#they all think it sounds so much better or whatever but its just so fucking annoying

[vaguely-concerned]

severing the connection of the titans to themselves, each other and their children, to the world, and with it severing the connection of the dwarves to their true nature, the basic state of love and belonging that should be their birthright. ("our children, orphaned".) severing the connection between rook and the reality and true memory of varric, and thus from themselves and their own healing grief AND love. (do we spot the echo, perhaps?) severing (mostly accidentally this time, I'll give him that) the connection between the fade and the real world, dream and reality.

the scale we're operating on varies from the mythic, the cosmic and existential, to the individual and deeply, nauseatingly intimately personal, but it's the same pattern every time. solas keeps committing the same act of enforced dissociation, of creating orphaned pain that cannot even know itself, estranged from its own history, origins and coherence, unhealable in being impossible to recognize for what it is and thus unreachable. (hello lucanis in the minrathous saved route btw. this theme echoes everywhere when you look for it. I do love this game.) making others strangers to themselves for his own purposes and being surprised when it blows up in his face horrifically once more even when it's his same indelible original sin repeated, again and again and again. dissociation is a natural process the mind uses to protect itself from unbearable pain, but to knowingly cause that in someone, to play around with their connection to themselves and reality so fundamentally, to further your own cause... yeah, I'm not surprised the fabric of the world keeps tearing apart in protest in response to that, there's something so unspeakably insidiously wrong about it. forget snacking down on apples and knowing yourself to be naked or whatever, that sounds like a perfectly blameless if presumably slightly chilly afternoon to me -- force-feeding someone else their own fragmentation for your own gain, however ostensibly worthy your final goal, feels much closer to what real sin would be to me. and even worse because *buries face in hands* he just keeps doing it!!! he should know better, but he keeps doing it!!!!!!

I know I keep joking that solas only has the like three basic moves he keeps rearranging to invent new and spectacular ways of doubling down on making the same mistake yet again, but looking at it like this it's almost not even funny anymore haha. (almost. there is a hysterical amusement and affection that rises within me every time I see his smug little face, we cannot choose who we love only what we do about it.) and the worst thing is that I think he could learn! I do believe he has the capacity, the depth of empathy and soul and intellect, to learn from this, had he chosen to do so, had he let himself pause and truly listen at any point. but at the end of the day, even all these thousands of years later and with the mountains of guilt he lugs around, he chooses not to. and I suspect it's because he fundamentally does not actually understand what he did wrong. on his way to, ostensibly, fix one of these splits he caused, that of the veil, he basically goes and does to rook's mind what he did to the titans, and without the hand of mythal guiding it or anyone else culpable in it with him this time, as if to underline twice that in all these thousands of years he has learned absolutely nothing! almost to an impressive degree! does he even recognize that it's the same thing he's doing? does he even actually afford rook and their internal world that much thought to begin with, aside from what purpose they can serve for him? I'm not so sure. and to do it all with varric's face, with the person he took from them, making them feel complicit in it when they find out, the same way the dwarves will have to grapple with the fact that their whole economy is based in unwittingly selling the blood of like. god. their parents. themselves. solas. babe. what the fUCK. what the fuck. what the fuck.

perhaps part of the blind spot comes down to the way it's the inverse of his own trauma. solas knows exactly what happened to him because it's the endless ache at the center of his existence, the thing -- the first mistake -- he can't escape or undo or forget, nor bring himself to accept: he became real, one coherent set self, with no way back to what and who he was. and what he does with that pain, his one move, is to make others not-real. to himself, and more alarming still to themselves. he makes them forget, as he cannot forget. does he think it's mercy, in some way? does he realize how and why that makes it all so much worse??? and... not quite the same thing, but when mythal dies the structure of his own inner world falls apart catastrophically, and in his vengeance for that, even unintentionally, he imposes that same unravelling on the world. we've all heard the lines about spirits mirroring the real world and what you bring into your relationship with them being what you get in return, but how about the tragedy of the inverse -- the world being brought to mirror you, despite what your intentions might have been going in. no one should have that power, but you claimed that power yourself to do something else and now you have to look into that mirror forever. no such mercy as forgetting yourself for you. you are everywhere now, this broken mirror of a world will reflect yourself back to you no matter where you look. perhaps it would feel easier to simply close your eyes and walk on willfully blindly. AGH it's all so delicious and fucked up and makes me feel absolutely nuts

dissociation is something that's also central in iron bull's character and internal conflict, so presumably this is simply a deep theme trick weekes keeps returning to/is interested in exploring in their writing! and the elegance with which it's done and how inextricably yet subtly embedded in the narrative it is both with bull and overall in veilguard means it's not always engaged with or recognized as I feel it deserves, but to me personally it is Everything and gets at it in ways that feel weirdly real and authentic.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy have a much needed talk.

Word Count: 4,156

Warnings: Codependency, insecurity, and previous suicide attempt.

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Chapter 18: To Bring You My Love

 Lucy woke up warm. Twitching, she groaned softly, turning over to press her cheek more firmly against her pillow. 

Her pillow twitched back. 

Eyes snapping open, it took her a moment to reorient herself. In the haze of still being half asleep, she had forgotten where she was and what had happened. 

The telltale scent of hospital disinfectant reminded her quickly enough. 

A large hand was stroking delicately through her hair. And every once in a while, kisses were pressed to the crown of her head. Her body was tucked rather firmly to a strong chest, a muscular arm looped around her waist to help hold her in place. 

Tears sprang back up instantaneously in her eyes. It had been so long since she had woken up cradled in his arms. Or slept tucked into her spot against his chest.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep. She must have drifted off sometime between bouts of sobbing hysterically on him. 

“Lucy?” Tommy shifted a little, bending over her at the first sound of her sniffling. “Sweetheart? Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. Truthfully, her wrists ached a little, but her mind was still fuzzy enough from whatever pain meds they’d pumped her full of that it was more just a minor annoyance. 

Tommy squeezed her, shushing her gently and nuzzling at her hair. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling horribly embarrassed and still very raw over…everything. Tommy shook his head furiously, leaning back and cradling both of her cheeks. 

“No, love. Don’t apologize.” He shimmied down a little on the bed so that their foreheads could touch. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who fucked up so badly you didn’t think that I–” he choked on the words, swallowing roughly around them. Lucy laid a hand on his chest gently, thumb moving up and down. His hand came to settle on top of hers, pressing her palm down over the steady thump of his heart. Eyes the color of a warm ocean waters pierced into her beseechingly. “I love you. I love you so much. More than fucking anything, Lucy. And I’m so sorry that I ever made you think that I didn’t.”  

A sob burst its way from her, arms winding their way around his neck to pull him in closer to her. 

“I love you too. I’m so sorry for…for all of this. I didn’t mean–”

“I know. I know.” He cradled her face, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I know you didn’t, my darling. It’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his chest. Her cheek turned against his pectoral. He was wearing one of his soft white henley’s, and she could feel the heat of his body through it. A few tufts of chest hair poked out from beneath the collar to tickle her face. 

Her eyes fixed on the door to the room, worry suddenly squeezing at her chest. “Tommy,” she tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “Tommy, someone could walk in and see–”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled where his face was planted firmly in her hair. 

“But…”

He pulled back to look at her sternly. “I haven’t left your bedside since you came in. What’s done is done. Don’t worry about it. We’ll pay them off if we have to.” He swept some of her hair back behind her ear. “All you need to focus on is getting better, eh?” There was no room for argument in his voice. Lucy nodded shakily. “You’re sure that you don’t need anything?”

“No; I’m okay.”

He frowned, head cocking. “What about some food, hm? You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten something.”

She tilted her head, considering. Now that he brought it up, she was rather hungry…

“That would be nice.”

“Right. Don’t move.” Pecking the top of her head, he slipped out of bed and went for the door, opening it and sticking his head out. Lucy had to raise her hand to cover the half smile that tugged unconsciously at her lips when he started hollering down the hall for someone to bring them some soup. 

“That was rude,” she tried to scold after he turned back around to face her. Tommy raised an eyebrow, returning to her bedside and climbing back in next to her. 

“It’s cute that you think that I’m letting you leave my sight anytime soon.”

She snorted. Yes, she supposed that she ought to expect to be the subject of lots of fussing and hovering from him for the indeterminate future. 

Tommy pulled her back into his arms, tangling their legs together and pillowing his cheek on her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. 

Not that she was complaining, of course. 

“You scared the absolute piss out of me,” Tommy said after a long beat of silence. His fingers had taken up stroking through her hair again. Lucy winced.

“I know. I’m so sorry–” But he shook his head. “It’s alright. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”

She drew in a shaky breath, feeling suddenly on the edge of tears again. He was being so nice to her. She didn’t deserve it. Not after all the turmoil she’d just put him through. 

Her eyes focused on the red roses sprouting up from a vase on the table by her bed. There was no doubt who had bought them. He’d probably purchased her a whole bloody garden worth of flowers at this point. A ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. 

Until she spotted what was laying next to the vase’s base. 

Pamphlets. For insane asylums and sanatoriums. 

Whatever happy little bubble she’d been in since he’d told her that he still loved her popped. 

Oh.

Stupid, stupid girl. How could she have ever let herself hope that they could possibly return to the way that things were before?

He was going to send her away. It made sense, she supposed. She’d proven herself to be well and truly unstable with what she’d just done. And he probably didn’t want to waste all his time having to take care of her. Especially not if she continued to be a weepy, clingy mess. 

