#threading taps sets

[dictools254]

Best way to use High Performance Threading Taps

DIC is a Supplier and Exporter of Threading Taps in India. These taps produce helical grooves in a hole to insert fasteners. DIC Threading Taps are made from high-quality raw materials for efficient performance. It is specially designed to give the most incredible machining efficiency for high-quality and volume thread production.  

Different Types of Thread Taps

According to Material: High Speed Steel, Carbide

According to Standards: DIN, ISO, ANSI, and JIS Taps

According to its shape, it is divided into Straight Flute Taps, Spiral Flute Taps, & Spiral Point Taps

According to the processing method: Thread Cutting Taps and Forming Taps.

Below are some of the most common types of thread taps and their uses:

Spiral Flute Tap: Spiral Flute Taps are specially used in blind holes and when threads are required close to the bottom of the hole. Our taps are available in many different helix options, which are chosen depending on the type of material being tapped.

These flutes encircle the tap's axis in a helical (or spiral) manner.

TiN Spiral Flute Taps: These taps produce a thread close to the bottom of a blind hole with a short lead. DIC Taps provide excellent performance on various materials like stainless steel, carbon steel, alloyed steel, etc.

Pot Spiral Point Taps: Pot Spiral Point Taps are suitable for tapping through holes in stainless steel, heat-resistant, and other alloy steels. These taps are capable of tapping a wide range of materials, most suitable for high-speed tapping of stainless steel and tempered steel.

Spiral Point Tap: DIC Spiral Point Taps are dimensionally the same as a hand tap, second lead, but have the cutting face ground back relative to the tap's axis for the lead portion. Spiral Point Taps are made from high-quality material for efficient performance and longer tool life. DIC Taps are exported to various countries worldwide.

HSS Ground Thread Tap: These taps are used to cut or form the female portion of the mating pair. We provide Ground Thread Taps in all standards with any coatings. Ground Thread Taps produce a tighter thread tolerance than cut thread taps. It can be fixed to know the accurate specification of a diameter.

HSS Threading Taps: Thread Taps are a tapping tool for processing internal threads with grooves along the axial direction. These are used for tapping or cutting various medium- and small-size internal threads in metal. Our Taps are specially designed and developed to ensure machining efficiency.

Straight Pipe Thread Tap: DIC is an Exporter of Straight Thread Taps made from high speed steel with ground thread. These taps are applied to produce internal NPS pipe thread.

Threading Taps Set: We are a Supplier and Exporter of Threading Taps Set, mainly used to cut the female portion of a mating pair of metal fasteners. DIC Tools has different types of thread taps that are used for various industrial applications.

Carbon Threading Taps: Carbon Threading Taps are designed for general-purpose hand-tapping operations where ground thread accuracy and performance are not required. Both Threading Taps & Dies can be used to cut new threads or repair damaged ones.

A look at the different types of Threading Taps: www.dictoolsindia.com/threading-taps-dies/index.php

[scarletooyoroi]

He picks up on the commitment that grows from the starwalker. Initially what was a play to just express suddenly becomes more, a moment where two souls, despite having their grounds upon this very heart to the Heavens entirely steeped in the unknown, to this layer of dendro kissed earth which they rest upon, they find themselves stretching into a different ground as their conversation grows deep.

Quiet and contemplative, he's content in letting Aether share the wisdom he's gained, and to recall the allies that likely holds all across the nations embedded with the lively boon of the elements tied with ideals.

"She's the author of that particular column from the Steambird, correct?" Thoma openly suggests, giving one more pearl of information of how he spends his free time. Within the most recent days, wolfing down information about the happenings of others nations assisted in appeasing his hunger for the beyond. A year feels so long in hindsight, and the isolation of the Narukami's overambitious storms had led him to missing so, so much.

...That said, what did Aether just say?

Thoma looks briefly taken aback by that notion, by no means fearful, rather, confused. As much as he never openly mentions it, especially considering the sheer scale of wonders that rest within the past and present of this land, the Traveler has succeeded in becoming quite mystery due to how all elements flock towards him, as if enamored by his affinity and fueling that very void that rests within. Yet, it's when the very warm feelings that are dashed with the bitter salt of this reality are expressed, all of those factors return to meaning so little in hindsight.

In short, the desire committed in just helping Aether find some semblance of an enjoyable stay here, to be a willing partner down his road of travails, that naturally wins out each and every time.

"Complete.." His expression turns more sound, even smiling faintly at the very idea. The other question doesn't go ignored as instead he reaches down, allowing for his fingers to briefly clasp around the very manifestation that caused so much strife in Inazuma once upon a time. Yet, within his hand it vibrantly pulses with light, welcoming a grand flame that loving caresses the soul. Plucking it from his belt, that glimmering ruby that symbolizes Pyro, his Vision would be briefly held up between them as the lonely pale rays of the moon gloss a more significant shine upon it.

Yet, it's giving off a tender light of its very own. Crystallized into being was the desire to protect as a loyal and righteous soul.

"In earnest? I'd love if I could just have one day where I could come to see it for myself. It doesn't need to be forever, just enough of a moment to understand myself, how me and.. this unknown form reflect upon each other."

"..And in other ways? To face that celestial part of me that I'd like to know better, just like what I brought into the world. Here, can you feel it?"

He offers the mythical trinket to be touched. In a surprising turn, it'd be different than the day his embers struggled within upon the callous and thunder strong eve of the 100th Vision Ceremony.

Since then, what stirs inside the jewel is a palpable heartbeat, jovial and bright as it shares the exact same rhythm that beats within his chest.

"I'm not sure how it works entirely, but what I do know.. Somewhere beyond, I'm linked to some pretty amazing things too. I want to learn how to reach out and do that better myself, connecting."

@drolliic

[toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae]

ABASCOTOOLS IS THE TOP STRIKING WRENCH SUPPLIER IN DUBAI

AbascoTools is your go-to source in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, for premium striking wrench supplier in dubai uae. For any one of your industrial demands, our wide variety guarantees accuracy and robustness. AbascoTools delivers exceptional performance and dependability.

[umabloomer]

I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago. 

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[ssahotchnerr]

Can you even imagine Hotch’s little girl grabbing his phone and sending random pics to the bau group chat LOL. And it’s all candid pics of reader 🥲🥲🥲🥲 but of course the team is like “oh so you’re WHIPPED” 🤭

a good morning

PLEASE cw; girl dad!aaron, set in s10, fluff <3

At promptly nine, Aaron entered the roundtable room. As he settled into his seat, Dave didn't hesitate to toss him an extremely amused, cheeky expression.

"You feeling alright there?"

"You had a good morning."

Aaron's eyebrows quirked at his statement, quickly recalling his day so far. Getting himself up, getting the kids up, heading out the door. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact he actually had the time to sit down and eat breakfast. "I suppose I did, yeah."

Kate snorted a laugh. "You 'suppose?'"

Aaron's quizzical expression lingered, his gaze shooting to hers. She clarified further - her face just as smug as Dave's.

"Your texts."

Confused, Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened messages, taking notice of the time in the corner - the most recent activity in the group chat about an hour ago. He tapped it open.

"Oh," He chuckled, a soft smile forming on his face as he saw its contents. "Ellie had my phone."

He hadn't noticed she had been taking pictures. He remembered giving her his phone - in attempt to refrain her from throwing her Cheerios onto the floor. Her tiny hands had struggled to hold onto it, it thudding against the table a few times besides him, as he ran through a short multiplication practice with Jack - who had a test today. Evidently she must've secured a firm grasp, and took photos in the process.

"She sent those?"

Aaron nodded, the grin on his face growing slowly as he scrolled through the thread of pictures, his heart warming. They mainly consisted of you: smiling, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Jack, preparing your coffee at the counter; all candidly taken. His family in its most natural, loving state. "She must've."

"When'd she learn how to do that? Ellie's what, four?"

"Three." Aaron answered Derek, a chuckle shaking through his chest and he placed his phone back into his pocket. "And your guess is as good as mine. Jack probably, or from watching us. We don't allow her screen time."

"Well, you should take notes from her." JJ gave his shoulder a squeeze as she passed by, en route to her chair. "We don't nearly get enough of them."

[rowarn]

cw: dubcon if u squint, mean!simon, cum play?, teasing and punishment <3

sorry i haven't been posting proper works lately, i just haven't had any motivation in sitting down long term to write ): i hope u can understand <3 but here's something i cooked up a bit!!!

You, who just had to get on his nerves. You just had to mouth off at him every chance you got. His patience was a thin thread and you were snipping at it around every turn.

He’d been gone for so long, he was exhausted and worn to the bone. He just wanted some peace and quiet, some time to himself to wind down. 

But you were so damn needy for him, pawing at him the second you could get your greedy little hands on him. He was so tired that he simply couldn’t even fathom the idea of getting hard. 

But in the face of your whimpering, the feeling of your soft tits pressed against him as you gripped his cock through his sweats, he could feel himself chubbing up despite it all.

You knew how tired he was. You knew he just wanted to rest and decompress. Yet there you were, tugging his cock from his sweats, stroking him languidly like he was your own personal little toy. 

And for some reason that just set him off. 

Before you knew it, you were pinned face down on the couch, your panties stretched around your thighs. 

“Please, Simon,” you pant, voice pitchy and broken from how utterly needy you were. 

He thought you were so cute, begging him like you hadn’t gotten on his one good nerve the second he walked through the door.

Just to tease you, to be mean because you deserved it for being such a damned brat, he pressed the tip of his leaking cock against your pretty little hole. He felt you clench, eager to suck all of him in. You wanted to be filled so badly, precious cunt drooling slick down to the couch in sticky strings at the mere idea of getting stuffed nice and full by your boyfriend’s perfect cock. 

