#ticklish!albert

[euporie-art]

do not apologise

[crescenthistory]

if you're comfy w/ writing this, could i request a barty x reader, where barty gives reader a piercing? or reader gives barty a piercing? (either is fine, you can choose!) i've been thinking about it all day 😗

~🍓

i wrote this aaaaages ago and forgot to post it lol, sorry berry!

wc: 1.6k

cw: gn!reader, no use of y/n, fluff, suggestive undertones, amateur piercings, vague needles, don't try this at home plz. modern au, established relationship, barty's general bursts of mania

Note: this is partially inspired or at least motivated by my chat with komi about dyeing barty's hair for him

“And why did this have to happen at 2 AM again?” You asked wearily as you carded your hands through Barty's slightly damp hair.

He sat on a chair in front of you, chin against your stomach and grinning widely up at you. His face was illuminated by the shimmery moonlight streaming in through the mosaic windows of the prefect bathroom.

About 20 minutes ago, there was a rapid and insistent knocking on your door, one that each and every one of your roommates clearly recognised as Barty as they groaned your name. You flicked your wand towards the door to let in a stumbling Barty, wearing his signature smirk, pajama bottoms that were hanging dangerously low on his hips and a tattered shirt with wet spots around his neck. He had clearly just stepped out of the shower and all but come barging in to find you.

There were various grunts from around the room at the light that streamed in behind Barty. Someone threw a pillow in your general direction, smacking into one of your bed posts before falling to your mattress with a soft thump.

“Babe, take your dog and leave,” one of your dormmates grumbled, though not without an underlying affection for both you and your dog.

You gave Barty a look that you hoped screamed “look, you've gotten me in trouble” even as you jumped out from beneath your covers, suddenly awake just for him. You quickly shimmied on something more fitting for whatever adventures Barty had in store for you, not feeling like trekking through half of Hogwarts in your undies.

Barty just grinned back at you, though perhaps a bit sheepishly, as he picked up a jumper that was hanging over the back of a chair and threw it to you. Were it not for the other people in the room, you were sure he would have commented on the fact that it was his jumper.

“Well, because it was at 2 AM when I wanted to do it, and you said to get your help next time,” Barty drawled in response, as if this was the most natural response in the world. He was drawing circles into the flesh of your hips. “And I figured you would be more upset about me ditching you than waking you.” He gave you a crooked smile that gleamed with every ounce of cunning in his body – which wasn't a light statement.

You shook your head but made no attempt to quell the curling of the corners of your lips as you continued carding through his hair, which was drying more and more each time you caressed it. You hummed in response, not wanting to pick an argument you knew you would lose.

“What do you want to pierce this time then, my love?”

Barty seemingly melted further against you at the term of endearment, irrevocably yours in this intimate moment. He hummed as he pushed your shirt up enough to shower your midriff with soft kisses. “How do you feel about a helix?” he murmured against your skin, smiling when you had to suppress a giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“You're asking as if I'm the one getting the piercing.” You huffed a laugh, scratching your nails up and down his neck to get his attention back. “How do you feel about another helix?”

“I'm just in the mood to get another piercing, doesn't really matter which one,” he said absentmindedly, as if body modifications were an afterthought and not an active decision. “I’ll get them all eventually anyway.”

“Oh, so if I wanted to give you a Prince Albert, you would be all fine and dandy with that?” You laughed as you spoke, shaking your head at him.

Barty just grinned and winked at you. “If I want anyone to give me a Prince Albert it would be you with those pretty hands of yours.”

You tried to just scoff and not let his insinuations get to you. “When that day comes, I will drag you to a professional piercer myself. Don’t want you getting an infection.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Barty murmured against your stomach before nipping lightly at your exposed flesh to get you squealing. A light tug at the dark roots of his hair got him to look back up at you, eyes landing on yours as he couldn’t fight his laughter.

“Helix then?” You let one of your hands card back through his hair, soothing where you pulled at it. 

He hummed in the affirmative and leaned into your touch.

Not able to deny yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his forehead. You tried pulling back, but Barty’s hands tightened around the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as he tilted his head backwards to capture your lips with his. It was a stretch in this position, but Barty didn’t relent before he had gently invaded your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his.

“Now I’m ready,” he said through a grin as he pulled back.

“Alex was right, you are a dog.” Despite the admonishing, you reflected his grin as you pulled back to grab your wand.

“I distinctly remember Alex calling me your dog.” Barty flipped the chair around so he could fold his arm over its back, watching you walk around in preparation.

“My dog then,” you corrected. “But a dog nonetheless.”

With the flick of your wand, you sterilised the equipment Barty had procured from somewhere in his dorm – that you wholly didn’t trust to be state of the art, but it would have to do – and your own hands and arms before you put on the black gloves.

“What a professional,” Barty mused.

“One has to do their research with a boyfriend like you.” You walked back towards him with the equipment and your wand.

“Mmm, call me your boyfriend again, baby.”

You laughed, swatting the air near his arm, not wanting to have to sterilise your hands again so soon. “You have got to focus, B. Do you want to draw up where you want the helix?”

He just shook his head, leaning his chin on his folded arms, smiling wider when you visibly noticed the flexing of his bicep. “Just put it somewhere between the other two. On the right side.”

“You don’t want me to draw up where?” you asked dryly.

Barty reached out, his hands once more finding the backs of your thighs as he pulled you closer, kneading the flesh in admiration. “Where’s the fun in that? I’m ready, Dragă.”

You softened a little in his touch and hummed in the affirmative. “Alright, baby. Turn your head for me?”

Barty dutifully listened to you, dumb smile he only reserved for you on his face. With the flick of your wand, you pulled his hair away from his ear and cleaned it, preparing. You fumbled a little with the needle, far from a professional but knowing that you with your research is better than Barty recklessly doing this on his own. The needle was the proper one at least, hollow and sharp, ideal for helixes. You had a titanium barbell pinched between two of your fingers, ready to be inserted.

“Are you ready, my love?” you whispered, not wanting to hurt him while knowing he didn’t mind.

He looked at you in his peripheral vision. “For your hands on me? Always.”

You let out a chuckle before breathing in deeply and setting the needle to what seemed like the ideal place between his other ear piercings. Swiftly, you pushed it through just like the countless videos you watched back home had shown you. With kind fingers, you replaced the needle with the barbell, using the instrument to screw on the end. 

“And there we go!” you announced quietly, mostly to yourself. You dipped your head down to drop a kiss to his messy hair, nose brushing against acid green and dark brown strands.

You quickly discarded your gloves and lifted your wand to wash and sterilise the piercing once more. You didn’t think of how closely you stood double-checking that there was indeed very little blood trickling out, despite his ear being slightly red, which you supposed was quite normal – until Barty swung his legs off the chair and moved his grip from your thighs to your waist to pull you close.

He laughed against your mouth as he kissed you deeply, kiss after kiss placed on your own giggling lips.

“B! Don’t you want to see the piercing?” you managed to get out between kisses.

“Always so focussed,” he murmured, but he did rest his forehead against yours.

Grabbing your own hand with his, Barty pulled you towards the nearby full-length mirrors that the prefect bathroom was filled with – “so they can practise being even more in love with themselves” Barty would always say.

He stepped close to the reflection, turning his head to see the piercing that had landed rather evenly between his two other helixes. “Sick.” He turned to you with a grin. “You are a true professional, aren’t you, baby?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he swallowed it with another kiss, dragging you back against the mirror with him. He intended to thank you profusely for your services.

[weskie]

Alchemy (Albert Wesker x afab!Reader) - Lover, Leader, Liar

3700 words, non-chronological/plotless one shot style, smut, oral sex, masturbation, flashbacks, wesker yearning, [amab!version here] part of the lover leader liar series | Fic Directory

What have you done to him?

You've bested his heart.

As he descends upon you, reverence in every brush of his lips, he realizes what you'd done to him so very long ago. 

He's always been so cold. There's never been something like this– something like you. 

No… 

Someone like you. 

For a time, he couldn't name it. You'd given it words, but he's refused for so long now to submit to the power of them. It doesn't matter that a feeling not unlike the heat of stars yet undiscovered bloomed within his chest at their utterance. It matters not that they pushed him out of control and he shed upon you that which has not left his eyes since he was but a boy.

What matters is that he knows these are lies. 

Much like he knows that repression breeds intensity. Wesker can swallow it down all he likes, but there will be no escaping it. It's anchored so deeply that any attempts to remove it would surely kill him. 

What a wretchedly human feeling…

Yet, as you respond to every touch, every nip and peck and drag of his tongue, he has naught but you on his mind.  Everything and nothing all at once.  Every little factoid, mannerism, idiosyncrasy– every little thing that makes you you. He thinks of the sparkling shine of your eyes when you blink blearily at him in the early hours of the morning because you, night owl though you may be, wake early every day just long enough to see him off.  He thinks of your hands, of how you work so meticulously, methodical and precise, your touch somehow firm and gentle all at once.  The same hands that run now along his biceps and smooth their way to his nape, curling and raking into his product-stiffened hair.  He’s always wanted to feel you tug at it.  Perhaps tonight he can drive you to the point of fulfilling his wish.

But first, every inch of you must be explored. There can be no part left undocumented in his mind, no visual lost nor taste abandoned in exchange for a hasty release. No, he must know every part of you. His hands must glide along flesh they've felt countless times because he has to know how it feels this time under these circumstances. His tongue must lap along the column of your neck – your reactions, altered by arousal, must be observed and collected, understood and memorized for the next time so that he may show you over and over again the magnitude of his affections. 

You are his instrument. His fingers pluck and slide along your strings, every sound a melody to be immortalized in his mind along with the methods by which they are made. Wesker will take you apart and study all that is required to do so and then, like any maestro, he will put you back together, piece by piece, until you're ready to sing for him once more. 

It is a privilege to behold you in your most vulnerable state.  You are laid bare for him, a result of the blessing that had been the right to unwrap you, and your squirming beneath his gaze is nothing short of endearing.  Are you worried about his perception of your form?  Do you fear judgment?  You would be a fool to believe he would ever view you in a negative light.  Were he so inclined to find you anything but ethereal, his hands would not dance at your sides.  The corners of his lips would not rise into a grin at your ticklish reactions, nor would he descend to kiss any and all apprehension from you.

You are special.

You are his.

Peppered kisses litter down to your chest.  Beneath his lips lies salvation pumping away, each thud its own proof of your existence.  He can’t help but turn his head and press his ear to it, sighing softly when your fingers thread into his hair.  

He’s fallen asleep to this sound many times, lulled to peace, to dreams of what something normal would have been like.  He would have bought you a home with a picket fence and a big backyard.  You would be happy.

“Are you happy?”

He’d been on edge all day.  Spilled laboratory samples, headaches, his temper growing shorter by the second… The thought never occurred to him before.  It had been only two days since he… well, for lack of a better term, bit you in a pathetic loss of control.

The mark is still there.  Each deep red indentation is haloed in a nebula of bruising.  It’s tender to the touch– you’d told him so yourself.

His fingers tremble as he smooths a triple antibiotic ointment over it and he cannot make them stop.  You watch him in the mirror.

He dares not look at anything else.  His eyes must stay fixed on your wound.  If your answer is negative, if you are unhappy with him, he has to be looking directly at what he’d done to you when he hears it.  Then he must convince himself that the pain of his failure doesn’t really hurt at all.

He must not mind that it hurts.

He must not mind that it will kill him.

You regard him with a hum before craning your neck to the right, offering him more space to work.

“Always.” 

His lips lock to the scar.  That gnawing feeling returned with the memory, but he won’t give it such power ever again.  His marks will be delivered gently, reverently, as pleasantly as the air that kisses his spine and as sweetly as your palms glide down its curve.

You sing so beautifully for him.  Exclamations hidden and trapped in breaths, small squeaks that break through the self control he yearns to crumble.  He needs to hear more, and descending is its own treat.  New strings to pluck, new songs for you to sing.  A bud between his lips, the other pinched between his thumb and forefinger.  But he cannot simply stop there.  Down and down he goes, torn between letting his eyes flutter shut or taking in the sight of even the most minute of your reactions, lips pressing closer and closer until he’s tucking his arms beneath your thighs and oh…

Your gentle laughter rings through his kitchen. He’s lived in Raccoon City for several years now, but his private life has remained as silent as the day he’d arrived.  Only television filled the space, usually for mere minutes if at all.  Occasionally the radio may serve as a substitution, or even a rare phone call may disrupt the quiet… Nothing more.

It’s homey, you tell him.  Not what you’d expected, but it’s pleasant and you’re impressed with his ability to decorate.  You express appreciation for his choice of indirect lighting, of how comfortable it makes the space feel.