Or they could just be pamphlets. Maybe the nurses gave them to him, a part of her mind tried to reason. He seemed at the moment entirely content to let her cling to him like a koala. And he was absolutely doting on her in a way that she knew he wouldn’t for anybody else. Surely he wouldn’t be doing that if he intended to have her locked up, would he?

She should have asked him about it, but…she was scared what his answer would be. 

Tommy suddenly gave her a little tap on the shoulder blade.

“You’re overthinking about something. Stop it.”

She felt herself flush, burrowing down deeper into him. “Sorry.”

Tommy shook his head against her apologies, tightening his hold on her. Between them, she felt the familiar hum of the indescribable bond that had always tethered them together. Even before she had actually met him. It had felt so weak and quiet lately. The sudden sensation of it, and of him nudging gentle little pulses of comfort and love towards her through it, nearly made her start sobbing again. 

She had missed him so, so much. 

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to rest more heavily into him, and to not worry about anything else. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“It’s Monday,” Lucy commented, staring down at the teacup clutched in both of her hands. “Aren’t you going to have to go to work soon?”

Tommy looked over at her sharply. They were seated side by side on her hospital bed, backs against the rail that served as a headboard. Pillows were propped up between it and their backs to keep the metal from digging uncomfortably into their skin. 

“No. I probably won’t be back in until after we’ve dealt with Mosley.”

“You don’t have to sit around here with me. They need you down at the House of Commons–”

“You need me. End of discussion.” Folding the newspaper he’d been reading and setting it aside, he wrapped his arm around her. She let him tuck her up against his side, but she was still frowning. Tommy sighed, fingers picking up tracing nonsensical patterns into her shoulder, opening his mouth to speak when he heard familiar voices from out in the hallway. He gave Lucy a small squeeze.

“Incoming.”

She shot him a nervous glance, and he kissed her forehead before getting up off the bed in preparation of greeting his two spawn. Lucy passed him her teacup, which he set safely on the bedside table.  

Ruby was holding tight to Lizzie’s hand when they walked in, her dark eyes darting about the room widely. Charlie was a few paces ahead of them, chattering animatedly. 

“Daddy!” Ruby let go of Lizzie’s hand to rush to him, and he smiled as she latched onto his leg, ruffling her long dark hair. Charlie went past him to stand at Lucy’s bedside. 

“Hullo.”

Lucy looked at him nervously. “Hullo, Charlie.”

He glanced back at Lizzie, then to Lucy. “Mum says you aren’t feeling well. So I brought you this. It always makes me feel better.” He reached up and set the little stuffed horse he’d had since he was a baby down in Lucy’s lap. 

Lucy stared at the stuffed animal, resting a hand on it. When she looked up at Charlie, her eyes were glassy. “Thank you, kiddo.” 

“He’ll help you feel less sad,” Charlie declared, and promptly climbed up onto the bed, picking up the horse and beginning to show Lucy how best to squeeze him for maximum comfort. 

“Lucy?” Ruby asked, letting go of Tommy’s leg and taking a cautious step forward, staring up at her with curious eyes. “Are you coming home soon?” 

Lucy hesitated, gaze darting anxiously to Tommy, then Lizzie, then back to the kids. “I…I don’t…”

“Yes,” Tommy said, firmly, stroking a hand across Ruby’s head. “Yes, she will, sweetheart. Very soon.”

“Yay! I can show you my new dollhouse Mummy got me! And chef taught us to make biscuits while you were away! We brought you some!” Ruby dashed over to Lizzie who amusedly handed over the small box she’d been carrying. Ruby brought it back over to Lucy, and Tommy picked her up to set her down on the mattress next to her brother. As Ruby opened the box and started passing out biscuits to Lucy and Charlie, Lizzie touched Tommy lightly on the arm. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He looked at her warily, bracing himself. Lizzie gave him a look.

“It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.”

Sighing, checking to make sure Lucy was still preoccupied with the kids, he nodded and drew her back a little toward the other side of the room. 

“I thought that I'd take the kids to Ada’s for a day or two when you bring Lucy home. So you can get her settled in without overwhelming her. They’re very excited. Once she’s home they aren’t going to let her have a moment’s peace without wanting to show her something.”

Tommy nodded. That would probably be for the best. “What do they know?” 

Lizzie hesitated. “Not much. I just told them that she was sick. Ruby doesn’t understand. But I think Charlie knows more than he’s letting on.”

Tommy looked back over at the hospital bed. Ruby was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, legs curled under her while she giggled and licked crumbs from her fingers. Charlie had slotted himself in next to Lucy’s side, nibbling on his biscuit while watching Lucy analytically. 

“Alright.”

Lizzie gave his arm a squeeze, and they returned to Lucy’s bedside.

“Mum cried when Uncle Charlie called us about you,” Charlie was saying, picking crumbs off his shirt absently. Lucy’s eyes widened, gaze snapping over to Lizzie, who narrowed her eyes at Charlie playfully and ruffled his hair.

“Tattletale.” She drew her coat in tighter around herself. “Right, kids, let’s let Lucy get back to resting, yeah? You can spend all the time you want badgering her once she’s back home.”

Charlie and Ruby both whined, but agreed. Ruby gave Lucy a hug, then hopped off the bed to go to Tommy. He smiled, squatting down to hug her before letting her go so she could take hold of Lizzie’s hand. When he looked up, Charlie had his little arms wrapped tight around Lucy, squeezing her hard with his head buried in her neck. Lucy looked seconds away from bursting into tears as she hugged him back. 

Yes; the boy definitely understood more about what was happening than he let on. 

Finally Charlie let her go, jumping off the bed. Tommy slung an arm around him when he shuffled over, giving him a quick squeeze.

“She’s gonna be just fine,” he murmured into his boy’s ear. Charlie looked up at him with eyes that suddenly very distinctly reminded him of Grace in their sternness. 

You better keep that promise, those eyes said. 

Tommy nodded. I will, he vowed in response. 

Lizzie reached across to give Lucy a gentle touch on the shoulder. “We’ll see you at home soon,” she decreed. 

“Thank you,” Lucy whispered. Lizzie squeezed her, and moved to usher the kids out the door, final goodbyes said between them all before they vanished from sight. 

Once they were gone, Lucy dragged in a deep, shuddering breath. Tommy slipped back into the hospital bed with her, arm going around her shoulders. She seemed smaller than usual; more frail. With a sniffle, she rested her head against his chest.

“I don’t have to come back to the house. I can go back to my room at the yard…”

Tommy leaned back enough to turn her face to look at him. “You’re coming home,” he said firmly, making it as clear as he could that there was no room for argument on the topic in his mind. “That’s all there is to it.”

Lucy’s eyes searched his. Probably trying to figure out if he was just saying that because he felt bad. 

“I want you there,” he reassured her. “The kids want you there. Even fucking Lizzie wants you there. Alright? It’s okay. You aren’t going to be inconveniencing anyone. Everyone just wants you to come home, sweetheart. Please?”

He could see the beginnings of hope building up behind her eyes. A little of the light that had been extinguished in them since she’d moved out began to reignite. Yes. That’s it. Come back to me, sweetheart. 

Her lips trembled, doubt still lingering intermixed with the hope he’d reawakened inside her. “You’re not going to send me away?”

Tommy frowned. The fuck was she talking about? Had he not just said that he wanted her to come home? “Send you away where?” 

“You know…like the nuthouse or a sanitarium…” 

He frowned. Why would she…? 

His eyes darted to the table by the bed. Where the pamphlets that the nurse had dropped off earlier were still fanned out. He’d been too distracted to think to throw them out. 

He should have known better than to think that Lucy wouldn’t have noticed them. 

Looking back at her, he hardened his gaze stubbornly. “No. You’re staying right here. With me.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her neck. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

A shudder went through her, a small sob hitching in her lungs. “You don’t…you don’t have to…”

“I want to.” He continued to nuzzle at her, lips ghosting over her neck and shoulder before raising his head to kiss her temple. “I love you, Lucy.”

She heaved out a sob and his arms tightened around her. Turning to hide away in his chest, she sniffled, tears overflowing and running down her cheeks. Once her crying had ceased, she quickly pulled back, wiping furiously at her eyes. 

“Ugh, God. I’m sorry. It feels like all I’ve done is cry lately.”

“It’s okay.”

She shot him a look. “You should be angry with me.”

He frowned, cocking his head. “Why?”

“Because…because I massively overreacted about everything and now it’s all just another big, complicated thing that you have to deal with…” 

“Sweetheart, it’s alright. I don’t blame you for reacting the way that you did. I’ve been a horrible lover to you lately…”

“No. No, you haven’t. You were trying. But I was…” her chest spasmed, looking away. “I don’t know what was wrong with me.” She looked at him regretfully. “I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

Taking a hold of both her cheeks firmly, he turned her face towards him. “I know, baby. There’s nothing wrong with you.” His thumbs stroked her tears away. “Please come home. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about the deal with Lizzie before finalizing it. I never wanted you to leave. I never meant to hurt you, love.” His chest rattled with a shaky breath. “I know that I’ve been…neglecting you lately. It’s nothing to do with you. You didn’t do anything wrong. And it’s not because I don’t love you anymore. It’s just…you know how my mind can be sometimes, love.”

She sniffled, and he felt his own breath catch in his throat, guiding her head to return to its spot on his chest while he hugged her. Dipping his face, he squished his cheek against the side of her head. A small shudder went through his chest. And then another.

