulls yours from his shoulder.

And what he does next makes you clench so hard, you feel a gush of wetness drip from you.

“I want you to feel it – everything – as I feast on your blood,” he purrs, placing your hand around his throat.

Oh.

The tadpole squirms in anticipation as you feel his cock throbbing in your mind and against your clothed clit.

His skin is cool to the touch but it quickly heats up under your palm and, with his other hand, he undoes the laces of his trousers with unmatched dexterity.

You gasp as his thoughts bleed into you, allowing you to know what he expects next.

This time, he doesn't need to utter aloud his intentions.

You can hear him inside your head and you find yourself utterly unable to look away from his piercing eyes.

Take it out and grip it, darling.

Your hips buck, driven by pure instinct as you comply with his request. A shaky hand reaching down and tugging at the fabric of his own undergarments, and in one swift motion, you free his cock.

As expected, he immediately welcomes your grip with a thrust, and you feel just how hard and wet he already is.

His cock is still cool to the touch, but you know that is about to change soon enough.

With a gentle squeeze, his eyes flutter shut, head tilting back slightly as he adjusts to your touch.

It doesn't take long for a thick bead of precum to roll down his length before reaching your knuckles.

Inside your head, your tadpole shudders and you're sure it's because he wants to feel how swollen your clit is for him.

It pulsates rhythmically and Astarion growls with a smirk.

He adores feeling your clit.

Just as you adore feeling how stiff his cock can get in your hand and in your mind.

“You're already quite hard already,” you say, doing a laughable poor job at keeping your voice steady.

“I can get harder,” he says and you feel his voice rumbling against your palm.

You clench in sheer reflex. Mostly because you know he can and will.

Instinctively, you let out a soft moan from the delicious friction. 

And it's enough to have Astarion's ego soar high enough that it pulls the most devilishly alluring smirk from his lips.

After all, he never misses the chance to remind you that it is your blood that makes his cock thicker and warmer and harder.

Astarion finally opens his eyes again and brings his hand to your face, fingers tracing your jawline before he tips your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

Hold on tight, darling.

He cranes his head and he plants a fleeting kiss below your ear, as he grazes his cool lips along the length of your neck. By now, he knows your pulse points by heart, so when he finds one, his fangs break skin and sink into your inviting flesh.

Out of reflex, you grip his cock tighter and he lets out a muffled groan.

No matter how many times you allow him to feed on you, the initial uncomfortable feeling is always there and it lingers until his lips wrap around the bleeding wounds.

And when he begins to suckle hungrily, downing mouthfuls of your blood, you nearly moan from the way you can feel it under your palm.

Your tadpole allows you to be aware of your blood rushing and coursing through his body at a steady pace and when it finally reaches his lower half, a faint pulse stirs his cock.

Immediately, you clench, frustrated that it's around nothing, but you quickly brush the disappointment aside as you finally understand why he wanted your hands around him.

He swallows your blood at a rhythm that matches the throb in his cock, and inside your head you can feel it beat in unison with the one in your clit.

It's your blood that brings him alive in more ways than one.

Warmth spreads across your palm and fingers and the veins that snake around his length begin to bulge as your blood fills them.

Tighter… tighter… tighter.

He repeats it like a prayer that he hopes you can answer.

He's so lost in you that his senses blur and he becomes one with you.

You try your best to comply, the back of your hand soaked with precum, as he hardens even more.

In between your legs, your clit swells up as if in response and you're so wet you're sure he'd be able to slide his cock inside with little to no effort.

How is it possible? How…

The connection allows him to hear your thoughts and he groans in response, rolling his hips at a clumsy and broken pace.

Astarion's concentration is hanging on by a thread. You can hear him curse in sheer frustration as he tries to hold on to some semblance of control.

But he gets too drunk in your blood and he is unable to keep his focus.

It doesn't help that your own arousal is spilling into his mind and mixing with his own.

A double-edged sword.

He wanted you to feel him as he feeds on you, and now he's stuck having to withstand double the arousal and the pleasure that your blood provides.

The first loud growl comes from him and you feel your grip around his cock loosen as he thickens.

Your walls flutter and he feels it, bringing one hand down to close around yours, ensuring you grip him firmly once again.

You keep clenching like that and I…

His next words aren' heard in your head and you feel your body begin the inevitable battle between overwhelming pleasure and the numbness that always comes whenever he feeds.

A faint growl slips past your lips and it quickly morphs into a strangled cry that echoes around the room.

You want to call out his name and warn him… warn him that your body can't take much more bloodloss and arousal.

But the tug inside your mind lets you know that he knows.

After all, your body is his now.

Just as his is yours.

He fucks your hand slowly with his atop yours, keeping the pace. The lump in his throat bobs rhythmically with each gulp.

Astarion… it's too much…

It takes him a couple of more seconds, two more mouthfuls and at least five more thrusts of his cock for him to finally unlatch from your neck with a guttural growl.

He drags his warm tongue across the puncture wounds, not wasting the rivulets of blood that dribble  down.

The wet sound is nearly intoxicating and you nearly jump in his lap as his other hand finds your breast, fingers tugging at your hardened nipple.

Astarion is close and, by extension, so are you.

Your blood rushes throughout his entire body and you now understand how good it feels. How good you feel inside him. He's warm and flushed from feeding on you and his head tilts back against the headboard as loses himself in you.

Somehow, he's able to keep a steady pace as he fucks your hand, the most beautiful moans spilling from his mouth as he does so.

You caress his neck lovingly as he tugs on your nipple.

“Darling…”

It's a plea.

Under different circumstances, you'd have to ask him what he wanted. But you're inside his head and you know why he's begging you.

He doesn't want his cum to go to waste.

He doesn't think the tightness and warmth and wetness your hand and fingers can provide.

I need to be inside you.

The alarm in his voice stuns you momentarily and your eyes widen as a very urgent tug

He's about to come.

You let go of his cock and his hands are suddenly in between your legs.

Your body reacts to this instantly and your walls tighten in anticipation, eager to squeeze something else.

Stop. Clenching.

A loud moan is all you give him in return as your vision blurs from how his cock pulses and throbs and leaks precum.

Another clench.

“Gods above… I can't take it anymore.”

And neither can you.

You hear the sound of fabric being torn filling your ears and his hands claw at your waist to position himself at your entrance.

A languid snap of his hips and he sinks into you, stretching you in a way that has you slumping against his chest, hardened nipples grazing his skin as he bottoms out.

He's so thick from your blood that you're sure you'll be sore from it, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is that you're stuffed to the brim, his balls pressing against you and the best part is that you can feel how he feels.

You're not sure whose climax hits first as you're so entwined with him.

You reckon it's his as you feel his balls tighten and cum coarse through his length, spilling into you with hurried thrusts.

It feels too good to be true.

You can feel just how tight you are around him and you can feel each gush of cum leaving his bodu

He whines. “I… it feels – Gods…” 

Astarion is a babbling mess under you and his words soon lose meaning as they become incomprehensible.

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the creamy sounds of you milking his cock is enough to send you into overdrive.

The uncontrollable  contractions hit you like a tidal wave and both you and Astarion groan in unison as you both get thrust into each other's climaxes.

Your head is buried in the crook of his neck and you vaguely think in the haze of your peak that you should use a scroll of Lesser Restoration. You're still bleeding from the wounds and the fear that you might faint looms on the horizon.

But pleasure overcomes numbness and you welcome it with no resistance.

Still, as Astarion gets warmer and warmer, you begin to fade to the coldness.

Your tadpole is writhing with his and you feel him push you from him so that he can latch his lips against your bleeding wounds, careful to keep his fangs to himself.

He suckles gently as you descend from your shared climax and it's as if the action could lull him into a trance.

Blindly, you try to feel for a scroll that is somewhere scattered across the bed.

He's still buried deep inside you when the connection is severed, showing no signs of slipping out.

You find what you're looking for and utter the right words to activate the scroll, battling against your laboured breaths.

Vigour blooms inside you almost instantly and you feel warmth spread throughout your body with each pump of your heart.

The wounds close and he has no choice but to unlatch one final time, lips dripping with blood.

“I think I understand now… why you wanted to try this…” you breathe out, collapsing against him again. 

The sudden motion causes a few droplets of cum to drip from you.

His hand is splattered across your back, fingers caressing your flushed skin. “Why are you so surprised? You should know by now that I always deliver what I promise.”

You think it's impossible to love him even more, but the way he holds you surely tests your resolve.

“This was really good… really, really good,” you say.

“Keep on praising me like that, and we'll have to go for a second round.”

Two loud bangs on the wall are heard accompanied by a “Tsk'va!” and you chuckle.

“Well, do you think our neighbours enjoyed the show, darling?”

You doubt it, but this isn't about anyone but you and him.

Masterlist

[your-average-teenage-mess]

The fact that so many of us grew up undiagnosed autistic and socially isolated to the point where we couldn't have a normal interaction with our average classmate, were forced into learning philosophical and psychological theory just to understand what the fuck was wrong with us, kept having our interests shamed by the mainstream and our natural form of existence being seen as a turn-off for almost everyone in our fucking lives, kept being told that we were being inappropriate and unacceptable because the rules of society were stupid, had our entire life fall apart because everything was harder than it was supposed to be, developed multiple mental health issues in the process and had to cling to the insights we gained about society from the outside and to the things we were passionate about as our only forms of stability and power, only to then be told that we're "not better than everyone else for liking different things" and "should stop trying to win over male approval", just because we also happened to live through all that as girls and God Forbid we let the self-importance of an isolated dysfunctional teenage girl without social support blow out of proportion, will probably continue making me angry for as long as this doesn't stop. And maybe a bit after that too.

