#the fucking shape of my hips and stuff will change too...

[drawing-room-sys]

Oh my god I can't believe I'm actually gonna be starting hrt soon

[bunny-jpeg]

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

[miscellaneous-misty]

mdni / ageless and empty blogs dni

cw: fem reader, degradation, name-calling, creampie, impreg mentioned, light fluff at the end

imagine the jjk men wearing a suit and black gloves while they fuck you...

he's fully clothed in his three-piece suit, neat and presentable, while you're completely naked and laying on your back with your legs spread on his desk in the office. the look in his eyes is dark, but otherwise, his expression is disinterested. he fucks you like he's at a business meeting, ruthless and efficient, pounding into you with a vengeance and a polite smile that hides a thinly veiled threat. but while you're gasping and crying out his name, he remains calm and collected.

gloved hands hold your waist, his grip firm and strong. the gloves accentuate shape of his hands, but they also distance you from him, a layer of fabric separating your skin from his. he slows down his pace, dragging his cock in and out of your wet, tight walls.

he smirks, murmuring into your ear. "look at you. letting me use you like a cocksleeve in the middle of my office like a good little toy. i should hire you as my assistant and use you as my personal cockwarmer. i'd hide you under my desk during meetings and have you suck me off. you'd love to stay on your knees for me, wouldn't you? fucking slut."

he laughs as he feels you clenching tighter around him, gloved hands sliding up to squeeze your tits painfully, making you whimper and moan. "i knew it. you were born to be a slut."

you wraps your arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly on his lips, far too gentle for how he's been fucking you. his eyes widen a small fraction as you pull back, your hair spread out on the desk and your cheeks flushed, your body exposed and vulnerable underneath him.

"only for you..." you breathe out, soft and teary-eyed.

those words, and the sight of you debauched but still so sweet for him...

it makes him lose all of his composure.

he grips your hips, his hands digging into your skin as he leans forward to kiss you, pinning you under the weight of his upper body. you grab the fabric of his blazer, clinging to him tightly. his cock pumps in and out of your pussy at an unforgiving pace, as if he wants to carve the shape of him deep inside of you.

"shit," he hisses, desperate and needy. he looks at you with obsession in his eyes, all-consuming. you love it when he gets like this, when he loses his cool facade because of you. "you're mine. you're fucking mine. i'm going to stuff you so full you'll never forget it—"

you wrap your legs around his waist and plead. "please. cum inside me. knock me up."

he bites your shoulder, groaning into your skin as his semen fills your womb, hot and thick. your back arches off the desk as your orgasm hits you, your walls pulsating around his cock, milking him for every last drop. he shudders, his body relaxing on top of you, and your body goes limp, sweaty and exhausted. both of you take a moment to catch your breath. he runs his hands all over your body, gently caressing the places he handled roughly before. slowly, he pulls out of you and leans back, staring at you with hunger in his eyes. he spreads the folds of your pussy lips open with his forefinger and middle finger, watching with rapt attention as his spend leaks out of your twitching hole.

a call interrupts his fascination, and suddenly, he's back to his cool, composed self. he fixes his clothes and changes his gloves before snatching up the phone with annoyance. while you're still recovering on the desk, the employee on the other end of the line blathers on and on.

"cancel the meetings for today," he says abruptly. "i need to head home early."

he hangs up the call before his employee can protest. you look up at him with adoring eyes. he can't stand the thought of leaving you alone after he just fucked you so roughly.

"are you sure you can leave work?" you ask.

"they'll manage without me, or else i'll fire them."

he cleans you up with a towel and helps you into your clothes. and then, before you can even attempt to walk out of the office on your own, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you out. the employees murmur and gossip quietly as they see you two passing by.

"what are you doing?!" you whisper furiously, blushing. "you're making it obvious that we just did it in your office."

"i don't care," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "i'm taking you home."

₊·꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.4.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,8K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: mentions of injections (!) but nothing scary (just routine stuff), domspace, slight subspace, awkward sex talk, throat fucking, masturbation, some d/s etiquette (stoplight system), slight dacryphilia

author’s note: playlist here, @rennethen my beta, massive thank you and artist is @petitesieste ♡ + translations from Czech at the bottom!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

As the door shuts behind you, Viktor both regrets that the kiss wasn’t heated at all and is relieved that you are now gone, leaving him with no need to pretend his leg isn’t suffering the repercussions of last night.

He tightens the brace and retreats to the bedroom to swap the cane for a crutch—it’s going to be one of those days. It’s also going to be a day in which he cannot drive, so soon, he will follow your lead and get himself a cab to carry him from Islington to King’s Cross.

In the mirror, he can see his lips, kissed pinker than usual, his eyes still heavy with sleep, his neck marked in one spot that he hopes will be snugly obscured by his collar. Sharp angles are softened by bliss and warm slumber, subtle, barely noticeable. He can feel his dick faintly sore, his hip aching more than he expected, and he knows instantly—he is elbow-deep in something that will be incredibly hard to keep casual.

Because, impediments aside, his chest is pleasantly swollen with joy—purer than its source would suggest. Recharged, happy even, he does little to obscure the souvenirs of last night. A part of him wants Jayce to ask questions. And even though he won’t be able to tell the truth, he will be able to smile about it.

Someone aware and vacant but not yet shaped appearing at his feet, folded neatly, clean and crisp—that does not happen. Before, it was fleeting. Singulars or doubles with the better specimens, all of them inevitably saying, My ex used to. Interwoven between the plain and the regular when there was nothing else. Never had it left him so full, so calm. Never had it left him simultaneously restless, waiting for the next time. Never in such utter denial that this could be both the first time and the last. Never so hopeful for the endless next times.

Viktor changes into something warmer—August is already autumn here, rain on and off, the air thick with dampness. He wears a coat and scarf, an umbrella hooked over his bag, and the damn crutch keeps him upright as he waits for the cab.

Uncharacteristically for London, he arrives within a blink. Francis Crick greets him with its warehouse-like vastness, people bumping his shoulder and apologising as they move past. Jayce is already inside when Viktor steps into the lab, making coffee, his own neck carrying the marks of last night spent with Mel. Just like Viktor, he has done nothing to hide them.

“Got home safe?” Jayce asks, though the proof is right in front of him—breathing and walking wonkily.

“I was attacked multiple times on the short distance between the driveway and my building,” Viktor replies flatly, swapping his coat for a lab rendition of one. “But I managed to fight them all off.” He gestures toward Jayce’s neck with a smirk. “I see you fought someone too, hmm?”

“Oh.” Jayce’s hand snaps to his throat. “Yeah. Mel, she… she got really drunk,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “But I think she had fun.”

“I bet she had,” Viktor remarks dryly, rolling his eyes as he reaches for a mug, coffee waiting for him.

