#so essentially it's him wrestling with that

[mulderscully]

just saw someone say mr brightside lyrics don't make sense... if ur straight just say that

[beatcroc]

Mecha-Sonic, Dr. Robotnik has created other robots based on Sonic and thrown them away before he created you. Do you have any thoughts on this?

[bumblingbabooshka]

A Klingon and a half Vulcan participate in a myriad of rituals.

[todayisafridaynight]

I mean, I like Daigo and Y3 but it's undeniable that a lot of the reason of MineDai being small is cuz Mine, Daigo and Y3 are generally unliked? Not like hated but like just not liked down upon the bigger side of the fandom. Add to that that the yaoi girlies, like us, are just like a fraction of the fandom... well, not exactly big shit to have.

Personally... I'm kinda glad Mine is overlooked cuz... dear fucking god the radioactive waste he could create if he was popular. Mind you, I'm not exactly a Mine fan but I know he would be... not the best for larger audiences.

minedai really is just for us yaoi girlies you're so right .....

[coloursofaparadox]

lil rant about dog training oops

[monaluisa]

Shoutout to my boyfriend because I say “this is so Romulus coded” about everything and he agrees

[whysamwhy123]

We could have gotten a fun Ruby/Angelo vs Saraya/Daddy Magic mixed tag match, but noooooooo, Tony had to go and do his whole ''Blonde women are all Evil Lying Whores'' thing again 😒

[luveline]

i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common. 

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately. 

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.” 

“She won’t sit down.” 

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.” 

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?” 

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.” 

“Then why doesn’t she stop?” 

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.” 

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly. 

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better. 

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.” 

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says. 

“So?” Hotch prods gently. 

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the…” 

“The hates you one?” he offers. 

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.” 

“Just hormones, Spence.” 

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around. 

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley. 

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults). 

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty. 

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in. 

“Just the essentials.” 

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though. 

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.” 

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?” 

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.” 

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.” 

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.” 

“That works?” 

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently. 

“I guess I worry too much.” 

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.” 

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy. 

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time. 

He finishes his paperwork a little while after. 

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying. 

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?” 

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.” 

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully. 

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.” 

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice. 

[tossawary]

Wei Wuxian's first meeting with teenage Jin Ling just gets funnier every time. Especially because, by this point, he should have a rough idea of how long it's been since he died, and he immediately recognizes Jin Ling as a member of the Jin Sect, clearly an important one if he's bossing other people around and spending absurd amounts of money on spiritual nets. If Wei Wuxian had spent A SINGLE MINUTE actively trying to guess this kid's identity, he probably could have worked out that this kid has a high chance of being his nephew.

But Wei Wuxian does not take the time (thirty seconds! WWX, you could have made an educated guess!) to figure out this kid's specific identity! He's just been wrestling with an incredibly stubborn donkey all day and he's probably hangry again because they had to share an apple. He just thinks to himself, "Wow, this Jin kid is a real spoiled brat," and goes from there!

"Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?" he says obliviously to JIN LING, his own fucking nephew. When Jin Ling is FAMOUSLY ORPHANED. Like, you could go up to literally anyone on the street and be like, "What happened to that rich kid Jin Ling's parents?" and they would immediately tell you, "Oh, the evil Yiling Patriarch killed them, evilly." Very high chance that no one has ever said this particular insult to Jin Ling - extremely rich young master, most famous orphan in the cultivation world, in possession of some very scary uncles - before.

And from Jin Ling's perspective, this outrageous comment is coming from his OWN UNCLE, Mo Xuanyu, his late grandfather's bastard son who was kicked out of the sect for being gay and crazy. There is NO WAY that Mo Xuanyu could somehow not know that Jin Ling has no parents, so of course, this has to be an intentional low-blow insult bringing up and disparaging his dead mother. So, of course this brat tries to start a fight! Mo Xuanyu started it with words like that!

And then Wei Wuxian trips him and essentially sits on him (using a talisman), there's the whole "My uncle is going to kill you!" & "Who's your uncle?" exchange, and Jiang Cheng immediately interrupts them. And Wei Wuxian has to do the sudden, incredibly simple, damning mental calculation of: "Jin kid + Jiang Cheng for an uncle = Oh, fuck."

It's funny every single time.

[twstowo]

Bro you can't just make a forehead kissing post and NOT do the rest of the characters 😭🙏 /j

No but actually can you do the first years? I like to imagine all this started with a dare from one of them coughcoughACEcough and now Yuu's just going around sniping all their friends' foreheads with their lips

♡︎ You are right anon, I will redeem myself by doing all the characters.

♡︎ Includes: First Years

[Here]☆[Second years]☆[Third Years]☆[One final forehead kiss]☆[Extras]

The quest for giving everyone a forehead kiss began when you stumbled upon Ace, deeply engrossed in his thoughts. His hair danced in the gentle breeze, adding an extra layer of charm to his profile. Unable to resist, you tried to slowly approach him without making any sound, trying your best to catch him by surprise and when you came close enough to him you interrupted his daydreaming with a tender forehead kiss.

"What was that for?" he laughed, his response oozing with self-assurance. And to be fair his smug demeanour grated on your nerves, you just gave him a forehead kiss and he reacted like that? No, way! He needed a reality check!

"If you didn't appreciate it, I'll just find Deuce and shower him with forehead kisses instead!" you told him, enjoying the surprise in Ace's widened eyes. Unwilling to back down, he rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Go ahead! Kiss the entire school's forehead! See if I care." Those words struck a chord, prompting you to turn on your heel and leave him to his own devices. You were going to make him regret saying those words.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Deuce:

As soon as you kiss his forehead, he becomes a mess. He touches the spot you just kissed, trying to form any coherent words. Just show him your forehead and tap it, as if telling him to kiss you back, he turns red but kisses you as quickly as he sees you gesture for him to kiss you, as if he always wanted to do that. His hand cups your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks without even thinking.

He daydreams about these moments for the next few weeks.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jack:

Feeling extremely embarrassed by the unexpected gesture, he avoids eye contact and looks everywhere but your face. After a while, he musters the courage to thank you, and then you both find yourselves in a silent, awkward moment. If you linger without leaving, he eventually gathers more courage and asks if you'd like a forehead kiss in return. If you agree, he gives you a quick kiss, followed by a gentle pat on the head.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Epel:

Finds himself in an internal struggle, Epel wrestles with various thoughts. Does your gesture mean you see him as cute? Is it an affront to his masculinity? Does he need to step up his game? Swiftly, he decides to take action, pulling you by the waist and delivering a surprisingly passionate kiss. Once he's done, he turns as red as you, contemplating the consequences of his impulsive move.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Ortho:

He is so happy with your forehead kiss that he starts to delve into an explanation of the significance behind various types of kisses. He proceeds to suggest the kinds of kisses you should bestow upon his brother. At this point, he's essentially delivering a lecture on the art of kissing. Idia passes behind the two of you and overhears the conversation, for the next week you can’t find him anywhere, he is way too embarrassed to show up in front of you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Sebek:

Grateful to the Seven for the unforgettable moment, Sebek cherishes your gesture, vowing to remember it for the rest of his life. Then he proceeds to tell you that your actions are obscene and that you shouldn't just kiss him like that out of nowhere. Throughout the week, he can't shake off the memory, and whenever he encounters you, he blushes, scowls, and quickly turns away, unable to contain his embarrassment.

[harryspet]

homestead | r.cameron [p.2]

[warnings]dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, implied jj x reader, kidnapping, NONCON, unprotected sex, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

word count: 3.4k

In which you confront Rafe's unsettling mix of tenderness and manipulation.

part one

Your search of the room for anything useful as a weapon was not fruitful. Most drawers were empty except for clothes. You found more pairs of pajamas and nightgowns, but searching the closet only yielded a few hung sundresses. The bathroom was simple, with a clawfoot tub and another window looking out onto green pastures. On the bathroom counter, you found a wicker basket full of what you assumed were newly bought essentials. Several containers of prenatal vitamins, body washes and creams for sensitive skin, panty liners, Epsom salts, and essential oils. 

Rafe Cameron thought of all of this?