He bites his tongue.  There should be no reason whatsoever that he would have to catch himself like that.  Those words, that admission… How is it that you’d nearly pulled it from him?  Details of the past, of cold dormitories and blinding overhead lights, stiff beds and solid chairs, white walls with perhaps only a sheet of edicts– the creed that rules his… ruled his life.  His upbringing had been nothing but sterility and deprivation of individuality, he almost says.  Of course his home would contrast that.

But why would he want to tell you such things?

The cake you’d brought is sweet against his tongue, chased away by the bitterness of black coffee that lingers until the next bite.  He wagers the contrast is much like the both of you.

You’re breathing life into his home in a way these walls have never seen before.  Even the gray paint seems to change in your presence.  After you leave, it feels different.  He cannot name it.

This is the alchemy that you do.

He means to dive in confidently, yet he trembles. Excitement, he would say if ever you asked.  A half-truth.  

Wesker halts, breaths falling from his mouth to fan over your slickened cunt.  This close, he can taste you on the air, wafting softly over his tongue to tease and tease and tease before it can find its home everywhere it can reach.  

Your hands squeeze his– your lifeline, he thinks smugly– and he finds you red and embarrassed.  You must be wondering what he’ll do next, though surely you could surmise he’ll bury his face in your pussy like a man starved.  He means to, of course, and he will, but first…

“W-What are y-you–”

His ribs expand with such a forceful intake, nose pressed to the base of your clit.

A shiver runs down his spine.  Saliva pools in his maw.

More.

Slower this time.  Savor it– savor you.

His eyes roll back, mouth agape with a stuttered, breathy moan.  This in particular must be committed to memory.  Such a sweet, heady scent… He thinks he’d like to soak his gloves in it.  To be able to bring a hand to his nose at any time and have a perfectly saturated reminder…

“Divine,” comes a voice that should belong to a man knelt before an altar.  He sounds as if he’s witnessed something holy– otherworldly, even.  As if everything he could ever ask God for has been placed in his hands and he’s so full of awe that the roaring tides of his mind have stilled into an enraptured haze.  He is no better than Eve and the apple, the way his tongue falls free– finally– for more. 

Your cries barely register beyond the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

This is the most inappropriate, undignified, and perhaps shameful thing he’s ever done.

This hasn’t happened to him in… hell, has it ever actually occurred before?  Nothing even happened, you’d simply brought him coffee as you always did.  He’s heard other men joke that such an issue could simply be tucked into the waistband of one’s pants and ignored until it goes away, but it wasn’t going away.

And it was downright unbearable.

His office door is locked and his legs are spread, pants and underwear at his ankles as he leans further back in his chair.  Every so often, he cracks an eye open to ensure that the blinds at the window have not magically opened.

This is natural, he reminds himself.  Attraction is natural, fantasies are natural… 

Touching himself at work, however, is not. 

The closer he gets, the harder he clamps a hand to his mouth.

He keens with your clit between his lips, suckling and flicking with so much enthusiasm that it’s practically uncharacteristic.  Wesker’s earlier wish is coming true; tufts of his hair are locked in a grip between your fingers, being tugged and pulled as you writhe beneath his care. When you press his head forward, he smirks.  If he could go any deeper, he’d have already done it by now, but he’s pleased to know you want the very same.

He’ll settle for plunging two fingers into your heat.

“G-God!”  You cry for him.  You are so very generous, bestowing such a title upon him.  “O-Oh g–”

“...god!”  He chokes against his own palm, legs quaking, body pulsing as each burst of bliss strikes him like a hammer to hot iron.

He cannot let this become a habit.  He tells himself this every time.

The image of you swirls in his mind, of your sparkling eyes and sunshine smile.  Water pelts his shoulders like liquid fire, tap turned as hot as it can go– a distraction that failed.  He’s gone too far now.  It’s no longer salacious thoughts alone that plague him when this happens.  No, it’s become much worse.  It’s… they're tender.  They're always tender now, it seems.  And there is an ache afterward.

Your absence…

“Al, I–”  You mewl, back arching, thighs fighting his overwhelming strength to close around his head.  As if you could.

He’s experimenting.

Do you react better to slow swipes or quick flicks of his tongue?   The latter delivered to your sweet nub leaves you clenching around his digits, but suction? It makes your walls flutter.  And how exactly should he treat your precious, silky insides, hm?  Do you prefer to be finger-fucked fast or slow?  Perhaps you’d like it if he rubbed against your walls.  Simple pressure, maybe?  If so, how much…  How do you react to a scissoring motion– ah, very nicely…

It’s all so maddening. 

Ideally he’d at least have a hand available to tend to himself, but he can’t take it away from you.  Still, still you cling to him, your right curled around his left– you tell him so very much with it, too.  The way you squeeze him harder each time he does something you like…

The way you grip him like a vise when it finally happens…

One, two, three…

You quiver, you tremble, you fall apart like a collapsing star, and you do it all for him, hips bucking, fingers twisting in his hair to show him your gratitude.  He counts the pulsations…

Twelve, thirteen, fourte–

“G-God, please!”  You weep.  “S’too much– t-too much, I–”

You can do it.  You can take it a little longer, just to see… he knows you can.

Nineteen, twenty…

Your heels dig into his back, fist desperately trying to pull his face from your spasming cunt while you arch and squirm.  Every focused curl of his fingers is designed to put you right back on that peak, right back to where he wants you– in the palm of his hand.

He rises to his knees, arm still curled strong around your waist to bring you with him, still hugging your core to his face.  You mewl at the loss of his fingers, but you sing so beautifully when they’re replaced by his tongue.  

He can see you better like this.  He can stare right into your hooded eyes while you can do little more than accept his love and leak your own right into his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he rasps, lips smacking as they leave your wetness.  “Again.” He wants to know– no, he needs to know how fast he can tip you over the edge once more.  Every detail.  

Every detail.

He knows everything.

Your file isn’t exceptionally hard to go through.  You have experience, but none that could amount to a brick of a folder.  He was already well aware of everything in there from when you were hired, but another read couldn’t hurt.

He’d even pulled your medical records, courtesy of Umbrella’s far reaching power.

Your photo stares back at him and he wonders exactly what it is he’s doing.  Every part of his higher mind screams not to get so involved– not to care. It can only end in pain and regret.  He won’t be here for terribly long.  S.T.A.R.S. will fulfill its purpose someday and he’ll leave everything behind… even you.

The thought angers him.

Were he to peel back the layers, he would find grief masquerading behind such a volatile emotion. 

“A-Al, I c-can’t!  Albert~!”

He may be worshipping at the altar, but it is you who recites the prayer. Oh, how he loves when you say his name. Whether uttered behind the closed door of his RPD office while the two of you ate lunch, murmured lovingly in the morning, or moaned, only you could make it so special. 

He counts an average twenty-five pulsations per orgasm– above average, actually, which strokes his ego like nothing else.  You can come a second time after several minutes of constant attention, and he has to be rougher despite the risk of overstimulation, but you quake when you do.

He doesn’t lower you until he’s licked you clean.  There’s a swell of pride unlike any he’s ever felt before as he takes in the sight of you.  Every accomplishment pales in comparison to this– to you. 

Perhaps he should have wiped his mouth before kissing you, but he quite likes the whine you make at your own taste.  Wesker hisses when you part.

Sneaky little thing.

He’s not sure why the loss of confinement went unnoticed–probably too focused on you– but his face falls to your neck the second you palm him over his underwear.  By all rights, you deserve to explore him the same as you’d allowed him to with you.

“Careful…” he warns, breath tight in his throat.  He arches over you, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of his remaining clothing.  He huffs a sigh of relief when the cool air finally hits his lower body, but it turns to a sharp gasp when you find him once more.

Wesker’s jaw tenses, teeth baring, fist coming up to your hair– fuck, why is he so…

The very millisecond your thumb swipes his tip, he’s snatching your hand away.

Too close.

You look at him in confusion, the question of whether you’d made a mistake is written all over your face before you take in his own expression and it hits you.  He can see it in real time, the way you realize he’s right fucking there and you’d hardly touched him.  The way you realize he’s a goddamn giver in bed, that he gets off on it, that your pleasure was all his and no amount of claiming experimentation will ever hide it from you.

You’ve always seen through him, haven’t you?

“Just–” he tries.  Just what? 

Words are failing him.  His mind is failing him, clouded entirely with you, you, and you. Your touch, your presence, your beauty, your power– your lips upon his, the soft glide of them and the soothing strokes of your thumbs at his cheekbones… Captivating, entrancing, gentle and loving…

Loving… 

The corner of his eyes sting.  He curses everything that is, that ever was.  He must be cursed, too.  What else could it be?  Why, why does his self control wane like this with you?  Why did this very same thing happen the night he bit you?

He won’t have it.  He won’t.

He won’t be weak.

His tongue breaches your mouth with practiced ease tainted with desperation and he reaches down, squeezing the base of himself just enough to ward it all off.  The silken wetness of your slit welcomes him– god, when did you get like this again?  Didn’t he lick you clean just moments ago?

You mewl between kisses.  

You haven’t spoken to him in days.

Since selling his soul to a new corporation, the two of you had found safe lodging in an off-grid facility for less-than-legal research endeavors.  Your living space was much like a standard apartment, which seemed apt to allow staff to stay for long periods of time.  He’d only caught you a handful of times sneaking into the kitchen, but you could hardly look at him.  He supposes, though, that it’s only natural after everything that happened.

It gnaws at him anyway.

He stands at your bedroom door, hand lifted to knock, except he’s frozen in place.  He can hardly fathom what he would even say to you.  ‘Apologies for surely giving you PTSD,’ would almost certainly justify your actions if you were to finally take a swing at him.  He runs through a variety of ways to approach you, but each falls short of satisfactory.

He only leaves once he’s sure he’s run out of ideas.  The wood of his own bedroom door creaks under his punishing grasp as he stares at the barrier separating you from him.

“Please,” comes the word, silent yet heavy all the same on his tongue.

“Please!” You gasp, legs winding around his hips.  He should sink in right now, thrust into you in one eager push and watch the glory of it spread across your face– there it is again.  The need to take, the need to dig his fingers into you through sinew and bone and take and take and take until all that you are is his from the inside out.  Inch by inch, you pull him in, his own breath pushing harshly through gritted teeth to mingle with yours, your keening, whining, pathetic song that’s all for him.  You’re gripping him so tightly, so snug and warm, accepting a part of him piercing you, taking you, claiming you. 

You pull and pull until your legs lock at the base of his back, releasing a heavy sigh as you adjust to him.  Wesker’s upper lip peels back in a silent snarl.  He tries, oh how he tries to deliver the first motion as gently as you deserve.  A soft rock of his hips that stutters into a forceful push the very second he’s fully buried and it feels so good that he has to nestle his face back in your neck, he has to latch on to that mark, he has to sink his nails into your hips and fuck like a madman–  fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling; lips at his ear, panting; the warm flutter of flesh against his cock– too much, too much, too much– his and his alone– you, his little lamb forever locked between the sharp of his teeth– his, his, his–

A stillness takes him, overpowering in every sense.  His body tenses, locks, twitches and jolts, but his mind has taken leave and it all falls away.  Stress, memories, calculations and formulas, deadlines and missions– all gone. Like the lightning rod of his spine had caught and sent one such heavenly bolt through his very existence.  Tingling, warm, sweet release– a reset, a forfeit, relinquishing control in the one place– in the one person that he is safe to do so.

You kiss the missing words off his lips before he can even attempt to conjure them.  The fog clears and in its center is you, waiting, always, always for him.  So he moves to meet you, groaning, the sounds caught in his throat suddenly free and bound together by the stitching of your name falling from his lips– his song, his melody intertwined with yours while he fills you over and over with his devotion. 

You take from him every rotten inhibition, every modicum of the grandiose, his incessant need to be untouchably great.  For you, he is reduced to the foundations.  To flesh and bone, to repressed desires and suppressed urges, to his most basic wants and needs all laid bare.  Here, with you, he simply is. 

This is the alchemy that you do.

Ao3

[a-stars-art-blog]

Headcanon that it’s hard for them to get intimate bc Albert keeps laughing. Whether it’s Nervous laughter or, like the doodle states, bc he’s very ticklish or whatever reason

Happy BenBaro Tuesday

[joanquill]

*INHALES*

Hi there! I’m a really REALLY big fan of your writting and I happened to write a few Moriarty fanfics and writtings too!

This is actually me new tumblr acount on my new phone cause my old phone is broken and my mom wouldn’t let me fix it again cause I already have a new phone.

