#this is what i will be referring to from now on!!!

[shapelytimber]

Halfway there with the portraits :D (Please don't spoil me ect ect but I've finished act 1 !!!!! And the Githyanki creche was insane omg)

[COMMISSIONS]

when he first leveled up I was so baffled he was an occultist djdjdj which *intrigued* me 👀 and I really like that he becomes a demon goody two shoes ! That's fun ! And I love his design omg the horns !! He starts a bit boring, but quickly becomes so much more than what I expected :)

[Astarion] - [Lae'zel] - [Wyll] -

Sketch and more yapping below vvv

But Wyll, my guy, you *have* to stop referring to yourself in third person- "the blade could use some sleep" just say you're tired omfg- it's the perfect blend of him being actually cool af, but annoying about it kfkf also I'm playing a french version of the game, and I know this pissed off the translators because that's not in the french subs- Also if you refer to yourself in third person in french, a way *way* more formal language already, that's not just a bit annoying that's straight up scary shit fnfkk

I am planning on doing all six main companions :) of course in order from my favorite to the one I feel most neutral about. Don't get me wrong I like them all (for now), but one had to be last-

[mariasont]

A Puddle in Running Shoes A.H.

summary: your boyfriend finds out you have a praise kink and is having way too much fun with that information

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: some suggestive content, hotch being a menace, reader having a praise kink, end suggests something may happen but nothing explicit in this one folks im getting my libido under control swear, also count how many times r refers to hotch's face as stupid im crying

wc: 1.9k

You hated running. No—loathed it. Detested it. Despised it with every fiber of your being. If there was a stronger word, one that captured the burning, irrational rage you felt whenever someone suggested going for a jog, Spencer might have known it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to ask. Simply put, running was not your thing.

But when Aaron—your boyfriend and somehow the most persistent man alive—asked you to join you on a run, you couldn't exactly say no. He didn't beg—Aaron Hotchner did not beg—but his version of asking, that soft it'd mean a lot to me paired with an encouraging smile, was close enough to begging in your book. Besides, you figured there'd be some sort of reward when you got back home. Aaron was good at those.

So here you were, contributing absolutely nothing to your marathon-obsessed, fitness-loving FBI boyfriend's training. Sweat coated every inch of your body, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every ragged breath you managed to suck in. The sun blazed overhead, making you feel more like a roasting chicken than a willing participant in this so-called fun activity.

Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he'd stepped out of a fitness ad—shirt clinging to him in ways that felt outright scandalous. Even the sweat on his face somehow made him look even more attractive.

He was at least ten paces ahead of you and every few steps, he'd glance over his shoulder, probably checking to make sure you hadn't spontaneously combusted or snuck off to find an air-conditioned cafe. Honestly, both were real possibilities.

Aaron's pace slowed until he was running beside you, throwing you a smile so unfairly handsome it made your legs feel weaker than they already did.

"How are you feeling?" The question felt retorical—anyone, profiler or not, was sure to be able to read you like an open book right now. "Still alive, or do I need to start figuring out the best way to carry you home without breaking any traffic laws?"

"I think I'm alive," you managed between gasps, wiping sweat from your brow. "But if carrying me is on the table, I'm not above playing dead to make that happen."

"Not necessary—I'd carry you anyway, if only to reward you for keeping up this long. You're doing great."

You foot caught a crack in the pavement, nearly hurling yourself into it, but Aaron's hand was there quicker keeping you upright as you tried to ignore the terrifying way your body had reacted to his compliment.

"Okay you can't just say stuff like that while I'm trying to run," you blurted out, avoiding his gaze. "You're trying to kill me, I swear."

You planted your hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath, secretly relieved to have a break—even if it almost involved a face-first meeting with the sidewalk.

"Stuff like what?" He tugged at your ponytail and you swatted his hand.

"Nothing," you said way too quickly, shaking your head like you could physically toss what you said aside. "Forget I said anything. Let's just... keep running."

You quickly realized your mistake as soon as you started jogging again. You would never willingly suggest to keep running. Unfortunately, Aaron was actively aware of this, moving to come up beside you. You didn't need to look at him to know he had the stupidest smirk on his face.

He didn't say anything at first, to your immediate relief, just kept jogging beside you. The silence stretched on, his calm breathing only seeming to make your wheezing sound worse.

"You're breathing too shallow," he said after a moment, his tone completely casual like he wasn't even winded. "Try to take deeper breaths—match them to your strides. It'll make it easier."

You glanced towards him out of the corner of your eye before attempting his suggestion. You had no intention of letting him know that it worked. His ego was far too substantial for that.

"See? You're a natural," he said, shooting you a sidelong glance. "Atta girl."

Your brain flatlined and you almost tripped over your feet again, every rational thought replaced by static. What was wrong with you? You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people with unresolved daddy issues were prone to developing praise kinks. Was that what this was? Whatever the reason, hearing Aaron talk like that shouldn't make you feel all gooey inside, but here you were, a puddle in running shoes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yup, fine!"

You stared at the ground so intensely, it was a miracle you didn't bore a hole into the pavement. Your voice had betrayed you, far too shaky and way too rushed, and you knew Aaron was probably filing away every bit of your reaction.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as he spoke. "Stop staring at the ground. You'll run better if you keep your head up—it'll open your chest so you can breathe easier."

His hand lingered for a second too long than what your body could handle, leaving you completely flustered and fighting every urge to do exactly the opposite of what he said.

"There you go," he murmured, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, honey. Just like that."

His voice—his god forsaken voice—was like a jolt to your system, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was a good way, which was the problem. It was bad enough to hearing it out here, on the jogging trail, but your brain decided to replay it in an entirely different inappropriate context: one that involved you, him, and a bed.

Your face burned, and you couldn't tell if it was from the exertion, or the very real possibility that your body was too receptive to those words. And now, not only were you fighting for every breath, but you were trying to figure out if the dampness between your legs was entirely from sweat. Surely it was sweat. Right? Gods, you hoped it was sweat.

You stopped so suddenly that Aaron jogged a few steps ahead before he realized you were not longer beside him.

"Okay, I'm calling it. I'm done. Can we please go home now?"

He jogged back to you, an easy smile on his face, and placed his hands on your shoulders as he reached you.

"Alright, we can be done," he teased, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones. "You survived, and you did great. I'm proud of you."

He leaned down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that made the ache in your body a little easier to ignore.

When he pulled away, you barely managed to keep standing.

Aaron let out a low laugh, his hands squeezing your shoulders. "Alright. What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said over your shoulder, practically power walking towards the car.

Aaron's laugh deepened and you ignored the funny feeling curling in your chest.

"Sweetheart," he said, gently tugging your elbow to slow you down. "Come on, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine!" You avoided his eyes as you tugged your elbow free. "I'm just tired, and, uh, need a shower."

A cold shower, your brain screamed, but you shoved the thought down.

"I know, I know you're tired," he said, lips curving into a smile, "but that's because you actually pushed yourself. I'm proud of you for sticking with it."

You were pretty convinced you were you were about to go up in flames. Your obituary would read death by too many unnecessary compliments. When your heart inevitably gave out, Aaron would have to explain to Rossi and the others how his dumb smile and sweet words had resulted in second degree manslaughter.

But then you saw it—the smirk. The one that said he absolutely knew what he was doing.

"Oh my gosh, you know!" You groaned and threw your hands in the air. "You know, and you're enjoying this!"

Spinning away from him, you stormed to the car, and slammed the door like it might shield you from his stupidly smug face.

You barely had time to exhale before the passenger door swung open, revealing Aaron, casually leaning against the car.

"You know," he said lightly, his tone far too casual for your liking, "slamming car doors isn't a great habit. You could hurt yourself."

"And you know," you snapped back, pointing at him, "torturing your girlfriend isn't a great habit either!"

He leaned in slowly, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed your seatbelt. As he clicked it into place, his face lingered close to yours.

"I wasn't trying to torture you, baby. Just wanted to give you the chance to admit it—that you liked it."

Before you could muster a reply, Aaron's hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb moving along your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was so deep, leaving you no choice but to sink into it, even as the faint remnants of your annoyance tried to surface.

By the time he pulled back, you felt like you were under his spell. Then, without another word, he shut your door and headed to the driver's side.

"That's not fair," you muttered, crossing your arms and pouting as you stared out the window.

Aaron's hand found the back of your neck as he backed out of the parking spot, rubbing gently into smooth circles.

"I don't mean to be unfair," he said with a small smile. "I just needed to hear it, because sometimes people don't even realize what they need until they say it out loud. And I wanted to make sure I didn't misread anything—though I'm rarely wrong, as you know."

"Trust me, you remind me every chance you get." Your tone was dry, but you were well aware that the twitch in your lip was giving you away.

"Alright, smartass," he said, chuckling as his fingers pressed a little firmer into your neck. "Now tell me—how does it make you feel when I say those things to you?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, okay? I just... like it! Do I have to explain it?"

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," he said, "but I'd like to know what it is you like so much."

Aaron's hand moved from your neck to your hand, his fingers sliding between each of yours while his eyes stayed glued to the road, a thing that only came from months of familiar motions.

You let out a long breath. "I don't know. I just like hearing it. It makes me feel good. Special, I guess."

"You are special, sweetheart." His eyes flicked to you before returning to the road. "You're my best girl."

Your stomach flipped violently. You shifted again, trying to disguise the way your thighs pressed together tightly as your face burned hotter than ever. The debate earlier in your head was officially over—absolutely not just sweat, you thought miserably.

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Something I said?"

You swatted his shoulder, your glare losing all its bite thanks to the flush all over your body. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I can't help it," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to get you on edge. "But don't worry—I'll take care of my best girl once we're home."

You slumped in your seat, muttering something unintelligible that made Aaron chuckle again. And even though you wouldn't admit it, you found yourself smiling, already dreading and anticipating whatever he had planned when you got home.

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[finelinevogue]

safe with me

summary - you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer

word count - 1.2k

pairing - azriel x mate!reader

[ reference to past abusive relationship - read with care 🤎 ]

It was the dark of night.

Everyone was in bed except you and Azriel, because you'd both lost track of time staying up and talking about everything and nothing. It was a habit you were both readily guilty of. Neither of you cared, though, when your conversations only made the bond stronger.

Azriel held the bedroom door open for you as you walked through first.

"Do you have training in the morning?" You asked him, walking over to your side of the bed.

You picked up the small tin of body cream there, scooping some up so you could apply it to your hands. It smelt of roses and reminded you of the endless walks through the garden you'd had with Azriel over the years.

"I do, yes. Cassian wants to show the priestesses some new defence techniques. He asked me to help him demonstrate."

Azriel locked the bedroom door and rounded the opposite side of the bed to you - his side, you both now called it.

You watched intensely as he lifted his black shirt over his head.

His muscles stretched and rippled as his body moved. His arms lengthened and the veins popped as he lifted his hands above his head.

You swallowed your desire as you admired him.

Due to Azriel's slight compulsive tendencies, he couldn't just throw his shirt on the floor. Instead, he neatly folded it and placed it on the dressing table.

You don't know what was more attractive; Azriel stripping down or Azirel being neat and tidy.

"It's rude to stare, you know?" He teased you as he came back to bed, lifting the covers to slip underneath.