He tapped the head against your clit, the little bud stiff and neglected. The stimulation made you tremble, a sweet moan escaping your lips from how good the fleeting pleasure felt. 

With you distracted by the teasing, Simon quickly began to jerk himself off, using the sweet, wet heat of your cunt to edge him to a quick release. It had been weeks since he’d gotten off, so it was easy for him to find that euphoria with your pretty little ass perked up just for him, ready and willing to be used - something you weren't even going to get.

That thought alone had him cumming with a soft gasp, making sure to aim it right at the crotch of your panties, spilling his load in the pretty, purple cotton stretched around your thighs. 

“S-Simon?” you asked, already sounding on the verge to tears as you listened to cum without you. 

“There you go, love,” he grunts, lazily tugging your messy panties up. 

You whined when his cum smeared all over your cunt, mixing with your creamy juices. The cotton soaked up the liquids and plastered itself to your folds, giving him the perfect view. 

Meanly, he patted your cunt before tucking his cock away and climbing off of the couch with a grunt. You flopped onto your side, tearily watching as he made a show of stretching and yawning.

“Really needed that, sweetheart,” he grinned, “I want you to keep my cum nice and warm in your panties while I go have a nap. Think I’ve earned one. And maybe when I’m back, you’ll stop bein’ such a damned brat and I’ll give you what you want, yeah?”

[m0chaminx]

Coriolanus Snow | Roses Grow Thorns

*•.¸♡Request: Pls pls pls do a part 2 too the snow x reader fix it was so amazing and I want more of them 🙏🙏🙏🙏‼️‼️🩷

*•.¸♡Prompts: none

*•.¸♡Warnings: Coriolanus, Cori isn't insane (ish), Snow is slight ooc, jealousy, hurt comfort, fluff ending

*•.¸♡Paring: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: Coriolanus learns his favourite flower grows thorns

Or

You confront Coriolanus about his relationship with Lucy Gray

*•.¸♡Words: 2k

Part 1

People danced, swaying with their partners in a circle as you stood on stage, strumming your guitar and singing to the crowd. Lucy had just finished the first half of her set, so you took the stage to fill the silence. Coriolanus sat with Sejanus at a table across the room, large glasses of some sort of liquor. Coriolanus looked up at you and smiled.

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Your voice trailed off slightly as Lucy raced to Coriolanus and Sejanus, throwing her arm around his shoulder and leaning between them. You shook your head and continued to play, trying to ignore Lucy Gray practically hanging from Coriolanus’s arm.

Jealousy, an unwelcome guest, clawed at the edges of your heart, leaving an ache in your chest. No words had been exchanged, and no actions had passed between you two. It overtook the corners of your mind, urging you to believe that Lucy Gray should sense the unspoken connection threading its way between you and Coriolanus.

Each shared trip to the lake, every stolen moment when Coriolanus chose to spend his fleeting free hours with you — these fragments of time saved in your mind like photos in an old book. Yet, as you observed Lucy Gray standing there, a vision of radiant smiles and hushed confidences exchanged with Coriolanus, a wave of emotion surged. It was as if the world momentarily lost its colour, and the whispers of uncertainty left an indelible mark on your heart.

You clenched your hand, trying to ease the shaking in your hands.

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

Every night for the past week following that evening, Coriolanus Snow would tap gently on the glass of your window. You would turn your head and he would smile, the same bright smile that made your stomach flip and fill with butterflies. You crept across the wood floors and opened the window, looking down at the blue-eyed boy. “Are you busy?”

You would simply laugh at him. You grabbed your coat and slipped out the window, Coriolanus gripping your waist to help you down properly. He would smile, slip a scarf under the window to close it without locking it and you would slip away unnoticed, descending into the velvety embrace of the night.

In those quiet moments, Coriolanus would slip your hand in his own, his warm hand covering yours as he laced your fingers together. He guided you through the dense labyrinth of woods, you knew these woods better than he did but through the nights as he led you to the lake, you questioned if you ever knew them at all. 

The Mokingjays sang into the night as if calling to the small fireflies to light the way. “I brought matches,” Cori said, looking back at you. He tugged on your hand bringing you closer and you couldn't help but think about Lucy Gray running her hand along his shoulders. “We can light a fire. Maybe catch some fish.” You nodded and Coriolanus smiled.

You reached the lake and Coriolanus set his bag down, quickly gathering everything to start a fire. You walked to the edge of the water, your mind running faster than you could even start to comprehend. “Think we’ll catch anything?” He asked, stopping to look up at you.

You looked back over the water, looking at the fish no bigger than your palm swimming just above the sea floor. You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the moonlight dancing on the waves of the water. “Nothing big enough to eat,” You said. Coriolanus nodded and turned back to the fire.

Once the fire was made you sat on the ground beside him, leaving enough space so your shoulders didn’t touch. You both sat in silence, Coriolanus’s knee bouncing softly. 

The flames danced and flickered, the golden glow flickering in Coriolanus’s blue eyes, you settled onto the ground beside him. You shifted slightly, making sure your shoulders didn't touch. The silence stretched between you, Coriolanus's fingers drumming against a stick he held in nervousness.

Coriolanus's knee bounced softly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of both your hearts. The mere inches that separated you felt like an unbridgeable chasm, as long and confusing as his thoughts. “Did I do something?” His voice cut through the silence like a knife and you turned towards him, your eyebrows furrowed. “You seem distracted. You’re not talking like you usually do. You’re sitting far away.” You bit your lip and shrugged softly. “What’s wrong?”

“What did I sing tonight?” You turned to face Coriolanus. “Tonight. I sang, I wore the red dress so everyone could see the white rose you gave me. But what did I sing?” Coriolanus stammered. “You don’t spare a second glance at me during our shows, you talk to Sejanus when I do perform and you let Lucy Gray hang off your arm like she was yours.”

He spoke your name softly, trying to shuffle closer but you stood quickly. “Don’t do that Cori,” You pleaded. “I’m gonna go home, I’ll see you later.” You turned on your heel. Making your way back through the woods.

Coriolanus sighed, dropping his head into his hands as you walked from his view.

The next morning you stared at the ceiling, stretched out on your small bed. You twisted a small rose between your fingers, the thrones pricking your skin occasionally. The knock at the window made you jump. You turned your head to look at Coriolanus standing on the other side, smiling ever so slightly. You sighed and set the rose aside before walking to the window and pulling it open. “Corio-”

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly. “Don’t say anything, just follow me.” 

“Cori-”

“What did I just say?”

A frustrated huff escaped you as you forcefully closed the window, shutting out the annoying sounds of crickets. Pulling the blinds closed with a swift motion covering Coriolanus’s face, but you caught his smile dropping. You donned your jacket and stepped out the front door, stopping in front of Coriolanus just as you turned the corner. He extended his hand, a warm smile playing on his lips. Suppressing the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface, you offered a muted response, "Just lead the way," your words carrying a hint of resignation.

Coriolanus nodded and started to lead you through the woods, the sun still yet to rise properly. “You sang I Wanna Be Yours,” Coriolanus muttered. “No, I didn't ask Lucy Gray. You wrote it after you met your old girlfriend but you haven't sung it since. That’s why it was so important to you. And why you wanted me to remember it.”

You hummed and tried to hide your smile. “So you were paying attention.”

Coriolanus spoke, low and earnest, his gaze fixed on you. "I always pay attention," he assured, a sincerity etched into his words. The weight of his gaze, coupled with the firmness in his tone, sought to reassure you. "And nothing is happening between Lucy Gray and me. She was helping me with something," he explained, his words carrying the weight of truth and an unspoken plea for understanding.

“Which is?”

Coryo smiled, “Keep following me.”

You followed Coriolanus, walking in silence until the sun rose completely. He stopped at a rock wall, a small dirt trail winding around it. He reached out, slipping his hand into yours and leading you down the track. “Roses don’t grow in 12, the ground is too hard,” Coriolanus started. “Lucy Gray told me just beyond the rock wall there is ground soft enough to grow flowers. Sejanus used his father's money to get some seed and…” Coriolanus stepped aside as you reached the bottom of the track.

You smiled, Coriolanus’s hand slipping from yours as you stepped further into the growing rose field. Dozens of rose bushes had started to grow, small red and white flowers sporting. Small raindrops covered the flowers, the sun reflecting off of them like diamonds. You crouched, smiling as you ran your hand along the rose petals. 

A soft smile played on your lips, and Coriolanus's hand tenderly released yours as you ventured deeper into the growing rose field. Rows of rose bushes, adorned with tiny red and white blossoms, unfold before you, blossoming like a garden from the Capitol. Small raindrops adorned the delicate petals, capturing the sunlight in a dance that shined like diamonds. Your heart swelled. You glanced back at Coriolanus who shared the same smile.

You carefully crouched down, your smile growing as you traced the velvet texture of the rose petals with your fingertips, each delicate touch slow and careful as if the rose would fall apart. Coriolanus smiled as he watched you, his stomach filling with butterflies as he waited for you to speak. 

"Wait..." The urgency in your voice sliced through the air as you stood, swiftly pivoting to face Coriolanus. His smile disappeared, replaced by a stark seriousness mirrored in your eyes. Your heart fell to your stomach as your voice shook, "You said Sejanus got the seeds from his father. If the Peacemakers find out, they'll take you away." The gravity of your words hung heavily in the charged atmosphere. “Cori, they’ll take you to the hanging tree-”

“They won’t,” Coriolanus said quickly. He stepped forward holding your face in his hands, his thumb tracing the lines of your cheekbones. “No one is going to take me away. No one is taking you. Or Sejanus, or Lucy Gray.” You raised your hand, settling it on top of his. “This place is ours, yours and mine. No one is going to take that.”

