#tw for potentially historically and

[almakfi]

or awake + tend dealer's choice

the heavy shift of woolen sheets wakes basim. it's not a troubled awakening this time, as it was not a troubled sleep—deep, dreamless, unsettlingly peaceful. he turns his head, the flat of his cheek pressing slightly into the straw-stuffed pillow, to gain a better perspective on the room he shares with hytham. the other rises, a shadowy silhouette but for the lamplight-crowned auburn tinge of his curls, backlit like a spiderweb. he's quiet, but not stealthy, or he'd have been mindful of the cloth rustling. he knows that some unexpected approach in the dark would trigger a violent reaction, maybe he wants to be heard.

he cuts the gap between the beds barefoot, like a killer; the hidden blade, stripped of bracer, gives a metallic gleam from the soft underside of his arm. basim keeps it on, too. he blinks the fog in his eyes and rapidly calculates that, should they fight, they would fight on equal terms.

badly-cut stitches pull uncomfortably at the edges of the wound when basim rises to a half-sitting position. they were the work of a sailsmaker found in a whalers' settlement nested on the jagged coast of rygjafylke. a firm-handed man but harsh and sloppy, used to spinning flax rather stitching wounds. and where the skin was pierced by the hooked needle it bled, again. the stains have dried brown on basim's white robes. it will leave a flashy scar on the upper side of his stomach, just below the arch of his ribs. hytham's eyes follow the dark, indented path. he seems to recognize it like a familiar patten, even through the stripe of linen tightly binding it—the width, the depth, the weapon that caused it, the hand that drove the blade.

he understands all that, and nothing more.

hytham pulls a stool and sits at the bedside. the line of basim's shoulders relax visibly, too much to go unnoticed, but he knows it would be foolish of him not to expect the hidden ones' punishment as much as it would be of hytham not to consider delivering it.

"we are even, hytham." in case that is keeping you from deciding freely what to do with me. he cannot see hytham's face very well. though it is in front of him, it's in the dark, both the dark of the late hour and the dark that's heavy-lidded and foggy. hytham, instead, can see basim perfectly—the dim lamplight feebly but surely bares every detail to sight, from the sheen of sweat across his brow to the half-inch that his hair has grown since the last time they saw each other. maybe that's his punishment. to be so painfully bare while hytham hides in plain sight.

valka reluctantly approved of the stitching when faced with the danger of undoing it. hytham unpins the worn bandage and tests the edges of the wound, before wetting his fingers with some yarrow ointment that valka prescribed and spreading it across the unevenly sealed injury. basim swallows a complaint. the other performs his duty with surgical focus and deliberately ignores him.

"thank you." basim says when it's done. hytham does not reply, though he does not expect him to. he turns, half of his face flashing in the light, too quickly for basim to detect a trace of expression.

come sunrise, he thinks, neither of us will be able to hide.

SETTLING DUST.

[zhuhongs]

just found out the lead singer of taiwans biggest death metal band is also an active parliament member since like 2015.... and is still active as a death metal singer. he's a pretty standard taiwanese center left anti communist from what i could gather. which like as a leftist i dont really agree with but i also dont know enough abt taiwanese politics to like make a full judgement. though he seems to be a standard liberal nothing remarkable, radical, or new, not overtly horrible but just bland. but that was something i definitely did Not expect. apparently he's very pro indigenous rights and self determination for indigenous people but being in a centre left mega party like the DPP does not seem like the best way to achieve that. But yea, just thought I'd share

[llycaons]

mexican gothic is really fucking good huh

[veraglow]

🤩Embrace Happiness in Every Moment

Laugh, love, live, shine, thrive.

Nurture self-love with compassion.

Celebrate small victories, big wins.

Embrace challenges, embrace growth.

Appreciate your journey, every lesson.

Tap Here for Free Gift, Motivation Awaits!💓

[chussyracing]

on today's chapter of "today i learned and didn't like it"

[darabeatha]

/  I think the saddest thing about mocte is that he could have perfectly not have appeared in the lb and probably nothing would have changed either way, as in, he could have been replaced by some random npc and the course of the story would have mostly remained the same

[killbenedictcumberbatchagain]

tw rape, drugs, sexual abuse involving non humans, survival sw

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2 days ago (3/7) I had to flee a situation in which a potential john attempted to sedate and falsly imprison me and have a pet animal perform sexual acts on me for his gratification. I had to spend money that I Did not and Do not currently have in order to flee the situation. This has shaken me in a way that has made function nearly impossible. I haven't eaten since the incident and have been self medicating in such a way that most would consider dangerous. My $1150 rent And my Light and Gas bills are past due. This is not Normal for me. February has historically been a very difficult month but I had what has been probably the most stressful, harrowing winter in years and I no longer have the energy to self advocate to the extent that I have had to. I have been placed in this position because mutual aid is proving to be an unsustainable and much too risky means of survival and I literally have nowhere to go. I have NO money no friends no govt assistance and have incurred the wrath of a lot of dangerous and manipulative people. my mental health is so poor that I'm constantly in survival mode. Nothing feels real.

I need people to Care. my life literally depends on it.

Please, PLEASE for the love of god HELP ME, SEE ME, SHARE THIS. I do not have any other options being disabled. Please give a shit about me. this us such a small amount that can be funded by yt ppl in a matter of Hours, Literally but it's taken months of begging to be chronically, desperately behind. I've been staggering and ready to throw in the towel.

please share PLEASE, GIVE! I KNOW IT IS THERE.

cash.me/$tomi1

venmo:tominova

gf.me/u/ygdu7j

[yandere-daydreams]

Does the Neuvillette sex bot have two

tw - rough sex, slight oviposition, marking.

...he has the attachment stations for two, but what there's going to be two of depends on your preference. the potential is there, though.

in my mind, at least, he's a refurbished morax-droid - not quite as impressive as the original archon model but meant to fill a similar niche for those who prefer stoic older man with not-so-subtle inhuman traits. he doesn't have zhongli's history, but what he lacks in fun historical facts about whatever area you're passing through, he makes up for in quiet observations and a tongue long enough to wrap around your wrist, and users are pleased to find that his more animalistic tendencies are still very much in tact. it is recommended that you only use one of his attachments at a time, but if you're going to insist, you'll get to hear his resounding purr as he takes you by the hip and guides you onto his cocks, letting you scratch and claw at his chest while you struggle to take him. for especially courageous users, his kit comes with optional egg-like insertions that can be loaded into one or more of his attachments, but they're known to make his behavior a little... unpredictable. he won't break any bones, but if you have something to do the next day that involves, say, moving your legs or having more unblemished skin than not, you should probably save it for another time.

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[vallification]

In My Heart You Pay No Rent

Pairing: cowboy!gojo x reader

TW/CW: historical inaccuracies, smut, outdoor sex, first times, mention of guns, alcohol, MDNI

Too obstinate and infatuated with a dastardly outlaw to bend to the will of your father, you head to town to find the target of your distant affections, a sharp-tongued cowboy with a long list of charges decorating his reputation.

This work is part of the "Slow It Down, Cowboy" AU, a collaborative effort with @slutshamethesquirrels. Read its sister work, "All The Sweet Tea In Carolina" here.

The wild, wild west was aptly named, given the plethora of things bound to go awry in the massive stretches of empty land between each isolated township. Terrain, storms, animals, vagrants, vagabonds, money-hungry city folk swarming in droves to strike oil, and, of course, outlaws. Some days you’d see well-groomed, mild-mannered, decent gentlemen dressed to the nines strolling to the bank to make a deposit, and others you’d see sweat-soaked, sharp-tongued, wild cowboys dressed in grimy leather storming out of that bank with those gentlemen’s cash. Of course, the township’s staggering number of law enforcement officers (three)(including the sheriff) would chase after those slimy vandals, but that always ended in either a sprained ankle, a see-through hat, or a funeral. 

However, as the surrounding communities began to flourish into cities, you began to see less and less of those outlaws. Daddy would mutter something about how it’s damn time, how sick to bastard death he was of those ruffians hanging around your good, decent town, how lucky you were that one of those good-for-nothin’s never thought to heave you up over his shoulder and ride off with you, because you still weren’t married, and had no one but your old Daddy to keep you safe. 

Suitors, courtship, marriage, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, lawfully wedded and married and holy matrimony and blah, blah, blah. He raised you right, you were ladylike enough, you looked just like your mother, why were you so hard to marry off? You were so damn tired of that conversation, and you had begun to make it known, remembering the first time you turned your nose up at a potential romantic proposition like it was yesterday. Your poor old Daddy called you to the porch, and you were sure he’d pop something by the way he turned so red. 

“The banker’s son’s coming from town tomorrow,” He mentioned, passive and gentle as he puffed on his cigarette. 

“So?” You said, hip jutted out to rest against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Daddy shot you a warning glare, but as his one and only little girl, you knew it’d only ever be just that: a warning.

“He wants t'marry you. He’s got a good daddy, a good mama. Some money. More money ‘n us if you can believe 'at,” Puff, “He can take care of you.” 

“I’d rather wear a potato sack on m'head than marry that man.” 

It only took two more times for him to throw his hands up in defeat. There wasn’t anything wrong with any of those men, they were decent enough, and they did have the means to take care of you, but it didn’t matter. No, you weren’t keen on marriage, or babies, or domesticity; what you were keen on was your every-other-monthly ride to town, snug in your nice go-to-town dress, much to Daddy’s dismay. 

Technically, you weren’t doing anything wrong when you went to town. What was so wrong about waiting at the edge of town by the dirt road, under the big southern live oak, nose faux-stuck in a book, aching for a glimpse of that white head of hair hidden under the brim of a black cowboy hat? Was it a sin to watch his tall, broad, strong frame saunter down the road and into the bar? Was it a sin to imagine what his sun-tanned, dirty, sweaty skin looked like beneath his grimy, baby blue cotton button up? 

Sometimes it felt like a sin, given the way you’d hide your face in your unread book to bite your lip and blush when he looked in your direction. You still lie awake at night, face flushed pink and hands over the blankets, reminiscing about the time those dangerous blue eyes flicked up and down your figure before they gave you a wink. That was the only time you felt brave enough to push Daddy’s limits to let you ride back to town early the next morning, under the guise of helping one of the elderly ladies with her cleaning, when in reality you were scoping the outskirts of town for his shiny black horse. If you saw it, well, that meant he stayed in place for at least one night. Sure enough, around the backside of the homely little inn, that black stallion stood tied. 

You weren’t sure why you did it, at least not at the time, because it wasn’t like you’d ever get the chance to do anything with that information. He was a stranger, named a troublemaker in the paper, too, and you were locked away in that ranch house 5 miles down the beaten trail like a knightless, wild-west princess. 

… That is, until Daddy’s got overnight business to tend to. With a bad storm rolling over the endless sea of grassy prairie, and some pretty sleazy cowhands, he forbids you to travel the 150 mile round-trip alongside him to help drive a fellow rancher’s cattle further uphill. You tut, whine, roll your eyes, and stamp your foot in protest, but oh, no, it’s just no use, sweetheart, Daddy says. It’s a miracle that little trick still works on him, or else he might’ve remembered it’s nearly time for your ride to town. 

With a shotgun shoved in your hands and a kiss pressed to the top of your head, you watch Daddy ride off, standing barefoot on the porch. For the first time in forever, now grown and far braver than you were the last time, you’re by yourself; you’re freer than the summer breeze blowing through the trees, freer than a bird, freer than the water trickling in the crick at the other end of the pasture. It’s a secret, sweet victory, and in your glee you almost go running off the porch before realizing it’s probably a good idea to put the gun down first. 

—

It’s close to 10 o’clock when you trot into town on your dark bay horse, Ace, dressed in the prettiest non-fanciful dress you own. Compared to your usual attire, with bustles, corsets, undercoats galore, it almost feels like a nightgown once you’re in the realm of the rest of the town folk. You figured it was better to dress down than up, though; if anyone was to spot you riding into town, your go-to-town dress would be your first identifier.