I write my first moriarty headcanon’s here https://www.tumblr.com/aisyahstar123/736408203205771264/moriarty-back-scratches-headcanons

(As you can probably tell I’m Aisyahstar123, it’s a long blog and I never change the name)

So if you’re still closed, please just ignore this.

But can I politely, kindly request some Moriarty brother’s with a S/O that likes to scratch their back? I always have a things for back scratches.

Back Scratches Headcanons

Albert, William, and Louis James Moriarty

A/N: EYYYYY FELLOW WRITER! 🙌 thank you so much!! 🥰 I'm sorry to hear about your phone, though... But I enjoyed reading your headcanons! I'm not sure if this is good but I hope you like it 😅 Also, I apologize for the inconsistent updates! I'm not sure if it's laziness, procrastination, seasonal depression, or something else

Albert James Moriarty

He was taken aback when you first suggested it.

Not that he found it weird. Just wasn't expecting it.

The first time you scratched his back, he flinched a little from your touch but slowly got used to it and relaxed.

He will never admit it to you, but he felt ticklish at some spots and tried his best to hide his reaction.

You noticed how his muscles tensed whenever your fingers reached his sides but decided to keep it to yourself.

Now, he LOVES your back scratches.

He likes to listen to your voice while lying on his stomach and your nails scratching his back.

Don't expect much of a reply from him while you scratch his back because he's most likely dozing off.

Especially if he was tired or had a hard time at work.

You could be reciting the dictionary, and he won't complain. He just likes listening to you while you're scratching his back.

His favorite position is his head on your lap, hugging your waist while you scratch his back.

Or any other position where he has his arms around you.

He might ask you to scratch his back every time he comes back home, especially when he's gone for days to weeks.

He offered to give you back scratches as well, but they usually end up with him tickling your sides.

At some point, it became a habit for you to scratch his back before bed, helping him relax and fall asleep.

William James Moriarty

When you first suggested it to William, he had some reservations but eventually agreed.

When you first did it, you noticed how he would tense against your touch, but he slowly got used to it.

When he noticed you trying to tickle him, he immediately grabbed your hand with a smirk, warning if you do that again, he'll retaliate tenfold.

Safe to say, you didn't try to do that again.

It took him some time to get used to it, but now, he loves them.

Whenever you suggest giving him one, he says yes.

However, he usually lets you do it when you're alone or somewhere private.

He'll guide your hands or tell you if he wants you to scratch him somewhere.

He's much more of an active conversationalist than Albert, humming in response or asking you questions so you can continue talking to him while you scratch his back.

He likes having you scratch his back before he's about to nap, helping him relax while he enjoys your touch.

He also loves giving your back scratches.

However, he might try to tickle you. Especially when he's been very busy or away from you.

But most of the time, he likes seeing you relax while he's scratching your back.

His favorite is when you're lying on his chest while he's scratching your back and vice versa, talking about your day.

He might unconsciously run his fingers across your back while you're cuddling.

Louis James Moriarty

It's gonna be a while until you convince him.

When you suggested it, Louis' face became red, giving some excuse or running away, saying he had some chores left.

He'll avoid the topic as much as possible, feeling it was too intimate.

When you do convince him, he'll be nervous and tense the whole time.

He's pretty self-conscious the whole time, unsure how he should be, where his hands should go, or if he should talk or not make any noise while you scratch his back.

When you reach somewhere sensitive or touchy, he immediately jumps away with a red face and cuts it short.

Same reaction when he makes a noise he wasn't expecting.

After a while, he gets used to it and relaxes when you scratch his back.

Now, when you reach somewhere ticklish, he just moves away and grabs your hand, telling you not to touch him there with a shy face.

If he notices you keep trying to scratch him there, he immediately gets you back and tickles you.

He loves getting his back scratched after a long day, focusing on your touch while you talk to him about anything.

His favorite is when you both lie in bed while you scratch his back, especially when it's right before you both go to sleep.

When Louis offers to give you back scratches, he's very gentle at first. Not wanting to cut you with his fingers or hurt you.

When he gets used to it, he offers you back scratches if he notices you are stressed or irritated.

Or when you go to him to complain, he instinctively reaches to your back and lightly scratches it, sometimes just patting you and rubbing your back.

[roamingtigress]

Hosea and Dutch's wedding anniversary is approaching, and Dutch wants to impress Hosea with a little more accessorizing (because, as you know, he doesn't have enough jewelry).

*CONTAINS OLD MAN YAOI SMUT*

Chain Reaction

by Roaming Tigress

Dutch is many things.

He is a con man, a leader of a notorious gang with a novel-length list of crimes he is wanted for. He is a frustrating bastard that makes you want to whack him across the head with a pillow, and yet, you might also take pity on him. He may also be charming; many have fallen for his silver tongue, his mightiest weapon.

And a man with a taste for finer things.

Among those finer things is his wardrobe.

Adorning that waist jacket is a Double Albert pocket fitted with a red ruby fob adornment. Sure, its intended use is for wax stamps, but let's face it, mostly, it's to draw the eye to that slutty, slutty waist.

And while many know of Dutch as a conman, a bastard who needs a good whack upside the head with a pillowcase full of bricks (maybe followed by a hug), what many might not know is that Dutch is, well, to put it bluntly, adventurous. And his (mostly) patient husband, Hosea, is always up for something different.

Dutch had a plan for that Double Albert, that red ruby fob.

That plan would also surprise Hosea; their wedding anniversary was just a month away. Dutch thought, why not impress him a little?

Like all Dutch's plans, though, it did not go according to the plan.

On the first piercing, his left nipple, Dutch nearly, literally, hit the roof in that shop behind the gun store in Annesburg. Now, another little-known fact about Dutch, for better or for worse: he's touch-sensitive.

Very touch-sensitive.

The right piercing, another week later, went just as smoothly. Judging from the horrific scream, a passerby might think a man in that shop was getting a tooth extracted without anesthetic, a bikini wax, or maybe even castrated. And that passerby would be forgiven for making such a mistake.

"I didn't rip it off!" Cried the man halfway out the door as Dutch took off, clasping a hand over his right chest.

Dutch is known to be a little dramatic.

Another fact about Dutch? He's occasionally a little dramatic.

Now came the time for the navel piercing.

That also went swimmingly.

Well, it kicked off.

Another fun fact: Dutch is ticklish! It's one of the ways Hosea can control him; when he's in a foul or otherwise difficult mood (which is rarely, of course), a poke to the ribs—particularly in public—can get him to crumble.

And he's exceptionally touchy in the region from his ribs to his midsection -- as the other poor man would come to find out.

The piercer got a full boot to the forehead when the piercing needle slipped through the top rim of that tender target.

"GODDAMNIT!" Had he spent a little more time readying Dutch, the piercer might not have had to play dodge-the-spurs, but this was Dutch's third visit. Knowing how the other appointments went, he wasn't in the mood to scratch the cowboy's belly any more than he had to.

The man, a particularly short but stout Scot with a full head of red hair named Cameron Carruthers, would live to tell the tale of receiving a cowboy boot to the face by one of the most notorious outlaws. A particularly sensitive outlaw; being wimpy over it all would be an understatement.

In all the years of his back-room business, in which he used the stock storage cabinets from Mr. Shultz, Cameron never saw someone kick up such a fuss. Now, the navel and the nipples are sensitive areas of the body, but surely, a man of Dutch's reputation could have retained some of that stoic character over it all. Maybe they just don't make cowboys the way they used to.

Cameron knew well of who his client was: a man with a novel-length list of crimes ranging from robbery to murder and everything in between. Still, he scoffed at his wanted poster stapled to a post before he sauntered off for a pint at the Mitternachtsbierhalle Restaurant and Bar. He even had to scoff again at the description of him. A 'dangerous man', indeed! If the law enforcement captured that miscreant and needed him to confess to even more crimes, perhaps bringing out the piercing needly and the confessions would fly out of his silver-tongued mouth.

From that moment on, as soon as the boot hit him square in the head, Cameron implemented a new customer policy: cowboy boots were not allowed on the piercing table.

Thanks, Dutch.

Another Dutch trade secret: when giving gifts to his loved ones, with a few exceptions, he prefers going the legit route versus just stealing the damn thing. Books for Jack are always bought (almost), along with fine gifts for Hosea ranging from clothing to his stallion, Silver Dollar (whom he may have tricked Hosea into believing was a long-extinct breed). Dutch and Hosea bought the odd thing for John and Arthur.

Maybe.

Wedding anniversaries are bought legitimately without fail.

Well, that's a stretch.

There was that time when Dutch stole a carriage and took Hosea out on a joyride, lawmen in tow; that was last year.

The gold chains that Dutch would connect to the rings were handmade in Italy, and the rings themselves, adorned with tiny diamonds and rubies, of course, were from France, where the fob the chains would connect to came from. Fancy, fancy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now you might be wondering, during the weeks when Dutch got his piercings and during his healing, how did Dutch keep it all a secret from Hosea?

A little (stolen) stage makeup was used. It took a little experimenting to ensure it was thick enough not to be rubbed (or kissed off) easily but not to look unnatural. Dutch also depended on little tricks of the lighting and, even more so, a little luck.

During those weeks of healing, lovemaking happened only at night; Dutch had concocted a theory that a man's sensations are higher at night. Hosea played along. With the sensitivity towards those areas heightened by the pain, it was, in a word, sensational.

Dutch played it coy during the day, flirting and testing the waters, but he was able to keep those areas hidden. Hosea had always been fond of kissing that belly each morning, as Dutch was fond of doing to him; whoever woke up first blew zerberts on the other. Once in a while, the makeup would slip off during the night, and Hosea would be concerned about those red marks appearing on his usually pristine belly button and nipples, a concern which Dutch brushed off as mosquito bites. It was a particularly insect-ridden summer, and Dutch thought it was a plausible pass; Hosea, though, was suspicious.

"Mosquito bites?" Hosea raised an eyebrow, trying to pull down the bedsheet covering his chest. Dutch stubbornly covered himself up.

"Who was it?"

"Who was what?" Dutch felt his cheeks flush, and at once, Hosea narrowed his eyebrows.

"It wasn't Josiah, was it?" Hosea almost growled. "I told him not to bite you! You know I'm the one to leave marks on you."

Now and then, Hosea would 'loan' out Dutch to close friends to have a little fun with him. At other times, he'd go to the highest bidder; on one occasion, a prince from Sweden had an afternoon with him. Josiah Trelawny (and sometimes his wife when she had someone to mind Tarquin and Cornelius) were among those. There were a few rules: he had to return at the end of the day, Fridays were off limits to any but Hosea, and the aforementioned non-biting rule: Hosea wanted to mark Dutch as HIS harlot.

"Nope, nope, he was gentler last time."

Hosea scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked at his idiot with a mustache, his head tilted. He wore a smug smile, but a twinkle in his dark eyes told Hosea he would tease a little. "Gentle last time? You couldn't walk right for a week. Hosea Fucks Friday almost became Hosea Misses Out on Friday."

"Is that any different than usual?" Dutch laughed, at first arching his back off the mattress in a not-so-subtle 'please give me scritches' gesture, but then stopped, realizing. "Last I checked -- "

Hosea scoffed, slipping into bed next to him. He felt right into the marrow of his old bones that Dutch was up to something; he always knew but decided to play along. "You know, it's amazing it hasn't fallen off!"

He looked at his husband curiously, and Dutch answered his question.

"Wasn't anyone but you," Dutch murmured, pressing a kiss to Hosea's nose as he turned to hand Hosea a book; it was their sweet, nightly routine to read a chapter of a book to each other.

"You were rough, I'm still recovering!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week had passed since that close call, and the chains and rings were soon in Dutch's well-manicured hands. Oh, he couldn't wait to show them to Hosea!

Dutch stood before the mirror, in all his shirtless glory, as he carefully inserted the first ring into his right nipple.

He shivered at the sensation of the cool gold sliding through his nipple; it was cold and tingling but not unpleasant. Not unpleasant in the least.

The second nipple was even more sensitive; he'd be lying if he said his toes weren't curling by now. And the fool wants to attach chains!

Last but not least, the navel ring. Dutch squirmed and let out a sound that one wouldn't likely expect from him as that damn fancy ring was inserted. And then, with the biggest smile he could possibly smile, he kissed his reflection.

"Oh, baby girl, he will love it!" He was sure this would send Hosea into another galaxy.

Dutch stepped back and took a good look at himself. He was positively flirting with his reflection; one hip slightly swung out, and his chest puffed out. He was an absolute picture of pride. The rings shone so pretty in the limited lighting, but that ensemble would look even prettier on that chain.