What I need some of you to understand is that "haha other girls wear makeup and date guys while I listen to indie rock and have no love life" is not necessarily a takedown of wearing makeup and dating guys. Sometimes it's just attempting to joke around at how terrifyingly isolating it is to be the only one who is the latter and WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO MAKE YOURSELF ANY OTHER WAY EVEN IF YOU TRIED, while everyone in your life is the former, and seem to relegate you to the category of "unsociable weirdo". Do you really think that this causes people (and by people I mean TEENAGE GIRLS for fucks sake) to believe they're genuinely better than everyone around them? Do you think people who went through this and made "other girls vs me" memes on Facebook were the ones who left the "other girls" of the world with unresolved personal trauma from highschool? That the outcasts joking about being edgy and cool because they can't get along with anyone are the ones who made gender-conforming girls with mainstream interests and a friend group and a love life feel like they are lesser? Give me. A fucking. Break.

[maitadori]

WRAPPED AROUND YOUR FINGER sfw jing yuan x afab!reader

word count : 1.1k

content / cw : fluff, suggestive, making out, smug and teasing jing yuan, cutie yanqing

summary : being the general’s secretary is such a piece of work. why does he insist on getting handsy instead of doing his job? or: in which jing yuan has fallen for his emotionally constipated assistant and your lips look too inviting.

a/n: DISCLAIMERRR!!!! as a poc with melanin, whenever i describe the reader’s face as “hot” that is up for interpretation, it doesn’t necessarily mean i’m saying your cheeks are red. just wanted to put that out there have this piece until i can try to conjure up ideas for weak willed cloud knight mwah mwah

DARK CONTENT BLOGS PLZ DNI!!!

“general.” you enter the room with a stack of papers in hand, trying your best not to groan when you already see a pile of undone documents sitting there. you expected as much, yet you still sighed in disappointment every time.

your general— who was on the verge of falling asleep— immediately perks up at the familiar click of your shoes as you walk into his office.

“[name], you’re here,” he sighs out, almost fondly. you ignore it in favor of giving him a scolding look.

“you haven’t done a thing since i left this morning, general. do i need to hold your hand through every single file?” your eyes are fierce and your mouth is molded into a frown. jing yuan can’t help but savor your features despite that.

in response to you, he mutters out wistfully, “maybe you do.”

you roll your eyes and set down his papers, right next to the other stack. “general, you can’t keep slacking off like this. lady fu xuan might sweep your position from right under your nose if you keep this up.”

“does that mean i get to spend all of my free time with you?” he ignores your words in favor of bringing you in by the waist. you grip his wrist and try your hardest to pry it off of you.

“don’t you do that already?!” your expression is flushed and he revels in it. even though you try to act and look angry, he notices the subtle way you lean into him.

he reels you into him, bringing you around his desk to where he’s sitting behind in his chair, making you stand between his legs. you’re tugged into his chest and you stop yourself from toppling into his lap by hastily pressing your hands against his collarbones.

“general! you are so inappropriate!!” your tone is scolding.

jing yuan sighs, a faux look of sorrow painting his features, “didn’t i tell you to call me jing yuan?” his voice has a small adoring tone to it, something that you don’t feel like digging deep into at the moment, aware of what you might uncover.

“didnt i tell you that’s improper of me? i’m your subordinate. what would people think if i called you by your given name? they’d suspect you favor me.” you shook your head in exasperation, sighing once more— you seemed to do that a lot in his presence.

“but you are my favorite, if they suspected anything of the sort they’d be absolutely correct,” he says, tugging on your formal wear. you stammer, putting your hand over his in a feeble way to stop him.

“could you shut up for once?!” you exclaim, yet in a whispery voice in fear of others who walk by hear.

“hmm?” he asks slyly, a smirk curling his lips.

“d—do your damn work! if you do, i promise to call you by your name.” by your face expression, jing yuan could tell this is taking a lot out of you and you’re extremely embarrassed. he would feel bad if he didn’t find you so adorable.

“will you let me kiss you, too?” he leans up into your lips.

“that’s definitely asking for too much!!!” you exclaim, face hot, and no longer worried about who might be outside this door.

but as he rubs circles into the fabric of your clothing, his breath hitting your cheeks, his lips nearing yours by the moment, your will is beginning to falter. before you can even realize what you’re doing, your eyes are slipping shut as your hands are sliding up to his shoulders.

“after this i’ll do my work, okay? i promise,” jing yuan whispers. from that alone, you’re nearly broken out of your trance, but before a word is able to leave your mouth his lips lock with yours.

he’s humming into the kiss, showing his obvious satisfaction. your face is warm and you reciprocate the kiss eagerly, almost embarrassed by the fervor.

you were really kissing your general.

he was nibbling your lips, pinching your waist to get access to your mouth, making your mind mush. you couldn’t believe this was happening.

jing yuan is stealing the breath straight from your lungs, and they’re replaced with breathy whimpers. his tongue is leaving no place in your mouth untouched, but by then, you’re already putty in his hold.

you can’t conjure up a single coherent thought, all protests from before becoming blurred and pushed to the back of your mind. his hand is at the seams of your top, his cold fingertips ghosting under it to ease his hands onto your warm skin. you shiver in anticipation.

his thumb rubs your waist before it slowly trails up to the fringe of your bra. he’s caressing the skin under it slowly, building you up for the moment his hand ventures under. you’re leaning into him further, trying to subtly goad him into giving in.

he smirks into the kiss, thumb sliding under the hem. but a loud, eager knock makes you both jolt apart.

before you can even comprehend the situation fully, you’re already backing away from him and adjusting your clothing, smoothening everything over.

jing yuan is watching you fondly, a tinge of smugness swimming beneath his eyes.

“state your name and business.” he calls out, eyes still on you.

“it’s yanqing, sir!”

you’re making eye contact with him now, your expression filled with flushed fury. “i cant believe you!” you whisper shouted before grabbing the small hand mirror that yanqing left on his desk to check your appearance.

your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets once you catch sight of your swollen lips. “y—you..! how— i..!!! ugh!!!” you sputter, pointing between yourself and your general before giving up.

your general does nothing but chuckle at your misery. “i got too carried away.”

“don’t you always!?” you growl, your finger against your lips as you somehow try to get rid of the red puffiness.

“general?” yanqing calls from outside.

due to your conversation, you both nearly forgot he was even there.

before jing yuan could call him in, you’re stalking towards the door. your hand grabs the handle, but before you pull it open, you look back to your general who’s smirking. “you better do your work, jing yuan. or this will never happen again!” you both sensed the lie in your tone, but one of you was too surprised to point it out.

you were only given a mere second to revel in his baffled look before you walked out, letting yanqing in.

“[name]!” yanqing calls happily. “can i come over to your place tonight?” he asks, face glowing.

you smile, patting his head. “of course you can. i’ll cook your favorite too, alright?”

yanqing cheers, “alright!! i’ll train as hard as i can, so can you please make dessert too?”

you give him a noise of confirmation, smiling at his joy before you’re walking off.

jing yuan could only watch the scene in envy, glaring down yanqing as he practically skips into the office humming a tune of “[name]’s making me dessert~”.

yanqing turns to his general, brow quirking at his troubled expression.

“what got your panties in a twist?”

“nothing.” he grits out. you had the audacity to call him by his name in your beautiful alluring voice, and invite yanqing to your house, in front of him!! next time he saw you it was more than your lips he was taking for his own.

a/n : anyone wanna be added to my jing yuan taglist? he’s been growing on me a lot so expect more of him too ^v^

[stuckinmymind22]

more nsfw ace headcanons

in honor of ace’s birthday here are some smutty headcanons, you’re welcome 🥰 also happy new year

he really struggles to keep his hands off you, and not necessarily even in an inappropriate way, he just loves being able to touch you in anyway he can

that being said, he does like to tease you, his hand rides dangerously high up your thigh when you sit close together

his initials are literally PDA that should’ve been your warning sign that he does not gaf about other people seeing his displays of affection

likes loves to touch your ass

but if you do that to him in public he will get embarrassed (not upset about it but his face is burning up)

loves hair pulling - you pulling his hair, him pulling yours, doesn’t matter he just loves it

SHOWER SEX!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ lil story

i just know this man would go crazy for shower sex (might be the best way to get his ass to shower)

is absolutely a switch

no need for a rigid sub/dom dynamic every time though. sure, he likes it, but at the end of the day he just wants to be with you and he’ll take that in any form it comes in

the hat stays ON during sex (tbh he forgets he’s wearing it most of the time he’s so used to the feeling of it)

if it falls off he will put it back on before continuing

if it’s not on his head it’s on yours

okay the hat thing was kinda a meme but if you wear his hat and ride him??? that’s a divine experience for him right there

[why-are-you-still-awake]

can i have headcanons of sasuke neji and naruto with a s/o who speaks another language? Like a language from their clan or something thanks and i enjoy your writing keep up the good work <3

A/n: 😭 thank you so much, I haven’t been doing too well, that means so much to me.