Yours and mine.

You smiled, laughing softly as you looked up at Coriolanus, his blue eyes meeting yours. “You got me roses?” You asked.

“You said you liked the Capitol flowers more,” Coriolanus remembered. “I can’t exactly take you to the Capitol, so I thought I’d bring the best part of the Capitol here.”

“Besides yourself.”

A warm smile graced his features as he leaned in, closing the distance until his forehead gently met yours. "Do people in the Capitol kiss differently than the districts?" His inquiry, spoken in a hushed tone, carried a hint of curiosity and a touch of playfulness.

“I think…” you leaned up slightly, bumping your nose against his, “you should find out.”

The brush of his fingertips against your jawline, tracing a delicate path along your skin, igniting a shiver that danced down your spine. As he cradled your face, your breath hitched in anticipation, your eyes staring at his chapped pink lips. Drawing you closer, the final shared breath seemed to linger, suspended in the charged atmosphere, before he sealed the connection with a kiss that felt like a spark that lit a fire. Your heart echoed the rhythm of the thousands of times you had dreamed of this moment and your hands instinctively wound around the back of his neck, the embrace pulling him closer.

Your stomach twirled, filling with butterflies as one of Coryo’s hands moved to wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer. He pulled away, his breath coming out in small pants, your breath in sync with his. You opened your eyes, looking up at his half-closed eyes tracing over every part of your face. “I love you, Coriolanus Snow.”

He whispered it back.

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

[coryosbaby]

—“ʙᴀʙʏ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜɴɴʏ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ’ᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʜᴏɴᴇʏ !”

♡ content warning . cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, servant! reader, dom munch Coryo my beloved <3

Your life begins to escalate one day when you come into Coriolanus Snow’s office.

You aren’t new to the capital, most definitely not, but you’re new to him. He’s just as handsome as all your coworkers had talked about— and just as strict. The moment you walk through the doors and introduce yourself as his new maid, he’s already barking orders and giving you a list of things to do. Not before his eyes wonder over your thighs, tits, mouth— but you don’t notice that. No, of course you don’t. You’re a shy, timid little thing….almost like a bunny.

Maybe that’s why Coriolanus names you that.

Members of the capital, no matter how much privilege, can’t exactly rename their workers. But it seems that Coriolanus has. Because no matter what, that’s what your name seems to be from now on— Bunny. When you need to fix him his meals, when you clean up the clothes littering his room or the empty wine bottles on his table, there he is.

“Good job, bunny.”

“Such a good girl, bunny.”

“Thank you, bunny. C’mere, why don’t you have some wine with me?”

And that statement itself is what leads to this particular night: you’re sitting across from Coriolanus, your feet nervously tapping against the wooden floor, taking small, small sips out of the expensive wine glass he had passed to you. You don’t quite understand why he is offering this, but what you don’t know is that you’ve enamored him. Your hard work, your perfect resilience at following his orders. You are everything Lucy Gray never was: compliant. But Coriolanus never felt this strongly about Lucy. No, not really. She was a pawn, a way to work his way up to the top. But you caught him by surprise.

His blonde curls are golden in the lamp light, and he’s undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. You try not to drool at the sight of his tanned chest peeking out of the fabric or the way his thick, muscle-ey thighs spread simultaneously as he speaks to you.

“—but as I was saying. He’s quite ridiculous. He’s completely unintelligent, weak minded, and—“

He stalls, watching your small, shy smile. He knows you have no idea who he’s talking about, even though he’s been going on this rant about another business partner for the past twenty minutes. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about these things with… a maid.”

He doesn’t say it in the sense that he’s disgusted. He merely seems to be choosing his words carefully. You shrug meekly, trying not to upset him.

“I don’t mind, sir,” you say, twiddling your fingers. “In fact.. I think I enjoy it. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

How sweet.

Coriolanus’ eyes thread through with a rather playful look, and he takes another sip of his wine as he takes sight of your almost see through tights.

“I told you, Y/N. Don’t call me sir.”

Your eyes widen a bit, in fear of displeasing him. You set your glass down shakily.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“I’m kidding. Lighten up, Bunny, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You let out a small, awkward chuckle along with him as he utters the words, anxiety coursing through you. You watch as his finger traces the rim of his wine glass. He looks up at you with those familiar icy blue eyes, his smile suddenly fading, and something dark flashes over him as he locks you in with his gaze.

“Unless you want me to.”

Your pouty lips part, a shiver running down your spine. He’s looking at you with something you can’t quite place— is it anger? Intrigue?

Or maybe, perhaps, possession?

You let out a small huff of laughter, setting your glass down and getting up from the table.

“It’s been amazing talking with you, sir—“

“Coriolanus.”

“C-Coriolanus. Yes. But it is quite late. I think I should be getting back to my quarters…”

You attempt to brush past him, but his fingers grab your wrist and he pulls you in front of him.

“You don’t really want to stay there, do you?” He says, his lips turning into a thin line. “I know how uncomfortable your bed must be.”

“It’s fine, really! I’m thankful enough to be staying in the capital..” your face floods with heat. “And… also thankful to be working for someone as incredible as you.”

Coriolanus doesn’t say anything. He just gives you this look, his expression amused but also intrigued. His thumb still strokes your wrist in gentle circles.

“Why don’t you stay here in my room tonight, then?” He suggests softly. “I can give you some clothes. I don’t mind sharing.”

If you’re being honest, the thought of going back to your quarters and surrounding yourself with all the other servant girls makes you want to throw up. And besides, Coriolanus is a superior. It’s not like you can say no to him.

“Thank you so much,” you sigh out. “I’ll stay out of your way for the rest of the night, I promise.”

You don’t even realize how tall the man really is until he lifts himself up from his seat. He lets go of your wrist, and you put both hands behind your back as he towers over you.

“No need to thank me,” He says, his fingers brushing up against your cheek and pushing a stray strand of hair out of the way. “You’re an amazing worker.”

His thumb brushes against your chin, then up to your bottom lip. He pulls the plump skin down and watches it snap back against your teeth.

“So obedient..” he whispers, and you can feel something begin to tingle on your lower half.

He breathes heavy now, and you can see him leaning in. You know what kissing is, but he can’t possibly be trying to kiss you right now.

…right?

Wrong. He grabs your face with both hands and presses his mouth to yours. It’s rough, but it’s slow and it’s passionate. He kisses you like you’re made of sunlight. He kisses you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

Or at least, that’s how you perceive it.

Gentleness gives way to hunger, something you’ve grown used to but not when it’s as strong as this. You can’t help but wrap your arms around Coriolanus’ neck as his tongue probes at your mouth. You let him in, timid but desperate to feel any part of him inside of you. His big hands move to your waist, gripping the skin harshly as he turns your back away from the table and towards his bed. Fastened in red silk and fine embroidery, it’s soft when he pushes your body down onto it. He pulls away as he looks down at you. He makes sure to keep his eyes on yours as his fingers slide underneath the hem of your skirt. You’re almost frozen, awkward and, although you want this, scared. Coriolanus moves moves his fingers over your underwear, brushing against your clit.

“You’ve never done this before,” he mutters against your ear. “Have you, little bunny?”

You whine, bucking your hips up into his touch.

“Coryo.”

Coryo. Coriolanus’ cock kicks, harder than it was before if possible.

“Answer me.” He demands, pausing his movements on your cunt.

“No,” you cry. “No sir, I haven’t.”

He groans, patience wavering as he finally slips his fingers underneath the crotch of your underwear and brushes against your bare pussy. He presses down onto your clit with the soft pads of his fingers and rubs tight little circles onto the bundle of nerves. You gasp, your nails digging into the sheets below you. Your legs spread on their own accord and your thighs lift up, giving Coriolanus more access. He smiles at your neediness, watching as you begin to fall apart already.

“So pretty,” Coriolanus coos. With his non stopping stimulation to your clit you can already feel yourself getting close. “After you cum from this I think I’ll taste this pretty cunt. How about that, angel?”

“Wan’ it so bad,” you whimper. Your legs attempt to squeeze coriolanus’ hand but he pulls them back apart harshly. “Oh, please sir! I wanna cum…”

“And you will. Just keep whining like that baby, keep making those little noises for me.”

And when you cum the first time it’s like seeing stars, Coriolanus’ palm grinding right up against your achy clit, your legs shaking. It’s perfect. But nothing can compare to this next moment: Coriolanus’ cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs, his clothes and yours now discarded, as he prods at your soaked entrance with his tongue. He swirls the wet muscle around your hole, quick to slip the tip just barely inside. You shake, your hand gripping his golden curls, and you wonder how you have such a privilege to have the upcoming president of panem nestled between your thighs.

He licks up your slick, pulling back with a groan.

“You taste so good, baby.”

His tongue pushes back in, ravaging your cunt with his mouth and grinding his cock against the surface of the bedsheets. You mewl, your eyes rolling back. Coriolanus’ tongue moves up to your swollen clit for a moment, and he pulls away again— you’re now realizing that it’s purposeful. He’s doing it to tease you.

