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mojifushiguro · 1 month ago

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unforgettable ! e.yeager & a.arlert

"I want your mind and your body... dont mind nobody..." eren x black!fem x armin

warnings: fluff, emotional (maybe), lengthy, cheating, guilt, NOT PROOFREAD YET

part 4. this is part 3. next part here.

armin stared at you, shirtless, pants low, just enough to see the top of his boxers.

an arm up against the doorway his hair everywhere, getting worse as he scratched in it. somehow, he still looked good in your eyes.

you couldn't lie and say the messages you saw last night didn't hurt you just a little. maybe more than a little.

you spent the whole day away from the house, pretending to be busy and pretending you had things to do. it was only 9PM and you showed up and armins house with only a toothbrush, a phone, and extra clothes to accompany you.

you shivered a little from the cold, just like when you first came to his house, and he noticed that.

"im sorry I woke you up."

armin rubbed his eyes before taking a deep breath. "mhm. what's wrong?"

it seemed like he was still processing what was going on in the moment. but you just looked at the doormat and bit your lip.

you felt your eyes start to water. never in a million years would you have thought you'd cry over eren. eren yeager. the boy you'd been with for so long.

any other day, you would've said fuck him, and just left. but something about tonight just make you so much more sentimental.

you shook your head. "can I just come in?"

armin quickly frowned and grabbed your chin, moving your head up. "y/n, what's wrong?"

you moved his hand and shook your head. "remember what you told me at that party?"

armin nodded with a face full of worry.

you stayed quiet and looked off to the side.

armins brows furrowed and he stepped closer to you, pulling you into a warm hug with one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head.

you were also exhausted. you didn't even go to anyone house. you stayed in your car and walked around busy streets the next town over to satisfy your boredom and aching heart.

when your eyes watered, you didn't cry. thankfully. but you hugged armin back.

he grabbed your things and replaced the items with his hand as he pulled you in his house.

he shut he door behind him and led you to his bathroom.

you hopped on the counter as he leaned down by the tub to run you a warm bath.

armin sat on the edge of the tub with his hand under the faucet, making sure the water was the perfect temperature.

"you want bubbles?"

you nodded.

he didn't know exactly what happened, but he didn't want trigger something in you by asking. he could tell you went through a lot today, and he wished he'd been nicer the day before so that you would've came to him earlier on in the day.

the only sound that filled the bathroom was the sound of the water running.

"sorry for waking you up again. i know I did." you said, looking at him.

armin didn't look at you, he only looked at the running water and shrugged. "I been smoking all day. you good. I would've been up."

you scanned his body.

you never noticed how much muscle he really had. it was toned nicely, but he was still on the smaller side. his back was nice, some freckles across his shoulders and upper back.

he turned the water off and stood up. "if you need me you can call me. 'kay?" he was gonna leave the bathroom, but you grabbed his arm.

"stay with me. can you?"

you could tell your request surprised him, but he cleared his throat and nodded, leaning against the wall in front of you with his arms crossed.

as you got off the counter, you stood in front of the warm bubble bath and pulled your shirt over your head, dropping it on the floor.

you looked back to see armin, still leaning against the wall, looking outside the bathroom door.

you twitched a smile. "can you close the door?"

armin, avoiding looking towards you or the mirror, used his foot the close the door.

you continued taking off your clothes, and when you finished, you stepped slowly in the bath. you felt the tension leave your body and you closed your eyes as you sat down and submerged your body in the bubble filled water.

"god..." you whispered, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling.

your gaze moved to armin, who crossed one of his legs in front of the other one and looked at the floor, nibbling at his bottom lip.

you realized how different he was when you were alone from when you first had an actual conversation with him. he was much more quiet, not that he hasn't always been, because armin's not that talkative anyway.

but he was like the walking definition of peace right now.

"sit with me." you mumbled. he looked back at you and raised his eyebrows. "huh?"

"you just over there alone. come sit with me."

armin didn't move for a couple seconds, taking in what you said. but he didn't decline. he walked over and sat close beside the tub, propping his legs up and resting his arms on his knees.

he looked at you. "you okay now?"

you smiled and turned your body, the water moving in motion with you. you put your arms on the side of the tub and rested your chin against the back of your hands.

your hip and thigh were exposed now, and the bubbles slid off of it with the water. armin couldn't help but take a small glance before looking away, popping his fingers whilst looking at your clothes, not too far in front of him.

"you can look at me. its not like you aint seen nothing." you teased. armin laughed a little. "its darker in a car than this bathroom. more overwhelming."

you looked at armin sweetly and moved up a little to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

armin smiled softly, looking at you as you rested your chin back on your hands. "you kill me, you know that?"

you shook your head. "Ion know that."

he only looked back down at your lips and chuckled. "well you know now." he leaned his head against the wall. "I been thinkin bout you since yesterday. you ain't deserve to be pushed away like that."

your eyes trailed down to armins chest. you turned to grab bubbles from the surface of the water and sat up, rubbing them across his chest.

he didn't say anything about it, just watched as you grabbed more and put them on his chin.

he licked his lips and looked at you with those same eyes from the party.

suddenly, armin got up and stepped in the bath with you. you laughed and looked up at him as he sat down in front of you, pants on and everything.

you started to laugh as he grabbed bubbles, flicking them at you. "its not even enough space for you!" you smiled, blocking them from hitting you.

armin moved to be above you, giving you kisses all over your face. "'course it is." he muttered between kisses.

you softly moved his face with a giggle. "you messed my bath up."

armin looked down at you and tilted his head. "you can take another one tomorrow. but right now, its time to get out."

"okay, okay, hold on." you held armin as you moved past him to drain the tub. "I never seen nothing like this. it go to the jets?" you saw a weird button by the

as armin squeezed the bubbles through his hands, he slowly looked up from them and looked at what you were talking about.

"no no no, wait-"

all of a sudden, you felt water all over your face from the shower. you let out a loud laugh, along with armin. you quickly jumped out and grabbed a towel to cover yourself.

he knew it would be a long night.

"can you hear now?" you asked, holding armins head to the side.

you tried to contain your laugh, but you couldn't help it.

armin hit the side of his head with a towel to his ear. "hell naw I cant hear." he scrubbed his ear with the towel.

"my baddd, Ian know it would be that powerful." you snickered, letting his head go and standing in front of him as he sat on the bed.

"ion even know why I got in there with you" he shook his head, making you laugh even more.

armin tossed the towel on the floor and sighed, looking up at you with a fake annoyed look. "you gotta go."

you playfully rolled your eyes and got in the bed beside armin. "you cant get rid of a bad bitch." you smiled, grabbing him and pulling him towards you.

armin hummed, crawling over your body and laying his head on your chest. "I know." he closed his eyes.

you wrapped your legs and arms around him, rubbing in his head.

you didn't wanna think about eren at the moment, but your mind couldn't help but wander. what was he doing right now? was he doing the same thing you're doing just because of the sheer fact you're gone?

it did make your heart ache a little, but when you thought about the moment you were in right now, all those negative thoughts went away.

"you gon break up wit him?"

that question snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked down at armin.

"huh?"

"eren, you gon break up wit em?" armin pulled himself up and rested on his elbows, both of them on each side of you.

you never actually thought about that. but you were too scared armin would react the way he did last time to say no.

"its okay with me if you dont. Ian sayin you need my permission or nothing, but we can still do what we do if you stay wit em." armin played with the earring in your ear.

you hummed, rubbing his arms.

he moved up, his chest on yours, and laid his head beside yours. his hair brushed against your face, making you smile a little as you wrapped your arms around him again.

you didn't have anything else to say, and he didn't either.

unsurprisingly, armin fell asleep before you, and you lazily watched the tv, yawning.

his body was warm against yours, so the covers that you laid on instead of under wasn't a problem. you softly scratched against his back, as his light snores came and went every couples minutes.

you gained the courage to check your phone. it laid a few inches away from you on silent.

you turned your brightness down and swiped to your notifications.

there he was.

you pressed the messages and read them.

Wya?

I hope you having fun

Babyyy

Why yo lo not showing?

Im tired, tried to wait but I gotta gts. The door unlocked. I love you

that was an hour ago, the same time you were in the bathroom. you bit your cheek and put your phone down.

you didn't even know if you wanted to reply.

you shouldn't, but something in you wanted to. you didn't give up to temptation though. so you just let that be what it was.

you tapped the back of armins head softly. he groaned a little as he lifted his head, eyes still closed wiping his mouth with his arm.

"you heavy."

armins eyes opened the slightest and he moved his body, sitting up so that you could move around.

you laid on your stomach and laid your head on your arms, closing your eyes.

armin laid on your back, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face in your back, taking a deep breath of your scent and rubbing against you, almost like a cat.

it didn't bother you though. it was the most comfort you felt in hours.

the night went by fast, of course.

you woke up feeling light as ever, with armin beside you, leg hanging off the bed.

you sat up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn. you got off the bed and left the room to go to the bathroom. you grabbed your toothbrush from the counter.

your clothes were still on the floor, the sound of water dripping making you quietly laugh to yourself from the moment last night.

you started to brush your teeth, and in the middle of it, heard a sleepy armins footsteps getting closer to the bathroom.

he leaned in the doorway, eyes pink with slight bags. you looked over at him before he lazily walked over to you and slid his warm hands under your shirt, nuzzling his nose in your bun.

he looked at you through the mirror and grabbed his tooth brush, putting his arms in front of you to wet it and put toothpaste on it.

he started to brush his teeth along with you, using the hand the once held the toothpaste, to go back under your shirt, and softly grip at your waist.

when you bent over to spit, armin looked down at you, and when you got back up, starting to brush, you could see him trying to hide a smile. you only shook your head and started back brushing.

when you finished, armin put his toothbrush in the holder, and you were gonna take yours back home with you, but he stopped you.

"can you leave it?" he then looked over at your clothes. "and the clothes? ima get em."

you put your toothbrush beside his and left the bathroom with him, grabbing only your phone and keys, because that's the only thing you couldn't leave.

as armin watched from the bed, you putting your things together, you faced him.

"ima guess you goin back home." he tried to smile, but he went back to biting his lip.

"I am." you shifted your weight to one leg and jingled your keys in front of you.

"you gon come back?" he asked, looking at your keys. you looked at armin longingly before smiling and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. "I had fun. ima be back sooner or later. when he piss me off again." you joked.

armin wrapped his arms around your waist and looked up at you. "I can get one more kiss?"

you grabbed his chin and kissed him one more time before making your way to his door.

"thanks for a good time."

#𝐦𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐬��𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨⁴⁴⁴ #aot x reader #aot x black reader #aot x black y/n #armin aot #armin arlert #armin x black reader #armin x reader #armin x y/n #armin x you #armin arlert x reader #aot armin #armin arlert x you #eren x fem!reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x black reader #eren x reader

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zackprincebooks · 6 months ago

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Hot Water

Lord Commander Guilliman has been expected to make a visit to your fortress-monastery, but his early arrival has sent everyone into a tizzy. At least you were able to clean the baths in time before he arrived. But the baths aren't the only mess you have to worry about, as you stumble across Roboute in the frigidarium and uncover the reason for his sudden detour... (Roboute Guilliman x Reader, explicit. 2nd person POV; reader is AFAB but not addressed with gendered pronouns.)

Want to read it on AO3? Click here!

Want to read my original fiction? Click here!

Inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond's The Bellowing!

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The sight of the Primarch’s ship approaching the fortress-monastery sends all and sundry into a tizzy. Lord Guilliman wasn’t supposed to arrive for another three days, so they weren’t anywhere near prepared for him. Nothing is cleaned, food hasn’t been prepped, and the room reserved for him is unmade.

Along with your fellow serfs, you arm yourselves with mops, oils, and fresh towels and robes to attack the multiple levels of the baths: the caldarium, the frigidarium, and the tepidarium. They housed hot, cold, and warm water baths for the Lord Angels to bathe in, allowing them to relax their muscles after a long day. To prevent the growth of bacteria in the baths, they were cleaned regularly—but a “regular” cleaning would not be up to the exacting standards of a Lord Primarch.

The baths are drained, scrubbed, and refilled; normally you would have given them a few days to be treated with chemicals before refilling them, but Lord Guilliman will want a hot bath after he lands. It would be sacrilegious to force a Lord Primarch to wait days before he can take a bath!

Faucets and spigots are polished to a mirror shine, puddles are mopped, towels and robes are replaced, and bottles of oil and lotion are refilled. You have the honors of restarting the waterfall in the tepidarium and it cascades into the water with a satisfying splash. “We did that in record time,” the head bath mistress declares in satisfaction, wiping sweat from her brow. “I want someone on hand when the Lord Primarch is in the bath in case he has need of anything—food, drink, more towels; if he wants his paperwork, you will bring it to him.”

Everyone nods; their murmurs of agreement bouncing off the cavernous walls of the baths. You nod particularly vigorously. Lord Guilliman’s comfort is paramount. He is, unto you, a god among men that has blessed your fortress-monastery with his benevolent presence. You are not fit to serve him; not when you imagine his broad body sinking into the hot waters of the caldarium and his arm stretching out to you in offering…

The eyes of the head bath mistress land on your flaming face and the disapproval of her gaze eats a hole into your stomach. “Remember that the Lord Primarch is an esteemed guest of our monastery. He is to be treated with utmost respect and kindness. Am I understood?”

“Yes ma’am!” The chorus of your fellow serfs drowns out your muttered yes ma’am, and you disperse to your various tasks. You keep your head down as you pass her by, flinching as she squints at you.

The knot in your stomach lessens as you throw yourself into work, helping your friends ready the monastery for Lord Guilliman’s arrival. You dice garlic and onions in the kitchen, dress beds with clean sheets, and separate one of the tables in the mess hall for Lord Guilliman and his entourage to eat at.

You’re in the middle of sweeping when the docking of the ship is announced over a squealing intercom. Everything rumbles like the rousing of a sleeping giant from a long slumber as it docks, casting a long shadow over the fortress-monastery. Silence buries itself in everyone’s throats as the sound of marching Space Marines fills the air.

But there is no fanfare. No bombastic anthem. Everyone waits with bated breath to hear the long list of Primarch Guilliman’s titles, but nothing materializes. The excited silence gives way to concerned murmuring and some people leave the monastery to get a better look at the action—or lack thereof.

They’re immediately ushered back inside by a cadre of Space Marines, and the gossip ceases. Their broad shoulders block the doorway so no one can watch the proceedings beyond.

“The Lord Commander thanks you for your generous hospitality,” the centermost Space Marine intones, “but he requests privacy for the first three days while he settles in after such a long journey. We thank you for your understanding.”

Not giving anyone a chance to respond, the Space Marines march back out, leaving you and your fellow serfs in stunned silence, all sound sucked into the void left in the wake of the Space Marines.

What…just happened? ----------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passes in strained whispers and surreptitious glances. Everyone is looking for hide or hair of the Lord Primarch around the fortress-monastery, but whenever they get close to his room on the pretense of bringing him food or documents, they’re immediately halted by the Custodes. The moment one of your fellows described how the Custodes’ very words pulled his heart out of his chest, you decided to give the Lord Primarch a wide berth, until he deigned to make his presence known. In fact, if not for the sheer number of Custodes and Ultramarines hanging around, you would never know that Lord Commander Guilliman had arrived.