The window offered a view of the other side of the house and a large white barn and Rafe’s blue pickup truck caught your eye. You stepped into the tub to get a closer look out the window. Maybe you could see a road, a way out of here, or even a street sign that might tell you where you were. Just like the bedroom windows, they didn’t budge either. 

The bedroom door swings open once more, and you sink into the empty tub, your head cradled in your hands as you desperately try to force your mind to function. For the sake of your baby, you need to think clearly. The overwhelming situation presses down on you, making it even harder to process what’s happening. You can sense his presence in the doorway, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I made scrambled eggs,” He said. 

“They make me sick,” You said stoically, “Haven’t eaten them in months.”

“Good to know,” His tall, broad figure stood over you before you heard him kneel down beside the tub, “I also brought yogurt and fresh fruit. How does that sound?”

“All the windows are locked.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as if it were normal, “I know you’re hungry. You need your strength. I don’t have to remind you why.”

You looked up to see his hand offering a white bowl filled with yogurt, fresh blueberries, and strawberries. He was right—you needed your strength. If not for the baby, then to gather the energy to escape. Perhaps you could think more clearly on a full stomach. You gazed at the food for a full minute, trying to rationalize why you should accept it, wrestling with the cognitive dissonance that churned within you.

You took it from his hands without a thank you and stirred your spoon about twenty times before finally bringing it to your mouth. It tasted heavenly, which you hated. “There’s the cutest farmer’s market a couple of miles from here. The blueberries are incredible but you gotta get there early on Sunday before they’re sold out.”

You met his eyes for a brief moment and realized they were sparkling with joy. You didn’t have to respond to him, he’d happily talk to himself as long as he felt like he was making some progress with you. You couldn’t let me feel that way for long, “You’ve outdone yourself, Rafe, really.”

“Just want you to be comfortable,” He shrugged, and you rolled your eyes, “It’s a lot right now, I know that.”

“A lot,” you scoffed, bitterness laced throughout your tone. “This is insane.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he suppressed it, whatever it was, “You’re safe here. Your baby’s safe here. There’s plenty of room, plenty of food, and you’d never have to work a real jon. You haven’t even seen everything yet, but it’s beautiful. It’s a great place to raise a kid.”

“Rafe, you took the choice away from me.”

He shook his head, “So what? I saved you from suffering even further. Not even a little part of you regrets choosing JJ?”

You went quiet, feeling your temper rising. Instead of responding, you brought another spoonful to your mouth. He didn’t understand why this was so completely wrong, and presenting him with common sense didn’t seem to be working. 

“I love you, Y/N,” He spoke as if to get your attention, but you didn’t meet his eyes this time, “Don’t start thinking anyone’s coming to save you, Y/N. And you won’t overpower me or make it far running. Not in your condition. You know that.”

You knew that, didn’t you? Clearly, JJ didn’t care enough about you to do better. And Pope had a bright future ahead of him. Maybe he’d realize he was better off without you. What were you to do now? Give in when you’ve just realized that Rafe is a monster?

“Finish your food, I’ll be back later,” When you looked again he had the plate in hand and was walking away, not without loudly shutting the door. 

Your head tilted back against the cold porcelain. This would turn out to be a game of endurance. You had to outlast him and perhaps outthink him. He’d been planning to bring you here for weeks, but he couldn’t have planned for everything. 

You finished your food and then spent the next few hours exploring the room in more detail, ensuring you hadn’t missed any detail. After all that time, the only new discovery that you make is under the bed. Still, in its packaging, you find a pregnancy pillow. You wouldn’t admit that you felt a small comfort at the sight of it. Sleeping had started to feel completely uncomfortable over the past few weeks, and you woke up painfully sore each morning.

It felt wrong when you knew it shouldn’t. In the meantime, you’d also take some of the prenatal vitamins. You could only afford one bottle of the generic brand, but Rafe provided several different types. Taking multiple kinds meant you weren’t missing any nutrients your baby might need. In just a matter of hours, you were starting to realize all that you didn’t have. 

You unzipped the pillow from its packaging, letting yourself feel the soft material against your chest. Although the knock at the door wasn’t loud, it startled you. Rafe appeared now in work boots, jeans, and a flannel. He held the doorknob in his hand and looked you over as if he hadn’t just seen you or picked out the exact outfit he wanted to see you in. You noticed he was even taller in those boots.

“What do you think?” He gestured to the pillow.

“Looks expensive,” You said simply.

“It had the best reviews,” he added, “You’ll have to let me know how you like it tomorrow morning.”

You stared back at him, shifting on your feet. "Can I show you something?" he asked, the door still wide open. A chance to leave. Of course, you’d take it. Faking compliance, you carefully stepped towards him. As you crossed the threshold of your room, you allowed him to place a hand on the small of your back. "The room right next door," he said.

Your eyes were anywhere but that door. You were scoping out the entire hallway. There were two more doors across the hallway, perhaps one of them was Rafe’s, and you spotted the staircase. The walls were painted a muted beige and adorned with several rustic paintings. The scent of mahogany lingered in the air, likely one of Rafe’s attempts to make this place feel like a home rather than a prison. You couldn’t turn your head far as Rafe was urging you forward. 

“I’ve been working on something,” When Rafe opened the door, you stepped inside a brand new nursery room, “Rose helped with the decorations, but  I can change anything that you don’t like.”

The wallpaper was decorated with blue flowers and little woodland creatures. A wooden crib sat in the corner, a white canopy draping right next to a rocking chair. The window on the far side of the room also looked out onto green pastures. Shelves on the walls were already adorned with toys and baby books. It was surreal. Beautiful and horrifying. You clutched your chest as you slowly walked around the room. 

“Rafe,” was all you could manage to say.

“I didn’t get a lot of clothes yet. I knew you’d want to pick those out,” His arms raised up, scratching his head as if he was nervous to see your reaction. Over the crib, you noticed the space-themed mobile you had picked out at the store gently hanging down. "It’s a good start, right?" he added, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“It’s literally perfect,” You couldn’t lie at that moment, “Rafe, d-do you really think I would be that horrible of a mom on my own?”

“No,” He rushed out, his face falling, “What? No, I don’t think that.”

“I could never give my baby anything like this.”

He came closer, but you stepped back, “That’s not what I’ve been trying to say with all of this. I think you’d be a great mom. You’re gonna be a great mom.”

You needed to hear those words. Maybe Rafe was the wrong source but you needed that confirmation. In a moment of weakness, you let him closer. He wiped your tears as they began to fall, “It’s not about what you have, but I’m telling you that I won’t let you do it on your own,” He wrapped his arm around your waist and tear-eyed, and you let your head rest on his chest, “I’ll take care of every little worry. All you have to do is agree to be mine.”

“If you really care about me,” you said softly, letting him run his hands over your hair. “You’ll let me make my own choices.”

“Y/N–”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done. I really do,” You lied, “And I want this. I promise. I know JJ is no good for me or the baby. Could you just give me a little bit more time?”

“You’ll go back to him,” Rafe said. His grip on your waist tightened, and you pulled your head away from his chest, gazing up at him. 

“It’s not your baby. You know that, right?” It was the wrong thing to say. His nostrils flared, and your heartbeat quickened. There was no reeling it back, so you pressed him further, “Even if we don’t end up together, I wouldn’t keep his baby from him. That’s wrong.”

“What he’s done to you is worse.”

“You’re right,” You said, trying to maintain the calm, “I know that now. And I understand that you care about me-”

“Do you understand? Really understand? Huh?” 

“Rafe-” You pushed at his chest, and he grabbed your wrists tightly. Your eyes widened as you struggled against him, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Powerless, he held you there, “I’d love your baby like it was mine, I would. And soon after, we could have our own. That’s what I want, for us to be a family,” Each word was low, tight, and controlled as he glared down at you. 

“Okay,” You agreed, scared more than anything, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll show you,” He was completely cold now, “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. How you deserve to be treated. Everything I can give you. Then you’ll see, huh?”