Daddy’s not the type of man to drain his money and life away in such a grimy place, and neither are his friends; well, maybe one, but he’s done so much money and life wasting in that saloon that you doubt he’ll recognize you. Or, if he does, you doubt he’ll remember. However, you find yourself hesitating to leave your horse, once he’s tied up next to the saloon. 

The lively music playing from the shabby little building is so loud, loud enough for you to hear from where you stand… outside. Inside, people are yelling, laughing, singing, shouting, swearing, and you start getting the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. 

“God, ‘ve gotta piss like a fuckin’ racehorse.”

You snap your head in the direction the voice came from, but it’s too little too late. In the dim moonlight, you watch the man stumble ‘round the corner of the saloon, drunk hands popping open the button of his thick, canvas pants. “Don’t look, Blackjack, got my dick ou— oh, shit!” 

“Wh— I-I, um,” Stammering, you whip around and squeeze your eyes shut (although it’s far too late for that to do anything), your legs immediately carrying you back to your horse’s side. There’s no mistaking the snow-white hair peeking out from underneath the brim of that black hat, and you’re utterly mortified. 

“Woah, sweetheart. Hang fire,” The stranger drawls, the sound of fabric rustling behind you as he haphazardly tucks his shirt back into his now-buttoned pants. “Y’look awfully familiar, y’know.” 

“I don’t believe I do,” You mutter, your back still turned to the outlaw as you work at the knot securing your horse to the wooden hitching rail. If you weren’t so flustered by the man’s presence, and the eyefull you got of what’s hidden in his pants, maybe the knot wouldn’t take so damn long to come loose. 

“I said hold it, miss,” He emphasizes, hooking a finger into the ribbon at the back of your dress and tugging you away from the hitching rail. Without 100 feet of distance separating you, you realize just how much he towers over you, dwarfing you in comparison… However, you’re no regular, resigned, reverent little girl, and you’re not about to let a stranger—no matter how handsome—ragdoll you around. “‘S no mistakin’ you.”

“You’d better get your grimy hands off'a me, mister, or else,” you bite back, praying for his soul should his grip tear the bow off of your dress. He’s not pulling on it anymore, but he’s still got his finger crooked into the baby blue silk. 

“Ooh, yer a mean ‘un, huh?” The man sneers, snorting at your pitiful attempts to wriggle away from him without ripping the shiny, delicate fabric. Bending down to meet your ear, he lowers his voice to something just above a whisper. “Or what?”

“You’ll find out, that’s what. Let go'a me.”

“Say, yer th’girl who sits under ‘at tree over there, ain���t ya? Watchin’ me?” Pointing a long, deathly still finger at the live oak tree, he turns his head to look at your scowling face.  “Well, ya don’t usually look at me ‘at way, but y’sure are her. I’d recognize ‘at hair anywhere, sweetheart.”

“If you don’t turn me loose m'gonna blow that finger clean off your hand, sir.” One final warning. He lets you go, not because of your threat, but because he wants to. It’d be a shame if he spoiled his fun so soon. Plus, the only person capable of blowing a finger clean off of his hand is himself. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, glaring up at him when he returns upright, reaching behind you to make sure the ribbon is still tight, neat, and secure against your back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leavin' now.” 

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, his voice yet again a smooth drawl, grinning ear to ear as he follows each of your steps back to your horse. “Y’can watch me for months but ya can’t gimme th’time t’introduce m’self?” 

“Will you stop with that?” Punctuating your question with a hand planted on your hip, you look at him incredulously, using your other hand to jab a finger into his chest. Although your cheeks are bright pink in embarrassment, the night sky acts as your ally and disguises the girlish glow. “You— If I’d’ve known you were such a— a bastard I’d’ve saved m'self the trouble!”

“A bastard? Y’got quite th’mouth on ya, huh?” He laughs, his hand coming up to pick the hat off of his head as the other smooths his sweaty white hair back, bringing his hat to his chest so it doesn’t fall to the ground. “Quit yer caterwauling ‘n let me introduce m’self, please, ma’am, or I’ll hafta show ya a real bastard.” 

From what you can tell, he is a real bastard, just the most charming bastard you’ve ever had the privilege of running into. The outlaw holds out his rough, calloused hand for yours, which you hesitantly give. 

“Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, ma’am, ‘s a pleasure t’meet ya,” Satoru greets, bowing to place a kiss on the soft skin of your knuckles, only serving as fuel to the flames burning on your cheeks. You quickly take your hand away from his and hold it close to yourself. “But if ya’d like t’call me bastard, at’s okay too.” 

You give him a once-over, humming in some semblance of approval at the newfound half-properness in Satoru’s behavior. That won’t last long, but you’re a lady after all, a lady who has been treated nothing but properly your entire life, which is exactly why you find yourself subconsciously wishing he’d get back to his dastardly act. 

“Well, Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, I’ll be leavin' now,” You say flatly, trying to offset the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger already. It’s no use giving into the idea of staying, things have already gone further than they should have, and if you stay any longer you’re not sure you’ll know when to say when. Gathering a handful of your dress, you slip your foot into the stirrup at Ace’s side and heave yourself up into your saddle. 

“Oh, for th’love of— After I introduced m’self s’ sweetly?” 

Clop, clop, clop, is all Satoru hears in response as you back your horse away from the hitching post, throwing your hair over your shoulders and out of your line of sight. 

“Awww, don’t leave m’lonely already, sweetheart! C’mon, I ‘on’t bite,” he calls to you as you slowly start your way back in the direction of your house. The back way, the way you came, just for extra insurance that you won’t be seen leaving the saloon.  “Not ‘nless ya want m’to, at least!” 

All he gets in response is a grin over your shoulder, and the same clop, clop, clop of Ace’s shoes against the dirt. Well, shit, Satoru thinks to himself as you ride away, almost walking back over to the doors of the saloon, but he’s found himself far too interested in the way your body shifts up and down in tandem with your horse’s steps. He takes one step towards the door, then swivels over to Blackjack, then the door, then Blackjack—

“Fuck, still gotta pee.” 

After relieving himself, this time without flashing anyone, Satoru makes quick work of the knot tying Blackjack to the hitching rail and slings himself up into his saddle. No mind is paid to the poor waitress still waiting for his return in the dingy saloon, who’s eyeing the double-doors for his reappearance; no, he’s dead set on following your path into the horse-high grass, pulling Blackjack into a higher gear with the reins in his hands. 

If you cared, you’d chastise yourself for walking the line of inappropriate behavior as an unwedded woman with a man you just met. If you cared, you’d scold yourself for taking your sweet time, for the slow trot you’ve kept Ace at when you could have hauled ass home. But you don’t care, not when you can hear Satoru’s horse almost pick up to a gallop behind you. 

With one hand keeping his hat from flying off his head and one on the reins, Satoru races to close the gap between the two of you till he’s about 100 feet from you, slowing Blackjack to a trot. He hangs behind you once he’s caught up, matching your pace, watching you ride, pulling a cigarette and a match box from his stash in shirt pocket. Once it’s lit, he pinches out the match, tosses it over his shoulder, and pulls a drag from the cigarette between his lips.

“For bein’ s’hellbent on gettin’ away from me, y’ain’t very fast,” Satoru comments, smug as ever that he’s caught you—as if you weren’t trying to be caught— blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. He’s still watching the up down up down up down of your body in the saddle. “Y’got a name?” 

“Not one y'need t'know,” you reply coolly. Somehow you can feel the weight of his blue gaze on your back, a type of audacity you’ve never experienced in all your born days, and it makes you blush. You’re glad he’s watching you from behind, not just to satisfy your itch for his attention, but also so he can’t see the girlish grin you can’t seem to fight off. 

“Stubborn,” he tuts around his rolled cigarette, only tearing his eyes away from your backside to shake his head. “Sweetheart’ll work, then. How’s ‘at?”

“Inappropriate, really.” Another cool reply. Both of you know your feigned unaffectedness isn’t going to shoo him away; if anything, it’s pulling him in closer, making him more interested in getting you to drop that nonchalant act with each short, clipped comment.

“Where we goin’, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, tugging the reins till Blackjack gets him right beside you. He pulls another drag from the cigarette dangling between his lips before leaning over to you, pointedly blowing the smoke in your face. 

You fake cough, bringing a hand up to erratically wave that damned cloud of cigarette smoke away from your mouth and nose as he laughs. Satoru shakes his head as his laughter subsides, freeing a hand to wipe at his teary eyes. 

“We are not goin' anywhere. I am goin' home, Six Eyes,” you sass, punctuating your words with a hmph. All that serves to do is wind his laughter back up and lean back in the saddle, making Blackjack stop in his tracks. Ace keeps on trotting. “What’s that even mean? Why do people call ya that?” 

“Whew, ‘s fun t’wind y’up, y’know ‘at?” Satoru says once he gets Blackjack to catch up to you again, killing the smoldering end of his cigarette before flicking it away. “I’ll tell ya th’story when we get t’where we’re goin’.” 

Huffing at the way he overlooks your I, not We statement yet again, you instead focus on the view of your ride. Bright, silvery light of the near-full moon shines off of the smooth live oak leaves, illuminates the wide expanse of tall grass where the trees don’t grow, and kisses every square inch of the crop fields in sight. The clear sky seems to go on forever, wrapping its dark arms across the horizon and on, highlighting each star in the sky. It’s warm, humid from the system of storms not too far off, the epitome of a perfect mid-July night. 

A perfect mid-July night that you just had to take advantage of. Despite the serenity of the view, internally, you’ve spent the last three miles flip flopping between excitement and anxiety. On one hand, you’ve taken action, and that’s something to be proud of; on the other, you’ve taken action to do this, with him, who’s enough a bastard without the criminal record to make any good lady’s father bust a few vessels. God, you think about your poor father, how he loosened his reins after keeping you on a tight, protective leash, and you wonder how he’d feel if he found out. His one and only daughter alone with an outlaw, a dirty, grimy, criminal cowboy, in the face of all the kindhearted, decent suitors you turned your nose up at. 

“You’re nothin' but trouble,” You say, softer than anything else you’ve said to the man beside you. Anxiety has outweighed your excitement, and it’s written all over you in big, red, capital letters. Satoru could sense it before he saw it, and he’s getting the feeling you’ve never done so much as come home late. 

“Aww, ‘at’s not true,” He says, feigning hurt with a pout, his pink bottom lip pushed out. Maybe, he thinks to himself, he can tease the nerves out of you. Playing with you is far too fun to give up. It’s a shame you didn’t come up to him earlier, maybe you wouldn’t be so nervous if you had. “Want me t’show ya how good I can be, sweetheart? Y’got a lil’ sneak peek earlier.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble! This 's hardly appropriate, and I hardly know ya outside of your charges listed in th'paper, and if my daddy finds out he–he’ll have me arrested, or somethin' like that. He’ll put a hole right through your head!” 

Now, that just makes him laugh, which he knows will do nothing to soothe you. “I’d love t’see ‘em try,” Satoru snorts. However, knowing a sliver of your temperament from experience, he doesn’t want to push you too far yet. He’s got a secret weapon in his saddle bag, and it isn’t another gun to aid the two on his hips. “Y’know what, I got somethin’ ‘at’ll help calm those boil over nerves’a yours. Ev’r been down south’a the border, sweetheart?”

– 

Cold iron warms in the heat of your drunken hands, the shiny metal revolver gleaming in the moonlight heavy in your inexperienced grip. 

“Atta girl– now, look right down the top’a the barrel ‘n line ‘at iron sight up,” Satoru instructs at your side, knees bent so he can see what you see. The scent of gunpowder, cigarettes, tequila, and sweat floods your senses with him so close, the amalgamation sure to stick to your dress, but you can’t bring yourself to find it anything but good. From the corner of your eyes, you take a lingering look at his face, and notice a dimple on his cheek you hadn’t before. The gun. Right. 

“The metal things? I’m nervous,” You mutter, fingers adjusting and readjusting their position before realizing it’ll take a while to feel comfortable wielding such a weapon. 

“The metal things, yep. Ain’t nothin’ t’be scared of, sweetheart. Y’got it?” Moving behind you, Satoru now has his strong chest pressed to your back, muscular arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours just as he warned you he would to make up for the recoil of the shot.