At least your work does not go unappreciated by your guests, and you hear the chattering of Space Marines in the bath as you refill some of the towels. Their serfs have already aided them in undressing, so their personal effects are stored in the cubbies of the apodyterium, and there are robes waiting for them.

“We really hauled ass on the trip here; I’m glad that we made it in time.”

“Just barely. I was hanging on my seat for dear life. It’s damnably inconvenient!”

There’s the cracking sound of a damp towel whipped at Astartes speed and a high-pitched yelp. “Don’t you dare speak ill of our Lord Primarch!”

“I wasn’t! Merely expressing—”

“His Lordship’s medical condition is not a topic of gossip.” The ironclad voice of a Custodes rumbles through the bath, drowning out the rushing of the waterfall and making your stomach clench tightly. “It is fortuitous that we arrived in time that he may be treated properly.”

A murmur of agreement disperses throughout the Ultramarines as they continue their ablutions. There’s another towel crack and a yelp from the first Space Marine. “Hey!”

“Got you back!” A round of towel-snapping commences despite the protests of the Custodes, and you hightail out of the baths before they can find you. You’ll come back and clean the baths once they’re gone.

But their conversation makes you think: Lord Guilliman is ill? Or at the very least, suffering from some kind of medical condition. While that would explain the Ultramarines and Custodes being so cautious about serfs approaching his guest quarters, why wouldn’t they simply return to Macragge or Terra for treatment?

Your friends are clustered in a hallway up ahead and they wave you over. “Did you hear anything about the Primarch? They’re still not letting us near his room,” one of them sighs.

“No, I haven’t. They started a towel fight so I got out of there after I dropped off the towels,” you lie. A Primarch’s health is of utmost importance and secrecy, and no one else knows that you possess this knowledge. No one must know that you possess this knowledge; not even the Primarch himself.

Fortunately, no one questions you on your lie and they all nod sagely. You go to dinner with them and listen to their theories about why Primarch Guilliman would sequester himself on arrival.

It’s about an hour later, while you’re helping wash dishes in the kitchen, when you notice a group of Ultramarines and one ruffled Custodian coming down to dinner, their skin red and tender from the hot water—along with the towel whipping. It seems that the Custodes has rattled them back in line as she watches her sheepish comrades collect their dinner trays.

You finish with your rack of dishes and slip out of the kitchen. You pick up a bath bucket, mop, and some rags. Since the oils and lotions were refilled this morning, you decide to wait until you see how much has been used before you refill them.

Walking up to the bath, you feel…strange. There’s a ball of heat in your chest that suddenly drops into your stomach and hangs there heavily. Pausing to listen, you hear nothing. You take a risk to poke your head around the corner and you are greeted with the vision of twisted towels, wet robes, and large puddles—but no Ultramarines. No Custodes.

Grabbing your mop and bucket, you get to work, ignoring the feeling of a piercing gaze between your shoulderblades. ------------------------------------------------------

First, the apodyterium. While it’s mostly free of clutter, some towels didn’t make it into the hamper and there are puddles everywhere. You take out the laundry and replace the basket before mopping up the puddles until the blue and gray tiles shine. It’s clear that some of the Astartes played many eager games of rattail, as you fetch some particularly ragged and ratty towels from the laundry basket with a grimace.

You adored the Astartes, and the Ultramarines in particular. Even if their strength could be…inconvenient, sometimes.

But there was no structural damage to the bath, as could occasionally happen when the Astartes began rough-housing. They didn’t understand their own strength when it came to mosaic tiles and plaster, no matter how lovingly crafted.

You pause, admiring the mosaic on the floor. While most designs depict great battles, the bath is a paradise of marine wildlife that gradually gets deeper the further you enter. The apodyterium is a sandy beach with waves lapping at your toes, sea urchins hiding in tide pools, and crabs peeking out from tiled corners.

Dumping out the ratty towels into a trash receptacle, you move further into the baths.

Steam rises from the caldarium and you wave a towel to fan it away while you work. While the temperature of the caldarium can be adjusted, it appears the Ultramarines cranked it up for their bath. It’s so hot and humid in the caldarium that you use a towel to put your hair back and you shuck off your outer robe so you’re only wearing your undergarments.

It’s a daunting task to walk across the slippery caldarium to refill the soaps and lotions; one wrong step and you’ll either plunge into the boiling water or crack your skull on the tiles. You don’t relish the thought of Lord Guilliman finding your body when he goes to bathe.

The tiles in the caldarium are full of brilliant coral and bright fishes darting between anemones with sharks patrolling for prey. Once the soaps are refilled and the tiles mopped, you’re able to safely cross the caldarium and tick down the temperature. It continues putting out steam, but the water will cool down to a safe temperature.

“If the Ultramarines want it hotter, they’ll just have to deal with it,” you huff. Picking up your robes, you drape it loosely over your shoulders and approach the frigidarium—

And you stop.

The frigidarium is the coldest section of the baths; the Apothecary recommends dunking yourself in alternating baths of hot and cold, so the frigidarium and caldarium are connected together by a short hallway. You know that the frigidarium will be so cold that you’ll have to put your robe back on and you’ll likely need your sandals.

But there is steam coming from the frigidarium, at the same rate as the caldarium. And when you check the temperature of the bath, it’s at the coldest setting possible. The pipes for the different pools are all separate, so it’s not like one of the pools is pumping hot water into the frigidarium…

Taking your towel, you wave it in order to disperse the steam again. Once the steam is gone, you notice a uniform thrown haphazardly onto a wooden bench. You see the Ultramarines insignia, but when you lift the uniform jacket, it’s covered with medals and badges that you don’t recognize. A Custodes, perhaps? It would make sense. The uniform is much larger than what a Primaris would wear.

The steam has filled the room again, and it’s clearly rising from the bath. But surely, this uniform means someone is in the bath?

“Excuse me? Is anyone in here? I’m going to clean the baths!” You call out, but there’s no response. The steam has obscured your vision to the point where you need to wave your towel again. Though it dissipates, you can’t see anyone in the bath. The tiles surrounding the pool are of no help; it’s a dense kelp forest with sea turtles darting between the towering sea grass. You feel like one of those turtles as you clean, darting around and hoping no one sees you.

When you move to the front of the bath to refill the soaps and lotions, you hear a splash. “My Lord?” While your vision isn’t fully obscured by the steam, you can’t see the furthest end of the bath. “I’m almost done! I just need to mop!”

A bead of sweat trickles down the bridge of your nose as you wait for more noises, but you hear nothing. Refilling the soaps and lotions as quickly as possible, you speed-walk over to your mop.

There’s another splash, this time closer to you. The steam has fully obscured your vision, and you disperse it again.

A hand grips the edge of the bath and pulls, the tiles underneath cracking from the force. The surface of the water ripples as a second hand hits the tile and both pull, breaking the seal on the bath. You squeal meekly and back up against the wall as broad shoulders clear the water’s surface and Roboute Guilliman hauls himself out of the frigidarium in all of his wet, naked glory.

Though you quickly avert your eyes, you notice that Roboute is the source of the steam as it rolls off his body in waves. Is this what it means for a Primarch to be ill? “Lord, if you are sick, we have medicine—”

“No…need….” Roboute speaks slowly, as though every word is painful for him to say. “Just…hot…”

You fiddle with your broom. What do you say? What do you do in front of an angel, steam rolling off him as though he’s on fire? Especially when his heavy breathing sounds…erotic. “Did you need the frigidarium to cool down? I can bring you some cold water, or some ice…”

Roboute groans, and your thighs squeeze together. When he doesn’t say anything in response, you peek out at him in curiosity.

Oh, by the Throne of Terra…

He’s bigger than any Custodes, a powerful pillar of muscle and fat. His skin is bright red, especially around his shoulders, biceps, and pectorals. Despite the heat of the bath, his nipples are peaked and hard.

And his cock—

You try not to look at it. To do so feels obscene. But you can’t ignore the way it throbs and smears sticky precum against his chest, the sheath bunched up underneath his swollen knot. When he realizes you’re looking at it, his cock pulses even harder.

“My Lord,” you squeak, “are you, perhaps…in heat?”

The sound of Roboute’s guttural moan is enough of an answer. Suddenly, everything makes sense: the onset of Roboute’s heat would require him to stop immediately; going to Macragge or Terra for medical intervention would have only prolonged his suffering. He would need to ride it out until it faded naturally. The frigidarium was a futile attempt at easing his heat.

There was only one way that Roboute could ease his heat, and you were standing right in front of him with your robe open.

He moves towards you with frightening speed for his size. You try to dodge to the side, but you slip on a puddle and the only thing preventing you from eating tile is his hand wrapped around your waist. And he really wraps around your waist, from thumb to forefinger.

Roboute flips you over onto the tiles, looming over you. Your robe is peeled off with a wet slap and he pulls off your undergarments, leaving you exposed to him. The hunger of his gaze sparks both excitement and fear in your belly; something primal that you hadn’t felt before.

His cock slaps against your belly, the knot rubbing on your pussy. A low, growling noise fills the frigidarium from somewhere deep in Roboute’s chest, and when his knot rubs on you again, it comes away wet.

“Please,” you whimper, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for. Roboute seems to understand, however, and he moves off of you. For a moment, you believe that he’ll let you go, and you’re not sure why it fills you with disappointment.

But Roboute goes under you, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders and locking your thighs around his head. Your ankles can barely touch as they hang uselessly over his shoulders. “Lord--!” Your voice cracks as his fingers spread your pussy lips; though your thighs tremble on either side of his head, closing your legs is impossible. Roboute has you pinned against the hard tile of the frigidarium to do with as he wishes.

His tongue presses against your spread pussy, sending shockwaves up your spine. You moan, tangling your hands in his blond hair to keep him against your pussy. Not that you need to—Roboute devours your pussy like a man starved, nosing against your clit. Between the plinking water and your squealing sounds, you feel Roboute growl moreso than you hear it; the sound reverberates through your body from your pelvis to your toes.

Once he’s satisfied with how wet you are, Roboute moves to your clit and kisses it like the jewel of a ring. With both of your hands in his hair, you can’t muffle your squeal as Roboute laps the flat of his tongue against your clit. You only hope that no one else is in the baths, as the sound bounces around the tiled walls and echoes even as far as the apodyterium.

While you’re distracted by Roboute’s mouth on your clit, one of his fingers brushes the entrance of your pussy. His tongue circles your clit as his finger enters you, pumping slowly inside of you. Your thighs squeeze around his head and he grunts but does not let up on either of his ministrations. In fact, he doubles them. Roboute sucks down on your clit and adds a second finger to your pussy.

“My Lord!” You squeal aloud, pressing harder against his face. Pressure coils in your gut and you can barely breathe from all your moaning. “I can’t—”

You don’t finish your sentence, but Roboute doesn’t seem to need you to. He’d kept his eyes closed the entire time, as though he was savoring a delicious meal, but when he looks up at you, the intensity of his gaze pierces you.

It’s what you needed to careen over the edge, and you cry out as you gush against Roboute’s face. He groans, closing his eyes again as he fingers you through your orgasm until the overstimulation makes you whine and you push him off. He goes willingly, and the sight of your slick dappling his nose and chin is both arousing and embarrassing. You squirted on a Primarch.

“Oh, m-my Lord, I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, whimpering through the aftershocks. Roboute raises his eyebrows and wipes the juices from his face with one swipe of his arm. His other arm holds your legs over his shoulders and you realize—too late—that he’s folding them over your shoulders instead of his.

His knees bracket your body; each of his legs as long as you are tall. When his cock slaps against your belly again, it hasn’t reduced in size at all; if anything, the knot is thicker and his cock is redder and angrier than before. One of Roboute’s hands lines his cock up with your pussy while his other hand cradles your head to keep it from hitting the tiles. You can’t tell if your flushed face is from his burning skin, or your own arousal. His hand is big enough to crush your head with the twitch of his fingers.

The head of his cock breaches your pussy and your breath hitches. You could have done with another stretching and perhaps a second orgasm, but Roboute was patient enough to give you one. If his heat goes on for much longer, it could be dangerous for him—and for you.

Roboute huffs as he mounts you, sliding his cock deeper into your pussy. He takes it slowly, but the stretch is obscene. You wince with each inch that slides inside of you, closing your eyes so you don’t look at the way Roboute’s cock spreads you wide…and deep. Every time you think he’s done, Roboute fits another inch inside of you.

You open your eyes just in time to watch Roboute bottom out inside of you, his knot resting comfortably on your swollen pussy lips. He growls in satisfaction, and the sound makes you clench around him.

For some reason, you have the brief sense that you’re in danger, right before Roboute pulls back and plows into you with what you can only describe as a howl. You swear on the Throne that you feel your belly distend with the thrusting of his cock, using you as a sleeve for his own pleasure. His knot wetly plaps against your pussy, adding to the overstimulation of your primal fucking.

White stars explode in your head, scrambling your thoughts. You can’t think of anything other than Roboute’s cock filling you, pounding you into the tile. Either your bones are creaking, or tiles are beginning to break underneath you from the sheer force.

A deep purr rumbles in Roboute’s chest and vibrates the whole of your body. His thumb strokes a glob of saliva away from your lips and caresses your cheek. When you turn your face to look at him, his brows are knitted together in exertion, but his lips are curled back in a facsimile of a smile, baring his teeth.

There’s a split second before Roboute drops himself onto you, and the force of his weight shoves his knot into you, spreading your pussy apart. You let out a garbled whine that results in another deep purr from Roboute, and his nose brushes almost tenderly against your cheek. The head of his cock is shoved against your womb and you feel it pulse with his oncoming climax. His hand tilts your head up to expose your neck to his hungry gaze and Roboute bites into your neck.

It’s only a few more thrusts before you feel his cock beginning to swell, and sticky cum is pumped inside you. It’s even hotter than his skin, and if not for Roboute’s knot, it would spill out of your womb. Though you can’t look down, you’re sure there’s a bulge from his cock and his cum.

Roboute pulls off your neck and nuzzles against the bite mark he’s no doubt left behind. He seems very proud of his work, purring and chuffing into your ear. “Lord,” you whisper, and he responds with another chuff.

But his cock hasn’t gone down, and you’re still stuck on his knot. Roboute stands and lifts you with ease until he’s standing and you’re pressed against his chest. He holds you with one hand while the other brushes something off your back and you hear the sound of ceramic clinking. He definitely broke some tiles under you.

Your hands struggle to link around his neck from where you’re pressed against his chest. There’s going to be a second ride and all you can do is hang on. Roboute’s knot is jammed inside of you and it won’t go down until he’s had his fill—and that might not be until the end of his heat.

The only thought you have before he starts thrusting is how long does a Primarch’s heat last?

Roboute bounces you on his knot, grinding more than thrusting. With this new position, your clit rubs on Roboute’s stomach, bringing even more stimulation to your aching pussy. Your fingers scrabble on his back as you crest your second orgasm and cry out, cumming against his torso.

When you come back to yourself, Roboute is holding you against his chest. His animalistic grunting and chuffing have turned into the deep moans of a man. They still vibrate your entire body, and his knot throbs. His heat is not over, but he’s at least conscious of more than his base urges.