Jayce groans. “Alright, get off my back. What about you?”

Viktor glances at him, feigning innocence. “What about me?”

Jayce smirks, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Did you have fun?”

“Absolutely,” Viktor replies smoothly, taking another sip.

“I bet you did.”

“Meaning?” Viktor raises a brow, though he already knows where this is going.

Jayce gestures vaguely at Viktor’s collar. “You call me out all you want, but I have eyes too, you know. Just… please don’t tell me it was with—”

“I got it before yesterday,” Viktor lies smoothly, cutting him off before he can finish that sentence.

Jayce squints at him, suspicion creeping into his expression. “I can’t remember you coming in with a hickey yesterday, Viktor.”

Viktor shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s not my fault your perception was stunted by nerves, Jayce,” he replies, tone clipped. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Should I keep you informed at all times when I get laid?”

Jayce grins. “I wouldn’t mind.” Then, after a beat, he studies Viktor more carefully. “Something, uh… serious?”

“Ah, no, not at all,” Viktor lies again, answer coming too quickly. Jayce’s frown deepens, knowing. Before he can press further, Viktor nudges the conversation elsewhere, chin gesturing toward the stack of papers before them. “What are we dealing with today?”

Jayce sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Uh, you’re not gonna like it, man,” he warns, flipping through a few pages. “They keep pushing to change the direction.”

Viktor exhales sharply. “Any new ones, or are we still on turning people back to teenagers?”

“I’m afraid we’re still on that.” Jayce grimaces, tapping the folder.

“Ah, I see it’s imperative that the rich stay perpetually young instead of the sick getting aid,” Viktor mutters, voice laced with dry disdain. “Why am I not surprised.”

Jayce leans against the table, arms crossed. “Look, if we do something fast and present results that prove it impossible, maybe they will give it a rest.”

“Jayce, it’s such a waste of time.” Viktor shakes his head, adjusting his stance against the workbench. “Cancer won’t halt to wait for us finding a cure for old age.” He gestures sharply. “But we can find the cure for it. What’s more important?”

“Well, obviously cancer treatment,” Jayce concedes, pushing a hand through his hair. “But we will do nothing without funds.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. “Did Mel threaten that she will retreat if we don’t do this?”

Jayce shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says quickly—then hesitates. “Her mother did, though.”

“Zatraceně,” Viktor mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. Usually, the exchange would go on until it breaks into a bickering fight that dies off because Jayce just can’t stand conflicts. Today though, Viktor manages to play it all out it his head before it happens and settles for a solution that they would arrive at anyway, just after a week. With a sigh, he says, “Fine. What’s your angle?”

Jayce blinks. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Viktor shrugs. “If we can’t convince them, it’s more time wasted.”

Jayce exhales and gathers the documents, flipping to a few key pages. “Okay, uh… I collected everything we did in the past that failed. And here is what we’ve been doing since the beginning of the year,” he explains, dragging a finger down a chart. “So I say… a month? Maybe two, two months of tests on mice, and we can probably call it a fail for, let’s say, another year.”

Viktor frowns, considering. “Any way of just… putting it down. For good?”

Jayce scoffs, shaking his head. “Finding a different investor,” he says, defeated.

“Why don’t we?” Viktor asks, tilting his head. Truly, why don’t they? Ockham’s razor, if the method doesn’t work change the method, all those wisdoms suddenly clear as day and instead of getting angry Viktor is as calm as stagnant water.

Jayce huffs a laugh. “Ah… wait. Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Viktor, but Mel—”

“What? Will break up with you?” Viktor cuts in smoothly.

Jayce frowns. “No. At least I hope not.”

“So?” Viktor challenges, raising a brow.

Jayce exhales, reluctant. “It will take time.”

“So will this,” Viktor counters easily. “If we both look in our free time, maybe we will find someone.”

“We don’t have free time, Viktor,” Jayce groans.

“Eh, don’t be so dramatic, Jayce,” Viktor smirks, leaning on his crutch. “I’m sure someone would be thrilled to have a cancer cure on their hands.”

Jayce considers, rubbing his jaw. “I mean… it’s possible. I guess I can ask Mel if she knows anyone.”

“There you go.” Viktor nods, satisfied.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “What the hell is with you today?”

“In what sense?” Viktor mutters in mock oblivion, his head dips between his shoulders as he is sipping his coffee.

“Why are you so fucking happy?”

Viktor smirks behind the rim of his mug. “I told you. I had fun last night,” he says, and it’s the truth this time.

Jayce rolls his eyes. “Aha, alright then. I will know, sooner or later.” He eyes Viktor’s stance. “How’s your leg?”

Viktor shrugs. “Been better. Nothing too bad, though.” He pick up the folder and turns on his chair. “Alright, I’ll go through it, you prep the lab?” Jayce only nods, still eyeing the crutch.

By lunchtime, Viktor has compiled about a thousand reasons why reversing aging is not only unethical but also impossible.

The telomere theory had long been paraded as the key to immortality—until it wasn’t. Scientists once believed that aging resulted primarily from the shortening of telomeres, the protective caps at the ends of chromosomes. Each time a cell divides, these caps erode, until eventually, the cell can no longer replicate properly. If telomere degradation could be stopped—or reversed—then so, theoretically, could aging itself.

But the reality is far more complex.

Extending telomeres doesn’t simply restore youth; it encourages uncontrolled cell growth—cancer. The body has natural safeguards for a reason, and bypassing them has proven disastrous. Tumours thrive on unchecked replication, turning what is meant to be a fountain of youth into a biological death sentence.

Which is why Viktor and Jayce are attempting to achieve the exact opposite. He taps his pen against the desk, scanning the reports before him. Even if the theory had held more promise, it was still a question of priority. But they have survived and braced through so much bullshit in the past that Viktor manages to settle into something resembling certainty—that whatever this outdated spurt is attempting, it will pass. And with its passage will come the freedom to pursue a goal far more important than a face free of wrinkles.

The rest of his day rolls between countless coffees, snacks that Jayce insists on bringing and, of course, work. By the time the sun sets his thoughts have drifted to you only three times, and only because he’s caught the glimpse of your lips imprinted on his neck each time he goes to the bathroom.

Until Jayce leaves and, inevitably, Viktor is left alone with his thoughts. And with his hands, which suddenly have nothing better to do than reach for his phone. He finds your number there, hastily exchanged right before you left for work. So he sends the text.

Normally, Viktor would put his phone away and check it again when the occasion arises, but now he gapes at it stupidly, waiting. Expecting.

Ignition is instant as three dots begin to jump by your initials, and Viktor hunches over as if that would make you type faster.

I have a thing in the evening, but I should be free at 10, if that’s not too late for you :)

Perfect, he replies—too fast to be dignified, but he cares not.