He felt Lucy try to crane her head up to look at him, but he clutched at her tighter, face nuzzled at her neck, hands holding her close while his body curled over hers. His shoulders trembled and shuttered as he began to cry, head buried in her neck. She reached a cautioned hand up to stroke his hair as he let out heaving, regretful sobs against her.

The guilt over what he’d done to her, to the person he loved the most, burned beneath his skin. With the way that it constricted in his chest, he almost thought he might suffocate with it. Or just collapse completely. 

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, voice muffled, lips brushing ever so lightly over her skin when he spoke. 

“Tommy…”

“Tell me what I have to do,” he leaned back enough to look at her, wiping a hand at the tears still running down his cheeks. “Tell me what I have to do to fix this.”

“I-I don’t-”

“I’ll divorce Lizzie.”

“No,” she shook her weakly.

“Why?”

“She’s your wife. You need her to strengthen your position politically and socially. I’m just an assistant,” she ignored the small sound of distress that he made. “You don’t need me like you do her.”

“No. No. That’s not true. I need you more than anyone,” he seized her shoulders. “I need you. I can’t…I can’t even fucking think without you.” 

One of her arms slipped around his waist while his forehead came to rest against hers, arms still wrapped tight around her.

“I love you,” he said, like it was the most certain thing he had ever known. “Eh? Lucy. Lucy, I love you,” there was no room for argument in his voice, stern and unwavering. “I want you. I want to be with you. I want to take you home.”

“And you really think that Lizzie will be alright with that?”

“Actually, yes. Even she isn’t happy with you being gone all the time.”

Lucy frowned, not looking wholly convinced. He touched her chin. 

“You let me worry about anything to do with Lizzie from now on. She’s not your problem.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, gaze straight ahead as she turned over his proposal in her mind. Tommy felt himself start to become truly desperate. 

“I’ll do better, Lucy, I promise. We’ll set aside one night a week where we go do something, just the two of us. No business.” He nuzzled again at her throat. “Say yes,” he whispered, pleading. Pressed a few tempting kisses to her neck.

“Yes,” she breathed out, finally. “Yes, I’ll come home.”

He immediately raised his face from her neck, feeling himself become momentarily so overjoyed that elated tears built at the corners of his eyes. He caught her face in his hands and pressed an enthusiastic, celebratory kiss to her lips. A kiss of such intensity that it was probably a good thing that they were already seated on the bed, or else they probably would have both fallen over from the force of it. 

She rested her fingertips gingerly on his cheeks, and when the kiss broke, it was so he could nuzzle at her, their foreheads still pressed together. A little smile was pulling at Lucy’s cheeks, and he felt his heart swell at the sight of it.

“I’m still so sorry about all of this.” When her eyes met his, he could still see flickers of regret. “I never meant to hurt you, Tommy.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” he murmured. Swallowing hard, she shook her head.

“I broke your heart, didn’t I?”

He hesitated, not wanting to be dishonest with her, but not wanting her to beat herself up relentlessly over it like she was so prone to do, either. “I think that we both did.” One of his hands lifted to entangle with hers, guiding her hand down to his chest, to rest over where his heart beat. “It’s yours. It belongs to you. Always has. You can do whatever you want with it.” He peppered kisses over her jaw. “Just promise me, that if you ever have any more of these ridiculous thoughts of me not loving you, you’ll tell me.” Another kiss, pressed into the sensitive space right beneath her ear, nose pressing into her hair. “So that I can set them straight.”

A tiny laugh escaped her, the sound nearly bowling him over. God, he’d missed that laugh of hers so bloody much. “Deal.”

He kissed her again to seal it, then adjusted them so that she was laying half on top of him, her head on his chest with his arms around her. His fingers picked up their favorite activity of tenderly carding through her hair. 

“I’m sorry that everything is such a fucking mess,” he sighed. 

She rubbed a hand along his torso soothingly.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry that I kept avoiding you and refusing to talk about it.” 

He rubbed circles into her back in gratitude for the apology. 

“I love you, Tommy,” she said after a beat, voice quiet.

“I love you too,” he hesitated for only a moment, and then spoke again. “What actually was it? That made you think that I was happy with you leaving?” 

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. I think that most of it was in my head. Me seeing what I…not what I wanted to see, but…” she bit her bottom lip, frowning as she tried to put her thoughts in order. “There were moments. Like when Lizzie brought the kids to the office. You all seemed so happy. A normal, happy family.” 

“I try to make things seem better…normal, I guess. When the kids are around,” Tommy explained softly.

“I know.”

He couldn’t seem to stop caressing her face. “I was miserable the whole fucking time.”

“Me too.” She leaned into his touch as his thumb stroked over her jaw. “I don’t…normally feel jealous,” she said after another pause, closing her eyes, her cheeks flaring pink. Tommy’s arm tightened around her, both in reaction to her words and as gentle encouragement for her to continue. “But…sometimes, it feels like every woman in the world wants you. And I don’t mind sharing you every now and then, but,” she paused again, opening her eyes and looking up at him shyly. “Sometimes, I want you all to myself.”

The hand stroking her face cradled her chin, forcing her head up so that she was looking into his eyes. 

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “I’m all yours. I belong to you. That’s something none of the others will ever have,” he spoke to her sweetly between kisses peppered along her hairline. “And I meant it,” he paused to rest his forehead against hers. “We’ll do more things together, just the two of us. That don’t have anything to do with business.”

“Like what?” she asked, giggling when his nose bumped hers. “Like picnics in the park?”

“Mm. If you want,” he pressed a kiss to her nose. Suddenly serious, he leaned back to more easily look her in the eye. “The others…they’re just bodies, Lucy.”

“I know,” the hand not resting on his chest over his heart curled around his face as she went in for another kiss.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[wherenymphsroam]

can we . stop making commenting on people’s weights. like just in general please

[seventh-district]

sighs and collapses and disintegrates into the wind

[itsalwaysdark]

its so embarassing likee. going to talk abt a feeling you have but you already know ppl will be like Oh that sounds like depression lol and its like. well yes . i know . trust me i am so aware i am depressed . but its still like a thing ive been thinking abt and wanting to talk abt but ik itll just be like Ok hun 👍. idk idk what response i would want tho ig FNFNFNF

[vonkarma2]

realized recently all the wizard ocs i have made fall into 4 categories of motivation

autism

ocd

wanting to use magic to kill people, just to be mean

inanna

[widevibratobitch]

so i am singing that vitellia in the end... but at what fucking cost.

'you gotta sing this softer'

'what'

'this is mozart'

'this is vitellia'

'this is mozart'

'im singing about how much i hate this mf and want him dead before the end of the day'

'this is mozart'

'i wanna murder a guy'

'this is mozart'

'...'

'softer. gentle. mozart'

'...ok'

[cryptid-on-a-string]

why do all the guys in that one genre of Generic Highschool Cishet Hockeyguy always deliberatly change their laugh on purpose to make it sound like the count from sesame street. why they going out of their way to say AH.AH.AH.Ah.ah.

[phagodyke]

my flatmate asking me the day before "do u want to hang out w me and [old friend] everyone else cancelled so I can invite u now" is not the heartfelt offer she thinks it is :^/

[4giorno]

yeah no wtf. valk rlly came to save music AGAIN

[skyburger]

best day of my life was when vimms lair let other regional versions of games be on the site u have no idea how happy i was. like yes finally i dont have to send people digging through a huge archive.org dump of DS games so they can play professor layton & not suffer thru lukes american dub voice 😭

[sachermorte]

so the thing about english is that people think it's so divorced from other germanic languages based on like. words. I've even heard people try to insist that english is a romance language. because of that whole messy business in 1066 with out-of-wedlock willy and his band of naughty normans. and now a good chunk of the vocabulary is french or whatever and they're prestigious so not using them makes you sound like a rube and this and that and the other

and yes william the conqueror will never be safe from me. I will have my revenge on him. he fucked up a perfectly good germanic language is what he did. this will be me in hell

but the thing is that most words in, say, german do have a one to one english equivalent. not all hope is lost, for those who still dare to see it. it's just that you 1066pilled normancels aren't looking in the right place

dog (en) ≠ der Hund (de) but der Hund (de) -> hound (en)

look with your special eyes. that one was easier. not all of them are this intuitive because of semantic narrowing and broadening and waltzing and hokey-pokeying and whatever else. I'll give you a few more

animal (en) ≠ das Tier (de)

aha! you think. I've got him on the ropes now.

but then

das Tier (de) -> deer (en)

nooooo!! you whine and cry in gay baby jail. the consonants are different!!! listen to me. listen, I say, putting both my hands on your shoulder. /t/and /d/ are the same sound. you just put your voice behind one of them.

nooooooooo!! you wail. deer are animals but not all animals are deer!!! listen to me. LISTEN. they used to be. animals used to be deer. that's just what we called them. it was a long time ago. it was a weird time in all our lives. it's okay.

let's try for a verb this time

to die (en) ≠ sterben (de) but sterben (de) -> to starve

same principle with the consonants, we're just changing a stop (where we completely stop the airflow and then let it through) for a fricative (where we still let some air go through. idk where it's going. maybe to its job or something.)

to starve used to mean generally to die, not just to die of malnourishment. we do that a lot. we take one word for a lot of things and make it mean one thing. or take one word for one thing and make it mean a lot of things. this is common and normal.