His grinding resumes, his knot keeping you not only plugged, but spread open for the rest of his cock to fill you, to claim you and own you, wholly and fully.

Roboute’s second round does not last as long, though you are rewarded with a keening whine as he fires off more cum inside of your womb. His knot softens, not fully, but enough for him to pull out—and he does, letting his cum spill out of you.

He lifts you by your thighs so your sweaty cheek presses against his. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

And that’s the last thing you hear from Roboute before you pass out in his arms. -----------------------------------------------------

You drift in and out of consciousness over what seems like hours. At some point, you are aware of being cradled by two powerful arms and wrapped in soft fabric as a low voice buzzes in the broad chest you’re currently resting your head on.

“No, there is no cause for concern. I will take them to the Apothecary myself. Please consider them to be under my care. However, someone will need to clean and repair the frigidarium.”

There’s the sound of someone protesting, and a soft chuckle from the chest you’re resting on.

“No, I will not elaborate.”

The next time you wake up, you’re being laid into a soft bed. While the bed is unfamiliar, the sheets smell familiar. It’s vaguely herbal, with a hint of lemon…this is the same detergent you used to wash Lord Guilliman’s sheets this morning…

“Lord…?”

A soft pair of lips kiss your head, and you fall back into unconsciousness.

When you come back from your slumber, you’ve been tucked into Lord Guilliman’s guest bed. Instead of your regular robes, you are wrapped in a clean bathrobe that is slightly too large for you. The lights in the room have been turned off, but the door to the adjacent office has light spilling out from under it.

You try to sit up, but a powerful ache in your pelvis and shoulder force you back down into bed. “Oh, oh fuck, owww,” you whine, laying back down.

The door to the office suddenly opens up and the broad shoulders of Roboute Guilliman fill the doorway. He needs to stoop in order to enter the room, and he immediately kneels at your side, taking your hand. His hand absolutely dwarfs yours, and you’re reminded of how he cradled your head—

“Please, try to lay down. The Apothecary may have cleared you, but they also warned against strenuous physical activity for the next few days.” His eyebrows pinch together. “We are fortunate that I didn’t crack one of your ribs.”

He continues speaking, but his words fade in and out. The only thing you can focus on is a Primarch kneeling in front of you.

You feel like you’re going to pass out again. Roboute stops rambling somewhere between salt intake and calories when he notices the dazed look on your face. “Food is on its way if your blood sugar is running low. I have intervened on your behalf and acquired you the time to rest and recover, so there is no need for you to worry about returning your duties.”

“Th-thank you, my Lord.” You struggle to form sentences, and Roboute looking up at you with his pleading eyes is not helping. “Has your heat subsided?” Though not as noticeable as before, there is a pink tinge to his face.

Roboute goes silent, looking at your hand. “It has subsided, though it will return; likely in the next day or two. Please, do not worry yourself,” he rushes to add as you as you open your mouth, “I will be well. The onset was unexpected, but the first wave is always the strongest.”

He dips his head and his eyes lower. The hand holding yours slips. “I am…sorry that you had to encounter me in such a state. It must have been frightening to experience. I did not mean to hurt you, but I did.”

Your hands grab onto his and hold him tightly. “I was not afraid of you, my Lord. I knew you would never hurt me, even with your awesome strength, even in the middle of your heat’s first wave. You needed help, and I was happy to provide.”

Roboute thinks on this for a moment, though he still cannot bring himself to look at you. “You were happy? You enjoyed it?” His voice wavers, and your heart skips a beat.

“Very much so. You took good care of me.” Before you can stop yourself, you reach out to stroke Roboute’s cheek. Your train of thought to stop petting a Primarch doesn’t reach the station as Roboute leans into your hand.

“And you took care of me, as well. But I believe that your care could be…improved.” You hear the door open and the smell of food hits your nose. Your stomach grumbles; perhaps you should have listened to Roboute when he was talking about calories and salt intake. Taking care of a Primarch in heat was hungry work.

He kisses you softly. You hadn’t kissed when you were in the bath, so he seems to be making up for it with soft pecks on your lips and face. Roboute pulls back with one final kiss to your forehead.

“I will make no demands of you. But I would like it if you stayed with me for a while.” Though Roboute claims to make no demands, you catch the hopefulness in his voice.

“Of course.”

When he kisses you again, you feel him smile against your lips.

#gif #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #warhammer40k #roboute guilliman #guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #x reader #writeblr #writerblr #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #ao3 #ao3 writer #my writing #writer community #I thought we could all use some pwp on this day #take care of yourselves and each other

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velvetghoul · 16 days ago

Text

Overheated

✦ oneshot

Reader x Satoru Gojo | MDNI

cw: fluff, light tension, suggestive heat, fever care, Gojo being dramatic, Suguru being soft

⸻

You hadn’t even stepped five feet past the school gate when you heard him.

“OH NO, BABY, WHAT’S WRONG? Are you sick?!” Satoru’s voice boomed across the courtyard like a siren, piercing through the fog of your headache.

You blinked up at him, barely able to lift your hand in greeting before your knees wobbled. You felt awful—sweaty, cold, sore in the worst ways—and of course your hair was a mess, your uniform was torn, and the cursed residue still clung to your skin.

Suguru was beside you in two long strides, brushing his dark hair back as his eyes scanned your face. “She has a fever, Satoru,” he murmured, pressing the back of his hand to your clammy forehead. His touch was surprisingly cool. “High one.”

“Nooo,” Satoru groaned like it was the end of the world. “Not my pretty girl.” His hands were already reaching for you, ignoring the fact that you looked—and felt—like a collapsing swamp goblin. “I told you that mission looked cursed in a bad way.”

“You are a jujutsu sorcerer, babe,” you mumbled into his chest as he scooped you up bridal-style. “Everything’s cursed.”

“Don’t sass me when you’re half-dead,” he sniffed, nuzzling your temple while walking toward the dorms. “You feel like a microwave burrito. Suguru, go make soup. Or call Shoko. Or both.”

Suguru rolled his eyes and smirked, falling into step beside you. “You’re just jealous I noticed the fever first.”

“You’re not wrong,” Satoru muttered, holding you tighter. “But I’m the one who gets to undress her and make her tea in a ‘Sexiest Boyfriend of the Year’ apron.”

You let out a weak laugh, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the tension in your body started to melt just a little under his warmth. “You don’t even have that apron.”

“I’ll make one,” he said with a wink, pushing open the dorm door with his shoulder. “But first—you, a bath, medicine, and a cuddle pile.”

“Dibs on her left side,” Suguru called, already texting Shoko with one hand and cracking the window with the other like he’d done this a dozen times before.

Gojo growled dramatically. “Back off, homewrecker. She’s mine.”

“Not when she’s sick. Then she’s public property,” Suguru said casually.

“I hate you both,” you muttered—but you didn’t stop smiling as Satoru carried you down the hall, his lips brushing your forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, we love you too. Now let’s get you naked and in bed.”

“…Satoru.”

“To sleep!” he corrected quickly. “Mostly.”

Gojo adjusted you in his arms as he pushed open the door to his dorm with his hip, holding you like you were breakable. His voice softened even more, all the usual teasing replaced by warm affection.

“Let’s shower and get you ready for bed, my love,” he whispered, brushing his lips to your temple again.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding you despite the ache behind your eyes. You could barely speak, but your fingers tangled into his collar like muscle memory—clinging to the place that felt safest.

He kicked the bathroom door open, already turning the faucet with one hand as he set you gently on the closed toilet lid.

“You sit, I undress,” he announced with faux authority, fingers moving to unbutton your jacket. “Wow. What the hell did that curse do to you? Why are you all bruised? Why didn’t you call me? Why am I asking questions when you look like you’re about to pass out?”

You gave him a groggy little smirk. “Still pretty though?”

“Pretty? Babe, you could be half-dead in a sewer and I’d still risk trench foot to kiss you.”

He peeled off your shirt slowly, careful around the scrapes on your ribs. His touch was gentle, reverent, like even in your grimiest state he couldn’t not look at you like you hung the stars.

“Arms up,” he whispered, tugging the shirt free and tossing it aside. His eyes lingered for a beat too long, the curve of your waist catching his attention even as steam began to fog the mirror.

“You’re staring.”

“Shhh, don’t ruin this for me,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle across the flushed skin of your cheek. “You have a fever, but you’re also just… stupid hot.”

You scoffed—but the look in his eyes shut you up fast.

Soft, hooded, heated.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, voice cracking.

“Like what?” he asked, kneeling down to tug off your boots. His head tilted up toward you, grin tugging at his lips as he worked. “Like I wanna take care of you? Or like I want you to pin me against the glass once you’re feeling better?”

“…both.“

“Good. That’s accurate.”

Once your clothes were off, he stood and began undressing himself without any shame. White shirt off, hair a mess, toned chest rising and falling in the steam.

You sighed, half-laughing. “You’re too pretty. It’s annoying.”

He leaned in, nudging his nose to yours. “You’re delirious. Come on, let’s rinse the demon goo off before you faint.”

The shower was hot, comforting, and Gojo stood behind you under the stream, arms around your waist as if to keep you upright. He washed your hair with maddening gentleness, massaging shampoo into your scalp like it was sacred.

Every now and then, his hands would drift a little lower—fingertips skimming your hips—but never too far. Not while you were swaying on your feet.

“Tomorrow, when you’re not melting from the inside,” he murmured against your shoulder, “I’m going to ruin you.”

You hummed. “Not if I ruin you first.”

“Baby,” he whispered, kissing your neck, “you’ve already ruined me.”

Wrapped in one of Gojo’s soft shirts, fresh from the shower and barely functioning, you let him guide you into bed like your bones had forgotten how to move on their own. The sheets were cool, the pillows smelled like him, and the second your head hit the mattress you groaned in pure relief.

Satoru tucked the blankets up around your shoulders, then slipped in beside you—still shirtless, his skin warm from the shower. His arm curled beneath your head, letting you rest your cheek on his chest while his fingers found your scalp and began to gently scratch.

You exhaled the kind of sigh you only ever made around him. “You’re too good at that,” you mumbled, half-asleep already.

“I know,” he whispered smugly, pressing a kiss to your damp hair. “Gotta keep my girlfriend alive so I can keep annoying her.”

“You’re doing amazing.”

“I’m going to get you tea. Stay here. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

“…I’ll do my best.”

He returned a few minutes later with a mismatched mug and a ridiculous little cookie on the side like he couldn’t not go the extra mile.

“Here you go, my weak little fever baby,” he said dramatically, helping you sit up against the pillows and slipping the mug into your hands. “Careful, it’s hot. Just like—well. You know.”

You raised a brow at him from over the steam. “Say it.”

“Just like me.”

You coughed a laugh, then sipped carefully. It was sweet, soothing, just the way you liked it.

He watched you for a few seconds, propped up on his elbow, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist like he still wasn’t convinced you were okay.

“I’m fine, Satoru,” you murmured, “I just need sleep.”

“Sleep and affection,” he corrected, crawling back in beside you and immediately wrapping himself around you again, his long legs tangling with yours under the covers. “And cuddles. And head rubs. And me whispering sweet nothings into your ear like I’m a Victorian poet.”

“Oh god,” you groaned.

“Your feverish beauty leaves me breathless, my darling,” he said softly, putting on a dramatic voice. “Will you recover so that I may take the upon the tatami with reckless abandon—?”

You shoved your face into his shoulder to muffle your laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“And the best.”

As you shifted closer, you felt something press lightly against your thigh.

You froze. Then pulled back with a slow, smug grin.

“…Satoru.”

He blinked innocently.

“Are you—are you hard right now?”

“What? No! Absolutely not! That would be wildly inappropriate—”

“You’re literally tenting the blanket—!”

“Listen,” he said quickly, face turning pink behind his blindfold. “You’re warm and soft and you smell like my shampoo and you’re in my bed wearing my shirt and you moaned when I scratched your head. What did you expect to happen?”

You stared at him. Then took another slow sip of your tea.

“…Pervert.”

“Your pervert,” he muttered, dragging the blanket over both of you like it could hide his shame.

You curled back into his chest anyway, laughing softly. “You’re lucky I’m too feverish to act on it.”

He tucked his chin on top of your head, lips brushing your hair. “I’ll wait,” he murmured, voice low and fond. “Just… stay right here. I’ll take care of you.”

And he did. All night. Until you fell asleep with his arms around you, his heartbeat under your cheek, and his hard-on respectfully ignored—for now.

You didn’t know what time it was when your eyes finally cracked open—but the room was still dim, the sun behind heavy clouds, and your body felt like it had been wrung out like a soaked towel.

You groaned quietly and shifted, head still heavy, but you were warm—wrapped in the soft cocoon of Satoru’s arms. One of his legs was tangled lazily with yours under the blanket, and his chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths against your back.

You hadn’t even realized he was awake until his fingers started trailing slowly—rhythmically—down your spine.

“Morning, angel,” he murmured, voice husky with sleep.

You gave the softest little noise in reply, pressing your forehead into his collarbone. “Still feel like shit.”

“I know,” he whispered, lips brushing the top of your head. “Don’t move. I got you.”

You stayed like that, tucked into his side, your cheek against his bare chest while he leaned up against the headboard. His fingers kept moving—light enough to make your skin tingle, slow enough to lull you back toward sleep.

Then—

BAM.

The door slammed open.

“Oh—” came Suguru’s voice, halfway through the doorway.

Satoru didn’t even flinch. He just dragged one hand out from under the blanket, lifted his index finger to his lips, and glared with bloodshot blue eyes and messy, sleep-tangled hair.

Suguru blinked at the sight of the two of you curled up together—your head tucked beneath Satoru’s chin, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your spine.

“I thought you were alone,” he muttered.

Satoru didn’t even bother lifting his head. Just raised a single finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh, indoor voice, Rapunzel.”

Suguru narrowed his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot with a sick girlfriend,” Satoru whispered back smugly, still not letting go of you.

Suguru exhaled through his nose and stepped forward, lowering his voice. You curled deeper into Satoru’s side, groggy and half-asleep, peeking out from under the blanket with your face flushed and warm.

Suguru softened.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice quieter. “Better you stay with her today.”

Satoru nodded once, letting his hand drift back down your spine in gentle strokes. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Suguru slipped a small bag onto the desk, probably with medicine or food. “Shoko said to keep her hydrated and to stop spooning her if your dumbass body temperature is gonna make her worse.”

Satoru rolled his eyes. “I am the cure. I’m perfect.”

“Sure, loverboy,” Suguru muttered as he turned to leave. “Call if she starts glowing or levitating.”

The door shut gently this time.

You huffed softly, still half in a fever haze. “Did you seriously just call Suguru Rapunzel?”

Satoru didn’t miss a beat. “What? He’s got the hair, the attitude, the tragic backstory…”

You snorted weakly. “You’re the worst.”

“Still your favorite,” he whispered, stroking your spine again.

You snorted against his chest.

“Sleep,” he said, voice low and steady again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You just stayed wrapped in his warmth while he touched your back and breathed slow with you, like the whole world had narrowed to this tiny room where it was safe to be sick and loved.