Warning/content: nothing, general fluff

Characters: Sasuke, Neji, Naruto

Sasuke Uchiha

✭ When sasuke first met you, he was kinda unsure how to communicate with you but he very quickly learned that you were very good with hand signs kinda like sign language and knew how to communicate through that even without speaking the same language.✭

✭ After you guys got to know each other, he realizes you’re truly very interesting but he’d rather not speak again before admit he likes you. When you started learning the language they speak in Konoha Sasuke would be patient whenever you tried to speak in the language that wasn’t your own. He’s quietly correct pronunciation and help with spelling but whenever someone brought it up he’d adamantly deny that he cared. ✭

✭ One time, after you guys got much closer, Sasuke learned some of your native language in secret. He always would say “It’s just more convenient, don’t think much of it.” He wanted to learn part of your language to feel more connected with you, he trusts you which is very rare for the closed off Uchiha. He cares but he’d rather die than admit it. Once you guys were in a relationship, he was very patient with you and would tell off anyone who was being rude to you for not necessarily understanding what they were say.✭

Neji Hyuga

✭ You guys met on a mission between your village and Konoha as diplomats. Neji had heard of your village and your language before but he had never met anyone who spoke the language. After he met you, he became very interested in your culture. Obviously you couldn’t communicate the traditional way and your translator couldn’t always be there so you started to communicate and tell each other about yourselves through drawings. ✭

✭ He found your language beautiful and was very honest about it but not in a flirty type way…..yet. He was very understanding when you were learning his language and forgot a word or maybe couldn’t pronounce it correctly. He liked helping you, it made him feel needed.✭

✭ Once you two got closer, he became interested in learning your language and went to the library to find books either written in your language or to find learning books. He’d say “I want us to communicate more efficiently if Konoha and your village will have a relationship.” You returned the favor when he was learning your language, you couldn’t help but find his embarrassment when he mispronounced something cute. Once he learned compliments in your language you were done for, that’s all he’d call you from now on. He’d say it quietly just to make you shiver✭

Naruto Uzumaki

✭ To say Naruto was oblivious would be an understatement, when you met he thought you were just shy and didn’t like talking. But when Sakura told him you didn’t speak his language he was embarrassed for lack of a better term and sheepishly apologized for not realizing sooner not realizing you didn’t understand his apology.✭

✭ He started to learn your language and was very upfront about it. He’d always be asking for tips on how to learn faster and be more fluent without as many mistakes. He liked you, he really did and he wasn’t going to hide it. You were a very unique person to him and he wanted to make it obvious he liked you. You couldn’t help but laugh when he mispronounced a word and accidentally said something inappropriate. ✭

✭ Once you guys got together, much like neji he called you by nicknames in your language. The only time he really got serious was when people would cause you trouble, after all no one was going to give you a hard time when he was around. Whether it be someone saying something about how you “don’t listen for the life of you” or how your accent is annoying. Naruto would always be there on your defense. “Don’t listen to them, your language is beautiful!” He’d make sure to reassure you whenever he could.✭

A/n: Hey! I hope you liked it! Feel free to send more requests, I barely have motivation so please give me something to work off of. Have a good night, love u <3

Tagging: @ssailormoonn @your-heavenly-messenger

[pinnedmother]

Here’s a list of general headcanons for Messmer the Impaler with a romantic flare. Some of those are kinda obvious, but I still wanted to write them down. The reader is vague and not necessarily tarnished. Enjoy~

Despite being steadfast and unyielding in his actions and appearances, inside all that composure Messmer is full of uncertainties, he tends to overthink everything and convince himself of the worst possible explanation for things. The man needs a great deal of reassurances to open his mind towards anything positive. For example, he can easily believe that you simply have something to gain from his affections, but it would take a lot of persuasion to make him trust in sincerity of your feelings.

It’s not that hard to start a fling with the Impaler. He doesn’t get a lot of action since literally everybody’s terrified of him either out of respect or hate. You’ve come this far and you’re not too afraid, so why not? You can hardly call it a romance, there’s barely any love, mostly satisfaction of physical needs, a matter of convenience, a stress relief if you will. If there’re any warm feelings for him in you – they’re unrequited, Messmer seems cold.

However, a true romance with Messmer is a slowburn. It’ll take a lot of time, effort and patience and can be very frustrating. That being said, while it’s hard to get him to feel the feels, once you finally manage such a feat – it’s like a rolling snowball: he gets more and more romantic as time passes, reaching Shakespearean levels. Roses, poems, fancy pet names, never-ending courtship. At this point he doesn’t expect anything from you in return, just accept his advances and he’ll be the happiest demigod.

He does battle practices every(or almost every)day and regards it as a chore at this point. The Impaler used to enjoy training fights in the days long gone, now, after all these years of iterance, it’s simply vexing and monotonous. However, when you’re invited to either participate or spectate, Messmer’s much more enthusiastic, trying to impress you, showing off his best, most powerful moves. He barely hides his desire to be praised, wanting to hear in full detail which attack of his you liked the most and why. Invents new techniques just to keep you entertained and amazed.

If you’re having a spar, Messmer’s not the one to go easy on you, he wouldn’t disrespect you like this, so most of the time either the win is his or he declares a draw. That is unless he feels you need a boost of confidence, then, and only then, he’ll pretend to lose. He’s a good actor.

The serpents gravitate towards you and enjoy being petted, they love resting their heads on your chest and thighs, but it greatly embarrasses their master, he deems it incredibly inappropriate.

At first he didn’t like you touching his hair: where are your manners? Where did you lost your respect for his authority? He’s not a pet to be coddled and toyed with. And besides, the red hue is cursed, why would you even like it in the first place..? Yet eventually it grew on him, big time. Messmer would take off his helmet around you hoping you’ll get his silent invitation. He relishes in the feeling of your fingers combing through his strands, the way they’re brushing against his scalp gently... He may just fall asleep in your arms like this.

His skin is usually cold (because snakes are cold-blooded, yes), but Messmer can make himself quite hot with his fire magic. Always does it before touching you, incentivizing you to associate comfort and warmth with his presence. Before cuddling Messmer heats up his chest the most, so you’d snug even closer to him. In fact, he does this trick so often that you genuinely think he’s naturally very warm.

The man is bigger than you, so he’s a natural big spoon, yet he would love for you to hold him instead. All these centuries being a fearsome pinnacle of strength… Now he wants to be soft and vulnerable, if only with you and just for a little while.

Messmer is in constant physical pain, equal parts because of the curse and because of the blessing. The pain is just as much of a companion to him as are his winged serpents. He’s so used to that unending, dull ache that when you manage to relieve some of it with your gentle handling Messmer is ecstatic. He gets more sleep, looks healthier and happier, hunches less.

Also, I wanted to touch on his early life. We see Godwyn and Miquella as the gregarious type characters, as much as canon allows it, but I also think that Messmer back in the day was something of a socialite himself. After all, his knights absolutely loved him, so much so that they abandoned their birthrights for him. On top of having admirable combat proficiency, Messmer had a great deal of charisma and possessed a witty sense of humor. He always seemed to know what to say and when to say it. A perfect balance between humility and splendor. He was laid back enough to hang out with commoners and foot soldiers, as if they were equals. Judging by his friendship with Gaius, an albinauric, and his possible inferiority complex caused by his curse, he most definitely had a soft spot for the accursed and destitute, enamoring others even more with his genuine kindness. Now, after all these years of warfare and abandonment, Messmer is, like it’s famously said, “a shadow of his former self” – he’s a sullen shut-in, a paranoid overthinker with severe depression.

[lolaandthens0me]

Your rules for your 24/7 D/s dynamic?

Thanks for the question, Anon!

I absolutely love living within my 24/7 D/s dynamic with my partner/Daddy and it's something that I'm passionate to share about as I know it can seem like a really fun, but daunting idea. How do you take that fantasy and walk it out in real life within a committed adult relationship in a life partner sense?

I began wearing diapers 24/7 because @resonantyes expressed an interest in creating that rule within our budding dynamic a couple of years ago. We discussed what that would practically look like and also what we would want this rule to feel like to us within our relationship. I loved the idea as it would make me feel connected to him on a daily basis as we were in a long distance relationship at that time.

We came up with a few blanket rules that are still in effect today:

Diapers are the default, always. (Even when with potential other play partners and with my other partner.)

I am allowed to wear pull-up type undies (Goodnites, Ninjamas, etc.) when I am with family and also when I'm teaching or taking a yoga or other fitness class.

I can always ask if there are other reasons or occasions that I wish to wear pull-ups or undies. This request will be heard with good adult reasoning and may or may not be granted. ie) for a fancy dress situation, because I want to wear a lingerie set, for creating content, because I'm getting rashy and my skin needs a breather, etc.

A newer rule that emerged as time went on is that I am to use my diaper for everything...everything except in the case of traveling, staying with family/friends, or some other socially inappropriate time.