He forced you down to the plush blue carpet with his body weight. You weren’t used to how your center of gravity had shifted, how your belly was also keeping you from being able to push back against him, “Please,” You said over and over again, your arms flailing until he pinned them above your head. You were out of breath already, and you had to slow your movementsand stop your struggling just to catch your breath. In this position, the baby is pressed against your further against your diaphragm, “Rafe, don’t.”

He just looked at you hungrily, grunting as he pulled down your bottoms and underwear. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” He reached between your legs, and you felt your body freeze, “Fucking gorgeous … I’m so lucky.”

You might’ve swooned in any other context. You were more swollen and much more sensitive, meaning you felt every caress that he made. You didn’t want to, but your head tilted back as he carefully rubbed your sensitive mound, “I’ll make you feel good … haven’t been touched in so long. Daddy’s gonna take care of you,” You told yourself that your body was just reacting, that it didn’t matter how good it felt because you didn’t ask for it. He kept your hands pinned only using one of his, as he used his other to undo his jeans. When he finally freed himself, able to palm his growing hardness through his briefs, he let go of your wrists. On your elbows, you tried to pull yourself away and you caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face. He liked this. Watching you struggle and attempt to crawl away. 

You yelped when he grabbed your hips, pulling you back and lifting them up at the same. He was inside of you before you could fully comprehend it. You could handle it if he thrust hard into you if he destroyed you fast, but Rafe took his time with you. There was no rush or hurry in his movements. He went as deep as you would take him, and his long strokes left you crying out with each one. 

You could handle it if it weren’t personal, but Rafe leaned over you and stared into your eyes with fierce determination. He talked you through every rush of pleasure, “I know, baby,” He’d coo when he knew it was too much, “Feels too good, don’t it?”

“I know you’re gonna cum for me,” He’d say when your eyes threatened to roll back into your head. “Cum all over me, baby,” He said when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

When he spilled into you, your body froze again. He cursed, his hips rutting into you. You felt every drop of him, and he didn’t pull out until he’d fully emptied himself inside of you. He sits back on his knees, and you hear him pull up his zipper. 

You flinched when you felt his hand on your thigh again.

“I’m sorry.”

What exactly he was apologizing for, you had no idea.

Rafe had gotten what he wanted because you didn’t speak out of turn once over the next two days. At some point, you expected the cavalry to arrive and come save you, but that hope shrank with each passing day. He invited you out of your room, and each time, you denied it. You easily recalled what happened the last time you left your room. You had all you could mentally handle within the room, and Rafe would bring you all three needed meals and snacks. You were quiet when he started the conversation, but you mustered up a few sentences for him when he grew frustrated at the lack of back and forth. 

You should have been focused on escape, but all you could think about was never letting him do to you again what he had done on the nursery floor. Being pregnant already made you feel like you had no control over your body. Rafe amplified that feeling, making you feel even more vulnerable and easily manipulated given your current state.

You spent most of the day sleeping, punctuated by long baths or staring out the window. Rafe woke up early each morning to tend to chores, the animals, and the early summer harvest. The vast expanse of land meant you didn’t see all the animals during the day, but in the afternoons when he fed Wrangler and Sadie, many of the animals rushed to the fence, hoping for scraps.

“Got you some books,” Rafe said when he came to see you around dinner time. To your disappointment, he wasn’t carrying any dinner with him. He set the stack of books on the dresser before adding, “And I ordered pizza.”

“Thank you,” you said, resting your head back down on your pillow, hoping that meant he’d bring it to you later. 

“Come watch a movie with me, I finally got the surround sound set up.”

“I’d like to eat up here, please?” You asked quietly, “I don’t feel good.”

“You haven’t felt good since you got here.” You let him sit in silence, “You’ll come eat downstairs tonight, Y/N.”

This was the first time you felt he was forcing you out of your room. You didn’t have the courage to upset him, so you lifted yourself out of the bed. He watched you intently, as if waiting for your compliance, aware of your recent streak of obedience. The way the look on his face softened was obvious, and you hated how relieved that made you feel. 

This time, he led you down the staircase, his hand gently guiding the small of your back as you held onto the railings. As you descended, you caught a glimpse of the front door, sunlight streaming in from the setting sun, but Rafe guided you in the opposite direction.

You passed through a large dining area with a substantial dark wooden table near the front of the house, then continued into a cozy living room. A plush sectional couch faced a massive stone fireplace, underneath which neatly stacked firewood awaited use. Above, a large flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall, flanked by windows dressed in simple, cream-colored curtains. Adjacent to the windows, a bookcase filled mostly with DVDs caught your eye.

He took the time to show you the downstairs bathroom and laundry room before leading you to the kitchen, which was located toward the back of the house. It was straight out of a magazine, spacious and well-appointed, complete with a charming breakfast nook. Many of the touches seemed to reflect Rose's influence, and seeing the rest of the house gave you a clearer picture of just how well-off he was.

A box of pizza sat atop the kitchen island, and Rafe pulled out one of the stools for you to sit on.

“You take care of this place all by yourself?” You asked as Rafe helped you into the seat.

“I’ve had some help,” He shrugged, “But I won’t need much help anymore now that you’re here.”

“You’re expecting me to take care of the house?” 

“Someday soon,” he spoke nonchalantly, opening the pizza box. He grabbed a slice straight from it and started eating so you assumed you could do the same. He added with a slightly full mouth, “Better than working at The Wreck.”

You took a bite of your pizza, not wanting to delve into that conversation further. You should’ve known he was expecting you to be a homemaker. Now that you were gonna be a Mom, you didn’t need to have any career aspirations. 

You picked at your slice under his careful eye. This house exuded a warmth that almost drowned out the coldness you felt toward Rafe. You took the time to map out all the windows and doors and the downstairs layout. It kept your mind busy and, combined with the food, provided a helpful distraction. 

“Are you feeling better now?” His voice cut through the silence. 

“I’m fine.”

“You still like those cheesy rom-coms?”

A memory flashed in your mind. You saw Rafe sitting across from you on his bed. A huge party was going on downstairs in Tannyhill, but you and he were upstairs watching a movie. You wanted so badly to show him Enchanted. He didn’t act impressed at the time, but you could tell he liked it because he couldn’t keep his eyes off the screen. 

“Yeah,” You answered cautiously, though the truth was that you hadn’t had time to enjoy a movie in long time. 

“I happen to have a few Patrick Dempsey movies … if that interests you,” He smiled, trying to tease you. 

“I really should get some rest . . .”

“A movie will help you relax. Just one? C’mon, we can watch Can’t Buy Me Love,” Realizing he wouldn’t let up, you gave in.

You sat on the couch as he moved to set up the movie. You should’ve known that he would sit right next to you, his arm wrapped around the pillows directly behind you, “Relax, enjoy the movie.” He said as the movie’s intro began, and you did your best to appear more like you were. When it wasn’t sufficient, Rafe pulled you closer until you could only lay against his shoulder to be comfortable. You tried to focus on one of your favorite movies and there were moments that night when you completely forgot your circumstance. 

Yet, every additional touch brought you sharply back to reality—whether it was the gentle circles his thumb traced on your arm or the tender kisses he placed atop your head.

Please let me know what your thoughts and predictions are! Reblog with a comment to be added to my taglist!

[ddarker-dreams]

play wrestling — blade.

Embarrassment doesn’t find you easily.

To experience embarrassment implies a degree of self-awareness. While you possess some, it’s decreased significantly compared to your earlier years. Such is the natural progression of life. This is why you felt free to act on a little impulse, initially uncaring of how it’d reflect on you.

However, faced with two eyes as crimson as freshly spilled blood, you can’t help but do some reassessing.

“… What are you doing?” Blade asks, dryly. You feel the low rumble of his baritone voice against your palms, which you’ve splayed against his chest. His neutral countenance doesn’t give much away. According to your peer-reviewed scientific analysis, he alternates between three expressions — apathy, irritation, and wrath. There is an additional secret one for when it’s just the two of you and he doesn’t think you’re looking.

From what you can tell, you’ve landed yourself on the apathetic side of the spectrum. You can work with that. You’ll commit to the bit.

“Besting an intergalactic criminal in combat, obviously,” you scoff, faking a bravado you don’t have.

“Hm.”

“…”

“…”

Is he not going to do anything to free himself from this position?!