"okay but roland," you say, suddenly coming up with an argument. "what about tree? trees are super common. I don't think we'd fuck around too much with that. the german word is baum! what about THAT?"

"when did you learn german?" I ask, but then decide it isn't relevant right at this very moment. but fine.

tree (en) ≠ der Baum (de) but der Baum (de) -> beam (en)

beam??? you ask incredulously. beam???? BEAM?????? you continue with the same tone and cadence of captain holt from brooklyn 99.

yes. beam. like the evil beams from my eye I'm going to hit you with if you don't stop shouting.

but the vowels!!! you howl.

listen. listen to me. the vowels mean nothing. absolutely nothing. they're fluid like water. it got raised in english.

"WHAT DOES RAISED MEAN"

it doesn't matter right now. they were raised better than you, at least. stop shouting. open your eyes and see what god has given you. they're the same word.

"they're NOT the same word. they mean different things!"

we've been over this. they didn't used to. a beam was (and is) a long solid piece of wood. much like the long solid piece of wood I showed your mother last night.

FAQ:

Q: could english be some kind of germanic-romance hybrid?

A: do you become a sexy thing from the black lagoon just because you dressed up as one for halloween? english may have gotten a lot of vocabulary from norman french, but its history and syntax are distinctly germanic. that's what we base these things on.

Q: okay but what does it matter? this doesn't actually affect my day to day life

A: you come into my house? you come into my house, the house of an autistic man living in vienna austria and studying english linguistics and you ask me what does it matter? sit back down. I was going to let you go but now I have powerpoints to show you

Q: you're stupid and wrong and gay and a bad person

A: I know it's you, Willy

[arolesbianism]

I love comparing bandori and sekai covers in a "I genuinely love both of these franchises and both of their music and want to think abt what each is going for in their covers and what they do that I like or don't like" sort of way but god damn do they make it hard when half of their overlap is with crusty dusty sekai covers and the more so recent stuff is mostly bandori's more low key instrumental stuff which I am Not a fan of so it's so hard to find a pair that doesn't feel like hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby in one way or another to me dhjdhdj

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

i take you with your veil

₊⊹ summary: congratulations, mrs. nanami! wishing you a lifetime of happiness with the man you love. you might think your wedding is the most special moment of your life, but if there’s anything more special than that, it’s your wedding night. and if you’re imagining a night filled with candles, rose petals, and soft lovemaking, you’re in for a surprise. because your husband is going to bend you over, leaving only your veil on, and fuck you until you’re completely out of strength. once again, congratulations to both of you!

₊⊹ pairing: husband!nanami x wife!reader

₊⊹ warnings: +18 Minors Do Not Interact +18 husband nanami in his sexy tom ford tuxedo, gojo is the best wedding officiant, also he is very happy for nanami and reader but at the same time he feels like they've abandoned him :( slightly dom nanami, use of mature language and alcohol, temperature play, liquid play, rough sex, backshots, manhandling, overstimulation, teasing, spanking, clit rubbing, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving. also, it's not described in too much detail)

₊⊹ word count: 5.6k

₊⊹ a little note: i wrote this one-shot inspired by the imagine scenario i came up with. i might have changed a few parts (ex. in the imagine scenario, i mentioned a beach wedding, but here it’s not exactly on the beach—at least there’s a sea view!) :> there were some really unnecessary scenes originally, and i kind of exaggerated the whiskey part at the end, so i made quite a few adjustments. anyway i hope you like it please enjoy :)

Mallorca was really hot in July. And for you, who was about to start the wedding ceremony, it felt even hotter. It was impossible not to feel like your hands and feet were all over the place. Everything didn’t have to be perfect. You just wanted to declare yourselves husband and wife with the man you loved without any mishaps and end this tense moment. After that, whatever went wrong could go wrong.

Though it would be great if nothing went wrong.

You had never wanted a big wedding. Fortunately, the man who was about to become your husband in a few moments shared the same idea. A simple wedding with just 30 people among your close ones was more than enough for both of you. While choosing the location had been a bit challenging, the idea of holding it at Son Marroig, where you went on your first vacation with Nanami, seemed like a great idea. Of course, you wanted to get Kento’s opinion on it too—after all, this wasn’t just your wedding. When you told him your thoughts about the venue, he revealed that he had been thinking about Son Marroig from the start and even started explaining how he had already planned where the guests would sit during the ceremony. You had just listened to him without saying anything because it was impossible for him to come up with a bad idea. Deep down, even if you didn’t admit it, you knew his taste was much better than yours.

Kento Nanami was always a man with refined ideas. Details were incredibly important to him. And, in a few minutes, this man would officially be your husband.

Before walking toward the small white marble temple that overlooked the flawless view of the sea and mountains, you glanced at the ring on your left ring finger. The ring, with its massive oval diamond in the center surrounded by smaller diamonds, sparkled in the sunlight. You hadn’t understood why Nanami had chosen something so expensive. You would have married him with a paper ring. All you wanted was him and only him. That didn’t mean your jaw didn’t drop when he got down on one knee, opened the velvet box, and revealed the ring. You hadn’t even gotten over the shock when your closest friends had the same reaction as you after seeing it.

The heat was becoming more intense for you by the second.

Hearing the sweet sound of music, your gaze shifted to the path you hoped to walk without stumbling. As you took your first step in your small-heeled shoes, all thoughts of the heat and the possibility of tripping and rolling your way to Nanami vanished.

Although the idea of rolling your way to him was quite funny.

As you covered broad grin with the hand not holding the bouquet, trying not to let everyone think you’d lost your mind, you had already approached the temple. After managing to regain control of your laughter, you realized you still hadn’t made eye contact with the man who was about to become your husband in minutes. For some reason, you felt shy and couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your family and friends, who were standing and clapping for you with bright smiles on their faces.

This was really happening.

Finally, when your eyes landed where they were supposed to, you looked at the man waiting for you under the temple. Standing there as if the Tom Ford tuxedo he wore had been made just for him, Nanami had his hands clasped in front of him. His hair was neatly slicked back, and a small flower from your bouquet was tucked into the pocket of his expensive tuxedo in a simple yet elegant manner. It was nearly impossible not to run and throw yourself into his arms.

You were marrying the most handsome man in the world, without a doubt.

The passionate look in his eyes, which no one else could see but you had noticed from the very first moment, once again made you glad you had chosen this wedding dress. The dress was simple. It hugged your figure perfectly, had an open back, a balconette neckline, and delicate floral lace on the thin straps that would never go out of style. The dress was mostly lace, and the veil, reaching down to your waist, matched the design of your dress beautifully.

The moment you saw this dress, you knew it was the one.

As you walked closer to Nanami, the gentle blush on your cheeks deepened. This was the first time he was seeing you in your wedding dress. You had never shown him your wedding dress, because of your friends' ridiculous insistence. Yet, deep down, you had secretly wished that after you were ready, he would walk into your room, see you in the dress, and make love right then and there.

You really shouldn’t have invited your friends.

When you reached the marble temple, Nanami stepped down the stairs and gently took your hand in his. He slowly brought it to his lips and placed a warm kiss on it, causing the crowd to cheer loudly.

Amid the noise, Nanami managed to say, “You’re beautiful.” After carefully helping you up the stairs, the two of you walked to where Gojo, who insisted on officiating the wedding the moment he heard about it, was standing. Once there, Nanami kissed your hand again, deeply and tenderly. Both of you wore smiles that reflected the sweet excitement growing within you.

In just a few minutes, you were going to be this man’s wife. From that moment on, you would officially be Mrs. Nanami.

Turning your gaze to Gojo as his voice interrupted the trance you were in while staring into each other’s eyes, you saw him grinning. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Today, I have the honor of officiating the wedding of these two wonderful friends of mine. Honestly, who better to perform this role than someone as extraordinary and talented as me, right?” His words prompted soft chuckles from everyone, including you. “I truly never thought I’d live to see this day. Who would’ve guessed that this blonde man would falling madly in love and deciding to spend the rest of his life with just one woma—” Gojo’s words were cut off by a death glare from Nanami. Without missing a beat, he continued, “Alright, I’ll save this speech for the reception because I’m pretty sure the groom just wants to say ‘I do’ and kiss the bride already.”

This time, a faint blush crept onto Nanami’s cheeks. He looked so adorable that you wanted to kiss him right there and then. Because you knew Gojo was absolutely right.

“The couple has decided to skip the vow exchange and instead share a little speech about each other during the reception. So I won’t waste time making some poetic and enchanting speech about marriage. But if you ask for my opinion, marriage is honestly a ridiculous and terrifying concept.” Gojo’s exaggerated expression once again had everyone laughing.

Choosing Gojo as your officiant was definitely a mistake.

Gojo turned to Nanami. “Alright, groom and bride, before they murder me, let’s begin. You, Kento Nanami, the most serious man alive and, while not as handsome as me, still pretty good-looking, do you promise to stand by this beautiful woman through good times and bad, to love and protect her until death do you part?”

The man standing across from you looked at you with passionate eyes. It would have been hilarious if he said no out of the blue. Hilarious but terrifying. Looking into his honey-colored eyes, you heard his deep, beautiful voice respond, “Not even death can part us.”

There wasn’t a single trace of hesitation in his words. You had always known he would want you no matter what, but hearing him say it at your wedding made it all the more special.

Looking at him with tear-filled eyes, you were startled when Gojo interjected again. “So is that a yes or no?”