I have come to view my diaper as my collar of sorts. It is a sign of my commitment to Daddy, a role that he takes very seriously and with great care, honor, and respect. There is this low-level current underscoring my life reminding me that I am his, just as he is mine, with every crinkly step I take. We always leave space to bring concerns to each other and even purposely have check-ins about how we're both feeling within our dynamic. We ask questions like does anything need to be adjusted or perhaps added? Are we feeling happy and fulfilled in the ways that we want to be? Am I being a good girl? Is he being a good Daddy? Is this still the best thing for our relationship?

Other things that aren't necessarily rules but come along with being in our 24/7 D/s dynamic include always being changed by Daddy when we're together, having friends hold me accountable and doing diaper checks when he's not around and I'm at kinky get togethers, sending diaper check pics when we're not together, the occasional maintenance spanking over his knee just as a submissive act, the rare spanking as punishment, calling him Daddy when we're alone together or with kink friends, but using his real name in all other contexts, and generally behaving as a loving, caring, responsible partner above everything else. Just one who has rules, discreetly wears diapers, and is also his submissive.

[7s3ven]

UNDER THE MASK pt 1 - collecting samples. recoms (avatar)

IN WHICH… the marine recoms find out the scientist they’ve been teasing for about a month now has more to offer than they thought.

Notes: scientist! recom! reader, a little suggestive, indecent jokes from the recoms (just a bunch of flirtatious, inappropriate jokes from the recoms tbh)

( includes fike, mansk, quaritch, brown, and lyle )

series list

—

You didn’t asked to be revived in the form of a Na’vi body. You thought the RDA was only taking a precaution when they asked you to consent to the program. You didn’t expect to actually wake up after your death in an entirely new body.

You were one of the only scientists brought back from the dead; there were seven of you in total. The rest were military soldiers.

You didn’t remember much about your old life. Though, it wasn’t really yours to begin with. You just had the memories of a woman.

Your sole purpose on Pandora remained largely the same after your revival. You continued to dedicate your life to science and medicine as the faint memories of your old life swirled around in your mind.

You were the first recombinant to be brought back. The RDA thought it was best to revive the scientists before the soldiers. They were right. You were much calmer than they expected, fascinated by your new blue skin and swishing tail. A year later, the soldiers were revived.

You were expecting to remain uninteresting to them. After all, they never paid you much attention when you were human. But you had Grace to blame for that. She always swiftly hid you when Colonel Miles Quaritch and his team walked by, knowing the Marines had a taste for women who looked and acted like you.

Unfortunately, as one of the only females in the operation, the soldiers noticed you a lot more. Ja and Prager only sent you lazy smiles as you passed, fully intent on letting you do your thing, but five other military recoms were a nuisance to your daily life.

The annoying military Recombinants—Quaritch, Lyle, Mansk, Fike, and Brown—were a rough bunch, the kind of men who thrived in the presence of violence. You were the complete opposite of them, preferring the quiet lab and rarely ever talking back. The difference between you and them couldn’t have been more obvious, and boy, did they love to remind you.

You were no stranger to wandering glances. You noticed them back when you were human. Yet, you still felt uncomfortable when the Marine recoms stared at you.

Every time you passed by their little group, they turned silently, their gazes watching your every move. Today was no different from that. You clutched the data pad in your left hand as you strolled through the base, on your way to the science lab once again. You noticed the dreaded group almost immediately; they were laughing pretty loud after all.

They were all leaning against the wall, exchanging teasing remarks. Mansk was the first to spot you. He whispered to his teammates and the mood suddenly shifted. Your ears pinned against your head in annoyance as you passed them, feeling their eyes burning into you.

They said nothing for the first second before Lyle opened his mouth. “Hey, Doc!” He loudly called out. You paused, glancing over your shoulder. You knew if you ignored them, they’d just follow you and you’d get no work done. “Looking good in that body. How about you come check on me later? I might need a… personal examination.” You didn’t have to look to know he had a snarky grin on his lips.

Quaritch deeply chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. Not necessarily good ones, though. “Careful, Wainfleet. She might take you up on that offer if she didn’t have her hands full.” His eyes roamed your body, not even trying to hide it. You felt your face heat up.

Your tail swished from side to side in frustration, which only encouraged them. You began walking again, merely rolling your eyes at the remarks. However, Mansk didn’t let you go so easily.

“Don’t be coy, Doc. You’re practically part of the team now. Why don’t you join us for some drinks?” He pushed himself off the wall and stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“You’ve got us all wondering what you’re hiding under that lab coat.” Brown chimed in with a smirk. You lightly huffed, casually stepping around Mansk.

You wouldn’t usually reply to their biting comments but you were on your last nerve today. “I’m here to do a job.” You said, “And so are you. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate if you stopped annoying me.”

You tried to walk off but a firm tug held you back from important work. “Feisty today, aren’t we?” It was Quaritch. You pulled your arm back, lips curving into an unimpressed frown.

“I am not here for your blatant entertainment, Colonel. I’m here to get my research done.”

Despite your sharp tone, Fike still muttered something to Mansk that had them both snickering. You clenched your jaw.

Quaritch’s grin widened at your words. “You definitely find a way to keep things interesting, Doc. If you ever need a break from all that chatter in your brain, we’ll be happy to relieve some stress.” His voice dipped into a suggestive tone, and you knew what he was implying.

You took a deep breath, barely holding onto the last of your calmness. “I have work to do, Colonel.” You briskly walked away, the sound of your boots growing fainter as you shoved past the laboratory doors.

You sat at your desk for a minute, calming yourself from the annoyance bubbling up. No matter how hard you tried to stay focused on this godforsaken planet, the weight of the soldiers’ gazes and their various taunts still drew a reaction.

You knew you’d be seeing them much sooner than you liked. You were due to collect some samples and you needed someone to keep guard. Though, the RDA gave you five idiots to keep watch instead.

An hour after your run-in with the particular group of soldiers, you were forced to see them again. You trudged through the base, trying to delay the process. You saw them waiting outside, tapping their boots against the floor impatiently. They were expecting to see another scientist, a less amusing one, but when you swung the door open, they grinned.

“Let’s get this over and done with.” You muttered, pushing past them.

You hated Pandora but you could never hate the beauty of it. Sometimes you wished you had been born Na’vi so you could appreciate everything the dangerous world had to offer.

The jungle was alive with sounds and the chittering of animals as you moved carefully through the vegetation, ducking occasionally to avoid a tree branch. You stopped every five minutes to take a sample, labelling it and storing it away before continuing on your way.

You knew you weren’t alone, you had five military recoms trailing after you, and that made everything less beautiful. Their forms moved heavily through the foliage, not really caring where they stepped. The group was meant to keep you safe but they only felt like a distraction.

You were observing a particularly interesting plant before you heard the rather obnoxious voice of the Colonel. “What’s the matter, Doc? We got you all hot and bothered?”

Your ears flicked at the unnecessary remark. “Only doing my job, Colonel.” You muttered, careful not to show any emotion Quaritch would use against you.

“That all you’re doing?” Lyle piped up, the grin evident in his voice. “You should be focusing on something else. Like us.”

Oh, how you wished to throw a rock at him or shove a handful of dirt into his mouth.

You heard Mansk snicker as you straightened up, walking further into the forest without another world. You had no intent of taking part in their banter.

“Don’t be so cold, Doc.” Fike called after you as they followed close behind. “We’re just tryna keep you company, can’t have you lonely out here.”

You wished you were alone. Perhaps you should have specifically requested for Z-dog and Walker to accompany you instead.

You slowed down and that was enough for Quaritch to take long strides to stand behind you. His tall frame casted a shadow over you as he fell into unified steps. “Loosen up, Doc. This’d be a lot more fun if you did.” Again, he didn’t try to hide the way his gaze flickered to your chest. He was never subtle in the slightest.

Your grip tightened on your tool kit as your tail flicked him. “For the last time, I’m here to collect data.” You coolly said, “That’s all.”

Quaritch chuckled, “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You’re the only interesting thing out here.”

“Yeah.” Brown, who wasn’t too far behind, voiced. “Watching you work is a nice change from the military crap.” You would have preferred if they were actually doing their jobs instead of focusing on you.

You ignored them to the best of your ability but it was difficult with the group almost circling around you, their remarks growing bolder by the second.

You were scanning a tree when Lyle broke your trance of concentration. He leaned in, "You know, if you ever need a different kind of data… We’re more than happy to volunteer."

You quickly recoiled, a little disgusted at his words. Quaritch placed a hand on your lower back before you could step away. “Easy, Doc.” He uttered, “Wouldn’t want you to trip and fall.”

You held back a scoff. “Can you all just stop?” You said, the frustration seeping into your voice. “I’m trying to collect data here, and you’re all acting like animals.”

They clearly enjoyed your reaction. Mansk steeped forward, “You don’t like our attention, baby?”

You almost succumbed to the urge of throwing a pair of scissors in his face. “I’m collecting samples. If you have nothing scientific to say then leave me alone.”

Quaritch raised his hands in mock surrender yet the smug smirk on his face never faltered. “Alright, we’ll back off.” You doubted that.

The uneasy feeling of their eyes never truly disappeared. You could hear their muffled laughter and murmured comments following you, a reminder that you still weren’t alone.

Barely an hour had passed before the sky darkened. You didn’t think much of it before the first raindrop hit your nose. You tilted your head up, eyes scanning the sky. It only took a second for a heavy downpour to drench you. The droplets of water crashed against the ground with such intensity that it made it hard to see, and it almost hurt.