“Mmmm.. mhm. Now fire?” Focused eyes line up the metal fin at the end of the barrel with the ‘O’ on the ‘No Trespassing’ sign posted in the grassy field at edge of your father’s property, all the while you’re mentally preparing yourself for the explosive force and deafening noise of your upcoming shot. The physical contact, so foreign to your previously untouchable body, doesn’t help your preparation in the least, proving infinitely more distracting than the tequila. 

“Go ‘head, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

Deep breaths. All you have to do is put your finger on the trigger. Before you can move your index finger, Satoru gasps dramatically and grabs your sides, making you flinch and squeal in fear. You’re cowed down, hunched over with a hand slapped over your eyes and another still aiming the gun at the sign in fear when you not only hear, but also feel him start laughing. That bastard. 

Ramming an elbow back and hitting him square in the ribs is all you can do in this position other than throwing him a scolding glare. “Don’t scare me when I’ve got a gun in my hands!”

“Sorry, sorry– Had t’do it.” Glare. “I ain’t gonna do it again, I promise!” Squint. “I swear I won’t.”

Resuming the position, chest pressed closely to your back, hands clasped tightly over yours, chin comfortably rested on your shoulder, Satoru hushes his laughter in favor of letting you gather your bearings. He watches the way you squint one eye as you realign the iron sight, and the way you stick the tip of your tongue out of the side of your mouth to focus, and the way you visibly go through a mental checklist before you put your finger back on the trigger, and he’d be eternally damned if he said it wasn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Something so common to him was so foreign to you, and that sentiment could be held for more than guns. 

When the gun fires, you squeeze both of your eyes shut, lean back into the solid body behind you, and the world goes silent. Your eyes only open when your ears start ringing, Satoru’s impressed whistle filtering through the muffled sound snapping you to attention.

“Well, I’ll be damned. ‘At was a damn good shot, sweetheart, almost ‘s good ‘s me,” he praises proudly, standing tall as he examines the bullet hole in the sign, almost emptying out the ‘O’ entirely. “Y’got five more bullets. Wanna try yer hand at five more shots?”

The next five shots take over an hour to fire, and the last two leave no trace other than a knick in the side of the otherwise swiss-cheese sign. Each shot was sandwiched between mouthfuls of tequila from the bottle and drunken fits of laughter, both overshadowing your target practice in the end, leaving the decorative glass and revolver empty. 

Raising your wobbly frame up onto your tiptoes, you snatch the black cowboy hat off of Satoru’s oddly compliant head and place it gently atop yours. It’s a little big, and it’s hot, and it smells like campfire smoke, but you wear it all the same. With the hat settled on your head, you clumsily spin his pearl-grip six shooter around your finger and strike a pose. “Who’s Six Eyes Satoru Gojo now, hm?”

For the first time tonight, Satoru says nothing. Instead, he’s just looking at you, strong arms crossed over his strong chest, expression unreadable if not for the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Well, how do I look?”

“Real pretty, sweetheart… real, real pretty. Y’wanna know what they say ‘bout takin’ a cowboy’s hat? Puttin’ it on like y’got mine on ‘at pretty little head’a yours?” Satoru drawls, his low voice dripping a sweet, dangerous kind of venom that sounds like the gospel to your drunk ears. Slow, sauntering steps kill the distance between you, till he’s so close you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. Eyes growing wide as you tip your head back to look up at him, your hand holding the cowboy hat on your head so it doesn’t fall off, you finally decipher why he looked like he caught you earlier. When he answers his own question, he drops his voice to a smug, deadly whisper. “Y’wear the hat, y’ride the cowboy.”

Sober, it would be hard enough to gather yourself to say anything at all, much less something so on par with Satoru’s energy, but drunk? That liquid courage, drank by the messy mouthful, is aptly named, coursing through your veins stronger than the deep-rooted conventions of the world around you. With scanning, studying eyes, you further analyze the look etched into Satoru’s suntanned face, and you figure that this is why you haven’t left the thought of him alone since you first saw him. You don’t cower away from his blue haze, not this time. This time, your eyes meet his, locked on them in a manner akin to a standoff. 

“Ride the cowboy, huh? Do they say that?” You whisper back, slipping the six shooter in the black leather belt hanging off of Satoru’s hips, letting your hand drag against the holster one second too long. It makes him shift, his baby blue shirt barely concealing the hints of moving muscle beneath. 

“Mmmmmhm. Don’t tell me ‘s yer first rodeo, sweetheart,” he teases, his euphemism enough to make you blush if not for your already flush-drunk cheeks. 

“I bet ya wish it was, Satoru. It ain't my first rodeo.” Oh, but it is. And if he were talking about kissing you, it’d still be your first rodeo, save for the sweet cheek-kisses you’d given a boy when you were six years old. However, you’re no longer in the realm of backing down, and you won’t give him the benefit of knowing he’s deflowering you. 

“Oh?” Satoru doesn’t believe that for a single second— not when you were tripping over yourself about all the trouble you’d be in if anyone found out about you doing so much as riding alongside him. That devilish set of dimples dip so deep as he grins down at you that you’re sure it’s hurting him. “Y’not ev’n a little scared t’get bucked off?” 

“I ain't scared at all,” You muse, initiating your first touch of the night by placing a flat palm against his clothed stomach. Satoru’s heavyweight cotton shirt offers little padding between your hand and his skin; he might as well be shirtless, because you can feel every contour of his impressive abdominal muscles. 

Something shifts in the air when you touch him, as if that single action changed the charted course of your world in an instant. The change is palpable, it’s audible, it’s visible, it’s so refreshingly different from all you’ve known and you’re going to chase it, even if it kills you, and it very well might should your father find out. Screaming cicadas and chirping crickets, trickling water and whistling breeze, all of which buzz around you in the night air seem to drown in the noise of Six Eyes Satoru Gojo. 

“Yeah? Call my bluff, then. Prove it.” 

It’s a dare, an invitation to dance with the blue eyed devil himself, and you’re taking it without a second thought. In the blink of an eye you take hold of his shirt collar, yanking him down to crash your inexperienced lips into his, and the world around you as you know it comes down crashing and burning with him. Satoru uncrosses his arms and plants two firm, rope-worn, calloused hands on your waist, pulling your eager frame flush against his. 

The kiss is rushed, open mouthed and sloppy, and if not for your plush lips it might hurt. Each passing second against your lips is chock full of proof that you have no clue where to start or where to stop, proof that you’re running on nothing but instinct to both satiate yourself and call Satoru’s bluff. Headstrong and obstinate as ever, you urge him backwards, back, back, back in sloppy, tripping steps till there’s enough of a rise in the terrain to stop him from moving without taking a step up. 

Satoru takes the reins from your imperious hold to ease the two of you to the ground, bending and hinging one joint at a time till you’re both close enough to fall to your knees in the dry grass. He’s still got one hand on your waist, traveling until it finds purchase on your hip, while the other flings the bulletless gun from the right holster away with reckless abandon. The other revolver lays aside within arm’s reach, just in case, but Satoru’s more focused on getting as far as you’ll let him go. Without the possibility of being poked, prodded, or shot, he shifts from his knees to sit flat, hauling you into his lap with a single arm wrapped around your waist. 

By the time you’re in his lap, you’ve pried his shirt off, but there’s not much of the night left to waste for you to sit and admire him as you’d like to, the two of you instead working overtime at getting you undressed. You’re breathless, he’s panting between each kiss of your lips, so soft, so sweet against his that he has to fight the urge to rip off the remaining clothes you’ve got on, consisting of nothing more than your linen chemise and cotton underwear. It’s only now, almost exposed under the silver moonlight in this cowboy’s lap, that your nerves start to get the better of you; it’s not that you want to stop, because you’d rather die than stop him from just touching you, but it’s all so fast that your head is spinning and you’re shaking like a leaf. 

Beneath you, where your hips sit atop his, you can feel how hard he is through the thick, rough canvas of his pants. It’s not smart to take them off— not outside, anyway— but there’s a part of you that craves to have your bare skin against his. Maybe that’s naive, but tequila doesn’t care about naivety. 

After all the teasing and taunting he’s put you through tonight, Satoru won’t make you say it. He won’t make you admit that this is your first time, nor will he ignore the fact. Instead, Satoru’s strong hands slide up the sides of your thighs, under that thin, white underdress, settling on your hips with a soft squeeze before pulling you down to grind against him. The friction, the drag against that wet, sensitive, aching place between your legs makes your breath hitch in your throat and cling to him, arms thrown around his neck. 

 His black cowboy hat is back on his head where it belongs, tipped back enough to let you see his face, and those blue eyes you’ve come to know seem to glow up at you. They’re lidded, heavy in a way you’ve never seen before from anyone else, and now that he’s looking at you like this you’re not sure you’d want anyone else to. Another roll of his narrow hips and you’re whimpering, nothing more than putty in his hands for him to mold and shape however he’d like. 

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Satoru whispers, placing a searing kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, scattering goosebumps across your sensitive skin. You can feel his cock twitch from its confinement beneath you, and although your ability to gauge his size is obscured, he’s big. He’s a big man, with big hands and big shoulders, but you didn’t expect all of him to be so big. “Feels like yer shakin’ ‘n I ain’t ev’n done anythin’ yet.” 

The right words seem impossible to find, much less to say, all of them so vulgar and explicit that they make your face burn with such a vibrant shade of red it’s visible even in the low light of the moonbeams. He grins against your skin at your inability to speak, knowing such phrases have never left your pretty plush lips, relishing in the fact that your headstrong nature has been reduced to nothing by his touch. In a bashful whisper, you manage to whimper out your incomplete request. “I… um, I want you to…”

More tempting words than those have never graced his ears in all his born days. 

“Yeah? Y’want me t’do somethin’, baby?” Satoru murmurs, continuing to chip away at your resolve with his open mouthed kisses to your neck, his low voice rumbling against your skin, each action setting you aflame with every precious, passing second. You moan when he calls you baby, and again when his lips reach that place just under your jaw, and you want so badly to claw at his back but your hands feel so weak. 

“Do y’want me t’touch you? Right…” As he trails off, so does his bruised, nicked, calloused hand from your hip, stopping when his palm is pressed smooth against your lower stomach. Barely, feather-light, his thumb grazes your clothed clit. “… Here?” 

“Yes— yes, please,” You plead, your hips pushing into his touch, your eyes squeezing shut to splay your lashes over your cheeks, your body tensing at the touch; it’s so foreign, so forbidden, but you’d trade your spot in heaven for more of it. 

Satoru doesn’t make you beg, no, but he stops touching you to hang his fingertips on the waistband of your offensive underwear and slide them down your legs. Only after they’re discarded in the dry grass does he offer his merciful touch again, spreading your soaked folds to gather your slick on the pad of his thumb before slowly circling your clit. Each circled swipe over that shiveringly sensitive bud pulls a shaky, breathy moan from your throat, a sound so rewarding that all he wants to do is flip the two of you over and take you right there. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Feels good?” He asks, hungry eyes dropping to watch the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, then lower to watch the way you chase his touch with your hips, and then lower to watch you toy with the buttons of his pants, your hands just brushing against his solid cock. It’s not on purpose, but it feels like teasing nonetheless, making his cock jump against the thick canvas restraining it. It’s starting to ache. 

The strength to speak is so hard to gather, even more so when one slick, thick finger dips past your entrance, slowly sinking into you one sweet centimeter at a time. Your pride, your ego, your purity, all the aspects of your mind that have been built up like walls to protect you come crumbling down instantaneously, rendering you defenseless against Satoru’s masterful touch as he curls that finger inside of you. Pure electric bliss radiates through your shaking body from the gentle pressure against that newfound spongy spot, and again when you feel him slip second finger into you, the new addition offering a slight stretching sensation to the pleasure. Something in the pit of your stomach feels like it’s coiling up, warm, tense, tight, and you’re unsure whether you should run to it or from it.

Each curl of his fingers pulls winds that coil up further, pulls you closer to that feeling, and overtakes your control, leaving you feeling close to tears and on the brink of something unknown. All of your pride has been stripped away, finding yourself no longer above begging and taking.