Blade had silently slid himself next to where you sat on the floor, playing with your phone. This unique opportunity activated a primal part of your brain that probably should’ve stayed in the vault. You wrangled him down. Now, he’s lying flat on his back, with you sitting victorious atop his lower abdomen. Long strands of his black hair fall along his side, painting a pretty picture. You suppress the urge to run your hands through his silky locks. That can come later, you have an objective to achieve.

“Are you finished?”

“Wh— well, no,” you frown. And here you thought he might indulge you. “You have to, y’know, fight back…?”

He raises an eyebrow and you want to groan.

“But I’d win.”

The declaration is made like it’s a foregone conclusion. Which, if you’re being honest, isn’t wrong. Still, he should give you some credit. You can hold your own in a fight! Maybe you’re not waving-around-a-three-thousand-pound-ancient-sword good, but you’re decent enough. He’s no fun. Kafka would’ve played around with you.

“How can you be so sure— eek!”

He grabs you by the shoulders and flips you around, reversing your position. Despite the immense speed he used, your head doesn’t hit the ground hard like it should’ve. He cushioned the impact by essentially cradling the back of your head with his hand. This is why you never believe him when he denies being a ‘secret softie.’ You know the truth.

“This is how,” he says.

You pout. “Did I at least put up a good fight?”

His silence speaks volumes.

After getting his fill of how nice you look beneath him, he climbs off you. The second you’re no longer restrained, you begin your counterattack. You lunge at him, intending to pin him down, only to feel the cool leather of his gloves against your wrists. You struggle valiantly to regain your freedom. All this does is amuse him further.

“We’re pretty evenly matched, right?” You ask, beginning to grow breathless from the energy you’re exerting.

The corners of his lips twitch upward.

“Mhm. Right.”

[writers-potion]

𝕾𝖔, 𝕷𝖊𝖙'𝖘 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝕱𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌.

Here are some ideas to let your fight scene sizzle with romantic tension even while daggers are flying about.

Hand-to-Hand Fighting

Make it an unarmed 1:1 combat where physical approxiamation is a must, and where the two are totally aware of the other's body. Use this to encompass erotic awareness.

Use fighting styles that require close touch, like grappling, rolling around on the fllor in a tight clinch.

You you're writing erotica, you can add a touch of BDSM by using the power play.

Daggers

The dagger is a weapon that is often personal and intimate, as it requires the attacker to be close to the target. When the dagger penetrates the flesh, the hand almost touches the victim.

This is very different from weapons like the gun, arrow or spear which can kill at a distance.

In addition, the motion of sliding the dagger into or out of the sheath can be highly suggestive. It gives you room to play with your words or insert suggestive dialogue

Male Fantasies of Female Fighters

Men can be turned on by watching females fight. If your heroine is a martial artist and the hero has a taste for warrior women, erotic tension immediately ensues.

Catfights that involve young, healthy women battling each other for monetary prizes exist. A nastier version of these clubs will involve women who are forced: abducted girls, vitims of human trafficking. These are good for giving your heroine a dark past or adding a thriller element.

Another fantasy can be about men fighting the women, rather than watching them fight. If the heroine also happens to have a taste for violence, they can batter one another happily ever after. More often, the man will pay the woman to fight him.

This happens at an agency or a 'wrestling studio' which employs part-time feamle wrestlers. The client will pay per hour and pick the girl. Nothing sexual goes on, except in the man's minds and his boxers - they will fight fully clothed with a staff member overseeing as referee (chaperone, essentially).

Many of these men who pay to fight will want to lose - being submitted by a woman is a part of their fantasies. They can be gentlemanly, courteous and considerate men at work - which can serve as good hero material.

Female Fantasies of Male Fighters

Women can have similar fantasies where they take pleasure in seeing men take each other on. If the men wear sleeveless vests or fight shirtless, this gives you the opportunity to describe their muscles, sweat and other details.

If your heroine has BDSM tendencies, you can depict her imagining what it would be like to be submitted by the men she watches, although her desire wouldn't really be to fight the man.

On the other hand, the woman's experience watching somene she cares about (a brother, lover, husband) fight will be more emotional than physical.

Post-Fight Horniness

Genuine fights aren't horny, but fighters may get horny afterward when the hormones and intense tension wear off.

So this gives your the excuse to show your professional assasin hunting for a hot date after work. Or let your hero feel unexpected attraction to his comrade after they've pushed through a particularly difficult battle.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[yaespook]

Canines.

✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! Werewolf! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Wriothesley, no gendered terms used for reader, reader has a cock with a knot, oral (reader giving), snowballing, rimming (reader giving), gratuitous mentions of spit, muzzle and leash with collar used on Wriothesley, knotting. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: [The bottom paws of the fortune cat appear on the front desk.]

Getting a new rookie transfer under him this late into the year wasn’t exactly what Wriothesley was expecting.

His office door opens abruptly but you seem almost as bewildered as he is at this surprise. No biggie, the issue is sorted out quickly and seeing that you don't have any case files or inmate registration papers on you (or any sort of personal records at all for the matter), he runs through the essentials before sending you off with a list of duties. 

He watches as you leave his office, you'll undoubtedly be an interesting case to handle.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wriothesley finds you nice enough to be around during work. You're considerate and you work hard to get your job done. It's pleasant to have another regular familiar face beneath the depths and he's not above sharing his tea with you during your shared breaks. And growing closer, he asks you to box with him.

“Just some training, for fun, that's all.” He's lounging in his chair and cracks an eye open to gauge your reaction. “Feel free to say no if you don't want to. I won't die from the rejection.”

Wriothesley is assured in his combat skills, given his experience in the ring and his daily training. So how is it exactly that he's found himself in this position? 

Dragging out the spar by starting off defensive, dodging his attacks, it seemed as if you were going easy on him.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going easy on me?” He throws a series of hooks and a particularly forceful uppercut.

But he wasn't interested in winning this friendly battle, he wants to see what you're truly made of. Hence, kicking it up a notch, he doubled the speed of the punches he's throwing, forcing you on the offensive. 

“You’re asking for it, Wrio!”

He's caught off guard when you start reciprocating and meeting him with the same speed and intensity in your attacks. Sure, your footwork and pivoting could use some work, but there's something surprising in the force behind your punches.

It ends when you manage to wrestle him into a headlock, the both of you sweaty and panting, his head pressed against your chest as he's suddenly aware of how close the two of you are. Tapping twice on your bicep hooked around his neck, he admits his defeat this time around. Freed from your restraint, he takes the time to massage his trapezius muscles as he gives you a once-over. 

“That was a good one, another next week?” 

You cough, “I think I’ll need more than a week to recover,” your tone sheepish.

It’s not often he’s beaten during spars, and for a rookie like you to do so? Extremely interesting. What exactly is your background? The secret to your seemingly supernatural strength? Since this incident, he’s found himself drawn to you even more.

However, keeping an extra vigilant eye on you means that he picks up on the smaller things that might be signs. The next Friday, you clock in later in the day, missing your shared tea breaks with him, and you clock out far earlier than usual, evident from the little note you leave at your desk when he looks for you.

“Sorry Wrio! Something urgent came up!”

He quirks an eyebrow up at this. What could have been so urgent that you had to leave immediately? Are you alright? Glancing around, he notices a bag left on your chair. Perhaps you left it here in your haste while leaving, but what if its contents are important to you? No matter, he'll see if he can pass it to you after work, it's a good chance to check up on you too.

But since you aren't around for the rest of the day, Wriothesley has strangely discovered that he's getting through his mundane paperwork and administrative duties a lot slower than if you were present. His brows furrow as he sighs to himself and sips his tea alone before continuing his work.

By the time he's done wrapping everything up and leaving, the full moon is already high up in the night sky. When he tears his eyes away from it, he spots you out of the corner of his eye. Though he would call out to you, your behaviour is suspicious, slinking around the shadows sneakily as you try to stay hidden. Wriothesley decides to tail you, just to make sure that you don't get into any trouble that he'll end up having to sort out. (And that he's also worried about you.)

