#small tapered brush

[skunkes]

as someone who has never understood the pen pressure curve settings despite drawing digitally for over a decade neow, can someone tell me if theres a way for a brush to need less pressure to activate, but still keep a thin tip? Because obvs changing it so that it doesnt need much pressure to make a stroke makes that stroke really thick and not have much width variation

[goddamnshinyrock]

The scene: new year’s morning, 8am, my wife and I wake up at my parents’ house after a night of revelry (playing board games until 10pm).

There is one minor problem this morning: no running water. This is a mysterious state of affairs, as 1) the power is still on and 2) there was running water the previous night. We brush our teeth with emergency bottled water as my father, extremely disgruntled by the lack of his usual morning shower, goes out to tinker with the well pump.

Shortly, my father comes back in, triumphant: good news, he’s fixed it, there was a wire with worn insulation on the pump and he snipped the worn end and re-attached it. There is water! Peace is restored.

15 minutes later, as we’re eating breakfast: no more water.

No problem, my father has a fresh theory as to the culprit: the new water filter/softener. My mother suggests they call the guy* who replaced their filter unit only six months ago, and pulls out her massive binder of household records to look for his number. My father** insists that he wants to “just take a look at it” first, since he’s “pretty sure” he knows what might be wrong with it. He vanishes into the basement.

There are a few minutes of minor swearing and banging noises as the rest of us discuss the situation upstairs, but the conversation is interrupted by a sudden FWOOOOOOSH from below us, as if someone has just turned on a fire hose in the basement. We all leap up and clatter down the steps, to be met with the sight of my father, soaked and defeated, standing in the middle of the room and staring at the geyser issuing from the general vicinity of the hot water heater and holding a small metal pin.

After a about 20 seconds, the roar of the geyser began to taper off and my father was able to explain, damply, the events that had lead to ‘basement geyser’. First, he’d determined the problem was indeed the new filter, and had (logically) begun trying to engineer a temporary fix by re-routing the house water supply to bypass it. He had accordingly turned off the valve leading from the well pump into the filter, and then went to open the valve that exited the filter to drain the unit. The filter valve was held shut by a twist cap with a pin. He pulled the pin, but didn’t get so far as twisting open the cap, because it had already shot across the room under the pressure of all the water currently in the house draining at once. Into his face. And thence onto the basement floor.

But, on the bright side he did solve the new year’s day water mystery, and even got his morning shower after all.

—

*Their Filter Guy is not a plumber. He was described as “the water filter whisperer”, a title which, after this incident, I am extremely skeptical of.

**Also not a plumber.

[mirouie]

thinking about cuddling with riki.

it's been a long day. the kind of day that's just a little more draining than most—it leaves your shoulders a little more slumped, feet slowly trudging along, fatigue a little more evident in the circles under your eyes. you're tired.

riki doesn't hear you when you come in. he's curled up in bed, controller snug in his two hands, looking like he's ready to jump into the tv and beat the bad guys in his game himself. he's passionate.

it's only when you mutter a small, "hi," that tapers off at the end the wrong way does he turn to look at you. he feels his heart ache at the sight of your shriveled up figure standing by the doorway—dejected, hesitant to approach him even though you want nothing more than to dive under the covers and wrap yourself around him. you're afraid to disturb; he thinks it's silly.

"hey, bub," he calls out, out of the sheets in one big wriggle and closing in on you in three big steps. you've barely opened your arms out for him when he wraps you up in his, firm but not unkind, squeezing you tight. it leaves you breathless for a second, but you wind your arms around his waist and squeeze back.

"are you okay?" riki whispers, lips brushing against your temple. you close your eyes and relish the feeling. "i'm okay. i missed you."

he heaves a great sigh. one, two, three kisses trail down to your cheek and jaw, light, fluttering things that have a few butterflies come to life in your tummy. he never fails to make you feel that way. you smile a little at the fact.

"i missed you more, angel. so much more, you won't believe it," he kisses you again before tangling your hand in his, tugging you towards the bed. he flops down and you follow suit. it's routine by now the way you instantly melt into him, perfectly fitting in all his cracks and crevices like you're made to be there. he thinks you are; perfectly made for him.

you're engulfed in a whole lot of him. in the sheets and his pillows that smell like him, in his clothes, and in his presence. you feel yourself deflate the longer he holds you close to him, a reprieve for the burdens that weighed down on you the whole day. there's just something about him that makes you feel in such a way. a comfort only he holds, and that saved especially just for you.

[tamahoshio]

I drew and got this far coloring last night, hoping to finish tonight. I forgot to post a streaming link here last time, but I'll try and remember this time!

My streams are all talking bc I'm bad at picking music that won't get copyright striked into silence, so please do feel free to chat when the time comes

[goldfades]

LATE-NIGHT CALLS ─── JOE BURROW

request: "I feel like Joe would always insist on calling you after every game even the late ones. Even if it’s just a sleepy, half-coherent conversation he refuses to go to bed without hearing your voice"

Joe's post-game ritual has always been the same: shake hands, hit the showers, face the press, and head home. But since the two of you started dating, he added a new step—one he never skips. No matter the hour, no matter how late the game runs or how exhausted he is from the rush of adrenaline and the strain of the field, he calls. Even if it’s the kind of late that makes your voice thick with sleep and your words slur together, he’ll still dial your number, waiting for the soft click of your sleepy “Hello?” on the other end.

You used to worry about his exhaustion, insisting he could wait until morning, but Joe’s stubbornness won out. It’s his way of winding down, he says, the easiest way to let the adrenaline taper off—to hear you, half-awake and warm under your blankets, murmuring about your day or teasing him for that one pass he wishes he’d thrown differently.

Tonight, the call comes later than usual, your phone buzzing on the nightstand as you squint at the clock—well past midnight. You know the routine by now, though. His name glows on the screen, and you don’t hesitate to answer, even if you’re barely awake yourself. Because somehow, even in those moments of barely-there conversation, there’s something grounding, something steady in the sound of his voice—low and sleepy and comfortable.

The phone buzzes again, and you let out a small sigh, rolling over in the sheets that are tangled around your legs. It’s late—way too late for anyone but him. You fumble for the phone, knocking your book off the nightstand in the process, and finally manage to answer on the last ring.

“Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep, barely more than a mumble. Your eyes are still closed, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice before he even speaks.

“Hey,” he says, sounding tired but happy. There’s a warmth in his voice that makes you want to sink deeper into the blankets, your body relaxing even as you struggle to stay awake. You hear a faint rustling on his end of the line, the sound of him settling into whatever hotel bed or quiet corner he’s managed to find for this call.

“How’d it go?” you ask, even though you watched the whole game with half your attention, laptop open on your lap as you listened to the announcers shout his name. You already know he won. You can tell just by the way he’s breathing—steady and content, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing on his shoulders anymore.

“We got the win,” he says, and you can practically picture the satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Defense pulled through. Felt good. Tired, though.” There’s a pause, just long enough for you to hear the creak of the bed as he stretches out, and you imagine him there, hair still damp from the shower, pillow propped against the headboard, eyes half-lidded and heavy.

“You sound tired,” you say, letting your own eyes drift shut again, his voice washing over you like a lullaby. He always sounds different after a game—softer, looser, the careful edges he keeps in place during the day falling away in the quiet of the night.

“Yeah,” he admits, a low chuckle humming in his throat. “Long night. But I’m good. Needed to call you first.” He says it like a fact, like calling you is as essential as breathing, and it makes something warm settle in your chest, even as you struggle to fight off sleep.

You know what he looks like right now—can see him so clearly it’s almost like you’re there. His face is flushed from the game, the last traces of exertion still lingering in his expression, and he’s got that soft, worn-out smile you only see when he’s alone with you. He’s probably half-reclined on some too-firm hotel bed, still wearing sweats and the hoodie he threw on over his jersey. You can picture the way his hand would brush over his face, rubbing at tired eyes, his fingers trailing down to the scruff along his jaw. He’s handsome in a way that doesn’t need effort, like he forgets sometimes that anyone’s looking.

“What’d you eat?” you ask, knowing he probably hasn’t had a proper meal yet. There’s a muffled sound, and you can almost see him shrug.

“Grabbed a sandwich at the stadium,” he says. “You know, the usual. But I’m not really hungry.” His voice is softer now, like he’s already sinking into the comfort of the call, the post-game rush fading away. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything, just the quiet hum of the line connecting you, stretching across the miles.