“Satoru, please,” You gasp, in an attempt to fill your pleading lungs with air as he just keeps on pulling you apart. Desperate, shaking fingers start grasping at the buttons keeping you from what you want, clumsily popping them open till you can dip your hand past them and free his cock in one swift motion. It’s thick, so hot to the touch, tip red and weeping from watching you fall to pieces in his hands. “I-I want more, please, I really want it ‘n I feel so… s-so good, please.” 

With no clue what to do, you just do what feels right, swiping at the mess of precum gathered at the tip of his cock with the pad of your thumb before letting your grip drag slowly down his length. Satoru swears under his breath, words so vulgar you’d only heard them once or twice before, but from his mouth they sound like the damn gospel. His head drops back in awe of the relief your soft, soft touch offers, only snapping back up to watch your hands slow strokes up and down his aching cock. The glorious sight is enough to violently rip the thought of enjoying this from his head and kick him into a higher gear.

“I’ll give y’whatever ya want, sweetheart, y’don’t hafta beg me,” Satoru says, his voice low, breathy, laden with lust and hymnal in your ears. Slowly, he slips his digits from your cunt, his palm and fingers coated with your slick and shining in the silver light. There’s no time to waste, not when you just begged him for more, not when nights don’t last forever, but he wants to taste you so bad that he brings his soaked fingers to his lips and licks them clean, savoring the sweet, sweet flavor of you. Watching him lick his fingers clean of you is enough to make you whimper. 

In no time he’s pushing up your chemise to rest on your hips, reaching around to find purchase of a handful of your ass to steady you as he pulls you higher on your knees. You’re hovering over his hips now, the tip of his cock nestling against your slick-coated folds, your shaking hands resting on his broad shoulders, and you are so completely overcome with anticipation that it hurts. 

“Promise‘ll be gentle, sweetheart. Y’ain’t gots t’worry over ‘at, I swear,” He whispers against your lips, pulling your body flush against his own. Mumbling pleads for him to hurry, you want him, you want this,  you beg him to make his move, and Satoru can’t deny such a pretty girl asking him so nicely. Mercifully, he lines himself up with your weeping entrance, and allows you to take control. 

With shaking legs, you lower yourself down just until the tip of his cock is snug inside of you, suddenly halting. It hurts…  but it feels so, so, so good. You lift yourself up to try again entirely, staring down to where the two of you meet, and lower yourself again. This time, you don’t stop for that burn, that intrusion, that stretch, wincing while sinking down so slowly that you can feel every single inch of Satoru’s hot, fat cock drag against your walls until you’re so full you can’t go down any further. Once you’re still, you’re panting, whimpering, and clawing at the lifestyle-built muscles of Satoru’s expansive shoulders. 

Below you, Satoru’s in awe, his grip on the flesh of your ass so tight that his knuckles are white, his breath tortured, ragged, desperate. If he could manage to focus on something other than maintaining his self-control he’d let every nasty, vulgar, explicit thought of his at the sight of you pour from his lips, but he can’t. Inside of you, you can feel him twitch, a non-verbal, involuntary request to move from your position flush against his hips, but now that you’re so full of him you’re not sure you can. Whimpering, you open your hazy, pleasure-stricken eyes and meet his, finding them busy drinking every inch of you in his lap. 

That’s all he needs to take the reins, he knows what you’re saying with nothing more than the way you look down at him: you want him to move, you want him to help you. On the brink of losing all composure, he pays no mind at all to the snarky little comments he could be making about so much for the rules being “you ride the cowboy.” Satoru wraps an arm all the way around your waist, one hand holding your side and the other still holding a handful of your ass, and he pulls you to rest against his chest so he can take care of you. It’s a small change in position, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, eyes batting shut once again and jaw falling slack around a pretty little whimper. With you tucked so sweetly against him, head between his jaw and shoulder, Satoru slowly draws himself out of you and so shallowly pushes back in. 

“‘S ‘at alright, sweetheart?” The outlaw murmurs, your whine of a response swiftly hushing his concern and care and making him go that much more crazy. Another gentle drag of his cock out, another slow thrust of it in, the bliss of the disappearing burn making way for the delicious stretch seeping into your muscles. Then, as Satoru finds a nice, shallow, beginner-friendly pace, the tip of his cock catches on that wonderful spongy spot decorating your walls and you moan, loud and involuntary, his name leaving your lips like some sort of praise. You can’t help the sound spilling from your mouth when he finds it again, and you want to beg, plead, cry, anything to chase that feeling, anything to get Satoru to fuck you like he means it; you’re so stripped of your defenses and your self-control that you don’t realize that you are begging, pleading, crying for him to go deeper, harder, more more more. 

Such filthy words leaving lips as precious as yours should be a punishable offense, he thinks, especially when they sound so good that the sweet nothings he’s whispering into your hair are cracking off at the end into broken, wanton whines. Satoru’s grip on you grows impossibly tighter, entranced by your words, your warmth, the otherworldly grip your cunt’s got around him, and if he focuses, the soft squelch of how sopping wet you are each time he pushes up into you. He keeps his pace despite your pleas, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to push you too far, because although he’s a grimy, sorry sleazebag of a cowboy, and you’re a hotheaded, ornery brat, you feel like a china doll in his arms. Breakable. 

“Please, for th'love of God, Satoru, just— just fuck me, already!” You cry out, desperation kicking your respectability out the door, almost reduced to tears as you cling to him like you’re going to fall off the face of the earth if you don’t. Where was the bastard who grabbed you by the bow? The outlaw with a pistol on each hip, a cigarette in his mouth, blood splatter on his shirt? Six Eyes Satoru Gojo? That’s who you wanted now, that’s who you needed, and you appreciate the sweetness, the care, but by God it wasn’t sweet anymore. It was torture. 

“Y’want me to fuck you, huh? ‘At’s what y’want, sweetheart?” God, there he was. Compared to those sweet nothings he was whispering, it sounds like a threat, his low growl of a voice rumbling through his chest while you babble yesyesyesyespleaseyesyes. Satoru almost pulls out of you entirely, leaving only the tip to nudge into your messy cunt before snapping his hips up, burying his cock inside of you in one fell swoop, slamming into you so deep that it feels like he’s trying to bruise your insides. It hurts, it elevates the drool worthy stretch of your cunt around his cock, it makes you sob his name in a way that Satoru’s sure will burn into his brain and haunt him forever. “All ‘at talk earlier, now look at ya. Beggin’ me t’fuck you,” He tuts, but his near-scolding words are draped in adoration. “‘M gon’ fuck you s’good ya won’t want ‘nyone else to.”

Not the second time, or the third, but on the fourth vicious ram of his cock into you, you find yourself trying to match his pace, rocking yourself up when he drags himself out, sinking yourself down when he slams himself in, all with shaking legs and pitifully weak knees. The sound of skin hitting skin, the gushing sound of how wet your pussy was for him, the pleasured, guttural swears moaned from the man beneath you, all of it in tandem with the way his impossibly thick cock abused each and every tender spot inside you was addictive. Everything he offered, you took, and you took more, and he watched as your manners, your upbringing, and your conditioning flew out of the window with reckless abandon, entranced by the way he’s unraveled you to reveal a woman of pure need. 

Both of Satoru’s hands are settled on your ass, now, his white-knuckle grip sure to leave it’s mark when this is all over, but you don’t care. You’re too busy pushing yourself off of him, planting both hands on his strong chest, riding his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do in this world. It’s sinful, he thinks, the way your hips meet his in the middle, the way you cry out his name, the way your jaw has fallen slack around each of your filthy babbles of how good you feel. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl, sweetheart! Look at ya,” He praises, something primal, something venomous, something paradoxically needy coating his gruff voice. Inside you, that coil from before is wound so tight that you’ve got tears in your eyes, but you want it, you want whatever feeling comes after so bad that you’re begging for it. Satoru’s praises only serve to urge you on, his ragged, tortured moans only pulling you closer, and closer, and his fat cock slams into you one more time and you’re done. “Let go, sweetheart, y’can do it, jus’ let go, alright? Atta girl.”

Your orgasm tears through you like bullets; hot, forceful, sudden, and searing, those tears falling down your cheeks as you cry out, desperately grinding your hips down into him so you can chase the pleasure radiating from that sweet spot inside of you. Satoru tips you forward to crash his lips into yours, swallowing your beautiful cries of bliss, still fucking into you so brutally through your orgasm in pursuit of his own fast-approaching climax. The gush of your cunt around him, the way you clench down so tight, so rhythmically, god, it’s too much, and he’s swearing as he pulls out of you swiftly at the very last minute, his hand flying to his freed cock to catch the cum spilling from the tip before it can stain your linen underdress. 

As the two of you still, panting against each other’s lips, a pile of sweaty, strengthless bodies, the sounds of the night around you fill the world again. Your sense has yet to return, because you should be gathering yourself and your clothes, but instead you rest atop the outlaw’s heaving chest. 

Satoru takes care of getting you back home, despite a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him he doesn’t do this, it’s not smart, it’s something a sap would do, not a travelin’ man. But you’re tired, and he’s tired, and all he wants is a nice, warm bed to lay his head down for the night. By the time the two of you lay down between your linen sheets, your dress and all its fixings are laid over the chair in the corner of your room, his grimy ones are thrown on the floor in  another, and his boots are hidden beneath your bed. One strong arm is trapped beneath your head, and your sleepy, mumbled half-protests are met with one thing before your lights are out: 

“Cain’t leave ya out here by’n yer lonesome, I’ll stay till yer Daddy gets back.” 

And he does. 

The next day starts wrapped up in each other in the golden, pink-painted morning light, a sobering repeat of the love made a few hours before out in the grassy field. Any thoughts of your daddy, what he’d say, or what he’d think are nowhere to be seen when you’re in the presence of Satoru, the bastard cowboy who’s taken your affections hostage. You wash his filthy clothes and yours, hang them out to dry, and stow Blackjack in the luxury of the barn next to Ace till Satoru needs him. You sweep away the dirty footprints his boots left on the porch. You rinse his smoke-soaked cowboy hat till it smells new again. 

Satoru feeds the horses, the chickens, and the cows, all of which were your chores to do while your daddy was gone to drive cattle. He helps heave you up onto Blackjack’s back, the black stallion far taller than your own horse, and he lets you sit in front of him to take the reins. None without the fair amount of teasing, which didn’t seem like a fair amount to you; at several points in the day, you’d hop off Blackjack’s back and try to storm back to the house, but somehow the outlaw always reeled you back to ease you up into the saddle again. 

When the sun starts to hang heavy in the west side of the sky, you draw him a bath, to which he doesn’t protest. Nice baths are hard to come by when you don’t stay in one place for very long, and when you spend most of your time on the run, in places so  wild, so untouched as the West, they’re a godsend. Warm water and soap washes him clean, soothes his sore muscles, and makes him new again, but he doesn’t want to leave the bliss of the tub so soon. As he soaks in the suds, you enter the bathroom in your dressing robe to sit on the lip of the tub, simultaneously admiring him and admonishing him as the two of you bicker back and forth. 

“I think your clothes’re dry, bastard,” You tease, head resting on your shoulder as you balance yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s a little urge for him to get out, because you feel you’re just as filthy as he was and you need to bathe. Satoru keeps your eyes with his, sinking lower in the tub till his shoulders are submerged and knees are poking out over the suds, reaching a wet hand to the string keeping your dressing robe shut. He draws it slowly, eyes still locked on yours, till the knot comes loose and each side falls open to expose your bare body beneath. It makes you fluster, wanting to slouch and hide yourself, but he grabs your hand as if to say don’t. You huff. “Come on, you’re hoggin’ it. I’m filthy.” 

“Get in,” Is all he says at first. Before you can protest, he speaks again. “C’mon. Get in.” 

You hesitate, but stand nonetheless, slowly letting the robe slip off of your shoulders and into a heap on the floor. Not once does he stop staring at you, not even when you can’t meet his eyes, not even when you’re stepping into the tub. All he does is grab your arm and yank you to rest against his chest, back to front, not caring about the water splashing over the sides as a result of his forceful repositioning. If not for the way he settles his strong arms around you, you’d scold him for wetting your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to get onto him. 