His guard is up when you step into a wild forested area. The dim moonlight breaks in through the leaves of the canopy area, just enough for him to make out the ground beneath him. He watches where he steps in order to avoid generating any noise that might alert you but the second he looks back up for you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Uneasiness starts to kick in. Wriothesley is uncaring of all the ruckus he’s making while rushing past trees and brambles as he scrambles to search for you. The thorns scrape and tear at his clothes but he pushes on, launching into high gear.

However, the deeper he gets into the forest, the more Wriothesley begins to notice things going terribly wrong.

There’s a heavy presence lurking amongst the dark shadows, one that has its eyes trained on him, watching his every move. Lumbering footsteps echo throughout the forest around him, as if getting closer and closer to his location. The sound of twigs nearby snapping sharply and the rustling of dry bushes. Trying to get to a better lit area within the forest, the chase is on.

He’s being hunted.

The vegetation begins to thin out slightly as he skillfully weaves between trees and he reaches a clearing. Catching his breath, he surveys his surroundings, keen eyes looking for any signs of movement. The moon hangs overhead, sharing its pale light.

And from the treeline, something pounces.

He stumbles back at the sudden impact, the wind knocked from his chest as he collides with the ground, eyes clenched shut. A beat passes before the weight on him suddenly lifts and he hears a gravelly yet oddly familiar voice, “...Wrio?” 

Forcing his eyes open, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I’m so so sorry. I assumed you were some kind of hunter stalking after me and…” your words spiral and trail on but he can’t seem to process anything you’re saying since he’s preoccupied with taking in this sight of you.

In this form, you’re a lot taller than he is and your physique is nothing short of intimidating. Is this where your impressive strength comes from then? Raking his gaze over your body, he pauses at your flexed thigh muscles from holding yourself above his pelvis. (You could crush him between them and he’d die a happy man.)

Your fur gleams under the moonlight, captivating him as a gentle breeze ruffles through it. By the time he tunes back into your spiel, all he catches is you saying, “I’ll make it up to you-”

“Make it up to me?”

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me then.” He sees your ears shoot up as you try to gauge whether he actually means it and he tacks on, “I’m being serious. Plus no one will find us here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine, but pipe up if I’m too rough on you.”

A grin stretches across Wriothesley’s face at your agreement but it’s quickly replaced with a hiss when you drop and grind your dick down against his. Leaning forward, you have him completely pinned beneath you, your body heat and larger frame on his is simply dizzying.

“I’ll give you some kisses to start, hmm?”

He watches as your maw opens wide, showcasing your sharp teeth. He can feel your canines on either side of his face as you lick at his lips but there’s enough trust between the two of you that you won’t clamp down, your fangs gently grazing his skin. You wouldn’t hurt him after all.

You bury your snout in his neck, taking in his scent as the both of you grind against each other, a snarl leaving your throat as you feel how hard and soaked he’s getting under you. 

“So wet, Wrio. Are you that desperate?” Shifting and sitting up to strip him of his clothes, he chuckles as he replies, “Only for you.”

Taking off his shirt, you let out a low whistle at the man before you. His broad shoulders, salt and pepper chest hair on his pecs, the body hair and healed scars littered throughout, and not to mention his lovely happy trail up till his naval. Truly, a sight to behold.

Getting him out of the rest of his clothes, you nudge his legs apart and settle between them. Compared to your looming stature, Wriothesley gets a sense of how much smaller he is when your hands grasp at his thighs. (Or are they paws? Whatever. As long as they treat him real good tonight.)

Tracing the tip of a claw down his inner thigh, you watch him shudder, eyes widening as you get closer to his drooling cock.

“What? Already so turned on by me hunting you down and a little grinding?” You tease and a heat rises to his face, retorting, “Shut up.”

You bury your face closer in, snuffling as you lave a rough warm stripe against the underside of his length, the taste of his precum on your tongue. His legs clamp down slightly on your head when you do so and it’s apparent that he’s enjoying your attention on him. Almost as if he wants you to devour him whole.

Changing tactics, you shift your focus to enveloping the underside with your tongue before taking him into your mouth, careful to watch your teeth. The heat engulfing him has Wriothesley groaning loudly, his hips bucking into the warmth as his restraint starts to slip.

“Mffph… so good-!” He throws an arm over his eyes, more clipped moans escaping him while you swirl your tongue, working him to his peak.

But just when he’s about to tip over the edge, you let him out of your mouth, panting as he watches a thick strand of saliva stretch from your tongue to the tip of his dick.

“Hah… Why did you stop?” Sitting up on his elbows and supporting a frustrated scowl on his face, he looks laughably similar to a kicked puppy.

“Patience, dear Wrio, you’ll get your recompensation in due time.”

Moving one hand to his cock, you pump up and down languidly, aided by the copious amounts of precum and spit. His head spins when he feels you tonguing and lapping at his balls, your hot breath hitting the sensitive skin there.

You dip further down to lick at his rim, peering up to observe his reaction. And it’s amusing. His hands fly to grab at your shoulders, eyes shot open as his chest heaves.

“You liked that?” When he nods, that’s all you need to continue.

Manoeuvring him and hiking his hips up, he yelps at the shift but it quickly tapers into a moan as you press your tongue flat against his rim. You don’t stop stroking his cock as you slowly breach his hole, gingerly prying him open. Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath at this and grinds down on your thick tongue, forcing it deeper, the pleasure in him building and spiking.

It’s not long before he’s spurting onto his tummy with a drawn out moan, walls clenching down on you and his hips stuttering up with his orgasm. Detaching for a second, you lick a long way up from the base of his dick to his dripping tip and his heaving abdomen, collecting his cum on your tongue.

“Open your mouth, Wrio.” And when he complies, you let your tongue hang out of your maw, a mixture of his cum and his saliva sloppily dripping from you and into his mouth. The ravenous look he gets when he swallows sends a shiver down his spine.

“So good for me, Wrio. Let’s move on shall we?” You give him a sly lick on his cheek. “Can you loosen yourself up a bit more? Wouldn’t want to rip you apart when you take me.”

After coating his fingers in your slick spit, you watch as he preps himself for you. Gazing around, you spy your bag discarded to the side on the ground. 

“Aww Wrio, were you trying to bring me my bag I left?”

“Mmph yeah-! I was worried- ah! -about you,” he grunts out his answer.

You respond with a low pleased rumble, stalking over to your bag and rifling through it to find what you’re looking for. From it, you retrieve a set of a collar with a leash and an accompanying muzzle. To Wriothesley’s surprise, it’s in his colours, complimenting shades of reds and greys.

“I bought it impulsively earlier today, thought of you while doing so. I think I’m in some sort of a rut,” you explain lowly, your eyes level with his and he feels as if he could be consumed with your gaze alone. 

Licking the shell of his ear, he can feel your breath fan across his nape as you continue, “Because of you, Wrio, no doubt.”

“Put it on me then,” there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says this and a satisfaction fills him when he sees your tail start wagging.

Carefully, you latch the collar around his neck, making sure it’s comfortable for him before moving on to fixing the muzzle on him. Finally, you attach the leash, the clip sound completing the set. 

As you take in how utterly delectable your Wrio looks for you right now, a filthy sense of pride rises up within you. You, a beast, managing to twist and warp and transform your human’s visage into one akin to yours, to have him leashed and muzzled as if he were the one with piercing canine fangs and a monstrous secret. And that he doesn’t cower or tremble with fear when pinned beneath you. It’s all too deliciously sinful.

The end of the leash is held in your claws as you eye him down. You manhandle him onto his fours and you line the tip of your cock at his hole. 

“I’ll take it slow, tell me if it hurts,” your head presses against his rim as it gradually pries him open, the wind is punched from his chest at your thick girth. Slowly sinking into him, Wriothesley’s vision spins as you split him open on your cock, the stretch an intoxicating one that has him wanting more. 

When your tip nudges against his prostate, he’s left seeing stars, a debauched moan slipping from his lips.

“Ughk!? Is it- hah! -is it all in?” You shush him, ghosting your claws on the skin above his arched spines.

“Just a bit more, you can take it, can’t you, Wrio?” An uncharacteristic whine rips from him when you finally bottom out in him, flush against the back of his thighs as you reach unfathomably deep in him.