It had gone quiet again, just the steady rhythm of Satoru’s breathing and his fingertips tracing lazy shapes on your back. You felt like you were floating — too hot, too weak, but somehow still calm with him holding you like this. Wrapped up in his warmth and presence like a weighted blanket made of sarcasm and love.

Until there was a quiet knock at the door.

Not a bang. A knock.

“Yeah?” Satoru called out, not moving.

The door creaked open just enough for a familiar head of black hair to peek in.

“…Is she okay?” Megumi’s voice was low, cautious.

“She’s alive,” Satoru replied, brushing his fingers behind your ear. “Looks terrible, sounds worse, still adorable. Probably contagious. Want a hug?”

“No.”

You shifted slightly, blinking blearily at the boy in the doorway. “Hi Megs.”

His eyes flicked to you, a little less guarded. “You look like hell.”

“I feel worse,” you rasped with a weak smile.

Satoru pulled the blanket a little higher over your shoulders. “She’s got a fever and heroic tendencies. We’re doing a full quarantine cuddle lockdown.”

Megumi stepped inside just far enough to drop something onto the desk — a neatly folded blanket and a bottle of electrolyte drink.

“I figured you wouldn’t think of this,” he muttered toward Satoru.

“I was about to,” Satoru lied effortlessly. “It was on my mental to-do list. Somewhere between ‘spoil her’ and ‘be handsome.’”

Megumi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He looked at you again, a flicker of concern in his eyes even if his tone stayed dry. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

You gave him a faint thumbs-up from the blanket cocoon. “Duly noted.”

“Don’t worry,” Satoru added, grinning like an idiot. “I’ve got it covered. Warm tea, chest pillows, and emotional support kisses every ten minutes.”

“Disgusting,” Megumi muttered, already turning to leave.

“Love you too, sunshine,” Satoru called after him.

Once the door clicked shut again, you slumped back into his chest with a tired smile.

“He cares.”

“He does,” Satoru agreed, kissing the top of your head. “But I get to do this—” he resumed stroking your spine, slow and rhythmic “—and I’m not giving up that privilege.“

You just hummed, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here.”

And he was.

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

#jjk #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo art #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo being a menace #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jujutsu gojo #jjk headcanons #oneshot #love #fictionalmen

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velvetlilith777 · 7 months ago

Text

Fighting Frostbite

Elliott x Fem Reader

18+ NSFW 🌨️ MDNI

Author's Note: heheheeheeeee I saw this post on Pinterest and knew our favorite author would be perfect for the plot! <3 I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A ruthless blizzard has made its way into Stardew Valley, separating you from your beloved poet. When enough is enough and Elliott makes the trek to your farmhouse, his hands get a little too cold...

Disclaimer: I am not someone who subscribes to the popular idea that Elliott isn't rough in bed! That man loves you, and he's gonna give it to you 🫶🏻

CW/TW: there's really a plot here if you squint but it's actually just full on smut, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), deep throating, hand job (female receiving), the poet is hung your honor, praise kink baddies rise, frostbite mentioned but not legit

Minors and ageless blogs do not interact! You will be blocked.

Word Count: ~1.9k

Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws (trees) and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more (snow) 🖤

🎄Ficmas Masterlist! 🎄

Smut under the cut!

The forecast had been bleak. Well into the deep of winter now, meteorologists had been warning of a vicious snow storm moving in for weeks, with temperatures falling well below freezing. Yesterday she came in fast and with a fury, burying the valley in feet of snow with no sign of stopping in the coming days.

But farm work stopped for nothing, the weight from the snowpack breaking and warping some of the older fencing you hadn't been able to replace yet, having to repair holes you weren't aware were causing drafts in your barns, troubleshooting a broken heater and of course, feeding and caring for the dozens of little lives you kept on your property.

It had been a long, arduous and frigid day, all you wanted was to run a hot bath, warm your skin and relax your muscles. So that's what you did, adding some lavender epsom salt as water fell from the faucet and lighting a few candles to set the mood. You finally sink into the steaming water, skin tingling with warmth as your mind lulls off.

Elliott on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to see you. He knew the weather was bad and you had been busy because of it, but it had been days since you’d been able to see each other. Deciding that enough was enough, he bundled himself in his thick, wool coat and scarf before heading out into the bitter climate. It had been too long since he’d seen his muse, so if a trek through heaps of snow was what separated the two of you, then he’d certainly do it.

Creaks cry out from the old hinges on the farmhouse door, causing your eyes to pop open. You aren’t expecting anyone, but your mind eases when you hear a familiar, deep voice call out.

“Hello?”

Elliott. It’s just Elliott.

“In here!” You melodically call.

“Oh, there you are my love. Staying warm?” His face flush from his trek in the outside elements.

“Trying.” You rest your head and arms on the side of the tub, looking up at the writer fondly. “My heater is struggling to keep up but the water is nice.”

“It looks like it,” He lets out a hearty chuckle at the steam still dissipating in the air as he places his scarf and coat on the counter next to your sink.

Elliott kneels down beside the tub, placing a kiss on your temple as he does so.

“So sorry for arriving unannounced, darling. I simply missed you too much to wait for this storm to pass before seeing you again.” He coos, reaching his hand to cup your cheek.

“Elliott!” You jump at his icy touch. “You’re freezing!”

Taking his hand in yours, you begin to examine his skin. Cherry red flush colors his knuckles and finger tips.

“I don't think it’s frostbite,” you remark, “ but just in case.” In one swift motion you shove his hands into the water next to you. The redhead sucks in a breath through his teeth, flesh burning at the sudden change in temperature. “You should've worn gloves, handsome.”

He chuckles. “Yes I suppose I should've. An unfortunate oversight on my part. I was just in such a rush to get here that I forgot.”

Your brows furrow. “Elliott, you have to take care of yourself for me. What if you lost all of your fingers to frostbite?”

Pulling a hand out of the water and placing it gently between the thighs near your knees, he squeezes the chub lovingly.

“Have I told you that I missed you already?”

“You may have mentioned it.” Your saccharine voice tails off.

“Let me say it again” his voice low, “because I really, really missed you sweetheart.”

Elliott catches your lips in a sensual kiss, his movements slow but firm. Eventually, his tongue pushes through your lips and begins dancing with your own. Your arms wrap around his neck, in an effort to pull him closer despite the tub wall separating the two of you. His hand kneading at the flesh of your leg harder now, sending heat rushing down to your core. A whine finds its way from your throat to his mouth, a growl leaving his in response.

The author pulls away from your lips, dragging your bottom lip for a moment with his. You stare into each other's eyes, mesmerized by your lust.

His large hand slowly slides down the inside of your thigh towards where you need him the most, his sight never leaving your face despite yours watching his wrist sink beneath the water. Your legs spread open as he’s nearing his destination, the need in your stomach growing tighter and tighter.

Gasping as his fingers find your clit, your eyes lock back onto his as he begins to rub small circles around the bundle of nerves. Speeding up to a moderate pace, his lips mold into a soft smile as moans start spilling out of yours. Your gaze never leaving the other’s until the coil in your stomach starts burning hotter. Obscene sounds getting louder and louder, falling out of your mouth more rapidly as you throw your head back. Elliott dips his head down taking a damp nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the mound, making your pussy throb and your toes curl.

“Ri-Right there El.” Are the first words you’ve mustered in minutes. His fingers ruthless against the bud, melting your brain. “Stay there and I’ll cum.”

His digits remain where you tell him, but his pace speeds up. Your core begins tingling, burning as cries are torn from your throat. Water is swirling about the tub due to his movements, sloshing around and mixing with your voice in a symphony of his efforts to have you reach your climax.

“Show me how much you missed me beautiful,” He mutters against your skin, kissing his way up to your collarbone before marking the sweet spot. “Let go for me, love.”

In the following seconds, the heat in your stomach boils over. His name is torn from your throat, and he thinks it may be the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Cunt pulsing under his touch and muscles twitching as his motions continue. What once was pure water is mixed with your juices gushing out of your sweet hole. Your hands find his shoulders, anchoring themselves on them as your vision goes fuzzy.

You ride through your orgasm, his fingers working you through it as he mutters “That’s it. There’s my beauty.”

You press your lips to his as his movements still, hungrily and desperately. Tangling your hands in each other's hair, gasping and puffing in between sloppy kisses.

“Need more of you,” you pant against his mouth.

He pulls away, your chests heaving in unison.

“You've always been able to have as much of me as you desire, gorgeous.”

Without hesitation, you're picked up bridal style and taken to your bed, being sat at the foot of it.

Your hands rush to his belt as he pulls his sweater over his head, broad chest flexing in the moonlight beaming through your window. Once the button on his pants has been undone, he feverishly pushes them down, his heavy cock springing up as it's freed.

Knees hitting the floor as you sit before him, hand taking his member as you run your tongue along the underside. His long fingers tangle in your hair as your tongue circles around his tip, already dripping with precum. You push his head into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking. He draws in a breath, stopping himself from ramming his dick into the back of your throat, letting you take your time.

You finally give him what he’s craving, working your way down his shaft until you're choking, the vibration against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Your head starts bobbing back and forth, grunts spewing from the man towering above you as you slurp and pump. Refusing to take any less of him than you can, tears start streaming from the corners of your eyes as you continue shoving him into your throat, the imprint showing through your neck. Auburn locks fall around his shoulders as he tosses his head back in ecstasy. Your tongue swirls around his tip as you speed up your ministrations, his fingers pulling even tighter on your hair.

“You're doing too well, love.” He stops your movements, pulling out of your pretty little mouth with a pop and standing you up to kiss you deeply. “I was far too close, and nowhere near finished.

The writer turns you around and pushes you onto the bed, positioning you onto all fours. He leans down and licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance before inserting two fingers, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

“You're already so wet for me again.” Elliott muses.

You let out a moan, rocking back in his fingers before answering. “When am I not wet for you?”

He laughs heartily, “Is that so, darling? Then you must be ready for this.”

His fingers leave you empty, but it’s only for a brief moment. His thick cock lines up with your entrance, before gliding in to the hilt. Your core is stretching and burning wonderfully as he begins railing into you.

“Three days is most definitely too long to be away from my muse” he grunts out between thrusts. Your tits bounce stunningly as his hips rock aggressively into hours, marks forming from his fingers holding onto your flesh.

“G-god Elliott,” You sob out. “You feel so goo-od.”

Elliott knows your body well, but that doesn't mean his heart ever swells any less when you tell him that he’s working you right.

Freckled skin leans over your back as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Yeah? You're taking me so well my love. So well.”

You feel that same lighting start charging inside of you, sweet little hole squelching around Elliott’s weighty girth as it drags across the velvety spot inside of you. His orgasm isn’t far behind, with you squeezing him just right and moaning out his name sinfully.

“El! El I’m gonna cum again,”

“Me too, dove. Let me feel you cum around me. Cum on my cock, darling.” He growls out.

Those words have your waves crashing into the cliff, cunt fluttering around his mass while your back arches into the mattress below you. He’s only seconds behind, white hot spurts gushing out of him as he ruts into you, thoroughly milking the both of you.

As your highs die down, you both crawl to the top of your bed, wrapping yourselves in your quilt and each other's arms fully spent. Before falling asleep you grab his hand, bringing it level with your eyesight.

“Stopped the frostbite just in time,” you giggle.

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Whatever would I do without you, love?”

“Clearly, we never should go days without seeing each other again so that we don't have to find out.” You smirk. “I happen to like all of your fingers.”

He snorts at your implication. “I know you do, darling. I suppose I’d have to agree. I don't want to go that long without you again.”

#velvetlilith777 #stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv elliott #elliott stardew valley #stardew elliott #elliott stardew #stardew valley elliott #elliott sdv #stardew valley fanfic #elliott stardew valley fanfic #elliott x farmer #elliott x reader #elliott x female farmer #elliott x female reader

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phantobats · 10 months ago

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Since Lee has infected me with Jaime x Jason brainrot, I have come back with a small fluffy piece of Jaime patching Jason up:

Jaime had barely settled in for the night when the knock on his door sent a ripple of unease through him. It was Jason—he could tell from the rhythm of the knock—but there was something different about it tonight, softer, almost hesitant. When Jaime opened the door, his heart stuttered.

Jason stood there, battered and bruised, his red helmet clutched under one arm, his leather jacket torn in several places, and his hands bloodied. The normally unbreakable Red Hood looked worn, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion and pain.

“Hey, Blue,” Jason rasped, forcing a smirk despite the clear strain. “Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“¡Dios mío, Jason!” Jaime’s voice trembled with concern as he closed the distance between them, his arms instinctively wrapping around Jason’s waist to steady him. “What happened? You look—” His voice caught in his throat as he took in the full extent of Jason’s injuries. “You look like you went through hell.”

Jason’s attempt at a grin faltered, replaced by a weary shrug. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, cariño. Just another night in Gotham.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed as he helped Jason inside, the warmth of the apartment quickly replacing the cold Gotham night. “No más excusas, amor. You’re letting me take care of this. Come on.” His voice held a softness that Jason could never resist, even when he was stubborn enough to pretend he didn’t need help.

Guiding Jason towards the bathroom, Jaime kept an arm securely around his waist. The weight of Jason’s injuries seemed heavier than usual tonight, like it wasn’t just his body that was battered, but something deeper. As they reached the bright light of the bathroom, the full extent of Jason’s bruises and cuts became heartbreakingly clear—dark purple swelling beneath his ribs, a fresh gash across his eyebrow, and more scars forming from what must have been a brutal patrol.

Jaime turned on the faucet, letting warm water flow into the tub, its soft hiss filling the room. “Sit down, por favor. You’re a mess, and I’m not letting you get away without a proper bath.” His voice was gentle but resolute, a mixture of worry and tenderness threaded through every word. As Jason sat on the edge of the tub, Jaime kneeled beside him, unfastening the buckles of his torn jacket and peeling it away from his body with care.

Jason winced as the leather slid off his bruised shoulders, but he stayed quiet, watching Jaime with an unreadable expression. “You don’t have to do all this,” he muttered, though the usual bite in his words was softened by something warmer. “I’m not that fragile.”

Jaime’s hands paused, his eyes meeting Jason’s with a softness that made Jason’s breath hitch. “You may not be fragile, but you’re mine. And I worry about you, corazón,” he murmured, brushing a thumb lightly over Jason’s jaw before turning back to the task at hand. “I can’t just stand by when you come to me looking like this.”

The warm water continued to rise, filling the room with the scent of lavender, an oil Jaime had poured in despite knowing Jason would poke fun at it later. As the tub filled, Jaime helped Jason ease out of the rest of his suit, his movements tender and deliberate, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds.

“Lavender?” Jason arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. “Really, Blue?”

Jaime chuckled softly, his fingers brushing lightly over a particularly dark bruise. “Sí. You need it. It’ll help you relax. Besides,” he added, a playful lilt in his voice, “I like when you smell nice.”

A genuine smile tugged at Jason’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You spoil me, you know that?”

Jaime dipped a cloth into the warm water, wringing it out before gently running it over Jason’s bruised skin. “Alguien tiene que hacerlo. You won’t take care of yourself,” he said softly, though the playful reprimand was laced with affection. His touch was featherlight, wiping away the grime and blood of the night with care, as though he could somehow wash away all of Jason’s pain.