“Shit.” Quaritch muttered over the booming thunder. “Everyone, under the trees!”

Mansk, the closest recom to you, grabbed you by the shoulder and dragged you under the nearby tree. The canopy offered some form of shelter but still not a lot. It did little to keep you dry.

Your clothes were already soaked, specifically your thin shirt. It uncomfortably clung to your skin. Your straight hair was curling in the humidity, sticking to your face.

Lyle shook his head like a wet dog, his braid sending water flying everywhere. You covered your face to block the droplets. “This rain is something else.” He said, “Never seen such a heavy downpour.”

Mansk was the first to check up on you since the rain. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Doc, you look a little… soaked.” His eyes lingered on your drenched form while you glared at him.

You tugged at your shirt, a fruitless attempt to keep it from sticking to your skin. The fabric was nearly transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination. Mansk’s words had brought you the undivided attention of his teammates.

“This weather is really doing a number on you, Doc.” Quaritch drawled as he leaned against the thick tree trunk.

“It’s only rain, Colonel.” Your response came out sharper than you intended it to. But you knew even if you screamed at him, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of hard not to look.” He chuckled.

Fike, who was standing on your left, smirked as you tried to wring out your shirt. “That’s one way to distract us. Keep it up and we might forget why we’re out here.”

Lyle was the next to comment. “Loving the view, Doc.”

You shot Lyle a look before forming your arms over your chest. “Let’s just focus on staying dry.” You grumbled.

“Don’t worry, Doc. We’re just appreciating the scenery, right boys?” Quarditch’s gaze shamelessly traced every curve that was now exposed by your wet clothes.

You opened your mouth to snap back but the words never rolled off your tongue. Quarditch had reached out to brush a strand of wet hair away from your face. His warm touch lingered for longer than necessary before pulling away.

You impatiently waited for the rain to stop but as the long minutes dragged by, you lost hope. It had been half an hour of a continuous downpour and you were still soaked, forced to shiver as you paced back and forth.

Quaritch and his team had settled at the base of the tree, sitting in a circle and trading jokes. They seemed unconcerned about the delay while you were basically gnawing at your fingertips.

Your tail flicked back and forth as you paced, flicking droplets of water with every step and narrowly avoiding whacking Mansk. The longer you waited, the less time you had to gather data. You were already on a tight schedule.

Quaritch noticed your unease and he parted his lips to speak up. “What’s wrong, Doc? Can’t stay still for two seconds?” He teased. You glowered at him.

“I don’t have time for this, Colonel. I have limited time and this damn rain is wasting it.”

“Relax, sweetheart. You’ll get your samples eventually.” Lyle butted in. You gritted your teeth, the tip of your tail swaying in annoyance.

“That isn’t good enough.” You seethed.

“Pacing isn’t gonna make it any better.” Fike called out.

Quaritch looked up at you, sending you his signature smirk. You despised what he was going to say next. “I’m sure we can find a way to occupy you, Doc. Just to pass the time.” There was nothing innocent about his words.

“I don’t have time for distractions, Colonel.” Every time you tried to push him and his team away, they tried to reel you back in.

Quaritch was clearly amused by you. You turned to watch the rain again, your patience wearing thin.

You waited for another ten minutes. You tried to sit still for as long as you could before you couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuck it.” You cussed, grabbing your tool kit. The recoms watched as you stepped out from under the tree without a word, letting the hard rain hit you again.

“Hey, where you going, Doc?” Lyle exclaimed, though his tone sounded more amused than concerned as the soldiers watched you.

You didn’t reply as you stalked forward, determined to collect as much data as you could, even if it meant catching a cold later.

“Guess she’s serious about that data,” Mansk commented with a chuckle.

The recoms watched as you disappeared into the jungle. None of them stopped your stubborn pursuit as you marched through the rain despite the miserable conditions.

“Do you think maybe she’s just crazy?” Fike voiced.

It took you twenty minutes to trudge back to the group. You were drenched and shivering and overall not in very good condition. But at least the last sample rested safely in your kit.

Your shirt was completely see-through by this point. It offered you no protection against the frigid rain. You maintained some of your calm composure despite the chills racking your body.

The soldiers were still lounging under the tree, only raising their heads when they heard the sound of a twig snapping. They all stared at you in amusement as you finally reached them.

Quaritch immediately locked eyes with you. “Look who’s back. You look like you’ve been through hell, Doc.” His eyes scanned the small tears in your shirt.

It surely felt like you had. You were glad the soldiers weren’t there to witness you tripping.

“Shut your trap.” You sneered, dropping the sampling kit before sitting down and slumping against the tree. “I fucking fell down a hill and into a river. Hit a few trees too. Hurt like a bitch.” They had never heard such strong language from you but then again, they didn’t know you had the willpower to walk through the heavy rain.

Lyle whistled lowly, “Damn, Doc, you’re practically giving us a free show over here.”

You didn’t reply. Your ears were pinned back against your head in annoyance as you watched the rain. “Let’s just get out of here.” You grumbled, going to collect your supplies before Quarditch grasped your arm.

“No can do, Doc. The rain ain’t letting up and we can barely see a meter in front of us. We’ll get lost or some of us might fall down a hill. Again.” He grinned, showing off his fangs as he searched your face for a reaction.

“We can’t stay out here for the night.” You fired back. “We’ll get eaten alive.”

“Nah. This area is relatively safe. Good thing we didn’t go too deep into the forest.” Quaritch’s tail lightly flicked, showing he was in no hurry to get back to the base.

You tilted your head back, almost hissing in frustration. You didn’t want to be stuck out in the forest with these military imbeciles. You didn't want to admit it, but Quaritch had a point; you could barely see the next tree over.

Agonising hours dragged by as the rain poured down. The soldiers aimed to entertain themselves, sometimes throwing a few teasing remarks your way. You merely rolled your eyes at their jeers.

"Alright, Lyle, time to pull out the tent. Looks like we're stuck here for the night." You heard Quaritch mutter. To your surprise, you watch as Lyle pulls a tent from his bag. You let the soldiers set it up, knowing you wouldn't be of much help anyway.

"Ladies first, Doc." Quaritch grinned, stepping aside for you to enter. Your tail flicked him in annoyance as you brushed past him. The interior of the tent was large, tall enough to fit your avatar bodies, but it was still a tight squeeze. Your Na'vi body was well-built, your arms toned from the harsh terrain, but the soldiers were almost huge. They were tall with large muscles, taking up almost all the space.

Military gear and supplies were strewn all over the floor of the tent, making it impossible to walk without stepping on something. The heavy droplets of rainwater hammered down onto the tent's fabric, creating a sort of ambience.

Your shirt, which had taken most of the rain, clung to your skin uncomfortably. The cold was beginning to seep through, making it hard to focus. You shifted around, lightly groaning.

With a sigh of exasperation, you had reached a breaking point. You lifted your wet shirt over your head, peeling the thin fabric off. You weren't particularly concerned with how the soldiers' eyes flickered to stare at your bra. You were just glad that awful shirt was off.

As you began to wring the water out of the shirt, Quaritch spoke up. He let out a low whistle before speaking. "Didn't expect this kind of show, Doc." Oh, how insufferable he was.

The tent felt even smaller now with how their gazes lingered on you. You settled into a dry corner of the tent, wrapped in a towel. Your eyes were drooping before Lyle made a biting remark. You quickly grabbed your shirt, throwing it at him. It hit Lyle in the face with a loud slap.

The soldier yelped in surprise and stumbled back. "Watch it!" he exclaimed. His teammates burst into laughter, their amusement evident.

"That's one way to shut him up," Quaritch said through a small laugh.

You eventually dosed off, exhausted and sick of the icy cold. The soldiers stayed awake, their guns at the ready. They lowly murmured amongst themselves, continuing their playful banter.

Lyle nudged Quaritch, a grin spreading across his face. "Look at that, Colonel. The Doc's out like a light." Your tail was lazily draped over your body as you curled up into a ball to retain warmth.

Mansk leaned in, lowering his voice. He didn't want to accidentally wake you and end up being slapped in the face with a shirt like Lyle. "You think she'll be annoyed if we keep making these jokes?"

"Nah, she's out cold." Fike softly chuckled under his breath.

Brown glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Think she's dreaming 'bout us?" He lightly snorted.

Quaritch raised an eyebrow, his gaze still focused on your still body. "Careful now. If Doc wakes up and hears you say that, she won't be so friendly."

Lyle quietly laughed, "Yeah, you don't wanna get hit in the face with that shirt, trust me."

The quiet atmosphere was interrupted by a shrill cry. It was unsettling, making the soldiers jump in surprise. The sound cut through the night enough to jolt you awake. You blinked dazedly, squinting in the dim light.

"What is that noise?" You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet. Your annoyance was apparent as you moved the tent flaps aside. You stumbled out, the rain hitting you like a sturdy wall. You shielded your face from the heavy downpour, your gaze searching through the storm. You found the culprit—a large bird the size of your long torso rummaging through the scattered gear you had dropped.

"Get out of here!" You yelled, throwing a rock at the strange creature. The bird squawked again before scrambling off, leaving your seething form in the rain.