He takes in sight of your pussy, plump and swollen, the curly hair at the top of your mound absolutely adorable to him. He uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips, your hole stretching out and exposing your insides to him. He watches as it clenches desperately, all small and tight, and he can’t wait to stick his cock in there. With a deep shaky breath he breathes in your cunt and dives back into you. Your legs try to close around his head, but his big hands grip your thighs and pull them back apart. When you manage to keep them open he grabs your flailing hands and holds them, an oddly sweet gesture that he himself didn’t even expect to do. He presses the small things against your belly, his jaw working harder than the people of the districts to get you to cum.

“Coryo,” you whimper, when his lips wrap around your clit again. “Im gonna cum on your mouth, ‘m gonna cum all over it—“

And hearing these words makes Coriolanus hums, his finger moving up to your hole and slipping inside. He wastes no time, fingering your hole intensely as you get closer and closer to your high. And with one last flick to your clit, you reach it.

Your body freezes, ecstasy flooding through you, your vision giving out. Your first orgasm was good, but it could never compare to this. No, this was something different. Your pussy begins to squirt slick all over Coriolanus’ mouth, his chin, the sheets. Coryo lets out a desperately loud moan, his tongue lapping up all over your release vigorously, his eyes rolling back when he himself cums against the sheets.

What a brilliant capital citizen, cumming so quick like that at the taste of a servant’s cunt. But he can’t find time to think about the humiliation— he’s too busy devouring you, and when he does pull away your fucked out face distracts him. He moves up your body, his cum dragging a sticky line against your leg, thighs, tummy. He kisses you, chin dripping in slick and his cock kicking against him once again. His hands take hold of your legs, a fucked out haze taking over your brain as you become limp in his grasp.

“Turn over,” he demands, desperate. “Turn over now, bunny.”

And with enough energy to spare, you turn onto your stomach and present your ass to him like a bitch in heat. His cock, now limp but so help him if he isn’t going to get it up and fuck you, rubs up against your small entrance. And when he pushes in, giving you all you’ve wanted for months and more, you let him take your innocence like the obedient girl you are.

[bruisedboys]

can I request remus and anxious!reader where he asks her to be his, but she is worried that remus will think that she is too much to take care of?

thank you for your request angel!! this was fun to write <3

remus lupin x fem!anxious!reader, 1.3k words

Remus turns up unannounced at your door with a huge bouquet of flowers. You think you know where this is going.

“Hey,” he says, smiling a brilliant smile that sets your heart aflame. “You look nice. Can I come in?”

You don’t look nice, at least not in your opinion. You’re in your pyjamas, a loose tank and a pair of flannel pants, fresh out of the shower with your damp hair hanging limp over your shoulders. But you can’t not let him in. You like him too much.

“Uh— sure. Yeah, come in. Sorry about the mess.” You kick a stray shoe to the side to prevent him tripping in your doorway, embarrassed.

“Don’t start,” he tells you, fondly exasperated as he toes off his shoes. He closes the door behind him and then turns back to you, holding the bouquet out. “These are for you, by the way.”

You’d guessed. Still, you’re very very happy to get them. He’s given you flowers before, ones he’s picked on the way to your place or a rose, once, on your last birthday, but never a bouquet. You take it from him, fingers brushing his at the stalks.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You can’t imagine how much they cost him. It’s the fullest bouquet you’ve ever seen, petals bursting out of the tissue paper in pretty pinks and whites and creams. You don’t try to fight the smile working it’s way onto your lips. “They’re really pretty.”

Remus grins and raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”

“Remus,” you whine, heat building in your cheeks at an alarming rate.

Remus laughs, surprised. “What?”

You glare, fierce as you can when you’re so infatuated with him. He’s making this hard for you and he knows it. “Nothing. Come on, come through, I’ll find a vase.”

You lead the way through your entryway and into the kitchen. Remus sits at your kitchen island and watches while you find a vase for your flowers and fill it with water from the tap. You feel his gaze like laser beams and try not to think about how much skin your pyjama top is showing right now, how much you don’t actually care because you want him to look at you.

“Stop looking at me,” you say anyway, though you know he won’t listen.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Typical.

“You’re awful.”

“Thanks, gorgeous.”

You sigh and finish setting up your flowers, setting them on the kitchen island. Remus smiles at you like a fool when you meet his eyes.

“Do you want a drink?” You ask, desperate to do something other than be under his gaze.

“No. I want to ask you something.”

Your heart stutters. This could go a million ways and you’re not sure which way you’d prefer. You sit down across from him and try not to fall right off your chair.

“Okay,” you say quietly, playing with your hands, pulling at your fingers. “Ask away, then.”

Remus doesn’t say anything right away. He slides his hands across the counter and pushes them over yours, stopping your mindless fiddling. You let him take your hands in his. They’re warm, rough but soft in the places that count. His fingers thread through yours and your heart does a backflip.

“Look at me?” He asks, voice soft as silk. You’re glad he’s stopped joking around but somehow his sweet patience is worse.

You look up, meeting his eyes. Remus beams.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

You huff a laugh through your nose. “Hi,” you say back.

Remus strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “Look, I’m not gonna beat around the bush,” he says, words measured as if he’s being careful to not worry you. You both despise and adore how patient he is with you. “I want to ask you something, and if you don’t like it, please feel free to kick me out of your house. Okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, wondering if the hammering of your heart is for a good reason or a bad. “I’m not gonna kick you out of my house, Remus.”

“You might.”

You shake your head firmly. “I won’t.”

Remus takes a deep breath, and you watch his chest rise and fall.

“I really like you,” he says. “And as much as I enjoy being friends, I think I’d like to be more.”

You blink. You can barely open your mouth, feeling like your lips have been glued shut. “More?” You manage.

Remus nods. “Yeah.”

You don’t know why but you suddenly feel like crying. You’re not oblivious, you’d known Remus liked you at least a little bit more than just a friend. You’ve gone over this moment countless times in your head, content with it happening in your head but never in real life. You’re a fish out of water. You swallow.

“Remus,” you say, trying not to sound like you’re rejecting him. “I … I don’t know.”

Remus blinks.

“Not— I mean, it’s not because of you,” you say in a desperate rush. You untangle your hands from his and wrap your fingers around his wrists instead. “I like you, Remus. You know I do. It’s just— I don’t think you’d … I’m a lot of work,” you finish dejectedly.

Remus gives you a looks like a kicked puppy. “What? Y/N, that doesn’t—“

“No, listen, Remus,” you say, desperate for him to understand. “I’m not— I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend. You already do so much for me, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do more.” Remus knows about your anxiety. It’s one of the reasons you like him so much, because he knows and doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t treat you any differently for it. Still, “You’d get tired of me.”

Remus genuinely looks like he might cry. He releases your hands and gets up, and for one terrifying second you think he’s leaving you, that he’s already sick of you and your worries, that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. But he only rounds the kitchen island and gets so close to you you can smell his cologne.

“Can I give you a hug?” He asks in a soft murmur. “Please?”

You nod. Remus only hesitates for a half a second before wrapping his arms around you, pulling your head to his stomach, a hand in your damp hair. He’s warm and firm, tall, all-encompassing. He’s hugged you before but never like this. Never like he wants to hold all the pieces of you together in case you fall apart. You might just.

You weasel your arms around his tummy and try not to squeeze too hard. Remus strokes the back of your head, once, twice, three times. He doesn’t seem to mind your wet hair, the dampness slowly soaking into his soft t-shirt.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently. “I want you to know that none of that matters to me. Only you matter. I don’t care if I have to look after you, I wouldn’t care if I had to carry you around like a log everywhere we went. I want to look after you.”

You squeeze him harder.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you say into his t-shirt.

Remus makes a sad noise and pulls back, hands climbing to your neck. He encourages your face from his stomach gently, fingers pushing your hair out of the way so he can cup your jaw.

“You won’t be a burden,” he says. “You’re not. I like you just the way you are. I could never get tired of you, honey. Every time I see you it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again.”

There’s a pause in which you look at each other, a lot of big, beautiful feelings in the way you study each other’s faces. Your heart pounds in your chest. You know your decision has already been made, was probably made the second he appeared at your door, maybe the moment you met him however long ago. He’s lovely, the best person you’ve ever met. You like him enough to put aside your worries and be with him, if that’s what he wants.

And it is what he wants. Suddenly you feel so happy you could burst.

“Okay,” you say hoarsely, emotion thick in your throat. You nod, not caring how desperate you look. “Yes.”

Remus’ answering smile is bruising. “Yeah?” He says, pleased and almost as giddy as you. His eyes light up like stars and you know you could’ve never said no to him. “You’ll be mine? Let me look after you for ever and ever?”

A giggle bubbles out of you before you can stop it. You beam up at him. “Only if you let me look after you, too.”

Remus thumbs the hollow under your eye slowly, his touch like fireworks along your skin, leaning close like he’s gonna kiss you. You’re surprised to realise you really, really want him to.

“I think that can be arranged.”

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[mauswyx]

soft-spoken s/o

TLDR: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Jennifer Check, and Bo Sinclair's reactions to having a fairly quiet s/o WORD COUNT: 1k CW: none, fluff AO3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Thomas Hewitt

ironically would not be used to the silence at first; he’s used to chatters and screaming! He’s never met someone who speaks so quietly 

will lean towards you when you speak, listening intensely 

finds your silence comforting after the initial shock and enjoys your quiet presence as he goes about his business

quickly adapts to communicating with you via body language and facial expressions, etc; it is a method he’s familiar with after all

takes great pride that he’s the only one that can read your mind or decipher your mumbling

He couldn’t help but spare you a glance every so often as you sat at the opposite end of the barn as he worked. You were mending a shirt Luda Mae scavenged from some luggage…or at least trying to. Your bottom lip was swollen from being gnawed on and your brow was furrowed–the needlework must be tedious, he concluded. He turned his attention back to his work, a few minutes passed before he decided to glance up again only to find that you were muttering to yourself, trying to rethread the string through the eye.