By the time 10 p.m. Saturday arrives, he is fucking giddy and nearly slaps himself when the buzzer goes off. When he waits for you at the door, crutch already exchanged, cane hanging on the coat rack, he smirks at the sight of you rolling out of the elevator in flat shoes, high heels dangling from your hand.

"Did you walk here?" he asks instead of hello, leaning against the doorframe.

You parrot him, pulling a face that attempts to distort his expression, mocking his tone. "No, genius," you say as you step through the door, tossing your shoes to the floor. "They won’t fit in my bag."

One brat point, Viktor thinks.

The second pair—the ones you’re wearing—you kick off, and as you do, Viktor asks, "How was your thing?"

"Do you really want to know?" you reply, turning—only to be met with him, lurking very, very close.

He smells good. Cheeks red. Shaking his head as he moves toward you, hands slipping under your skirt, sliding past your underwear as promised. Gliding over the round of your ass, lower, between your legs. Viktor can’t decide if this would be more fun with thighs or just as it is.

Your back meets the wall, your mouth meets his, your pussy meets his fingers in a small gathering of breaths and gasps. “Did you miss me?” you tease through exhales he allows, feeling the grin blooming against your lips.

“Are you going to be insufferable?” he hums. There is no answer to this—only a startled moan as two fingers plunge inside you. Viktor purrs, so, so pleased. “Oh, but you’ve missed me too, didn’t you?”

For you are dripping, the needy thing between your hips such a traitor.

You nod, defeated, twisting your fingers into his hair, nipping at his lip, kissing him deeply—tongue out, breathing him in as if you had been gone for a month. He tastes better when you’re sober. He tastes so much better. Feels so much better. His chest flush against yours, one hand on your neck, his forearm squeezed between your buttocks as he fingers you lazily. Your ass sticks out to meet his palm, to take more, to take him deeper.

“Greedy,” Viktor smirks as he pulls his mouth away from yours, a string of wet connecting your lips. You follow the trail, but he retreats further, shaking his head.

“We need to talk first,” he says, still playing inside you as if it’s nothing.

“You said too,” you breathe, ignoring him, pressing yourself into his neck, licking where the ghost of your mark still lingers. “So you have missed me.”

“Brat,” Viktor chuckles, but truth be told, he is utterly smitten. Defeated, too—right there with you, where your entire body begs for him. And you have no idea you’re already on three brat points, nor that he cannot fucking wait to cash them in.

But just to give you something, anything, he plucks your hand off his shoulder and places it on his crotch, whispering, “I have.”

You smile at him so sweetly Viktor would drop to his knees and eat you out if his hip weren’t still slightly busted. So, reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of you, licks them clean in front of your very eyes—obscenely slow—then kisses you for good measure. Already wanton, you mess the shirt out of his trousers, fingers tugging impatiently, and he tsks, reprimanding,

“I meant it when I said I want to talk.”

“Fine,” you pout, fixing your skirt back in place with an air of put-upon suffering.

“Brat,” Viktor says again, but there’s a smile in it. Then, he reaches behind you, grabs his cane from the coat rack, and walks past you unceremoniously. He stops in the middle of the hallway, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Well? Are you coming?”

“I could answer that in so many ways, you know,” you reply, exasperated, but you still drag your bare feet across the floor, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

Viktor’s smile lingers as he sees it. The sight makes him feel oddly warm—because you’ve brought clothes to change into this time.

And he is so unhurried, it drives you insane. Maddening, the way he just makes tea, pours milk into yours without asking, and then sits across from you at the kitchen table as you resume your negotiations. He leans back in his chair, fingers curled loosely around his cup, staring at you as if weighing how to begin.

The silence is unbearable. “Are you always so responsible?” you blurt, unable to sit still, let alone wait patiently. You crack your toes against the floor, pressing them down in a distorted caricature of pointe.

“I like to know where I’m at,” Viktor says, stern but measured, blinking slowly. Then, without preamble, “So. From the start. Protection?”

You blink. “Oh. Straight in?”

A beat, and when Viktor does absolutely nothing to ease your discomfort, you release a breathy chuckle. “Okay, um… I have a patch anyway, and—” You hesitate, shifting in your chair. “Please don’t think I’m a freak, but…” You reach into your bag and pull out your phone. Tugging a strand of hair behind your ear, you fiddle on the screen before placing it in front of him. “I donated blood last month at a charity event, and these are my results.”

His brow quirks.

“So, you can lose the rubber,” you mutter, swallowing. “If you want.”

Viktor says nothing at first, just studies you with that unreadable expression of his. Then, with the same ease as before, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and places it in front of you. The screen is already unlocked, a document open.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice low. “I test regularly. Everything’s negative.”

That catches you by surprise, though you school your face quickly, forcing yourself not to dwell too much on whatever embers of unjustified jealousy try to crack open beneath your feet. Lip caught between your teeth, you glance down—not to check if he’s telling the truth, but to give yourself an extra second to think.

Then, quietly, heat creeping up your ears, you murmur, “No condom then.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to swallow something down. His gaze darkens, as images of what he can do with this newest ruling flash through his mind. His fingers tap once against the side of his cup before he hums, satisfied. “Good.”

His voice is so casual, so certain, it’s infuriating.

“Next… safe word?” Viktor asks. You cringe, a small, involuntary wince that does not go unnoticed. He tilts his head, expression softening, and before you can even muster the courage to tell him you haven’t got the faintest idea, he steps in. “Okay,” he says, tone even, patient. “Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

“Yes,” you say, relieved at the reprieve.

“Is that better?”

“Yes, I can do that,” you nod, fingers curling into your lap.

“Alright.” Voice still matter-of-fact, eyes stay on you, gauging, reading. “And if you can’t speak, it’s two taps for slow down, and three for stop. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” You barely recognise your own voice. It’s breathless, eager, and a little too quick to comply.

Because God, this is so hot.

Dark blood stumbles slowly through your veins, brain slipping into focus, breaths deepen and all you can hear is his voice. All you can see is his sunken-cheeked face—a map of spectacular junctions you linger on—pools of his eyes, yes, dark, yes, wanting, but above all—kind. Above all, awakened and eager when he reads the answers before you even open your mouth.

Then, his nose, again, the hill of it, the way it slithers into his cheeks. Lower, the crown of his lip, a bud made to be sucked on. It moves when he says, “Brilliant.” The word rolls out, thick and heavy, makes the muscles of his jaw flex underneath the skin and to save yourself from second degree burn on your face, you retreat to the trick of nose staring. Nearly fails you again, when he scratches it and instead of it your mind drifts to where those fingers have been just moments ago.

He leans forward, hand crawling toward you, and you place your palms flat on the table. Not yet touching, but the promise is there.