He took hold of one of the chains arranged neatly on the counter, clipped a clasp on the chain to the right nipple ring, and then repeated with the left. He attached a third and final chain, a shorter one, to his red gem fob, to the chain clasps from the nipple rings, to his navel ring.

Effectively, the chains created a "V" with a pattern; "V" for "van der Linde," "V" for "vivacious," "V" for "very sexy," or if you think the whole matter is silly if you think the situation is indeed a bit silly.

The sensation of the gold chain against Dutch's tender skin was giving him goosebumps -- and that was before the fob was even given a tug.

He had to give it a little tug—just a little teasing one. Of course, he'd save a proper tug for Hosea, but he had to try it.

Dutch gave the fob a sight tug. He let out a sharp breath as he felt a shiver running throughout his body, and that was just from the lightest pull. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, envisioning Hosea dragging him around camp by that fob. He slipped his hands down his torso as the picture in his head became more vivid. Hosea might be angry at him over something and feel taking him down a peg was necessary.

"How long are you going to be in there?" Hosea asked from behind the bathroom door with particular urgency to his voice, startling Dutch from his daydreaming just as his hands reached his meticulously trimmed pubic hair.

It was the eve of their wedding anniversary, ten minutes to go.

"Just five more minutes!" Dutch answered with a slight shake of his voice, grabbing his clothes from the counter, minus the union suit, which he placed in a basket for laundry. He had to reclothe himself carefully lest he snag the chains, and well, there'd go the sexy anniversary gift reveal. The fob chain was threaded through an opening in his shirt, and he squirmed his hips as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Old Girl will go mad."

Sure enough, Dutch made good on his promise. Hosea stepped into the bathroom while casting a suspicious eye on his husband. He had been in there for a while, after all.

"Stomach's not acting up again, is it?"

Dutch's eyes had a certain glint in them. Playful, even. "It's been a week since that's been acting up. You rearranged my guts!"

"I wasn't that rough!" Hosea scoffed, giving him a swat that Dutch dodged as he swerved into the bedroom.

Dutch sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his foot fidgeting as he practically squirmed in anticipation. He pushed himself further up onto the mattress and unbuttoned his striped shirt, revealing a bit more of his chest. Feeling a little saucy, maybe even a bit slutty, he assumed the pose he often took after sex: his lower torso pointed towards the bathroom door, legs spread open, chin tilted to his chest, and eyes coyly cast downward. It was a submissive pose of trust and love, one that Hosea could never resist; to him, it meant Dutch was so trusting of him that he could do as he wished to him.

"Oh, there's my little minx, waiting for me . . . " Hosea spoke lowly, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

Dutch's hand moved to the fob of his black waistcoat, and he almost shyly toyed with it, subtly trying to draw Hosea's attention to it. "Five minutes until our anniversary . . . " He cast a playful glance at Hosea.

"You forgot the anniversary gift, didn't you?" Hosea was always onto Dutch when he acted cute. Usually, Dutch was hiding something from him and would try to to worm his way out of the situation. More often than not, Dutch indeed managed to squirm out of trouble; Hosea had a bit of a soft spot for him, after all.

"What would you say if I said I was wearing it?" Dutch murmured, his baritone voice coming out as smooth as silk.

Hosea watched Dutch curiously as he played with the fob, twirling it between his fingers. After a moment, their eyes locked; Hosea's eyes were filled with questions as he wondered what was in store for him, and Dutch's with warm excitement, almost giddy anticipation.

"Give it a tug, Old Girl . . . " Dutch laid back further, casting him that playful gaze again as he carefully held the fob out to him.

Hosea's face lit up with a smile as he took the fob in one hand and cupped Dutch's jaw with the other, 'bopping' his nose with his thumb, which he moved down to lightly scratch his soul patch.

"You've been a little funny the last few weeks. I figured you were hiding something. You're so full of yourself, thinking you could get something past me."

Dutch looked at him with a defiant smirk, shifting slightly, his back arching up in a not-so-subtle 'tug it already' gesture. He was being a pushy little shit, and he knew it. "Oh, you know damn well I was in the clear -- "

"Not so." Hosea returned the smirk and tugged the chain firmly.

He might as well have struck Dutch with a jolt of electricity from an experiment testing the full impact of electricity at its highest possible strength and capabilities.

Dutch let out a sharp yelp, throwing his head back as he slammed onto the mattress, his back arching up off it as he dug his fingers into the bedspread. His whole body shuddered as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

His reaction was so intense that it initially startled Hosea, but he gathered himself quickly and gave it another tug. He got a similar reaction out of him again.

"You think you could be sneaky with me, huh?"

"N-no -- "

Hosea tugged it a third time.

Dutch was a quivering mess, whimpering, finding himself unable to talk. The sight drove a certain hunger within Hosea; having such control over Dutch made him feel like he had all the power in the world.

"You got this attached to your cock and balls, or what?" Hosea had the chain threaded through his fingers but didn't pull back; he didn't want to tug too often, too soon, lest he desensitize him. And besides, he was giving him the puppy dog look. Wherever this fob was connected, it was attached to something sensitive; he knew Dutch's most tender spots intimately and what kind of touch brought out what reaction.

Dutch laid on his back, panting. He felt his cock swelling under his pants; his arousal grew so fast that it was damn near painful.

"Fuck, Hosea . . . " He spoke between breaths, his heart nearly pounding out of his ribcage as he pushed his head back into the pillow.

Hosea ran his thumb over the fob as he slipped next to him, maybe subtly reminding Dutch that he controlled this situation. His hazel eyes were sparkling; he had to see this arrangement! Dutch had always gone over the top with their anniversary gifts, but this had to be the most . . . Sensational one.

"May I see my wedding gift?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Dutch winked, crow's feet taking flight in the corners of his eyes. Hosea loved seeing him smile, how his eyes crinkled up, even the wrinkles on his nose!

He sat up on his knees, not breaking soft eye contact with Hosea as he unbuttoned his jacket, taking care not to snag the fob chain underneath. To Hosea's amusement, he slipped out his waistcoat with an exaggeratedly serpentine movement.

"Enjoying the show?" Dutch teased, teasingly shrugging his shoulders as his fingers nimbly worked over his shirt.

"I've seen worse!" Hosea laughed, though transfixed by watching his husband's fingers deftly undo the buttons; he always loved watching Dutch use his hands, whatever they were doing.

Almost absently, Hosea slid his hand down to his groin, digging his fingers across the fabric of his pyjama bottoms as he watched intently. While for Dutch, Hosea's hands are

When his chest became exposed, Dutch almost coyly blocked the view of his nipple rings. He gave Hosea a crooked smile as he rested his head on his shoulder and watched; Dutch took pride in how he still affected Hosea in such a manner.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe this be too much for you." He was still playing coy and being cute, and his beloved enjoyed it.

Hosea scoffed, his fingers clutching through the fabric of his pyjamas. His voice was hitched, breathly as he ran the palm of his hand over his groin. "Too much for me? I think I struck lighting with you."

"I seem to be creating the makings of another electric storm myself," Dutch almost purred, a certain playful twinkle in them as he slipped his left hand covering a ringed nipple and then revealed the other.

"Happy anniversary, Old Girl."

Hosea sat up in a kneeling position, a bit awkwardly, given that oh-so-familiar sensation growing within his groin. "It's beautiful . . ." He almost growled, tracing a finger over the ring and then tracing a fingertip down the length of the exposed chain.

"That's not all . . ." Dutch murmured teasingly, deftly undoing the rest of the buttons, revealing the chains which popped out oh so temptingly. He worked his way down to his navel piercing, and with all of them undone, he arched his back towards Hosea, pushing his belly towards him invitingly.

Hosea glanced up and down Dutch's form, licking his lips as if he was presented with a delicious meal, and he was—prime Dutch. He wanted to make a feast out of that choice cut that lay before him and maybe have the odd bite; after all, he had to ensure Dutch was cooked just right.

Hosea leaned in and, securing Dutch by the waist, took a nipple ring into his mouth and rolled it slowly with his tongue, sending Dutch writhing. Leaving him wanting more, though, Hosea abandoned that nipple and kissed and nipped his way over to his other, easing him down as he did so. Leaving him whining -- a sound Hosea knew was begging -- and squirming -- Hosea alternated kisses and soft bites down his torso.

"Oh, you taste as delicious as you look," Hosea murmured against him.

"Hungry, now are we?" Dutch grinned, his eyes now little slits as he squirmed up against Hosea, encouraging him. "I guess I wouldn't be the worst choice for an anniversary dinner -- "

"Shut up and let me eat you!" Hosea feigned frustration but flashed a grin, giving him a nip between that tender region of the breastbone and midriff.

Hosea enjoyed this as much as Dutch did; he felt young again. The world outside, everything, stopped. It was just them having this moment.

Dutch squirmed with stifled laughter and whimpers as he tried to suck his belly in, in a hopeless attempt to evade Hosea's brutal onslaught. He suspected that his navel would be next, and he was right. He was already sensitive there, and the ring just amplified it. Hosea couldn't help it -- the damn fools jewelry setup was

Dutch's toes curled nearly into the souls of his feet in arousal as Hosea reached up to sneak a bite into a nipple -- as did Hosea's as his hunger increased.

"One of your better anniversary gifts, my Dutchess," Hosea cooed against his skin. Then, deciding to leave Dutch wanting more, he pushed himself into a kneeling position. He threaded a length of the chain around a finger and cupped his chin with his other hand.

"Thank you."

And then they kissed.

Slowly, Hosea pushed Dutch back onto the mattress, his hold not breaking from the chain. For a moment, Dutch challenged him, wrapping his leg behind him and rolling him over. He did so slowly as if thinking amid that kiss that Hosea would overlook. Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.

Hosea wasn't having any of it, though.

Oh no, he wasn't.

Hosea growled into the kiss and rolled Dutch aside, pinning him down with his knees around his waist -- all the while still holding onto that strand of gold chain as he sat upwards again. Dutch looked up at him with a crooked, playful smile as if testing to see what he'd do next.

"Thought you'd distract me with the shiny, huh?" He slowly wound more of that chain around his finger, threatening to yank.

"Well, I did!" Dutch grinned, his expression alone saying, 'Pull it.'

Hosea smirked. He considered tugging it, but then he thought. . .

"Maybe I could be distracted by a little bit more . . . Shiny."

Dutch tilted his head curiously, an expression beyond adorable that earned a tickle on the cleft of his chin. Hosea had a soft spot for that chin; where others found 'ugly,' he found adorable, much like that nose. What he even found to be cuter than those features was how he reacted when they were scritched, kissed, 'booped.' Sometimes, he'd tuck his head in and blush; sometimes, he'd wrinkle his nose and pretend to be annoyed. On other times -- such as this time -- he'd crinkle his eyes up and tip his head back for more with a big ear-to-ear smile.

"You're adorable."

Hosea leaned over and kissed Dutch's nose, and he chuckled when that made him wrinkle it with a feigned snarl. He knew Dutch often pretends to hate those nose kisses, but Hosea knows better. He slipped off the bed to retrieve said gift from the dresser, and his voice took on a certain excitement.

"You didn't think there'd just be one anniversary gift between us now, did you?"

Dutch remained where Hosea placed, on his back, his legs spread to accommodate his erection. He tipped his head back to watch Hoea, almost purring at the combined sensation of the gold settling on his skin, the cloth of his black pants roughly shifting against his groin without that union suit getting in the way. And then, he couldn't bear it.

Off with the pants! His eyes didn't leave Hosea as he slipped, almost wiggling out of those pants, gasping when the cool air settled on his exposed, erect penis.

And then, Hosea turned to reveal the wedding anniversary gift in his hands. His expression was amused; he knew Dutch too well and how quick he'd be about taking those pants off.

It was a cock ring.

Custom made, of course.

"Specially made, just for you!" Hosea spoke animatedly, still eyeballing his husband as if he were a high-priced meal at a restaurant.

The cock ring was made of gold with a black band engraved with a smattering of tiny gold Ds, the very same font that formed the D pattern on his jacket. D for Dutch. D for dashing. D for dick. There were tiny red rubies along the band; it matched with his other rings and even his wardrobe perfectly.

And it could be hooked up with another gold chain, which it game with.

Dutch almost purred, his legs spreading in submission, in desire. He held his cock in his hands as Hosea returned to the bed, eager to feel the ring being eased on.

"Oh, Hosea, you spoil me rotten."

Hosea laughed as he came around the foot end of the bed and propped a knee on the mattress, all with a smoothness that Dutch was still taken in by. They both walked with a hitch in their get-along for some time now, but when it came to affection and intimacy, it was as if all their joints, their tendons, were as they were when they first met. Dutch could be able to withhold weight on his knees without feeling as if they'd be crunching underneath him, and Hosea could thrust deep within him without his hips troubling him. Maybe some invisible connection between them -- they are soulmates, after all -- healed all that was sore, at least for a time.