Despite finding your frustration amusing, he couldn’t take your suffering anymore. He strode over to you, gently enveloping your hand in his before plucking the needle away. He made quick work of the thread, giving you a knowing look as he set back to work, but not before hearing a quiet “Thank you Tommy.” 

Brahms Heelshire

does not enjoy that he can’t coax loud reactions from you; he works so hard to mess with you and you don’t say anything?! How rude!

will switch gears and will purposefully pretend not to know what you’re gesturing to or that he can’t hear you to annoy you; he can play by your game but he won’t play fair

he’s been (watching) studying you through the walls so it’s quite easy for him to pick up on your body language to know what you’re feeling or wanting of him 

actually likes your voice and will do everything in his power to get you to use it; even if it means getting a scolding 

bedtime is his favorite part of the day because he gets to listen to you read; will pick out exceptionally long books to listen to you just a while longer 

Echoes etched the room as you tapped your foot against the dusty rug. He had been in a mood all afternoon: being especially disobedient and ignoring your calls from within the walls. He was being so difficult that you had no choice but to search for him, though it proved to be in vain as you couldn’t find him anywhere. A worried knot began to form in your stomach. There was only one thing you could do. With a deep inhale you rolled your head on your shoulders before letting out a shout.

“Brahms!” Your voice was hoarse–not used to being at such a volume, rolling your eyes in frustration “Please come out!” The scraping of wood met your ears shortly before his long arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You bit the interior of your cheek as you could hear the smugness in his voice, having won his game.

“There’s no need to shout.”

Jennifer Check

“they said no pickles.” embodiment 

at first, mistakes your quietness for being flustered by her and she amps up her prowess only to realize you’re like this…all the time…with everyone 

will speak for you whether it’s ordering your food or answering a question on your behalf; is actually exceptionally good at knowing what you want without much effort 

actually doesn’t mind the silence when you don’t feel like talking—grateful that you two can just share a moment together or that she can have someone to rant to

will not make a big deal if you feel talkative, she’ll casually continue the conversation in hopes it’ll make you feel more comfortable

“-and who does that? It’s bullshit!” she scoffed, gently scraping the tips of her long nails on the back of your hand as she laid next to you. You silently nodded in agreement, staring up at her face: her nose was scrunched and her eyes were glazed over, lost in thought–before suddenly snapping down to stare into your own. “I mean, you don’t think I’m in the wrong do you?” 

You couldn’t help letting your lip curl up at her pout, she had definitely been the cause of the altercation but you’d never tell her that; instead, you opted to halfheartedly shake your head. As expected, your poor acting didn’t go unnoticed and her eyes widened before playfully swatting her hand at your stomach.

“No way! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Bo Sinclair

“huh” x5

cannot understand what you’re saying for the life of him and gets annoyed very easily; more so at his own inability to comprehend you when everyone else seems to understand you just fine

interrupts you when you’re speaking, trying to guess what you’re saying instead of just listening 

puts on a big show to do as you asked when he does finally pick up on what you’re saying 

often wrongly infers what you’re saying but at least he’s trying

“Darlin’…'' he groaned, running a hand down his face “-you’re gunna needa work with me…” You huffed out a breath of air, already annoyed at having had to already repeat yourself twice and repeating yourself a third time honestly wasn’t even worth it; you just wanted the step-ladder to reach something in top-stock, but at this point you’d rather just climb the shelves themselves than have to be stuck in this never ending game of charades. You were half-tempted to do just that, but the look on Bo’s face made you relent; he had been so patient the least you could do was not give up on him.

“I need the ladder…” you said again, this time trying to enunciate your words as best as possible and to your surprise his face lit up. Not a great sign. 

“Bladder?” he repeated, not waiting for a response as he sped towards the shop counter, “Don’t worry baby! I’ll get the restroom key!”

[empty-movement]

GOGAI, GOGAI!!! COME GET UTENA KIBBLES

It's September 3rd. It's 1997. Princess Diana just died, and that's very important to lots of people. You, however, are chewing your nails to nubs waiting for the climax of Revolutionary Girl Utena's Black Rose Saga. It's going to air today.

But like any good fan, you're already one step ahead, because you've spent the last couple days thumbing through Animedia's September issue supplemental, the 100 page Duelist Bible. Strangely, it appears to be in English??? Wow! Thanks Nagumo for translating, Ayu Ohseki for Japanese editing, teasot for proofreading, and ME, FUCKIN' VANNA, for scanning and scanlating this massive booklet!

We've got duel summaries! We've got character design sheets! We've got a school directory! We've got THE DUEL RULES. We've got cast interviews! WE'VE GOT THAT CHU-CHU DOLL CRAFT GUIDE. Check it ALL out here, in the Something Eternal Bibliothèque! You can flip through it page by page here, or you'll also find on the page a link to a PDF version for your at home viewing/archiving needs!!

This gargantuan tome really gets it across that in 1997, you didn't have a fandom wiki or on demand viewing. If you didn't catch and record the episodes, a booklet like this becomes a critical tool for keeping track of everything that's happened up to now, and is also a way for the series creators to tap fans on the shoulder and draw attention to details they want seen but not explained in the show directly. For example, this drops at the close of the BRS, but points out Touga's sword isn't the same in Keiko's duel and in the opening sequence. A thing we don't see cashed in until MUCH later!

This has been a true and absurd labor of love on my part. I even rescanned the booklet from my originals because their quality (decades old lmao) was not worth scanlating. This took a ludicrous amount of time, and has been a main project of mine for over a year now!! I'm so happy to have gotten it done in time for the Something Eternal Watch-Along thread, and I really really hope everyone finds something cool and interesting about it! The really cool thing is this now completes the set of magazine supplementals by the big three magazines made for Utena during its run. We now have fully scanlated this, as well as Animage's June Utena Dossier, and Newtype's November Utena? (Oh My!) UTENA! Take a stroll through memory lane, be they yours or someone else's!

As always, if you like this kind of content, consider supporting us on Patreon! Especially right now, a holy grail acquisition is in the works that I will bleed to share with y'all. More on that later, lmao.

Revolutionize the World! Love, Vanna

[reidsworld]

giving old man!logan head in the limo has me feral. i just know theres a dirty mouth on that man

Warnings… fem!reader, smuttt, praise/degradation, oral sex (m receiving), no use of y/n, pet names (baby, slut), this is VILEE (rlly channeled my inner freak), not proofread lol (icl i wrote this on my phone). — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!!

Mars speaks… old man logan has me in a CHOKEHOLDD

Masterlist | Divider from @/saradika-graphics

You had been teasing Logan all night, testing the limits of his patience with every sly smile, every light touch, every whispered innuendo in his ear. The tension had built between you like a fire ready to ignite, and you knew exactly what you were doing.

Logan’s gaze was dark, his jaw clenched as he shifted in his seat beside you. Finally, with a low, frustrated growl, he turned to you, his eyes blazing. “Fine,” he muttered, voice rough, low, “you wanna act like a little slut, I’ll treat you like one.”

That was how you ended up in the back of his limo, sliding down between his legs, your mouth leaving a trail of kisses along his chest, moving lower…

His voice was a rasp, barely more than a breath as he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Your trailed your hands over the bulge in his pants, making swift work of pulling them down with his boxers, freeing his achingly hard cock.

While it wasn’t overly long— certainly not a length to be ashamed about— it was thick. His cock had a long vein running down the underside with many smaller veins scattered across it. It twitched desperately in his lap, the sensitive red tip oozing pre-cum.

“Holy shit…”

He let out a low chuckle at your words, clicking his tongue at you, “come on, get to work baby.”

You grinned up at him as you leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on the tip, making him nearly growl.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”

Giggling at his words you smile innocently as run your tongue along the slit of his cock. He threw his head back, groaning, his fingers threading themselves through your hair with a tight but gentle grip.

You sunk your head lower, the head disappearing between your lips. He gazed down at you, “look so good with your lips wrapped around my cock like that.”

Your tongue swirled around his cock, cheeks hollowing, and his grip on your hair tightened, “don’t be shy, I know you can handle more.”

He used the grip in your hair to push you down lower. Saliva began to drip down his cock as he filled your mouth. You used it as lube for your hands which found their way to his shaft, slowly stroking and twisting what was not in your mouth.

“Yeah that’s more like it, knew you could do it.”

You moaned around him in response, the vibrations shooting right through his cock, causing his hips to buck. The tip hit the back of your throat making you gag and slightly choke at the protrusion. But this didn’t make him pull back, he was too desperate he couldn’t stop.

“Y’okay, baby?” he asked, slowing the rate his hand was moving your head but not stopping. You tried your best to give a nod. Once he got your confirmation, he stopped his hand movement, gently thrusting his hips upwards into your throat.

He had let you have control for long enough and now he was getting desperate, he couldn’t wait. He gently tapped on the top of your head causing you to look up at him.

“M’gonna fuck your throat now, baby,” he told you and you nodded, your hands moving to grip his thighs. He used his hand to push your head lower before thrusting up into your mouth. He began to build a steady rhythm, his cock going deeper into your throat with each movement.

“So good, haven’t gotten somethin’ this good in a long time ‘nd definitely not from someone as pretty as you,” he praised, his Canadian accent thickening as his pace increased. You moaned at the praise, breathing through your nose as he pushed in further.

Your knees began to ache from being on the limo floor. As he set a brutal pace, it became messier and messier. His cock was now covered in saliva, you makeup was a mess from the small tears that fell each time he hit the back of your throat.