Jason closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back, letting the warmth of the bath and the comfort of Jaime’s touch soothe him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled under his breath, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the air like a whisper of something fragile.

“Shh,” Jaime responded, his fingers threading through Jason’s damp hair, massaging his scalp with soft, rhythmic strokes. “Don’t say that. Eres mi vida, Jason. You deserve every bit of care I give you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jason’s temple. “You’ve been fighting for so long, but you don’t have to fight me, ¿entiendes?”

Jason’s hand found Jaime’s, his thumb brushing over the knuckles as his heart swelled with a quiet ache he didn’t know how to put into words. “I’m trying,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I just… I’m not used to this.”

Jaime’s smile was soft, almost sad, as he continued tending to the bruises on Jason’s chest, his hands moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times before. “You don’t have to be used to it yet. Just let me take care of you.”

As Jaime worked, Jason felt the weight of the night gradually lift from his chest. The bruises and cuts still stung, but they felt lighter now, as though Jaime’s touch had smoothed over the edges of his pain. His body relaxed under the soothing warmth of the water, the scent of lavender wrapping around him like a cocoon.

“You know,” Jason said quietly after a few moments, his voice softened by the drowsy comfort of the bath, “I always thought I didn’t need this—someone to patch me up, someone who worries.” He opened his eyes, looking at Jaime with a rare vulnerability. “But you… you make it hard not to want it.”

Jaime’s heart fluttered at the words, his chest tightening with a mixture of love and tenderness. He leaned forward, cupping Jason’s cheek in his hand as he pressed a kiss to his lips—gentle, slow, and full of quiet promises. “That’s because you do need it, Jay. And I’m here.”

Jason’s eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping his lips as he melted into the kiss, his hand resting on Jaime’s, grounding himself in the warmth of his touch. “Lucky me, huh?” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve got the best guy looking out for me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jaime teased softly, brushing his thumb over Jason’s cheekbone before pulling back slightly. “But next time, try not to make me worry so much, yeah?”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and soft as it reverberated through his chest. “I’ll try, bebé. No promises, but I’ll try.”

Satisfied with that, Jaime helped him out of the tub, wrapping him in a towel before guiding him to bed. As Jason sank into the mattress, Jaime slipped in beside him, curling into his side, his head resting on Jason’s chest. Jason’s arms instinctively wrapped around him, holding him close as his thumb idly stroked Jaime’s back.

“Te quiero, Jaime,” Jason whispered into the quiet, his voice filled with a rare, unguarded warmth.

Jaime smiled against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to Jason’s skin. “Te quiero también, Jay. Now rest, mi amor. You’re safe.”

And as the night settled around them, Jason let himself finally believe it—safe, in Jaime’s arms, where the world and its weight couldn’t touch him.

#ficlet #short story #fics #batfam #jason todd #red hood #blue beetle #jaime reyes #batman #batfamily #ship fic #gunbug

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iamgonnagetyouback · 5 months ago

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hi ivy, congratulations on 2k! you're doing so well bb

can i please request for 🧸 teddy dust ￫ enzo berkshire + ʚɞ hurt/comfort prompt: running them a hot bath and letting them decompress whilst you help them bathe + kissing away tears of tiredness and frustration

thank you for sharing your talent. i appreciate the kindness and positive energy you share with the community. here's to more success and fun times!

I THINK YOU MIGHT BE MAGIC.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ㅤ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ L. BERKSHIRE

SUMMARY ৎ୭ after a long, exhausting day, lorenzo comes home looking completely worn down. you don’t hesitate to run him a hot bath, helping him relax as you bathe him with gentle hands and soft kisses, reminding him just how loved he is

WARNINGS ಇ. extreme fluff, soft!lorenzo, lots of kisses, bathing together (but nothing suggestive) A/N ಇ. hi bb!! ahh thank you so much, you’re the sweetest ♡ sending you big hugs 🧸 ilyyyy ‹𝟹 nav. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀2k celebration. ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 668

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The door to your shared apartment creaked open, the telltale sound of keys jingling against the wood as Lorenzo stepped inside. He didn’t say anything at first, just sighed—deep and heavy, like the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders.

You were off the couch in an instant. “Enz?”

He barely lifted his head, just enough to give you a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His usually impeccable posture was gone, replaced by a slouch that made your chest ache. He looked utterly exhausted.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You reached for him, cupping his face in your hands. The coolness of your fingers must have felt nice because he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Long day?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “You could say that.” His voice was rough with fatigue, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before taking his hand and leading him down the hall. “Come on, love. Let’s get you sorted.”

Lorenzo let himself be guided without protest, following you into the bathroom. The warm glow of the lights was soft, inviting, and you wasted no time turning the faucet, letting the tub fill with steaming water. You drizzled in some of the lavender-scented oil he liked—not that he’d ever admit it out loud—and the air filled with the soothing scent almost immediately.

His shirt was the first thing to go, and you helped him ease out of it when his fingers trembled from exhaustion. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes softened at your gentle touch spoke volumes. Once he was undressed, you helped him into the bath, watching as the tension in his shoulders slowly melted away beneath the warmth of the water. He sighed, tilting his head back against the edge, eyes fluttering shut.

You knelt beside the tub, rolling up your sleeves before dipping a washcloth into the water. You ran it over his shoulders and arms, slow and deliberate, and his body sank further into relaxation with each gentle pass. When you moved to cup some water in your hands, letting it cascade over his hair, his lips parted with a sigh—softer this time, almost content.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

You frowned, setting the washcloth aside so you could brush his damp hair back from his forehead. “Don’t say that.”

His lashes lifted, revealing tired but adoring eyes. “I mean it.”

You kissed his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “You deserve everything good in this world, Lorenzo Berkshire.” Another kiss, this time to his lips. “And I’m going to spend forever proving that to you.”

Something in him cracked at that, and before you knew it, silent tears were slipping down his face, mixing with the water droplets on his skin. Your heart clenched at the sight, and you kissed them away one by one, murmuring soft reassurances between each press of your lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, nuzzling against his cheek. “Every bit of you, every tired sigh, every little smile. I love you more than words can say.”

His arms tightened around you, water sloshing slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You always know what to say,” he breathed, voice wavering. “I think you might be magic.”

You giggled softly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Maybe I am. Maybe I was made just to take care of you.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he kissed your shoulder. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky us,” you corrected, kissing his forehead again. “Now, let’s get you all nice and warm, and then we’ll cuddle until you fall asleep, okay?”

He exhaled a shuddering breath, finally—finally—fully relaxing into you. “That sounds perfect.”

And so you stayed, running the cloth over his skin in slow, soothing strokes, whispering to him about everything and nothing until the tension in his body finally gave way to peace.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my workease do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ivy's 2k celebration ༊·˚#𓍼ོ teddy dust 🧸.ᐟ #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire fluff #lorenzo berkshire imagine #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x female reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire fluff #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x y/n

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callme-holly · 3 days ago

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𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬

||۶ৎ in which your boyfriend gets just a little bit carried away with his mouth

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

The air is thick with heat, your whole body thrumming and aching in a way that can only be described as blissful, thighs still trembling, heart still beating at a pace that’s near erratic.

Your eyes are unfocused and glazed over, staring blankly at the crumbling ceiling above you, arms hanging limply by your sides like you’re not sure what else to do with them. Tyler’s hand is resting on your hip, fingers tracing lazy patterns into your skin, his other arm tucked beneath his head.

Neither of you speak for a long while. You don’t have to. Each dying pant leaves you sufficiently succinct.

“You’re quiet,” he rasps eventually, shifting his head against the pillow to glance at you. His eyes are dark as always, lust-filled. You don’t meet them.

“I’m tired.”

He grins, giving a faint nod of approval. “Good. You should be.”

At that, you drive your elbow harshly into his ribs, your own lips quirking with the ghostly traces of a smile. He doesn’t flinch; he simply draws you closer, draping your leg over his hips, hands splayed over your back.

Your skin is marred with bite marks and bruises that are already purpling and sore and tender from his more than rough loving. You shouldn’t be so surprised.

Tyler Durden doesn’t do gentle. He never has, and every single mark you bear is just another reminder that he’s staking his claim. Marking you as his without ever having to say it. You’re the one tangled in his mottled bedsheets, you’re the one screaming his name, and you’re the one the neighbours will grow to hate sooner or later.

He pulls your soul from within you and makes you thank him for the pain. Every little ache is a reminder of how good he treats you…

And yet right now, wrapped up in this moment, his breath steadying, eyes half shut from exhaustion, he looks strangely peaceful. His usual brazen bravado has vanished and has instead been replaced with something akin to calm.

“Ty…” You mumble, lifting your head just enough to look down at him. “You okay?”

He offers a nod in response, a lazy smirk gracing his features, palms smoothing your bare skin in reassurance. His eyes roam your body languidly, as if he’s analysing every little detail beneath the dim, flickering, sickly yellow of the lamp.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, touching a spot on the inside of your thigh where crimson has smeared across the plushness. It makes you wince—he doesn’t notice.

In fact, he looks almost smug. Proud. The mark is clearly from where he’d sunk his teeth too far, too caught up in the haze to care about what he was leaving behind.

“It’s fine.” You brush a strand of hair back from his face, and he scoffs, hands tightening momentarily on your waist before he shifts.

He deposits you back on the empty space beside, the cool of the mattress making you whine as you watch him stand, moving like a wild animal pretending to be human, naked and careless. An enigma in your life.

He disappears into the bathroom without a word, and you're left staring after him, clueless and helpless. The sound of the faucet running cuts through the quiet, the sputtering of water a tell-tale sign, and your brows furrow further.

“Tyler?”

He reappears in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, smirk still ever present, arms crossed over his chest.

“Right here, woman.” He takes a drag of his cigarette—he must have grabbed one in the few moments he was gone. Of course. “Bath aint gonna run itself.”

You sit up a little despite your body’s protests. “Bath? You have bubble bath?”

He raises a brow and turns away, expecting you to follow. “Something like that.”

Your muscles groan in protest as you scramble to stand, holding onto the cabinet as you shuffle after him. The bathroom smells faintly of cheap fragrance, the mirror fogged up with heat.

“I don’t wanna use your soap…” You begin, and he shakes his head, turning off the water and gesturing for you to get in.

“Ain’t mine. Store’s finest. Stole it myself.”

You pause, hand gripping his arm tightly, eyes fixed solely on his, searching. “Promise?”

And for a moment, you swear something in his face softens. Just for a second.

“Swear on my life.”

#callme holly <3 #tyler durden x reader smut #tyler durden x fem reader #tyler durden x reader #tyler durden smut #tyler durden #fight club x reader #fight club smut #fight club #brad pitt x reader #brad pitt x fem reader

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tanjamikaelson · 6 months ago

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BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 23

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 23: | LOVE MAKES YOU CRAZY |

You returned to the house while Rafe and Ward went to the police to track down Sarah and retrieve the stolen gold. Though Rafe hesitated to leave you alone, he ultimately relented after ensuring the house had tight security. You were too shaken by the recent events to go with them; all you wanted was to be in a locked house where you could feel safe again, where no one could threaten you.

After they left, you wandered into the kitchen, grabbing something to eat before heading to the bathroom. The bathwater filled the tub as you stood in front of the mirror, staring at the faint cut on your neck. It wasn’t deep, but it was a stark reminder of how close you came to real danger. You wiped the dried blood away, a sigh escaping your lips as you sank into the warm, soothing water. The bubbles tickled your chin, offering you some semblance of comfort after the chaos of the day.

The house was quiet, the silence amplifying the faint drip of water from the faucet as you sank deeper into the warmth of the bath. The heat eased your sore muscles, relaxing the tension that had built up over the day. You let your eyes close for a moment, savoring the temporary peace, until the soft creak of the door startled you. Your head turned sharply toward the sound.

Rafe stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His usual confident swagger was gone, replaced by a weary posture that betrayed just how much he had been carrying. His shoulders drooped, and his expression was worn, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. Despite the heaviness in his stance, he offered a small, tired smile when your eyes met.

“Did you find Sarah?” you asked, the question tumbling out almost reflexively. It had been gnawing at you since the moment they left. The search for Sarah had been all-consuming, and her absence had left a hole you couldn’t ignore.

Rafe’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His face hardened, and he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “But we found the gold.”

Relief and worry mingled inside you. A small smile tugged at your lips, glad they’d found the gold, but the thought of Sarah still being out there—possibly hurt—made your chest tighten. You watched him carefully, noticing something deeper, something unspoken in the tension of his shoulders and the flicker of his eyes. His words didn’t carry the victory you would’ve expected from finding the gold. It was as if the discovery meant little to him in the face of something bigger.

“Did something else happen?” you asked gently, your voice laced with concern.

Rafe hesitated, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “No,” he said too quickly, stepping further into the bathroom. He avoided your gaze, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for something to anchor himself.

You studied him, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift of his weight from one foot to the other. You knew him better than anyone, and this wasn’t just exhaustion. He was hiding something. Something that mattered.

“Rafe,” you said softly, your tone firm but not unkind. “What’s going on?”

He froze for a moment, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing himself. His gaze finally lifted, locking with yours, but there was a flicker of conflict in his blue eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, the corner of his mouth quirked upward, and a familiar, smug grin replaced his hesitation.

“Can I join?” he asked, his voice low and laced with something teasing.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He leaned against the counter now, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression playfully smug yet still carrying a hint of something unresolved. You could tell he was trying to deflect, to push away whatever had been weighing on him with humor and charm.

Your lips curved into a small smile despite yourself. “Really, Rafe?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at his attempt to change the subject.

His grin widened just slightly as he pushed off the counter, moving closer to the tub. “What?” he said, his tone feigning innocence, though his eyes gleamed mischievously. “You look so relaxed. Thought I could join you, help me unwind, too.”

You shook your head, but there was a flicker of amusement in your expression. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

Rafe crouched beside the tub, his fingers trailing along the water’s surface, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you know you like it.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Fine,” you said softly, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “Get in.”

Rafe’s brows raised slightly in surprise, but the mischievous glint in his eyes returned almost instantly. “Yeah?” he asked, as if testing to make sure you weren’t joking.

You nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, come on. You need to relax as much as I do.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Rafe stood to his full height and pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, tossing it to the side. His toned chest and arms gleamed under the soft bathroom light, his every movement exuding quiet confidence despite the weariness lingering beneath the surface. He kicked off his shoes and socks next, his hands quickly moving to unfasten his belt and jeans.

You couldn’t help but watch him, your eyes tracing the hard lines of his body as he stepped out of his pants. His boxers were the last to go, and once he was fully bare, he looked at you with a crooked grin that was pure Rafe.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and playful.

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “Just get in already,” you said, gesturing to the tub.

Rafe smirked and stepped over the edge, lowering himself into the water with a satisfied sigh. The warmth seemed to immediately work its magic, his tense shoulders relaxing as he leaned back against the tub. His long legs brushed against yours under the water, and he shifted closer, his hand finding your knee and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“This is nice,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. His thumb stroked your knee absentmindedly, his gaze flicking to yours. “Thanks for letting me in.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “You needed it,” you replied simply, your hand brushing against his beneath the water.