"If you got any more rotten, the vultures wouldn't have you!" Hosea grinned, giving Dutch a poke to his belly as he leaned in, delighting in how that always made him squeak.

Dutch let out a hearty laugh and squirmed his whole body in anticipation. "Oh, you flatter me, Old Girl . . ." He grinned, slipping a leg onto Hosea's shoulder, his foot teasing behind his ear. He teasingly started to rub it over Hosea; wherever he could reach, he touched.

"Trying to turn me on before I could get this on, are you? What a whore!" Hosea teased, playfully taking hold of his leg with his free hand and holding it firmly against his waist. "It's not even Friday!"

Dutch looked over at Hosea with a coy, playful expression. "Mhm . . . But I think rules can be set aside for anniversaries, and it'd be cruel to follow them with my new accessories. I did spend a lot of time putting it on, you know." He purred but slipped his hand away, tipping his head back when he felt Hosea's hand replace his.

The ring was eased down onto Dutch cock, giving him a cool and yet not cold sensation -- helped by the warmth of Hosea's hand -- that coursed through him.

"This came from London . . . " Hosea murmured, sending Dutch's head tipping back as he slid the ring up and down his length in a slow, rhythmic pace and used this other hand to support his ass. He may have even slipped a finger inside him to add to his pleasure; the purring moan from Dutch told him it was a good decision.

"I measured you that one night. You wouldn't have known I was measuring you, of course. You were on another planet!"

Dutch arched his back off the bed, grit his teeth and gripped the bed cover. He remembered that night. He almost felt that night again; nobody touches Dutch like Hosea. He strokes with the perfect pressure, almost elegantly, and yet keeps it unpredictable. There are reminders of who Dutch belongs to and who loves him.

For Hosea and Dutch, mutual masturbation is as enjoyable and just as meaningful as intercourse. For Dutch, it keeps him centred, keeping his mind from going to dark places.

"Send me to the moon, Hosea -- "

Hosea happily obliged.

He leaned in, took that fob between his teeth, and tipped his head back.

Dutch went to another planet.

He wasn't sure if it was the moon, but it was a planet, far, far away.

"Are you seeing the galaxy, my Duchess?" Hosea's voice was deep and breathy; if he said he wasn't being affected by watching his husband undulatingly writhe and moan as he gave that fob tugs -- no, yanks -- of alternating strengths, his finger moving into him deeper, he'd be lying.

Dutch gasped, his head thrown back so far and hard repeatedly that he'd be surprised if he hadn't gotten whiplash. "N-nearly there!"

Hosea could feel the orgasm building up within Dutch. It was such an intimately organic sensation, one that, to him, was more than just sex; it was knowing that he had sent him to that level. Truthfully, they really do only have sex once a week, and yes, on Fridays, it extends the drive, the desire, the hunger.

"I'll help get you there!" Hosea panted, his breath shaking as he eased Dutch's ass back down on the bed, leaving him writhing as he rummaged through his jacket pocket in search of gun oil. He was whining about something incoherent. It's hard to imagine, but Dutch will survive the ordeal of a short wait until Hosea sends him to another level.

"No need to be dramatic; I'll send you to the stars."

"Mmrhsea . . . !"

"You don't like me going in raw, Dutch."

At last, Hosea had found the gun oil.

Pants were dropped. All necessary equipment was lubed up to specifications.

Gun lube wasn't their preferred lubricant; Hosea was fond of hair pomade, while Dutch preferred Potent Miracle Tonic. Gun oil was a go-to in a hurry, though, and they were in a hurry.

Hosea grabbed a fistful of those chains, and with Dutch's legs submissively, sluttily spread out, he thrust deep inside him with a strength of a man twenty years younger. He took ahold of that waist with his other hand, steading him, digging his fingers into a love handle. He loved that Dutch had them now; they were something to grab, to poke to keep him in line.

Dutch was self-conscious about those love handles, but over time, Hosea's touches of them, the gentle pokes, and those soft kneadings created a positive association; acceptance happened henceforth.

Hosea yanked the chain.

Hard.

Dutch's knuckles nearly went white as he gripped the bed. He snapped his head back, biting his tongue so hard that he tasted blood as he was sent into an orgasmic, organically electrified, babbling, whimpering mess. He seemed to even short-circuit as he came and cried, actually, literally cried when he felt Hosea's release that came following one more hard thrust. Hosea and Dutch were so synch with one another that even their bodies almost became one organism during sex; rarely, one lasts longer than the other.

Sex heightens Dutch's emotions. Tears happen.

He went to the stars, the moon, and beyond, an emotional journey.

Hosea collapsed onto Dutch and couldn't even catch his breath before he hugged tight. It was almost as if the fear was there that he would disappear into thin air, that he was an apparition all along, an apparition that he was forbidding to fade away. He had to smile, though, as Dutch pressed on the top of his head.

Aftercare would have to wait; Dutch *needed* to hold him. He was enjoying the sound of his heart beating against his, both of which were trying to slow down and that musky after-sex smell that he still has after all these years.

"Happy anniversary, 'sea."

[sunstone-smiles]

Tickletober 2024 Lineup!

Hey everyone! Requests are now officially closed! Thank you to everyone who sent one in! Here is the Tickletober 2024 lineup!*

*Note: Some of the days that are currently “skipped,” due to having no request, may be filled in by my own ideas, but not guaranteed. So there may be more fics that come out than the ones listed!

Tickletober lists used: (From August’s Tickletober List / Crow's Tickletober List / Nim’s Lovely Tickletober List)

Anticipation / “Ready?”: Barok van Zieks and Albert Harebrayne (Great Ace Attorney)

Chase / Scared: Kukui, Guzma, and their pokemon (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

Hide and Seek / Upside Down: Scanlan and party (Vox Machina)

Boo!: Kieran and Juliana (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

Nuzzles / Festival or Fair: Maxie and Archie (Pokemon)

Wake Up!: Edgeworth and Phoenix (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

Hug / Snickers / Noise: Kieran and Juliana (Pokemon)

Mischief: Edgeworth, Gumshoe, Kay (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

“Are you ticklish?” / Faking it: Percy, Vax, and Vex (Vox Machina)

SKIPPED

Raspberries / Underwater: Nessa and pokemon (Pokemon)

Tickle Fight: The Vox Machina characters (Vox Machina)

SKIPPED

Tease: Edgeworth and others (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

New Discovery: Larry and his pokemon (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

Trick-or-Treat: Phoenix, Apollo, Athena, Trucy (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

[lillee-93]

Rookie weakness

(Based on Resident Evil: Welcome to Raccoon City) The others laugh at Leon for his rookie status so Claire puts a smile back on his face

Lee! Leon, Ler! Claire

“Damn hippie” Chris mutters as he shoves past Leon “Get a hair cut!” Albert yells as Jill throws her lunch rubbish at him. Leon says nothing and just walks away, not bothering to turn back as they all laugh at him, this was middle school all over again.

Leon was now alone in the changing room, he looked down at the floor and sighed “I knew being a cop wasn’t going to be easy but it’s a lot harder when the whole S.T.A.R.S unit are a load of…” he paused, thinking of what to call them as he rambled to himself “Snobby high school jerks?” Claire said “They’re all college graduates but they sure as hell don’t act it”. Leon jumped, he hadn’t noticed her there “Sorry, who are you?” he asked “I’m Claire, my brother is one of the S.T.A.R.S members, I saw him shove you and laugh at you and, well, I came to check on you, I’ve never seen him act like that before” “You don’t need to apologise for him” Leon said “I wasn’t going to, I was going to drag him by the ear until he apologised” Claire said with a smile.

Leon chuckled at her statement and Claire smiled even wider “Hey, there’s a smile” she teased, brushing his hair away from his face “Your hair is so soft and fluffy” she added “Stop” Leon said, getting flustered by her compliments. Claire attempts to pull Leon into a small hug but the second her hand touched his side, he jumped “H-Hey!” Leon gasped “That tickled”.

Claire’s face lit up when she heard that and she gently poked his side again, causing light giggles to pour out of Leon “Stohohop it!” he whined as Claire gradually increased the speed of her fingers. She moved from his sides to his stomach and began wiggling her fingers against the sensitive skin “N-Nohoho, nohohot thehere!” Leon chuckled “Why? Did I get your spot?” Claire teased “Yehehes! Thahahahat’s my wohorst spohohot! Plehehease stohohohohop!” he begged.

Claire decided that he’d had enough and ceased tickling his stomach, Leon clutched his stomach as the laughter and ticklishness wore off “Thahat actually hehelped, thahanks” he said “No problem, at least I know how to cheer you up when my brother and his buddies are being jerks” she said with a sweet smile on her face.

“Claire, where were you?” asked Chris “With a friend” she responded “A boyfriend?” Jill asked “Well, he’s a boy but we’re not together, just friends” Claire said “Speaking of which, I told him I’d do this”. Claire dragged Chris by the ear to the door of the S.T.A.R.S office and opened it, everyone was certainly surprised to see the rookie on the other side with his arms crossed. “Apologies” Claire said “Claire, what the hELL-!?” Chris shrieked as his little sister pulled harder “Apologies!” she snapped “O-Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry rook- Leon! I’m sorry!” Chris yelped “Good” said Claire, letting go of his ear.

Claire took Leon by the hand “There’s a coffee shop I wanna show you” she said. The S.T.A.R.S team was dumbfounded, they had no clue that Claire could be so intimidating, they looked to Chris who had his head down in shame and was rubbing the pain from his ear. There were two new rules put in place from then on:

1. Don’t bully Leon

2. DON’T PISS OFF CLAIRE

[theleetoalerandalertoalee]

Day 14 - soft

Barbara x Noelle

this one is also a bit short bc I gotta get ready for a dance today

Enjoy ^^

“Don’t worry, Barbara! Albert has left the Cathedral.”

“Ah, thank you so much, Noelle! I feel bad for shooing him away like that but…”

“Oh, no, it’s perfectly fine! You deserve some time to yourself too, after all, you do so much for Mondstadt!”

Barbara sighs, conceding, “I guess so, thank you.”

“Of course. Is that all?”

“Um,” Barbara looks away from the Favonious Maid, “can you just…stay with me for a bit? I-If you’re busy, then nevermind!”

“No, no, it’s okay! It’ll be my pleasure.”

“Okay, thank you so much!”

“Sure, where would you like to go?”

“I’ve never had the time to go to Starsnatch Cliff…is it okay with you if we go there?”

“Yes, I’ll be your guide!”

“Thank you, Noelle, really.”

“If we head off now, we can see the sunset when we get there.”

“Let’s go. We can do it~!”

The two walk out of Mondstadt, steering clear of Cyris.

“He’s a very…enthusiastic person,” Noelle says as they walk along the bridge over Cider Lake.

“I agree, to say the least.”

“It’s about an hour walk, if you want to stick to trails.”

“Good, I think I need a long walk after today.”

“Oh? Did something troublesome happen?”

“Well…Captain Kaeya’s spending spree during his business trip in Sumeru was finally revealed to Jean.”

“Oh, my.”

“Yeah, so it’s needless to say that she isn’t very happy right now.”

“That’s been stressing you out then, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“If you want to, we can talk about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, you’re my friend.”

“It hurts to see Jean upset, you know? I look up to her so when she’s upset I’m upset- and I just want her and Mondstadt to be happy! So, for her to be so stressed out makes me feel like I could be doing a better job and-” Barbara sighs, her eyes looking tired as she reaches in her bag for one of her spicy energy drinks.

“Well…there is a reason why there are so many people working under Master Jean, and each person has very important roles- just like you, and I’m sure she’s proud of all of you for doing your share. Jean would be in a much worse position without you, so never think that you’re not doing enough…because you are.”

“Oh…thank you,” Barbara hangs her head; she was out of spicy energy drinks.

“You can take a nap, it’s okay. Look, here’s some shade.”

Noelle guides the tired idol to a shaded patch of grass underneath a tree.

“Mmm…I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, here, lay down.”

Barbara lays against the tree as Noelle sits beside her. As Barbara closes her eyes, Noelle grabs a leaf and drags it softly along Barbara’s neck.

“What are you doing? Hehehe, my neck is ticklish.”

“I’ve read that soft stimulation to the body helps one relax.”

“Oh, hm, really?”

“Yes, is it working?”

Barbara smiles sleepily, “hehehe, yes,” she yawns, “it is.”

“Good, I’m happy to help.”