"I wasn't staring." You blushed.

"Tell that to your cheeks."

You smiled to yourself as you stood up to untuck the covers on your side of the bed, before slipping in beside your mate.

The moment you were laid down Azriel attacked you with a flurry of kisses - probably the sweetest type of attack you could endure.

His lips kissed your cheeks repeatedly, making you laugh out loud from the suddenness of it all. You tried to move away and turn a cheek, but he was too insistent on loving you to notice.

He did notice, however, when your laugh started to fade away as he continued to kiss from your cheek to your neck.

Your mind was spinning a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how you were feeling and if you wanted this innocent kissing to turn into something more intimate. The fact that you were hesitating was enough for you to mentally agree that you didn't want to do anything this evening, but conveying that to your mate was an entire different thing.

"Okay?" He asked, slowly kissing over the sweet spot on your neck that normally got you going.

Unfortunately your mind was being cruel.

Instead of being here and in the room with Az, you had been transported back to the same situation with an ex-male of yours. He had initiated an evening much like Azriel was doing, but he knew you weren't particularly feeling it. Instead of accepting your answer of 'no', he had convinced you that you were "just confused" and "this is something you actually want" and to "just say yes".

You hadn't wanted to say yes at all.

But your ex had been so good at manipulating you that he had eventually gotten what he wanted without making it seem non-consensual.

Azriel, being ever so perceptive, could tell you were caving in on yourself, as well as feeling your heartbeat quicken and his shadows picked up on your hesitance and nervous energy. All of it together sent Azriel major red alarms.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey?"

Azriel's face was hovering above yours now, nowhere near your neck but you hadn't even realised he had moved away.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You looked in his eyes and saw their concern. You didn't want to worry him. This is something that Azriel wants and that should be enough, right?

"Mhm."

You couldn't convince yourself to say the word 'yes' out loud. You couldn't do that to yourself again.

Azriel's hand cupped your cheek so softly you thought you were made out of porcelain. He looked through you before he spoke - his shadows enclosing around you so that you could just focus on each other and nothing else.

"Sweetheart, you're allowed to say no. You know that."

You blinked a few times as if that would help register what he'd just said.

"But..." You stuttered, "But you want to."

Azriel furrowed his eyebrows and tried to keep himself calm. If it weren't for needing to reassure and comfort you right now, he would very quickly dress in his battle armour and take out every male who had ever wrongly taught you about consent.

How someone could let themselves not take care of you if you weren't feeling up to being intimate is beyond his comprension.

Azriel shook his head, gritting his teeth. "That's not how it works with me."

Your eyes started to water as they were opened to understanding what true consent feels like and should be. Azriel was doing the absolute bare minimum in this situation and yet it felt like the most monumental thing to have happened.

"It’s just... When I was with... him, it didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. What he wanted was all that mattered. And I-I guess I just learned to go along with it."

"Well that stops right now." Azriel said, "That's not how we're going to do things, okay? How you feel is more important to me than getting off. Mother above, how does someone even get off if the other person isn't feeling it? Sweetheart, if you’re not sure, then we stop. Always."

A little teardrop fell onto your cheek, but you couldn't help but smile with how loved and protected you felt right now.

You could tell that Azriel was absolutely heartbroken to hear about your past relationships, but he would be damned if he didn't change the wrongs of your thinking. Knowing that your comfort is his priority filled your heart with joy, because it meant that you were safe with him. Safe with your mate.

“I didn’t realise how scared I was to tell you no. I was so sure it would make you angry, or-or disappointed.”

Azriel shook his head again, “The only thing that would ever disappoint me is you thinking you have to hide how you feel. You’re safe with me. I promise."

You nodded in agreement because you did believe him.

You could feel his trust and his assuredness within the bond.

"Can we just cuddle?" You asked shyly.

"Of course we can." Azriel smiled, kissing your forehead for good measure. "Only after I kill your ex..."

You didn't think he was being serious until he started to get up off you and shuffle out of bed. Laughing, you tugged on his arm and because he wasn't expecting it he landed with an oomph on top of you.

"You'll do no such thing."

"We'll see about that." He scoffed, trying again.

"See about it in the morning?" You counter offered, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop him from defending your honour - overprotective mate.

"Fine." He flopped back down on the bed and made room for you to cosy in next to him.

His wings finally wrapped around you, ensuring your safety as the both of you drifted off to sleep, the weight of your confession making it easier to sleep at night. All the while, Azriel stayed up planning his vengeance.

[starrynightarchive]

this is true! while i haven't yet had a chance to cook full meals for friends when they are feeling down, one incident does stand out.

my friend is now in college that's pretty far away from home so we can only meet once every 6 months or so now. they have always had issues with taking care of themselves. even though they weren't downright miserable i could see that they were kinda lost, what with the new environment and the past haunting them. and it's not a big thing but one time during call i offered to teach them how to make bread omlette. it's a solid breakfast and takes barely 10 minutes to make with minimal ingredients and tastes damn good. anyone can make it.

so after she came home i sat her down and walked her through how to make that simple dish. i made her sit and eat too. you should've been the sheer joy in her face. she kept saying oh my god. oh my god. it was good but i knew it was no michelin star hotel shit but she was so so happy. because i made her something. because i showed her that here. look. this is my love. and she has always had issues with food and too so it meant something to her. two days later she texted me a photo of that dish again because she made it at home and said "look!!! i am nothing like her (referring to her mother who she has a bad history with) !! i can cook something!! i am not her!!" it was such a simple thing but i made her a new memory that brought warmth.

food means different things to different people. in times of distress it feels pointless to eat but when you offer to feed someone you're showing that you care. and in such situations where grief and inner turmoil is so prominent it helps. it helps to see physical proof of someone's love, that someone is saying stay. eat. i care about you. i want you to be alive and happy.

food to me is linked to some of the most traumatic and pleasant memories, but after all these years the pleasant ones outweigh the bad ones. i remember being overcome with grief after a death of a loved one and i couldn't eat for days. couldn't stomach the thought of it. but one night, a bunch of my cousins sat down together, bought in a monstrously big banana leaf, heaped a shitton of food on it and we ate it all together, laughing and feeding each other with our hands. our eyes were still puffy with tears but the love was there and it was real just as the food in front of us and the steam wafting from it. at that moment, we were alive. we were hopeful, because this one dinner made us feel less alone. the grief was there and it was still overpowering but god, the love was there, too. warm and soft and real. and that was enough.

even if they don't feel like eating, just one bite fed by someone makes a lot of difference. food shows your love and helps one gain their energy back, physically and mentally. so yeah. feed your friends. it helps. it really really does.

legit the best advice i can give you: feed your friends

any time someone is in any kind of crisis or upheaval, offer to feed them. tell them they don’t have to choose what it is if they can’t make decisions, just ask about allergies and preferences and tell them you’re just gonna make food happen at their house.

friend having a baby? delivery gift certificate to order food to the hospital after the kid shows up.

someone’s relative passes away? offer to make them dinner.

buddy gets laid off? ask if you can order them lunch.

pal stuck in a depressive episode? offer to drive them to fucking mcdonalds, if that’s what they want.

people in crisis are tired and sad and angry and the last thing most of them are doing is thinking about feeding themselves. so if you have the ability or time or money, providing that is always, always a good move.

legit i do this all the time, and it is 100% always appreciated. i have taught all my friends that when something happens, we feed each other. it makes people feel extremely cared for, and I cannot recommend it enough.

[eeboyysworld]

“ Let me be one of your girls tonight! “

—⋆. 𖦹 ࣪⋆.˚

Genre: Smut

Lee Myung-gi (player 333) X Male!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Thigh job, No penetration but he has a breeding kink, Marijuana, Implied fear of homophobia , Reader is referred to as a ‘girl’ , Feelings (the worse),

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Every motion you made had your vision laggy, everything in slow-motion had you giggling like a schoolgirl.

The smoke filled room was suffocating, but not as much as your pants.Yep, you had popped a stiffy in-front of the boy , you had recently started to crush on.

Like you’re going through puberty all over again..

Flustered with yourself, guilt swept inside you mixed with guilty pleasure. Eyes keen on watching the other’s fingers skillfully wrapping a joint, tongue coming out to seal it.

His face wore bruises, having been getting on everyone’s nerves ( not yours ) hands scattered with small cuts.

‘What a man..’ maybe you had said the last part out-loud in a hushed whisper, as he looked back up at you.

Questioning, “ You said what?-“ making your face even redder, coughing into your palm muttering ‘nothing..’ shoving your rolled up hoodie on-top your shorts. Getting rid of the evidence.

The dizziness inside you only grew bigger as you leaned into him, your chest on the others clothed back, the heaviness of your whole head had you resting on his shoulder.

Watching the man put the joint to his lips, “Light?” Easily reaching into your pants, fingers grazing each other as you handed it over.

The spark emitting both of your faces, smoke wafting upwards , successfully hot-boxing you guys even more.

Conversation rolled on as time passed, jumping topic to topic, until the question of girls popped up. The question leaving you dazed, worry wavering off of you.

“You a virgin?” The accusation was like a slap to your face, staring dumbfounded .Do you really look that much of a loser.

You weren’t a virgin.At-least.. not with boys. With girls ..oh ye, you were a total virgin.

You couldn’t say that though.

“No..i-i been with women..” a complete lie.If that wasn’t the least obvious sign that you were, in-fact, clueless to girls.

He didn’t say anything at that,just laughed at your red face, the giggles coming out in Huffs.

It only went on for a few seconds before it got quiet. The silence was relaxing, even though you felt nervous.

The other just layed there, man spreading across the sofa. You two were rather close, fingers an inch away from each other.

He observed you, eyes red clouded with curiosity. Hidden with something else ,you couldn’t pin point.

“You swing the other way?” You froze, mouth suddenly dry. Were you guys close enough to be talking about whose dick was in what hole..

Maybe not, you were both guys in college so anything is possible at this point.

You couldn’t wiggle your way out of this one. Left with no choice but to answer.”Was it that obvious..”

To your surprise he only chuckled, tilting his head backwards. He was all relaxed, nonchalant. You were the complete opposite.Body as stiff as your dick, thoughts running through you like a train.

It was quiet for a bit, the soft humming of the a.c in the background, radio playing a soft tune being the only noise.

For a while the other just kept on staring, his sharp gaze laid heavy, melting your body further into the molds of cushion.

Suddenly, a confident hand rested on your thigh. The contact made your skin tingle.

Confusion sparked your face, the closeness of his body against yours was enough damage.But now, he’s touching you, especially so close to your dick!

Are you in heaven.

“What are you doing..?” The room seemed more stuffy, your question hung in the air, left to be unanswered.

The shorts you wore began to ride up as the other gripped the flesh, leaving the skin irritated.

Agonizingly trailing upwards, the pads of his fingers smooshing together. You made no move to stop the lingering touches.

“These would look good wrapped around me.” The man practically gawked at your bare skin, groping the flush skin impossibly harder.

Speechless at such a confession, you spoke no word, afraid you would straight up start moaning, or say something you would regret.

Taking notice of no response, he stopped, hesitantly moving his hand away. The lack of touch left you pouting.