“Anything you won’t do? Hard limits?” he asks evenly, arrogant smirk impossible to hide. “It can be all sorts of things, even the basics. Like cocksucking.”

At this point it’s inching toward cruel, a praying mantis foreplay, but you suspect you are the one about to end up a meal on his plate. With a deep breath, you manage, “I’m not opposed to it,” your voice steadier than you feel.

Viktor exhales through his nose, something caught between a hum and a chuckle. “That makes me very happy.”

“I bet it does,” you mumble before you can stop yourself, pulse thundering everywhere—in your chest, wrists, pounding between your ears and legs.

The smug smile he gives you in return is positively wicked. Four points.

“So… anything?” He watches you carefully, head tilting. Then, as if making a decision, he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the table, his feet touch yours. “I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “If anything comes up, tell me. Even if randomly. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” A beat. “And you?” you ask, voice quieter.

A complete change. Viktor feels his chest flooding with warmth, eyes widen when he reaches out for your palms and cradles them in his. “Yes. I will make sure to tell you.” His gaze holds yours, unwavering.

It’s merely a glimpse of something. Then, his expression falls back into the sardonic kind, and after a pause, he asks, “How uncomfortable does this make you feel?”

You shift in your seat, squeezing his palms. “Very.”

His lips curl. “Good.” He tilts his chin, eyes lazily dropping down your frame. “Are you wet?” he asks, so casually it stirs the bottom of your stomach into a tight cramp and your thighs clench.

“Show me,” Viktor says, and you are already standing up, already moving without thought, drawn in by the quiet command.

By the time you reach the other side of the table, his hands are already on you—steady and sure. Your fingers press into his shoulders as his palm sneaks between your legs, testing, feeling, confirming.

“Very good,” he purrs, voice drenched in satisfaction. His teasing fingers stroke over the fabric. Then, with a small tug, arms pull you forward.

“Now, come here,” he murmurs, his grip firm but careful. “One last thing.”

He guides you to straddle his lap, and you settle against him easily, warmth pooling where your bodies meet. The shift makes your skirt roll up, your underwear now completely visible, but Viktor’s eyes don’t drop—they linger on your face, on something softer.

His fingers reach for the high, snug collar of your turtleneck. He peels it back, unrolling the fabric slowly, like unwrapping a gift. Then, as soon as he sees the marks blooming along your throat, his breath catches.

“Oh my,” he muses, and his voice is velvet—rich, low, utterly charmed. His fingers brush over the bruises, ghosting along the evidence of his own mouthwork. “I got you good, haven’t I?”

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smirk. “I suppose you have.”

Viktor hums, tracing absentminded circles against your spine. His other hand rests on the curve of your bum. “Did it get you in trouble?”

“Not yet,” you admit, craning your neck, as he presses a kiss to the unmarked side. His lips are warm, his breath even warmer as he nuzzles into the skin, rubbing his nose over it before pressing another—softer, gentler—kiss.

“And you know… it’s going to be winter soon,” you murmur, fingers playing at the loose strands of his hair. “We can regroup in spring.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, but his arms tighten around you. “No,” he decides. “I’ll be more careful.”

Your hands slide down to cup his jaw, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Please don’t stop, though.”

He looks at you then, properly, and behind his eyes is fondness, undeniable, as his pupils search your face, hands reassure, his lap warms you up.

“I won’t.” His voice is a promise, lips brushing the words against your skin. Then, with a knowing smirk, he whispers, “Besides, there are other places.”

And you have neither the will nor the energy to gather more brat points this evening. So instead of snapping back with something clever, you nuzzle into his neck, pressing your nose against his skin and inhaling deeply—his stupid man-soap, his stupid plain washing powder, his stupid freckled skin.

Mouth open, you drag it up the slope of his throat, unhurried, skin pulling with the friction. He exhales, head tilting back, offering himself to you eagerly. His hips slide down the chair, and you have to hold onto his shoulders when he speaks to the ceiling, “Get on your knees for me.”

He smiles when he sees how snugly you fit there and asks, “Not opposed, hm?” Your palms rest on his thighs, fingers marching toward his belt as you shake your head, a timid smile stretching your lips. Before you can undo it for him, Viktor unbuckles himself. Metal clinks on the floor as he grasps your hands and presses them to his cock, leaning in to whisper, “Not good enough. I want you to love it.”

Your hands turn shaky all of a sudden, hesitating as you unbutton him. He looms over you, already cradling your nape, foreshadowing the moment the spaces between his fingers will be full of your hair. No drunken haze, no fucked-out brain—finally, you get a proper look. And Viktor is pretty, head to toe, you realise. His cock is half-hard, framed by dark hair that meets in a tempting line on his lower belly, rising and falling with each deep breath—just as the crown of his upper lip, it is made to be sucked on.

By the time your mouth reaches him, he’s so deeply blissed out he staggers. Because it’s not just your mouth—it’s your entire face that hugs him, repeating the gesture from the first night, when you simply rested your cheek on his length and breathed him in. His stupid man-smell. Sweet and salty with sweat, and you want to be closer, so you yank his pants down to his ankles. Viktor says nothing about the fact that you’ve done so without permission.

Because you move in, arms wrapping around his waist, your entire face pressed into his groin, mouth agape as you breathe deeply. Tranquillity, absolute and endless, floods you when, instead of yanking your head, he strokes it and sighs, long and heavy.

And then, you kiss him as if his cock were his lips—open-mouthed and with tongue—gliding over every inch in a loving rhythm, from the base to the tip and back down. Pressing him into his own stomach, hands tightening around his hips, you hum into his skin and Viktor shudders. Overwhelmed, he holds your jaw and urges you to stick your tongue out, mimicking the gesture himself. And that’s when you notice—his tongue is pretty too.

Cock lands in your mouth, its flushed head drags across the wet surface, teasing, the heat of your breath enveloping him. He pulls back, letting the tip slip free, and then smears the slickness of your spit along your cheek. The gesture so full of intent, his thumb following to spread it further, tracing the damp streak before he taps your cheek with his cock once—twice—three times, and smiles, grins with teeth and all. You’ve thought it impossible, but he just managed to get prettier even.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, gripping tight. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting.

“Ready?” he murmurs, voice thick.

You nod, anticipation rolling through you, but Viktor is nothing if not careful. His warm palm finds your cheek again, thumb pressing gently at the hinge of your jaw. “Remember about taps,” he reminds you, free hand cradling the back of your head. Then, finally, he pushes forward, slow but insistent, the head of his cock breaching your lips.

“That’s it,” he sighs, his grip tightening as he sinks deeper. “Good girl… You feel so—” He exhales sharply, rocking his hips shallowly. “That’s right. God, you feel good.”

His pace builds, measured at first, the tight ring of your mouth around him making his breath grow heavier. His fingers twitch against your scalp as he mutters, “So fucking pretty like this.”