The warmth of the water wrapped around you both like a cocoon, the soft splashes muffled by the tension thickening the air. You shifted toward Rafe, straddling his thighs in the water, your knees brushing his sides as you moved closer. The space between you seemed to evaporate, the closeness a balm to the heaviness you felt emanating from him.

“What are you doing?” Rafe asked, his voice low and curious, though his hands instinctively found their way to your hips. His touch was grounding as if he needed to hold onto you to steady himself.

“I want to help you,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his damp hair. You leaned forward, wetting it completely before reaching for the bottle of shampoo. Slowly, you massaged the suds into his scalp, your touch gentle and deliberate. Rafe’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he melted under your care.

Your hands moved down to his chest and back, scrubbing away the day’s tension and grime. Each touch was a silent reassurance, a way to show him that you were there. When you leaned in to kiss him, his lips met yours eagerly, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. The kiss was slow, filled with unspoken words, a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When you finally broke apart, Rafe tilted your chin up with his fingers, his touch featherlight. His eyes lingered on the faint scar along your neck, his jaw tightening as his thumb brushed over the mark. It was a reminder of the danger you had both faced.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

His words hung in the air, weighted with the self-blame he carried like a second skin. You could feel it in the way his shoulders sagged, in the way his gaze flickered to the water as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Rafe,” you said softly, bringing your hand to his cheek. “It’s okay.”

But he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “No, it’s not,” he insisted, his voice trembling with frustration. “I couldn’t protect you.”

You shushed him gently, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I’m just happy nobody got shot,” you said with a small smile, trying to ease the tension. But something in his expression darkened at your words, a shadow crossing his face that you couldn’t quite place.

Rafe’s gaze remained fixed on the water, the weight of his unspoken secret hanging between you. The guilt of what he had done—what he was keeping from you—held him in silence. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you the truth—that he had pulled the trigger on Sarah. Instead, he let the guilt simmer beneath the surface, avoiding your eyes.

“I can’t believe Sarah is alive,” you continued, hoping to shift the conversation. Your hand traced soothing circles on his arm as you spoke. “I thought she was gone.”

"Mhm," was all Rafe could manage in response, his jaw tightening as the mention of Sarah brought a wave of emotion. He should have felt relief that she was alive, but all he could feel was frustration, even anger.

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” you observed, frowning as you noticed the tension in his shoulders.

“How could I be?” Rafe snapped, his blue eyes meeting yours with a flash of anger. “She chose them—those pogues—over her own family.”

You sighed, trying to reason with him. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said bitterly, his voice rising. “She stole from us. Her boyfriend pointed a gun at us.”

“Love makes you crazy,” you said quietly, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, his anger softening as he studied you. “Is love making you crazy?” he asked, his tone shifting, a hint of playfulness creeping in as if he wanted to steer the conversation away from his sister and the feelings he didn’t want to confront.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his face, pulling him closer. “So crazy,” you whispered, kissing him gently. The shift in energy was immediate, the kiss deepening as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

When you pulled back, Rafe’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Yeah, I noticed… like in the truck,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement and desire. The memory of your teasing movements earlier made your cheeks flush with heat.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice shy but playful. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I like that side of you,” Rafe growled, his voice dropping an octave as his hands slid down to your thighs. “It reminded me of that time at the party… when you let me finger you.”

As he spoke, his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing you in the water. You gasped at the sudden touch, your body arching against him as your breath hitched.

“Rafe…” you breathed, his name a plea as his fingers slid inside you, his other hand holding your hips steady. Your moans filled the air, blending with the soft splashes of water as he took control. You could feel his growing erection pressing against you, intensifying the heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “I need you.”

Rafe hesitated for a second, his breath heavy and his eyes searching yours. “Right now? I don’t have a condom,” he warned, though the hunger in his gaze told you he wanted you just as much.

“Just pull out,” you said, your voice firm but filled with desperation. You didn’t care. You needed him now.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Rafe lifted you slightly, positioning you over him. Slowly, he slid inside, the feeling of him filling you making both of you moan in unison. You took a moment to adjust, your hands gripping his shoulders as you began to move.

“Just like that, baby,” Rafe groaned, his fingers finding your clit as he rubbed slow circles. The sensation was overwhelming, and you picked up your pace, your hips slamming down onto him as your moans grew louder.

The water splashed around you, droplets spilling over the edge of the tub as you rode him. “Fuck, baby,” Rafe groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he bucked his hips up to meet your movements.

Your head fell forward as your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out, collapsing onto his chest. You stayed there for a moment, catching your breath before you began moving again, slower this time. Rafe’s head fell back, his jaw clenching as he thrust upward, his movements desperate.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” he groaned, his voice strained.

“Just a little more,” you whimpered, the intensity building again as his fingers worked your clit.

Before you knew it, Rafe groaned loudly, his body tensing beneath you as he came. His hands gripped your hips, his head falling forward against your shoulder. “Shit, shit—get off,” he panted, his voice still thick with pleasure.

You climbed off him carefully, your legs shaky as you settled back into the water. Both of you were breathless, your bodies spent, and Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"We can get some sleep now," he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.

You smiled, rising from the water, feeling the wrinkles on your skin from being in the bath for too long. The two of you dried off, and you slipped into one of Rafe’s t-shirts before climbing into bed beside him. Your head rested on his chest, his hand running through your hair in a soothing rhythm. The steady rise and fall of his breathing lulled you into sleep.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin @wtfdudesblog @davinashifts333

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maraudersoup · 2 months ago

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Fic: Lilac, White, Grey

PAIRING: Castiel/Dean Winchester

GENRE: Character Study, Domestic Fluff

TO NOTE/WARNINGS: not betaread, established relationship, everybody lives AU

WORD COUNT: 1,527

PROMPT: Lilac, White and Grey moodboard (above) from @chevroletdean ‘s 500 celebration challenge!

Ao3 link

Summary:

No longer ‘blunt little instruments’, Cas and Dean reflect on the steps they’ve taken to get to where they are.

Cas

One of the first things Cas learned about humanity was that it was a grotty, painful thing. It made its own cage to pace in, gnawed relentlessly at the bars, grinding its teeth and howling against the winds of life until it simmered down and faded over the course of seventy-odd years. It was hardly a life, the other angels had all agreed. Cas had agreed too. The trees, for example, don’t question their own nature. They don’t choose to snuff the light from the forest floor with their leaves, and they don’t agonise over the consequences because why would they? They’re trees, and they need to reach upwards to live. It’s what they do best.

He would see this and turn to the humans, who wrestled with the meaning of everything constantly, never truly content to accept that existence itself had meaning. It was so disappointing, he’d thought, that God’s greatest creation would sacrifice their own potential over such petty things as interpersonal relationships. Guilt, grief, remorse, they were ugly things to be trapped inside such tiny souls.

Angels were cosmic beings. They couldn’t cry or scream, they couldn’t love and therefore they couldn’t experience heartbreak. The first time an angel in Castiel’s charge died, a galaxy was born. The sense of loss was so strong, so raw that his wings unfurled throughout space, leaving trails of dust light years across in their wake. He can see it from earth, sometimes. Although he hasn’t in many years, not since he fell. The scale of an angel felt almost appropriate for the searing pain of grief. It was no wonder humans drove themselves mad with it. It was no wonder the Winchesters became what they did.

Since returning from The Empty, Cas’s grace had begun to change. It was a slow process, although it wasn’t unpleasant. Cas had been human before, and he felt that his new status was closer to this than anything else he had been in any lifetime. He had struggled to describe the experience to Sam, who had spend the rest of the afternoon hunched over a notebook, firing questions at Cas until hunger had called to them both. Human language, by and large, was not designed to be able to capture the Angelic experience, and English was not a top contender for the closest match.

It seemed that the best way to describe it was as a separation of all Cas considered to be his ‘self’. His earthly experience had once been secondary to his being, where being refers to existence or state. The buzzing of the celestial choir had been a constant, vibrant thing, as tangible and necessary as air to breathe or water to drink. Now there was silence, with an occasional hum as though through a closed door. At night, before he drifted off to sleep, he would sink back with ease into the bath of noise that his siblings carried with them.

As disturbing as the experience had been at first, Cas was growing to appreciate the space left behind. A part of him had been, in some sense, lost - but now he had room to enjoy the motions of the new small life that had replaced his former family. Sometimes the leaky faucet down the hall kept him awake at night, and he would have to struggle against Dean’s arms to get up and tighten it. He would often sit by the window in the library with his morning coffee, inhaling the rich aromas as he watched birds fly high above. Time was infinitely more precious now that he had the chance to quantify it with aching joints and wrinkles.

Dean had lived with this his whole life. He’d lived through pain and suffering at the hands of his father, by the command of heaven and hell, and still emerged a righteous man. What a spot on humanity it would be if he was the only one who could do it. If Dean could remain soft, if humanity could leap into the arms of age with honour and reverence, why not Castiel?

All this to say, humanity was the greatest experience, and the greatest honour that Cas had ever received. It was love unrestrained, unbound and pure. Or maybe he just got lucky.

Dean

Sometimes there was nothing quite like waking up to Cas’s soft breathing. It never got old. Dean would often lie there for a half hour or so, just soaking in the puffs of air that hit his nose as he slowly woke up to start the day. Cas's hair was ruddy in the mornings, sex tousled and dangerous looking. It always reminded him of their first meeting. There was something in that, he thought, that a solider of heaven could let himself fall into bed with a man, with Dean, and wake up with the words “Hello Dean,” on his lips.

Dean’s new life felt like vindication after everything they had been through. He could finally cook in his own goddamn kitchen, in his own goddamn home with its own freaking driveway. He could bake, and read, and sing, and learn about the plants in Cas’s garden, and call Sammy, and he never had to look over his shoulder again. Jack’s promise. So there was bread every week, and books piled high on his night stand that he would eventually get around to finishing, and he used the veg that Cas brought in for new recipes, and called Sam every other night so they could talk for hours and bitch about gas prices.

Sometimes he worried that he was going to use it all up, and that maybe one day Cas would get tired of him taking up space, food, time, sheets, anything. Then he’d wake up to a new morning, and relish the short minutes before Cas opened his eyes and smiled, soft and bashful in the cool light that fell through the blinds, and none of those worries mattered anymore. They deserved this.

“I’ve grown to understand my father’s vision,” Cas murmured one evening.

It had been a warm day, and the heat lingered on as the sun made its way towards the horizon. Dean and Cas were sitting on the steps of their porch enjoying the breeze. Cas liked to stargaze, Dean liked to watch him. It worked.

”Gee, man. That’s a little high brow for,” Dean checked his watch, “6 o’clock, don’t you think?”

Cas laughed softly, and Dean gave him time.

”I mean for humans. Mortal life. It’s addictive, it’s painful, but it’s utter bliss.” He smiled at the sky. “I suppose that’s all I understand. As I’ve grown in love with this life, I’ve rediscovered something similar to the anger I used to feel. The anger that I felt when I first started questioning.”

A pair of bats crossed the sky, flitting too and fro almost too quickly for Dean to track.

“Why would he leave you all? You truly are his most wonderful creation. It seems cruel, it seems insulting, that he would abandon you all when you so desperately search for purpose in this life.” Cas didn’t seem particularly angry when he said this.

He sounded confused, maybe a little lost. Dean moved his hands over to take Cas’s, where they’d become entangled at his knees in frustration. He spoke quietly, leaning in like he was telling a secret.

“I’m glad he left.” Cas looked up. Dean carried on, “Seriously. I used to tear myself up about it, you know, why would he make all these awful things and then dip? But then something Sam said a while ago made me think, something about being clean. Maybe we’re made dirty. Everything can’t be all light, or all dark, it’s gotta meet in the middle somehow. People call God ‘The Creator’, so maybe that’s all he is. He created everything, and when there was nothing more to make he left. This is how it is, nothing to save you from yourself but you and the family you make.”

”Life isn’t perfect, people aren’t perfect, nothing is. But we can make it good. We can deal with the bad when it comes, ‘cause we know it’s gonna come, and we can pick up the pieces together.” He paused for a second. Cas was looking at him with those dark blue eyes, giving his full, undivided attention.

“He left. Fine. But we’re still here, right? That counts for something. Everything, actually. Just living is enough and Cas,” He smiled down at him, “I think we’re doing a damn good job. Don’t you?”

Cas smiled for a second, then he let out a soft laugh. It was a stilted sort of thing, Dean loved it, Cas always laughed like he didn’t mean to, like it was the first time this had happened to him.

“Have I ever told you?” Cas started, then he stopped and let out a breath. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Somehow, even when he felt like the air had been punched out of him, Dean replied.

”Every day, sweetheart. I love you.”

”I love you.”

#supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #Castiel #Dean Winchester #domestic fluff #fluff #character study #ao3 #chevroletdean's 500

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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This huge brick 1900 Craftsman in New Castle, Indiana is a fixer upper, but it has such unique features, it's well worth the price. 5bds, 4ba, reduced $10.1K to $289,900.

Large entrance hall with original butternut wood.

The parlor has attractive turquoise tiles on the fireplace and it has beautiful built-in bookcases.

The living room also has a fireplace, plus look at those beautiful columns between the living and dining rooms. And, the owners left an organ, too.

The dining room has double doors to the hall, wainscoting, and a built-in cabinet. They also left a piano. I love the swinging door to the kitchen- it has a little window just like a restaurant door.

I like the table over the radiator here in the informal dining room and it also has a beautiful built-in cabinet.

The kitchen has original cabinets, but one thing confuses me. It looks like they replaced some of the door fronts with plywood. Other than that, it's a wonderful kitchen.

The pantry has this original big honkin' freezer. I wonder if it still works. Even if it doesn't, it's cool and could be used for storage.

Nice remodeled powder room has the original medicine cabinet and a nice pedestal sink.

The finished basement has a rec room with a bar. It needs a floor and I love the stained glass ceiling, but I wonder if it can be refurbished.

There's also a full kitchen down here.

On the landing to the 2nd level is a delicate stained glass window.

At the top of the stairs is a large sitting area with a fireplace. The roof must've leaked b/c all the ceilings on this floor need repair.

The principal bedroom has lovely fireplace with mint green tiles.

The ceiling is damaged in here and it's also affected the wall, but look at the little cubby. Love the doors, too.

This bathroom between 2 bedrooms is original. Look at how beautiful the tile is, and that little font with the faucet in the wall. How unique is that? It has the original sconces and etched mirror on the medicine cabinet.

The bedrooms are so full of light.

The smaller room was used as a child's room.

Look at this bath- love the tile around the sink and the original heater. It has a built-in cabinet, but whatever that wire is hanging down, should be fixed b/c it's not going to pass inspection.

This is nice- a large 2nd level deck.

The attic is a very large finished space but the ceiling is water damaged.

This area need to be finished.

The beautiful outdoor wood features need to be repainted.

There's a 2 car garage, but not much of a yard b/c most of the space was blacktopped. The lot is .25 acre.

#craftsman homes #fixer upper #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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upthewitchypunx · 7 months ago

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Having an old house is like when something breaks, you fix it and them something else breaks. Sometimes it happens in 3s. Sometimes that third thing fixes itself?