“Why’d you stop..” The other watched you complain before sitting himself up, grabbing your own hand.

“Do you want me to keep going?” It looked like he was questioning himself, you could practically explain 333 reasons on why he should keep going. Nodding frantically, “Please..” pleading him with your head tilted, eyes wide and desperate for touch.

The two of you only observed each other, drinking in the sight. Your eyes taking hold of his lips, trailing back upwards to the clouded gaze.

Things escalated quickly from there.

His hands found your waist, the tension was thick, the two of you fumbling into each other’s hold, shy little pecks on the lips.

He was unsure what to do.. he never been with another man.

But you came along, with your long lashes and plush lips begging to be plucked. Forbidden fruit, that he has his hands on.

The taste of sweetness mixed with bitterness enhanced his senses, becoming high on you rather than the weed.

Slow and steady kisses went on to greedy nips, concealing needy moans.

The position was awkward, forcing you to pull away, tiny gasps for breathe. Sensing your discomfort, he gently guided you to lay down, back hitting the comfort of soft blankets.

Positioning himself in a more conventional way.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him into a heated kiss, his stomach just an inch away from your clothed hard one, the tiny friction making you jolt.

Before things get too serious, you called out his name, “Myung-gi.. “ the latter paused , glancing at you. “Have you done this before..”

He hadn’t. Shaking his head side to side, confirming your suspicions.

It was cute, the way he became so flustered after being all confident.

Smiling, reassuring him that you’ll take it slow. It wasn’t like you haven’t been with other clueless men looking to expand their horizons.

Taking the lead in this situation, sitting yourself on-top your elbows, licking your lips as habit.

No longer shy as you groped him through his joggers, the thin material folding against the force, outlining the length.

Tiny huffs heard above you, maintaining eye contact, teasing the other.

“Just-t..stop teasing..” a grin masked your lips, admiring your work of undoing.

His v- line prominent, a slightly visible stain soaked into the grey material, dick twitching from lack of contact.

Pulling away, hooking fingers under the bands of your shorts, slowly pulling them off. He could only watch in anticipation.

The fabric pooled around your ankle, bringing your leg up so the other could yank it off.

He’d seen naked men before , not by his own choice..years of being in locker rooms of high school boys.

You were different, captivating him the moment you waltzed into the room, energy radiating off of you like warm rays.

You were more pretty than a girl to him.

It was innocent admiration at first , but then the summer heat wave got to you, therefore the shorts you wore became shorter and shorter, showing off the plump skin.

Shirts becoming tighter or looser. Both were hell and heaven for him.

It wasn’t long before his imagination got to him, dazing off into the distance.

Greedily taking in any sight that behold you.

He hadn’t made a move until this night , the night you two were gonna relax from all the exams and studying you had. Relax away from money problems.

The high must of made him way too confident.

His hand tracing your hip bones, leaving you ticklish and giddy, sensitive to the touch. Sweat from the heat glistened on your skin, he wanted your body littered with his bites.

Once again , pulling yourself up, hooking into his pants before yanking the whole thing down.

Free from restrictions, tip glow an angry pink, pre-cum pooling down.

Unsure of what to do, the other just sat there on his knees, the cushion stabbing into him.

“Just relax..I’ll take care of you.” The kind words were rather funny considering you held his dick in your hand.

Smiling sweetly, before spitting on his length. You haven’t even started yet and he could paint your face white right there.

taking control of the situation, you guided him towards your thighs, which were slightly open for him to continue.

The need to release was heavy, the urge to grab you and hold you down was overwhelming.

So that’s what he did.

The shyness wore off as it was replaced with hunger.

Slipping himself through your inner thighs, forcefully shutting your legs together. Warmness greeted him, his hips stuttered a bit.

It wasn’t enough for him, taking it upon himself to spit onto the curves of your skin.

The wetness created more accessibility. Sliding in and out, soft thrusts turned into harshness.

Each time he kept hitting your own length, the stimulation made you desperately arch into air, searching for your release.

Bringing your leg upwards, he began to bite down creating bite marks, littering your skin.

Sucking into the flesh , muttering ��- Been thinking about just biting into you like this-“ the suction urged you on to sobs, your sensitive spot being used agian and again.

The room smelt of pure sex, the smoke lingering the halls, the soft tune no longer heard among the cries.

“M-much.. better than - any girl I’ve had.” Hoisting your legs into the air before leaning downwards to hold your legs to your chest, smooshing your thighs together.

The added pressure spiralled him on, blabbering about having his kid, being his house-wife ..it was nonsense and ridiculous , yet you found yourself yearning for it.

Your voice echoed on , begging to have his baby. Clenching your thighs , trapping him so he wouldn’t pull out, ( he wasn’t gonna)

The sound of wetness could be heard, as he stammered into your hold , thrusts becoming jerkily.

Cum splattering onto your stomach and chest, the shirt nearly off your neck. Continuing to buck into you, chasing his high , as his body became limp.

Cooling off before hovering over you .

Lifting your legs apart, the sticky cream attaching itself thigh to thigh, deliciously dripping down the back of your legs.

He could pop another boner at such sight.

Clearing his throat, eyeing the bite marks he made, the marks red contrast to your skin.

“Wanna go again?”

Fuck the studies. You would fail happily after this night.

———

Need more posts of him🫡🫡

[russo-woso]

Hey, can you write something for the lyrics of The Alchemy-Taylor Swift with Alessia? "There was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league Where's the trophy? She just comes running over to me

Don’t come to me! || Alessia Russo x reader

Masterlist

Summary you’re the first one Alessia runs to when Arsenal win the FA cup

A/N another short fluffy one

It had been a thrilling four goal match so far.

Manchester City had been in the lead the first forty five minutes, holding a comfortable 2-0 lead over Arsenal.

But during the second half, Arsenal made their comeback.

The scoreline soon became 2-1 with a goal from Frida, then 2-2 thanks to a screamer from Katie - let’s be real, every goal she scores is a screamer.

The 90 minutes ended 2-2 so the game went to extra time.

You sat on the edge of your seat as the clock drew closer and closer to the second final whistle.

“You’re gonna fall off of you move any more.” Luca, your brother in law, joked clearly noticing how far forward you were.

“I’m nervous, I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.” You told him, referring to the girls on the pitch.

“Lessi’s used to it by now.”

“I know. I asked her this morning how she was feeling and she just said it was a normal match - no it is not! It’s the fa cup final! I think I was more nervous than her.”

“She hasn’t always been like that. She used to be so nervous before big matches but as soon as she met you, she knew you were her lucky charm. That’s what she told me anyway. If you’re in the crowd, her nerves go away.” Luca explained, your heart warming at your wife’s past words.

You went to respond but before you could, the crowd started getting rowdy.

You looked in time to see Caitlin pass a perfect ball through to Alessia.

With brute force, Alessia struck the ball, sending it flying to the back of the net.

You jumped up, pride filling you as you watched Alessia get tackled by her teammates.

Alessia quickly found you in the crowd - easily due to her getting you front row tickets by the corner flag.

She swiftly blew you a kiss before jogging back into position for kick off again.

The minutes ticked by and although it was painfully slow, the whistle finally blew.

Arsenal had won.

You watched as the whole team ran to each other, engulfing each other in hugs, but there was one person who wasn’t with the team - alessia.

It wasn’t hard to find her though, her blue eyes being so easy to find - for you anyway.

She had a massive smile on her face as she started jogging towards you.

“Lessi!” You exclaimed as she tackled you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled away from the hug to place your lips on hers.

“You’re my lucky charm.”

“So I’ve heard. Go celebrate with your team, lessi.” You told her but she turned your suggestion down.

“I just want to celebrate with you, love, no one else.”

“They’re getting ready for the trophy, less, go.” You laughed, watching as she cling onto you.

“You’re my trophy. You’re the only one I need.”

“Oh, baby.” You laughed, stroking a hand through her sweat dampened ponytail. “I tell you what, go get your medal and celebrate with your team and then we’ll celebrate properly when we get back home - however you like. Deal?”

“Deal. Try get a nap in at some point because it’s gonna be a long night, pretty girl.”

[dante-mightdie]

WAIT! you just said peaky blinders au right???? 🤭🤭🤭🤭

you know the scene john shelby gets married, like he doesnt know that he's getting married? if tommy told him, then he would have not even have considered that idea? but then ends up with the longest lasting marriage and the prettiest wife? MAKE IT SIMON I BEG MAKE IT SIMON

for reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-a63i2nWz4&pp=ygUecGVha3kgYmxpbmRlcnMgZ2V0dGluZyBtYXJyaWVk

love your writing xoxo <3

yes yes yes yes yes to all of it

when he finally realises what he’s there for, who’s wedding he’s dressed up for? he kicks off big time. yelling, cussing, calling john every name under the sun for betrothing simon away without even consulting him. he doesn’t want to get married. he’s a guard dog, a mutt. his rough tongue peels the meat from bones, not taste the gentle skin of a wife

and yet here he stands, lifting the veil of who he now knows as the most beautiful woman in the world. his head turning to look at john, soap and kyle with a wolfish smirk. your nervous eyes looking up at him, pouted lips reading out the vows you prepared for him. how sweet, but he’ll have to make up for his lack of sweet words tonight when he takes his new bride to bed

but the insinuation that you needed to be married because you were becoming to ‘wild’ for your family to handle and john knows simon could wrangle you no problem. except he has no intention of doing so, using his dirty money to buy you a lovely home on the edges of the city. he’ll do the long journey into centre everyday, no problem. as long as your happy

bejewelled dresses, lavish jewellery. plush sheets and soft pillows. sweet wines and tender meat. anything to keep you happy

[eri-pl]

I went to do it and realized that Tumblr stole my title. Now I don't know whether I to add it back or add a new one (that would of course be in the same area).

Anyway the most recent title said "to put the word in tune again" which is a quote from Hadestown, but of course… of course it was there as a reference, in the Silm+Christianity+for-me-it-works-together area. So basically what's in the title but in the context of Ainulindale with the subtext that yes it's possible/done/depends on what storyline you look at exactly— basically that.

… that's why I have enigmatic quotes instead: because I'm bad at explaining.

There are posts for explaining your url but i want one for blog title, so ill just make one myself:

Reblog this and tell us in the tags what your blog title means!

[baepsays]

Suck it and See ⸻ .03 how you met stoner Suguru.

description: of all places, Geto Suguru didn't expect to meet a girl with knee high socks, who practically pulled him in like an eager sacrifice to the Siren— at a frat party surrounded by smoke.

cw: use of she/her pronouns, fem oriented reader, mentions of drugs, weed, and alcohol; nothing much this is mostly a meet cute-ish, lore stuff really, artic monkeys references everywhere, they mild nsfw stuff.

playlist inspired by the content.

What a pleasure it is to be surrounded by sweaty people you barely know in a room full of smoke. All because your best friend is an extroverted social butterfly of a freak.

Safe to say, Geto Suguru would be anywhere but here right now. But maybe he does need some free alcohol and free cigarettes, a finance degree is the furthest thing from causation of sobriety. And as an average university student reliant on caffeine, alcohol, and cigarettes—completing his last semester and starting his big-time finance bro job later this year might I add—he is oddly conservative when it comes to weed though, if we're talking about ways to numb yourself.