“When’s yer daddy meant t’be back, sweetheart?” 

“Tomorrow night.” 

“Alright.”

The two of you sit in that water so long that it’s ice cold by the time you step out. 

You find yourself wishing the sun would stay still in the sky, but it doesn’t; it just keeps on moving westward, like the unusually quiet outlaw dressed in a pair of your daddy’s nightclothes at the end of your bed. As the last few hours of daylight passed over the plains, Satoru became gentler, quieter, more tender than his usual dastardly manner. It struck you normally, if not pleasantly, knowing that such a wild, sharp-tongued man spoke to you so softly, so sweetly. It wasn’t lost on you that this would be your last night in his arms for a while, but you let yourself daydream that he’d be back in another month, and maybe he’d even knock on your window in the dead of night to make love to you again. 

At the end of the bed, dressed in your oblivious daddy’s nightclothes, Satoru finds himself unpleasantly surprised at how bad he feels. Feeling bad wasn’t something he felt often, having seen so much death, violence, crime, and corruption, not to mention having committed those acts with his own hands. It was a rotten feeling, knowing that he’d been your first, that he’d taken you in a field, in your bed, in your kitchen, and in your bathroom, and it was a rotten feeling, knowing that he was about to shatter any semblance of faith you placed in him. Your obstinacy, your petulance, your temperament, none of these things about you changed the fact that you were too naive to realize the fact of the matter, which was that you were just another girl to him, and he would be gone before you knew it. 

The guilt was unsettling. It was eating at him. It was blooming under the soft touch of your warm hand on his arm, urging him to come up to lay beside you in your stark white nightdress. Satoru looks back at you with a halfhearted grin, traversing the soft expanse of your bed until his head meets the pillows and he can slip under your covers, tangled up in you again. Your soft laugh, your hair on the pillows, your keen eyes; all of you will be different soon, so he drinks it in while he can. Maybe it’s a fucked up thing to think, but you have been one of his favorites. 

“Will y'wake me up in the mornin’? Before you go?” You whisper, sleepy and warm from where you lay your head on his chest. The outlaw has you gathered in his arms, pulled halfway over his body, holding you so comfortably while you fight the tiredness that threatens to lull you into sleep. If he wasn’t preparing himself to go, he’d notice how you fit against his side like two pieces of a puzzle, a perfect fit. His voice rumbles through his chest when he replies. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers back. 

“You’d better, you bastard. ‘M gonna be cross ‘f you don’t…” 

As sleep takes over, you trail off, the blow of your threat softened by your rhythmic breaths. Through your window shines the silvery light of the moon, creating a soft glow around your peaceful, sleeping form, and Satoru looks away. 

It’s four awake, dragging, guilty hours before he moves you off of his chest. He’d stay all night if he didn’t get a move on now, when you’re sleeping so deeply that you don’t react to the loss of warmth or his weight shifting the bed as he stands up. Satoru shimmies out of your father’s nightclothes and folds them as best he can, laying them on the surface of the mahogany nightstand beside your bed before dressing himself in his washed, pressed, clean clothes. Grabbing his spurred boots from beneath your bed, his leather belt holster, and his pitch black cowboy hat, he quietly makes his way out of your bedroom, but he stops in the middle of the doorway. 

One last look. That’s all he lets himself have.

One last look at your sleeping face that he kissed countless times in the past two days, that he blew smoke at, that he admired when you didn’t look and even when you did. Your sleeping body that he viewed, touched, held. Your hair, your hands, your breathing… Soon enough, it’ll hopefully all melt into the sea of women he can’t remember the names or faces of. It’ll be a while before he sees you again, and he plans to forget you before he does. You still hadn’t told him your name. Maybe that will help. 

Satoru slips out of the front door silently, slipping on his hat, boots, and belt, but before he makes it to the stables he realizes he’s only got one gun holstered on his hip. He’s not one to misplace his guns of all things, not when they’re the driving force of his survival given the path he’s chosen, so he books it to the stables and tries to retrace his steps. 

“Bar… No, definitely had’m then… not th’ride out here’n either. Had’m both in th’pasture…” Ding ding ding. Satoru purses his lips, and Blackjack huffs beneath him. Of course, now he remembers throwing the revolver into the grass, far too busy with you all pretty and pliant in his lap to take care of his own belongings. Sighing, he gives his horse a gentle spur to get him on the move. 

Once he’s far enough from your house to know you won’t hear him, even though you’re curled up dead asleep, he picks up to a gallop till he reaches that fated field of grass. The spot where Satoru had taken you was flat, but other than that there was little differentiating where he would have thrown the damn thing. Moonbeams would shine off of the smooth metal surface if the grass was shorter, but it’s no dice trying to find it that way. He finds it his next best course of action to hop down off of Blackjack’s back and search for it that way, but all he finds in the hour he takes is the empty bottle of tequila and that pretty, baby blue ribbon you had been so protective of. They don’t call him Six Eyes for nothing, so the fact that he can’t find the goddamned-piece-a-shit-good-fer-nothin’ revolver, mounted on top of the disgusting feeling of guilt eating at his insides, has his temper a building to a height he can’t control. 

Satoru shoves the ribbon in his saddle bag and launches the bottle at the “No Trespassing” sign you used as target practice. Milky white and blue glass shatters against the wooden sign, falling in a heap of shards beneath it, the broken, jagged pieces shining like diamonds in the light of the big, white moon. The clatter of the impact makes him curse, it’s too loud, it cuts through the peaceful sounds of the night, and it’s not as cathartic as he thought it’d be. Not at all. 

Nights don’t last forever, though, and the way a soft blue decorates the eastern horizon lets him know it’s time to go whether he’s got two guns, one, or none. Defeated, pissed, and swimming in guilt, Satoru hops back into the saddle and gives three gentle pats to Blackjack’s neck before spurring him on again. It’s shorter to cut through the endless acres of your father’s property, but he wants to take one last look at your house. One last look at the house you’re sleeping  so peacefully in. One last look. 

One last look until he rides off and doesn’t come back, not until you’re nothing more than a fuzzy memory.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

(TW: Religion)

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

When we think about reconciling Christianity and our identity, then we are often automatically jumping to „re-interpreting Bible verses that are used to justify homophobia/transphobia“ or to „looking for Bible verses that can be interpreted in a lgbt-supportive way“. 

Both of that is valid and definitely has its place. And if you are someone who (or trying to discuss with someone who) believes everything in the Bible is true and to be taken literal, then looking for the most accurate interpretation of each passage is also pretty much the only thing you can do.

In that case, take comfort in knowing that there is often historical, cultural etc. context missing from conservative interpretations and learning about that context lets us see seemingly hateful verses in a much more inclusive light! 

That Bible verse that seems to be against gay sex may very well be against rape, that Bible verse that seems to be against trans people dressing the way they want to may very well be condemning old rituals that have nothing to do with modern life. I don’t think looking for these alternative (or maybe *better*) explanations is heathenish at all. God wants you to think critically, that’s why he gave you the ability to. If he gave you a book to live your life according to, then it stands to reason that he’d want you to find the most accurate meaning of his words, and that means looking past the most superficial interpretation.

But if you are (or the person you’re talking to is) open to the idea that maybe the Bible isn’t meant to be taken literal in its entirety - then it can feel tedious to dissect singular verses. 

In that case, you probably don’t feel the need to dissect other parts either and you just disregard them. For example you look at certain verses containing rules on hygiene or health, and you disregard them because you figure those were written in, and for, wildly different times and they just do not apply to modern life anymore, and you believe that one can be a good Christian while also disregarding those specific verses. 

If that’s you, then an approach that might fit you better would be to look at the bigger picture instead. Treat the Bible like you would any self-help book - look at the overall messages but don’t assume that every single line is applicable to your life or even holds meaning. 

This may seem counterintuitive or even like a “bad” thing to do, especially if you grew up in a taking-the-Bible-literal household, so I’ll give you some potential questions that may help you get into the mindset: 

Which messages are repeated often throughout the Bible? Which messages are repeated in most big religions you know? Which messages would come to your mind first if you were to teach a child about God? Which values or attributes describe God best? 

For me, and for many people, the biggest ones would be “God loves you unconditionally” and “God wants you to love others”. Another important one might be “God created you, and everyone else, because he wanted you to exist”. 

When you identified some big picture core messages, and are open to the idea that the Bible may not be meant to be taken literal in its entirety (for example because it was inspired by the Holy Spirit but written by humans and humans can make mistakes or add their own personal agenda, or also simply because it’s so old and over time some of its original teachings got mistranslated or lost), then you may be able to look at these seemingly hateful verses with new eyes - not seeking to find a more accurate explanation, but rather being able to compare them to those core messages and being able to say “this fits in with the core message” or “this doesn’t fit in with the core message”. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[beloved-belittled]

Gods/Titans x Reader: Birthday Gift Headcanons

Characters: Shinnok, Raiden, Fujin, Liu Kang, Shang Tsung, Cetrion, Kronika 

A/N: Not me forgetting Shang Tsung was a Titan in the last one I did like this, *cough cough*. This is a lot fluffier than my usual content, enjoy!

TW: Nothing really, aside from maybe an implied yandere with a few characters.

18+ to interact.

Shinnok

Likely doesn't know when your birthday is, nor does he care to ask. He's existed since before the concept of time, so what's another year around the sun supposed to mean to him? You’ll accidentally tell him about your birthday too, thinking out loud while he's around. Like, “oh it's my birthday today” or “I wonder if my birthday's coming up.” To which, he'll scoff and ask why you care about such a thing. Mortals and their customs have always irked him to no end.

For that reason, you shouldn't expect a gift or anything special when your b-day does roll around. If Shinnok wishes to treat you he'll do it any day out of the year. And his treats are rare, so I recommend appreciating them when they come. 

If Shinnok was to buy you a gift, he'd consider his tastes more than your own. So that means receiving items he likes and you may not enjoy. This includes: literature in an unknown language, skulls or other trophies from his enemies, overly ornate jewelry or clothing, and even a fresh soul for decoration or consumption. Be sure to smile and thank him even if the present is… Undesirable. It'll save you some pain and maybe he'll get you something better next time.

Raiden

He hasn't asked when your birthday is simply to be polite. But, you'll likely tell Raiden at some point and he'll never forget the day. Like most characters on this list, he doesn't have a birthday himself to celebrate. He understands how important it is to mortals however, and will make an effort to impress you.

Raiden may not get you a gift for your birthday though. It's not because he doesn't care, but because he'd rather not incite rumors or other speculations in his followers. This is especially true if your relationship is secret or even forbidden. It pains him, but he binds himself to a certain standard for good reason. It's only if he became Dark Raiden, or if your relationship was open/public would he offer you a present.

Raiden isn't very much “in-touch” with mortals, so he would also base a gift on his preferences. He enjoys things that enrich the mind and offer more perspective on the world. Some examples are: classical literature/philosophy, historical records or artifacts, spiritual aids such as incense or other herbs, and potentially a jar of Jinsei only if you have max trust with him.

Fujin

He asks you about your birthday, and like his brother he doesn't forget. While he doesn't have a birthday either, he likely adopts a fake one just to connect with humans. So, he knows the importance of your b-day and will ponder what to give you months ahead of time.

He's the first of the characters here to consider your preferences over his own. He'll ask you a lot of probing questions to find out your likes, but he's rather smooth about it so you won't know the intent behind it. He also observes you and learns more about your hobbies, while also doing a little bit of research on them to see what would make a good present.

The type of gift he offers is dependent on you, but he'll aim for something affordable yet memorable. It's worth noting that he may also invest in an experience such as going to a certain city or place. For your birthday Fujin would like to take you to a local restaurant, see a movie or some form of theater, or bring you something you've always wanted. 

Also, please give this man a gift for his fake birthday. He will appreciate it.

Liu Kang 

He should have an idea of when you were born due to him crafting your destiny. But, he makes sure to ask so you're not surprised about him knowing when your birthday is. His god-like memory won't allow him to forget your birthday, and he plans ahead for it a crisp 11 months in advance. He needs the time, considering all of the duties on his plate.