Gojo really was a jackass.

Nanami, now glaring at his friend for ruining the moment, gave a firm answer. “Yes, I do, Satoru.” His tone, laced with annoyance, prompted laughter and cheers from everyone.

“Alright, the groom may have said yes, but we still need to hear from the bride.” Gojo turned to you with a mischievous grin. “Even though you’ve bewitched one of my best friends and stolen him from me, do you promise to stand by this grumpy, workaholic, and, while not as handsome as me, still pretty handsome man, through good times and bad, to love and protect him until death do you part?”

Being without him was never an option.

Tuning out everyone and everything around you, you looked straight into his eyes and repeated his words, “Not even death can part us.” Sensing that Gojo was waiting for a more direct answer, you smiled at him and added, “Yes, I do.”

“Well, good luck with that, sweetheart, because this man is going to be a bit of a challenge.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh at that. Nanami had indeed been a difficult man at first. Expressing his feelings wasn’t something he was particularly bold about, but his every action showed you how much he loved you. It was never hard to realize you were made for each other.

He was your man.

“Well, buddy, you can now kiss your wife.” With Gojo’s blessing, Nanami’s hands immediately found your waist and pulled you close. Your free hand and the one holding the bouquet instantly found their way to his neck, and without waiting for him to make a move, you pressed your lips to his.

His large hands tightened around your waist as the kiss deepened. Your other hand cupped his face, and the both of you kissed with a fervor that seemed insatiable, as if one kiss would never be enough. The softness of his lips and the fresh minty taste on his breath made your whole body tingle.

“Alright, alright, save the rest for tonight,” Gojo interrupted, breaking the moment just as things were getting heated.

Nanami’s hands moved from your waist to cup your face. Both of you ignored everyone around you, looking only at each other.

“You’re officially a Nanami now,” he said in a low voice.

“Finally,” you replied just as softly, giving him a quick kiss.

Kento Nanami was now truly your husband.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

Everything going this smoothly was definitely wrong.

You couldn’t tell if it was because there were so few people or if you were just unbelievably lucky. Nothing had gone wrong. The food was delicious, people were genuinely happy.

But as for whether Gojo was happy, you weren’t entirely sure.

Even though he wasn’t drinking, he was going through emotional swings as if he were drunk. Despite sitting at the same table, he kept switching between hugging you and your husband, saying he loved you both, and then scolding you and bursting into tears.

Luckily, he was currently dancing with one of your close friends, seeming a bit more cheerful. One thing was for sure: he wasn’t going to be sleeping alone in his hotel room tonight.

“Have I told you how stunning you look, Mrs. Nanami?” your husband murmured into your ear as his hands rested on your hips, swaying with you on the dance floor to the slow song.

He had told you this a million times. The only thing he might have said more was how much he wanted to have you all to himself once you returned to the villa.

Had you ever seen him like this before? Not exactly. He always got excited about you, but tonight, the way he emphasized those private promises during dinner, unable to hold himself back, was something new.

“Do you really love my dress that much?” You brushed your fingers along the back of his neck, gently caressing him as you looked into his eyes.

“You look like a princess. I love the floral lace details, but the veil—” his fingers trailed up to your hair where your veil had been, now cascading down as your hair was free, “—was the most beautiful part of it all.”

“Really? You liked it more than the dress?” You tilted your head in surprise.

“I loved how it draped down to your waist. And… I’ve got a little plan for it,” he added, his fingers threading gently through your hair before resting back on your hips.

“Ken, did you hit your head or something? What could you possibly be planning with my veil?” You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

Your husband let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. The plan involves you too.”

“Oh, thank you so much for inviting me to your special plan with my veil,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“Jealous?” he teased, his smirk both infuriating and endearing.

“What do you think?”

He kissed your forehead again, his hand squeezing your waist as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “All evening, I’ve been telling you you won’t be able to walk after tonight. Don’t forget that, my wife. Once we’re alone in that private villa of ours, I’m not letting you rest.” His lips brushed your cheek before he pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t forget to put the veil back on.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say because he’d summarized exactly what was going to happen tonight. The hunger in his eyes had been crystal clear all evening. You’d thought the night might end on a quieter note, but your veil-obsessed husband clearly had other ideas.

As you wondered how you were even going to put the veil back on, you found yourself wishing you could teleport to your private villa immediately, desperate to start the night you had ahead of you.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

As you got out of the car and walked toward the entrance of the villa, you called out to your husband trailing behind you. “I can’t believe it’s over. I wish we could do it all over again.”

Your husband let out an amused grunt at your reaction. “We can always have another wedding darling.”

“But I want it now. Maybe if we go back, we can keep fun again.”

Nanami’s long arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back suddenly. For a moment, you thought you might fall, but your husband held you securely. Turning fully toward him, you buried your face into his neck.

“If there’s anything better than the wedding itself, darling, it’s the wedding night,” Nanami whispered, his fingers running through your veil.

You might not have wanted the wedding to end, but the moment you’d been waiting for all day had finally arrived. You were desperate to feel your husband’s cock inside you.

Lifting your head from his neck, you smiled. “Then we’d better get inside right now.” Grabbing the keys from his hand, you darted toward the front door of the villa.

Leaving Nanami behind without a second glance, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, sighing contentedly. “I’m so happy we’re staying here. It might be a bit far from Son Marroig, but this is where we stayed during our first trip to Mallorca.” When you reached the couches in the spacious living room, you tossed the jacket your husband had given you to keep warm onto the couch and sat on the edge to take off your heels.

“Wearing short heels was the best decision ever. If they were any taller, who knows how—” You paused mid-sentence, realizing your husband wasn’t in the room. Glancing toward the door, you saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with a serious expression. It didn’t look like he had any intention of coming closer.

Getting up, you crossed the cold floor with your bare feet until you were in front of him. As you approached, his hands left his pockets, reaching up to loosen his black bow tie. The sight of him doing it in the most effortlessly sexy way possible made your breath hitch. His hair was still perfectly styled, while yours, pinned in a messy updo, was beginning to lose its waves.

At least your makeup was still intact. For now.

By the time you reached him, he had already undone the bow tie and started unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. Without waiting another second, your hands found his neck as you crashed your lips against his. The hand holding his bow tie and his free hand went straight to your ass, squeezing it firmly

Finally feeling his tongue against yours, you moaned at the intoxicating, aromatic taste of cigars lingering in his mouth. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you deepened the kiss, biting his lips with raw need.

“You’ve put your veil back on,” he murmured, pulling his lips away for a brief moment.

“You said you needed it for something important,” you replied breathlessly, your tone tinged with anticipation.

His large hands traced over the delicate lace of your veil. “From the moment I saw you walking down that aisle, all I wanted was to send everyone home, pin you against the temple columns, and fuck you.”

A small whimper escaped your lips. Damn, your husband was too honest, and he was definitely too aroused.

“Good thing the guests didn’t hear that. We wouldn’t want to be selfish hosts.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

The aggression in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, filling you with even more anticipation. You had imagined this night to be romantic, but the way Nanami spoke made you think it would be anything but gentle.

“Ken, please…” you whispered between heated kisses.

“Go upstairs and wait for me in our room,” he said, his lips brushing against yours. “You know which one I mean, right? The one where I made you scream and come in every corner.”

Of course, you knew. While you’d had sex in almost every room of this villa during your first stay, the one with the large sliding doors and breathtaking view was his favorite.

“Yes…”

His hand found one of the buttons at the base of your dress, undoing it with ease. “Take everything off except the veil. I don’t want to see a single piece of clothing on you. Do you understand me, Mrs. Nanami? Only the veil stays.”

Your skin burned as if the heat of the day had returned. “Okay.”

Nanami placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Good girl. Make sure you’re completely naked by the time I come up.”

Nanami wasn’t in a playful mood tonight. You knew all too well how he punished you when you disobeyed him. And you didn’t need your ass reddened or sore to the point of being unable to sit properly tomorrow.

As soon as you entered the bedroom upstairs, your hands reached for the buttons on the back of your dress. Though you thought Nanami had only undone one earlier, it turned out he had unfastened all of them, making it easier for you. Slowly, you slid the straps off your shoulders, pulling the part of the dress hugging your hips downward until it pooled around your feet. Left only in your white lace panties, you remembered your husband’s command and slipped off the small, delicate piece as well.

You didn’t know when he’d come upstairs. Tossing yourself onto the soft, spacious bed, you felt the veil’s lace tickling your back. Your pussy throbbed, the ache radiating through your entire body. Pressing your thighs together to ease the tension, you tried to give yourself some relief, but it was nowhere near enough. His thick fingers and the skilled strokes of his tongue should’ve been there. And then, his thick—

The sound of footsteps nearing the room made you sit up. The dim light from outside spilled into the room, framing your husband’s broad silhouette as he entered. In his hand, he held a glass of whiskey. He hadn’t had a drop all night since he’d been driving, and you didn’t know how he’d resisted. Nanami loved whiskey.

He needed to satisfy his thirst.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, your naked body on full display, you watched him as he scanned you hungrily. Bringing the glass to his lips, you noticed his shirt sleeves were newly rolled up, revealing the veins running along his strong forearms. You’d give anything to run your tongue along them.

When he reached you, he looked down at you with sharp, hungry eyes and he spoke, his voice low and firm. “It’s a good thing you obeyed me, Mrs Nanami. Otherwise, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you tonight.” He caressed your cheek with the hand wearing his wedding ring. His touch was so soft that your eyes closed instinctively.