The fact he has seen people actually do much worse actual hard drugs and yet he has a bigger opinion about the devil's lettuce of all things available out there. The only viable reason which can be given is that he had a stoner roommate during his first semester and it was the worst time of his entire university life. And honestly, he has seen Gojo get high for the sake of trying it, that was not fun for anyone but Shoko who was filming Suguru trying to stop Gojo from jumping off the balcony to chase a cat he apparently saw (there was no cat).

But these are excuses really. Well, Geto Suguru would not say he is repulsed by weed. In fact, he has tried it himself once. It was mostly about going along with his high school debate team who wanted to get high during one of their out-of-town tournaments. And guess what. High Suguru went on and blurted out all his little animosities to big grudges against everyone there and somehow fell asleep next to a trashcan in the hallway. Thankfully no one remembered and the video footage of all of this happening went into his hands first. He made sure to delete everything and ask around without being suspicious if anyone remembered anything he said. He was safe since they all forgot about everything.

Since then, he has steered clear of weed, it does odd things to him which no other substances do. Even when he is drunk out of his mind or buzzing with caffeine and nicotine, he is never impulsive. He always has control. And the fact he let that control slip is very scary. Matter of fact, despite his side hobby of making fun of a scared Gojo during horror movie marathons, Suguru himself didn't like being scared by something unknown or letting himself slip out in front of someone he would rather not have seen him like that .

Yet here he was, at one of the more famous frats who are known for their weed more than their alcohol and what not. I mean, it's not about where you end up but what you're looking for, right? Maybe that doesn't make much sense but so doesn't his last assignment of the semester before exams start, which carries 40% of his marks.

And for someone who isn't looking for weed, his amazing friend makes sure to pull him right into the room full of—who apparently seemed to be—stoners. Supposedly Satoru knows someone there, but he also knows way too many people for his liking. The amount of time he has to stop, stand, and stare around to wait for Satoru to finish chatting with yet another stranger—infinite really.

Regrets of ending up in that room without any alcohol in his hand, seemed to have flown right out of the room with the smoke. And it might as well have been the residual of weed in the air, but what's happening in his head was alarming. Right across from the person Satoru apparently knew, sat this gorgeous being, looking ever so effervescent and oozing mystique surrounded by clouds of smoke (he is a poet everyone). Wearing, what in his mind seemed like, the most poorly constructed skirt, practically giving away the secret eighth wonder of the world—which are those thighs. And is that fishnet? Someone please check on him, is he having a nosebleed? If not, that tight top perfectly snug around your chest, might do the job. More over the breasts, it was the neck. How can someone find a neck that beautiful? I wouldn't know, ask Suguru.

Real question is who wears knee high socks in the summer? He is not complaining, it somehow really works for you, and it works wonders on him. Again, it might be the weed. It has to be, because Geto Suguru, who is the most calculated person you'll know—sly little shit who is known for being the level headed, mysterious, lady's man— he may be just as much of a menace as Gojo and just as silly, he just knows how to mask it. And he's losing it. He's losing that control, because why aren't his ears working? His eyes refuse to focus on anything but you dragging a smoke out of the joint, which was passed to you by someone. And his legs are moving on their own towards the couch where you are sitting with the only person who you seem remotely interested in, 'might be her friend' he assumes, while ignoring this other guy who seems to be high off his mind talking about who knows what. His ears already made the effort of blocking out every sound, including Gojo's, who was calling him out because he wanted to introduce Suguru to his friend.

"Hey"

Real smooth from Mr. Lady's man over here. Incredible opener to introduce yourself to this person who may or may not be a witch cause why is he completely under this sort of trance as if he is the one sucking on that joint. Also, the fact he is just awkwardly standing in front of you while you look up at him through your lashes, unbothered and definitely high, still sitting on that couch—he must've inhaled too much weed smoke.

"Did you mean to say that to me? Because I think your friend needs you over there actually."

You say after blinking at him twice, then point across to you where Gojo and his friend are sitting. It's rather a given to be confused by this random long-haired Rapunzel to awkwardly stand before you like he doesn't know any better about how to interact socially, he's not drunk definitely, you saw him and his friend stroll in through the doors just a few minutes ago. Why would you even bother to care enough to remember that? Well, Rapunzel here is too gorgeous for his own good, secondly, you're high and feeling rather needy.

Pre-finals week suck, universal sentiment shared by all degree pursuing students. So here you are on this couch, in some frat, with your friend who's seeing one of the frat members. All you expected was some good quality rich boy weed and alcohol, nothing more really. Sleeping with someone you met at a frat party, reeks of STDs. And yet here you are looking at this gorgeous man looking like he doesn't have any thoughts behind his eyes, contrary to what you assumed, from afar he looked like a manipulative man whore. The world might be full of surprises or he's a theatre major.

"Huh?" — is all Suguru somehow manages to utter, it's illegal to smell that good while also smelling like weed, what god forsaken perfume you're using? Those eyes are enough, why do you need to crawl through all his five senses and wrap your hands around his brain.

"Huh." You say with one raised eyebrow. Seems like you've found yourself an excuse to escape.

"Seems like you don't know anything other than three lettered words starting with h."

He just stares into your eyes and lets you throw that jab at him. Really just too enchanted to speak, it's not that this is something he's choosing to do. He'd rather sit across from you and socialize with Gojo, while staring you down from time to time, then after much considerable eye contact, he'll slide himself to your side of the couch, asking your permission to have a seat, with much charisma no one can deny.

Yet here he is, not drunk, or losing his mind with weed—purely high off of sucking in your presence. This is only the second time he has lost control over a situation, and this time he is completely sober. New discoveries are made every second he supposed. Because if a sly talker like him, one who especially finds existential joy in countering the opposing person's jabs, is standing here tongue tied—he believes climate change can be reversed then. (How wishful)

You get off the couch to stand facing him, way too close to him for his sanity's sake, between the narrow gap between him and the couch—you might be shorter than him but your gaze is too piercing. And yet he cannot look away.

"Would you rather I dragged you out of this room? Maybe the smoke is getting to your head huh?"

Takes a second for Suguru to contextualize what you just suggested. And without any power to verbally respond, he simply nods into agreement. Somehow in that moment his incognizant brain decided that maybe leaving himself to your devices in this situation is the most natural thing to do. In fact, you might as well have all consumed him and he couldn't care any less.

All he cares about is that you're taking his hands in your hands, which made him think it might be a missing puzzle piece that only fits in perfectly with his, and dragging him out after a little bye to your friend and Gojo as well. Suguru is really out of it. He's not going to hear the end of it from Gojo, while he retells this story to their friends in the most overexaggerated way, which is so impossible given how ridiculous he is acting right now. Anything less dramatic than a Shakespearean play wouldn't do justice to exactly what played out in there. Yet Gojo Satoru will make sure to put a shame to Shakespeare's dramatics. That's his headache for later, let's focus on the ache in his palpitating heart.

You drag him out of that room, into the big living room or space and then drag him through the crowd to one of the rooms on the first floor, and take him straight to the balcony attached to it. The balcony sits right above the pool. Below you two, you can see most people congregating around there, swimming or just dancing or talking. Most of the speakers are there playing every frat bro's Spotify rotation probably. It's dark enough and tucked away nicely for anyone to notice you two there even if they look up—you saw this balcony the first time you visited this house with your friend cause of the guy she was seeing and since it was not a party, it was clear in the daylight that it was a nice place to people watch from. Or just enjoy the music,

'And her lips are like the galaxy's edge

And her kiss the colour of a constellation fallin’ into place'

Suguru couldn't agree more. If he didn't know any better— he'd say the song was about you. Because right now he is pulling out the lighter out of his pockets. Moving it towards your direction and halting halfway in the little space in between you two. Suguru wouldn't write this out as some kind gesture. He would never even think of sharing his prized lighter. It has been with him since he found it one day visiting his grandma's village home with his parents. Lying in a puddle of mud near the river that flowed behind her house. Scratch random people he wouldn't even let Satoru touch it or let Shoko take a light with it. Yet here he is— silently helping you out all because it looked like with the roll of a joint tucked in your bra, you forgot to bring a light.

You stare back and forth between the burning flame and his face. Contemplating perhaps. Then you move forward grab a hold on his hand, which was holding up the lighter, just a bit far for you to easily lean in and ignite the blunt. So you move, move to now sit face to face with him, both your knees on either side of his thighs—hovering over him, hands holding his, which was holding his silver lit up lighter. You lean forward probably closer to his face than the lighter even, all while keeping constant eye contact. You move your head to your left and finally burn the joint pressed in between your lips, after what seemed like an eternity.

Once the smoke comes out, you unwrap your lips from the joint and smile at Suguru, not one of those half smiles you've been throwing at him all this time. A genuine laidback smile.

"Thanks uh- oh wait I don't even know your name"

"Well I haven't given it to you yet."

"You gave me your lighter, might as well give me your heart. How much more could your name matter?"

Well he might as well have given you his heart and what even is in the name, if he could he would give you the entirety of the galaxy, but It would probably fade out in your comparison.

"Suguru. Geto Suguru."

"Nice to meet you Suguru."

"And what more might you need other than my lighter, heart, and name in exchange for your name?"

"I don't know? Anything tempting you are offering? Perhaps a seat right here?"

Did you mean right there? There on his lap?

"I wouldn't ever deny you anything."

So you did in fact mean his lap. Cause you perch right up on there and drag a long smoke out of your joint, blowing the smoke up in the sky above you two.

"L/n Y/n. And I'll hold you onto that claim."

"Do you always ask people for names in exchange for a seat on their lap?" Suguru smirks and tries to regain some confidence and control over the situation. If he wants to keep you right where you are, he would need to get out of the haze of intoxication — which was ironically not the weed in the air but just your existence.

"I never really ask for names. Really bad at remembering them. And as for seats, hmm I don't know. Your legs looked more comfortable and warm than the cold floor. And you looked sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Why? Does that not describe your —chase Atlantic and Artic Monkeys, cigarette smoker, fuck weed i am better than that, only dark colors— aesthetic?"

"How did you know I don't like weed?"

"Made a face right as you walked into the room down there. Also anyone else would've asked to borrow this by now." You move the blunt in between your fingers slightly to signify what you're talking about.

"Does that not bother you?"

"I mean it doesn't bother you that I am smoking this right in your face, if you had said something I would've respected that as well. I don't really care what you think is the standard for intoxication."

Suguru just smiles. He doesn't really have a topic exactly to speak about. He is in fact not capable of doing much right now you've rid him of the taste of control and the only taste he wants to be acclimated with from this moment onwards is yours. And he doesn't care about this change. He knows your name, he knows the feel of your fishnets against your skin. He knows the material of your lethal skirt. He knows the vanilla and jasmine notes of your perfume. He knows the exact color of your eyes and how many eyelashes you have. And he thinks that is enough.

'You have got that face that just says

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"'

You might as well break his heart, do as you please with it. It burnt away from his grasp the moment you burnt the end of your joint using his lighter.

"Looks like they are more intoxicating than any drug in existence." Was he talking about the blunt? Because his eyes were aimed at your lips. And he was unaware of what he even let slip out of his own lips.