Like Raiden, offering you a gift on your birthday may cause jealousy in the Wu Shi Academy. The last thing Liu Kang wants is for his subordinates to suspect he has some kind of favoritism towards you. However, he has little problem with your relationship being public if you're dating. So, if you're in a relationship with him you'll get a gift. If not, he'll just say “happy birthday" and recommend you take the day off.

He’s considerate of your tastes when scrounging up a present. At the same time, if he feels that giving you what you want would enable bad habits, (ex: behavioral addictions or an unhealthy lifestyle) then he'll resort to a more generic gift. Some examples include: birthday/gift card, baked goods, potted plant or gardening seeds, and candles.

Shang Tsung

He knows your birth date, home address, and banking information before you've even met him. He enjoys thoroughly researching his prey before acting, so he knows all the little details of your life. And once he's wrapped you around his little thumb, you happily spill to him when your birthday is. 

His gift is determined by your relationship with him. If he's in the early stages of wooing you, then he'll get whatever you love. His budget is the most lenient out of anyone here, so if you want something on the more expensive side you'll get it. He can be far too lavish with it as well, easily spending thousands of dollars to get what you desire. Of course, he'll keep reassuring you that such a paltry amount is nothing if it's for you…

If he has you under his control already, then he just gets a gift that will please him. He sees you as a little trophy to show off and tease all the time, so you can imagine what his gifts would be like. Fine silks, opulent jewelry, fancy furniture for you to lay on… If the gift is anything that visually stimulates him and shows off his power then he'll offer it to you.

Cetrion

She knows when your birthday is because she is nigh omnipresent. However, unlike everyone else in this list, she likely won't be able to spend time with you on your birthday. Cetrion would observe you from afar, in Heaven, unless you've already died or she's gained her freedom from Kronika. Still, that doesn't mean she won't do something special for your birthday.

Cetrion has to be a bit sneaky when giving you a gift. While other Gods have to worry about their mortal followers getting angry, she has to worry about the wrath of Elder Gods and a Titan. But, she's been playing this game for a long, long time. She has her methods of getting one or two things past without their notice.

Cetrion's gift involves her powers. She may grow a large and beautiful tree in your yard overnight. Or (especially if you garden) find all of your plants blooming and thriving. If there's a particular animal you've really wanted as a pet, it'll show up practically on your doorstep -begging you to adopt it. Alternatively, you may just wake up with a power you've never had, wondering when in the hell were you able to talk to animals or had a green thumb.

Kronika

She probably cares the least about a birthday, second to only her son Shinnok maybe. But unlike him, she's far more considerate of you once you're in a relationship. If you want to celebrate the passage of time, so be it. 

She sees herself as an artisan in a way, and would likely craft you a gift utilizing her powers. By the end of it, you may end up with a powerful artifact on the levels of Shinnok's Amulet or a Kamidogu. Naturally, whatever object she creates will be imbued with the power of time. Speeding up time, stopping time, reversing time -as long as it relates to chronokinesis she'll create it.

And although she'll put time (literally) and effort into a present, her most important gift to you would be her presence. She'll want to hang out with you like normal, simply enjoying each other's company and voice. Kronika makes for a surprisingly good partner on your b-day. She's swayed many people to her side and for good reason -she considers other people's thoughts and desires. Of course, this is all assuming you didn't break her heart.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

🥺 Thank you! I AM VERY HAPPY WITH IT TOO

Btw I kinda of made Wips of things I made

This is the finished of the Concept of Luffy from Historically accurate pirates AU.

This is a Wip of Zoro from this AU.

TW: Potential spoilers.

Now Once upon a time AU is more of an AU where Y/n(She actually already has her own name but let be this way) died met all of the Strawhats when they were kids and kind of become all of their childhood friend that ended up dying for Luffy to save Ace at Marineford. So here they are very close to 40 year old after that and their Yandere tendencies show up/become stronger throughout the years of grieving.

This one is more of a Wip of Sanji from the Once upon a time AU

AAAAAAAA THESE ARE SO GOOD

I'm obsessed, everyone looks so cool. And I am foaming at the mouth for Sanji's long hair 😍

Can't wait to see more of this!

[daydreams-after-dark]

The Sunshine Princesses

Pairing: Soft Dom female reader x Sub Felix x Sub Jisung

Word Count: 5k

Setting: French historical palace vibes, but absolutely not historically accurate. Refer to photos/vision board above for inspiration on the feel I was going for with this story.

CW: feminisation (reader refers to them as princesses), cross dressing, mummy kink, reader refers to herself as “mummy” and calls Felix and Jisung “baby boys” etc but they are 22 approx in age with reader older (you decide her age as it’s not specified), spanking, oral sex, p in v unprotected intercourse, cream pie, orgasms, anal fingering (m rec). Cum swapping, voyeurism, praise kink.

TW: the following is in reference to Jisung’s situation prior to this story: mentions of physical abuse, Jisung has bruises, reference to sex trafficking, selling, implied potential sexual abuse (no characters were sexually abused).

a/n: This story was originally posted on my main blog @moonlightndaydreams but I feel it's home should be here.

🎀 🎀 🎀

Felix loves to dress up for you in layers and layers of lace and fabric. He wants to be all pretty for you, so he steals your make-up and powders his face, applies blush to create rosy cheeks and lipstick to give him a delicious look. He knows you like to play with him like this.

You will be arriving at your quarters any minute now and Felix adjusts himself on the plush bed, ensuring his garments are positioned just right. He is hard, his cock is leaking from the tip. The anticipation of what's to come is almost too much for him to handle. But he is also hiding something from you, and he’s not sure how you will react.

He hears the door, signaling your arrival.

🎀 🎀 🎀

"Oh my beautiful baby boy. All dressed up pretty for me, hmm?" you purr as you climb up onto the bed, hovering above Felix.

He looks stunning. Ethereal. Like an angel. An angel you want to ruin.

"Let's see what state you're in, shall we?" you shuffle down the bed enough to start lifting the layers of fabric. No undergarments. Just his neglected erection, painfully hard, pink at the tip and leaking pre-cum. So fucking delicious, you think to yourself.

"Let me take care of you sweetie." you reassure him as you grip his cock in your hand, ready to sink your mouth down over it.

“Mummy. Yes… I’ve been a good boy for you. All pretty and waiting.” he pants. 

“Shh. It’s okay. Mummy’s got you.” You lick the underside of his shaft from balls to tip and then swirl your tongue around the slit, before starting again. “You look so pretty, Lixie.” 

You love him like this, waiting for you to make him feel good. Such a precious boy. You take his balls into your mouth and hum whilst pumping his cock excruciatingly slowly, eliciting a deep groan from the boy on the bed. “You’re good enough to eat.” you smirk up at him and sink down over his shaft again and open your throat for him. Your lips meet his pelvis, his lips part with a sigh and his eyes roll back into his head. He tries his hardest not to buck his hips upward. You can tell he’s using all his self control from the way he’s gripping the sheets with white knuckle fists.

You love nothing more than pleasuring your Lixie, especially when he’s made such an effort for you tonight. Your eyes water as you bob your head up and down his length and saliva dribbles down making a mess around the base. Just the way he likes it. Messy boy.

Felix’s moans become louder and louder as he nears his climax, and you release him from your mouth just long enough to say “Come on baby, feed Mummy your sweet cum” and dive back down his cock just in time for him to shoot his load into your mouth. You carefully hold the cum on your tongue as you make your way up to kiss him. He parts his lips for you, allowing you to push it into his mouth. “Was so good I had to share it with you my darling boy.” and you lean down to kiss him again.

You groan into Felix’s mouth and he hums back. And then a whimper.

A whimper? But it was neither from yourself or Felix. You open your eyes and snap your head around to your wardrobe cupboard suspiciously. A clunk from inside has you climbing off your bed to investigate. “Mummy,” Felix begs “Please don’t-”

Cautiously, you open the wardrobe door to find a boy of about twenty years old crouching inside with the most scared expression you’ve ever seen. His wide eyes, open mouth, and positively chubby cheeks has you melting, and you feel a tug at your chest. You love to take care of little Princes.

“Oh deary me. What are you doing in here? Why don’t you come on out you poor frightened little thing.” You say gently, holding out your hand to the boy. He hesitates momentarily before reaching for you, standing and climbing out of the wardrobe.

“That’s it. Come on out. There you go, don’t be afraid.” you say encouragingly and usher him over to sit on the end of the bed with his cute little legs dangling off the side of your high set mattress.

“Felix!” You stay sternly to the sheepish young man on the bed. His face is still flushed and fucked out. “Did you know about this? Did you hide this poor boy in my room?”

Felix sits up and leans on his elbows. “S-sorry, Mummy,” he stutters. “He was being mistreated in the kitchens… I… I had to help him.” he pleads.

“Hmm.” you scoff and turn your attention back to the cutest little squirrel you ever laid your eyes on.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” you ask gently cupping his cheek. He looks up at you like a lost puppy. His big bambi eyes on the brink of tears.

“Ji-Jisung.” he replies. 

“Jisung. That’s a pretty name.” you stroke his cheek and he visibly quivers. You stand and step back to take him in. Brown shaggy hair, big brown eyes, chubby cheeks, the most delectable pink lips. He was pretty. Absolutely pretty, and you are almost certain what Felix means by him being mistreated. The boy is ravishing. His clothes are another story entirely. Drab, beige common clothes. Who is this boy? Possibly a servant? 

Jisung opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then quickly closes it again, remaining silent. 

“Sungie? Can I call you that?” you ask kneeling on the floor at his feet. He doesn’t meet your eyes but nods. “Have people hurt you Sungie?” you press. Jisung flinches and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “You can tell me.” you place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“Yes.” He whispers. “They beat me.” 

“Jisung,” Felix speaks. “Show Mummy your bruises.” and is at Jisung’s side wrapping an arm around him and holding him close for a moment.

“Felix, please go fetch washing up supplies and something for Jisung to sleep in.” Felix nods and immediately springs into action and exits your room in search of supplies leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Will you show me Sungie? Show me what they did.”

Jisung slowly slips off the bed and removes his garments, deciding to take off absolutely everything and standing stark naked in the middle of the room.

You pull in a sharp gasp at the number of bruises, of all shades of blue and purple, that cover his upper body where his skin should be the same delicious honey colour of the rest of his body.

You continue to scan your eyes over him. His shoulders are broad, and his toned torso tapers off into the tiniest waist you’ve ever seen. You ignore the feeling in your core as best as humanly possible, but when your eyes drop a little further you see the most delicious cock you’ve ever laid eyes on, you feel yourself grow wet. His dick isn’t hard but you know that when it is it’ll be spectacular. 

“Ahem.” Felix scurries back into the room with supplies ready to wash Sungie to make him feel fresh, clean and safe.

“Did they touch you, Sungie?” You ask as you sit him down in a chair and begin his sponge bath.

“No…not like that… not yet anyway.” 

“Not yet?” you pause. Jisung doesn’t elaborate.

“Mummy,” Felix speaks up beside you. “Jisung was going to be given away from the people running the kitchens to a lord for… entertainment. I had to help.”

“It’s okay, Lixie. You did good, baby.” you reassure him.

“You’re not mad?”

Oh you are mad. But not at Felix. Your mind runs through all the evil, degrading treatment that would be awaiting Jisung if Felix didn’t take him in. 

But aren’t you just as bad with Felix? A voice in your head pipes up. But you remember you gave Felix free choice. He could stay with you if he wanted, and he could leave if he wanted. It was his idea to dress up pretty for you. It was his request for you to treat him like a little whore. He bravely approached you with his kinks and fantasies. You were happy to have him just bring your dinner and help you into your poofy dresses. You didn’t intend for him to be getting you out of them, or have him wear them himself. It was Felix who ignited this in you. He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t feel like and he’s free to stop at any time.

But this Jisung might not be interested in that sort of thing, and that is okay. But if he is interested?

“Jisung? Were you watching us through the crack in the wardrobe door?” you ask. Jisung squeezes his eyes tight and nods. “Hmm. And what did you think, Sungie?” 

“I liked it.” He whispers and looks at the ground.

You arch an eyebrow. Interesting.”You did?”