His breathing evens out, and you know he’s lying back now, probably letting his eyes drift shut the way you are, letting the night pull him under. This is the quietest part of the day, the only time where everything seems to slow down, where it’s just you and him, your voices mingling in the spaces between words.

“Did you see the game?” he asks suddenly, and there’s a hint of teasing there, like he already knows the answer. He’s always known when you’re watching—can sense it in some unspoken way, even when you’re not at the stadium, cheering him on in person. You hum, the sound halfway between agreement and a sleepy sigh.

“Of course I did,” you say. “Saw that touchdown, too. You looked good out there.”

He chuckles, the sound low and deep, a bit self-conscious but pleased. “You think so?” he asks, his tone playful but with that slight, genuine curiosity you’ve come to love—like he still isn’t sure how you see him, even after all this time.

“Always,” you reply, and it’s true. Even when he’s a mess, jersey streaked with mud, hair wild from the helmet, he’s yours. There’s something honest about him on the field, something raw that you can’t help but admire. He doesn’t play with swagger—he plays with determination, with a kind of quiet, relentless grit that makes your chest tighten with pride.

“Wish you were here,” he murmurs, and there’s a softness to the words, a longing that cuts through the distance between you. You can hear the weight of it, the way he doesn’t mean for it to sound so heavy, but it does anyway.

“Me too,” you admit, turning onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You know he’s in some hotel room halfway across the country, the curtains drawn against the city lights, the room probably too cold for comfort.

And you’re here, in your own bed, miles apart but tethered by this line, by his voice, by the quiet spaces between breaths that are filled with the things neither of you say out loud.

It’s moments like this that make the distance feel bearable, moments where the miles don’t matter because it’s just you and him, lingering in the quiet of the night, holding on to the sound of each other’s voice like a promise.

“Get some sleep, Joey,” you say softly, knowing he won’t listen, that he’ll keep talking until he’s sure you’re drifting off, that he won’t hang up until he’s heard you yawn, heard the way your voice gets softer and softer until you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

“Not yet,” he says, voice a bit firmer now, a smile tugging at the edges. “Just a few more minutes.”

You don’t argue, just let him fill the silence with the sound of his breath, the occasional murmur about a play or a moment you’d already forgotten, listening to the way his voice dips and slows, lulling you back to the edge of sleep. It’s the sound of home, you think, this quiet, late-night ritual that belongs only to the two of you—a secret shared in the dark, a comfort that’s become as essential as the game itself.

He keeps talking, his voice a low, steady hum, and you let yourself drift, knowing he’ll be there, knowing he won’t let you go until you’ve slipped back into the warmth of your dreams, his voice still echoing in the back of your mind long after you’ve hung up.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[paxtito]

grey sweatpants

parings: tara x reader (g!p)

word count: 4048

warnings: smut 18+, swearing, reader has a dick, oral sex, fingering and p in v

summary: tara’s tiktok feed has been filled with people buying their partners grey sweatpants, it’s supposed to exaggerate certain… features. she drags you along to the shop to buy a pair and let’s just say, she definitely likes it

a/n: wrote this while listening to the car by arctic monkeys, i will not tolerate hate towards their newer stuff- apologies in advance for any mistakes

MASTERLIST

You’re barely two steps inside the store when Tara’s hand closes around your wrist, dragging you through the aisles with a surprising amount of strength for someone so small. Her eyes are lit up with that determined gleam that usually spells trouble—or something about to become very memorable. You’re not sure which it’ll be, but you follow, grinning.

“We’re not leaving until you’ve tried on at least five pairs,” she declares, her voice laced with mischievous excitement.

“Five?” you laugh, letting her pull you deeper into the clothing section. “Don’t you think that’s a little…excessive?”

“Nope,” she says, without even a second of hesitation. She looks back at you with a smirk. “You need options. And I need the perfect pair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Perfect pair for what?”

She stops in front of a display of grey sweatpants, eyeing them like they’re some sort of rare, mythical artifact. Tara’s fingers brush over a pair of heather grey joggers, and she glances up at you with that mischievous glint you’ve come to know all too well.

“For…reasons,” she says cryptically, shooting you a playful wink that makes your cheeks warm.

“Oh, I see,” you tease, crossing your arms. “This has nothing to do with all those TikToks about guys in grey sweatpants?”

She shrugs, pretending to look innocent, but there’s no hiding the tiny grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, maybe I’ve been…inspired.”

“Maybe?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Tara, you’ve been obsessed with those videos ever since we started dating.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Okay, fine, I have! But can you blame me? I mean, just imagine…” Her voice drops to a whisper, her gaze drifting downward suggestively.

You follow her line of sight, realizing with a jolt of heat under your skin exactly what she’s talking about. You can’t help but chuckle, shaking your head at her antics.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about sweatpants before,” you say, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s because these aren’t just any sweatpants,” she insists, her tone serious despite the blush creeping up her cheeks. “These are…strategic sweatpants.”

You blink, trying to hide your amusement. “Strategic?”

She nods vigorously. “Yeah! They’re supposed to be like…the perfect fit. Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to, you know…highlight the goods.”

You can’t help but laugh at her bluntness, even as your heart flutters at the thought of her wanting to showcase your assets like that.

“And you think these ones will do the trick?” you ask, motioning towards the display.

Tara grins, already reaching for a pair in your size. “Oh, definitely. Trust me, Y/N, once you put these on…you’ll understand why I’m so excited.”

You watch as she practically skips towards the changing rooms, holding out the sweatpants for you to take. There’s a glint in her eyes that promises mischief and fun, and you can’t help but smile, following her lead.

Tara practically bounces on her toes as she waits for you outside the changing room, clutching the sweatpants to her chest like they’re a precious treasure. You can hear her humming to herself, a tune that sounds suspiciously like the jingle from one of those infamous TikTok videos.

Finally, you emerge from the changing room, feeling a bit self-conscious as you model the grey joggers for her. They fit snugly around your waist, tapering down to a comfortable width at the ankle. The material is soft against your skin, and you have to admit, they feel pretty good.

But it’s the reaction on Tara’s face that really catches your attention. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open in a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. For a moment, she seems at a loss for words, which is a rarity for her.

Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face, growing wider and wider until she’s practically beaming at you.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, stepping closer to get a better look. “Y/N, you look…wow.”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks at her obvious approval. It’s not often that you’re the center of attention like this, and Tara’s undivided focus is both thrilling and a little intimidating.

“What’s so ‘wow’ about them? I’m starting to think you’re going mad.”

Tara giggles, shaking her head. "Trust me, you look amazing. I mean, seriously, how did I get so lucky?"

She reaches out, running her fingers along the waistband of the sweatpants. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly find yourself acutely aware of just how close she is standing.

"It's like... they were made for you," she murmurs, her voice low and appreciative. "They just...highlight everything so perfectly.”

You feel your face flush even hotter at her words, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure coursing through you. Tara's gaze is fixed on you, her eyes dark with a hunger that makes your breath catch.

"I'm serious, Y/N," she says, her tone turning playful. "You could give those TikTok guys a run for their money. I might just have to keep you in these pants all the time."

She winks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. You laugh, shaking your head at her antics, but there's no denying the way your heart races at the thought of her wanting to keep you close.

"Alright, alright," you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright, I guess these sweatpants are a keeper then," you chuckle, giving in to Tara's persuasive charms. "Let's go pay for them so we can get out of here." You say, disappearing back into the changing rooms.

Once you return, Tara's face lights up with pure delight, and she practically skips towards the checkout counter, clutching the sweatpants to her chest like a prized possession. You follow behind her, amused by her enthusiasm and finding yourself caught up in her excitement.

As you wait in line, Tara can't seem to stop touching the fabric of the sweatpants, running her fingers along the waistband and smoothing out the legs. It's almost like she's memorizing every detail, committing it to memory for later.

"I can't believe we found them," she says, glancing up at you with a grin. "I mean, it's like fate or something, right? Like the universe knew exactly what I needed and put them right in our path."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Sure, Tara. The universe is totally conspiring to make you happy."

"Hey, don't knock it," she says, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "Sometimes the universe just knows what's up."

As you finally reach the front of the line, Tara practically vibrates with anticipation, her eyes darting between you and the sweatpants like she's afraid they might disappear at any moment. When the cashier rings them up, Tara practically lunges for her wallet, eager to make the purchase official.