Each word of praise spurs you on. You moan around his cock, and Viktor grunts with effort, his breath shuddering, brows knitting. He brushes your hair off your face, gathering it carefully in his hand, mindful not to pull. Tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes, but you do not falter. You clutch his legs for support as Viktor shifts to the edge of the chair, caging you between his thighs.

Sweat begins to pearl on his forehead, fingers pressing deeper into muscle. His voice thickens, English fracturing as pleasure takes over.

“Děláš mi to tak dobře,” he groans, voice rough with need. His hips push forward with a little more force, testing. “Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou.”

Less air, more heat pooling low in your belly. Drool pooling in your mouth. A tear breaks free, rolling down your cheek, and something shifts in Viktor’s expression—fascinated. Your lashes flutter, eyes hazy as he holds you there, thighs clenching.

He pulls back, letting you gasp, spit clinging between your lips and his skin before he presses in again, deeper this time. His grip tightens at your nape, holding you steady.

“Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče,” he pants, voice hoarse, words spilling from him like a prayer. “Vezmi si mě celého.”

You roll your tongue out and angle your head for him to enter easier. He’s back instantly, you catch only a glimpse of his cock glistening in your drool, and it excites you, boiling over. He slides in, slowly, watches himself disappear between your lips with wide eyes, half of him, and then, oh, all of him, as your throat straightens and becomes full. All falls quiet around you, and you close your eyes, holding him in for four long seconds, before patting his thigh twice.

Viktor retreats immediately, cradles your face and asks, “Colour?” before you are done gulping on air.

“Green,” you rasp, reaching back for his cock, a string of drool hanging from your lip, low, nearly staining your chest.

You flatten your tongue, tilt your head, open up. He’s there in an instant, the blunt, slick head pressing against your lips. A brief glance down—his cock shining, thick with spit, dark hair curling damp at the base. A sharp pulse flares in your loins at the sight, and then he’s sliding back in, slow, watching himself vanish between your lips. Halfway. Then deeper. Your throat takes him, stretches, the press of him filling your mouth, your ribs tightening with the effort of stillness.

Everything stills, quiet in your ears. His hand heavy at the back of your skull, his breath gone shallow. Your lashes flutter, eyes shut. Four long seconds, your lungs burning, and then—two quick taps to his thigh.

He pulls back instantly, his hands gentle when they frame your face. “Colour?” His voice frays at the edges, all rasp and need.

“Green.” Your voice is wrecked, breathless. You reach back for him, spit trailing from your lip, stringing low, silver in the dim light. “Please, again.”

His thumbs stroke across your cheeks, slow, tracing heat beneath the skin. “What have I done to deserve you?” His voice, a rasp of breath and want. He presses a dry kiss to your forehead, something reverent in it, then tilts your face up. “Does it feel good, when you can’t breathe?”

Your breath stutters. “Yes,” barely more than air, forehead pressing to his chin, hands clenching around his wrists. “God, yes.” The words slip free like a confession.

He lets you hold on, lets you bear down as he presses in again. The tension of muscle, the slow give of your throat around him. He watches, eyes dark, intent—reads the flicker of your lashes, the shudder in your ribs, the shine of spit where it slicks him. He sees the way your body makes space for him, the way your throat clenches, the way tears bead and slip from the corners of your eyes.

A long, shuddering breath. He pushes deeper. Watches himself disappear, faster this time. Pulling your hand with him, his fingers skate down, brush the column of your throat, mapping the way it stretches, the pulse leaping beneath his touch. He watches, always watching, eyes heavy-lidded, half-wild, but still careful. His palm flattens, thumb stroking over your skin as he rocks forward, measuring each inch that slides in, each tiny shift of muscle.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice fragmented. “Touch yourself.”

Hand leaves his wrist and finds its place between your legs when you part your thighs and dip into your underwear. It sticks to your skin, drenched, when you part yourself and try to not lose focus. You picture it’s him, somehow, touching you.

His hips roll, slow at first, feeding you the length of him, watching how your lips part wider, how your jaw strains to take him deeper. He feels your fingers flex around his wrist, grip tightening before easing, giving way. The first wet sound pulls a groan from him, rough yet quiet.

“There you go,” he says, as if coaxing something delicate to open. His thumb lingers at your throat, pressing just enough to feel himself inside. His grip at your nape steadies you as he moves again, guiding you, his restraint threadbare.

The wet pull of your mouth drags another guttural sound from his chest, and it sounds so fucking lovely you moan around his cock. His words break into rough blabber, heat-struck and low. “Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá…”

A stutter of hips, breath cuts when he swallows hard and fingers tease at your throat. “Breathe,” he reminds, voice fraying, rasping. “Tap if—” His voice cuts off as you swallow around him, as your tongue presses firm.

His jaw clenches, body tight, but his hand never leaves your throat, never stops searching for your breath, for the shift of muscle as he works himself deeper.

Your eyes flicker up, wet and wide. The sight of you like this undoes him.

His breath stutters out, a ragged curse, his head tipping back. Fingers tightening as heat coils, as his restraint snaps, and with a final shuddering groan, he spills into your mouth. The taste of him, heavy salt, the sight of his stomach hollowing out under the muscle cramp, tips you over and you suck him out, milk him, grunting around his sensitive skin, cunt clenching around nothing as you come.

You swallow around him until there is a vacuum, and Viktor hisses, his grip on your head tightening. He exhales heavily, unsteady, then pulls out with a wet sigh and beckons you up by the neck, guiding you back until your thighs bracket his.

Up there, in his lap, he kisses you—deep, grateful—licking himself from your mouth. A low hum rumbles in his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“Not opposed, huh?” he teases.

You chuckle, warmth curling at the edges of your voice. “I suppose you can call me a fan,” you admit, sheepish, fingers idly tracing the back of his neck.

Viktor is already elsewhere, mind moving faster than breath, reading you even now. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “So fucking tired. But good. Now good.”

He hums, then urges you to stand. His own movements are slow, careful—he rises with difficulty, a quiet wince caught in his throat. He stretches, rolling his shoulders, then glances at you. “How early do you have to wake up tomorrow?”

You shift on your feet, rubbing your arms. “I don’t… I have to do some things in the evening, but I have Sunday morning free.”

And Viktor tries not to come off as anything, face fully naked when he says, “I implore you to stay, then.”

Spacing out just a bit, not as strongly as the last time, you nod, sling the bag back over your shoulder and let yourself be walked to his bedroom. There, wordlessly, Viktor undresses down to his underwear. You catch the glimpse of a fresh bruise on his stomach, previously hidden beneath his shirt. He sits on the bed, stretching his leg out with a sigh, then looks up at you, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“You can change in the bathroom, you know?” he says, amusement curling at the edges of his lips.