"Suck it and see. You never know." 

Not wasting a second with your unaware confirmation, Suguru moves forward. The hand on your fishnet clad thigh tightens, digging into the supple skin, weaving the fingers with the fishnet itself. The other hand, coming up to your lips, taking out the joint and throwing it out somewhere on the balcony, his fingers first touch your lips with light touches as if one touch is too heavy and you'll disperse into thin air. Slowly the fingers on your lips start pressing down on, well past both of your lips, making an audible gasp leave your mouth involuntarily. His fingers dig around the entrance to your mouth— rubbing your lips, then proceeds to press down on your tongue and graze over your teeth interchangeably. All while staring into your eyes, or staring at you, your eyes might as well be all white or shut close. Anything partially visible, is all a blur. 

And you allow him all of it. You allow him to twist his fingers up to rub his rough finger pads on the along the expanse of your hard palate and soft palate, borderline trying to choke you. You simply allow it. You allow those hands to explore parts of you even out of your own reach. One digging in your mouth, other trying to make itself at home on your thighs—practically memorizing every little stretch mark running along your skin. He wants to know it all, have it all and who are you to deny a starved man? 

When he's had enough of his little exploration, his own pairs of lips come crashing down on you. A sigh of almost a relief, leaves both your lungs. It is not quite relief, it is nice to finally have him kiss you—but his lips are the kind to leave your head dizzy, head swaying, forgetful of the whole process of breathing through your nose while he devours you, eyes flickering like unreliable headlights on the highway. You might as well be crashing out. 

His lips are caging in yours, tongue fencing with yours, hands roaming around you like he's gonna find the most prized treasure on the surface of your skin. Guiding your hips to force down on his lap and roll them into little grids of desperation. Who was exactly the desperate one here? 

At that point it all becomes too overwhelming to have your ability to breath taken away. So you push him off, with no ease. It was as if pushing him and pulling yourself back simply made him hold onto you harder. And when his lips did leave you alone, they go on to chase your lips to find his rightful place back on them.

You put one of your hands on his mouth to halt him, all that does is make you have goosebumps all over your body—having him look up to you with his desperate and hazed mono lids, the purple-brownish shade of his pupils burning you up. And him just heaving in your hand, short of breath, was of no help either. 

“I was talking about the joint.” you breath out with an exasperated sigh.

“Well I am not sorry.” He leaves a feather light kiss on your hand covering his mouth.

“What even are you?” Genuinely, how does a man with gorgeous hair and horrible vocabulary make you fold so easily? 

“‘I am a fool for you.” 

A/N: dividers by @/sister-lucifer & @/omi-resources, header from my own gallery. And I didn't proofread half of this ok IT IS HARD TO READ YOUR OWN WORK

SERIES MASTERLIST . <prev . next>

To check out more of my work— click here.

tag list: @moonlitwitchdaisy @madamechrissy @cuntphoric @fuwagojo @aishi-toru @theorphicangel @rriwyu

if you would like to be added to future possible tag lists, please drop a comment here or under the series masterlist and feel free to send asks! i got a few anon asks about this but unfortunately idk their @'s :(

[waitforyrlove]

tw. oral ( male receiving ), cursing and rafe getting high.

p link. ( not exactly but for reference )

the low hum of a playlist filled the dimly lit room, a haze of smoke curling lazily in the air as Rafe lounged back on the leather couch.

a half-burned joint dangled between his fingers, the ash threatening to fall, but he didn’t care. His head was tipped back and his sharp jawline was clenched as he let the high sink in, blurring the edges of reality.

“Rafe,” you said softly, standing a few feet away.

he didn’t even look at you at first, just took another slow drag of the joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled around his face.

when his eyes finally flicked to yours, they were hooded, hazy with the high but still sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

“What?” he drawled, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that made it impossible to tell whether he was mocking you or inviting you closer.

you shifted on your feet, watching the way his legs spread lazily, his body stretched out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night,” you said, crossing your arms, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe’s smirk widened as he sat up slightly, the joint dangling from his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp blue eyes locking on yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice low and rough.

you rolled your eyes, but something in the way he was looking at you made your skin heat up. It was always like this with Rafe—push and pull, frustration and want tangled together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“C’mere,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

your breath caught, but you didn’t argue. Slowly, you stepped toward him, his gaze never leaving yours. When you were close enough, Rafe reached out, grabbing your wrist and tugging you down onto your knees between his legs.

“See?” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. “I knew you’d listen.”

“You’re an asshole,” you muttered, but your voice was softer now, your resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze.

“Right,” as his smirk returning as he leaned back again, spreading his legs wider, the joint now forgotten on the edge of the ashtray.

his hands settled on your face, his thumb brushing your lips as his eyes darkened. “C’mon, baby,” he said, his voice low and coaxing. “Show me how sorry you are for doubting me.”

your stomach flipped at his words, your heart racing as you leaned forward, your hands resting on his thighs for balance. His cockiness should’ve infuriated you, but instead, it sent a thrill through you, your body responding to the power he exuded.

you dragged his pants down slowly, savoring the moment as your fingers brushed against the taut muscle of his thighs. Rafe shifted impatiently, his hips lifting off the couch to help you shove the fabric away, his movements eager and unrestrained.

the sight before you was sinful—his boxers stretched tight, barely containing the evidence of his need. The outline was unmistakable, and his cock twitched beneath the fabric as if desperate for release.

Rafe caught the way your eyes lingered, his lips curling into a cocky smirk. “Quit starin’, and do somethin’,” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his tone was thick with want, betraying his usual composure.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to reveal him fully, the fabric catching slightly before you slid it down his thighs. His cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, the sheer size and intensity of the moment making your breath catch in your throat.

Rafe let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back slightly, but his eyes stayed locked on you, half-lidded and dark with desire. “Don’t get shy now,” he teased, though his voice was rough.

you ignored his remark, your focus entirely on him. Slowly, deliberately, you wrapped your hand around him, feeling the weight and warmth in your palm. His body jerked slightly at the contact, a low groan slipping past his lips as his hips bucked instinctively into your touch.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hand reaching out to tangle in your hair. His fingers gripped lightly, but the unspoken dominance was clear, a reminder of how much control he usually held over everything.

you leaned in, your lips ghosting over the tip, your breath hot against his skin. His thighs tensed under your hands, his grip in your hair tightening as he struggled to keep himself from pushing you further.

“Stop teasing,” he rasped, his voice raw and demanding.

“I thought you liked when I took my time,” you said, your tone soft but teasing, your hand stroking him slowly, just enough to make his jaw clench.

“Not tonight,” Rafe growled, his voice thick with frustration and need.

the desperation in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you finally gave in, leaning forward to take him into your mouth. The first contact was electric, his body tensing as a deep groan rumbled from his chest.

you moved slowly at first, your tongue swirling against his tip, exploring every inch of him with deliberate care. His breaths grew heavier, his chest rising and falling as his hands guided your movements, his grip firm but never too rough.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice almost a whisper. “You’re too fuckin’ good at this.”

the praise sent heat pooling low in your stomach, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking his thick cock deeper.

his reaction was immediate—a low curse followed by his hips jerking up, pushing himself further into your mouth.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice strained but filled with that signature arrogance. “takin’ me so fuuckin’ well.”

you glanced up at him, your gaze locking on his as you continued, the intensity in his eyes making your pulse race.

Rafe’s hand tightened in your hair as he leaned forward slightly, his lips parted, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Don’t stop,” he muttered, his voice almost desperate. “I swear, if you dare to fuckin’ stop—”

you didn’t. Instead, you quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, gagging sounds escaping you as he was too much to fit inside your mouth, but you’d still do anything, anything to pleasure him, drawing more ragged sounds from him with every movement. His control was slipping—his composure shattered as you pushed him closer to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice broke off into a groan, his body tensing as his grip on you tightened.

he tipped his head back, his breath hitching as he finally let go, his release hitting you as he moaned your name like it was the only thing he could remember.

you pulled back slightly, catching your breath as you looked up at him. His chest was heaving, his head tipped back against the couch, and his usual cocky smirk slowly returned as he looked down at you.

“We ain’t done here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice still rough and uneven.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

taglist: @secretlocket @pearlzier @et6rnalsun @mattscoquette @carvedtits @sirenedeslily @mattslolita @flouvela @bella-loveschris @lovingregulusblack @sarosfilms @annsx03 @eliana-4200 @wakeupitschrizz @emely9274 @sturniolossss @sturnslutz @sturnlsstuff @sweetcowboycollection @sturnioloangell @xoxoshanelle-blog @marrykisskilled @wastelandzella

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— guess who’s back..

[estcaligo]

Sebek's Opinions on Popular Partner Nicknames or Why He Refuses to Call You That + What Nicknames He Would Use

*Sebek x reader *Romantic *A few slightly suggestive parts

After you and Sebek started dating, Lilia mentioned that he sent Sebek a link to a list of modern nicknames for couples. Later, you ask Sebek what he thinks of them.

What he thinks of popular nicknames

[Princess] "While I love you dearly and have sworn to serve and protect you, you are neither of noble blood nor a member of any royal family! Calling you this would only lead to unnecessary confusion!"

[Kitten] "You are a human, not an animal! Not even a beastman. Why would I call you such a thing?"

[Baby] "You are not an infant. Is this your childish attitude slipping through again? Get yourself together, human!"

[Boo] "…Pardon? Are you attempting to frighten me?"

[Sugar] "Sugar is a type of food. Are you suggesting I devour you? What? You… you do? W-Wait—"

[Honey] "You're still talking about food?! Grr… your incessant rambling has stirred my appetite! This is your fault, human! Now you're coming with me. We're going out to eat - NOW!"

[Angel] "I've read about these supernatural beings in overseas religions, but you possess no features that resemble them. You are a magicless human! Enough with this nonsense!"

[Doll] "You are a human being- a weak human, I might remind you! Dolls are lifeless and purposeless objects… If anything, you're far from lifeless. Quite the contrary - it's too lively whenever you're around!"

[Pookie] "You suggest I call you the same name my sister used for her stuffed toys? Have you no self-respect?!"

What he would call you

Sebek isn't the kind of guy to use overly sentimental terms, but if he wants to express his love and admiration, he'd choose something straightforward yet heartfelt. He loves you a lot, after all.

[My Love] Simple and elegant. Timeless classics.

[Darling] Would use in private moments, probably in an unusually quiet voice. But I think it'll also work for a daily life.

[My Dearest Heart] Would say this when overflowed with emotions. Hugging you tight after a long period of not seeing each other, or kissing goodbye.

[Beloved] This carries a note of respect, so he wouldn't hesitate to use this in public or when talking about you (later, he still needs to get used to it). Overall, calls you "beloved one" in daily life.

[Sweet Companion] He values loyalty and appreciates the fact that you've chosen to walk beside him in life, despite the challenges you'll face. He is proud to call you that, with both affection and appreciation.

[My Fair One] Read this in one of his many books and thought it suits you perfectly - to admire your grace, beauty, and strength. Unintentionally says it when he sees you in some cute outfits. Or when you're triumphing after some achievement - he (secretly) thinks you look most radiant in those moments.