"There," she says triumphantly, clutching the bag with the sweatpants inside like a lifeline. "Now they're mine. All mine."

You can't help but laugh at her dramatic flair, but there's a part of you that's touched by her enthusiasm. It's not often that someone gets so excited about something so simple, but with Tara, everything feels special.

"Alright, let's get out of here," you say, looping your arm through hers. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day. Crazy girl.”

As you leave the store, Tara clutches the bag containing the sweatpants like a precious treasure. She can't stop grinning, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous light that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I can't wait to see you in these," she says, her voice low and sultry as you walk side by side. "I mean, seriously, Y/N, you're going to look so hot. I might not be able to control myself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck at her words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through you. “You just saw them on me, dumbass.”

Tara can't help but laugh at your comment, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but that was in the store. I want to see you in them in...private."

Her voice drops to a whisper on the last word, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the implication. Tara's hand finds yours, her fingers intertwining with yours as you walk.

"Come on," she says, tugging you gently towards the car. "Let's go back to my place so you can model them for me properly."

You let her lead you, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive back to Tara's apartment is filled with playful banter and stolen glances, the tension between you growing with each passing minute.

When you finally arrive, Tara practically drags you inside, her eagerness palpable. She kicks off her shoes and tosses her keys on the table by the door, then turns to you with a grin.

"Alright, Y/N," she says, her voice teasing. "Show me what you've got."

You feel a surge of confidence wash over you as you slip into the bedroom, the sweatpants hugging your curves in all the right places. When you turn to face Tara, her eyes widen, and she lets out a low whistle of appreciation.

"Damn," she breathes, taking a step closer. "I was right. You look absolutely incredible in those."

Her hands come to rest on your hips, her thumbs rubbing small circles against the fabric. You can feel the heat of her body seeping through the thin material, and it takes everything in you not to shiver.

"I think I might have to keep you in these forever," Tara murmurs, leaning in close. "Just so I can look at you like this all the time."

You can feel Tara's eyes roaming over your body, taking in every curve and every contour. There's a hunger in her gaze that sends a thrill straight to your core, and you can't help but squirm a little under her scrutiny.

"You know," she says, her voice low and husky, "I think these sweats were made for you. Like, specifically designed to show off every inch of your body."

You feel your face flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and excitement coursing through you. It's not often that someone looks at you like this, like they want to devour you whole.

Tara's hands slide up your sides, her fingers tracing the lines of your body through the fabric of the sweatpants. You can feel the heat of her touch even through the thin material, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"I mean, look at you," she continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're fucking perfect, Y/N. Every single inch of you."

Her hands come to rest on your hips, her thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a need that's growing stronger with each passing second.

"Tara," you breathe, your voice trembling slightly. "Please..."

She doesn't need any more encouragement. In one swift motion, she's pushing you back onto the bed, her body covering yours. Her lips find yours in a searing kiss, and you moan into her mouth, your hands fisting in her shirt.

Tara breaks the kiss, trailing her lips down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. You arch into her touch, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Y/N," she groans, her hand sliding down your body, cupping you through the sweatpants. "You're so hard already. I love how much you want me."

You gasp as she strokes you through the fabric, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your hips buck up into her hand, seeking more of that delicious contact.

Tara's hand slips under the waistband of your sweatpants, her fingers brushing against the hot, hard length of your cock. She groans at the feel of it, her hand wrapping around you and stroking slowly from base to tip.

"God, Y/N," she murmurs, her breath hot against your neck. "You're so fucking perfect. I can't get enough of you."

Her other hand works at the button of your sweatpants, tugging them down over your hips. You lift up to help her, eager to feel her skin against yours.

Once your pants are off, Tara takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, her eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, her hand stroking you again, slower this time. "I can't believe you're all mine."

She leans down, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip of your cock. You gasp at the sensation, your hips bucking up into her touch. Tara smiles against your skin, her lips wrapping around you and taking you deep into her mouth.

You moan, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. Tara's mouth is hot and wet, her tongue swirling around you in a way that makes your toes curl. She bobs her head, taking you deeper with each pass, her hand stroking what she can't fit in her mouth.

Tara looks up at you with a question in her eyes as you gently push her away. She releases your throbbing length with a soft pop, her lips glistening with your precum.

"Y/N?" she asks, her voice a mixture of confusion and concern. "Is everything okay?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. The sight of her kneeling between your legs, her hand still wrapped around your shaft, is almost too much to bear. But you force yourself to focus, determined to give her the pleasure she deserves.

"Everything's perfect," you murmur, reaching out to cup her cheek. "But I want to focus on you for a bit. I want to make you feel good."

Understanding dawns in Tara's eyes, and a slow, sultry smile spreads across her face. "Oh, is that so?" she purrs, leaning into your touch. "Well, far be it from me to deny you."

She shifts back on her knees, allowing you to sit up. Your cock twitches at the change in position, bobbing heavily between your legs. Tara's gaze is drawn to it, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"Fuck, you're so hot," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around you once more. "I can't believe I get to have you like this."

You groan at her touch, your hips rocking forward into her grip. But you force yourself to pull back, needing to maintain control. You reach out, gently pushing Tara onto her back, your body hovering over hers.

"Shh, just relax," you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. "Let me take care of you."

You start by kissing her deeply, your tongue delving into her mouth to taste her. Tara moans into the kiss, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair. You trail your lips down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Tara arches beneath you, her breasts pressing against your chest. You can feel her nipples hardening, even through the fabric of her shirt. Your hand slips beneath the hem, your fingers skimming over the soft skin of her stomach.

Tara gasps as your hand slides higher, your fingers brushing against the underside of her breasts. You can feel the heat of her skin even through the fabric of her bra, and it makes your mouth water with the desire to taste her.

"Y/N," she breathes, her voice thick with need. "Please, touch me."

You don't need any more encouragement. Your hand cups her breast, your thumb brushing over her nipple and making it harden even more. Tara arches into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Fuck, that feels good," she gasps, her hips bucking up against you. "Don't stop."

You switch to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Tara's hands fist in the sheets beneath her, her body trembling with pleasure. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your cock throbbing with the need to be inside her.

But you resist, determined to make this about her pleasure. Your hand slides down her body, over her stomach and down to the waistband of her sweats. You hook your fingers under the fabric, tugging it down slowly.

Tara lifts her hips to help you, and soon she's lying before you, completely bare. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the soft light of the room.

"You're so beautiful," you murmur, your hand sliding back up her thigh. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this."

Tara's cheeks flush at your words, a shy smile spreading across her face. "I'm glad it's you," she whispers. "I trust you, Y/N. I know you'll make me feel good."

Your fingers brush against her core, and she gasps, her hips bucking up into your touch. You circle her clit with your finger, feeling it grow harder under your touch.

"Oh fuck," Tara moans, her head falling back against the pillow. "That feels amazing."

You continue to tease her, your fingers dipping lower to brush against her entrance. She's wet and ready for you, and the knowledge makes your cock throb with need.

Tara's hips buck up against your hand, her body begging for more. You can feel her wetness coating your fingers, and it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to plunge them inside her.

Instead, you focus on her clit, circling it with your thumb while your fingers tease her entrance. Tara's moans fill the room, her hands fisting in the sheets beneath her as she arches into your touch.

"Please, Y/N," she gasps, her voice strained with need. "I need more. I need you inside me."

You can't resist her pleas any longer. Sliding two fingers inside her, you groan at the feel of her tight heat surrounding you. Tara cries out, her walls clenching around your digits as you pump them in and out.

"Fuck, you're so tight," you murmur, your thumb continuing to work her clit. "I love how you feel around my fingers."

Tara's hips move in time with your thrusts, her body taking you deeper with each pass. You can feel her getting closer, her breathing growing more ragged with each passing second.

"Y/N," she moans, her head thrashing on the pillow. "I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come."

You redouble your efforts, your fingers moving faster, harder. Tara's body tenses beneath you, her walls fluttering around your fingers as she teeters on the edge.

"Come for me, baby," you encourage her, your voice rough with need. "Let go. I've got you."

With a cry that's almost primal, Tara comes undone. Her body bows off the bed, her back arching as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. You continue to stroke her through it, prolonging her orgasm until she's a boneless heap beneath you.

As she comes down from her high, Tara looks up at you with hazy, satisfied eyes. "Holy shit," she breathes, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "That was incredible."