“I know, I just—” you hesitate. “It’s just very domestic,” you say, cringing at your own immaturity.

Viktor exhales a laugh through his nose. “Only because we are at my home.” His gaze lingers, curious. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” you say and the fact that it truly doesn’t—that’s what bothers you. Viktor shifts from acting like he cares beyond measure to as if he would go wherever the wind blows. From being utterly excited about your discontentment to completely unbothered about anything you decide. He sits on the bed in just his boxers, giving you a lopsided smile. “Go change.”

As soon as you do, he falls onto his back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly to himself. After a long breath, he rolls onto his belly, reaching into the bedside stand. He pulls out a syringe, rolls back, sits up, and gathers a small pinch of skin on his stomach. On the opposite side of the fresh bruise, the needle goes in smoothly, but Viktor hisses at the sensation of fluid expanding the tissues. He massages it out and drops the syringe into the trash bin beside the bed.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, he’s already in bed. His arm is flung over his face, his body slack, only the subtle rise and fall of his chest betraying that he’s still awake. You settle into the farthest edge of the bed—just like last time.

Viktor chuckles when you slide under the covers and yawn. Shifting closer, he reaches for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. His breath is warm against your temple.

“Why are you all the way over there again?” he murmurs, voice tired.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, arms trapped, fingers tapping his sternum. “I don’t want to invade your space.”

Viktor hums, his lips ghosting over your hair. “You are in my bed,” he points out, his tone dry but fond.

You hesitate, then offer, “I can go if you want me to.”

“Hush now,” he chides softly, arms tightening. A pause, then, quieter, “Do you mind this?”

Your breathe out a quiet groan. Then, “N-no,” you stammer. “But I’m fine today, I don’t need—”

“I do,” he interrupts, his voice lower, steady. His fingers splay against your back, pressing you close. “I need this.” A beat of silence, then, gentler, “Is that okay?”

And even if you were able to say no before, now it’s impossible. Because Viktor sinks, his face brushing against yours in something almost absentmindedly affectionate, his breath warming up your cheek. Being needed overrides the unease of non-sexual closeness.

“It’s okay,” you mutter finally. Then, “Viktor?”

“Hm?” he hums, the sound lazy, content.

“Why a skirt?”

“Ah,” A chuckle. “No reason really, other than that I like your legs. Also, easier access, if you please,” he says, squeezing your butt. “I might have gotten a better use of it, wasn’t my leg not up to it today.” That’s a quiet admission he hasn’t meant to share yet, but it just happens. And it lands softly in your clever brain that connects the dots quickly.

“Is that why your stomach is bruised?”

“Oh.” He shifts slightly, reaching back toward the nightstand. “Partly. It’s the brace,” he explains, retrieving a small syringe and holding it up for you to see. “These prevent blood clotting under the trapped tissue.”

You frown. “It looks painful.” Another piece of Viktor for your collection.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he assures you, setting the syringe aside. His mouth quirks slightly. “But I’m aware it’s not the most aesthetically pleasing sight.”

You scoff. “Your stomach is one of the most aesthetically pleasing sights I’ve had the opportunity to ogle.” You hesitate, then add, softer, “I’m just checking. Just curious.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle. “I like your stomach too.”

You snort. “Are you always such a sap after sex?”

“Do you want me to be mean?” he counters, brow quirking.

“No,” you say quickly. “No, please be a sap.”

He hums again, his grip on you tightening briefly. “You are a very strange creature,” he says at last, affection dripping from his tongue, though it seems he hadn’t intended it to. Mercifully, you don’t comment on it. You just nose into his neck, breathing in deeply—the stupid smell of him. —

Translations: Děláš mi to tak dobře – You make me feel so good Podívej se na tebe… tak nádherná s pusou plnou – Look at you… so beautiful with your mouth full Můj chytrý, drzý, krásný děvče – My smart, sassy, beautiful girl Vezmi si mě celého – Take all of me Tak nádherná... tak dokonalá… – So beautiful… so perfect…

[ma1dita]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVEEEE <3

🐥 luke castellan x reader in a long distance relationship & he calls her after he’s had a few drinks bc he misses her (fluff or smut, whatever u want)

MWUAH

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

a/n: loser!luke? more like whipped!luke, very whiny.... i believe in my heart he's an ass man but that's me being self-indulgent anyways smut but he just masturbates because he's a needy fuck

wc: 914

frances made me do it blame her i'm putting my phone away in fear

At first it was a good idea.

Picking colleges an hour away from each other seemed like the right thing to do, a very mature adult thing even—especially after spending a good four years of being attached to each other at Camp Half Blood. Personal growth, you both reasoned, and college was a great way to branch out and be independent. You didn’t need to be with each other 24/7, and seeing each other on weekends wasn’t all that bad. Luke couldn’t give less of a shit now though—he’s tipsy after downing a few Heinekens and all he can think about are very R-rated adult things he did with you last weekend when he went to visit. 

Some things never change, and he reckons he’d settle for anything you give him, whether it be a picture of your ass or the sound of your voice over the phone. His hands fumble with his belt buckle as he sprawls across the couch in his apartment. The sound of the phone ringing adds to his anticipation until he hears a click and your voice filters through like music to his ears.

“Miss me, baby?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” he sighs, noticing his cock stand at attention at the few words that have left your mouth. He’s convinced you’re a witch of some sort—that or he’s been pavloved to feel hot at even the idea of you. Cheeks flushing, he can’t help but stick his hand in his boxers and stroke himself as you tell him about the paper you’re writing, steady tap-taps of your keyboard in the background as he strokes himself slowly. Your voice is hushed to not wake up your roommate, but well, his dick is fully awake at the sound of your murmurs. Only you could make the Ides of March sound sexy, and you quickly notice Luke’s not paying attention when you hear a low groan through the phone.

“You’re not even listening to me, babe,” you giggle, “my boy feeling needy?”

“I’m a man,” he whines, your laughter trickling through from your end and tickling every one of his senses as he spits into his hand and gets down to business just wishing you were here to help him. He even tries to tease his balls like how you would, but thinking too hard about it makes him aggravated.

“You’re crazy, Lu…” you whisper, “can feel how desperate you are from all the way over here.”

“Crazy for you. Whatcha wearing, hot stuff?” 

He smiles when you tell him you’re in those leggings he likes and Luke closes his eyes tightly as he fists his cock. Through the stars that dance in his vision he thinks he can smell you–all sweat and sweetness just how he likes. His head lolls onto his shoulder in desperation as his hand moves up and down adding pressure as he imagines your hole fluttering around him and taking him so well, covering him in your slick instead of his own pathetic spit. Luke’s tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he concentrates. 