[My Heart's Desire] Alongside his desire to serve Waka-sama, of course. But he means it. You're now one of his objects of admiration and dreams. He uses this when he misses you or is a little desperate for intimacy (hug him or kiss him asap!!).

[Fire of My Loins] When his passion is stirred, this one might slip out. Uses it in most intimate moments.

[ (My) Human ] Forever and always. A nostalgic reference to where it all began - when you were just his "human" in the most innocent of ways.

[stillarobyn]

I understand the intention behind this post and I don't disagree with it. I don't.

If you're writing a period piece or something with a certain dark tone, then yes, you absolutely want to keep to that, give your gruff sailor a mumbled line about not being like most other men, or your scattered workaholic scientist can say she never felt like she was missing out on anything by not having a partner while they save the world.

But do not limit the reach of fanfiction by expecting it to be held to the same standards.

Because we need both. Because the target audience for a lot of works that employ this are young, they're disconnected from community, and they're lost. They think they're broken or they don't fit or they are made wrong.

I, a millennial, didn't know about bisexuality until I read about it in fanfic somewhere around 2003 (I was 13). I didn't know any out gay or queer people growing up. It was still scandalous on tv, and my parents didn't have any problem with it, they just didn't talk about it. I can't imagine how isolating it would have felt if my parents prevented me from watching anything with gay characters or spoke negatively about them.

My first discovery of nonbinary identity was in a bandom fic I read in 2010 (I was 20, for those playing the home game). It was maybe two years after that that I began to talk with nonbinary/genderqueer/genderfluid people online. I knew a couple of binary trans people in college, and one in high school, but this was my first time meeting people who weren't a binary gender. In 2012! It took another two years for me, at this point a full-ass adult, to start describing myself that way.

All of this oversharing to say...my understanding of queer identity was not hand-held by anyone in my life, but boy I learned to accept these foreign ideas I saw in myself because I had a safe fictional environment to explore these concepts and terms.

I think it was 2014-2016 when fanfic spaces had a boom of "everyone is trans" AUs and headcanons, and they were often rose-tinted and a bit twee, but that's the point of them. I saw identities I had to look up, and when I asked in follow-up "okay, but what does a person who feels like that look/act like?" it was all crickets, except in fiction, and specifically fanfic.

"But the world is different now, not knowing is no excuse" NOPE. not with anti-lgbtqia legislation passing in the US, or in other hostile countries around the world (I'm from the US, my argument is US-centric based on my experience and knowledge, but by no means exclusionary of people in other countries), or even family situations or rural upbringing or any other circumstance that isolated young queer folk from other queer folk.

A popular live-service video game introduced a nonbinary character and I saw twitch chats full of people who were just confused and uneducated. Ignoring those who were hostile was easy, but the uninformed, especially the non-English-speakers and people who didn't come from Western cultures, were largely open to learning something they never had framework for. Made all the more frustrating in a game environment where the characters didn't make a habit of having these discussions on screen, but that's a different rant.

I don't know if OP intended this in reference to original media, or toward fic, but I saw a lot of established characters in the reblogs so I just want to address that. I'm a characterization first fic reader, so I get it. "Everyone is trans" fics aren't for me, but there's a space needed for them if someone needs to see Captain Kirk and Spock debating the application of terminology of human gender and sexuality in interplanetary cultural settings...now actually I kind of want that fic so I played myself.

Dragon Age Veilguard came under attack for daring to openly and forwardly use the term "nonbinary" in its fantasy world, as though something about the word is inherently incompatible with the fantasy genre? But the game was pretty clear in its goal to create a safe gaming space for marginalized folks when so often their experiences are erased, ignored, tokenized, or stereotyped. The narrative, therefore, had to be hostile to the unaccepting, educational for the ignorant, and validating to the vulnerable. Getting to play in a world where people are referred to as nonbinary (just like me) and where people use they/them pronouns (just like me) and where no one ridicules or attacks them specifically for this? It felt comfortable and safe and the world was ending in the game, but I felt a personal empowerment in my immersion.

More complex and nuanced discussions by characters about their queer identity add to the picture. It shouldn't be in every work because every author has their own angle and their own philosophy about it, but they have just as much a right to a seat at the table. You can have your fics where Tony Stark's sexuality is a smirk and a wink, and you can have your fics where he explains that he used to call himself bisexual but the world is bigger and weirder so he considers himself omnisexual now. And if you don't like that, scroll past it. The author didn't write it for you, but someone else needs to hear that.

Maybe this is just a personal vent that escaped containment, but I feel the need to remind some folks that some people need the LGBT center brochure version because they didn't get one in the mail. It's a tough time for everyone in this community, no need to make it tougher.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hii 👋 i really love your works i would eat it if i can, especially freelance inventor, will you ever countinue writing it? (Sorry if it sound rude, English is not my first language)

"So what's the deal with them?" Steph dares to ask when Bruce and Mr. Fenton finish passing out the souvenirs the inventor brought back. She wasn't sure why she was included in the gift giving, as she never even met the man before, but she now had a bowl from Irland tucked in her purse.

She's heard about Mr. Fenton through Tim and a bit from Jason. Both boys practically worshiped the ground the man stepped on. She understood that, on some level, they owed him their lives.

Jason, after being rescued from the Joker and Tim after Mr.Fenton found him on the rooftops all those years ago. She won't lie. How they spoke about Mr.Fenton painted a completely different image in her mind.

She expected someone regal, with a cold, calculating glance, who could figure out what she was expecting with a mere glance. Someone that she wouldn't be surprised if he was found tucked away in a pure white lab, working with glowing chemicals. She knows that they never claim Mr.Fenton was terrifying, but she had personally witnessed Dick threaten to tell Bruce to the man.

If he could make Batman cower by his mere mention, Steph had been expecting someone closer to what an evil version of Alfred would be.

Instead, she got a man in faded jeans, beat-up boots, and gentleness that hurt her teeth with how sweetly he smiled. If Bruce was a Bat, then Mr.Fenton could be a flower.

Gentle. Pretty. Unassuming.

Steph had logically known Mr. Fenton was a civilian. But she thought that he would be a scary one, at the least. Maybe someone in the justice system, a personal fighter like a boxer or hell, someone good with firearms.

"Hmm?" Damian glances up from his painting. Steph noticed that he has been doing a lot lately. Leaving his room to paint around the manor. She hasn't known the boy for long.

Steph had only recently forgiven Bruce for the whole Robin stunt he pulled (making her think she was his partner only to be used as bait for Tim, burned), and she wasn't around when Bruce's bio kid was found. Based on the stories Tim, Jason, and Dick shared, though, she thought he was a little more bloodthirsty.

He is more prone to violence after his upbringing, but he seemed to be shimmering down the last few weeks. Damian had apparently been given a talking to by Mr.Fenton, who took him out of the manor into the city for some "undercover training."

Steph hadn't been in Gotham then. She was busy helping a few teen titans with a mission that had her traveling to the other side of the world. But apparently, whatever harsh training Mr.Fenton had forced Damian to undergo had brought back peace to Wayne Manor.

Or as close as it could be.

He still referred to himself as the actual blood son.

"Bruce and Mr. Fenton," she repeated, nodding to where the pair could be seen conversing in the hallway. However, it looked more like Mr.Fenton was the only one talking. Bruce was too busy staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "They seem really close, but in a weird way."

Damain's intense green eyes snap at her. She raises a brow, unwilling to let the brat see he made her flinch. "Do you have a problem with Father getting close to another man?"

It takes her a few seconds to understand why he sounds so guarded before she gasps. "It's not the gay thing! I don't care if their gay!"

"I should hope not. You come into our home and eat our food, Brown." The boy clicks his tongue distastefully. Steph has never seen someone look down their nose at someone two heads taller than them, but Damian proved it could happen. "I would not allow for homophobia to enter these halls. It is not within the rules of social justice."

"Social justice?" She repeats a little surprise that Damian was speaking to her without an insult so far. The only time the brat had bothered to talk to anyone besides Bruce had been to insult them. At least in the two months, she had seen him wander after her Teen Titians mission.

"Danny has pointed out that Father's civilian reputation is tied heavily with social justice. It would not due for his heir to cause trouble in his affairs." Damian places his paintbrush back on his canvas, sneaking glances at the window.

Curious, Steph creeps closer to take a peak and finds herself memorized by the water painting he is working on. It's Bruce and Mr.Fenton. In the painting, Bruce is staring lovingly at Mr.Fenton, who seems to be in the middle of laughing. Though neither have arms- Damian is working on those- it doesn't detract from their loving expressions.

"If it is not due to their gender, what do you find weird about Father and Danny?"

Steph considers the question before slowly getting closer, wanting to oversee the young boy splash some white into Mr.Fenton's eyes, making them appear glowing. "It's just.....weird how Bruce likes someone so normal. No training. No big fancy money. No ties to the capes. Just a man who's really good at science."

Damain shoots her a complicated glance over his shoulders before he slowly replies. "Yes. An average Joe, as you Americans would say. That is Danny."

"Right? Isn't it weird? And besides the fact Bruce is so obvious with his crush, Mr. Feton has no idea. But he can pull apart a toaster in ten minutes to curl Babs hair for her dance? Don't you think it's odd?"

Damian hums. "A true master does not need to show who they are until the blade is at their opponent's neck. But I will admit that Danny's appearance can be rather deceiving."

"Damian.....do you know something?"

The boy's face turned more complicated before returning his attention to his painting. He taps his paintbrush against his palate before he mutters. "I knew only Danny did not treat me like a rabid animal. He took me to the zoo. I haven't been outside the manor since his last visit and grew wary of these walls."

His words hit Steph like a brick. Her first instinct is to explain why it was essential to keep him here, but then she thinks more about it, and her teeth slam shut.

Crude, has she been acting like Bruce? Had she really allowed him to convince her that a child should be locked up like it was nothing? Then again, Damian isn't a prisoner here.

Even if he was, she helped break him out.

"Say, kid, you want to come with Tim and me to the mall this afternoon? I think they have an art store."

Damian twists around to stare in utter shock. For all his training, he really is just a kid because Steph can see the genuine yearning in his eyes as he tries to casually cover up his reaction with a regal shoulder shrug. "I suppose I will have time for more undercover training."

Strange, Steph thinks while texting Tim about Damian joining them. Mr. Fenton hasn't even spoken to me that long, and he already changed how I viewed Damian. Is this why Bruce is into a civilian?

[emberglowfox]

“Probably ought to bring you up to speed on something right now. In order to escape, we're going to have to go through HER chamber."

Redraw of an original from September of 2017– someone liked it and made me think about it for the first time in a while. My Portal dragon au was a fun time. I miss just being mindlessly self-indulgent like that, haha.

This is a bit of a weird redraw. Usually when I do redraws, I try to match the style more, so the technical improvement is clearer. But with this one, I was thinking more about, like… if I had the skill then that I do now, what would I have made?

Growing up, I was really envious of looser styles that could rely more on color and light than lines. Lineart and cell shading is still my bread and butter, clearly, and I’ve always enjoyed it. But when I was younger, it sometimes felt like a cage. The old drawing, with its blurry but strong colored lighting, is an obvious attempt to get away from that.