“I always obey you, Ken.”

“Do you now? I don’t think so. You can be such a brat sometimes.” His hand slid from your cheek to your lips, his thumb grazing your bottom lip before slowly slipping inside. As soon as his thick thumb was in your mouth, your tongue began swirling around it.

“When you act up, all I want to do is stuff that bratty mouth of yours so full that the next time you open it, you won’t even have the strength to speak. Fuck…” Nanami groaned, clearly enjoying the sight of you sucking his thumb. Your tongue played with it, your head moving as you took it deeper into your mouth, your lips wrapped tightly around it.

When he finally pulled his thumb out, your lips were wet and parted as you caught your breath. His hand moved quickly to your right breast, the thumb you had just been sucking circling your sensitive nipple. The sensation made you moan uncontrollably.

“Fuck…Ken…” You threw your head back as he teased your nipple with the wet digit.

“Lie on your back,” he commanded.

As your body met the sheets once more, you waited in anticipation, your excitement mounting as he climbed over you, still holding his glass. Leaning closer, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You know I haven’t been drinking tonight. So now, I’m going to savor this.” Pulling back slightly, he tilted the glass, pouring the whiskey slowly over your neck.

“KEN!” As the liquor spread across your skin, your back arched, but your husband’s lips pressing against your neck brought you back down.

His mouth worked on your neck with an intense hunger, lips sucking and tongue licking every drop of whiskey. The heat of his mouth against your skin left you trembling, each stroke of his tongue pulling more desperate sounds from your lips.

“Delicious,” he murmured, his lips leaving your neck only to follow a stray trail of whiskey downwards with his tongue.

“Oh God—please, don’t stop,” you whimpered, your legs shaking with need.

As your husband’s tongue slowly trailed from between your breasts down to your waist, he placed a kiss on your skin. You thought he’d pour more whiskey to lap up, but instead, he brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip. From it, he pulled out an ice cube, holding it between his fingers.

Oh, he was going to torture you.

As he traced the cold ice around your nipple, you bit down on your bottom lip, unable to hold back your reaction when the chill sent a shockwave through your body.

“Nghh—Ken, it’s so—so cold.”

“Hmmm, but you like it, don’t you? Hearing you moan like this makes me think you do.” Watching how the ice made your body writhe and delivered a strange, addictive pleasure drove you wild. Nanami’s fingers moved in slow, torturous circles. Occasionally, the ice grazed your nipples, drawing loud cries from you.

When he brought the ice to your other breast, his mouth closed over the nipple he had just teased with the ice. Your hands instinctively found his perfectly styled hair, tugging at it as your body arched beneath him.

Just as his lips had been firm on your neck, they were equally relentless as he sucked on your nipple. Sometimes he would tug and release it with his teeth, and other times his tongue would flick over its sensitive tip. As if the intense stimulation wasn’t enough, his fingers trailed the ice over your other breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake despite your inability to see it happening.

“Fuck, they’re so perfect. They’re so hard for me,” he groaned before letting your nipple go with an audible pop. “They love my mouth.”

The way he spoke to your breasts as though they were sentient was both ridiculous and unbelievably arousing.

“They do. They love you so much. Ughh… They crave all your attention, Ken,” you gasped.

He pressed his nose to your nipple, rubbing it lightly before giving it a final kiss. “And I love them so damn much,” he said, switching to the other nipple to repeat the same torturous treatment. Your husband gave the same dedicated attention to your other nipple, never tiring of the task. The contrast between your chilled skin from the ice and the heat of his mouth made you even wetter with every touch. You needed him to fill your aching pussy.

After pressing a final kiss to your sensitive nipple, Nanami pulled back and downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. Without hesitation, he hurled the empty glass across the room, the shattering sound barely registering before he flipped you onto your stomach. Your head was so fogged with pleasure that the sudden movement made your heart feel like it might leap out of your chest.

He slapped your ass and told you to bend over, and without wasting a single second, you obeyed.

“Your pussy is absolutely soaked, Mrs. Nanami. Fuck…” He groaned as two of his fingers trailed along your slick walls in your bent-over position, drawing a moan from you.

“Put them in…please,” you begged, desperate for him.

“My eager wife,” he said with a dark chuckle. “I’ll give you what you want, but your husband needs to be inside you now. Is that okay, darling? I need to feel your pussy.” His fingers kept teasing you, never giving you enough.

“Yes, Ken. However you want,” you replied breathlessly.

Though you couldn’t see it, Nanami smirked triumphantly. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on your ass before unzipping his pants and pulling down his boxers in record time. His cock, already leaking precum, throbbed painfully as he stroked it lightly.

One hand gripped your hips for support as he lined himself up with your entrance, his precum smearing against you.

“Ken, please, just put it in already,” you whined.

Your impatience earned you a sharp slap on your ass. “What did you just say?”

You buried your face into the sheets, the sting on your ass making you immediately regret your outburst. “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said before thrusting into you in one swift motion.

Both of you gasped as his cock filled you completely. The position let you feel every inch of his thickness as he stretched you in ways that made you see stars.

You were both ready to explode.

Nanami started to move slowly, letting you adjust to his size. But even his measured pace couldn’t hide how massive he was. Each thrust and withdrawal reminded you just how deep he could reach.

“L-look at that. Taking my massive cock so perfectly. Fuck—it’s gripping me so tight, begging me to keep pumping into it nonstop.”

“I-It is, Ken. Please, give it what it wants,” you begged, voice trembling.

“Oh, I will. I’ll keep going until I fill this perfect pussy with my cum,” he growled, his other hand gripping your hip as he began to move faster.

With every thrust, your fingers gripped the sheets tighter. Your pussy clenched around him, and the strength in your legs was fading with each movement. He clearly didn’t have the patience to wait. It made sense why he wanted to be inside you so desperately before fingering or tasting you.

“Uh-huh—fuck, darling, just like that. Move your ass back against me,” your husband growled, his voice thick with lust as your hips rolled back to meet his thrusts.

“S-shit, Ken… you’re so big,” you moaned.

“I know,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips even harder. “And you take my big cock just the way I want you to—fuck, just like I want.”

Nanami’s pace quickened, his thick cock filling your silky walls with every deep stroke. You buried your face into the mattress, screaming as the intensity overwhelmed you.

The lace veil flowing down your back swayed wildly with each of his movements. Nanami had been obsessed with it all night, dying to grab it in his fist and pull you even closer until you lost your mind.

“You should see your veil, Mrs. Nanami. With every thrust, it’s whipping back and forth,” he said, sliding one hand to your veil and wrapping it firmly around his fist.

“Nanami, no, you’ll tear it!” you gasped, panic creeping into your voice. You didn’t want it ruined, and knowing how rough he was being right now, he could rip it apart with one swift move.

Your husband’s fist tightened angrily around your veil. With the hand gripping your hip, he pulled your head up from the sheets toward him. Even as his hand slid to your throat, the hold wasn’t overly firm.

“Did you just call me Nanami?” His voice was low and sharp.

You were so fucked.

“I-I don’t remember,” you stammered. Truly, you didn’t. All you could think about was saving your veil from destruction.

“Sounds like I need to remind you how to address me, darling.”

His hand released your throat, letting your head drop back to the mattress. The veil was still wound tightly in his other hand as he started pounding into you faster, the head of his cock hitting your deepest spots with devastating precision. It felt like the same speed he reached when you rode him, bouncing wildly on his lap. You couldn’t remember him ever fucking you this fast.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, making your legs tremble as you moaned loudly. You were definitely paying for calling him by his last name. Somehow, his hand strikes synced perfectly with his thrusts, each one brushing against your g-spot. The sensations built into a crescendo, leaving you breathless.

“My name isn’t Nanami. It’s never been Nanami to you,” he growled, his frustration palpable. “You call me Ken or nghhh—your husband. You can’t even say Kento, understand?” His grip on your veil tightened further.

“Y-yes, husband,” you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his head thrown back as his hips snapped harder against you. His hand left your ass to find your clit, his fingers rubbing tight, deliberate circles that sent you hurtling closer to the edge.

“K-k-ken… ohhhh, my husband!” you cried out, your nails digging into the sheets as his fingers worked magic on your clit.

“That’s right. Don’t forget who you belong to, Mrs. Nanami. Don’t forget who you walked down that aisle to today.” Nanami started rubbing your clit faster, the trembling of your slick walls tightening even more around him signaling that you were about to come. He wasn’t far from his own release either.

“Come for me, baby. Fill my cock with all your juices. Don’t leave a single drop behind. F-fuck…” His hand loosened its grip on your veil, giving all his energy to his relentless thrusts as he pushed you over the edge.

“Ke-ken, I’m cumming. Ohhh—don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you screamed, your body trembling violently as your orgasm overtook you.

“Me too, baby, me too…” Nanami groaned, slamming into you a few more times before his fingers pinched your clit, sending you spiraling into another wave of pleasure as he spilled his hot cum deep inside you.

Sweat rolled down your spine as you gasped for air. Even after his movements stopped, soft moans spilled from your lips. Your wedding night hadn’t been the gentle, romantic affair you’d envisioned, filled with sweet kisses and whispered vows. Instead, it was raw, rough, and dangerously close to tearing your veil apart.

You just hoped it was still intact.

When Nanami finally pulled out, some of his thick cum leaked from his tip. Gently, he turned you onto your back, chuckling when he noticed that the messy bun you had styled on the way home had now gone far beyond messy.