“Yes.” he nods. “I’ve never seen it like…like that before.” he looks wide eyed at you and Felix.

“What do you mean, my love?” you inquire, washing over his bruises carefully.

“Well, it looked so caring and gentle. I’ve only ever seen it rough and brutal…and the person whose face is being…” he swallowed. “is never actually enjoying it.”

“Mummy likes to make me feel good…and feel pretty…and feel loved.” Felix smiles, drying off Jisung where you’d washed him already. 

“Sungie. I love to take care of Felix. Anything he wants I want to give to him.” you look to Felix and then back to Jisung. “And he loves to be my beautiful princess.”

“Oh I do. I really do.” gushes Felix.

“But what do you get in return?” Jisung asks you, watching your hand wiping down his forearm.

“Oh, Lixie takes care of Mummy too.” you reply matter of factly.

“But how?” 

“Can I show him, Mummy?” Felix says excitedly.

“Would you like that, Sungie? Would you like to see?” you cup his jaw and turn his face to yours.

“Yes… yes please.” There is silence for a moment. “Mummy?” he whispers quietly. “Will you look after me too?”

You look down to see his cock is hard and there is a bead of precum on the tip. Fuck you want nothing more than to kitten lick it right off him. What does he taste like?

“Sorry… um… Mummy?” He says shyly when he sees you notice his arousal.

“That’s okay, baby boy. But you do have a rather pretty one.”

“I knew he’d have a pretty one.” Felix sighs, staring longingly at Jisung’s cock.

“I’m glad that Felix brought you here and those bad, despicable men won’t be able to touch you.” You place your hands on both his cheeks and squish them. Adorable.  “Of course I’ll take care of you in whatever way you need, Sungie. But for tonight, I feel it’s  best if you just watch, okay? But you can sleep in bed with us after. Would that be okay?”

Jisung considers your proposal and nods.

You finish washing and drying Jisung and help into the pretty nightie Felix brought in. Fresh white linen down to his calves and a simple little bow around the neckline and usher him to the bed.

You spend the next hour or so showing Jisung how Felix takes care of you. You get him comfortable on the bed, sitting up against the mountain of pillows, and you lay down beside him, completely naked. “Sungie,” you pant in anticipation as Felix nestles his head between your legs. “Watch.”

Felix begins to pepper kisses along your inner thigh and pushes your legs wider and presses them against the mattress. Your Lixie is strong even if he enjoys being dainty and helpless. 

“Don’t tease Mummy, Lixie. You know what I need you to do. Show Sungie how you take care of me.”

Felix presses his tongue flat against your aching pussy and you buck your hips up automatically. “Yes. Yes, my baby boy, my…fuck me with you tongue.” Your fingers thread through his blond hair. “Yes…just like that.” You say breathlessly.

You pull his hair forcing his face to press up hard against your cunt and continue to rock your hips against his face. He hums and moans, enjoying himself immensely. He enures he gives your entire pussy attention, spending time on your clit, then moving down your entrance and fucking you with his tongue. He moves lower still and presses his tongue against your asshole, teasing it until it lets him breach the ring of muscle and fuck you there too. Your little Lixie can’t get enough of your pussy or your ass. Desperate, needy little boy. Making you feel. So. Fucking. “God Lixie I’m cum-“ you shake and tremble around Felix’s face as your back lifts off the mattress and you are seeing stars.

You sink back down into the bed and let go of his hair, allowing him to finally come up for air. “It tastes so good. Mummy’s pussy’s so pretty.” He cooes and runs a finger through your sopping folds. “Can I share some with Sungie, Mummy?” 

You hesitate momentarily, catching your breath, but eventually nod, giving him permission. You are cautious, worrying that Jisung might not be ready to be involved.

You turn to the boy next to you. “You want a taste, Sungie?” You ask softly, and Felix offers his slicked finger to him. 

The boy’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the offering and he shuffles onto his knees to allow Felix to slip his finger into his mouth. 

Jisung groans and closes his eyes while sucking Felix’s digit completely clean. He lets out a shaky breath as he opens his eyes slowly and locks eyes on your pussy.

“Fuck.” He squeaks and flops back into the mattress and looks at the ceiling like he was questioning his life’s existence. His nightie drapes over his erection and you bite your lip imagining all the things he could do with it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

After Felix has cleaned himself up and removed his makeup, he climbs into bed and snuggles up behind you. You’re facing Jusung, simply holding him in an embrace.

“Sungie. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, and you can leave at any time too. I need you to understand that.”

“Thank you… Mummy?” He seems unsure of what he should call you.

“Is that what you want to call me?” you stroke his hair and feel him shift on the mattress. 

“I think I do.” he sighs and drifts off to sleep. 

🎀 🎀 🎀

At some point in the night you wake up rather abruptly when you feel a hard erection pressing against your ass. Jisung. The only barrier between your bodies is yours and Jisung’s nighties rubbing together as he grinds against you seeking relief. Then you hear a stifled whimper followed by a wetness seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sticking to your back.

You say nothing about it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

Over the next few days Felix helps Jisung settle in, lends him clothes, teaches him your schedule and important names of the court. Jisung eagerly takes it all in. In the afternoons Felix reads poetry to him, and Jisung teaches Felix songs.

Every night for the next week you and Felix demonstrate for Jisung something intimate and naughty. Then you put on your nightwear and snuggle into bed.

Each night Jisung gets a little bolder with his antics. On the second night you can tell he’s lifted his nightie up when he grinds against your back, and he lets himself moan just a little bit louder as he comes. Your core aches, desperate to be fucked, as you feel his cum on your nightie again, causing it to cling to your skin. You pretend not to notice but fuck you want to touch yourself so badly.

The third night he gets a little bolder still and tries to nestle his length right between your ass cheeks, trapping his bare cock between the fabric of your nightie and his stomach. You stay still, allowing Jisung to do what he needs to for his own pleasure and release. As usual, you say nothing.

On the fourth night he does the same thing except this time you have shimmied your own nightie up around your waist, leaving yourself bare and exposed. You feel him scooch up behind you and, yes there it is, his bare cock pressing against your exposed ass. Jisung gasps at the unexpected unobstructed contact. But when you don’t move he assumes you’re asleep and so he holds onto his cock and runs the sensitive tip along your ass crack, up and down, over and over. His breath is shallow and ragged. 

“Sungie?” You say low and firm. Jisung halts his movements.

“I…I’m… so-sorry… Mummy.” He chokes and pulls away. “You’re just so pretty…and you make me so…so…so hard.”

“Hmm.” Is all you reply.

“Mummy? Are you mad? Am I…are you going to punish me?” He whispers desperately. The corners of your mouth curl up. Baby Sungie wants to be punished, hmm?

“Keep that up and yes… you will be punished.” You sigh, feigning annoyance. “But if you stop right now, then I will let it slide and pretend nothing happened.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” He whispers and you immediately feel his cock return to rest against your bare skin. He runs the tip down between your cheeks and squeezes it between your thighs. You lift your top leg ever so slightly to give him access to nestle his velvety smooth cock between your thighs and and the length of his shaft against your dripping core. You squeeze your thighs back together, encasing Jisung’s cock entirely with your soft body. 

“Mummy!” He tries to keep his cries down. “Mummy… feels so good.” He begins to fuck your thighs, the friction of his cock against your cunt causes a knot in your stomach to quickly tighten. You want to play with yourself, play with him, so bad, but you remain strong and let Jisung chase his pleasure.

“Hmm, you really do want to be punished don’t you Sungie? Such a naughty little boy.” Jisung’s hips speed up “Yes, Mummy… please. Sungie’s been bad.”

“And how does Sungie need to be punished?” you squeeze your thighs together even harder.

“Nngnh…Sungie…needs…aargh…feels s’good Mummy…Sungie needs spanking.” with a little grunt Jisung coats your inner thighs with thick hot cum and slips out from between your legs, spent.

Sungie needs spanking? This will be fun. 

You roll over and hold Jisung and he falls asleep almost instantly. Your legs are sticky, but you don’t care, and you reach down to finish yourself off while thinking about spanking little Sungie’s cute ass.

🎀 🎀 🎀

The next day saw you outside of your chambers for most of the day, attending court matters, functions, and other mind numbing activities, and isn’t until late afternoon that you return to your room.

You smile with delight when you enter finding Felix and Jisung at your vanity dresser. Jisung sitting on your little stool while Felix fusses over him applying makeup to his face. Both are dressed up pretty in your puffy, lace dresses and Felix has already painted his own face with your blush and rouge lipstick. They turn when they notice your presence. 

“Oh Mummy, you’re home. We thought we’d surprise you.” Felix beams.

Your hands come up to cover your mouth in surprise. “Oh my beautiful boys, have you dressed up just for me?” You approach the two young men and stroke their cheeks affectionately. “My pretty little princesses.” you whisper lovingly. The pair of them look back at you with innocent expressions, so desperate for your approval. “You’ve done so good.” you plant a small peck on their cheeks before moving to sit in one of your chairs.

“Come. Kneel in front of me.” you instruct, and they eagerly do as you ask. “Now. I must know. What kind of games are you wanting Mummy to play? Lift your skirts.”

Felix and Jisung reach for the hem of their dresses and simultaneously lift the front of their skirts to their waist, revealing their matching thigh high white stockings and their bare, erect cocks. You immediately feel your cunt pulsate. Such pretty cocks to play with. You bite your lower lip and cross your legs. Fuck, you’re turned on.

“Tsks tsk…I see. You boys want to play naughty, filthy games. Don’t you?” you muse. “Stand up, but keep your skirts lifted.” you drop down off your chair onto your knees in front of them and let your hands trail up their stockings. You gently let your fingers caress their inner thigh, taking your time before turning your attention to their obscene erections.

 “Oh dear. These look so painful. Do they hurt?” you coo as you take a cock in each hand and inspect them. The boys hiss at your touch, their cute little legs trembling. 

“So painful, Mummy.” Felix whispers.

“It’s so swollen.” Jisung whimpers.

“Naww. Lucky Mummy’s here to help make you better.” You swirl your tongue around Felix’s tip before swapping to Jisung’s. You’ve been dying to taste Jisung’s cock for a week and you close your eyes and take him deeper into your mouth. You groan. Jisung groans. Felix groans too as you pump his cock. You alternate between the two delicious penises until they are on the brink of exploding. Much to their dismay, you let go and return to your chair, leaving them sobbing for release.

“It’s okay my poor babies. I promise we will play very soon. But first, Jisung. Your punishment. Come.” you curl your finger ushering him forward. Jisung’s eyes widen enthusiastically and he practically falls over his feet to get to you and kneels in front of you. 

“I’m going to take care of you okay? Now, are you sure you want me to spank you?” you ask in a soft tone and hold his face in your hands. “I’m going to give you a word to remember. If at any time you are not enjoying anything at all, use the word and everything stops. Okay? Do you understand?’ Jisung nods. “Good. Your word is ‘poodle’. You can remember that, yes?”

“Poodle.” Jisung echoes.

“Good boy. I need you to lay across my lap. That’s it.” Jisung complies eagerly, laying over you as directed. You lift his skirt up to expose his perfect, honey toned ass, and rub your palm over his cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

“Okay. I’m going to start your punishment now.” You raise your hand and land a firm smack to Jisung’s ass. He whimpers and tries not to squirm. “Only nine more baby, and then Mummy will make you feel good.”

You continue to spank Jisung. Not too hard, but enough to leave red marks. The last thing you want to do is cause any trauma, especially after knowing that he’s been beaten in the past. You come down with the final smack and rub your hand over his skin soothingly. “Good boy, Sungie. Lixie,” you look up to where Felix is sitting on the floor gazing at Jisung. “Lixie, please. The oil.” you say.

Felix passes you the bottle of oil from your vanity and you drizzle some of the liquid onto Jisung’s ass cheeks, and then a little at the top of his crack. He wriggles beneath you at the sensation of the oil siding down to his balls. “Such a good boy for me.” you massage the oil into his reddened skin. “Sweet sweet boy.” You pull his cheeks apart and gasp at the sight of his perfect, tight little hole, and you just have to touch it. Slowly, as not to scare the poor boy, you run your finger over his hole. Jisung whimpers. “Do you need to use your word, Sungie?” He shakes his head. “Feels nice.” Good. You circle his slippery rim several times until Jisung is trying to wriggle back against your finger, signaling he needs more. And then your finger is pressing inside. 