You give him time to adjust to your size before you start moving, setting a relaxed pace to begin with. He squeezes down on your cock as you roll your hips, unrestrained noises escaping him as all sense is fucked from his mind. 

Picking up the intensity, you pull out halfway before slamming back into him, positioning your tip directly at where his prostate is while tugging on the leash.

“Hngk-! So big- AH! Fuck!” Wriothesley’s eyes roll back into his head, mouth hanging open.

Your repeated motions have him going crazy, his arms wobbling at the brutal onslaught of pleasure before giving out, the only things keeping him up are the knees folded under him and your hand clamping around the side of his hip.

Seconds blur into minutes and he doesn’t even know when you’ve started pounding relentlessly into him. Your thick shaft drags against his walls and he can feel every vein and twitch of your cock. 

Sensing you pulling on the leash, he turns and looks up at you, letting you see the drool dripping from his parted lips in the muzzle, his eyes unfocused and glazed over with nothing but raw lust. You give him a lick on his cheek, a kiss, before you fold your body over his, completely pressed against his back, pinning him beneath your massive frame.

“I’m close Wrio,” cooing into his ear again, your gravelly voice brings him back, “Want me to knot you?”

He babbles pitifully, “Uh- uh huh! AH! Yeah-! I- I want you!”

“You’re really asking for it now,” growling at his mindless pleading, you drive your cock in, a guttural howl leaving you as you climax, finally knotting your Wrio. The knot at your base stretches Wriothesley out even more and he can feel your cum filling him up inside. The searing pleasure causes him to pull taut, his back arching as he orgasms again, moaning as he tightens up around you, milking you for all you’re worth. 

The forest clearing is filled with the sounds of the both of you panting as you recover, checking in with Wriothesley to assure that he’s alright. While you wait for your knot to go down, you take the time to free him from the muzzle. The second you do, he leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of your snout, a lazy grin hanging from his face.

“Hah… I think you’ve made it up to me,” a glint in his eyes, “Another round next week?”

[> You add a muzzle, collar, and leash set to your collection.]

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[snowwybear]

𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇/ 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖙| 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥

for my Star Wars girlies out there.

It was a stupid idea. Correction his stupid idea. Vinnie had suggested a Star Wars marathon, the weekend of May 4th. Of course you had said yes, you loved Star Wars. Episode 4, 5, 6 couldn't have gone any better - you spent the time laughing and reminiscing, cuddled up together on the couch.

Then came the prequals, iconically bad. Episodes 1 and 2 went smoothly too, it wasn't until you guys started episode 3 when Vinnie realised his fatal error. You were only focused on, one mister Anakin Skywalker. Your gaze was focused on him, you were making comments about whatever came into your mind, all of your attention was being directed at Anakin Skywalker. You weren't even cuddling anymore, you were sat cross legged, head in your hand gawking at someone other than your boyfriend.

Vinnie didn't know why he felt jealous, he felt stupid feeling this way over a fictional character. Maybe because you were making comments about him that you have never even said about Vinnie. Maybe because this fictional character was getting attention from you that he always craved.

You guys had paused the movie to grab some food and water, stretch and take a small break from the TV. As you were preparing some food of the two you, an idea came to his head. It sounded so stupid, but he was desperate for your attention. He left the room and got changed into something comfier. And by comfier, I mean plaid pyjama pants and his abs on full display.

"What with the?' You asked motioning to the lack of a shirt on your boyfriend.

"Oh, I'm just getting a little hot in here". He replied

You guys had gotten settled back into the movie and you were still gawking at Anakin who was coincidently also now shirtless. Vinnie let out a frustrated sigh.

"What's wrong?" You turned over at Vinnie.

"Nothing, just enjoying you flirting with your new boyfriend". Vinnie said bluntly.

"Aww is wittle Vinnie jealous". You mocked, moving your hand up to his hair trying to mess it up.

Vinnie moved his head out of the way. "Stop, it's not funny".

You heard the annoyance in his tone, he's never annoyed with you. Vinnie stood up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"To bed". You heard the bedroom door slam. You paused the movie before sitting there for a few minutes pondering about what just happened.

You turned off the TV, made your way to the bedroom, got changed and climbed into bed wrapping your arms around Vinnie's torso.

"Go away". He said a little agitated.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong".

"Go ask your boyfriend since you seem to give all your attention to him".

"Why would I when I have my beautiful boyfriend right here". You gave some small kisses to his shoulder.

Vinnie wouldn't admit this, but he how clingy you were being right now. "Can you just go away". Vinnie tried to pry your hands off him but in return, you wrapped your leg over his hip essentially trapping him.

"No, not until you let me love you". You were fighting against Vinnie to stay clinging onto his body. The two of you wrestled around each other until you finally won by straddling his waist.

"Oh my god, your so annoying". Vinnie whined.

"Just listen, I'm sorry if I made you feel jealous. You know if you needed a little extra attention, you could have just said". You softly said, lightly creasing his chest.

"Yeah whatever". He joked. You just smiled and shook your head at him.

"Considering your this jealous now, I can't wait to see what happens when we watch The Mandalorian. Because let me tell you babe that man is so fucking ho....". You squealed as Vinnie cut you off by flipping you over onto your back.

"For the love of god, shut up". Vinnie said before slamming his lips into yours.

[shootingstarwritings]

A Single Kiss with Matching Singlets

part 2/2

Coach Reynolds was an older man and head of the wrestling team. Standing tall and clearly proud of the team he had led to victory year after year, he intimidated most of the other coaches throughout the state. He was stern and assertive on the wrestling mat, yet patient and forthcoming in his office. Many former members of the wrestling team described him as having an ‘uncle-like’ air. Not quite immediate family, but trustworthy nonetheless. At least, that’s what Kyle gathered about the man.

Appearance-wise, he was an older, bearded, and hairy man with years of experience. He was the former champion during his days in university, and he reminded the team of that at the start of every new semester. Though the coach had grown a slight gut as he aged, not a soul doubted the muscles one could gain only through years of dutiful devotion to the sport. Perhaps he wore such tight shirts and jackets to accent the body he was so prideful of.

“It’s rare to see you so talkative,” the coach said, not looking up from the documents he was filling out. He sat by his deck with a pair of rarely-seen reading glasses.

All I said was, “Can we meet in your office after practice? I wish to talk about something personal.” Just how little does Zack even speak?’ The more time spent in Zack’s body, the less Kyle understood about him.

“So,” began Coach Reynolds. He removed his glasses with a swift and practiced flick of his wrist and set them down on the table. Smiling with the warmth that someone who was a father to his students, he asked, “What can I help you with? Come to think of it, this is probably the first time you wanted to talk to me like this. What brought this on?”

“Well, um…” How was he supposed to react? It wasn’t easy, staring at the man who was essentially his romantic rival. At first, Kyle went through a barrage of excuses to distract the coach, but he found it difficult to come up with a lie as he stared at the coach’s genuine and questioning eyes. How Kyle wished that the coach had Namba’s shaggy hair to cut off the eye-contact.

Lowering his gaze, Kyle’s eyes locked onto the golden band that Coach Reynolds always wore proudly wore to work. Kyle knew the story. They had split a few years ago, but Coach Reynolds still wore that wedding ring. Whether it was loyalty or denial, he wasn't certain. “I wish to talk… a-about love.”

Chuckling, Coach Reynolds relaxed and shifted back into his seat. “Love, huh?” he said with a playful smirk. Kyle could tell that the coach had been waiting for someone to ask him about that. “Well, this ol’ dog could certainly teach ya some new tricks. Have a seat, let’s hear you out.”

“There’s someone I love, but they clearly love someone else…” Kyle began like that, and then continued. On occasion, he would accidentally slip and say, “he,” while speaking, but aside from a curious eyebrow raise, the coach didn’t interrupt. Was it another of Zack’s quirks that influenced Kyle, or was Kyle simply waiting for someone with coach’s demeanor to influence him? Whatever it was, it certainly seemed to help get his mouth moving and his lips flapping.

Still, Kyle felt himself able to speak freely. Calmly. Not only that, but he felt… heard. Namba would sometimes tease or cut in to talk about his own opinion, but coach’s gentle prodding and listening was far more effective. “And… and that is all,” finished Kyle.