You grin down at her, feeling a sense of pride at having brought her such pleasure. But you’re still throbbing with need, and it won’t be go anywhere any time soon.

As the haze of post-orgasmic bliss starts to fade, Tara's gaze drifts down to your still-throbbing erection. Her eyes widen slightly, a mix of hunger and concern flickering across her face.

"Y/N," she murmurs, her hand reaching out to wrap around your shaft. "You're still so hard. Do you... do you want me to take care of that for you?"

You groan at her touch, your hips bucking up into her grip. The feel of her soft hand wrapped around your sensitive flesh is almost too much to bear. But you force yourself to take a deep breath, knowing that there's something important you need to address first.

"Wait," you say, gently removing her hand from your cock. "Before we go any further, we need to talk about protection."

Tara blinks up at you, a little confused. "Protection? What do you mean?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This isn't exactly the sexiest topic, but it's a necessary one. "I mean condoms, Tara. We can't just jump into having sex without them. It's not safe."

A flicker of understanding crosses her face, followed by a sheepish grin. "Oh, right. Of course. I wasn't thinking straight."

You smile at her, relieved that she's on the same page. "It's okay. It's easy to get caught up in the moment. But we need to make sure we're being responsible.

Tara nods, her hand reaching for the nightstand drawer. She rummages around for a moment before pulling out a foil packet. "Looks like I'm prepared after all," she says with a wink.

You take the condom from her, tearing it open with your teeth. Tara watches as you roll it down over your shaft, her eyes darkening with desire at the sight.

"Fuck, that's hot," she murmurs, her hand wrapping around you once more. "Seeing you take charge like that."

You grin at her, giving her hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you approve. Now, where were we?"

Tara's eyes sparkle with mischief as she pulls you towards her, guiding you to lie on top of her once more. "I think we were right about here," she purrs, her legs parting invitingly.

The heat of her core radiates against your protected length, making you shiver with anticipation. You line yourself up with her entrance, teasing her with the tip of your cock.

"Are you ready for me?" you murmur, your breath hot against her neck.

Tara nods, her hips lifting in a silent plea. "I've never been more ready for anything in my life," she breathes, her nails digging into your shoulders.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, you push forward, feeling her tight heat envelop you. Tara gasps at the intrusion, her walls stretching to accommodate your size.

"Oh fuck," she moans, her head falling back against the pillow. "You're so big, Y/N. It feels amazing."

You groan at her words, the sensation of her tightness driving you wild. You start to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, setting a steady rhythm.

Tara meets your movements, her hips rising to greet each thrust. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans of pleasure.

"Harder," Tara gasps, her nails raking down your back. "Fuck me harder, Y/N."

You oblige, increasing the speed and force of your thrusts. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful drive of your hips.

Tara's legs wrap around your waist, her ankles locking at the small of your back. The new angle allows you to go even deeper, and you feel her tightening around you, signaling her impending release.

"Y/N," she cries out, her voice strained with pleasure. "I'm gonna come again. Don't stop, please don't stop."

You redouble your efforts, pounding into her with abandon. The feeling of her walls fluttering around you is almost too much to bear, and you can feel your own release building.

Tara cries out, her body arching off the bed as another orgasm rips through her. Her walls clamp down around you, milking your cock for all it's worth. The sensation is too much to bear, and with a final, guttural groan, you come undone.

Your hips stutter as you empty yourself inside the condom, your body shaking with the force of your release. Tara holds you close, her fingers threading through your hair as she whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

As you both come down from your highs, you collapse onto the bed, your bodies tangled together in a sweaty heap. Tara nuzzles into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline.

"That was incredible," she murmurs, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You grin at her, pulling her closer. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," you say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Because we're definitely doing that again.

Tara laughs, the sound bright and carefree. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she says, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest.

[pseudowho]

Glory Glory: Nanami Kento

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always. Pure smut.

*Visual art of Reader/Nanami positions, link enclosed*

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You were never able to concentrate fully when sent on a mission with Nanami Kento, and it drove you to absolute distraction. The broad taper of his shoulders and nipped waist; the way his thighs strained his tan trousers dangerously tightly as he moved to sweep Curses like a minefield; the slow, considered, gravelly voice. You remained professional...but clumsy.

Already blushing after Kento complimented you smoothly on landing the killing blow on  the Curse, now crumbled and decaying before you, you sought the Cursed item that had been drawing such powerful monsters in. Roaming through the remnants of this crumbling city-edge mansion, you headed into a dining room, feeling the thrum of nearby Cursed energy that told you you were nearing your goal.

Your hand brushed the brickwork of an old chimney stack-- gotcha, you thought, leaning down to try to look up it, unable to find the right angle. Sitting on your bottom, and shuffling backwards to look directly up the chimney, you reached in, feeling something small and fabric wrapped, wedged into old brickwork. You began to work to free the item.

"In here!" you yelled, as you heard Kento call for you. Your yelling brought a crumble and cloud of soot and brick dust onto your face, and as you coughed, pulling the cursed item free, part of the chimney stack collapsed inwards against you, pinning you in place, bottom still sat on the floor below you.

You heard hard footsteps towards the room as you shrieked, Kento calling for you in concern. You coughed and spluttered, glasses covered in debris, stuck in the dark. You felt Kento approach, hearing him drop to his knees, and blushing as his hands lightly grazed your waist and hips, checking for injury.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his usual calm and considered self. He almost sounded like he was holding back a laugh, you thought.

"No, but I...I don't think I can get out. I'm stuck," you complained, mortified by your own lack of care. You heard Kento hum to himself.

"That is a problem," he toned, low and sardonic, "what shall we do with you?" You blushed, heat creeping up your cheeks at the promise in his voice. You swallowed.

"Uhm...Kento? Can you get me out?"

"Well, yes. I absolutely can." Silence. Kento's hands were still on your hips, fingers tapping, slow and thoughtful.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, clenching your thighs together, not unnoticed by Kento, he spoke again.

"But, why rush? After all," he toned, voice silky smooth as his fingers squeezed your hips appreciatively, "we might even see this as...serendipitous." You let out a soft gasp, squeaking as you felt his warm, broad palms reach underneath you to squeeze your arse, the touch drawn-out and lingering.

"I've waited for a long time, you know," he intoned, musing out loud, "all those missions together. All the times I've caught you staring. How the hairs stand up on your arms when I talk to you."

You trembled as you felt his hands wander to the front of your trousers, reaching down to deftly unbutton and unzip your them. You throbbed, thighs clenching and eager.

"I can almost taste you aching for me," Kento teased, thrilled by how you shook in silent anticipation. "It would be cruel to let you suffer like this any longer." Your eyes were closed now, lost in your dream of Kento taking charge being realised.

Kento felt his cock twitch against his thigh as he slipped his hand down the front of your trousers, humming in appreciation at the laced edge of your underwear, before grazing his fingers against your pussy, admiring the growing wetness of your underwear. His mouth watered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Feeling your thighs clamp around his hand, holding it in place, Kento chuckled as he heard a breathy moan from within the chimney stack. He continued to stroke you, increasing the pressure just enough that you felt a distant soft ache building in your clit.

"Kento-- I-- please--"

"Lovely manners," he groaned, palming himself through his trousers as he slowly started to edge his fingers out of your trousers. You let out a frustrated squeak and a wiggle, and Kento bit his lip to suppress another laugh.

"Ask nicely," he teased, admiring the soft spread of your thighs against the floor, running his other hand up and down them to delight in the plushness of you. He pursed his lips in mirth as he heard you huff at him behind the chimney stack.

Your complaining stopped, however, when you felt him grip your trousers and eagerly peel them off you, along with your underwear, leaving your bottom half totally naked in one shockingly bold move.

You were speechless, blushing wildly and flustered, and you heard fabric-y shuffles against the floor, before feeling your bottom lifted by strong arms and settled onto Kento's muscular, planed chest. You squeaked as he slapped your bum in appreciation, the sting making you moan.

"I hope you know this is me asking you out for dinner," he soothed. Kento lifted your bottom again, high enough for him to wriggle under and delve his tongue into your quivering heat, wetting his lips at the sight of your soft folds and full round arse.

"Although...at least the first time, I'll be eating out without you." You had barely a moment to process before Kento released your weight, forcing your pussy down onto his face. You cried out, feeling your clit immediately hit Kento's chin, his tongue appreciatively licking a long stripe between your entrance and clit, nose nuzzling into your fluttering hole.