Gods you’re pretty when you ride him—the curve of your waist when you bounce in his lap and the crescent-shaped marks he leaves when he grabs onto your hips, forcing you down harder so that all you can both hear is the slapping of skin. Luke moans, a broken, almost shameful sound until he remembers he’s alone in the apartment tonight. 

You’re still tapping away at your keyboard unfazed by your boyfriend’s arousal.

“Poor baby, you close? What’s on your mind?”

“Mmmph…How your back arches when you ride me…Like the way you let me pull your hair,” he grits, his hand moving faster as precum drips over the precipice of his cock, swollen and angry and he’s almost there. The veins in his forearm look like they’re about to burst and he’s dizzy with want, his heart beating faster with his movements.

“Yeah? You know I like it when you need me. Wish I could be there and do that thing you like.” 

He can hear the grin in your voice as he shakes his head, breathing harder and groaning. He can see it so clearly in his head—feel the swivel of your hips as your pussy clenches down on every ridge of his cock, and all he can do right now is rub his thumb over the sensitive area as he gasps for air. 

“Got you baby, just let go for me…”

Luke hisses, spurts of hot, milky cum hitting the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, before he takes a deep breath. He hears you shut your laptop and the sound of you shuffling in your room.

“Didn’t even make it to Facetime this time around. Sorry baby, missed you bad,” he chuckles, taking another sip of now warm beer.

“It’s been four days, Luke,” you tease, “but I was hoping you’d return the favor.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme see your pretty face.”

He presses the button to Facetime, but you don’t answer, and the sound of a car starting catches his attention.

“Babe?”

“Unlike you, I’d rather have the real thing. See you in an hour,” you laugh, pulling out of your driveway.

“It’s Thursday!”

“And it’s my turn to drive up anyway, so you better fuck me so hard I’ll have a reason to call in sick. I’m driving as fast as I can, Lu!”

And what type of rational adult would he be to deny that?

[peggyao3]

Pt. 13 - (Pseudo) Pregnancy

A/N: The only trope yee aunt Peggy will never ever write is actual pregnancy… Meanwhile cannibalism, dune-typical incest, non-con, no problem, but pregnancy is just too close to irl body horror for me, but luckily I can make up anything in the world of fiction and beat the trope into a shape of my liking 😂😌 thank you @nocturn-warrior for the spark of inspiration to pick this prompt hehe 🤭

Can be seen as part of the Night Crawler universe, I think <3

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, breeding kink, descriptions of pregnancy symptoms without an actual child growing in there, FMC is thin enough to see a distension of the womb, squirting, dub-con

WORD COUNT: 450

"You're whining so much today," Feyd-Rautha groans, situated warm and hard between her spread thighs.

"Yes," she grates out through clenched teeth, pushing against her husband's round shoulders with no real fight aside from the nails that scrape over his velvety skin. "I'm too full and you damn well, a-ahhh, k-know it!" 

A hard jab of his cock has made a splash of wetness spatter against his hard abdomen and she burns up with shame, feeling the wet glide of skin against her already distended belly.

"Too full, sweetling?" Her insatiable husband grins black and wide, slowing his thrusts and canting his pelvis against the spot that causes her nerves to jitter and more essence to drip past the root of his cock. "I think there's room for a few more of my whelps in your warm, little womb."

Her channel spasms around his obscene girth upon that and he taunts her with laughter. His sweet wife is rotten and can't help the twitching of her needy cunt at the thought of being bred round and full by her virile husband.

All of this is just play. The na-Baron doesn't like the idea of sharing the attention of his treasured toy with a bawling, nagging, vomiting offspring. She can all but pray that it remains this way. Forced into marriage and this play of pretend, she won't allow him to force her into anything else, or their marriage will end in a bloodbath.

"Mmmh, just be still, my darling. Your husband knows what's best for you." Feyd-Rautha picks up speed, stuffing himself into her slick hole despite her indignant whines about the change of tempo. "If you don't wanna keep still, I might just strap you in next time, put you in a harness like a broodmare and stuff you so full that my seed drips down your legs."

His cock jumps against her snug walls and he lets his head fall forward, drool on his lips when he empties himself with stuttering hips, forehead pressing against his wife's. She shivers when his eyes snap open, dark and yearning beneath blonde lashes.

With every rush of seed into her body, the artificially injected cocktail of enzymes that lies dormant in her blood induces a rush of amniotic fluid into her womb. The pressure makes her groan and whine and that's also how she knows it's not real, because it happens too fast. 

Feyd reaches one hand between their bodies, the one with the wedding band, and pats her belly, whispering with gravelled breath how pretty she looks, swollen with his heir and how well she carries his Harkonnen brood.

The effect lasts only a couple of days— But Feyd-Rautha fucks his wife more often than that.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring

[eiluned]

Fic: Dangerous [BG3; Astarion/Tav, Explicit]

by eiluned

Read on AO3

Summary: It grows in his mind, the thought of coming inside her. What would it feel like to let go, to lose control in the sweet heat of her body?

Tags: Astarion/Tav, porn with feelings, mild CW for Astarion briefly thinking about his sexual trauma.

Notes: The continuing smutty adventures of Tavriel and Astarion. This one's set in act 1. Thanks to Amanda for the beta read!

If you're new to my stuff, Tavriel is my high elf bard, and I'm slowly writing up her romance with Astarion (and later, their romance with Halsin).

Comments encourage me to write faster. I'd love to hear what you think!

~

The first time he fucks Tavriel, he's shocked to find himself enjoying it.

He's fucked or been fucked by hundreds. Sex is rote, repetitive, something to tolerate, something he has to do so he won't have to be whipped or locked in a crypt or otherwise tortured. The physical pleasure is there sometimes, but it's usually not enough to overcome the distaste or revulsion or sheer boringness of it all.

But Tav is playful, teasing, seductive in a way he's not used to being on the receiving end of. And she's objectively attractive, with her beautiful face and striking green eyes and the soft curls of black hair streaked through with wine-purple, the surprising curves of her petite body and the fullness of her breasts. It's no real chore to sleep with her, to use sex to ingratiate himself with her, but he wasn't expecting to get swept up in the pleasure of it.

She rolls them over, spreading her legs so he can settle between them, and her moan as he drives his cock back into her makes pleasure twist up at the base of his spine. Her hips lift to meet his thrusts, and her hands slide up his chest, fingertips teasing his nipples. Her body is hot, and his own soaks up that warmth so that it feels a bit like standing in the sun when he presses himself against her fully.

With a smile that curls one side of her lush mouth, she lifts her chin, baring her neck in a blatant invitation. And how can he say no? She offers herself so sweetly, so fully, and he can't resist.