So, I paid less attention to the specifics of the original composition and tried more to capture atmosphere. I love the lighting and aesthetic of Portal 2, it’s still incredibly influential on me, so I wanted to see how much closer I could get now. I’m not all the way there— especially sketching this at 2am with no references— and there’s a lot of things I still want to improve. But I’d like to think past me would have been really, really excited about what I can do now.

[tusk-rumours]

walking funny ‧͙⁺* — sam winchester x reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

word count: 4.1k

summary: sam helps you when you're a little incapacitated after last night.

warnings: nsfw, 18+!! a shortish bit of smut (p in v, overstimulation, bondage, tears), mentions of oral (fem! receiving). the whole thing is a mention of sex basically. but mainly aftercare & fluff.

idk what to label this bc it is gn but there's a very brief bit of the reader being referred to as a lady/woman. so it's just x reader

a/n: i hope this is accurate because. can't say i've had this happen to me. ahaha. yeah. enjoy! this was also not meant to be this long lmao

acknowledgement to my saint @mxilkyways for the assistance. love u sexy, thanks for discussing sex positions with me lmao

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

It was safe to say that Sam had fucked you silly last night. Over, and over, and over again. He's had this effect on you numerous times now, after you get rough with each other for hours. Or when only he'd get rough and dominate you, tying you up and pushing you through the mattress like he did last night. But the feeling of embarrassment of being incapacitated from how hard Sam fucked you never eased.

You lay on your back, waking up way earlier than you intended. 7:32AM. Of course. You turn your head to look at Sam right next to you. He's sleeping peacefully, his face completely relaxed, his hair a little messy against his forehead and the pillow. You'd lift your hands and fix it up if you didn't want to risk waking him. He's such a light sleeper. He's on his side and pressed so close to you that his warm breath ruffles your hair a little, and you wonder how you're gonna successfully untangle yourself from his heavy limbs that are slung over you so firmly.

You manage the task with only a couple hums and unconscious movements from Sam, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, holding back a hiss at the pain. You stood up on shaky legs, almost doubling over if not for the wall right by the bed.

God. He really did a number on you.

It started to hit you full force as you stood, putting your weight on your jelly legs. Your legs and back ached, continuous dull pains throbbing underneath your skin. The worst of it was the uncomfortable pain between your legs, the pain there spiking with every time you agitated the area with a hobble towards the bathroom. You felt borderline bruised. Hell, you were.

You let out a sigh of relief once you make it to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and sinking to the floor, back against the door. You closed your eyes for a moment, before finally getting a good look at yourself.

Sam left harsh red marks from where he gripped you, from the plush of your thighs to your wrists. What he did to you last night was painted all over you, the meaning behind his art so clear it took no intellect to decipher it.

A crowd of hickeys covered your ribs, the softness of your stomach, down to the bones of your hips. Sam had an obsession with taking his time paying attention to every inch of your skin from your forehead downwards when he ate you out, drawing out the process as long as possible.

He mottled the soft and sensitive skin of your inner thighs with dark hickeys too, each mark a reminder of how you writhed and whined more with each nip and suck, of how the arousal you felt that was so close to his mouth getting more unbearable until he did it. Pressing his sweet lips and tongue against you so perfectly in all the ways he knew had you squirming, both of you just so unbelievably wet with your arousal.

You brush your fingertips over them now, your breath hitching a little at the sight. When you fumble for the hand mirror on the counter by the sink you're not prepared for the state of your chest and neck. They're so dark, and there's so many, and there's no fucking way you can cover these up.

"Fuck.." You whisper, wincing as you prod at the marks with your hand.

You didn't even want to attempt any whisk or concealer remedies, because nothing could quick-fix this kind of damage. You huffed, tipping your head back on the door. You would've gotten up if your legs felt capable, but of course, they didn't. So you sat, the bathroom air cold against your bare body. As much as you would've loved it, you knew you couldn't just flop onto the bathroom tile, and wait for Sam to try and open the door, only to be stopped by your body sprawled out like a doorstop.

It takes you an honestly embarrassingly long time to stand. You've gotten back up on your feet quicker on a hunt than this. You decide to blame it on the sleepiness, because yeah, that's exactly what it is.

When you step back into the bedroom, you let out a little disbelieving huff, pausing in the doorway for a moment. Sam hasn't moved.

Jesus, how the hell is he sleeping so well?

He always gets the best sleep after sex, no matter what kind it is. But you? You love when it's rough, truly. But you never get much sleep afterwards. At least when he fucks you gentle you're in for the best sleep of your life after.

Grumbling under your breath, you hobble to the dresser, pains shooting through you. You had a long day ahead of you, you knew that. You manage to dress yourself in one of Sam's flannels and some loose shorts, only almost tripping over once. You consider getting back in bed with Sam, who's still fast asleep (the lucky bastard), with his hands clutching your pillow. But the uncomfortable grumble of your stomach says otherwise. You know you'll start feeling sick soon if you don't eat.

Praying no one else is up yet, you creep out of the bedroom, shutting the door silently on your sleeping Sam. You knew you wouldn't be able to get by without at least someone noticing your discomfort, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. You were cringing at just the thought of Dean's reaction to what his brother did to you. You really didn't need him seeing that. So far the coast was clear as you moved through the halls. Even alone, it felt ridiculous to hobble. So you tried walking normally.

You just hoped your funny normal walk didn’t look as stupid as it felt.

You walked (or limped) into the kitchen, trying your hardest to walk normally, which probably made you look even more ridiculous. No one was here, thank god.

You fixed yourself a bowl of cereal, waddling like an idiot to the table, sitting down gingerly, a hiss slipping between your teeth as you do so. You focus on your breakfast, grimacing a little.

Why the hell did you make this? You've been getting so sick of cereal recently. The flakes are already soggy now as you move them around the bowl with the spoon. You groan, grimacing more once you take a spoonful. Eventually you just abandon it, half-eaten, sliding it away from you.

This wooden chair is doing absolutely no favours for your aching body, the splats on the backrest digging into your spine, the seat offering no support to your sore ass. You shift your legs uncomfortably, hissing a little at the intolerable pain between them, before you practically jump into the air in your seat when you suddenly see Sams massive body in your peripheral.

He stands in the doorway, his boxers he must've just slipped on sitting on his hips, his hair messy, smiling at your jump, and fuck, he always looks so good like this.

"There you are. You weren't in bed this morning." He says, far too cheerfully for your liking as you watch him come over, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then squishing it up to his.

"Cereal. Why'd you make that? You've been complaining about the sogginess for like a week now." He says softly, his eyes on the bowl sitting in the middle of the table.

You don't even have an answer to that, just pouting a little.

"I'll make you an actually decent breakfast in a bit, hm? How's that sound?"

"Good" You murmur, a little smile on your lips now.

After a moment of his comfortable embrace, he pulls away, taking you in. He can see the marks on your skin you couldn't hide, the slouchiness in your posture and the tiredness in your eyes.

In this moment, you hated him. You looked a mess. You were bruised and hobbling, set to be uncomfortable for the next couple days. But Sam, he looked fine. Not a single hickey or red mark on his skin. He could do a whole dance routine for you with how able his body is if he wasn't so terrible at it.

And worst of all, he liked it. That smirk of his told you that. And you wanted to slap it right off his pretty face.

But you knew you'd just look like an idiot trying to fight him in your state. So, you go for the next best thing. His comfort. You stand on shaky legs, using the arms of the chair to help you, then immediately turn into his chest. A small coo escapes Sam's lips as one of his hands moves to your hair, scratching your head slowly.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asks gently. He knows full well what's wrong with you. He knows, but you're still embarrassed to say it. You're always embarrassed to say it.

"I'm just a little— sore, from last night.." You mumble, dipping your head down, your eyes now very interested in the patterns of the tile floor.

"Oh, baby.." He responds, moving closer, his massive hands coming up to rest on your shoulders for a moment, before one catches your chin, lifting your head.

"Honey, why didn't you say? I always wanna know when I've hurt my baby." He says gently, his eyes as soft as his voice.

"It's a little embarrassing waddling around like a damn penguin because you fucked me good. And a little pathetic."

"Honey," He cracks a smile now with a soft chuckle, shaking his head fondly.

“You don’t—… look like a penguin.” He says, trying his hardest to suppress the quirks at the corners of his lips, however, the mirth in his eyes gives away his amusement anyway.

“Well I look like an old woman then.”

“Baby, you don’t—" He shuts up and purses his lips when he sees your face, stubborn as ever.

"Fine. You're an old lady penguin. Is there anything I can do for this geriatric penguin to ease the pain? You know I'm all for animal welfare."

You scoff, looking at his amused grin in disbelief, the lines in your forehead deep with your scowl.

"You're ridiculous."

"You're the one claiming to be a penguin. Now, tell me. What can I do?" He says, dipping his head a little to look into your eyes as he steps closer, taking your hand gently in his.

You soften, your face relaxing as you lean into him a bit. You think for a moment as you study your intertwined hands, rolling your wrists around a little.

You've always loved his massages.

"A massage? And not having to move would be nice."

He smiles, squeezing your hand gently.

"You got it."

You turn around, heading for your bedroom, before realising you're about to show Sam how stupidly you've been walking, no matter how much you try to hide it.

Like he's read your mind, you hear his laughter from behind you. Then he's scooping you up into his arms bridal style, holding you to his chest firmly. Despite the embarrassment of him having to carry you and the grumble that leaves your lips, you settle snugly into him, feeling his smile on your forehead.

Instead of your bedroom, he kicks open the bathroom door just a little down the hall from it, making sure you don't hit the wall or the door as he steps in. He kicks the door shut, surveying for a place to put you down, before he just sets you back on your feet.

His hands grab the hem of your shirt, his brows raised in question. Once you nod he pulls it off you, his eyes widening.

"Fuck." He says simply, his eyes glued to the barrage of hickeys and marks all over you.

"Yeah." You reply knowingly, watching his expression.

"Shit baby, I know I was rough as hell but jesus, this is worse than I thought it'd be." He sounds genuinely apologetic as his fingertips brush along your skin.

"Yeah. I don't know if you fucked me or beat me up last night." You tease, starting to get a bit of your confidence in the situation back. This happens every time. You cant quite wrap your head around why you always get so shy in the beginning.

He laughs, his cheeks burning a bit, his thumbs rubbing your waist, along the red marks there.

"I think I know exactly what I did to you. And it definitely wasn't beating you up, baby." His mouth harbors a smirk, but his voice is as soft as ever. His fingertips are gentle as they brush against your hips, like a reminder that those hands of his would never lay harm on you, no matter how much they have done.

Because you didn't bother with a bra that morning, his hands slide down from your waist to your hips where the band of your shorts are, hooking his thumbs in and pulling them down gently. You step out of them once they're at your ankles, and when you look up at Sam you almost bust out laughing at his expression.

His eyes are close to bulging out of his head as they focus on your thighs, his mouth open dumbly. Yeah, he's marked you up plenty of times before, but its not often it's this much.

"Sam?" A blink.

"Sam!" You try again, a little firmer.

This time he blinks away his stare, moving to your face again.

"I— i'm sorry baby, I just— god"

"You did spend a lot of time down there."

That gets him smirking.

"I did." He rests a hand on your hip again, watching his thumb as he thinks.