Pleasure hit you in deep throbs as Kento rocked your hips back and forth on his face, encouraging you to ride him, your knees and thighs splayed out at either side of his head. Allowing you to roll your clit against his chin and lips until you were mewling, your essence running down his neck to decorate his collar, Kento shifted his mouth down to pucker his lips firmly around your clit, flicking his tongue quickly against it.

You shivered, begging, "-- oh god, Kento-- just keep doing that, that's perfect, I can't-- I can't--" Kento carried on, nose still nuzzling into your pussy and tongue flicking against your clit, pleasuring you with absolute practiced ease. He groaned as he felt your thighs clamp around his head, the vibrations sending you over the cliff's edge and you fell, stomach swooping and clenching as you came with a cry, gasping and coughing as more brick dust collapsed onto your face.

Kento nuzzled into you, gripping your thighs affectionately with strong forearms, rocking you from side to side as he squeezed them to the sides of his head, cuddling your lower half to him. Lifting you off, and planting a kiss on your folds, Kento lifted his tie to wipe your cum off his face.

"Is that a yes to dinner, then?" He asked, laughing as you tried to kick at him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Also arriving tonight on scheduled blogs:

Kamo Choso, Higuruma Hiromi

[twola]

I love Arthur’s back..just wanna leave mark on it

Marked

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader  Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

The morning light against your eyelids is what wakes you - the loss of warmth next you in the cot is what jolts you back into the land of the living.

You stretch your arms over your head, yawning as you try to work a kink from your shoulder. The worn blanket covering you slips downward, your bare breasts high and on display - there is no sheepishness on your part - no fear or awkwardness. Not in here, in the den of this canvas tent, separate from the world outside. As you rub at your eyes gently, you notice your lover standing opposite your cot, facing away from you, leaning over a barrel where his shaving kit is set up. He pulls the razor down his cheek, watching himself in the small circular mirror.

One of your hands unconsciously moves under the blanket to brush against your inner thigh - you gnaw on the inside your cheek slightly as the pads of your fingers traces over irritated skin - it was far too late after he had dived under your skirts for you to have the wherewithal to tell him that his stubble was rough and coarse against the soft skin near your core.

His pants and union suit bunch around his hips, the sleeves and his suspenders hanging down against his thighs. As you sit in the cot, silently watching him, the marks you left become clear.

Red-pink lines travel down the expanse of his pale back, from his shoulder blades, down, down to his tapered waist, fading out where his pants begin, slung low toward his hips.

Another swipe of the straight razor.

If you were to fan your fingers out, those lines would match perfectly. Your blunt nails dug into the planes of his back last night as he ground you into his cot, each thrust of his body into yours - each time you felt his cock fill you completely. Your lower lip is sore from biting it to try to keep yourself quiet. You suppose that the marks down his back are the only way you were able to keep quiet in the middle of camp last night.

“Finally up, sleepyhead?” He notices you sitting up in the mirror, his voice rough with disuse in the morning. His blue eyes are reflected back in the mirror, gazing upon you.

“Marked you up there, cowboy.” You smile as he puts the razor down and wipes the rest of the cream from his face. He turns around and steps closer, and you cannot help but to stare at the trail of dark hair from his navel disappearing beneath his undone pants.

He leans over, tips your chin up with one hand, and the other cups one of your bared breasts. He hovers an inch away from your mouth, licking his lips.

“Maybe I should return the favor.”

[sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast]

Day 8: Breeding

♤♡-Pairs: Zhongli x Fem!reader

☆☆-Warnings: mentions of cum, tummy bulge, mating press, messy, mentions of getting reader pregnant, horny Zhongli, enjoy (;

When you came home from your shift this evening, you hadn't thought you'd come face to face with your husband. Working at the Funeral Parlor, he usually came home at later hours. But instead you found him sat on the couch, legs crossed as he held a cup of tea in his hand. And he only simply nodded when you greeted him.

Maybe it'd been a long day.

He would talk to you when he was ready, so you made your way into the kitchen. Rolling up your sleeves as you set to wash your hands, prepared to start dinner. Little did you know, that dinner would be long forgotten. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and a nose brush against the skin of your neck. "I don't need dinner tonight. I only want you and that sweet pussy of yours."

Your hand immediately paused, your eyes widening. Zhongli's tone was different...deeper, more primal. And you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs together, out of habit. He chuckled deep in his throat, pressing his lips to your neck. "Meet me in our room, undressed." You swallowed thickly before nodding, he gave you one more kiss before slipping his hands from around you.

You had never moved so fast in your life, quickly drying your hands, you made your way to the shared bedroom. Quickly shedding your clothes, lying down on the silk of the sheets. Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs shortly after. You weren't sure why he made you come up first or why you didn't enter together. But that wasn't important. The door opened, his large frame entering the room. His eyes never left your form as he undressed himself. Eyes full of lust and want, they seemed almost...darker.

Soon, he was just as bare as you, knees settling on the mattress. Arms caging you in as he stared you down. "This is a rare occurrence and I think it's time. I'm going to pump this tummy of yours full of my cum." His words tapered off as he ran a hand across your stomach. "You'll be so full, there's no chance that you won't be bearing my children. Do you understand?" Heat pooled in your stomach at his words, you nodded unable to say anything. He smiled, were his...teeth sharper? And was that..

His cock, it had grown in size, both length and girth. He was already big to begin with, thick veins running along his shaft. Would you even be able to take that..? He answered your question by properly preparing you first. Sliding his fingers in his mouth before slipping them into your heat. Pumping them in and out, adding more to make sure you were stretched properly. Already, tears welled in your eyes from the pleasure. "You are going to look radiant swollen with my children."

Once Zhongli was sure you were prepped enough, both hands grabbed at your thighs. Pressing them up until you were practically folded in half. The length of his cock rubbed sweetly against your leaking sex. And he didn't waste anytime, he fed himself into you until there was a small bulge in your stomach. He'd reached your womb.

You whined, still unable to speak and you had a feeling that would be the case for the rest of the night. Looking down, you could see him inside you. He watched your face, watching for any discomfort before pulling back, thrusting back into you. Setting a pace that made the bed shake and smack against the wall. The sound of slapping skin echoed throughout the whole room. He groaned, deep and guttural as he pounded into you.

"Gonna fill you up nice, sweetheart. You'll be leaking my cum." His hips snapped forward, your breasts shook from the power. Your thighs shivered and cramped from the position but it was so delicious you couldn't be bothered to complain. All you could do was grip tight to the sheets and sob. Your breath catching in your throat as he used you like he wanted.

A mess was being made, you knew this for a fact. Your ankles groaned from the tight grip he had on them, keeping them in place above your head. He slid in and out, over and over again until finally his hips stilled. Spilling his load inside your warm insides, but he didn't stop there. Almost immediately, he picked back up. The sound almost obscene with how wet it sounded. A mixture of your arousal and his cum, coating your thighs and pussy.

"Need to fill you up more, I need you leaking."

You sobbed openly as he did just as he promised. That night, he had cum so much inside you that when he finally pulled out. It immediately gushed, leaking on the sheets and all the way back to your ass. That wouldn't do, he'd have to keep his baby plugged up.

Safe to say, you slept with his cock still inside you that night.

Masterlist

Prev. ☆ Next.

[secretlyazombi3]

Setting Up a Christmas Tree .ᐟ⋆.˚

 leon kennedy x gn! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  2k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SFW, fluff, 2nd person, gender neutral reader, re4r!leon, younger reader, (also you guys have cats ^_^)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: you and leon buy and set up a christmas tree yay >_<

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leon took careful steps out of his new Jeep (which, somehow, had not been in a crash yet) and moved with intent to make sure he wouldn’t slip on the ice beneath him. He walked over to open the car door for you like a true gentleman.

“Thanks-” you said as you took a step out the car, you paused as you felt your foot begin to slide on ice.

“Woah, careful, babe.” Leon warned, placing his hands on your hips to keep you steady as you held onto the car and tapered out. “You alright?” he asked. 

“Yeah, only a little embarrassed..” you replied as you treaded out onto the snow.

“Well, I’m sure feeling a bit embarrassed would be better than being in pain from slipping on ice and falling onto your ass, right?” Leon responded, a hint of a teasing tone laced in his voice as he took your hand. 