“Ah…hehehe…you’re so nice to me, hehe.”

“It’s only as a dutiful maid would,” Noelle smiles as Barbara’s smile relaxes.

The nun was asleep and Noelle put the leaf away, watching over Barbara.

“Sleep well, my friend. Everyone here cares more about you than you think.”

[lovetique]

"no, no," dismissive hand waved him off, "albert einstein is your signature look. i wouldn't even know who you are if you weren't giving albert." hard getting the joking words out from the giggles choking her up, gasping for air at this point and small hand clutching her stomach like it might help.

"besides my mom, you're my favorite person. that's gonna never change. no one else is funny and smart at the same time like you." finger gently pressed into his cheek, next to the corner of his mouth. voice sweet and kind, mirroring in her gaze as well as their eyes locked. and elena could see how he was searching for something in hers... probably any clue of her lying when there was zero. it only made sense to dish her honest compliments, things she admires a lot about him after poking fun at him. even if she never got to see him again, he'd always be her favorite human. "only one? well, i wonder how i got so lucky to feel so special." it automatically made her smaller frame cling to his bigger one, arms squeezing him as cheek nuzzled into his cheek like an affectionate cat despite the stubble on his face scratching her skin.

she jumped in an amusing way when marcus responded right away to her fingers dancing aimlessly against his sides and stomach, causing her warm eyes to brighten in wild excitement at his laughs, even content at the answer... he's in fact ticklish. then it causes her to laugh along with him asking if she tickled him. "it was about time you had an updated tickle visit. i got curious." elena admits, puppy dog brown eyes blinking innocently despite the grin curving her lips saying otherwise.

"and it was s–" words getting cut off, her body immediately responding, causing her to squirm and kick at the sheets. head immediately thrown back in the pillow behind her, she squeaked with laughter, eyes squeezing shut at how easily painfully ticklish she most certainly is. "noo! NOT tickle revenge!" she grabbed his hands as she writhed, squirming around like a squiggly snake, attempting to peel them off her sides.

"but it sucks dealing with the day with little sleep, feeling grumpy like oscar the grouch." she breathed, feeling like she'd ran a marathon from his tickle revenge, "you know, from sesame street. the one who likes living in a trash can." she rambled on, amuse smile temporarily lacing her voice. "and i worry about you." the biggest factor. brunette frowns, despite the smile that fluctuates in between at how thinking about her is informed. sweetness to her heart that painfully makes it swell into a pang of huge guilt. starting to feel like she doesn't deserve someone like him. "we'll go to sleep now, even if we don't want to. and you'll see me again quicker than you think." it was excruciating to say that, when she was contemplating on distancing. she pecked his cheek while cupping the other with her hand, then moved to hug his torso, treating him as her human teddy bear –– and settle her head back on his chest as a pillow. calming down after a chaotic night, that turned into safety, comfort and the feeling of home. .. if this is home, why would she run away from it? the question that'll keep her up all night.

the silence he used to be comfortable with now eats him alive because this is the only sound he wants to hear — elena’s laughter. the sound bouncing off of his blank walls and empty decor, save for a photo of his mother and little sister on his dresser, forced marcus to realize how vacant this place felt. nothing else in his apartment felt distinctly personal, as if he could be plucked out of it without a thought. but her laugh is a living thing all on its own, and it feels like the sun on his face, so it predictably warms the frigid bones of his home. “alright, alright, i’ll make sure my hair is perfectly coiffed the next time i see you,” laughter leaks through each syllable, but the promise is weak. he would look like a fool anywhere, any time, just to pull this reaction from her. her head is perfectly positioned on his chest, eyes sparkling with confusion and tone bearing the slightest bit of defense. the certainty in her voice displayed a sort of conviction that was rare from her, but marcus couldn’t allow himself to believe it to be true. beyond all of the concrete facts that he couldn’t ignore or displace from his mind long enough to dive into that daydream, it would hurt too much. marcus holds her gaze for a long moment, searching her eyes for the tiniest scrap of dishonesty or placation, but he comes up empty. he can feel his heart quicken in pace. “okay then, i’m your favorite person,” he softly concedes, expression twisted in emotion. “it’s mutual, then. you’re the only person i think about.” words fall from his mouth too quickly, but he’s sure she knows, and there’s no use in futile backtracking. “and there’s the position title for my new business cards - mr. proper,” he grins toward the ceiling, shaking his head. marcus had worked toward that adjective his entire life – proper; put together, disciplined, gentlemanly. he had adult responsibility thrust on his shoulders since his teens, and maintaining a semblance of composure was sometimes the only thing that held him together. but, still, he had his many cracks, and although they were well tended to, elena still took the time to notice them. the unrelenting jabs in his sides and stomach startle him, bringing about an eruption of laughter and wild movement. for once, he’s scrambling out of her grasp. “did you just tickle me?” he asks astonishedly once the attack is over. “i haven’t been tickled in — god, 10 years?” blows a sigh out of his lips, feigning exhaustion, until he’s quickly returning the favor as he’s turned to face her, hands latched to her sides, touch light and incessant. “already am,” he answers quickly and assuredly, fingers still aimlessly threading through her hair. free hand comes to rest underneath his head, eyes feeling heavier and heavier with each passing moment. whatever exhaustion he felt was outweighed by the sound of her voice, pulling him out of sleep’s comfortable embrace. he wished they had more time, that they could take a vacation from their own lives. before he met elena, it had never occurred to marcus how much of a privilege it could be to just sleep next to someone. “i’ll do what i always do – go to work, i’ll drink my coffee, think about you,” the answer is as simple & mundane as the description of the weather, as if it were so glaringly obvious. “it’ll be just like any other day,” he hums.

his mind flickers back through the night; the kiss that still burned his lips (that was so different from all the others), the flinch at his touch, the promise of seeing her outside of this bubble they’ve so carefully cultivated, being deemed her ‘favorite person’. it proved something that he already knew to be true: nothing about this affair was sought out of convenience or insignificance for him. the pull of her was not from this game of cat and mouse; this wasn’t about victory or wanting what he couldn’t have — he was falling in love with her, if he wasn’t head over heels already. his feelings for elena were as real and tangible as anything else in this world. anything that she wanted from him was hers to keep, even if it ruined him.

[italeean]

Returning with the hcs, but I currently have a brainrot of Louis and William because I love them so much ☹️

- Louis gets tickled the most out of the two, even as a kid

- Whenever Louis feels unworthy, William loves to tickle him and to reassure him that his older brother cares much for him, Louis literally passes away because he appreciates his brother so much

- Back when Albert took them in, when no one was around in or near their room they'd have tickle fights and sometimes Albert would visit them to see how they were doing but they'd just be asleep next to eachother because they made eachother so tired 🥺

- William lightly teases Louis about Sherlock sometimes , and Louis tries to look angry and all but literally can't because he's also gently being wrecked by his brother

- Louis sometimes gets revenge by the reasoning being William not taking care for himself or for him getting Louis all the time, and despite him being a pretty quiet and serious person,, he knows how to make his brother beg for mercy and how to tease!!

- ynm anon <3

YESSSS MORE HCS 😻 I'll never stop repeating it: THIS. ANIME. DESERVES. MORE. ATTENTION!!

Anyway, I'll comment them in order, one by one ^_^

Absolutely yes, lee Louis is just too precious and makes way too much sense

REASSURANCE IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES!! YES... JUST YES 🥺❤️

AAAAAAAAHHH THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY 😹 But then Albert would tuck them in and the scenario would take a wholesome turn 🥺 Also, what if one day he manages to catch them? He'd obviously get dragged into the playfight, and he would understand what it means to really be part of a loving family 😭 William and Louis would definitely go easy on him the first time, since Albert wasn't used to being t-worded, but once the older one really gets into it, they'll both find themselves at his mercy. And after that, the three of them would fall asleep together. Albert would probably get scolded in the morning for sleeping and socializing with the two orphans, but it'd be worth it. And he would probably do that again the following night ❤️

Trying to look angry while laughing?? Yeah, Louis would do that. He'd try so hard to keep his quiet and serious demeanor, but William is so good at wrecking him that it's pointless

Okay this one kinda made me shiver a bit. As someone who constantly scolds people for not taking care of themselves and then doing worse than them when it comes to me, I can't not love this trope 🥺😅 Also, I don't think Louis talks that much while wrecking William. He would just ignore him most of the time to annoy him a bit more, and he would make comments here and there, but always as if he was talking to himself. Like, imagine a ler silently destroying you, only focused on their job... wouldn't it be maddening? Or is it just me? >//////////<

Aaaand that's it. Thanks for providing us with your adorable ideas once more!! Un ottimo lavoro come sempre 💚🤍❤️ (A great job as always)

Also tagging @wertzunge because I know he'd like to read those as well ^_^

[weskie]

Alchemy (Albert Wesker x amab!Reader) - Lover, Leader, Liar

3900 words, non-chronological/plotless one shot style, smut, oral sex, masturbation, flashbacks, wesker yearning, [afab!version here] part of the lover leader liar series | Fic Directory

What have you done to him?

You've bested his heart.

As he descends upon you, reverence in every brush of his lips, he realizes what you'd done to him so very long ago. 

He's always been so cold. There's never been something like this– something like you. 

No… 

Someone like you. 

For a time, he couldn't name it. You'd given it words, but he's refused for so long now to submit to the power of them. It doesn't matter that a feeling not unlike the heat of stars yet undiscovered bloomed within his chest at their utterance. It matters not that they pushed him out of control and he shed upon you that which has not left his eyes since he was but a boy.

What matters is that he knows these are lies. 

Much like he knows that repression breeds intensity. Wesker can swallow it down all he likes, but there will be no escaping it. It's anchored so deeply that any attempts to remove it would surely kill him. 

What a wretchedly human feeling…

Yet, as you respond to every touch, every nip and peck and drag of his tongue, he has naught but you on his mind.  Everything and nothing all at once.  Every little factoid, mannerism, idiosyncrasy– every little thing that makes you you. He thinks of the sparkling shine of your eyes when you blink blearily at him in the early hours of the morning because you, night owl though you may be, wake early every day just long enough to see him off.  He thinks of your hands, of how you work so meticulously, methodical and precise, your touch somehow firm and gentle all at once.  The same hands that run now along his biceps and smooth their way to his nape, curling and raking into his product-stiffened hair.  He’s always wanted to feel you tug at it.  Perhaps tonight he can drive you to the point of fulfilling his wish.

But first, every inch of you must be explored. There can be no part left undocumented in his mind, no visual lost nor taste abandoned in exchange for a hasty release. No, he must know every part of you. His hands must glide along flesh they've felt countless times because he has to know how it feels this time under these circumstances. His tongue must lap along the column of your neck – your reactions, altered by arousal, must be observed and collected, understood and memorized for the next time so that he may show you over and over again the magnitude of his affections. 

You are his instrument. His fingers pluck and slide along your strings, every sound a melody to be immortalized in his mind along with the methods by which they are made. Wesker will take you apart and study all that is required to do so and then, like any maestro, he will put you back together, piece by piece, until you're ready to sing for him once more. 

It is a privilege to behold you in your most vulnerable state.  You are laid bare for him, a result of the blessing that had been the right to unwrap you, and your squirming beneath his gaze is nothing short of endearing.  Are you worried about his perception of your form?  Do you fear judgment?  You would be a fool to believe he would ever view you in a negative light.  Were he so inclined to find you anything but ethereal, his hands would not dance at your sides.  The corners of his lips would not rise into a grin at your ticklish reactions, nor would he descend to kiss any and all apprehension from you.

You are special.

You are his.

Peppered kisses litter down to your chest.  Beneath his lips lies salvation pumping away, each thud its own proof of your existence.  He can’t help but turn his head and press his ear to it, sighing softly when your fingers thread into his hair.  

He’s fallen asleep to this sound many times, lulled to peace, to dreams of what something normal would have been like.  He would have bought you a home with a picket fence and a big backyard.  You would be happy.

“Are you happy?”

He’d been on edge all day.  Spilled laboratory samples, headaches, his temper growing shorter by the second… The thought never occurred to him before.  It had been only two days since he… well, for lack of a better term, bit you in a pathetic loss of control.

The mark is still there.  Each deep red indentation is haloed in a nebula of bruising.  It’s tender to the touch– you’d told him so yourself.

His fingers tremble as he smooths a triple antibiotic ointment over it and he cannot make them stop.  You watch him in the mirror.

He dares not look at anything else.  His eyes must stay fixed on your wound.  If your answer is negative, if you are unhappy with him, he has to be looking directly at what he’d done to you when he hears it.  Then he must convince himself that the pain of his failure doesn’t really hurt at all.