“Y’look so pretty like this, my little slut,” he grunted out as his thumb moved to wipe one of the tears that fell. You smiled around him and looked him in the eyes. His head fell back at the sight around him.

After a few minutes, you could tell by his demeanour and ever-so-slightly slowing pace that he was getting tired. you moved your hands up to his while looking at him in the eyes. You gave him a gentle nod. His grip loosened from your head before he laid further back against the seat, long arms stretching out.

“Just need a little break, you keep going,” he chuckled, muttering something about being old.

You held onto the sides of his thighs as you quickly bobbed your head up and down his cock. You looked up at him, moaning at the sight. He looked so good— head fallen back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, letting out little breaths.

This only spurred you on, taking him as deep as possible over and over again. His cock twitched at the back of your throat, a sure sign that he was getting close. You moved one hand to fondle his balls. You gently massaged them, scratching at his scrotum.

“Fuck, m’gonna cum,” he breathed out.

You picked up your pace as you felt his balls tighten in your hand. His thighs flexed and his hips bucked as he let out a lewd groan— almost growl of your name. Feeling his hot cum fill your throat, you pressed your head down, nose touching the hair at the base of his cock.

As he came down from his high, you pulled off him and looked up. He looked down at you with a lazy smirk on his face. He reached out his hand, helping you up from the floor before pulling you onto his lap.

His thumb wiped the half-dried tears from your face, his other hand snaking behind your neck and threading into your hair to pull you into a passionate kiss, his beard scratching at your chin.

As the two of you pulled apart, you grinned at him, “think you still have it in you to fuck me, old man?”

Mars speaks… (again) sorry if this is a bit of a mess, it’s like 1:30 in the morning rn and i wrote this instead of sleeping. any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[frannyzooey]

One Bed

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Just shameless "there is only one bed" filth for the amazing beauty who is @jollyrancher87. Thank you for sending me your ask, my lovely - I hope you like it! ❤️

--

“Goddamn it.”

He sighs, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack as he shifts his weight to one foot and you step around him to see what he is looking at. 

Oh. 

“I mean,” you start carefully, “At least there’s one?”

You both look at the set of beds in front of you: one perfectly fine, if not a bit worn and dusty, and the other one covered in a pool of water from a crack in the ceiling above. It’s been dripping on it awhile, long enough for silt and plaster to form a sort of sludge on the top of the comforter and you only imagine how thick the mold is underneath. 

“Just take it,” he says, shrugging his pack off and you frown, shaking your head. 

“You’re the one with the bad back, you take it. I’ll make do on the floor.”

Impatience and exhaustion flares bright in his reply, his expression one of frustration. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fuckin’ floor while I get the bed. Just take it. I’ll be fine.”

He places his pack on the floor, kneeling down to join it. Resting his head on the rough, dirty canvas and folding his tight arms across his chest, he looks so comically uncomfortable that you fight the urge to laugh. 

“Jesus, Joel, get up.” You tap the toe of your boot against the heel of his and he looks up at you with a frown. “Look, it’s not huge or anything, but we should both be able to fit. Get up here.”

His eyes narrow, and you roll your eyes, turning away from him. You feel his gaze on you as you set your pack down and toe your boots off, placing them both at the end of the bed. Pulling back the covers, you lay down and tug them up and over you, laying still. 

“You coming?”

There is a beat, and then you hear another deep sigh escape him from the floor. 

“Fine.”

–

Practically asleep before his head hit the pillow, he wakes in the middle of the night. Not the sort of sudden jolt that he’s used to, but rather a slow, hazy pull from the depths that he’s often not afforded. He’s been sleeping deeply, and what wakes him is that he’s hot – too hot, uncomfortably hot. He moves to push away the covers when he touches something else instead - you.

You’ve wound around each other in your sleep: your face buried in the crook of his neck, your arms curled against the width of his chest, his leg tucked in between your own with his arm slung protectively over the curve of your side. He can tell you’re still asleep from your slow, steady breaths and he tries to carefully extract himself, but for every inch he moves back, you unconsciously press closer. 

He tries to rouse you instead, his hand gently shaking your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he whispers softly, in the dark. “Hey. Wake up.”

Expecting you to wake with a start, he tries not to think about how the only reason you’re probably so deeply asleep is his close proximity. How he himself slept just as deeply for the same reason. 

He shakes you again. “Hey.”

Your eyes still closed, a small frown pulls between your brows. You tilt your face up, still half asleep and when your mouth brushes his, he freezes. He doesn’t move, abandoning the attempt to wake you and he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep when your arm unfurls from his chest, reaching up to cup his cheek. He lets you touch it for a moment, his eyes taking in your face in the dark. 

Your mouth is so close to his he can feel warm puffs of your breath skimming over his lips, your face so close that he can see the fan of your thick lashes and your nose brushes against his in a sleepy nuzzle, seeking out his warmth. Your hand slides up into his hair, fingers threading into the thick strands. 

He should pull back and stop this, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you whisper slowly, your mouth full and soft with sleep.

His eyes drop to it for a moment and it looks so plush and inviting that he can’t help himself.

When his mouth meets yours in a chaste press, you kiss him back with an unconscious purse of your lips, opening them just enough to fit his lower lip neatly between your own. He breathes you in, letting them rest together in a full, lush fit and then you’re giving him another one; a firmer, more conscious pressure. Another one yet, his hand cradling the soft curve of your cheek to keep you in place. 

You fit yourself closer to him, your thighs tightening around his own and your nails drag over his scalp, his fingers pressing into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request to open yourself wider for him. You taste sweeter than he thought you would, your sleep-thick mouth warm and inviting and hungry and when he shifts to lean over you, you tug him on top of you instead. 

You might have been sleeping before, but he knows you’re fully awake now even if you won’t open your eyes. Your movements are intentional, the width of his body heavy and solid between your legs, comforting in its weight and your head tips back into the pillow, pulling away from the kiss for some air. He doesn’t seem to need any, his mouth molding around the curve of your jaw before sliding down the length of your neck and he gives the sweet skin there open mouthed kisses, a slight suck to them. His teeth catch, and you quietly moan. 

Bringing his mouth back to yours, his beard brushes against your skin, your tongue chasing his as you deepen the kiss and when he lets out a low groan into your mouth, you swallow it down, savoring it. 

He sounds just like he does in your dreams, just like the way this feels. Slick and needy between your legs, you roll your hips up to meet his in a wordless invitation and he presses his down into you, making room for himself. Soon you’re grinding against each other in desperation: your achingly empty core seeking out the solid heft that you can feel pressed against you, his own need evident. 

“Joel, I –,” you whisper into his mouth in between kisses, a pleading creeping into the word and he nods, knowing what you need. 

His hand reaches down and fumbles with his belt, another groan pouring into your mouth when he feels the heat of you against the back of his hand and then he’s working on the button of your jeans, trying to work it open. You try to help, but it’s not fast enough for him and with your thumbs still hooked under the waistband to slide them down, he shoves his hand underneath everything to find your slick seam, filling you swiftly with two thick fingers. 

“Fuck,” you whine, abandoning your plan and arching your hips into his hand. He curls his fingers and begins a grinding stroke, the digits a snug fit in their slick slide.

“Goddamn,” he groans, muscle memory making him reach for a spot inside. He finds it, rubbing the pads of his fingers against it and is rewarded with your breathless cry, and a tight clench. “You’re so fuckin’ wet for me. So wet. Gonna feel so good around my cock. Gonna make me come, with this sweet little pussy.” 

His fingers work, work, work underneath your jeans and you can’t even answer him with how good it feels. You let your thighs drop open wider, your hands reaching down to splay over the curve of his ass and you meet every one of his strokes with your hips, forcing his fingers deeper. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his mouth parted as he watches you take. 

“I want a taste,” he breathes, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go, down to the base of his bruised knuckles. “I want –” he kisses you greedily, panting into your mouth. “I want to taste it, but I –”

You want him to taste it too - Christ, you do – but you need him to fuck you right now more than you need air to breathe, so you wrap your hand around his wrist with a tug and he slips it out from your pants, your hands already working on shoving your jeans down. He understands, his weight abruptly leaving you to sit up and back on his heels and when he helps you strip them off along with your underwear, his body bows immediately to taste, but you stop him, pulling him back up to cover you. 

He reaches between you to pull himself out, aching and thick and stiff in the calloused palm of his hand and since that is the sensation that he is used to, he groans loudly when he finds the dip of your entrance and fills you with a smooth, slick stroke. 

You hastily shove the loose band of this jeans down further, needing to feel every inch of skin he’ll afford you and when his hips are a neat, flush fit against your own just like his mouth was earlier, you rock up to encourage him to move. 

“You okay?” he asks, knowing just how much he is to take and you nod, your teeth biting into your plush lower lip. 

“Yea, just – just move.” You raise your head off the pillow to kiss him, and when he dips his own to reach your mouth, he slides even deeper, his body relaxing on top of yours. The action steals the breath from your lungs, a soft sound catching in the back of your throat and he pulls his hips back just enough to feel the friction of you before sliding home again. Again, again. 

Your thighs hitch higher around his waist, your hands slipping under his thick flannel, splaying over his muscles flexing under your hold. His hand curls around the crown of your head, keeping you in place as he feels you shift up the mattress underneath him with every thrust and between the skill of his mouth and his hips, you can’t think of anything but him. 

You wish you could feel him wholly: feel his firm, bare body against yours, feel the sparse hair that covers his thighs and trails low over his belly, feel sweat collect where your body is joined as he moves above you - but you’ll take what you can get, in this room in the middle of nowhere, in this bed you were forced to share. 