You re-entered the tent in worse condition than before. The soldiers tried to suppress their amusement as you shook off the water.

Lyle didn't even try to hide his laughs. "You're back at square one, Doc. Might need to take your pants off this time." You ignored him, returning to your previous spot.

"We’ll have to put a bell on you so you don't end up in the rain," Quaritch added, only humiliating you more.

You slumped against the side of the tent, stuck between a state of sleep and awareness. You jumped again when the same screech erupted from outside, testing your patience.

You slowly pushed yourself up once more. The gazes of the soldiers burned into you, clearly amused. The bird had not learned its lesson from the first time, plucking up the courage to scour through your gear once more. You saw how its beady eyes glanced at you, glinting with mischief.

"I've had enough of you!" You exclaimed, "You keep interrupting my sleep! And get away from my stuff!" You launched yourself at the bird, tackling it. Its screams escalated in volume as you swatted at the animal. It tried to avoid your advances, darting and hissing at you.

The soldiers poked their heads out of the tent, wanting to watch the chaos unfold. "Never thought I'd see a scientist take on a wild animal."

"Yeah, get some, Doc!" Lyle shouted, "Beat that thing!"

Fike turned to Quaritch, lightly nudging him. "You think she'll give up any time soon?" He muttered.

The Colonel shook his head, huffing in amusement. "Not a chance."

The bird scampered off, and you turned around, drenched but victorious. You ignored the soldiers' encouraging shouts as they clapped you on the back. You were desperate for rest, even if it meant fighting an animal. Everything began to settle down again, finally, until that bird returned.

"Oh, that is it!" You screamed. Your rage boiled over. "I'm going to cook that thing!" Lyle quickly grasped your shoulder, holding you back.

"Hey, calm down, Doc!" He shouted.

"I've had enough of that bird! I'm hungry! I'm gonna cook it if it doesn't shut up!" You tried to wriggle out of Lyle's grip, ears pinned back in anger and fangs bared.

"Might wanna rethink that, Doc. We ain't in the middle of a kitchen." Quaritch spoke up.

Eventually, you calmed down. You reluctantly sat down beside Mansk in the circle, arms folded over your chest in frustration. "You look cold, angel," Mansk commented, earning a glare from you.

"No, I'm perfectly warm. I might be sweating a little." You sarcastically replied, mockingly fanning your face. Mansk handed you his jacket, but you hesitated before taking it. Slowly, you slipped it on, wrinkling up your nose at the smell of his strong cologne rubbing off on you.

As handy as ever, Lyle pulled out a portable battery heater after noticing your intense shivering. "Forgot I had this." He laughed while Fike and Brown rolled their eyes. The heater softly hummed, and you almost closed your eyes at the much-needed warmth.

The soldiers fell back into their usual conversation, keeping their voices low so as to not disturb you.

"You finally warming up, Doc?" Quaritch glanced at you with a small smile, though it was more of a smirk.

You silently lifted your hand, showing him the middle finger. He chuckled, not offended in the slightest. After an endless night of rain and exhaustion, you finally drifted off. Your head lolled to the side, falling onto Mansk's shoulder while your tail was draped over Lyle's lap.

Mansk glanced down at you with a grin, his eyes trailing over the curve of your tail. He lowly chuckled, "I could get used to this. Not every day you get a warm spot and a cozy tail.”

The other soldiers exchanged glances as they caught the meaning behind Mansk's joke. You slept soundly while the Marines kept watch, their guns nearby. They continued to banter amongst themselves while allowing you to gain the rest you desperately needed.

[starryjkoo]

I've seen some people bringing up hickeygate for some reason so in the spirit of AYS?! release week, I’d like to talk about why I love hickeygate.

To begin with, I feel like a lot of people don’t understand that what makes hickeygate so funny isn’t even necessarily the hickey. Or rather, there’s too much focus on only the hickey when the whole thing is just hilarious and weird.

Like, apparently Jikook get drunk (alone) together and JK lifts Jimin bridal style, spins him around, and refuses to set him down even when Jimin gets super dizzy. And apparently Jimin’s drunken method of getting JK to set him down is to “bite” him on the neck in such a way that leaves a mark that looks exactly like a hickey. That’s weird! Every part of that is weird!

And what’s also kind of funny to me is that I think they told the story because imo in their eyes it really was all very innocent “see, we weren’t doing anything weird or wrong!” almost, defensive, if you will. Because technically, they weren’t doing anything inappropriate, they were just defending themselves/explaining the totally non-weird mark Jimin left on JKs neck. It wasn’t really a “hickey”, they have nothing to hide, they were just playing around, nothing untoward happened.

But I think it’s funny because imho it at the very least implies that Jikook have some weird-ass boundaries/behaviors, that they might be so deep into their strange dynamic, so used to and desensitized to it, that they don’t even recognize when they’re being weird af. Because, regardless, this situation is still ????

Most people don’t drunkenly spin their friends around bridal style and refuse to set them down and have hickeys bit (sucked??) onto their neck in response. I mean, maybe some do, but I definitely don’t think it’s the norm (and Jin’s & TH’s responses are hilarious). And certainly most people would realize that leaving what looks like a hickey on your friends neck is going to be perceived a certain way regardless of what story you tell or how it came about, and would maybe cover it up to save themselves the embarrassment if they were bothered by the implications. But clearly that’s not what happened. They were out and proud of that thing lol (well Jimin seemed a bit sheepish about what happened lol).

Anyways the whole thing is funny and very weird and says something about their dynamic and weird physical boundaries and what they might be like when they’re drunk and alone together (which seems like something they do/did a lot). We also now know they also have in depth discussions about singing to the point they get lost in their own little world even when they're with others which is cute too.

Anyways, I know I’m not crazy to point out that their dynamic is weird and their intimacy boundaries are weird and their dynamic can read a certain way because I’ll always point to one of my other very favorite Jikook moments — Rainy Day fight — particularly the way that the other members responded. Like, continuously cringing for no reason, shivering and yelling “ew”, calling it a drama, singing a kdrama song at them, smiling and laughing, which is all honestly hilarious, and unnecessary, and validating lol. Especially because it didn’t really deter Jikook, who were just telling that story as it was, with JK seemingly pretty serious and invested in making sure Jimin got the details right.

So yeah, that is just how they come off, even to their own group that already have loose boundaries - and I just love that about Jikook. Love their weird drunken shenanigans and their dramatic as hell couple like rain fights, and how soft and silly they are in general.

Also shout-out to the retelling of the Rainy Day story where they both separately took the blame because they're mature, considerate and sweet towards each other like that. Also the fact that it was something JK felt sorry for years down the line, even though clearly there were no hard feelings about it. I feel like they probably didn’t fight that often if a fight in which they immediately made up was on his mind like that lol. Also the fact that what upset JK so deeply was Jimin’s threat of not caring about him anymore.

Anyways, I hope we get to see some drunken shenanigans in AYS. They did cut out whatever tussle occurred on that mosquito net during ITS though, so idk what they’ll actually show in the end, but I’m here for it.

[sugarrrvenomm]

is somebody gonna match my freak? // obi-wan x reader

sorry i couldn't help it with the title LMAO

word count: 3k

summary: this is disgusting <3

PS if u want me to make a taglist and would like to be on it leave a reply !!

In the beginning, Obi-Wan felt guilty; depraved. He was a Jedi Knight, had been a Jedi Knight for many years—while you still wore a braid in your hair. It wasn’t necessarily written anywhere that having sexual relations with Padawans was against the rules, but if he was being honest with himself, he knows that’s because it’s the kind of expectation that is so obvious no one thought it even needed to put in writing. Still, the fact that it wasn’t explicitly forbidden didn’t do much to quell his shame.

And in the end, his shame didn’t do much—or anything at all, really—to stop him from fucking you. 

In his defense, you made the first move. Drunk off the single glass of wine your Master had allowed you during the Temple’s Life Day celebrations. Anakin had slunk off to Force knows where, and Obi-Wan was content with standing at the edge of the grand banquet hall, making sure no one got too reckless, taking another drink every time a server-droid buzzed passed him, and watching you. 

You’d greeted him earlier, twirling in your little white dress that certainly wasn’t Jedi issued. It was becoming more and more common for younger Jedi to scrap together fabric into their own personalized garments—apparently it didn’t bother the Council enough to do anything about it. And it certainly didn’t bother Obi-Wan, especially when the fabric was so thin he could tell very easily you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“What do you think?” You’d asked, smiling with teeth as white as the dress. 

Obi-Wan had cleared his throat, biting back the first few entirely inappropriate responses that came to him, before answering, “You’re very creative.”

The way you deflated slightly, clearly expecting a little more, bothered him more than it should have, so he smiled as genuinely as he could, and added, “Go enjoy the party, little one.” And then you blushed, like you always did when he called you that. Without another word, you had turned on your heel and did exactly as he said. He’d be lying if he said the obedience wasn’t a turn on. 

All night he watched you, and when you finally started to drift toward the exit, he made sure to be there so he could ask, “Would you like me to walk you back?”

The yes he got in response wasn’t very surprising. The way you had kissed him at the door of your quarters was, though. Obi-Wan couldn’t even enjoy it—instinctively pulling back and looking around to see if anyone had witnessed it. No one had, but you were grabbing at his tunics, trying to get his attention, and he’d pushed you inside of your rooms with the intention fo simply getting the two of you away from any prying eyes that may come. 