He must not mind that it hurts.

He must not mind that it will kill him.

You regard him with a hum before craning your neck to the right, offering him more space to work.

“Always.” 

His lips lock to the scar.  That gnawing feeling returned with the memory, but he won’t give it such power ever again.  His marks will be delivered gently, reverently, as pleasantly as the air that kisses his spine and as sweetly as your palms glide down its curve.

You sing so beautifully for him.  Exclamations hidden and trapped in breaths, small squeaks that break through the self control he yearns to crumble.  He needs to hear more, and descending is its own treat.  New strings to pluck, new songs for you to sing.  A bud between his lips, the other pinched between his thumb and forefinger.  But he cannot simply stop there.  Down and down he goes, torn between letting his eyes flutter shut or taking in the sight of even the most minute of your reactions, lips pressing closer and closer until he’s parting your thighs and oh…

Your gentle laughter rings through his kitchen. He’s lived in Raccoon City for several years now, but his private life has remained as silent as the day he’d arrived.  Only television filled the space, usually for mere minutes if at all.  Occasionally the radio may serve as a substitution, or even a rare phone call may disrupt the quiet… Nothing more.

It’s homey, you tell him.  Not what you’d expected, but it’s pleasant and you’re impressed with his ability to decorate.  You express appreciation for his choice of indirect lighting, of how comfortable it makes the space feel.

He bites his tongue.  There should be no reason whatsoever that he would have to catch himself like that.  Those words, that admission… How is it that you’d nearly pulled it from him?  Details of the past, of cold dormitories and blinding overhead lights, stiff beds and solid chairs, white walls with perhaps only a sheet of edicts– the creed that rules his… ruled his life.  His upbringing had been nothing but sterility and deprivation of individuality, he almost says.  Of course his home would contrast that.

But why would he want to tell you such things?

The cake you’d brought is sweet against his tongue, chased away by the bitterness of black coffee that lingers until the next bite.  He wagers the contrast is much like the both of you.

You’re breathing life into his home in a way these walls have never seen before.  Even the gray paint seems to change in your presence.  After you leave, it feels different.  He cannot name it.

This is the alchemy that you do.

He means to dive in confidently, yet he trembles. Excitement, he would say if ever you asked.  A half-truth.  

Wesker halts, breaths falling from his mouth to fan over your shaft.  He revels in the sight of a little twitch, a reaction to nothing more than the air leaving his lungs.  This close, he can practically taste you on the air.  The muted taste wafts over his tongue to tease and tease and tease.

Your hands squeeze his– your lifeline, he thinks smugly– and he finds you red and embarrassed.  You must be wondering what he’ll do next, though surely you could surmise he’ll be taking you into his mouth at any moment.  He means to, of course, and he will, but first…

“W-What are y-you–”

His ribs expand with such a forceful intake, nose pressed to the base of your cock.

A shiver runs down his spine.  Saliva pools in his maw.

More.

Slower this time.  Savor it– savor you.

His eyes roll back, mouth agape with a stuttered, breathy moan.  This in particular must be committed to memory.  Such a sweet, heady scent… He thinks he’d like to soak his gloves in it.  To be able to bring a hand to his nose at any time and have a perfectly saturated reminder… Maybe he’ll wear them next time, jerk you off in them, massage your come into the leather…

“Divine,” comes a voice that should belong to a man knelt before an altar.  He sounds as if he’s witnessed something holy– otherworldly, even.  As if everything he could ever ask God for has been placed in his hands and he’s so full of awe that the roaring tides of his mind have stilled into an enraptured haze.  He is no better than Eve and the apple, the way his tongue falls free– finally– for more. 

Your cries barely register beyond the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

This is the most inappropriate, undignified, and perhaps shameful thing he’s ever done.

This hasn’t happened to him in… hell, has it ever actually occurred before?  Nothing even happened, you’d simply brought him coffee as you always did.  He’s heard other men joke that such an issue could simply be tucked into the waistband of one’s pants and ignored until it goes away, but it wasn’t going away.

And it was downright unbearable.

His office door is locked and his legs are spread, pants and underwear at his ankles as he leans further back in his chair.  Every so often, he cracks an eye open to ensure that the blinds at the window have not magically opened.

This is natural, he reminds himself.  Attraction is natural, fantasies are natural… 

Touching himself at work, however, is not. 

The closer he gets, the harder he clamps a hand to his mouth.

He keens with your tip between his lips, tongue flitting and swiping with so much enthusiasm that it’s practically uncharacteristic.  Wesker’s earlier wish is coming true; tufts of his hair are locked in a grip between your fingers, being tugged and pulled as you writhe beneath his care.  When you press his head forward, he smirks. 

He finally presses a finger to your hole– slathered with just enough spit.  You’re so tight, so guarded, but eternity itself could pass him by while he works you loose and he’d neither care nor notice.

“G-God!”  You cry once that first finger is in.  You are so very generous, bestowing such a title upon him.  “O-Oh g–”

“...god!”  He chokes against his own palm, legs quaking, body pulsing as each burst of bliss strikes him like a hammer to hot iron.

He cannot let this become a habit.  He tells himself this every time.

The image of you swirls in his mind, of your sparkling eyes and sunshine smile.  Water pelts his shoulders like liquid fire, tap turned as hot as it can go– a distraction that failed.  He’s gone too far now.  It’s no longer salacious thoughts alone that plague him when this happens.  No, it’s become much worse.  It’s… they're tender.  They're always tender now, it seems.  And there is an ache afterward.

Your absence…

“Al, I–”  You mewl, back arching, thighs fighting his overwhelming strength to close around his head.  As if you could.

He’s experimenting.

Do you react better to slow slides or quick flicks of his tongue?  The latter delivered to your leaking tip leaves you clenching around his digits– two, now– but once he takes you deeper?  Your walls flutter against him, rim squeezing against his knuckles with each generous inch toward his throat.  And how exactly should he treat your precious, silky insides, hm?  Do you prefer to be finger-fucked fast or slow?  Soft or firm stimulation to your prostate?  Should he alternate between the two?  Change from pressing to stroking?  How do you react to a scissoring motion– ah, very nicely…

It’s all so maddening. 

Ideally he’d at least have a hand available to tend to himself, but he can’t take it away from you.  Still, still you cling to him, your right curled around his left– you tell him so very much with it, too.  The way you squeeze him harder each time he does something you like…

The way you grip him like a vise when it finally happens…

One, two, three…

You quiver, you tremble, you fall apart like a collapsing star, and you do it all for him, hips bucking, fingers twisting in his hair to show him your gratitude.  He counts the pulsations…

Eight, nine, ten…

“G-God, please!”  You weep.  “S’too much– t-too much, I–”

You can do it.  You can take it a little longer, just to see… he knows you can.

Thirteen, fourteen…

Your thighs clamp around his head, fist pushing his head down further and further as you spill into the warmth of his throat– so hot, so good… Every focused curl of his fingers is designed to put you right back on that peak, right back to where he wants you– in the palm of his hand.

He lifts his head, overpowering you with ease until he releases you with a wet pop and his fingers abandon you.  His arms wrap around your waist as he rises to his knees,dragging your lower half up with him, tongue finding a new focus skirting along your hole, ripping a weak mewl out of your pathetic mouth.  You sing so beautifully for him.

He can see you better like this.  He can see every little twitch of your cock and every time your eyebrows knit together.  He can stare right into your hooded eyes while you do little more than accept his love.

“Beautiful,” he rasps, lips smacking as they leave you.  “Again.”  He wants to know– no, he needs to know how fast he can tip you over the edge once more.  Every detail. 

Every detail.

He knows everything.

Your file isn’t exceptionally hard to go through.  You have experience, but none that could amount to a brick of a folder.  He was already well aware of everything in there from when you were hired, but another read couldn’t hurt.

He’d even pulled your medical records, courtesy of Umbrella’s far reaching power.

Your photo stares back at him and he wonders exactly what it is he’s doing.  Every part of his higher mind screams not to get so involved– not to care. It can only end in pain and regret.  He won’t be here for terribly long.  S.T.A.R.S. will fulfill its purpose someday and he’ll leave everything behind… even you.

The thought angers him.

Were he to peel back the layers, he would find grief masquerading behind such a volatile emotion. 

“A-Al, I c-can’t!  Albert~!”

He may be worshipping at the altar, but it is you who recites the prayer. Oh, how he loves when you say his name. Whether uttered behind the closed door of his RPD office while the two of you ate lunch, murmured lovingly in the morning, or moaned, only you could make it so special. 

He counts an average twenty pulsations per orgasm– above average, actually, which strokes his ego like nothing else.  You can come a second time after several minutes of constant attention, and he has to be rougher despite the risk of overstimulation, but you quake when you do.

He lowers you only to lap away at the mess you’d made, tasting and reveling in the sweet salt of your bliss.  From your navel to your chest, all the way up to the pearl that landed at your chin, he doesn’t stop until he’s licked you clean.  There’s a swell of pride unlike any he’s ever felt before as he takes in the sight of you.  Every accomplishment pales in comparison to this– to you. 

Perhaps he should have wiped his mouth before kissing you, but he quite likes the whine you make at your own taste.  Wesker hisses when you part.

Sneaky little thing.

He’s not sure why the loss of confinement went unnoticed–probably too focused on you– but his face falls to your neck the second you palm him over his underwear.  By all rights, you deserve to explore him the same as you’d allowed him to with you.

“Careful…” he warns, breath tight in his throat.  He arches over you, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of his remaining clothing.  He huffs a sigh of relief when the cool air finally hits his lower body, but it turns to a sharp gasp when you find him once more.

Wesker’s jaw tenses, teeth baring, fist coming up to your hair– fuck, why is he so…

The very millisecond your thumb swipes his tip, he’s snatching your hand away.

Too close.

You look at him in confusion, the question of whether you’d made a mistake is written all over your face before you take in his own expression and it hits you.  He can see it in real time, the way you realize he’s right fucking there and you’d hardly touched him.  The way you realize he’s a goddamn giver in bed, that he gets off on it, that your pleasure was all his and no amount of claiming experimentation will ever hide it from you.

You’ve always seen through him, haven’t you?

“Just–” he tries.  Just what? 

Words are failing him.  His mind is failing him, clouded entirely with you, you, and you. Your touch, your presence, your beauty, your power– your lips upon his, the soft glide of them and the soothing strokes of your thumbs at his cheekbones… Captivating, entrancing, gentle and loving…

Loving… 

The corner of his eyes sting.  He curses everything that is, that ever was.  He must be cursed, too.  What else could it be?  Why, why does his self control wane like this with you?  Why did this very same thing happen the night he bit you?

He won’t have it.  He won’t.

He won’t be weak.

His tongue breaches your mouth with practiced ease tainted with desperation and he reaches down, squeezing the base of himself just enough to ward it all off.  He grabs blindly for the bottle of lubricant and gets to work slicking both you and himself still without breaking from you.  His touches are artful, each swipe so very intentional.

You mewl between kisses and he swallows every sweet noise.

You haven’t spoken to him in days.

Since selling his soul to a new corporation, the two of you had found safe lodging in an off-grid facility for less-than-legal research endeavors.  Your living space was much like a standard apartment, which seemed apt to allow staff to stay for long periods of time.  He’d only caught you a handful of times sneaking into the kitchen, but you could hardly look at him.  He supposes, though, that it’s only natural after everything that happened.

It gnaws at him anyway.

He stands at your bedroom door, hand lifted to knock, except he’s frozen in place.  He can hardly fathom what he would even say to you.  ‘Apologies for surely giving you PTSD,’ would almost certainly justify your actions if you were to finally take a swing at him.  He runs through a variety of ways to approach you, but each falls short of satisfactory.

He only leaves once he’s sure he’s run out of ideas.  The wood of his own bedroom door creaks under his punishing grasp as he stares at the barrier separating you from him.

“Please,” comes the word, silent yet heavy all the same on his tongue.

“Please!” You gasp, legs winding around his hips.  He should sink in right now, thrust into you in one eager push and watch the glory of it spread across your face– there it is again.  The need to take, the need to dig his fingers into you through sinew and bone and take and take and take until all that you are is his from the inside out.  Inch by inch, you pull him in, his own breath pushing harshly through gritted teeth to mingle with yours, your keening, whining, pathetic song that’s all for him.  You’re gripping him so tightly, so snug and warm, accepting a part of him piercing you, taking you, claiming you. 