“Yeah, I guess.” You chuckled awkwardly. You suddenly became incredibly aware of how cold it was outside. You felt the icy, crisp around you and felt the wind brush by ever so often. 

The sun was gone, disappeared behind a blanket of light gray clouds, as if it had also gotten too icy to be out. A sprinkling of small snowflakes trickled from the sky and twirled in the wind like little dancers. 

Part of you just wanted to just find a tree as soon as possible and go back home with Leon so you wouldn’t just be standing here in a tall duvet of pearly white snow, which was wetting the bottom of your pants.

You trudged through the snow, smiling ever so slightly when you heard the satisfying crunch of the snow under your feet with each step forward you took towards the row of Christmas trees. 

Another gush of wind blew by, pushing some of the light snow on the ground into the air, making you shiver from the freezing temperatures. 

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” Leon asked quietly as he gently squeezed your hand. You could see his breath in the chilly air.

“Take my jacket.” Leon suggested as he began to pull off his winter coat. 

“No, Leon, keep your jacket on-” You tried to protest but Leon handed you his coat anyways, giving you a weary look. 

“You’re shivering, babe… Just take the jacket, I don’t want you to get sick.” Leon said. 

You looked down at the jacket, then back up at Leon. “But then you’ll get cold…” you retorted. 

“Me? Come on. You know my line of work, if I could survive all that shit I’m sure I’m capable of surviving a little windchill.” You nodded a bit and reluctantly wrapped the jacket around you, which protected you a bit better from the wind. You knew Leon wasn’t going to let you reject his offer, so you gave in easily. Leon walked towards one tree he randomly picked out, he grabbed onto one of the branches with two fingers and twisted it, which caused a bit of pine to fall off the tree and get lost in the sea of snow. 

“Do you like this tree? It’s a good height…” Leon asked as he turned to you.

You looked the tree up and down, it was missing a few branches in a few places. You stayed quiet for a second before replying.

“Eh… not really. It just doesn’t speak to me, you know?” 

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Speak to you…?” “It’s just not that pretty or unique.” “They’re trees, they all look the same…” Leon mumbled. He didn’t really understand your thinking, but he’d let you pick out the tree as long as it made you happy. 

You walked down the rows of trees, looking for a tree you liked that was also a good height. Leon just followed behind you like a lost puppy, letting you take the lead, he trusted your judgement more. 

“I think I like this one.” You said once you finally found a tree that actually looked pretty.

“Yeah?” Leon asked, putting his arm around you. He looked at the tree - all the trees looked the same to him, but if you liked it, he did too. And he wanted to get out of the freezing cold as much as you did.

You nodded your head and smiled as you looked at the tree. It was super pretty, it’d look great in your home. 

“Alright, then. I’ll get someone to chop down the tree.” Leon said, walking away from you for a moment. 

The tree had to be chopped down, obviously, and the quickest way was with a chainsaw. Leon tensed a bit, the sound of the chainsaw blades whirring was definitely reminding him of some unpleasant memories… 

“You’ve got snow in your hair.” You teased as you smiled at Leon, which grounded him back to reality. He truly hated thinking about Spain. He pushed aside those memories of the past and just… focused on you instead. 

You headed inside to pay, the warm air immediately slammed you the second you opened the door. Leon paid, of course, and you were reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy little building.

You rushed inside Leon’s car. The tree had been strapped to the top of the car by the employees, Leon still checked to make sure it was on there sturdy.

You were trembling in the passenger’s seat of Leon’s car. The inside of the car was barely warmer than the outside, but a small improvement was still an improvement. 

Leon got into the driver’s seat and turned the car on before placing his hand on your thigh and gripping it lightly. When you glanced over at him, you noticed his nose, cheeks and ears had turned pink from the snowy weather outside. He looked so cute…

“You ready to go home?” He asked. 

“Mhm..” You replied. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You were relieved when you got home and managed to escape the frigidness of the outside world. You turned the heater on all the way nearly the second you stepped inside. 

Your pet cats were scattered across the home, resting under blankets and on beds in an attempt to also escape the chilliness, but one did greet you at the door. 

Leon had insisted on bringing the tree in himself. He didn’t want you to have to do any work. He managed to get it in the house just fine by himself, and he set it up in the stand. 

“Alright, now you can decorate.” Leon said as he smiled at you. 

“You don’t want to decorate with me?” You frowned. 

He tilted his head to the side a bit like a confused puppy. “I thought-” he started before pausing. For whatever reason, he didn’t realize you wanted to decorate with him. He never had decorated a Christmas tree before, except for the few times when he was really little. So he just thought you’d think he was going to do everything wrong. 

“I mean, I can help, yeah.” Leon agreed as he moved a bit of hair out of your face. “If it makes you happy,” he added. He smiled ever so slightly seeing you smile at him. 

You threw some Christmas cookies into the oven and put on your favorite Christmas movie. You brought out a box of ornaments and placed it on the couch beside your cat, who was sleeping. She had curled up around herself, wanting to use herself as a heater, and was purring quietly. 

You handed Leon a couple of ornaments and smiled. “You look so cute when you smile, you know that, sunshine?” Leon teased as he began to help decorating the tree.

Leon was taller, so he placed all his ornaments near the top of the tree for you so the ornaments would be evenly distributed around the tree.

You put the ornaments on the sections of the tree you could reach. You had bought an ornament set filled with limited colors that compliment one another to make your guys’ tree more appealing to the eye.

“You like being organized, huh? Leon commented as he noticed that the tree had a color scheme. 

“It looks nicer. I don’t want the tree to be an eyesore with clashing colors.” 

“It could be all messy and disorganized and I’d still love it because I know that you were the one who put it up.” Leon replied as he reached up to put on some more ornaments around the top. 

You reached over for a different type of ornament. You had bought a little ornament where you could slide in a polaroid picture, so you put a polaroid picture of you and Leon from a few months back. 

You said nothing and handed it to Leon, silently watching his face as he looked at it. You finally saw him fully smile, not just another half or slight smile. 

“Cute.” Leon said simply, not wanting to be caught gushing over an ornament. He hung it up near the front of the tree where everyone could see it. 

“You want me to give you a boost on your shoulders so you can put up that star, hm?” Leon asked. 

“How gentlemanly,” you joked. 

“Anything for you.” Leon returned as he kneeled down. You set your foot down on his shoulder, and he wrapped his hand around your leg. You couldn’t believe that Leon was basically letting you use him like a stepstool…

“I got you.” Leon assured you. You set down your second foot, attempting to keep yourself steady and balanced, giggling a bit feeling Leon’s strong hands around you. You put on the star as quickly as possible so you could get off. 

“Good job, babe.” Leon praised you once you got off of him and stood on the floor. Leon stood up, rubbing his shoulders afterwards. 

“You okay, old man?” You asked teasingly. 

“Excuse you…” Leon replied, feigning offense. “I’m not that much older than you, babe..” Leon scoffed. 

“Right, well you’re still older and getting joint pain so, maybe you should look into a retirement home.” You taunted.

“No way. If I went to a retirement home, who would be keeping you out of trouble?” Leon quipped, moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Who said I needed you to keep me out of trouble, hm?” “Just today alone, you needed me to keep you from falling on ice and damn near busting your ass.” 

“I-” you started, before simply pouting at Leon. You couldn’t argue about that. “That… doesn’t count.” 

“Mhm, you just know I’m right…” Leon mumbled into your neck. 

“Just.. shut up and watch the movie I put on.” You muttered, playfully attempting to push Leon away. 

“Mm.. yes, amore mio…” Leon replied obediently. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A few batches of cookies later, you were sitting by the fireplace to warm up as you looked up at the decorated tree. You caught a whiff of the fresh pine scent coming from the tree, one of the reasons you loved real trees. 

Leon was taking scant small bites of the Christmas cookies you had baked, you had already had your fair share of cookies…

Since you were both freezing, you made two cups of hot chocolate for you and Leon. Leon was more of a coffee guy, but he was willing to change things up for the holidays. 

Leon sat next to you, pulling you close, nibbling a bit on your neck. His body was warm, he felt like a giant personal heater. 

He wrapped his arm around you and rubbed your side. “It’s getting a bit late, you know. Maybe you should come to bed with me…” Leon purred calmly into your neck. 

“Yeah, I agree..” You replied as Leon kept kissing your neck. “We can cuddle.” you suggested.