"God, you must be so sore," He breathes, his brows furrowed.

You say nothing in response, because you can't really tell him 'no, not really' because in all honesty, you're really fucking sore. And you're not about to lie to him.

You're both quiet for a moment before he pulls away a little sullenly. He turns the tap for the bath on, waiting for it to get warm then puts the plug in. You watch his back, a frown pulling at your lips. You don't want him to be upset about last night and feel guilty for how it went. You don't regret a thing, and you don't want him to either.

"Sam," You murmur, coming up close behind him, rising on your toes, and resting your chin on his shoulder. He clears his throat a little, turning his head to face you slightly.

"Stop thinking," Is all you murmur, kissing his cheek softly. He sighs at the soft touch of your lips. "And don't you dare feel guilty. You've got a serious talent with your mouth, baby." You tease, trying to get him to smile. He does, a blush creeping up on his cheeks, making your smile wider.

"Okay." He whispers, turning to face you.

"I'll put that lavender stuff you like in there, yeah?" He asks, his thumbs brushing your waist. He's got that puppy dog look on his face as he dips his head to look at you better, and the way he's so soft has you responding with just a tiny nod.

You watch while he puts in all your favourite oils and soaps, the room smelling sweet and lovely, suds foaming up the water. He even lights a few of the candles you put beside the tub when you guys settled in, wanting to make this as relaxing for you as possible. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him, doing all this for you. It's all so goddamn sweet.

As the tub fills, you turn off the main light, casting the room in a warm glow from the candles. Even just the dimness of the room has you more relaxed already.

In small steps that don't agitate your body, you walk back over to where Sam's bent over the bath, testing the water. He'll put the temperature scorching hot just how you like it, even if he has to bite his lip to contain hisses. He'd prefer it warm, not like he's submerging himself in a vat of hot oil. But, if it's how you like it, then that's how it'll be.

He turns back to face you, hooking his thumbs into your panties with raised eyebrows. You nod, and he pulls them down, letting you hold onto his shoulder as you step out of them. The loss of the last piece of fabric reveals a few more love bites, completing the path they all led to your core.

"Are you coming in with me?" You murmur, your chin dipped low as you watch him move your clothes to the hamper.

He turns his head to you briefly with a quick smile. "'course," He's already hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers.

He hesitates before pulling them down, his gaze softer when he looks at you again. "Do you want me to?" He's worried he's gotten ahead of himself.

"Of course I do," You reply earnestly. It's so Sam to ask that when you've been together for years.

He smiles, the tension in his body relaxing as his hands move back to his boxers. Although you're very familiar with watching him strip, the softness in your demeanour doesn't change. In other words, you were all fucked out. For a good while.

He hesitates again, his boxers still on, God, was he trying to tease you? It's not like you were needy or anything, no, but you always want to see him.

"Alright, sweetheart, c'mere. Let's get you in." With one hand encompassing yours and the other steady on your waist, he keeps you balanced as you step in.

"Careful, baby," He murmurs as he helps you lower down into the hot water, internally scared out of his mind that you're gonna slip. Only once you're entirely settled does he finally pull off his boxers, stepping into the bath behind you. He settles his legs out so you're sitting between them, and lets out a sigh when he tugs you to his chest.

The water settles, reducing to soft noises as his fingers gently move up and down your forearm. He lets his eyes fall shut as he murmurs gently, his chin moving against your shoulder.

"You should've just stayed in bed, baby. Or if you wanted to get up you should've woken me."

You sigh. You knew something along these lines was coming.

"You barely sleep enough as it is. If I can get you to get at least five minutes more I will."

"Still. You know i'm here to help you. Whenever."

Silence falls between you, and you feel the tension in your muscles start to ease as you melt back against Sam's chest.

“Feel nice, baby? Water's good?"

You respond with a little hum, whispering; "Water's perfect,” with a teasing curl to your lips, digging at him just a little for his temperature preference.

He smiles back with an amused huff, burying his face into your shoulder blade as he starts pressing kisses to it, along each bruise, bite mark and hickey. He goes all the way up your neck, behind your ear. Your breathy sigh and the fluttering of your eyelashes don't go unnoticed by him.

He turns you gently in his arms so he has better access to your chest, pressing more gentle kisses to each mark on your neck and chest, his fingers tracing little hearts on the bruises he can't reach with his lips, like the ones on your stomach and hips.

His hands slide down to your thighs, rubbing along them, to the underside, and you can't help but think about the way that he—

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

—hooks his hands underneath your knees, hoisting your legs up so your calves rest on either one of his shoulders. You're both so hot, your bodies slick with sweat from so much exertion, and you were already tired enough from riding him for so long, but neither of you are done yet. He decided to grant you some mercy once you were slowing down, bouncing you himself 'till you both came, then letting you onto your back again.

His presence is heavy and lustful over you, his fingers pushing back the hair that sticks to your forehead as his hand dips down to angle his hardened cock. Both of you and the sheets are a mess of each other, your thighs and outside of your pussy slick from his saliva and when he came there.

"Sammy, I don't—" You whine, your hands squirming against the belt where they're tied in against the bedpost, wanting to grasp onto any part of him you can reach.

"Shh, c'mon, baby, I know. Just one more, yeah? I know you've got it." He coos, coaxing you over with a little tease of his tip to your clit, triggering your eyes to roll back.

"Sammy, I wanna— hold you, please," You beg, desperate whines leaving your lips.

"Oh, baby," He says condescendingly, a devilish smirk playing on his reddened lips.

"I think your hands are just fine there. Look good wrapped around my belt, yeah? Or would you prefer it between your teeth?"

His thumb comes up to your bottom lip as he speaks, pushing against your parted lips teasingly. He swipes a bit of spit there down your chin, and with a grin, he pushes his cock into your already abused hole, yet still giving you that delicious stretch nonetheless.

He wastes no time in setting a bruising pace, a hand sliding up your arm and gripping the skin underneath the belt harshly as he thrusts in and out of you.

Tears begin to prick at your eyes from how relentless he's being, tucking your head to the side into your arm as the hot tears slide down your burning red cheeks. You sob, and Sam moves his other hand that dug into your knee to grip the side of your head.

"Aw, honey, can't take my cock anymore huh? Maybe I just gotta lower your dose," He teases. He knows if he was seriously hurting you or making you uncomfortable you'd tell him to stop, you both communicate and trust each other enough to know that.

His teasing words only make you moan even more, shaking your head rapidly.

"No, no! Sammy please—"

"My baby's so desperate, huh? I'll give you more, baby, c'mon,"

And then he's sliding his arm under your hips, lifting them at an angle and pounding into you deeper and so hard you cry harder, a mess of tears and sobs until you're shaking, your pussy fluttering hard as you feel him cu—

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"So, what're we thinking for breakfast? Chocolate chip pancakes?" You're quickly snapped out of your daze, your eyes blinking wider, uncrossing your legs that somehow moved during your daydream.

It takes you a minute to think about what he said. Chocolate chip pancakes. Right. He knows you love those. Especially the way he makes them. He puts so many choc chips in there, there's more chocolate than pancake.

"Did those special psychic powers of yours include reading minds?"

He laughs, his palm rubbing up and down your arm.

"No, I don't even have those anymore, silly. I just know how to read you, baby." He smiles, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

"I know," You smile, relishing in his touch.

He then sets on the task of scrubbing you down, rubbing into your muscles with your favourite soaps. His big hands are perfect, digging into all the right spots. But eventually, after sitting against each other in the tub for so long, the water begins to grow cold, and goosebumps begin to rise upon your flesh. Of course, Sam feels it too, and shifts slightly behind you.

"Alright, we should get out," He rubs up and down your arms a few more times as you nod.

He gets out of the bath first, standing up behind you. He stifles a laugh when the water drips off his body and falls onto yours, watching your shoulders hunch and a grumbly noise leave your lips.

"Sorry, baby" He smirks through his apology, his fingers lightly brushing your head as he steps out onto the bath mat.

He turns around, extending his hands to help you. Your limbs definitely aren't as stiff, but they're still wobbly when you move them after sitting for so long. You rise on shaky legs, putting your weight into Sam's hands as he leans close, making sure you don't fall.

Once you get your bearings, standing in the tub, he looks at you with a little smirk, and you know he's gonna say something stupid.

"Is it awful to tell you that you look like a newborn deer?"

You scowl.

"I'm never letting you fuck me again."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

taglist <3: @lanadelreyscokewhor3 ⋆ @mxilkyways

[magnificent-buckless-butt]

Wait. Seriously, hold on. This post is hunting me right now because I think I can finally put my fingers on why USA Christianity is weirding me out since the beginning.

As an European, it baffles me how much of the population identify as Christians while acting and saying things like they've never read the Bible in the first place. Except they did, in some extant, because they're the one that quote it so often (we don't do that here, we might refer to a specific part but don't really quote the Bible?). So why, why do they act as if they never read love your neighbor, give the other cheek, Father forgive them etc.?

Because they want to be warriors actually. They want a wrathful God. And there is God's anger in the Bible, there is the wrath of God that must appealed and you must always feel guilty and ask for forgiveness*. But comes Jesus and what he says is basically 'no more'. No more wrath, no more anger, no more warriors. But humans love raging war.

And we fucking did throughout the whole history of Christians actually. You start by saying you're a warrior of Christ, that your virtue is your sword, your faith is your shield and so one. It's nice: you're being a good believer AND you get to have this badass, very virilis imagery of the warrior. But! If you're lucky enough, you'll even have a real war against some "pagans" (really, you don't have to worry about the specifics) and then! Ouh boy, you get to be a real warrior. Everything is perfect.

Which brings us to: why are these people not changing faith/God? Pick another, more angry God/deity or simply go with a "personal faith away from human's restricting religion". Answer: because it's so fucking hard. I'm studying theology so hard and sometimes it happens that I find Catholicism restricting, too verbose or too specific. Except I can't just ditch "my" religion. (To be fair, I also really don't want to because I decided to fight from the heart of the Church but that's another subject. Oh, and notice how I used fight --even I can't refrain from the manly warrior)

Okay, so what do we do? Well I say, we piss them off. And we do so by celebrating the fucking amazingness that is God made human just to fucking die. Jesus never won by any human standards. He was the ultimate loser. And ain't that absolutely beautiful? And humbling? How can you hate the Mexican who takes your job if God tell you to wash his feet as if you're below him? How can you decide who deserves right if you God tell you that you should strip yourself for a random stranger? I say we fight back by being unapologetically happy that God died for us. Not guilty. Happy. It's so, so beautiful that They love us so much and only want us to replicate a fraction of Their love to everyone we encounter. That we have to make ourselves a bit uncomfortable so a stranger can be a whole lot comfortable. That we have to renounce privileges and luxury so all human beings can have the exact same things and opportunities. That it is shameful to try to be better than anyone else. That it is shameful to try to be successful on our own because we're supposed to uplift everyone else before ourselves. That it is shameful not to be empathetic, vulnerable, open about our weaknesses etc.

So anyway, thanks OP because now I'm even more filled with spite that will fuels my love so I can spite their hatred.

*okay side note since you're still here: this is why in the first centuries, there was a heretic branch of Christianity very adamant on separating the Old testament God to the new gospel God.