You pull and pull until your legs lock at the base of his back, releasing a heavy sigh as you adjust to him.  Wesker’s upper lip peels back in a silent snarl.  He tries, oh how he tries to deliver the first motion as gently as you deserve.  A soft rock of his hips that stutters into a forceful push the very second he’s fully buried and it feels so good that he has to nestle his face back in your neck, he has to latch on to that mark, he has to sink his nails into your hips and fuck like a madman–  fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling; lips at his ear, panting; the warm flutter of flesh against his cock– too much, too much, too much– his and his alone– you, his little lamb forever locked between the sharp of his teeth– his, his, his–

A stillness takes him, overpowering in every sense.  His body tenses, locks, twitches and jolts, but his mind has taken leave and it all falls away.  Stress, memories, calculations and formulas, deadlines and missions– all gone. Like the lightning rod of his spine had caught and sent one such heavenly bolt through his very existence.  Tingling, warm, sweet release– a reset, a forfeit, relinquishing control in the one place– in the one person that he is safe to do so.

You kiss the missing words off his lips before he can even attempt to conjure them.  The fog clears and in its center is you, waiting, always, always for him.  So he moves to meet you, groaning, the sounds caught in his throat suddenly free and bound together by the stitching of your name falling from his lips– his song, his melody intertwined with yours while he fills you over and over with his devotion. 

You take from him every rotten inhibition, every modicum of the grandiose, his incessant need to be untouchably great.  For you, he is reduced to the foundations.  To flesh and bone, to repressed desires and suppressed urges, to his most basic wants and needs all laid bare.  Here, with you, he simply is. 

This is the alchemy that you do.

Ao3

[amazingmsme]

twin peaks anon here! i know you mentioned liking lee cooper and i would love to hear any thoughts u have on that if youre up for it :)

Sorry this took so long, but the semester is FINALLY coming to an end!

• Ok, so Cooper’s pretty awkward, we can all agree on that, but he’s surprisingly very open with physical affection & such. He often initiates hugs, fist bumps, pats on the back, a nudge to the ribs… it wasn’t long before he found out that everyone down at the station is ticklish somewhere. But all that well-intentioned mischief comes back to bite him in the ass when they start poking & prodding at him

• Harry is the one who worked up the nerve to see if their resident special agent was ticklish & was over the moon to find out he’s indeed very ticklish. Extremely so, even

• He was even more thrilled to find out that he doesn’t fight back at all once you start. He just curls up in a ball & laughs his head off

• If questioned about his lack of defense, he blushes profusely & says he “refrains himself for their own good” cause he doesn’t wanna hurt them

• Lucy LOVES to flutter her nails over his neck & ears cause he has the cutest giggles when you target those spots

•Speaking of, when he giggles his nose scrunched up & he has this million dollar smile on his face & his eyes are squeezed shut & I am sooooooo normal about this

• If you get a good spot he has this hearty belly laugh that’s so infectious & just full of pure joy. Sheriff Truman has been caught with full on heart eyes when this happens

• Ok but we NEED to talk about how he hangs upside down from the ceiling with his damn metal shoes in nothing but boxers & a tank top. Utter lee behavior (yes Harry walked in on him once, of course he took advantage)

• Albert discovered Cooper’s sensitivity years ago while working on a case & has never let him live it down to this day. & since Albert’s already so blunt & a dick he gets mean with 😈

• Gordon also found out pretty early on while working with him & likes to squeeze his sides to make him jump & squeak. Lord help him if Gordon wants to point anything out cause everyone within a 5 mile radius will hear

• If pressed on the subject, Cooper will admit he enjoys being tickled & thinks it’s fun but it’s not something he wants to advertise

• Cooper’s pretty much a walking tickle spot, but his worst ones are his armpits, belly, thighs & knees. You can get him laughing from the other typical spots too

As you can see, I’m obsessed with our most favorite special boy

[fungusbabey]

Could you write something with Albert x a ticklish reader? Thanks!

     you were lying in bed with your boyfriend, watching tv and cuddling (best combination known to man). soon, he began to absentmindedly rub his fingers up and down your side, his touch lighter than you’d ever felt it. he looked down, puzzled as to why you were suddenly squirming and making small noises. almost immediately, it dawned on him.

     “well, well, well, what do we have here? i didn’t know you were ticklish.” he smirked mischievously at the look of terror on your face.

     “no, al, please don’t-”

     your begging was cut off by laughter that you couldn’t control as he pinned you down and his nimble fingers attacked your sides. you desperately tried to push him off.

     “aw, but baby, you look so cute when you’re laughing,” he retorted, his assault not wavering. 

     after what felt like years, he finally pulled his hands away and sat up, straddling your waist. he was still smirking and watched in satisfaction as you caught your breath and wiped the tears of laughter from your face. he climbed off of you and resumed his position next to you, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple.

     “i’m sorry, honey,” he apologized. “but your laugh is just so adorable, i can’t help myself.” you smiled in return and nuzzled into his chest, tangling your limbs with his. 

     “i’m alright with it since it makes you happy,” you admitted, gazing up at him. “as long as it’s not a super regular thing.”

     “deal,” he agreed, smiling into your hair as you both turned your attention back to the tv. 

[sunstone-smiles]

Tickletober 2024 Masterlist

An easy to find place for all my Tickletober 2024 fics! In case any were missed, or you want to revisit them!

Original Prompt lists that were used: August’s Tickletober List / Crow's Tickletober List / Nim’s Lovely Tickletober List

---

Anticipation / “Ready?”: Tickles to Test A Theory - Barok van Zieks and Albert Harebrayne (The Great Ace Attorney)

Chase / Scared: Try it With Everything You've Got! - Kukui and Guzma (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

Hide and Seek / Upside Down: One Loud Game of Hide and Seek - Scanlan, Vax, Keyleth, Pike (The Legend of Vox Machina)

Boo!: You're Not Ogerpon! - Kieran and Juliana (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

Nuzzles / Festival or Fair / Exposed body part: No Need to be Embarrassed - Maxie and Archie (Pokemon)

Wake Up!: Don't Wake Up Angry! - Phoenix and Edgeworth (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

Hug / Snickers / Noise: A Proper Send-off - Kieran and Juliana (Pokemon)

Mischief / Ancient / Wall: Use Your Imagination! - Edgeworth, Kay, Gumshoe (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

Lose / Mystery / High: The Mystery of the Caught Cat Toy - Sholmes, Ryunosuke, Iris, Susato (Great Ace Attorney)

“Are you ticklish?”/ Faking it: A Serious Case of the Pent-up Giggles - Percy, Vex, Vax (The Legend of Vox Machina)

SKIPPED

Raspberries / Underwater: Post-lesson Play - Nessa, Sobble, Wooper, Chewtle (Pokemon)

Tickle Fight: The Legendary Vox Machina Tickle Fight - Scanlan, Pike, Grog, Vex, Vax, Percy, Keyleth (The Legend of Vox Machina)

SKIPPED

Tease / Weakness / Posing: A Squeak or a Startled Exclamation? - Phoenix, Edgeworth, Maya, Gumshoe (Ace Attorney)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

New Discovery: Flying Types Lift the Spirits - Larry and his pokemon (Pokemon)

SKIPPED

Non-Human Parts / Bug: The Giggle Bug - Kaden and Corrin (Fire Emblem)

SKIPPED

SKIPPED

Trick-or-Treat / Magic: Candy Break! - Phoenix, Trucy, Apollo, Athena (Ace Attorney)

Happy Halloween!: Bold Move to Try and Scare a Monster - Emmet, Ingo, Elesa (Pokemon)

[wayward-persephone]

hiya!! i hope you are doing well today <3 i was hoping you could help me with how you'd think the grabber would react to a girl that had a thing for biting?? like, she just takes chomps anywhere from small nips to full on skin-breakers whenever aroused or just passing him by?? :-] thank you!

Okay I know you specifically asked for The Grabber, but this concept is just too cute so I'm gonna write it for all the characters 😌

The Grabber/Albert Shaw

Gonna start this by saying this man totally has a biting kink. He would probably take it as a challenge at first, biting back harder or more frequently, before realizing that you weren't doing it to challenge him or to make fun/trick him. Once he realizes that he would be fairly amused by your little "love bites" that he would lovingly call them. Sighing pleasantly at your small nips and growling at your harsher bites. You know better than to bite him too hard, knowing full well that he has no problem biting you back even harder, but it's safe to say that you still end up with more bite marks than him at the end of the day.

Arthur Harrow

Finds it endearing. Enjoys seeing the imprint of your teeth on his skin and seeing how happy you look after you pounce on him, but he will scold you if you bite him too hard outside the bedroom. He doesn't mind if you break skin while you two are having sex, will often take that as a sign that he's making you feel good, but will chide you to save the harsher bites for later. Which just makes you more riled up.

Edward Dalton

Instantly makes him hard. No matter if the bite is a little nip or something more rough he will find a way to get in your pants the instant he feels your teeth on his skin. It triggers the predator instincts inside him and he needs to bite you back and fuck you. Would absolutely bite you just as many times, if not more, than you would him.

Troy Dyer

Totally teases you, but low-key gets turned on by it. Would grumble and complain, calling you rabid and tell everybody that he needs to get a rabies shot now, but would also playfully nip back at you occasionally. Would wear your harsher bites with pride because he knows exactly what he did to cause them.

Goodnight Robicheaux

Finds it amusing most of the time. Lets you nibble with little to no complaint, but will grumble and swat your ass at the rougher bite marks.

Ellison Oswalt

For some reason I headcanon him as ticklish so he would squirm and wiggle at certain bites, swatting you away playfully, or even sweeping you up to smother you with kisses.

King Aurvandil

Loves it. Biting is the norm with him. Would let you nibble and bite to your hearts content, growling in approval at the marks you leave and dragging you to him for a kiss at the passing nibbles, and once you are done biting him then it will be his turn.

James Sandin

Very much confused by it at first, but finds it charming. Enjoys your nips and nibbles but will yelp every single time when you break skin. Will definitely pout afterwards until you offer to kiss it better.

Russell Millings

Is just happy to have you touching him. He's so touch starved that he savors every touch. He will make little humming noises at your softer bites, smiling at you sweetly, but you will always remember the shocked and almost hurt look on his face the first time you broke skin. Of course, you immediately smothered him with kisses and explained your little quirk, and now he only jumps and hisses in shock when you chomp on him. Although you still pepper the bite mark in kisses afterwards much to his delight.

Sal Procida

Grumbles and hisses at you, calling you a rabid little vampire, but will also have you bouncing on his cock while telling you to bite him more. Spanks your ass in retaliation almost every single time you come up to him to bite him.

Travis Conrad

Will nibble on you back. Especially if you are cuddling together and will even start getting handsy at your rougher bites. If you bite him he makes you kiss him in return and he never wants to stop at just one kiss.

Ernst Toller

Totally confused and baffled, but loves you so he finds it endearing. He likes it a bit more than you both expected, especially when you break skin and he's suddenly pawing at your clothes, and you make sure to nibble at him more when he's stressed.

Paul

Growls and slaps you on your ass in retaliation, but continues to let you bite him. He's a man of few words after all. Will even tilt his head to let you have better access to his throat and will glare at anyone who dares to look at you cross.

James Costa

Rather enjoys your bites. Thinks of it as you claiming him in your own way and will absolutely cherish every single bite mark. Of course, when you break skin, he will take his turn and chomp down on you until he draws blood. He finds the exchange romantic (in his own way) even if you are bleeding and holding back tears, and will then kiss you breathless while getting you on his cock as soon as possible.

Chet Baker

Goes straight to his dick. Thinks of it as foreplay, will think of it as a game and try to nibble on you back, but will chide you if you try to bite at his throat. Can't be too careful in his line of work. Instead he would like for you to bite anywhere else and he finds it entertaining to find out the new spots you pick. Especially when he's fucking you. He wants to see how far he can push you until he gets you biting him enough to break skin. Wears it like a badge of honor.

John Brown

Utterly confused, but if it makes you happy then will let you continue it with minimal complaint. Will often have you cuddled on his lap by the fire or on his horse as you happily chomp and nibble on him as he rambles on and on.

Tucker Crowe

The first time he instinctively chided you like he did his kids. Which let you both staring at each other in confusion before bursting out in laughter. Now, he just sighs and lets you do whatever you want. He will tease you during sex though, murmuring in your ear the harder you bite him if he's making you feel good until you are reduced to a shivering mess.

Everett Lewis

Growls and spanks you at first. Glares and grumbles every single time you get your teeth in him, but doesn't really complain much past that. Even when you break skin he just scowls at you. However, if you start to think he hates it or gets uncomfortable with it, he will wordlessly drag you to his lap and bite you back.

Lars Nystrom

He loves it and will bite you back every time. Will even boast to other people that you can't keep your mouth off of him, much to your chagrin, and will coo happily at all the marks you leave on him.