Ian B locked himself out of the downstairs bath, then he locked himself in the downstairs bath. So I replaced the doorknob. Then I replaced the faucet to the upstairs sink because it became broke in new ways.

Then the kitchen sink was clogged for the first time in over a decade. I put some cleaner in but it was clogged for 3 days. I opened a tab on my laptop for a local plumber recommended by neighbors. They looked like a real M-F 9-5 place so I figured we'd do that weird British thing of keeping a tub in the sink*, and I'd call on Monday.

Well, the sink seems to be clear this morning after 5 or 6 full kettles of hot water over the last few days. I'm just going to assume the tab for the plumber being open for a few days was some some of spell?

*I've stayed at several British houses where they keep a plastic tub in the sink for washing dishes, I don't really get it. I did not mean to insinuate they don't have plumbing, we were clearly dumping our water outside because it wouldn't go down the drain. The tub was just an easy fix until my plumber Firefox tab spell worked.

#firefox tab spell #does it work for other things?

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the-fiction-witch · 1 year ago

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Hysteria P2

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Smut

Part One

I hummed a little tune to myself as I twisted the copper tap, it trembled and clanked a little before the steamy water flooded from the faucet into the freshly cleaned porcelain. I continued to humm to myself as I danced like a ballerina around the marble stone of the bathroom floor, in the gentle light of the setting sun through the frosted window. I held my silk robe around my body as I danced to my mind's music, the robe being all that concealed me. Even if I often let it slip off my shoulder or rise to my thigh.

"My, my," I jumped and turned to the door as I clutched my robe tightly, seeing my father in the doorway,

"Father!" I protested, "Can't a young lady have some privacy?"

"Alright, Alright," he sighed, "I should start paying in advance,"

"For what?"

"You're treatments, with doctor dawkins." He said and immediately I attempted to hide my blush, "You seem to be getting better far more chipper and sweet than you used to be." he said, "For a pound a week I must admit... it worth it to have my daughter not screaming my head off." he said,

"I'm- I'm glad you think so Father," I smiled,

He nodded and headed off, so I shut and locked the bathroom door before turning off the tap on the bath now it was filled with sweet steamy water. I pushed off my robe and let it pool at my feet. I stepped into the hot water gasping as my skin met the hot water. I sat down and sighed joyfully as the water soothed my body. I washed my body up and down and scrubbed my skin with the washcloth while humming my little tune to myself. But the longer I lay in the hot water the more my mind travelled lower, my legs shifted and my thighs rubbed together. The thought of Doctor Dawkins wouldn't leave my mind.

Of his fluffy messy hair, of his blood-ladened scent, of his rough skin, of his sly smile, of his chocolate eyes, of his long skilled nibble surgeon's fingers...

My body began to sink into my tub and the hand that had been scrubbing my legs slipped higher and higher, in my mind his hand replaced my own, and his voice filled my ears,

"My goodness Miss Y/l/n, you seem very tense today,"

I blushed as I let my hand move higher and began to stroke my clit being a little rougher so my smooth skin felt more like his rough tough,

"humm very tense indeed Miss Y/l/n, you must have missed me."

I sunk lower into my water so the water sat just below my nose, letting my fingers slip inside me and trying to mimic his movements, his touch, his everything. I knew My body was trembling in the water, my jaw slack as I took sharp breaths through my nose,

"Maybe we should bring you in for more appointments Y/n, maybe I should just keep you up in my room and take care of my poor hysterical girl?"

"UUuhhhhhh!" I gasped as I threw back against the bathtub and I hit my orgasm. I couldn't hold back my giggles and my blush so I quickly finished my bath and got myself to bed.

I Almost skipped down the street to the hospital, I stepped up the stairs and through the wooden door, as soon as I entered I saw Doctor Dawkins as he came from the ward paperwork in hand,

"Ohh Morning Miss-" He began but I simply spun across the floor with a wide smile and all but crashed into him nuzzling my head on his waistcoat, "Uhhh... morning?" he chuckled, "Someone's cheery today,"

"I was looking forward to my appointment," I smiled,

"Alright, come on then." He chuckled but I wouldn't move so he sighed and simply lifted me in his arms to carry me to his office, I giggled kicking my feet playfully as I nuzzled close and held him a little until we reached the office where he set me down on the table, he tried to move but I wouldn't let go. "You are very cuddly today aren't you?" he chuckled,

"I missed you," I admit,

"Awww, I missed you too," He smiled kissing my hand, "Now let me go. So I can get your pillow I don't want you to be uncomfortable,"

I nodded and let him go so he went and fetched the little pillow giving it a plump before sitting it on the table for me,

"There we go, now lay down for me Miss Y/l/n," He smiled,

I nodded and happily laid on the table with a wide and excited smile,

"You look very beautiful, as always,"

"Thank you, doctor Dawkins,"

"I swear sometimes you just dress up for me,"

I blushed but didn't answer as he softly tugged up my dress, I bit my lip as I felt his hand stroke up my inner leg, all the way up to my thigh. I gasped as his warm hand made contact with me and began to stroke my insides, I let my eyes roll back staring at the ceiling trying to savour every second,

"Ughh..." he complained slightly moving a little,

I found his new angle even better and I was struggling not to moan,

"God your tense today..."

"I know..." I gasped my legs already trembling for his touch,

"AHhh fuck-" he complained moving away and holding his hand,

I panicked as my joy died down after being so close to the edge I felt angry that he had moved away so much so I whined, as I sat up but I saw he was in pain. "What's wrong doctor dawkins?"

"ohh itds fine. it's nothing..." he said,

"Did I-"

"No no, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Hand cramp," he complained shaking his hand a little,

"Oh!"

"Been doing some work down in the morgue all morning guess my hand was a bit stiff..." He explained,

"Ohh, you poor thing," I cooed, "let me help," I offered,

"Wha-" He began but I took his hand and began to stroke my fingers against his, I rubbed my hands around his thin skin, his rough fingertips, massaging his hand for him, "Ooh... thank you, that's very kind of you y/n," he smiled down at me,

"Well you're always so kind to me, I should repay you," I smiled,

"Should you?" he raised an eyebrow, "maybe I should come to you every day to get a nice massage?"

I blushed, "You'd be more than welcome doctor,"

"I can only apologise, I know how... frustrating it is to be so … close and yet being unable to take what you so desperately need," He smirked,

for a moment there was silence between us as I slowly massaged his hand I would glance up to him and he'd always be making eye contact with me but his words had made me blush so hard I couldn't dare to look him in the eye, my heart raced as I felt this burning between us and I let my mouth run on its own forcing out the only words I could face myself saying, "I assume you know what you are doing to me?"

"Miss y/n everything I do is purely medical" he teased,

"Yes, of course," I nodded,

"But" He spoke up again his hand moving to take my own preventing my hand from moving, "… I am also a man," He smirked, "And I understand the ways of a woman,"

"So you-" I began

"So if you're asking if I'm aware of what I'm doing to you?" he growled moving closer to rub his nose on the bridge of my own, "The answer is ....yes." He gasped against my lips,

"And it doesn't bother-" I stuttered,

"It amuses me,"

"Amuses?"

"I admit, it amuses me, To see you try and hide it," he chuckled, "We both know what I've been doing to you. Now it is officially the treatment for hysteria. But that doesn't mean we both aren't enjoying it."

"So ... this is just treatment?" I asked meeting his eyes,

"Technically," he nodded, "but you're the only one I do it for?"

"I am?!"

"You are. I'm a surgeon I don't tend to bother with the day-to-day hysteria of young ladies, except you,"

"I'm a lucky girl then," I giggled,

"And I'm a very lucky doctor," he chuckled, "so? My hand feels much better now thank you," he squeezed my hand in his,

"You're welcome,"

"Shall we continue and satisfy my poor little ladies hysteria?" he smirked,

"Maybe we should investigate your own?" I raised an eyebrow and let the corner of my mouth curl up into a smile,

"Men do not get hysteria," he chuckled,

"Really? I think you're showing all the signs" I smiled closer,

"Am I?" He moved closer too,

"I think so," I nodded stroking my nose on his, "I could… assist you, doctor?" I offered stroking my other hand up his waistcoat,

"You could," He smirked, his other hand coming to cup my cheek rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone, "but I have something else in mind," he whispered before he pulled our lips to meet.

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unnoticedunawarestillhere · 7 months ago

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Open your eyes.

I gripped the both sides of the sink, my knuckles turning white.

She can't be dead. She isn't.

The ceremony starts in five minutes. People are already gathering in.

And here I am in the backstage bathroom throwing up my guts.

I stare at the mirror, slowly tilting my head up.

There, a sick looking man just stares back. The rings under his eyes striking out on dull white skin and bleak looking freckles. There's a bruise right in the middle of the bridge of his nose, black, red and purple. His hair is dishevelled as well as darker than he remembers. His tux clinging to his frame, the tie slanted and the buttons loose. Red smeared across his lips.

That man is me.

I turn on the faucet, watching the crimson mixing with clear water as it spirals down the drain.

I cupped up some water and splashed it on my face, cold drenching my skin while it trickled down. I dry my face off with my suit's sleeve, erasing the blood and matting off the water.

I glanced back at myself, my eyes narrowing.

"I hate you," I hissed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People are beginning to take their seats now. I recognize a few people in the front row.

Cassidy, wearing a black gown and a tinted veil over her face. Her sea green eyes looking weary and bleak while her husband, Robert, whispered words of comfort and put his arm over her shoulder.

Like that's gonna bring her sister back, jackass.

Clifford, a sort of friend of mine, came as well. He's sitting next to Robert. His suit is a dark grey, looking well cleaned up, considering this guy couldn't give a damn about his appearance most of the time.

Florence also came. Her face looked upset and overwhelmed by sadness. She's wearing a black dress, white gloves and a black rose in her brown hair.

Weird. How do you grieve for a person you've never met?

Charlie's parents are here, sitting on the second bleacher in the front row. Their faces weathered from time, but now chiselled from grief. Her mother won't stop crying.

As people settle down, their voices hushed, the pastor began to speak. Something about her resting in peace and God is watching over her.

Behind the curtain, I visibly scowl.

He's lying. She isn't resting in peace. She isn't watched over by God. If God really was watching, he wouldn't have let this happen.

She was too young. Too smart. And yet too naive at the same time.

"Stop it, stop it, just stop it..!" I whispered under my breath as he continued.

"-may we all grieve for the loss of Charlie Forester. A good friend. A precious daughter-"

"No...no...stop it. You didn't even know her..!" I hissed quietly from behind the blue curtain. I can feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

"-and a wonderful sister," the man said,his voice steady as his words echoed through the church.

I froze, feeling like I've been hit in the stomach. My eyes are stinging. My heart is heavy and my chest is way too tight.

I can't breathe and I can't cry.

I can't cry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He finished his speech with a few prayers. His prayers are interrupted by quiet sniffles and a few whimpers from Charlie's mother. Does he stops and assures them? As a man of God, surely he cares for his people?

Nope. Just keeps on going with his worthless prayers.

Some prayers bring comfort to folks.

I don't judge. But to folks like me? They never really did.

He's finally done and motions me onto the stage.

I take a deep breath and walk slowly to the front of the stage, replacing the pastor. My figure was bathing in the light above while all eyes were now turned to me.

I can hear a few whispers.

"-he isn't suppose to be up there-"

"-not even related to the family."

"-looks a little young-"

I tense, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. My heart is now rattling against my rib cage.

I cleared my throat, my voice a little rough, "Charlie Forester was someone very dear to me. We weren't siblings by blood, but by a deep bond. And it brings me great...pain..to.." I trailed off.

What's happening?

Sweat beads down my forehead and my knees feel weak.

Stop it.

I continue on, "To have her gone. To have her ripped away from the people she loved and treasured. Even if...even if some of those people didn't deserve her love and time." My tone is still rough, but now it's unsteady.

My vision is blurred at the ends, fogging up almost like glass. The tips of my hands feel numb.

Stop it. Please.

My heart wants out. It's gripping my rib cage like prison bars and won't stop tugging on them, tearing at them. My lungs are getting too clustered and my face feels flushed.

I can't breathe. I can't cry. I can't feel my legs.

I watch as Cassidy looks at me with concern in her puffy eyes beneath the veil.

Clifford's mouthing something at me. Reassurance, maybe? I can't tell.

It's not that I haven't practice this speech. I practiced all the damn time before this day. Even in front of Jack.

I wish Jack was here. Here so he could tell me everything was alright. Here so that he could hug me and comfort me. "It's alright to cry, Hudson," he'd say.

But he isn't here to say that.

The pastor is whispering something to me. I think.

He places a hand on my shoulder.

Don't touch me.

"Are you alright, my son?" He asked.

Do I look alright?

"She's in god's realm. Resting peacefully," he assured me, his hand still resting calmly on my shoulder.

God's realm, my ass.

"Would you like to say a prayer for her now?"

I clenched my fists.

No.

...

I swung my fist, my vision still blurred.

Thud. Gasps. Yells. Heavy breathing.

Two men drag me away from my arms before I can finish the job.

Cassidy's telling me to stop.

Clifford looks horrified.

Florence is sympathetic.

And Jack would probably be disappointed.

They're yelling at me. The men behind me. Their grip forceful as they drag me off stage. Away from the pastor, who's also being dragged away. Not for the reason you might think.

I try and shrug their hands off my shoulders, thrashing as something streams down my face.

I'm crying. Yelling. Screaming.

She didn't deserve to die. She couldn't be dead.

My lungs are begging for air and my heart is still enraged.

My throat burns.

. . .