“You’re an absolute mess,” he teased, his tone playful.

“Gee, I wonder why,” you shot back, still struggling to catch your breath.

“Guess I’ll have to mess you up even more, then,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. Before you could protest, he shifted between your legs, his fingers pushing the cum leaking from you back inside. The cool metal of his wedding band brushed against your walls, making you whimper. Nanami smirked at your reaction before lowering his head, his tongue tracing your folds as he began to build you up again.

You knew very well that this man wouldn’t stop until morning. He wouldn’t let you go until he was completely satisfied. How you were going to make it to your flight to Malaysia for your honeymoon tomorrow (or rather, later today) was a mystery to you. But knowing your punctual husband, he would somehow get you there on time.

This wasn’t what you needed to focus on right now, so you closed your eyes and let your hands tangle in your husband’s hair, allowing him to fulfill the promise he’d made to you.

taglist: @sarcastic-wit @mokiczk @lafhel @raya4643 @rinkomei @madamechrissy

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

dividers by @roseraris @bernardsbendystraws

[rambling-at-midnight]

Please Come Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You never realized how many places there were to hide in your apartment, but you’re pretty sure someone else is in here with you. Whatever they want isn’t good.

Word count: 3.3k

TW: home invasion, violence, curses as insults

Your spare key is missing.

Fuck. You always keep it in this drawer. Where the fuck is it?

When you told Jason he could just grab your keys to take your car instead of his bike to the store, you’d been relying on using your spare to lock up the apartment when you left for work. You never, ever moved it, but it was gone all the same. Did he take it instead of your keychain? Nope, that’s missing from its hook next to the front door.

When was the last time you used it? Not too long ago. Had you been careless about putting it back?

You text Jason, Did you grab my spare key?

Shit. You had to leave for work, like, five minutes ago, and you have no key to lock the front door.

At least you have a fire escape. You bolt the door from the inside, then slip out the window. You can’t latch it from the outside, but it’s a little harder to break in through the window than the front door.

You’re only two minutes late to your waitressing shift. Your manager swipes you in, lets you know that a server called out so you’ll be handling two sections today, and the host runs up to tell you that you’ve already been sat.

In the middle of the shift, when you have a minute to catch your breath, you check your phone. Jason had texted, No, I took your keychain. Is your spare missing?

I think I lost it.

I’ll look for it when I come home before patrol. Will I see you before heading out?

Not looking like it. Things haven’t slowed down at all.

I’ll see you when I get home, then. Don’t wait up.

I’ll have dinner in the fridge when you get back. Gotta get back to work. Love you

I love you, too.

A couple hours later, Jason texts that he has no luck locating your spare. Since he’s paranoid, he’s going out for a new lock tomorrow, but there’s important business with a drug ring that he can’t miss tonight.

That’s okay. It’ll be a pain to climb up the fire escape, but you don’t really mind that much. You’ve been meaning to get more exercise, anyway.

You finish work at six and the walk back to your apartment building is pretty peaceful. Unusual for Gotham.

It lulls you into a false sense of security.

You’re not really in the mood for leftovers, and not really in the mood to cook. You stare between your phone and the pantry. Takeout is easy. So is pasta.

With a sigh, you decide to spare your bank account. Delivery fees are getting ridiculous nowadays.

You text Jason just to see how his night is going. You’re not sure he’ll respond; sometimes, like during stakeouts, he turns his phone off completely so the sound or vibrate doesn’t reveal his presence. He doesn’t respond after a minute, which means he’s busy. You sigh and set down your phone, then change into comfier clothes. As soon as you’re out of your room, you grab a pot and box of pasta. You can’t sit down, or you’ll put off dinner for at least another hour.

The water is set to boil when you turn around to look at your phone, vaguely hoping Jason has responded by now.

Your phone isn’t on the counter.

You frown. You’re pretty sure you left it there.

Maybe it’s in the pantry when you grabbed the pasta?

It’s not.

You must have left it in your room when you changed. You check, and it’s sitting right on your bedside table. “Jeez,” you mutter, picking it up and slipping it into your pocket. After a long day, it’s okay to be scatterbrained, but this is a bit much.

Still no response from Jason.

You walk out of the bedroom to see that the stove turned itself off and the pasta water is barely warm. “Gotham appliances are such pieces of shit,” you mutter. You know what, fine. A shower and feeling clean will make you feel better to try again. The saying is that a watched pot never boils, but hopefully a watched Gotham stove never turns itself on and off randomly while you cook.

The apartment’s a bit chilly, so you take your pajamas with you into the bathroom and sit under the water spray until all the grime of the day washes away. It’s a bad habit, but you bring your phone with you in the shower to scroll through social media until your skin starts to get pruny. You step out, wrapping the towel around yourself in a vain attempt to stop shivering, and… your pajamas are gone.

The pajamas that you’re sure you took with you. You distinctly remember putting them on the sink counter.

And now they’re gone.

Something clenches in your stomach. You text Jason, Hey are you home yet?

He doesn’t respond right away.

Jay, this isn’t funny.

Still nothing.

Is it possible you forgot to bring the clothes with you? No, you distinctly remember the thought process.

Someone moved them, and you can’t think of s single reason anyone you know would do that. That kind of prank isn’t funny.

You text Jason, I think there is someone in the house with me. Then you try calling him.

You go straight to voicemail.

You bite your lip, trying hard not to panic. Jason never sends you to voicemail. He’s answered your calls in the middle of shootouts, voice strained, “Hey, kinda busy right now, is it an emergency?”

His phone is turned off, so who knows when he’ll see your texts. He might not turn it on again for hours.

You text your best friend, I think someone broke into my house. Don’t call me. Please help.

You chew on your thumbnail.

Either she calls the cops, or she shows up with a baseball bat and her scary-ass motorcycle dude boyfriend. He’s secretly a softie, but his appearance doesn’t match his personality.

He’s a lot like Jason, actually. Who would have thought you two had the same type?

You call Jason again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Your best friend texts, Omw. That’s it, but it’s the best text you’ve ever seen in your life.

Okay. Either cower in the bathroom until someone shows up, or play along with the same game the possibly-real-intruder is playing, that everything is normal.

No matter what happens next, you want to be dressed for it. You peek under the door, but you don’t see anyone’s feet.

Maybe this is all in your head, but you have a terrible gut feeling that it isn’t.

Your heart pounds, but you maintain a leisurely stroll into your room through the kitchen, palming a knife as you go, and locking the door behind you. The intruder may be in your closet, so you hold the knife out as you swing the door open.

Empty.

You throw on the first clothes you see and debate hiding in your room until your friend arrives. But adrenaline is pumping and you think you might shake out of your skin. You sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths.

There’s a window in your room, but it only opens three inches and it’s not connected to the fire escape, so that’s not an option. The window that leads to the fire escape is in the main room, so you’d have to walk through the kitchen to get to it, and the intruder may be hiding in the pantry.

You could try the front door, but the storage closet is right next to it: another likely place for someone to hide and jump out at you.

Your room is only as safe as the strength of the door. And the wood is pretty thin.

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes, and you drop it. You snatch it up to see an incoming call lighting up the screen with your boyfriend’s handsome contact photo.

You accept the call immediately. “Jay?”

“I’m on my way,” he rushes out. You hear the roar of his motorcycle in the background. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You whisper, “I think someone is here.”

“I know.” His voice is strained. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m five minutes away. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my bedroom, I locked my door. I think he’s hiding somewhere in the apart—”

A hand shoots out from under the bed and grabs your ankle.

You scream.

Your phone flies away when he yanks you off the bed. You go down swinging with the knife and make contact, accidentally swiping your own ankle in the process. The man grunts with pain and lets go, and you scramble to the door. You don’t even feel the pain in your ankle, although you’re actually bleeding a lot.

He’s wriggling out from under your bed when you get to your feet and twist the doorknob. “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking pervert!” you scream. You yank the door open and run…

Right into a stranger’s chest.

There are two of them?

An iron grip clamps over your shoulder. His other hand fists in your hair. “Well, hello, pretty. You’re not the Red Hood.”

You stab him in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that only makes him mad.

“You bitch,” he groans. The slap is so powerful it nearly breaks your neck. You can’t breathe for a second, and then the first man catches up to you. His hand is bleeding. Like, a lot. They transfer you over so the stabbed man can groan about being stabbed. It’s only in his gut, so he should be fine. “Walk it off,” you goad. It’s the Gotham in you.

The first man digs his bloody knuckles into your cheek. “Fucking whore cut me,” he says. “Where’s the Red Hood?”

“He’ll kill you both,” you spit. “He’s on his way to shoot you in the head.” The threat should have scared them, but they were dumb enough to break into the Red Hood’s apartment and beat his partner. They had not been blessed with many braincells.

“Good,” he says. “He’ll get here just in time to see his pretty pet die.”

Someone pounds on the door and everyone freezes. Fear flashes over their face, but Jason wouldn’t have knocked. He would have kicked the door down or gone through the window.

Your best friend calls your name through the door. She’s trying to sound casual, but things are so far past casual.

The man holding you sees you draw in a breath to scream. “Don’t you dare,” he warns. “Do it and I’ll kill them, too.” The barrel of a gun presses to the side of your head.

Where is Jason?

You don’t think he’ll get here in time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of that failure, but he will. Your Jay thinks he’s responsible for every bad thing in the world.