“Cuddle?” Leon repeated lowly. Leon moved his kisses up your neck and kissed your cheek before moving to get up. “If that’s what you want…” Leon said as he offered you a hand to help you get up and follow him to your guys’ room. 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hey friend!

I've just had surgery and I'm in for at least 4-6 weeks of recovery time. Any chance I could request a Loki comfort fic? I could really use some fluff 🥲🥺

Hey love! Sending you all the cuddles on your recovery. You're doing amazing! Here's a little something - I hope it helps❤️

Soft Kisses

You woke to the tinkle of a piano. Some song you’d heard, but couldn’t have named—even if you weren’t on the strongest painkillers you’d ever had. Squinting against the light, you lifted your head from the sofa where you’d fallen asleep. “Oki?” Loki turned, fingers moving over the keys like liquid. A gentle smile spread on his lips as he tapered the music to a perfect end. “Hello my love,” he said, pushing the stool back with a soft scrape. He paced across the floor, crouching to your level and pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling?” “It’s not my head that’s the problem.”

His brows rose. “Bad jokes? My, my...you must be feeling better.” You shifted onto your back, biting back a grimace. A small grunt escaped and immediately Loki’s hands cushioned your neck, your shoulder. “What can I do?”

His eyes were pools of summer seas, shining with an empathy he saved only for you. You slid a hand up his cheek, savouring the smooth angle of his jaw. “Kisses?” It was a whisper. Loki smiled. “I fear it may unsettle what ails you—the doctor instructed no vigorous activity.” “Soft kisses…” Loki pretended to think it over. “Well, if you think you can restrain yourself then I suppose that might be alright.” He leant forward, his scent invading your nostrils, and the pain evaporated as his mouth pressed to yours like petals brushing grass. It worked against your lips, waxing and waning with the delicate breath of a melody. You wound an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. Fingertips grazed through his hair, a small gasp trickling from your throat as something, somewhere, pulled. It hurt. “Oh, darling,” he breathed, half a chide, guiding you back to the pillow. “I hate to see you like this.” His mouth worked down your throat, every inch like sinking into a warm bath. The weight of his love was a blanket, nestling you head to toe. Loki paused on your sternum, looking up with black lashes rimming almond eyes as his chin rested on your chest. “There must be something else I can do.” You shook your head, tapping your lips still warm from his soft kisses twice. And below you, Loki smiled.

[grandlinedreams]

|| set in Archeron sibling!reader setting || last installment [here]

|| suggested music: Unknown/Nth; Hozier

|| warnings: lil smidgen of angst, mention of Az's past, soft pining on both ends, I'm in my feelings abt this dynamic today

Azriel doesn't understand your fascination with his hands.

He wonders if he's unknowingly put a glamour on them, tricked you into perceiving them as something else ㅡ and by extension, turned himself into someone he is not.

He's a lot of things ㅡ Illyrian (bastard), Spymaster for Night Court, Shadowsinger. To you, however, he is just Azriel.

The first time you reach for his hand, he yanks it away ㅡ and though the hurt in your eyes makes him want to apologize, he doesn't. Instead, it's you who apologizes to him.

"I should have asked," you say, and he thinks maybe that will be the end of it ㅡ he's never been good with people that aren't the Inner Circle (though you are now part of that too) ㅡ but instead, you try again a couple days later.

"Can I see your hands?"

He doesn't know why you want to. They've seen so much death, destruction, bloodshed. Truth-teller has sang its lethal song in his hands so many times that he's lost count.

But you ask, and he can't truly find a good reason as to why he should deny you. Your own are so small compared to his as you turn his palms up first, settle your fingertips against his skin ㅡ and despite the slender taper of your fingers, he can feel the callouses. Proof of a life he's slowly learning of, now made timeless and immortal. (That too, is something he's trying to help you ease in to.)

You trace the crease of his palms, studying them ㅡ and then his heart stills as you turn them over.

He expects to see the reflexive horror of seeing the gnarled skin, scarred by his step-brothers, the aftermath of flame against his skin ㅡ and then perhaps pity, and a little disgust.

He sees none of it. There is no recoil, no sudden pull away ㅡ you simply study, then stroke your fingers against the scars.

He wonders if you can hear the hitch in his breath, too afraid to move, to speak ㅡ you have him under your spell, body and mind.

And then your lips are on his knuckles ㅡ the coaxed curl of his fingers over yours so you can bring his hand to your lips. The brush of your mouth is soft ㅡ the whisper of affection that's so sweet that Azriel thinks he might break for how gentle you are.

He's afraid that you may ruin him. That you are so wholly unaware of the effect you have on him, the way he would lay the world at your feet ㅡ all you would have to do is ask.

You ghost your kiss over his other hand and then lower them ㅡ but then it's Azriel who takes your hand, one into both of his. He straightens your fingers, brings your hand up to the soft skin of his cheek ㅡ leans into your palm as your fingers press in answer.

He isn't done though, greedy as he is for these moments ㅡ so often in the late hours of solitude from other people, he goes a step further and tips his head just enough to let his lips graze your palm.

He follows the soft press of your thumb, down ㅡ to your wrist, where your pulse jumps as his eyes ㅡ molten honey and sunlight ㅡ lock with yours.

The shadows that always accompany him wreathe down, dare to ghost against your neck ㅡ and you let them. Because even though you are Cauldron-born a child of starlight, you would happily let him eclipse you in your entirety.

All he would have to do is ask.

[daisycoloredsims]

CC FINDS - that girl chic knick knacks bra & panties│angel statue│tray w/ lipstick & necklace│big trophy│small trophy│box w/ tapered candles│matches│horsebit bag│jewelry box│apple remote│guashas│glossier balm dot com│calendar│frame│gold ring dish│clip│glass w/brushes│chanel rouge coco balm│la mer the creme however you acquire cc for your game is your own business ♡

[captain-hawks]

What’s this? A Thursday edition of spicy sleepover??? Thank you as always, Dee!!

I think our dear Osamu needs some attention—perhaps in the bathroom 👀👀

impatient

osamu miya x f!reader

You wear a new sundress to the twins' birthday party, and Osamu's patience treads a woefully thin tightrope.

wc: 1.2k

c: 18+ only, established relationship, bathroom sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER - PART V

“Didja really have to wear this?”

Osamu’s voice is a gravelly, labored exhale between the hot, messy press of his lips to your neck, punctuated by the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut as he pushes you up against it. 

“Should I go home and change?” you ask, the amusement in your voice tapering off into a gasp as he drags his teeth against the soft, sensitive juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

“Fuck no,” Osamu rasps, the damp trail of kisses making its way to the swell of your breasts that’s hardly contained by the neckline of your sundress.

To be fair, Osamu’s first time seeing you in this new sundress was when you picked him up from work earlier—and he subsequently spent most of the ride over to Atsumu’s apartment going through the seven stages of horny grief.

“Atsumu’s going to be mad if we’re late,” you chided as the hand on your knee began to migrate higher. 

“It’s my birthday party, too,” Osamu griped, lips turning downward in a pout as you laced your fingers with his and moved them to the outside of your thigh.

The goodwill of Osamu’s precariously balanced patience nearly ran out when you bent over to grab his brother’s gift out of the trunk—and you may very well have never made it inside, if not for the sound of Aran’s voice calling out your names in greeting as he leaned out the front door, the sound of music pouring out onto the sidewalk.

At the very least, the two of you managed to traipse through the house and backyard for hellos and before Osamu eventually caught you on your way back down the stairs from the bathroom.

It’s ironic, in a way—finding yourself pressed up against the inside of Atsumu’s bathroom door again, a breathy, low whine teetering on the edge of your lips as Osamu’s hands push up the skirt of your dress.

“Remember the last time—”

“—we ripped the towel bar right outta the wall.”

(Atsumu bitched about his security deposit for weeks.)

Osamu’s kneeling on the floor between your legs now, eyes sparkling with mischief as he gazes up at you, lips quirked upward in a grin as his hands brush the backs of your thighs. 

It was years ago, back when Osamu’s hair was still an ashy gray, when Onigiri Miya was still a pipedream. Before he got down on one knee in the middle of a busy sidewalk in the snow and choked out a laugh when he told you he couldn’t wait any longer, pulling a small, black box out of his jacket pocket.

This apartment and bathroom are far nicer than the last one, too, courtesy of the blonde twin’s MSBY salary.

But some things haven’t changed—like the way your husband’s staring up at you now, eyes alight with a hunger and fondness that hasn’t faded in the slightest. 