“I knew you would feel this good,” he says lowly, his eyes closing with a frown. “I knew it.”

He’s been thinking about it for ages, waking up hard night after night, finding relief in his hand when he gets a moment alone and now that he has you, he can’t stop himself from going harder, deeper. The damp heat of your mouth rests just under his jaw, your gasps reaching his ears like the sweetest sound he’s ever heard and it makes him swell even more inside you; a bright flare of heat gathering at the base of his spine.  

You hook your ankles higher on his back, your hands bracing themselves on the mattress to help you force the angle just right and his hips are a rhythmic pound against the inside of your thighs, his jaw clenching with effort. He switches into a grind the wetter you get, his hand coming up to cup your chin and force your mouth to meet his, and your fingers dig into the meat of his forearm, holding on. 

Black skates around the edges of your vision, his scent and his sounds and his weight and strokes and thickness consuming you, and you just like in the shadowed blur of your dreams, you can’t say anything. Instead your body matches his need: your fingers gripping him in their desperate hold, your heels digging into the back of his thighs to push him deeper, your mouth memorizing his taste. 

He was never a man of words to begin with, but they have all left him now, and he chases the flutter he feels around him, stoking it until you’re all but gasping underneath him in your breathless warning. He wants to hear you say it just like you do in his dreams and as if you can read his mind, you do. 

“Joel,” you cry out, your lips brushing against his. “I’m – you feel too good, I –”

His hand drifts down to hold your hip, and he picks up his pace. 

Your fingers twist in his flannel, hanging on as he tips you right over the edge and the frozen, taut lock of your body underneath him makes him spill his own release; some inside, some along the curve of your ass when he tries to pull out. He twitches against you, his cock a wet smear along your skin and even though you can feel him try to immediately pull back, you hang on tight to him, forcing him to stay close. 

He’s breathing heavily and so are you, your eyes locked on each other. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have encouraged it, shouldn’t have taken advantage of your sleep muddled need and just when he’s about to open his mouth, you beat him to speaking. 

A smile curls at the edge of your lips and his eyes drop to watch; he can never look away from your mouth. 

“Thank god for one bed.”

[anniebeemine]

stress relief- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: porn with the tiniest bit of plot, oral (m. recieving), slight name calling, facefucking, hair pulling, masturbation, use of sir (for a lil bit), unprotected sex, creampie

Many people in his life have asked how Spencer stays so calm after hours of being teased, mocked, and insulted by serial killers all day. Usually he tells them that he shrugs it off, sometimes has a cup of tea before bed. But the true answer is right in front of him.

His hands are splayed on the kitchen cabinets above his head. You’re kneeling in front of him, head pressed against the floor cabinet. You keep your hands in your lap, closing your eyes to really focus on letting him use your mouth. You breath through your nose, tears stinging your eyes while his hair fell around him, blocking everything, but you from his view.

“Fuck,” he moans, low and guttural.

He’s slow, taking his time as he relishes the feeling of your lips around him.

“Look at you. Such a little-“ he cuts himself off with a groan. “So perfect.”

You lean back, breathless as you release him with a pop. You run your hands up his thighs, tugging his black slacks further down his hips, keeping them on his thighs. “Tell me what I am, sir.”

His cock twitched, bumping your nose lightly. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You pumped him lightly. “Tell me what I am,” you press. “Tell me how I’m such a whore for you, Spencer.”

He hesitates, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes bore into yours. You continue stroking him, squeezing tightly every few strokes. His body shudders each time you do, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

“Spencer.”

“Hm.”

“Stop holding back.” You smiled at him, caressing his thigh gently. “Two taps is a warning, three is stop. Okay?”

He nods. You give him a moment to compose himself, taking him in your mouth. You set the tip on your tongue, nodding for him to continue. He starts slow, thrusting just enough to get himself some sensation, but it’s not what he needs.

“You’re so good to me,” he whined, venturing deeper into your mouth.

You hum around him, placing your hands on his hips and pulling him forward.

“You’re throat is so fucking perfect, angel. You take me so well,” he moans, thrusting a little harder into your throat. You gag and a shiver runs down Spencer’s spine. The pornographic squelching of his cock in your throat the only sound in the room.

His hazel eyes find yours and he practically loses his load then and there. You have tears streaming down your cheeks, doe eyes looking wide and hypnotized as you choke on him. You struggled to keep your eyes open during another gag, blinking rapidly. One of his big hands leaves the cabinet for the first time since he got in and you purr. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping lightly. His hand flexes tight around the hair in his hand and he pulls his now drenched cock from your throat, reveling in the sound you make as he does.

“So perfect for me, my love.” Spencer tilted your head up by your chin. He studies the way your lips are slightly swollen, parted as if inviting him in again. “You always take me so well.”

“I’m yours, sir,” you rasp out, throat raw and rough from the pounding.

“You are mine,” he coos, sweetly, “my perfect little cock warmer.”

His other hand moves down to wrap around his cock and he leads the tip to your mouth, rubbing it against your soft lips. Your mouth falls open of it’s own accord, saliva dripping down your tongue and onto the valley of your breasts. You have always enjoyed and looked forward to having his cock in your mouth.

“Desperate, aren’t you, baby?” He smiled.

"Always, my love." You grin widely, reveling in the feel of his cock head moving against your tongue. Spencer's hand in your hair stops you from engulfing him in your mouth again and you whimper pathetically in need.

"Touch yourself."

You nod, sliding a hand between your legs to feel the wetness pooling there. Your finger runs over your sensitive clit, forcing your body to finch away. A sigh escapes your lips, your eyes rising to look at the man in front of you. You drop your mouth open again, running small, slow circles over your clit.

Spencer chuckled, hoisting you to your feet and pushing you onto the counter.

"I just cleaned this," you whined.

His hand replaces yours, sliding two fingers into your sopping cunt, the heel of his hand landing with light pressure onto your clit. "And I'll clean it again, baby."

Once you're settled comfortably, he pulls himself back, just enough to catch a glimpse of your need for him. Your body already feels like jelly, legs trembling as they wrap around his waist. You mewl as he runs the underside of his cock over your clit, teasing.

"Spence, please."

The weeping cock at your entrance slides in easily, walls clamping around him immediately. You pull his face from your neck by his hair. A moan leaves him and he pulls back to make eye contact with you. Pressing against his head until he rests his forehead against yours, you let your walls flutter around him. You can feel that he's close, feeling the mixture of his erratic thrusts and the throb of his dick as he fills you.

"Are you going to cum for me, sir?" You ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard.

He shudders. The look on his face makes it clear that you could just bat your eyelashes at him and he's cum right then and there. You catch his lips into a kiss, leading one of his hands from the counter to your core. He catches on, using his thumb to swipe over your clit. The head of his cock catches your g-spot in a particular way, bringing a sob to your lips along with your release, shuddering in Spencer's arms. He chokes on air as your walls clamp down on him and then he’s cumming with you, filling you up with slow deliberate strokes.

He flicks his hair from his eyes, still close as ever. "So, you were waiting for me naked in the kitchen?"

You shrug. "You didn't text me all day and you sounded tense when I called you." You kissed his nose. "There's dinner in the microwave."

Spencer smiled, running his hands along your back. "You spoil me."

[ervotica]

𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

request; Hello I was wondering if you could do a Liam Mairi x reader where involving the side-effects of having bonded mated dragons pair so they absolutely go feral with eachother while using the prompt "That's it, fuck, that's a good girl."

synopsis; you and liam discover the trouble with mated dragons when you wind up in his bed. hidden feelings threaten to come to light.

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; smut (18+ only), p in v, soft sex w feels

word count; 2.6k

Reaching out blindly until your hand snags against the soft fabric of Liam’s sleep shirt, you take a shuddering breath as a surge of arousal locks you on the spot, every muscle coiling tight when you press your forehead to the wall and tug him closer. His thighs are bare and they flex when he stumbles towards you, bracing himself by means of a hand either side of your head, corded biceps caging you in when a ragged pant rips through you and you grit your teeth.

“Easy,” he murmurs, though his voice is strained, the veins that wrap the lengths of his forearms like vines protruding from the creamy skin. You suppress a pathetic little noise that bubbles from the base of your throat, tipping your head back as Liam’s hand makes contact with the skin there. “Shh, shh.”

“Li-“ you whisper through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me to go away. I can’t- can’t control myself.”

“No-“ he says, quickly – too quickly, desperation lining his every syllable. You’re all too familiar with the feeling, the panic that seeps into his voice at the prospect of you leaving in search of another man’s bed. He’s not too proud to beg you. “No. Stay, please.”

The thought of you leaving is near unbearable now he’s close enough to touch you — feel you. Close enough to smell the shampoo in the wisps of hair that fall around your flushed face, close enough that the scent of you cloys in his nostrils and throws all inhibitions out the window.

His body presses against yours and the contact sets every nerve ending you possess alight. You tremble when he glides steady fingers - much steadier than you’re feeling right now - over your half-bare shoulder where your t-shirt has slipped downward, coming to a halt over your skittering pulse. His head falls forward into the juncture of your neck.

“Fuck.” His voice is rasping, barely there in your ears as Deigh does something Áine particularly likes and a crusade of need slams through him.

You thread your fingers through the blond tresses that tickle at your skin, pointedly ignoring the obvious disparity of your bodies, how his dwarfs your own, the way it makes your head spin with the need to get closer, to claw your way into his skin and feel every inch of him.