I̵̢̛͖̩̖͛͝ͅ ̵̧͖̩̹̦̰̲̆̃͑͘͜ḽ̸̢̣̘̭͓̉́̈́͊̇ö̷̢͕͓̘̲̤͇̱v̵̝̙͉̦̘͇̥̈́́͑̄e̸̟̲̼̼͉̜̠͚͛̑́ ̴̗̻́ý̷̨̭̥̲͉̳̦̓̎͑͗̐̂͘͜ơ̶̡͙̻̱̟͔̒ṷ̴͉͕̱̜͗̀͝ͅ,̷̼̭̐͌̃̀́͗̉̕ ̴̞̲͍͕̜͙͋̀͊̈́͐̎̏͑C̶̢̈́̈́͐͐h̴̦̥̻̎̏̌̉̅̏͛͘ä̸̦̬́̈́̏̇̂̌͜r̴͉̲͈̱̞̮̆̽̀ĺ̴̟̳̠̦̱͙͊̔̄͗͂͐̉i̴̧̝̞̺̤̰̩̦̐̇̆̇̄̔ȩ̴̻͎͕̂.̸̮̥̥̖̬̔͌̀͋ ̸̢̰̻̬̩̯̪̗͒̀͋͑͛̈́̐̕ ̸̨̎̓̈́͛̋̒̿͌A̷̞͇̰̓̆͒̕n̴̜̿̄̄͒̚͘d̸̫̪̺̰̟̐̈́̈́̔ͅ ̸̻̅̓̽́͝͠I̷̧̢̳̦̟̾͆̈́̀'̴̤̠̤͆̏̒̑̌͑̒͝m̸̮̓̐̂͑ ̷̺͛̈́s̸̢̈́̀̇̕ơ̴͍͓̜̜̐̀̾͑͋r̵̞̤̹͍͍̠̅̏̓͛̒̅͝͝r̸̡̥̯̘̠̖̼̜̆͌͝͠ÿ̶̖̖̳̜̥̼̜͉̾́̀̕ ̵̡̣͖̪̰̔I̷̝̅̌̿͋̌ ̴̼̭̽̽̓̑̿̽̒͛ŕ̴͖̗͈͓̈́̈́̋̑ų̴̧͕͚͙͎̥̆̂̊ì̸̧͕͓̳̻̪̘͐́̌̇̾̿͜n̷̜͔̙̩̠̞̳̑̊̏̆̚ė̵̤̤͜d̵̨͔͉̜̫̜̽̅͋́̀̂ ̷̟̲͇̓ͅe̵͉͐̉̈̽͑v̴̬̰̊̔͊͘ḙ̷̞̽̑̈́r̶̗̣̣̄͊̈ý̵͓͆͝t̶͙͓̠̼̞̟̦̐̂̍͛͠h̵̡͖̦̻͍̄̋͑̆̽̌i̵̮̱͂̈̅͑n̶̯͓̈́̏͂͒̈́́̇g̵̝̟̃͛͌.̵̳̲̳̭̇̈́ ̸̻̲̅̾͊́̈́̒͘ ̶̤͐̔̐͋͌͆͝E̷͌̕͜v̸̭̲̳̀̊̄͜͠e̶̘̙̦̱͐̃̆͌̕̚͝n̶̡̠͎̮̂̈́̂̇͂͒͝ ̵͖͈̙̗͈̖̍͆͝y̶̢̹͚͇̯͘o̸̢͋̑͗̎͐͐̃͝ǘ̷͍͓̭̼͔̠̈́̐̐̎͝r̸̖̞̩̱̆̊͗ ̸͖̲͙͈̦͈̀̿́͛͊̎́̑o̷̡̬͍̞̰͔͚͆̽̽̅̆̔͝w̸̰̲̖̲͂̊͛̈͛̒͂̉ń̷̡̙̬͖͎͖̎ͅ ̸̥͎̎͒̑̏̍̓͝f̴̩̦̭̬̳̣̜̗͒͑̑̎͋ư̴̪̏̐́̽̍͑ń̷̨̜͓̟͓͉̠͎͗͛͆̓̕e̴͓̔͋r̵̳͍͇̿͌͐͝a̷̻͌͑̈́̎̑̚l̶̙̅́͝͠.̸̳̘̯̝̹̼͓́̐͋̉̅͝͠

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(Gift for @creationandcalamityau . Inspired by our recent rp. @thelocalmoth 's Jack is mentioned as well)

#forgotten creations au #writer hudson #batim #charlie forester #Cassidy forester #Robert conay #clifford conway #Mentioned: Jack fain #Florence #Most are not my ocs and belong to calamity

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anony-man · 11 months ago

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Chubformers drabble #82!

Character: Megatron (TFP)

Word count: 472

The night’s menu consisted of a new tactic for relieving the influx of stress weighing him down, and Megatron could hardly wait.

Chugging water to bloat himself up wasn’t one of his typical go-to outlets, but with the recent uptick in energon mines lost to the Autobots, Megatron was forcibly pushed out of his usual comforting habits. There was no room for stuffing himself with as much fuel as he could take each night before dozing off when they could hardly keep their tanks full as it was.

Megatron stood in his private washracks, the shower head balanced between his servos. He’d taken the top off, leaving only the open tubing left, and was finding it difficult to gear up the courage he needed to shove the end in his mouth and turn the faucet on. He wanted the relief, and he wanted the comfort of a full belly, but this was… it was different.

Soundwave’s eager assistance was declined with a great bit of hesitation, but now that he was here, sat on the shower stall bench with nothing stopping him but reaching up and turning the knob, Megatron wasn’t so sure.

He just had to get over his fear, he supposed. It was like funnel feeding, but on his own. With water. And no assistance around should something go wrong.

Primus, this was a bad idea. Nevertheless, Megatron slotted the tube between his lips and reached up for the knob.

The water was cool at first, and he had no issues with holding the tubing steady as he drank, swallowing mouthful after mouthful in time with the steady output. His belly had begun to stretch and strain after only a few seconds in, and the feeling of chilly water sitting in his tanks was almost unpleasant compared to the lukewarm taste of rich energon. Unsatisfied, Megatron turned the knob further to the left.

Much, much better. Cold water wasn’t bad, but the sensation of the warmth spreading from the inside out as he chugged mouthful after mouthful. The heat of the pipes and the comfort of something hot and filling was just the mixture he needed to be at ease, and Megatron found it much easier to continue drinking his own weight in bath water.

By the time he’d had his fill, his belly was ballooned outwards, the swell of his rolls morphing into one massive blob that hung over onto his lap. Megatron sighed in satisfaction before dropping the hose to give his belly a good shake, the audible slosh of liquid inside the perfect reward for his efforts.

Chugging water was hardly a replacement for good old fashioned fuel, but as he leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the comfort of a nice full and jiggly belly, he supposed it was good enough for the time being.

#chubformers #tfp megatron #anon man writes

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arcane-radio · 6 months ago

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@tastefulfinery ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ [ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇ ] ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — Tentacletober

𝐖𝐂: 1.6k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Alastor, Tentacle Monster, Alastor's Shadow, Rosie mention.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: Non-Con Corporal Punishment (spanking)

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: Debt to Nature.

𝑨𝑶3 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓

A challenge submitted by @tastefulfinery , I was given: surprise tentacles, from the Tentacletober Prompts.

After a day discreetly engaged with anal training, following the not-so-subtle interest Lady Rosie had shown, the unsuspecting Radio Demon had found himself learning a very harsh lesson behind the (unlocked) door of the bathroom.

Seeking to end the day's training with the glass butt plug, Alastor's Shadow and Tentacles had other ideas...

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Tentacles, Marking, Non-Consensual Groping, Wash With Soap, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Anal Play, Butt Plugs, Impact Play, Bondage and Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Overstimulation, Sounds Correction, Soap Gags, Forced Infantilism, Mommy Kink, pegging implications

Rapidly blinking away the tears that blurred his vision, was fruitless. As soon as they cleared, a fresh surge replaced them. Stinging hot, the bitter tang of soap filled his flared nostrils — whatever misstep throughout the journey to this predicament, Alastor had reached a flimsy conclusion: the answer wasn't so convoluted as originally suspected.

Suspended in mid-air in the middle of Lady Rosie's luxurious en suite, which shamed ordinary master bathrooms — Alastor had found himself suffering a prolonged hiding.

All because he had thought dabbling in anal training for his excited Mistress was going to be a walk in the park.

Evidently, his Shadow and the Shadow Realm’s tentacles hadn't agreed. The Radio Demon had surmised they were convinced their Master was cheating on Rosie.

The tears trickling still, Alastor was presently arranged in a most embarrassing position, half-naked and with no end in sight. Half an hour had already passed, the hot water faucets in the free-standing claw-foot ceramic bathtub next to him on full blast. The streaming water’s jets echoed loudly in the room, not at all helping in covering up the startled shriek when in the midst of preparing his evening bath, a mass of tentacles had manifested without permission.

The en suite's door shut, the reverberated yelp probably should have been noticed by Rosie — who knew not to disturb her lover when he wanted some personal, quiet time — although she should have suspected something was amiss, judging by the assortment of pathetic and degrading noises the Radio Demon was making, combined by the constant stream of hot water splashing down the drain when it should have been turned off a long time ago.

What Alastor desperately wanted Rosie NOT to do was now come to his rescue. The door had not been locked. For emergencies, or a simple change of mind regarding solo-play… Alastor's Shadow, after the initial shove in the back to stumble his Master off balance, thrown forward over the tub, the mischievous Shadow had only escalated the ensuing drama by handing the tentacle Rosie's favourite wooden hairbrush.

Two large tentacles were secured tightly wrapped around Alastor’s middle, pinning his arms straight to his sides, hands splayed open to spasm systematically as the Overseer tentacle walloped the poor Radio Demon’s red-hot backside with the flat hairbrush. The wet hairbrush.

Rewind the scene.

The three tentacles’ black silken flesh shining under the lights overhead, steam from the running bathwater broken by their bulk supported through the magick portal shimmering directly above the unmatched pair. Likewise, the deer demon's hair and fur was plastered to his scalp, ears dripping wet as they bounced with every savage spank bruising his raised ass.

Still mostly dressed, upon stumbling forward and catching himself winded on the edge of the tub’s cold rim, the two tentacles had abruptly hoisted him high up to relieve his legs to dangle helplessly — the position took away from him the relief dealt by the impacts of the rough spanks absorbed through the floor via his hooves. Suspended, weightless, the tentacles had guaranteed he would feel every iota of smacked flesh. The tails of his coat were flung over his shoulders, his slacks pulled down just enough to expose the line separating his sit-spots from his thighs.

Thoughts fragmented, the miserable Overlord had surrendered at long last, hanging limply in the tentacle’ squeezing embrace. Face flushed pink in absolute shame, sniffling forlornly, Alastor had to wait out his punishment to the bitter end. Fighting back had only made this predicament worse.

After the tentacles had strung up the surprised deer, arms locked snug and bent forward head-down-ass-up, he had sensed the pair of hands (of course belonging to his treasonous Shadow) reach around his front to hastily unbuckle and slip the straps of his belt, before undoing the fly and dragging his slacks and underwear down to above the knee. Once that job was complete, Alastor hadn't seen any sign of his trenchant mirror — most likely keeping Rosie busy, the fiend.

Now alone, the Overseer Tentacle had set to work. No warm up. No prep. Punishment fit for an absurdly naughty boy, Alastor refused to accept this was a natural state of affairs, a justified overreaction.

At first, the tentacle had calmly examined him — taking it's time, the slick tip winding it's way up and around the slopes of Alastor's exposed rear, experimentally squeezing his unshaven furry sac; prompting another strangled shriek from the struggling demon. It had swiftly put an end to it's prisoner signalling Rosie for assistance — grabbing a washcloth resting on the tub’s rack, it had shoved the soapy rag into Alastor's resistant jaws, forcing the disgusting cloth in to stifle his cries.

Gagging on the suds, acutely aware of the marvelous familiar domestic design of his impending punishment, modeled after Rosie's penchant for the traditional ways, Alastor froze the instant he had felt the Overseer resume it's ministrations.

The tentacle had discovered the source of this evening’s problem.

The glass butt plug Alastor had been wearing all day, as part of the training for Rosie's pegging playtime.

Heart racing, the petrified Overlord senselessly bucked in a vain effort displaying his indignation, clearly unable of going anywhere. Ears rigid and turned back, eager to detect any audible warning to aid his dissolving self-control, there was nothing to suggest the Overseer's movements. Cycling his legs needlessly aloft, the wild kicking at best emphasized to the Overseer that he knew he was in deep trouble, Alastor's hopeless tactic to curl his bent body in the fetal position offered the excruciating implement a better aim.

Nudging the base of the plug elicited a panic-stricken whimper. Attempts to lift it in any direction drew muffled squeals, the deer trying to kick out, arching his back — quickly stiffening once the Overseer had grabbed the base deftly, pulling it back to almost pop the buried knot past his two inner stretched rings, before releasing the plug to slide it back inside, filling him up again. Groaning wretchedly, the Overlord fought to stay still, unflinching, to present a boring demonstration of the toy's effect. Unsuccessful, for the deer's stressed hole fluttered around the walls of the plug's neck, the stimulation stirring a knot of unwanted arousal in the pit of his belly.

Taking aim, the wooden hairbrush whisked through the air to land squarely on the butt plug.

The Radio Demon's shrill scream cut through the expanse of Rosie's bedroom and antechamber.

Muffled by the soapy washcloth, the scream was impressive.

The Overseer continued without a care, uncompromising and indifferent to the boundaries of safety and sanity.

The tentacle rhythmically spanked Alastor over the butt plug, each heavy blow sending a jolt of overstimulated pleasure rippling through his stretched hole. Each smack was fierce, swung perfectly and unyielding, no pauses to allow a brief respite, until soon enough it had determined the Radio Demon required crueler punishment. Alastor's cheeks had turned a lovely shade of bright red — circular domes patching his exposed skin like a piebald, the skin burning hot and tingling with electricity. Persistent, the stalwart smacks had worked up Alastor's seat and sweet spot to the brink of abrasion.

Swollen and glossy, the first lull in the vigorous, scandalously loud whacks without pause had lured Alastor into a false sense of safety. The tentacle had pulled the cloth gently from his strained jaws, and dipped the cloth into the hot bathwater.

Gasping for breath, wheezing, legs jerking spasmodically, Alastor hadn't the time to scrutinize his supposed preconceived lesson (had the Shadow and tentacles been waiting all day?) when out of the blue that Overseer had rinsed the washcloth in the hot water, soaking it well before it began soaping up his trembling backside.

Pushing the drenched fabric up between his twitching cheeks, roughly nudging the embedded plug deeper to tease, the tentacle methodically wiped his throbbing rump up and down, ignoring it's prisoner's injured bleats of pain — that was the point. Finding all the crevices and valleys, soaping up his previously fluffy tail to stick up like it was made of paper-mâché, sweeping in under his sac to moisten the fur in front into ruffled spikes as well, encircling the bulge inside his pants in a parting caress, the soap bubbles dotting his swollen cheeks — finally satisfied, it then shoved the offending cloth back between Alastor's clenched jaws, and resumed the spanking ten-fold.

The smacks rained down faster and heavier than he had known, the hot water bringing a brand new element of intensified pain to the volleys of smacks. Whenever it had sensed his inflamed skin was drying out, the Overseer had kept up the strict routine — Alastor obediently relaxing his jaw for the tentacle to remove the washcloth, rinse-and-soak it in the basin, rub a new coat of the soapy lubricant all over his pulsating ass, then reinsert the cloth back inside his waiting mouth.

Rejecting the insulting prop only yielded a stern warning — the tentacle paused it's swings, tapping the middle of the glass plug to tease out another dejected yelp from his hitched throat, before picking up the slack wasted in that momentary lapse of concentration.

This continued for how long, Alastor hadn't given it any thought after he had lost count past the half-hour mark. Dazed, hanging dejectedly, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, the subdued Overlord submitted to the seemingly never-ending punishment. Pitiful sobs choked out on every merciless smack, his tongue around the bunched cloth pushing back to gain relief, saliva drooled out as sticky webs.

The persistent wet smacks didn't slow down, nor ease their rhythm. Caught in the middle, pain and pleasure, the Radio Demon's awareness had been dulled to an inattentive recognition how his buttocks was continuously pounded by the wooden brush despite his compliance, persuaded that yes... he was in the wrong for deceiving Rosie without a transparent talk first — his flesh reddened to a purplish hue.

Surprise tentacles were the worst.

#alastor fic #Alastor NSFT #Alastor drabbles #hazbin hotel fic #RadioRose #ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ — ᴅᴇʙᴛ ᴛᴏ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ #TW Terato #TW Punishment #ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇꜱ — ɢʀɪɴᴅʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ

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