Osamu squeezes your ankle gently, and you lift one foot after the other as he slips your panties off, tucking them into the pocket of his black button down top for safe keeping.

“For someone that kept swattin’ me every time my hand went near yer ass out there, ya sure are wet,” he drawls from underneath your dress, coy as ever. 

Your ability to formulate any sort of response is quickly vanquished by the feeling of his fingers sliding through your slick folds, and you can feel the slick drip of arousal already beginning to slide down the inside of your thighs without your underwear to soak into.

Osamu knows what he’s doing when he slips a finger into your tight entrance, angling his free hand just right so that the cool metal of his wedding band is pressing into your clit.

“‘Samu,” you whine, palm clamped to your mouth.

He shifts his hand, massaging the throbbing bundle of nerves with the ring while he stretches you open further with a second finger, and an amused huff falls from his lips as you drag a shaking hand through his hair.

“That sure ain’t gonna be inconspicuous,” he muses as you tug on the dark strands and muss them even further, biting your bottom lip to stifle the moan crawling up your throat.

“I’m sure Atsumu’s got a brush in here somewhere,” you pant out, readjusting your balance as Osamu lifts your left foot to rest on the edge of the tub.

“‘m gonna pretend ya didn’t just say my brother’s name while I’m between your legs,” he grouses.

“Give me a reason to say yours again, then,” you tease, if only because you know what kind of a reaction that kind of provocation will get out of your husband.

Osamu snorts and rasps under his breath, “Ya love playin’ with fire.”

And it’s the only warning you have before he licks a broad, firm stroke down the length of your slit. 

Your husband is quietly modest about most of his talents, a pride that peeks through in the crinkling of his eyes when a new customer compliments his food. The steady, careful flex of the veins in his forearms as he shapes the rice with a rhythm that’s become muscle memory.

(He says Atsumu uses the Miya name to brag enough for the both of them, after all.)

But he’s different here, with his mouth latched onto your cunt like he’s never known a taste so divine. 

Osamu knows just how good he is at this—making you tremble and whimper beneath the dexterous tease of his tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down his chin as he glances up at your ecstasy-stricken face while he’s knuckle-deep inside of you. 

He might be the one on his knees, but you’re the one ready to fall apart, held aloft on continuous, cresting waves of pleasure only by the sheer precision of Osamu’s control over your orgasm. And he’s more than a little smug about it, too, as you writhe against the wall, tongue slipping into your cunt as he grasps the globes of your ass and works you open like a filthy, sloppy meal. 

“Osamu.”

Sparks of searing, hot pleasure burst through your veins, and your legs feel impossibly weak as the rest of your muscles are fraught with tension. Osamu’s quick to notice the trembling of your thighs, readjusting his grip to hold you steady as your hand slides down the wall.

But it’s all for naught when he thrusts two fingers back into your pussy and starts sucking on your aching clit, the coil of tension deep in your abdomen collapsing in on itself under the weight of your pleasure as an intense climax punches out of you. Your hand scrambles for purchase, fingers closing around something soft as clear liquid sprays from your cunt, and Osamu lets out a deep groan as you squirt all over his face and hand, finger fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his own hand colliding with the wall as he begins to lose his composure as well. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he exhales, voice rough.

There’s a loud snapping noise, and you glance beside you to find the towel bar dangling from the wall, both of your hands fisted in the material.

It’s only after Osamu’s subsequently bent you over the sink, cock plunging deep into your sensitive cunt until he’s filled you to the brim with ropes of hot, sticky cum, that he finally spares a remorseful glance at your joint handiwork.

“Should we try and fix it?” you ask as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before making his way across the curve of your jaw, dubiously eyeing the ruined drywall anchors.

Osamu turns and stares at it for a moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons of doing something nice for his twin.

"Nah," he grins, twirling your panties around on his finger with a smirk before stuffing them back into his pocket and unlocking the bathroom door.

[gh0st-in-green-c0nverse]

burned (part two)

Percy Jackson x reader — you wake up in the infirmary after you get stabbed .

Percy’s warm.

He’s warm, but not the good kind; the clammy, humid kind. The fabric of his shirt clings to his skin. Each breath fills his chest with hot, dry air.

Something isn’t right.

Percy looks down.

Sand spills over his battered converse. With a jolt of panic, he realizes that it’s pulling him down, grabbing at his shoes. It snakes up to his shins, swallowing the hems of his jeans. With his feet stuck, Percy falls to the ground. There’s sand in his mouth, his ears, stinging his eyes, his nose. He spits some out, pulse climbing.

He can’t breathe. He can’t die now, he needs to save you from—

A whirl of blonde hair, the glint of fangs. His heart drops when he sees the hilt in your side.

The sand pulls him under. He cranes his neck so his face is above the surface, gasping for air.

“No, please!”

He feels sick. It sounds just like you. You’re afraid; he needs to find you. He needs to save—

“Don’t!”

He’s suffocating. He’s sure it’s real. It’s you. It’s you. Where are you?

His eyes fly open, and his hand immediately flies to his face to brush off the sand. There’s nothing there (obviously) and he drops his hand, feeling a little stupid.

You make a frightened noise; small, but heartbreaking, and Percy stands. He’s been slumped at your bedside, a small drool stain on the white sheets by your knee.

You’re sleeping on your back, but your face is turned into the pillow, brows pinched with fear.

“Hey,” he says, placing a hand on the juncture of your elbow.

“No!” You shoot upwards in a panic, then immediately cry out and curl into your side.

Your eyes are squeezed shut. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Percy blurts out. He’s moved forward with you, tense with worry.

You take a breath: a short, rattled gasp, and your eyelids flutter open. Your lashes are damp with tears.

“Where am I?” You whisper after a moment, voice rough with sleep.

“Infirmary,” Percy answers, hand still on your arm. “Do you remember anything?”

You take another breath, though it sounds more like a hiccup. Your face is flushed, your eyes are glazed over. You’re worrying him.

“y/n,” he says. When you don’t answer, he leans closer, trying to find your eyes. “Hey. You need to breathe.”

“I am breathing.” Your lips tug downwards.

“Mhm. Can you try to breathe a bit better?”

“Don’t sass me.” You frown, blinking hard.

He rubs his thumb back and forth a little. Your skin is cold. “Sorry,” he murmurs. You suck in a shaky breath, and then another, and then another. It’s a few more minutes until you’re breathing normally, but you get there eventually.

“I don’t remember,” you say finally. “I— I can’t.. I don’t…” you trail off, frowning. Your breathing starts to pick up again.

“Woah. Hey, it’s alright. Give yourself some time.”

He’s moved closer to your head, so he pulls the chair back towards him with his foot and sits.

Percy hates the way he can hear the tremble in your soft breaths. He thinks of your breathing tapering out, of your chest going still and the crimson smearing the crease of your lips.

He hangs his head.

He hates that he couldn’t save you.

“Are you okay?” Your voice still has a rough quality to it, but your tone is something else. It’s less frightened. It’s softer.

“Am I okay? y/n, you were the one who was just—”

You fix him with a stare; he stares right back.

You don’t waver.

(He’s say he hates your stubbornness, but he’d be lying.)

“I’m alright,” he says hurriedly.

“Percy.”

A moment passes. Then another.

“I was afraid,” he whispers. eyes trained on the rumpled linen bedsheets. “I was so afraid because you were right there, and you were dying, and I couldn’t fathom what it’d be like losing you.”

Your lips part slightly, and you wilt like a flower petal in the summer sun.

“You’re everything,” he continues. “Really. You are.”

You look at him, eyes shining in the lamplight. You open your mouth to say something, and close it again. He thinks you might be crying.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say, voice catching.

Palm up, you bring your hand to his face.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?”

His lashes brush the tip of your thumb as he blinks.

“Yeah,” he says lamely, voice thin. He swallows hard. “Yeah.”

You sag with relief. “Good.”

He smiles at you, a flimsy attempt to prove he’s alright.

You smile back. You look tired.

“Go back to seep,” he says softly.

A protest dies on your lips when he grabs your hand and gently lowers it from his face; warm, but this time in a good way.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Your eyes are already closing.

“Always,” he says.

And Percy keeps his promises.

a/n: I decided to try my hand at Percy’s perspective!! lmk which you prefer 🫶

also! If you have any prompts or ideas or anything please send in an ask! I’d love to hear from you guys.

happy new year!!