“Liam,” you whine softly, arching into him as those thick arms twine around your waist, pulling your torso flush to his own. He squeezes you, hands slipping beneath the t-shirt you’re clad in, palming and groping at every bump and ridge, every hill and valley of flesh he can reach. He ventures lower; your fingers tense where they still lay in his soft hair, and when his palms flatten and tap firmly at the backs of your thighs, you know what he wants.

You oblige the clear instruction, pushing yourself up from the balls of your feet until you’re in Liam’s arms, legs looped around his waist and ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Your back hits the wall as he surges forward to nose at your jugular. His lips part, tongue flicking forward to lave at your balmy skin. As his head dips, trailing a hot, wet path of half moons in the wake of his lips, you shudder.

“I know, my girl. I know,” he coos, sympathetic. His words slur and jumble, each sound melting into the next as though he’s drunk from the feel - the taste - of you alone.

The pet name would be enough to have you melting with affection under usual circumstances— now, it’s enough to have you whining, craning your head to slant your lips hungrily over his own, uncaring if it’s messy or filthy or downright sinful. Your only mission is to feel him, to get closer, to roam every inch of him with your ravenous tongue and teeth and lips— greedy for his touch.

If anyone were to walk in they’d certainly blanch at the sight; you pinned against the wall closest to the door of Liam’s room, his eager fingers splayed over your ass as you breathe into each other’s mouths. You’re unconsciously grinding down into him in quick, fervent bursts, and he reciprocates the movement appreciatively, letting you slide down the cold wall until the thick length of him presses to your wet cunt— hindered only by the fabric of his boxers and the lace of your panties.

The material is almost translucent, soaked through with your arousal. Liam coos something sympathetic that you can’t quite decipher for the fog that clouds your every nerve ending, for the hand that slips between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing tight circles into your swollen clit through the ruined fabric. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes and you tremble round him, the pleasure everything you need and somehow nowhere near enough, all at once.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “‘ve got you, angel. ‘S okay.”

You gasp wetly against his kiss-bitten lips, the only warning you give as you begin shuddering against him, your climax ripping through you before you even have time to think. Everything is so sensitive, every brush and graze of his skin against your own amplified tenfold— it’s too much but still, you greedily accept everything he’s willing to give you, teary eyes trained to his throat that works around a swallow as he watches you cum with heavy lidded eyes. Babbling around a sob, you part your lips from his in favour of sinking down into the juncture of his neck, your hot cheeks searing against the cooler skin that greets you like a soothing balm.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Liam,” you hiccup, grabbing large fistfuls of his t-shirt, the flimsy material the only thing that separates you from miles of toned skin and muscle. That lopsided grin cracks across his face, a dimple cratering onto the centre of his cheek as his teeth flash in an amused smile; his chest heaves, even more so when you slip your hands underneath his tee to palm at bare skin.

Setting you down on shaking legs, his hand encircles one of your wrists and tugs, leading you until you’re perched at the edge of the bed. He turns, elbows flaring wide as he pulls at the neckline of his shirt and drags the material over his head in one fluid motion. The planes of his back are bared to you, each individual muscle rolling and moving with one another as though they’re cogs in a well oiled machine. You want your mouth on every inch of that skin– no corner, no crevice left untouched.

And then he’s on you, prowling with a predatory glint in those cerulean eyes as his pupils swallow the bright hue of his irises; all he sees is you– the way you shrink and tremble at the fervent way he surveys you.

A wide palm slips beneath your own tee and curls around your ribcage, frantically rising and falling with every laboured breath. He shucks the fabric upward to expose your soft breasts to the cool air of the room, and watches with rapt fascination as your nipples harden into peaks under his attention.

You shift until you’re propped up on your elbows to allow him space to discard the item of clothing, complying when he nudges you until you’re flat against the mattress, legs hooked over his hips. Your head turns, face burning at the wolfish way his eyes rake over you, a great contrast to the flattened hands that scrub sweeping lines over the tops of your thighs to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he murmurs, folding at the waist to smear a kiss against the curve of your jaw. His next words are a rumble against your skin that seep into your pores, into your very bones. “If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. And we’ll stop. Okay?”

His cadence is low and rasping, and the feel of the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek sending a wave of affection through you that knocks the breath from your lungs. You nod.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay,” you croak.

“Good girl.”

Your pussy aches with a sharp throb when he reaches down to press his thumb back to your swollen bundle of nerves; you whine, hips canting up into his touch unconsciously as he slips the wet material down your legs and discards them somewhere behind him.

He presses a kiss to your tummy, your knee, your ankle, and then pushes your legs up and back until they’re folded atop your chest. You gasp when his warm breath fans over your bare sex.

“Liam.”

“I know, angel,” he grunts. His voice patters out into breathless silence as you part your thighs, splaying a hand across his thrumming pulse to wrench him upwards and towards you. He doesn’t resist, putty in your hands. Absolutely, wholly yours.

“Please,” you whisper; his nose brushes yours. “Need you.”

He parts your lips with his own, slaking his hunger on you. He revels in every noise he pulls from your slick lips, every whine and gasp and plead for him to give you what you want. He swallows them all greedily and when - and only when - he’s decided you’ve begged him prettily enough, does he free his weeping cock and line up with your entrance.

He sinks in slowly, every thick inch of him splitting you wider than the previous. He’s thick, cock twitching against your cunt as the flushed head practically begs to be buried inside of you. The colour bleeds from your knuckles as you clutch his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents in the wake of your cruel touch; he hisses, and when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he sweeps down again to press wet, ardent kisses to your face and neck. He hooks your legs up against his hips, pulling back to rock back into the tight clutch of your cunt with slow, rhythmic movements.

He hits every spot inside of you without trying, the spongy head of him rubbing continuously over a particular spot you haven’t discovered yet; it has you keening, sobbing out a broken moan against his balmy cheek as he coos gentle praises against the shell of your ear.

His entire focus is fixated on him desperately trying to not blow his load at the first feel of your cunt clasping him, breathing deeply through his nostrils as he props a forearm either side of your head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, picking up his pace as your enthusiasm starts to peak, your shaking fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Your body arches beneath him, head tipping back when a soft whine spills from your swollen lips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing encases your senses, drives you further to that edge that you’ve been aching for since you entered the room.

He’s so beautiful like this it sets you alight with adoration— and arousal: blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes, face flushed as he dips down to brush his nose with your own, plush, pink lips parted into a gasp when you clench around him.

“‘M so close, Li,” you croak, tightening your fingers where they’re carding through his hair.

“I know, angel. I know.” Deft fingers slide between your bodies as he works over your clit rhythmically— sweeping movements that alternate between tight circles and up and down motions as he places pressure on that bundle of nerves.

A sweet, quiet little gasp spills from your lips, and Liam doesn’t miss the way you tense, clinging to him harder as you shatter.

He coaxes you through it, movements never slowing as you ride out your peak, whining against his lips when he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming and writhing beneath him, kicking your legs feebly to push him away; he shudders at the movement, back bowing in the centre until he’s spilling into you with a groan. He braces himself with his head buried in the juncture of your neck, arms hooking around the base of your spine to hold you flush to him.

You both collapse in a haphazard mound of limbs and you roll onto your side to face Liam, his cheek still pressed to yours. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the length of your cheekbone, his smile imprinted into your skin as you hum and needle your way closer into his chest.

You don’t know what to say— neither does he. This silence is comfortable regardless, the gentle, lulling energy encasing the pair of you in this bubble.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your sticky forehead, smearing a kiss along the crown of your skull. Your lashes flutter, body soft and lax against his own as you greedily seep up his warmth. You’re weightless, your head pleasantly blank when he pulls the blankets over you, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing himself out of the bed and to the bathroom.

There’s some shuffling and then emerges seconds later, clad in a clean pair of boxers and clutching a t-shirt for you to take. You’re still how he left you, laying on your side and dozing, cheek smushed against the back of your hand.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, hooking an arm beneath your shoulder to hike you upright, handing you the tee; you rub at your heavy eyes with the backs of your fingers, swiping the fog away. He settles himself between your legs to clean you up, swiping a tissue between your thighs.

“You don’t have to do that, Li,” you croak. “‘M okay, I’ve got it.”

You make to loop your fingers around his wrist to halt his movements, but he only tuts and swats your hand away with a smile. Affection rises in your chest, hot and fast and blinding.

“I’ve got you, my girl.”

There’s that name again. My girl. You’re melting, sure you’re nothing but a pile of mush following those two little words; he surveys you with those cerulean eyes, laced with nothing less than adoration.

“Liam,” you whine, protesting.

“Oh, hush.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your kneecap before pushing the blankets back over your legs.

You pull the oversized tee he’s pushed into your hands over your head appreciatively, resisting the urge to bury your face into the fabric and inhale at the scent of him that cloys the room, that swirls around your face in tantalising tendrils.

You love him, you realise. The admission isn’t terrifying as you thought it would be, but rather a calm wave that washes over you and grants you a newfound clarity. You want this all the time with him. You want everything.

The bed dips as he returns to your side, an arm around your waist until you’re both propped against the headboard, your face resting in the dip of his collarbone. You feel his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in at any moment, the sheer volume of love you hold for this boy too much for your body to hold onto. You brush your lips against his shoulder, blinking slowly in your haze. The rumble of his laugh carries right down to your bones.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“You’re more beautiful,” he whispers back as though it’s a secret. Private words shared between the pair of you, for no one else to hear.

You’re asleep before you can respond, draped lazily over his torso. He shucks the blankets up until they’re covering you right up to your shoulders. Your nose scrunches unconsciously.

Fuck, he loves you.