And once the door slid shut behind the both of you, and you were truly alone—he couldn’t help himself. Obi-Wan leant down and pressed your lips together, groaning low in his chest, walking you back until you were against the door, and slid his tongue into your mouth so you could taste him. You made such sweet, little noises—some of surprise, like you’d never done this before, and that made him roll his hips, desperate to get any kind of friction on his thick, swelling cock. 

When he’d done that, you’d pulled back, blinking up at him all doe-eyed with your lips pink and swollen. “I’m a virgin,” you said, in one quiet breath. 

Obi-Wan was far from a virgin, but he certainly felt like one for a moment, the words arousing him so much he feared he might finish in his pants right then and there. 

“That’s alright,” he managed to tell you, cupping your pretty face, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Nothing has to happen.” As much as I’d like it to, he left out. 

You’d sent him away with another kiss, and he wondered if when the morning came, you’d regret it. He never got a direct answer for that—you carried on almost entirely as if it had never happened when the two of you were around each other. If it wasn’t for Obi-Wan’s frequent replaying of the memory while he stroked his cock at night, he might have thought he imagined it.

Then, you were assigned a mission together. 

Obi-Wan knew Anakin found you tolerable at least, so he only gave him a warning to be on his best behavior—for most of the mission, the two of you only spoke when necessary, while Obi-Wan and your Master were more comfortable with each other. Or, used to be. Obi-Wan had trouble looking the other Jedi in the eye after kissing you. When the mission was completed, the four of you boarded the ship once more, Anakin in the cockpit navigating you away form the planet, while the rest settled in. 

Even while wrapped up in a conversation with your Master, Obi-Wan’s focus was on you. The other Jedi stood in front of Obi-Wan, so he couldn’t see what you were doing behind him, but Obi-Wan could. Obi-Wan could see the way you cleaned your lightsaber hilt, could see the way you removed the emergency medical supplies and rations from your belt and put them back in their proper place. 

Obi-Wan could see you bend over to take your boots off, and the way your panties clung to your little cunt. 

A Jedi in a skirt wasn’t a completely foreign sight, though most chose to wear leggings underneath. Obi-Wan had assumed you’d skipped them due to the heat of the planet, but had also assumed it was at least the kind of skirt with little shorts sewn in underneath. For practicality’s sake. He’d assumed wrong, of course. You had done this on purpose. There was no denying it when you turned your head to look at him, still bent over, and bit your lip.

As soon as your Master moved a muscle, you were up again, straightening yourself and bowing respectfully as he walked away to another area of the ship. When he was gone, you resumed your position, hands around your ankles. “I’m ready for something to happen now, Master Kenobi,” you said. 

Possessed, Obi-Wan took long strides to reach you as quickly as possible, grabbing your hips, thumbing your skirt up to see more of you. “I thought you were a virgin,” he breathed out, eyes glued to the place where your underwear hugged your slit, outlining the folds of your pussy. 

“I am,” you pouted, turning to look at him.

Obi-Wan ran a thumb over your center, his cock twitching. “Then how are you so fucking filthy?”

“Because of you.”

In response, Obi-Wan cursed, and cupped your pussy with a big hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes, yes!” You whined, and he let you rock yourself back, trying to make him rub you. “I always think of you when I—when I—“ you started, but you couldn’t seem to finish. 

“When you touch yourself?” Obi-Wan asked, taking his hand away as you nodded eagerly. He gripped your hips again, and pushed his own forward, after lifting his tunics out of the way so the bulge of his hard cock in his trousers could press snug and hot against your needy, covered cunt. “Me too, little one. Every time I touch my cock I’m thinking of you; of your darling face and this tight fucking virgin pussy,” he gritted out, humping against you with the last words, making you tip forward and claw at the wall in front of you. 

“Master Kenobi,” you mewled. “Please, touch me.”

Obi-Wan wanted to. He desperately wanted to. He wanted to pull down your underwear and have you right here, pop your cherry and make you his. But he couldn’t.

“I can’t fuck you, little one,” he breathed out.

You made a bratty, unhappy noise. “Why not?” 

“You’ll scream,” he bent over and whispered in your ear. 

♡♡♡♡♡

Eventually, Obi-Wan does take your virginity, and lets you scream all you’d like. Laid back in his bed, clawing at his hair while he rubs the drippy, pink head of his cock over your center, tapping your clit and barely pushing into your cunt. 

“Do you think it’ll even fit?” He asks. It’s not just dirty talk—he really doesn’t know for sure. You’re so tiny, and untouched, and his cock is quite big. Your eyes had gone wide when he first took it out, and he’d sat you on his lap and let you play with it until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Now, he sinks the tip of it into your pussy, and even as sloppy wet as you are, he wonders. 

“It will, it will,” you chant, trying to push down on it. Adorable.

He rubs a thumb over your clit to make you settle, then coos at you, “It’s alright if it doesn’t—little girls have tight, little pussies. You’ll just need practice, darling.” The words just pour out of him, so obscene he shocks himself a bit. It seems that all his guilt has turned into filth, and the very things he used to be ashamed of are now the very things he finds the most arousing. The braid in your hair, your untouched body, your innocence. 

Still, he indulges you, and as it would turn out, you were right. It does fit. It’s so tight that Obi-Wan feels as if his dick might break off, but that only makes him more determined to open your pussy up for him. As you cry and whine and chant his name, he fucks you into the mattress, pounding away at your cunt and groaning at the sounds the two of you make together; obnoxiously wet. 

What makes him come is the realization that you haven’t even inquired about a condom, not even once. Obi-Wan had a vasectomy years ago, but you certainly don’t know that. For all you know, he’s about to knock you up. In his mind, he sees you, sat on his lap with your back to his chest, letting him bounce you up and down on his cock, your sweet belly swollen with his baby. His cock pushes out another weak spurt when he imagines your Master walking in on it. 

With his cock softening inside of you, he rubs your clit and laves his tongue over your nipples. “Sweet girl, come all over me. I want to feel my little one come,” he orders. And you do; so obedient.

♡♡♡♡♡

Obi-Wan can’t stop taking firsts from you after that, especially with how you want it. Messaging him whenever you’re away from each other about how you can’t live without his cock and his tongue and his hands. Every moment your Master is away, you’re at his door, and Obi-Wan thanks the Force that Anakin’s teenage mood swings have led him to making himself scarce in their free time—it means Obi-Wan gets to have you however he’d like.

He gets you bouncing on his cock, just like he imagined, minus the pregnancy. His hands tucked under your knees, spreading you and opening you up so he can fuck you up and down on his fat cock until you squirt all over the mirror he’s set the two of you in front of. 

“Clean it up,” he tells you, pulling you off his cock and setting you on the floor. 

Without hesitation, you crawl over, and he’s torn between where he wants to look—your glistening pussy, pink and puffy from use, or your tongue, licking along the dirty mirror, unashamed. You do it so easily that he gets an idea, getting on the floor himself and stuffing himself back inside of you aggressively, fucking into you messily, watching the way your ass ripples until he’s about to come—then he quickly pulls out, stands, and tugs at his cock until his milky spend is dripping down the mirror. 

He grabs you by the hair and guides you to it, “Mm,” he hums, pleased at the way you moan and eagerly lick it up and swallow it all down. “Little come slut.” His cock is stirring to life again already, and he rubs it against your cheek, tapping your swollen lips with it. “Next time, I’ll fill you up and you can be my come dump, too.”

♡♡♡♡♡

When forced into situations with your Master, Obi-Wan really loathes how you obey the other Jedi so readily. He knows you should, and he knows he’s being unreasonable. It doesn’t stop him from ordering you to come to his quarters before your Master awakes, so he can swirl his tongue over the pretty little rim of the only hole he hasn’t touched yet. He moans against your skin, shoving his tongue inside of you and drooling all over his beard, lost in it until your com goes off, signaling that your Master’s awake. 

Obi-Wan can barely stand it—sending you away without coming, your precious cunt so soaked it’s surely going to show even through your leggings. 

It’s a consolation when he visits the training salles later and knows you’re going through all your katas with a plug in your ass, put there by him. Sparring with your Master while your entrance clenches around it and your pussy drools helplessly all the while. 

On the days there’s no time for such things, he strokes his cock while you’re on your way over. The only thing you do when you arrive is tug your panties down, and Obi-Wan comes all over the inside of them. He pulls them up your legs, smiling at the way they immediately become transparent and stick to you. 

“Does it feel yucky?” He asks.

You rub your thighs together and nod. “I like it, though.”

Pride swells in Obi-Wan’s chest and he kisses your forehead, while one hand reaches back under your skirt to massage your cunt, rubbing his seed all over your folds and the swollen button of your tiny clit. “Good girl. You keep that nice and warm for me all day, okay?”

You rock into his touch, and he sends you off with a smack to your ass. All day, he imagines you humping your seat during your lessons.

♡♡♡♡♡

Obi-Wan eats your pussy from the back, because you make him nasty like that. He bends you over a table in a dark corner of the archives and kneels behind you, shoving his face between your legs and trying to see if he can make you squirt in public.