The man’s ugly face explodes.

You register the concussive sound of gunfire half a second later. Your ears ring. You lose your balance.

More gunfire. It’s so loud all you can do is cover your ears. Who’s shooting who?

It stops as suddenly as it started, but you don’t look up. You can’t hear anything. You don’t want to see their ugly faces anymore.

Then hands grab you again, and you shriek. Your kitchen knife is still buried in the second man’s gut, so you have no defense. A man with a gun is going to kill you in your apartment.

Despite all your attempts at fighting, he’s too strong. Iron hands pry your hands away from your head, but you still can’t hear anything. Your ears are still ringing too loud. Your eardrums might have burst.

Then gloved hands cup your cheeks.

You know those gloves.

Jason is kneeling on the ground in front of you, absolutely frantic. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear anything. You don’t even hear your sob, but you definitely feel it right before you throw yourself at him.

Strong arms wrap around your back. Jason cradles you, hugs you so tight you can’t breathe, tries to hide you from anyone that might hear you. You still can’t make out his words, but you’re beginning to hear a muffled voice.

You’re sitting completely in his lap, his legs behind you to support your back. You cling to him, trying not to shake. You’re a pretty unflappable Gothamite, but a home invasion is enough to rattle anyone. You’re supposed to be safe here.

Jason pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead. His green eyes squeeze tight like he’s in pain, and a single tear slips from the corner of one.

You wipe it away.

Jason wipes the blood on your cheek away.

You read his lips when he asks if you’re okay. You nod. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

Jason holds you still when you try to look around. He says something that you can’t read. He must know that you don’t understand, because he just uses one huge hand on the back of your head to pull you forward. His mouth presses against your forehead, not quite a kiss, just relishing the connection.

You hear the banging first. Then you hear the shouting.

Oh, God. Your best friend.

You scramble out of Jason’s hold so fast he can’t stop you. You stumble past two dead bodies, both with three bullets in their heads. The floor is ruined beyond belief.

Jason helps support you. He needs to touch you somewhere to reassure himself that you’re okay, that you’re alive. You unlock the door, and barely open it a crack before your friend pushes it all the way open.

She gasps at the sight of you. “Oh, my God!” Her arms wrap tight around your neck, and you squeeze her. Jason’s hand remains pressed against your back. Her boyfriend stands behind her in the hallway, and he eyes Jason somewhat suspiciously. The two have never met before.

Your best friend pulls away, and Jason folds you against his side. His hand runs up and down your arm.

“Are you okay? There’s blood all over you.” Her eyes drift past your face and land on the bodies on your floor. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't scream or call the cops immediately.

“It’s not mine,” you say faintly. “Well…” You look at your ankle. “Most of it.”

“Jesus,” says Jason. “They did that to you?”

"I did it to myself," you admit. "But I stabbed that one." You point.

He kisses the top of your head. "I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself. I never should have left you alone." Jason fixes your friend with a look so stern that she actually gulps. "Can you watch them for a little bit?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll take care of them."

"Good." Jason takes your face in his hands. His eyes blaze. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You hear me? You're not gonna be alone ever again."

You nod numbly.

Jason carries you to the couch, then coaches your friend through applying pressure to your ankle. He gently places an icepack in your hand, then moves you until it's pressed to your numb cheek. Then he kisses you. Pulls back. Kisses you again. It's not sweet—he tastes like blood, or maybe you do—but it's firm, and it's real, and it's a promise.

He stands up and asks your friend's boyfriend, "You wanna help me with these?"

As far as you know, the other man's never hidden a dead body in his life. But to his credit, he hardly hesitates before nodding.

Jason's already calling someone when he walks out. One of his criminal contacts, you're sure. You don't know and you don't want to know.

They're gone for twenty minutes. You're still in shock when they get back. You know you're in shock, but you can't snap out of it. You don't think you want to.

He gently nudges your friend's hands away to peek under the gauze. "You want stitches for this, honey?"

You shake your head. The cut's too close to bone, and you don't want a needle going anywhere near your bones.

"Okay." He changes the gauze, then tapes it in place, then puts a sticky wrap over that. "I'll change this in the morning. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm glad you're all right," your friend's boyfriend offers. You don't know each other all that well, but he just helped hide two bodies that you and Jason killed, so he must be an all right dude. You nod, give him a shaky smile, try to wave.

Your best friend bends over to hug you. "I'm going to text you in the morning," she says. "You'll be okay with Jason. I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you're okay."

You hug her back until she puts the icepack back in the freezer.

When they leave, Jason stands up from the couch. You make a pleading, confused noise in the back of your throat, and he smooths your hair away from your face. "I'll be right back, honey," he promises. "I'm gonna lock the door. No one's ever getting to you again, you hear me?"

As soon as he pulls away, you shiver. The only thing keeping you warm was his body.

True to his word, he locks the front door, then heads right back to you.

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Jason asks softly.

You shake your head. There was a man hiding beneath your bed tonight. It was worse than any monster you used to be scared of as a child.

"Okay," he says softly. Jason eases onto the couch, but he has so much bulk that it's impossible to lay side-by-side on your backs. Jason twists onto his side, and after a moment, you do too, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He smells like gunpowder. You smell like blood. You fit together like two terrible, violent puzzle pieces.

He kisses your forehead again. Pulls a blanket over the two of you, makes sure it's snug around your feet. You enjoy the fussing.

When he has nothing left to fiddle with, Jason sucks in a ragged inhale, then says, voice cracking, "When I saw those texts, I was terrified."

"I'm glad you checked your phone," you say. "For a while, I thought you wouldn't."

"I could feel that something was wrong."

Your throat hurts. "Did you mess up your mission tonight because of me?"

"Honey, I would do anything for you," he says. "I'd abandon a thousand missions to keep you safe. I'd burn this city to the ground."

Another night, you would remind him that he's a hero. That he fights for the greater good. That he is good.

Tonight, you take comfort in the vow.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You were so brave. You did so well."

Your fingers twist in his shirt. Your nose nestles into the hollow at the base of his throat perfectly, so you hear every breath he takes, every rumble in his throat when he talks. You press a kiss to his chest just above the neckline of his shirt, and his throat jumps.

Jason makes a strangled noise, then wraps his arms even tighter around you. He throws one leg over your hip, completely covering you, pressing you into the couch. You would feel suffocated if it was anyone else.

You fall asleep faster than you ever have before, secure that Jason won't let anything happen to you during the night. The last thing you register before unconsciousness is his dry lips pressed to your forehead again. Making sure you're alive. Reassuring you that he's here and always will be.

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[lovelyghst]

would i be crazy for saying ghost enjoys (mostly) clothed sex more than anything. well, more for him than you.

like, just being able to get you down to your cute bra and panties, propping you up on his desk so he can thumb at the swollen, little bud beneath the cotton you wear. humming when the fabric starts to get wet and sticky, playing with the puffy thing as he pleases.

you contradict him in every way; pretty, pink lingerie hugging your frame a stark contrast to the black, heavy-duty cargos that hang off his hips and an equally dark, though certainly not loose, t-shirt to show off his broad shoulders. soft skin up against his rough exterior, gentle lips pressed to his scratchy beard. your clothes intricately detailed, light and lovingly cared for, while his are embedded with smoke and gunpowder and an overwhelming need to devour you whole. you’re far too sweet for him, he thinks.

he drinks in your sounds, the soft little hums that spill from your throat when your jaw falls lax shooting straight to his dick. his lips even twitch into a smile when your hands fist at his shirt, your hips nudging forward a bit when his knuckles graze your nerves teasingly.

he snickers at your giggles when he has you unbuckle his belt for him, just ‘cause he finds it amusing when your fingers struggle a bit with the leather in your dazed state. a tender grip on your wrist guiding your hand into his boxers rather shamelessly, having you knead him to a full erection before you’re finally allowed to take it out.

he usually hands you whatever you’d like and on a silver platter, without the need to even ask, but sometimes he makes you earn it. he promises it’s for your own good, sweetheart. you can’t complain.

he carefully urges one of your legs up and onto the desk, knee bent with your foot planted right on the edge for better leverage, a more depraved sight. rubs the pretty tip of his cock up against your wet spot, the only intimate bit of him exposed as his fingers are curled tightly around his shaft, guiding his movements.

and he fucks you just like that; your panties pulled to the side, further ruining the perfect pair as he gradually pushes into your sweet cunt.

he’s benign at first—slow and careful as he gives you time to adjust to the stretch, hardly moving much at all as he lays kiss after kiss to your forehead as a means of grounding you—but it isn’t long before you’re crumbling into that world where you’re dizzy, dumb on his cock, and the only noises coming from you are sharp huffs punched straight from your lungs. he isn’t too fast with you, but he’s fucking deep, and big in every sense of the word.

he holds you delicately compared to it all, with his hands at your waist and hips, giving you a faint squeeze in allotted intervals that seem to match up with his groans. similar to that of a cat preparing its sleeping place.

you know that’s what he plans for later, anyways. your pussy always knocks him out.

and sure, he’ll let you hike the hem of his t-shirt up just enough to stare down at his pretty abs, to rake your nails across his navel as he renders you speechless on his cock. he might even have you take it off for him completely if he’s going for multiple rounds with you.

but otherwise, that’s the best you’ll get from him on most days.

perhaps it’s the power dynamic, or maybe he simply feels more comfortable like that; either way, you know it’s fucking hot.