“Well, that’s certainly the intense revelation you gave, Zack,” the coach said, each word carefully measured. “But! That doesn’t mean I don’t have any advice to give you. Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing for you.” He stood up and wandered over to his desk, giving a great view of his ass hugged by those gray sweatpants he always loved to wear.

Kyle definitely preferred Zack, but he couldn’t deny just how hot the coach was. He had seen the man sweating it out in the gym when he wasn’t coaching the players—and he loved seeing the coach drench his clothes with sweat. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder how the coach smelled. As Coach Reynolds stood up and walked over to his file cabinet—just what was he searching for?—Kyle silently stood up and made his move.

“Sorry, coach,” said Kyle with Zack’s voice as he wrapped both muscular arms around the coach’s meaty frame. As Coach Reynolds began to panic, Kyle leaned into his ear and whispered, “I do think you’re a great man, for all that’s worth,” and made his move. Exiting through Zack’s trembling torso, Kyle forced his spiritual essence to phase through the coach’s back and into his core.

Like a puppet cut from its strings, Zack fell on the ground, unconscious after over a day of not being in control.

Coach Reynolds, on the other hand, remained standing and trembling as he felt a student’s essence overpowering his own. “N-No, get outta… nrgh…! Outta me!” Coach Reynolds reached out for the door, but his legs were already under Kyle’s control. Then, his own arms betrayed him as they gracefully shed off his sweatpants, shaking his hips the whole time. “The fuck…?” was all he managed to say as his cock, bulging beneath his used jockstrap, flew at high mast and began to leak precum. His bare ass shivered as a breeze blew through the office.

Coach Reynolds struggled and moaned as he tried to reclaim control over his body, but it was too late as Kyle grabbed his shirt and windbreaker and tossed them off. Clad in just a leaky jockstrap, Kyle explored the coach’s wonderful body in the privacy of his new office. Zack continued to sleep, even as Kyle let out a roar of pure ecstasy and blew his first load all over the office, some drops even landing on Zack’s open and drooling mouth.

“I can see why you think this hunky piece of ass is your ideal man,” Kyle said, smirking as he flexed and kissed Coach Reynold’s bulging biceps. “I’ll have a bit of fun with him before asking you out on our little date.”

~o~

Sitting down on the booth of a burger joint, Tim scrolled mindlessly through a phone that wasn’t his until the burly Coach Reynolds sat down in front of him. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite coach,” he said, putting his phone down and resting his chin on his hand, smirking. “How’s the body feeling?” He took a quick whiff and chuckled. “Already beat one out or two?”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “How did you now? You got some kinda bloodhound nose or something?”

“Nah, but Tim’s got a sharp sense of smell. Probably cuz he doesn’t wanna get glasses.” Namba shrugged. “Already ordered for ya, by the way. Asked for the, urgh, the bacon triple burger," Namba's borrowed nose wrinkled as he said that.

“Oh, thank god. Dunno why, but Coach Reynolds’ body is constantly craving meat. Was about to go insane with hunger once I was done with a quick workout and jerk-off session. I haven’t had a single fruit or veggie all day. Not even a snack. Just craving meat, meat, meat.”

Namba chuckled. “A strong soul like the coach’s will naturally force more of his personality onto you.” Grinning lewdly, Namba lifted up his shirt and rubbed Tim’s toned and distinctly hairier core. “You have to tame these hosts we’re using. Usually, you gotta force them to submit, my friend.”

“Submit?” Kyle tilted his head. He had thought that jerking off was enough to wrangle coach’s soul. At the very least, shouldn’t the possession itself be enough to force someone’s soul to submit?

When Kyle asked that, Namba wagged his finger, letting Tim’s shirt fall and regaining some semblance of modesty. “No, no. This is why you’re to remain a novice without someone like me to teach you the ropes, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m in this body,” said Kyle, lowering his voice. “People’ll give us weird looks.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I put up a few precautions before you arrived.” As if to illustrated his point, Namba climbed up the table and lied on top of it before peeling off Tim’s cargo shorts and throwing off the shirt in just a few quick motions.

Kyle looked around, but nobody came to protest. Not even any of the staff. In fact, looking over at the staff on the counter, none of them were moving. Not even blinking. “What…?”

“Time bubble. Advanced stuff,” said Namba in between moans as he started to touch and pleasure himself. Tim’s boxers-briefs were still on, but didn’t seem to care. He still caressed and licked every bit of Tim’s body he could reach, occasionally rubbing the cock beneath the fabric as a dark spot began to form. “In public places like these are a great way to tame unruly hosts, y’know. How about we make sure that our host bodies enjoy the remainder of our three days?”

Kyle stared at the scene before him, hunger temporarily forgotten. Already, he could feel the testosterone in Coach Reynolds’ body working overtime as he beheld Tim’s naked and tempting body. “I-I… sure. Sure, let’s do it.”

“Well?” Namba spread Tim’s legs, his feet hanging off the booth’s table. “What’re you gonna do to me, coach?” he asked with a playful sincerity. “I thought we were just gonna eat together?”

“Oh, I’m about to devour the snack before me, all right,” said Kyle as he stripped himself, having already had plenty of practice with it. Coach Reynolds’ used jockstrap was the last thing he took off, and he twirled it on his fingers and a few times while playfully slapping Tim’s hole with his erect cock.

“O-Oh, now that’s a keeper…” said Namba, his expression, while still smug, growing a bit concerned. “A-Are you sure that’s gonna fit inside of me, my friend? T-Tim’s not exactly used to stuff up his ass.”

Kyle leaned in, chest resting against Tim’s own, and he said, “I’ll stretch it out real nice for ya, kid. Once I’m through with ya, you’ll be able to fit a whole cucumber inside.”

A tiny dribble of precum launched from Tim’s cock and landed on his stomach. Namba gulped and said, “Go for it.”

Kyle went was slow at first, just to make sure Coach Reynolds’ cock didn’t hurt too badly. Whenever Namba would groan in pain, Kyle would caress his cheek or give him a calming kiss as he pounded Namba’s ass.

“Ngh…! Oh, f-fuck…!” said Namba, writhing in Tim’s body as Kyle thrust in and out Tim’s tight ass. The table creaked and moaned from the sheer force that Kyle was using in the coach’s body. “F-Fuck me harder, c-c’mon!” Namba shouted, his eyes fluttering from the sheer pleasure and strength Coach Reynolds used. “We-We’re really doing this in public? Ohhh, you’re such a pervert, coach! Wh-What if someone walks in?”

Kyle forced the coach’s body to grin. “What’s wrong, Tim? ‘fraid that someone’s gonna see how much of a slut you are?” he said, punctuating ‘slut’ with a particularly deep thrust. Another strong shot of precum launched out of Tim’s cock. Namba reached down to jerk himself off, but Kyle slapped his hand away. “Oh don’t worry, boy. I’ll make ya cum hands-free!”

He lifted up both of Tim’s legs and slung them over his shoulders. With every thrust, he would pull him by the ankles to get just a tiny bit more leverage. Namba seemed to be enjoying it, as his hands gripped the sides of the trembling table until his knuckles were white.

Inside, however, was a different story. “N-No, not in public,” the voice of Coach Reynolds said inside of him. Kyle nearly stopped, but he was far too horny and far too deep inside of his new fucktoy. “G-Get out of me. This is my body!” There was a bit of pressure from inside of Coach Reynolds’ body, but Kyle didn’t mind.

“You’re mine,” Kyle found himself saying, flexing on his arms and enjoy the rippling muscles as he posed and increased the speed of his thrusts into Namba, who looked like he was about to fall unconscious. “This is my fucking body, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it! I’m a fucking stud of a man that does nothing but breed young men, and that’s the truth of it! This is who I am!”

“Yes, coach! It’s who you are!” Namba joined in, staring up in the ceiling as his mind continued to experience unbelievable pleasure. “Ohhh, breed me! Breed this hairy hole I got just for you.”