He can. He sucks greedily at your clit and sends you an image through the Force of him doing this right in the middle of one of the Temple’s grand hallways, and you come so hard he has to take off his robe and sop up your mess from the table and the floor. 

Perhaps it’s a bit hypocritical, spanking you for such a stunt when you get back to his quarters, because really, it’s his own fault—but he does it anyway. 

“Naughty, naughty girl. You’re so filthy I’m beginning to think you’d let anyone do that to you. Is that true, little one? When I’m not around, do you flash your pussy to other Jedi? Is your little cunt so insatiable that you’d hump the boot of anyone that offered?” Obi-Wan knows none of these things are true; he knows as well as you do that you belong to him, but you blush so pretty and your cunt drips so much when he talks like this, so he always does. 

When your ass is red and you begin to cry, he pulls you into his lap and lets you rock against his thigh until you’ve calmed down. You suck on his tongue like it’s candy and rub your tits against his hairy chest.

Eventually, you pull back and pinch your own nipples, before pushing your breasts together and looking at him from under your eyelashes. “Do you think you could fuck me here?”

Obi-Wan throws you on the bed so fiercely he fears for a moment that he hurt you, but then you’re moaning and playing with your tits again, sticking your tongue out like a whore to beckon him closer. Rather than lube his cock up, he shoves it in your mouth and lets you wet it for him. You’ve gotten so good at this, you barely gag, even when your nose is buried in the auburn thatch of hair above his cock. 

When he fucks your tits, it’s more about the fact that you’ve asked him to do it, rather than the physical sensation of it. Sweet Padawan, little one, hugging her breasts around the cock of a man twice her age while she goes crosseyed and cockdumb. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth gets away from him, but he knows you love it. “Imagine if your Master could see you right now—he wouldn’t believe his little girl likes to suck my cock and empty my balls over her tits.”

He does just that, and then asks you to stick your tongue out again so he can take a holo of you, come on your tits and eyes glazed over. 

♡♡♡♡♡

“Think your cute little pussy can handle daddy’s big fat cock?”

He doesn’t know which one of you started the daddy thing, but it drives the both of you crazy. The fantasies where you just plain call him dad, he keeps to himself. 

You’re on all fours on his bed, and you reach between your legs to spread your cunt for him. 

“I can take anything you give me, daddy,” you say sweetly, and Obi-Wan knows it’s true. 

[cheshitora]

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛psycho x killer

『 killing keisuke isn't an easy task, especially when he knows all your silly tricks. well, not all of them apparently. sometimes, it really does take just a little luck for you to finally succeed. 』

baji keisuke ver. (1/3 valhalla trio)

on the stand :: baji keisuke x afab!reader

crimes committed :: DARK CONTENT, smut, nsfw, aged up characters, murder, masochism, sadism (i'll tag it just in case), strangling, asphyxiation, mentions of death, mentions of deadly chemicals, minor character death, body rejuvenation, immortal baji, noncon/dubcon (technically. i'll add both in case), spanking, fingering, orgasm denial, dacryphilia. lmk if i missed anything. Read at your own discretion. MDNI

che's verdict :: heyyy. i liked the idea. so i had to write for valhalla trio too lol. they were supposed to be short drabbles but i yap too much lol. anyways enjoy

word count :: 1.3k - it was supposed to be a drabble lol

"you got me feelin' like a psycho.."

Don’t think you can try to fool Keisuke - you can’t. He may have passively allowed you to continue your little murder spree on him but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll let you have your way every time, if at all.

Your raven haired lover is keenly aware of any and all planned attacks and strategies you’ve thought you cleverly hid from him. Well, you were wrong. Because he didn’t fall for the old “open the door and get an ax to the face” trick. He certainly wasn't allowing himself to trip and fall back on a clearly visible gasoline puddle for you to set aflame. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to discern the bitter smell of almonds in his waffles, finding the powdered sugar sprinkled delicately on top to be laced with cyanide. Nice try, but he wasn’t eating those.

Instead, he invited your next door neighbor to come over and eat the nicely made breakfast. Your neighbor who had gotten too close to comfort with you, always stealing glances your way and making inappropriate comments about your physique and attire when he presumed Keisuke would be out of earshot.

Boy, was he wrong and it nearly brought tears of joy to Keisuke’s eyes as he watched the sleazy man choke from the burning chemical in his throat, his face contorting in agony as he face planted into the plate of breakfast in front of him. Another one bites the dust.

You would sigh a breath of exhaustion, coming to terms that your futile attempts at your husband’s life were child’s play and Keisuke found it almost adorable when your moxy began to diminish. You even resorted to just sprinting towards him with a large, steel kitchen knife, aiming for his covered heart when he easily gripped your wrist the second you were in close range.

“Really? You can do better than that,” he smirked, swiping the cleaver from your grip with a low chuckle.

Poor girl, he thought but he knew your tricks and you found it increasingly difficult to fool your honey eyed husband. It was almost funny how hard you tried to end his life, though he knew it would be nearly impossible - he was an immortal, after all. There was no actual chance of you sending him back to the underworld with which he assumedly originated from, until today.

On this night, with mere luck to your advantage, just as you were heading off to bed, you clasped a string of thick, wooly rope in your palms, silently trudging towards your husband’s backside as he sat facing away from, leaning against the backrest of your couch with a beer in hand.

And before he could react to your sudden presence behind him, you quickly wrapped the thick rope around his neck, bracing your foot against the couch as you pulled back with all your might, your raven haired husband thrashing about, desperately fingering the rope trapped against the skin of his neck.

Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead and chest - your husband was strong and holding him back with your own strength was proving to be a difficult task until you noticed the change in his color, his olive skin turning red from asphyxiation. Suddenly, the red shifted to a blue hue, a telltale sign of his life slipping from his body and then - he went limp.

You stared at him in horror, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you made out the sight of your dead lover: bloodshot eyes, head leaned over the backrest of the couch, mouth agape, fingers still hooked under the rope, unbreathing, lifeless.

You stood there in utter shock, unwilling to take a step towards the man you called your husband. You knew it wouldn’t have been possible for him to actually kick the bucket but for a split second as his heart stopped, you feared the worst. Your hands reached out towards him before he unexpectedly inhaled a large gasp of air, jolting you out of your stupor, a shrill shriek escaping your lungs as Keisuke breathed heavily, tossing the length of rope aside as he rubbed his now bruised neck with his hands.

Your heart was beating erratically in your chest, feeling like you were on the verge of a heart attack as Keisuke shifted his attention towards you, knitting his brows in what seemingly looked like a mix of anger and admiration, perhaps even arousal. 

“Fuck, you actually did it,” he rasped out. This was the first time, and maybe even the only time, you’ve successfully murdered your husband, but now he was ready to take vengeance on you.

Now, Keisuke would never hurt you intentionally. Well, he would but only if it was meant to bring you pleasure and right now, he couldn’t think of a better way to praise and reprimand you than to lay you across his lap, hiking up the thin cotton of your small night dress, revealing your panty clad ass to his hungry eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he brought his rough, calloused hand down against your backside with a loud, thundering clap, making you squeal out in pain.

One slap. Two slaps. Three. Four. Five.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take, your eyes brimming with tears as your legs shook from the stinging pain on your plush ass, underwear soaked from your growing arousal.

“Tappin’ out already? I haven’t even gotten to ten yet,” he laughed, hooking his fingers under the elastic band of your panties, shimmying them down your hips, your cunt glistening with arousal.

“Dirty slut.” He spread your legs further apart, tracing the tip of his finger against your weeping slit, a small whimper seeping from your lips before he rammed two digits into your tight cunt, eliciting a loud, drawn out moan from your throat. 

Without any warning, Keisuke pistoned his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls, all the while his other hand continued to deliver blow after blow to your tender skin. You writhed on his lap, mewls and whimpers tumbling off your lips in place of actual words, your vision becoming blurry with a wall of tears.

God, you were so pretty when you cried, beautiful and he loved every spill of salty droplets that stained your reddened cheeks. It took every ounce of him not to pin you to the couch and plunge his hardening cock past your slick folds. But he needed to punish you first. He wanted to see how far he could push you until you were a crying, shivering mess. You weren’t about to kill him and get away so easily without facing the consequences and for Keisuke, he wasn’t about to not break a sweat teaching you a lesson.

His dick twitched in his pants as he saw more tears flooding your eyes, a sadistic grin tugging at the corners of his lips as the pace of his hand quickened, the sound of squelching filling the once quiet space that had been disturbed when you cleverly caught your raven haired husband by surprise.

He was past ten slaps but he wanted to see how much more you could take. He felt your walls tighten around his digits, a warning sign that you were close, just on the precipice of releasing until he pulled his fingers out, your tight hole clenching around nothing as you whined, desperate for him to fill you back up again. He grabbed a fistful of your hair with his spanking hand, pulling your head back as licked your sweet honey off his fingers.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “I don’t think you deserve to cum.”

You whined again, his hand gripping your hair harder, almost painful as he nibbled your earlobe. It was going to be a long night of punishment but a subtle smile etched across your face as he smacked your ass again, knowing the punishment was all too worth it.

Perhaps you should try to kill him again tomorrow. If you’re successful, you might just get punished again.

©ABOVE WORK BELONGS TO CHESHITORA. PLAGARISM AND STEALING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR ORIGINAL CREATORS