“M-mummy!” Jisung gasps. 

“Fuck.” Felix mutters from the side. 

You slowly pump your finger in and out of Jisung until you can feel he is ready for a second digit. He lets out the cutest, most desperate little noises as you loosen him up.

“Can I kiss him, Mummy.” Felix whispers. 

“Sungie, honey. You hear that? Felix would love to help take care of you too. Is that okay?”

Jisung nods his head. “Yes… please, Lixie. Need Lixie.” Jisung is coming undone. Felix crouches down by Jisung’s head and lifts it up to meet him. “You're so pretty Sungie.” Felix smiles and takes Jisung into a slow, deep kiss while you slip in a third finger. Jisung writhes beneath you and then he’s coming hard, squealing into Felix’s mouth and spurting cum all over his inner thighs and carpet. 

Felix helps Jisung over to the bed and makes quick work of cleaning him up, praising him the entire time. “Let’s get ready for Mummy now.” He settles himself down next to Jisung so they are laying side by side, dresses lifted up for you to see.

It is a magnificent sight, having your two princes, or princesses rather, laying there ready for you, pretending they’re innocent, when all they want is for you to do naughty things to them.

You strip off entirely and climb onto the bed and begin with touching your own body. You caress your breasts and pinch your nipples, slowly taking your hand down the front of your body and between your legs. Your breath becomes shallow and your skin heats up as you watch your lovers watch you pleasure yourself.

“Please, Mummy. Stop teasing. Lixie won’t last.” Felix sobs.

“It’s alright, my Lixie. I’ll take care of you first.” You crawl close to him and straddle his lap and slide your slick pussy over his hardness. His cock is more than ready. Propping yourself up onto your knees, you guide yourself down over Felix's length. Thick, hard as stone, and stretching you out deliciously. “I’m going to start fucking myself on you now.” you say and begin to bounce up and down his shaft. “Mummy, it's too…slow down…plea-ease!” Felix whines and you know it’s because he’s been on the verge of coming untouched for the last little while. You lean down and kiss his lips, smearing rouge lipstick across his mouth. You love it when he looks like a messy little slut. 

You don’t slow down, determined to free him from the agony of his hard on, and it doesn’t take long until you feel him cumming deep inside you. He fills you up with so much cum that it seeps out almost immediately. You don’t orgasm, you’re saving it for Sungie. Oh god, poor Sungie. You rake your eyes over his body. His face is fucked out already and he is so fucking hard again. Exactly the way you want him.

You carefully slide off Felix’s softening cock and cover him up with his skirt. You give him a little kiss and tell him he’s a good boy before climbing onto Jisung and straddling his hips.

You can barely contain your excitement. “Hey Sungie.” you smile down at him. “You ready? You want to be inside Mummy? Fill her up with your cum?” 

“Yes…so bad. Want you… to play with me.” he says in a tiny voice. You feel Felix’s cum still leaking out of your body and dribbling onto Jisung’s length.

“Okay, sweet sweet Sungie.” you whisper as you lower yourself onto his cock, taking him in one motion. Your gaze doesn’t leave his beautiful face, as you begin to roll your hips slowly, undulating on top of him. He tries to keep his eyes open, but everytime you sink back down to completely engulf him he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and moan.

“That’s it, Sungie. Filling Mummy up so fucking good.” you purr. “Does it feel good for you sweetie?” 

“Mmmh…feels..so” he chokes as you rock harder on his cock. “So tight…slippery…warm.” 

He opens his eyes and they land on your tits. Your cunt squeezes at the thought of his plush red lips around your nipple, and Sungie cries out at the contraction of your walls. He’s close. But so are you. 

“Sungie, help Mummy…Come, sit up. Suck my tits.” you pull him up desperately, and he immediately wraps his lip around your breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth. It makes you fuck yourself harder on his cock, you need your release. So fucking bad. You’re panting and practically growling as your cunt clenches around him, and when he bites down on your nipple hard you explode. You throw your head back, and cry out his name. You’re not given a chance to come back down, before Jisung starts to thrust up into you uncontrollably and makes a high pitched whine. At the same time you feel him release his load deep inside you. 

“Fuck, Sungie. Jisung.” you hold him to your chest, breathing heavily, trying to calm your heart rate.

“Was I good?” he looks up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You push away the damp hair that is stuck to his forehead and place a tiny, soft kiss to his skin. “So good. You made Mummy cum so hard on your pretty cock. Such a clever boy.”

He beams up at you and snuggles close. You climb off of Jisung and lay between the two young men. The three of you feel blissed out and content.

‘Mummy?” Felix eventually breaks the silence. “I’m a clever boy too. Look! I got it hard again!”

It seems your boys aren’t finished playing.

🎀 🎀 🎀

I hope you enjoyed this story. I know it’s a little different than my usual. But @channieandhisgoonsquad and @noellllslut know I have a thing for Lixie and Sungie dressed up pretty.

If you enjoyed the dressing up aspect of the story I have one other one where Minho fucks reader whilst dressed up as Aunty Lino. You can read it here.

🎀 🎀 🎀

@itshannjisung @newhope8 @queen-in-the-shadows @queen-in-the-shadows @lyramundana @2chopsticks2eyes @weareapackofstrays @j-oneseungz @fr34k4c1dr41n @kangnina @antoniorhinothethird

[globalrebrand]

Living with Them

Warnings: Post-grad, married boys, fluff, slight not sfw.

Vil

My personal headcanon is that Vil buys a beautiful estate with massive amounts of land. It's 500 acres and something absurd like 12 bedrooms 15 bathrooms, including the expansive guest house(s).

It's outside the city to offer you both more privacy. Likely when you were dating, Vil lived in a gorgeous penthouse in the city that he moved you into but as a married man he wants to keep you far away from any would be prying eyes. Especially after paparazzi in a helicopter caught him fucking you on the balcony.

It sits right on a beautiful lake with ample grounds and historical features. It even has a orangery filled with poisonous varieties of plants and a little pond!

It has all the amenities he could want in house. Pool, massage room, sauna, home gym (you have side by side treadmills for when it gets too cold to run outside on the beautifully landscaped trail that runs around the property) A massive kitchen with every appliance hidden conveniently away.

Your home is certainly excessive, but incredibly stylish and environmentally sustainable! It's featured in several architectural magazines across TW. The style is eclectic modernist rococo. Which sounds crazy in theory but works sooooo well. Vil (with your input) mixed a bunch of high quality old and new piece that seemingly wouldn't go together but actually look amazing in the space.

Vil looks forward to picnicking in the private gardens with you. Vil loves coming home to you preparing him lunches midday.

The neighborhood is full of other celebrities from the Shaftlands and for whatever fucking reason Neige lives two manors over which would piss him off immensely if you weren't there to kiss and coo over him after every time Neige stopped by for an extended chat.

Jack

A nice modern house in the burbs.

He's busting out of his button downs for his upstanding job in a magical ministry. Likely one pertaining to botany or the environment.

He wouldn't be one for the hustle and bustle of the city all the time, so you likely live in a posh city suburb. Ironically near Vil even thought your house is considerably more modest.

It's likely you both work to achieve a nice life style, but Jack reminds you all the time that you can quit and he'd just take care of you. He likes being a provider for his spouse.

The house winds up being a nice blend of your personal style if not masculine leaning. Jack would be the partner who you'd expect to let you do what you want with decor but then all of a sudden he’s putting his foot down about the velvet yellow sofa you chose for some long sharp looking leather sofa.

Jack makes sure the house has room for you to grow. It’s likely not your forever home. But there are 3-4 bedrooms that Jack sees as potential offices/guest rooms or nurseries.

Jack is on the neighborhood committee regarding landscaping. Takes his duties very seriously. Is the right hand of Sylvia the committee chair and resident 95 year old woman on the block.

In the summers he can frequently be seen out front watering the plants in your lawn shirtless while the stay at home spouses in the neighborhood ogle him from their windows.

Ruggie

A nice apartment in a neighborhood that Ruggie swears is gentrifying. He loves to tell you that once the neighborhood turns the corner your property will skyrocket in value. But you're convinced that change is at least a good ten if not twenty years away.

Ruggie packs your lunch for work with a canister of pepper spray. Doesn't let you leave home with out it, but also won't agree to move neighborhoods until your home can turn a substantial profit on the market. Especially considering that the apartment was a fixer upper and needed way too much work to be livable. You almost divorced him multiple times through the renovation process.

But if you're being honest, you're pretty happy with how it turned out. Ruggie has great taste. It's a spacious apartment with ample bedrooms and multiple living areas. It gets great light and even has a balcony, even has a nice rooftop. You and Ruggie are in agreement that in any other part of this city the unit would have gone for several hundred thousand thurmarks over what you paid for it.

...But the sounds of blastcycle racing, random spells going off, swearing and the realization that you're contributing to the gentrification of the area makes you remember why it's kind of terrible.

Chances are he invited some of his family members to live in the guest bedrooms so it's an intergenerational household. His grandma lives there, his siblings who are still in school crash at your place during the holidays. Since back home isn’t as nice.

So whenever you and Ruggie have the house truly to yourselves you both walk around naked and get frisky on the couch since its such a rarity.

Cater

A house so chic and trendy! Likely a modern townhouse But...it's a little impractical for the sake of aesthetics. His parent's helped with the down payment so you get to live in a house way above your paygrades.

Cater was wayyy too fixated on getting every inch of the apartment to have good lighting. But to his credit every inch of the home has lush and warm light that is very magicamable.

Likes cooking with you! He’s ok at the actual cooking but he really thrives on plating. And if we're being honest you both order out most nights.

Uses his clones to do household chores.

Your home is definitely cozy, but slightly edgy. Wanted to make sure every surface was comfy enough for him to rail you against. Bright and bold colors fill every corner, but the interior designer his mom hired for you made sure that everything still looks nice and cohesive.

He probably skateboards to his high paying office job.

You probably live in the Shaftlands since staying close to Cater's parents was the only way they'd pay for your sweet pad. Which means they visit often. On multiple occasions you and Cater have had to turn the lights off and duck behind the sofa when his mom and sisters make impromptu visits.

But that means when the old boys from school come for a visit they crash at your place.

Cater loves hosting parties, every other weekend your home is hosting some type of event with your mutual friends.

[cakuqe]

TW: Mentions of WW1(not very raunchy or much historically but still a precaution), implied sexual intercourse but no details, possibly unrealistic adaptation of Timmie :)

I wanna shift for Timothée because he reminds me of old-fashioned love, especially because he has French background and I just know he's a lover boy. The type to struggle to keep his hands to himself, to feel helpless if he can't get to you, or even share a laugh with you.

Arguments shared between the two of you would be short and end in a peaceful resolution because he would be damned if he ever let you two go to bed angry at each other. He'd love you like he's known you for all his life.

You probably met him on set, whatever you'd work as. Something about you captivated him so much that he needed to talk to you. You'd probably hear about previous times that he has flirted with a female worker but it was different, he didn't touch you as he would with someone like Florence or wrap his arms around you, no. He wants to preserve you until you're truly his. You did distance yourself though, scared of getting your hopes up only to be met with a fabrication of a potential love between you two ripped to shreds but, you didn't see any of that. He knew what the headlines said about him and he just prayed you didn't see him that way. Eventually, you were "doomed" to succumb to his attempt and now you lie in bed every day with slender limbs bent around your waist.

And of course, nights would end with gentle yet passionate lovemaking until the early breaks of the morning sun. Giggles in the bathtub, conversation while taking care of his coiled hair, rubbing pink Vaseline on his cracked lips (of course sneaking a sweet kiss)

I imagine him as a baker, or something like that receiving news of his mandatory service for WW1. He couldn't bear to leave you at home with your newborn and he expressed this through lengthy letters sent to your estate. He sent anything he could, lace from his boots, a leather bag he picked up, or stale bread that he had taken a bite of stating that he wanted to share at least one meal with you while apart.