“I’m gonna breed ya and mark ya. Fuck, fuck…! I’m, I’m gonna—WOAAAAHH!” Kyle let out a cry as his climax reached its peak, and he blew his load and coated all of Tim’s inside with the coach’s thick cum.

“Holy fuck, coach!” Namba cried out as his own cock, still untouched, shot its own load. Most landed on his borrowed chest, but a few shot far enough to land on his face.

Coach Reynolds’ voice became softer and more quiet as Kyle continued to dominate his body. “I-I’m… This is your body. Use it as you like...” Coach Reynolds’ voice said before finally becoming silent.

So… I tamed him. But what does that even mean? And, is it bad that I want more? thought Kyle.

“Mm… tasty,” said Namba, knocking Kyle out of his thoughts. He reached down and scooped up some of the cum with a finger and licked it. “Tim never gets any less tasty. Though I think it’s my essence making him so delicious.” Chuckling, he lied back, head resting on his hands and hole overflowing with cum. “Drink up this sight, my friend. This is what we get with magic. See how rewarding this is?”

Kyle nodded, thoroughly exhausted. He sat down on one of the booth seats, rubbing his sore thighs. “That was… amazing!”

“Amazing and so much more, my friend,” said Namba. “So, what will you do now? Visit Michael or…?”

Nodding, Kyle said, “Yeah, that was the plan. But, honestly…” he hesitate before finally saying, “I was thinking… what if I stayed in coach’s body? What if I made this permanent?” It had only been a day and a few sexual experiences, but the urge to never leave was slowly becoming more and more attractive to Kyle. “Is that even possible?”

Namba cocked an eyebrow, his smile disappearing. “Yeah, but… you sure this is the body you want? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad body and all, but this is a big decision. And…” he let out a thoughtful hum, tapping his fingers on the table. “I can make it for sure, but not yet. Probably not until the semester’s mostly over. Until then,” he grinned and ruffled Coach Reynolds’ short hair, “I’ll keep cooking up some of that concoction for the two of us. Build that little relationship with Michael while I research for a way to make this sorta thing permanent. And, prepare yourself. You’ll be leaving your life behind.”

“And you? Are you gonna take over someone permanently? Like Tim?”

Namba shook his head. “I wanna take over someone hot and rich. Tim’s just a nice ride to chill out in for a few days.” He flexed Tim’s much lither body and ran his hands down his torso. “In the meantime, we gotta finish up our lease and this semester, my friend.” Namba looked down at his watch. “You got one more day until my next concoction, what’ll you do?”

Now it was Kyle’s turn to grin. “Whaddaya think? I’m gonna win over my new love."

~o~

Walking around in Coach Reynolds’ body felt like a reward of its own, so Kyle elected to do that to head back to his office. Zack was long-gone, believing he had just passed out while coach asked him to stay behind for a brief talk. With the office clear and most classes done for the day, Kyle sent an email to Michael asking him to meet up to discuss the team’s future as well as discussion regarding the next captain.

As he walked back, Kyle thought back to what Namba had explained. Their hosts wouldn’t remember exactly what happened while being possessed, but their experiences would leave little marks on their souls. It wouldn’t be anything significant without repeated possessions and behavior adjustments, but it had its merit. “It’ll make it a lot easier for us to take them over. Though I’ll probably hop inside someone else,” Namba had told him. “But you can even influence their behavior even while you’re not inside.”

I could probably get coach to keep seducing Michael while I’m not inside of him, thought Kyle, a spring in the coach’s step. Then, once I take over coach forever, I’ll already be in a relationship with Kyle. It seemed so perfect that Kyle had little belief it would ever fail. With that, he soon arrived.

Michael was seated on a bench right outside the office, but brightened up once he noticed Kyle approaching. “Oh, hey coach!” he greeted with a radiant smile that Kyle knew would soon enough be reserved only for him. “Dunno how of much my experience is gonna mean much, but I’m more than happy to help out!”

With a hearty, almost fatherly, chuckle, Kyle patted Michael on the back and assured him that, “You’re far more helpful and valuable than you think, Michael.” Slowly, he allowed his hand to slide just a bit further down before pulling back. “C’mon, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” The rest of the visit was full of small touches and mild flirting and winks. Michael would flush at most of Kyle’s light advances, but didn’t shy away from it.

Throughout the next few weeks, Kyle would use the coach’s body to tease, caress, and flirt with Michael, who subtly invited them in. Towards the end of the semester, during the final of their little meetings, Michael said, “Are you flirting with me, coach…?” There was a longing tone in his voice as he looked up at Coach Reynolds’. He was hesitant, nervous, embarrassed, and hopeful.

Just how long had Kyle waited for Michael to see him like that? He wasn’t sure, but he knew that, at least, that time was at an end. With Coach Reynolds’ thick fingers, he gently guided Michael’s chin for a passionate, sensual kiss. Kyle’s borrowed tongue guided Michael’s more inexperienced one, and the two soon collapsed into a pile of tangled limbs. “I’ve waited so long for this day,” said Michael, unknowingly voicing both of their thoughts.

~o~

The day arrived. Namba served two bowls with a concoction that somehow smelled like lilacs this time. After agreeing to keep in touch, the two went their separate ways—towards their new lives. Namba went to his rich uncle’s company while Kyle paid one last visit to Coach Reynolds’ office.

Brimming with confidence, he knocked on the door and shouted, “Coach, daddy’s home!” without a hint of shame. So much had happened this semester, and now he was ready to finally embrace the future as someone new.

Coach Reynolds opened the door with dread on his face. “G-Get away from me,” he managed to utter, even as he allowed Kyle to strut inside. He shut the door and began to strip his clothes. It made the possession much easier. “H-How are you doing this…? What is happening to me?” Just speaking with his own will seemed to be a challenge for him, let alone resisting the power of Namba’s concoction.

Kyle walked over and planted a kiss on the coach’s neck. “This is your destiny, coach. This is how your story ends,” he said, placing two of his hands on both of coach’s pecs. His hands began sinking into his body as though Coach Reynolds was nothing but a pool of water. He let out a low groan, trembling. “And this is how our story begins.”

Pushing Coach Reynolds against the wall, Kyle slowly forced his way inside of his future and permanent body. “N-No! Get outta me, kid! D-Don’t do this!” Coach Reynolds clutched his head with both hands, almost ripping off his hair as he felt Kyle’s consciousness and memories swallowing his own. It was as if he was being consumed from the inside out. “You’re g-gonna kill me… I’m disappearing… N-No, please stop…!”

“You won’t die,” said Kyle. By now, most of his body was inside of the coach. All that was left was the top part of his torso and his head that awkwardly hung from coach's burly chest. “We’re becoming one, coach. Isn’t it great? You can feel it, right? How pleasurable this is for us? For me?”

Coach Reynolds grit his teeth, but soon his arms fell limp by his sides. “Y-Yes… this is hot for me,” he admitted, both ashamed and aroused as Kyle’s essence began to bind with his own. As two souls became one, Coach Reynolds became convinced that he was Kyle, that he was another half that was returning home and becoming whole. “Keep it up,” he moaned, thrusting in the air as Kyle fully dove into his body. “Ahhh! Oh, fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Coach Reynolds slid down the wall and fell to his knees, his whole body trembling as a merging of souls occurred inside. Memories of pleasure, pain, madness, and ecstasy all blended together into a cocktail of euphoria until, “HOLY FUCK!” The new Coach Reynolds let out a guttural roar of pleasure as he achieved the most intense orgasm of his life—and the very first of his new life. Streams of cock shot high into the air. One, two, more and more until he lost count. He came his entire load until he was shooting blanks, hips still thrusting into the empty air until he just collapsed on his side, entire body alight with a pleasurable soreness.

There was no need to explore his new body, Coach Reynolds was already accustomed to it after half a semester of taking it over. He just stood up on shaky legs and stretched. Kyle was gone, but he wasn’t at the same time. A new being was born, but he still carried the name Coach Reynolds. The old coach wasn’t gone, either, but it was mainly the one who used to be Kyle in control. The new Coach Reynolds put his clothes back on and checked his phone.

One message from Michael, asking the coach when their first official date would be. Coach Reynolds smiled and gleefully began his brand new relationship to celebrate his brand new life.