Her breath hitches in her throat when his fangs pierce her skin, and her cunt tightens around him as he draws blood from the little wounds into his mouth. Heat floods his body with the first taste of her, and oh, but she tastes different than the last time he drank from her, richer, more luscious. He knows she gets aroused when he bites her; he can hear her heartbeat change, smell it on the air, but he hadn't realized that he could taste it in her blood. It was sweet, the flavor of her desire, a smaller component of her taste before but now it overwhelms him, bursting on his tongue like honeyed wine.

She shudders, grinding against him with a cry as she suddenly comes, and just as suddenly, all the pleasure that had been coiling up inside him unwinds.

Gasping, he rises onto his knees, pulling out of her a split second before an orgasm rips through him. It's shocking how good it feels, especially when her warm hand wraps around his cock, stroking him as he spurts seed onto her belly and breasts.

He can't remember the last time he came so hard, the last time he let himself be overwhelmed like this. It feels dangerous, but it's too good for him to care in that moment.

--

"Couldn't get enough?"

Her voice is a purr, her clever hands unlacing his trousers, and she smirks at him when he arches into her touch.

He's supposed to be in control here, but his body responds to her without his brain's input. And that's dangerous, so he catches her wrists and puts them behind her back before kissing her hard.

He can't lose control again, not if he wants to keep the scales balanced in his favor.

But her body is warm and pliant, breasts molding to the shape of his hands, her cunt wet and hot. He fucks her on her hands and knees, working her clit with his fingers until she comes with a hoarse moan.

And he's there just as suddenly as the last time, pulling out and coming on her back.

It's dangerous, but it's so good that he doesn't want to stop. He wants more.

--

It grows in his mind, the thought of coming inside her. What would it feel like to let go, to lose control in the sweet heat of her body? To watch her walk back to camp and know his cum is soaking her underclothes? 

He's never come inside anyone, not that he can remember. He never wanted to; it would have felt like he was giving too much of himself. It was his one way of maintaining his sense of self while out doing Cazador's bidding.

But he isn't doing that bastard's bidding now. He is fucking Tavriel because he wants to. Because it will ensure that she will have his back when the time comes. Because it feels good, even muddled up with all the pain and guilt that he can't seem to escape. Because he wants her.

And he wants to know how it feels to come inside of her.

The thought becomes an obsession, one that he only entertains in the privacy of his tent, his cock in his hand and his eyes clenched shut, thinking of nothing but her: the heat of her body, the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair. Her throaty gasps, the way she moans his name when she comes…

He remembers how it feels to sink into her cunt, how wet with desire she is, how wet she gets for him. The clenching, rippling feel of her climax, the way she clutches at his back or his arms or his ass as she writhes against him. He imagines how it would feel to drive his cock deep and let go, to spill inside the grasping, delicious heat of her body. 

He bites back a gasp and comes, hips bucking, heels digging into his bedroll, his seed splattering in ropes onto his chest. 

Emotions roil in his head, but he doesn't want to deal with them. He has a plan; he'll stick to it.

He wipes himself clean and stares at the ceiling of his tent.

—

She’s bent forward, hands gripping the cave wall, as he fucks her from behind. Her skin glows with a sheen of sweat in the lantern light, warm like sunlight in the depths of the Underdark, and he feels desire winding up tight in his body.

“Gods, yes,” she breathes, arching her back and thrusting against him. “Astarion…”

Her hand is working between her legs, and he can feel the tension building again in her body. He’s already made her come on his tongue–he tries to not think about how delicious she tastes when she loses control against his mouth–and it’s clear she wants to come on his cock, too. 

And gods, but he wants to come with her, to come inside her, to fill her up while she shudders around him. This isn’t part of his plan, but to the hells with the plan. He’s so wrapped up in her body, in her, in her pleasure and his own, that he forgets himself. 

Brushing her hand aside, he strokes her clit firmly, driving into her sweet cunt. “Fuck,” she gasps, pressing her back against his chest. “Yes…”

“I want to come inside you,” he groans against her ear, his hips snapping against her ass, one hand working her closer to her peak while his other arm snakes around her torso, grasping her breast. 

She makes a soft sound, a little “oh” of surprise. Her cunt starts to flutter around him, and gods, he’s so close, too. “Please, Tav,” he moans, grinding her body between his cock and his fingertips. “Please let me come inside you, please, please–“

“Yes,” she gasps, her hands clutching at his forearms.

She cries out as pleasure overwhelms her, shuddering in his arms, and he follows her into oblivion, his own body wracked with ecstasy the likes of which he hasn’t felt in centuries. His cock jerks, spilling his seed as deep inside of her as he can possibly go. Her cunt squeezes him, milking him, their bodies spasming together until every last drop of pleasure is wrung from them. 

They stay like that for a long moment, clutching and grasping at each other, until her legs start to shake with strain. She lets out a throaty little laugh as he pulls out, bracing herself against the rock as she catches her breath. “Fuck, Astarion,” she says breathlessly, giving him a sly grin over her shoulder. “That was incredible.”

He can see his cum starting to slide down the inside of her thighs, and it sends a jolt of desire through his already-sated body. And a strange feeling, too, one that’s unfamiliar but nearly overwhelming. Possessiveness?

He’s startled by the intensity of it, the way seeing his seed between her legs makes him want to yank her into his arms and never let her go, to take her over and over and listen to her cry out his name.

"You know," she says, turning to him, sweat gleaming on her naked body, "I like it when you say please."

"Oh gods," he groans with a roll of his eyes, embarrassed, but he can't turn away because she's sliding her hands up his chest, pressing her lips to his.

He sighs into her kiss, soaking in the warmth of her body as she insinuates herself into his arms. "You beg very nicely," she murmurs, a smirk curling her lips.

"If you ever tell anyone about that, I will knife you in your sleep," he murmurs back, taking two handfuls of her ass and pulling her against his swiftly reawakening erection, drowning in her kiss and her body and her teasing affection.

This is dangerous; he knows it, but somehow the sound of her laughter and the feel of her body are so good that he just doesn't care.

[matchbet-allofthetime]

Hi again! I melted over the Boone hcs—the way you write him is so good. Can I request your nsfw ramblings about Boone too? I just know his trigger finger could be put to good use…elsewhere 😩

VERY good use anon, you've read my mind 😉

Enjoy my excited horny rambling about Craig Boone below the cut ✨

Boone NSFW HCs:

-this man has a damn quick and steady trigger finger, and that extends to how he can fuck you with his fingers.

-he's a big boy by all accounts, and that gives him thick fingers, thick thighs and arms, and a thick dick.

-he can and WILL go commando, and that dick WILL be slung over the curve of his hip right where you can see it no matter what pants he wears

-he doesn't talk much unless you get him in a rare conversational mood at the best of times without fucking him. Despite that, he will absolutely mumble muffled praises and promises no matter how hard he's slamming his hips against your own

-definitely open for a poly relationship with you and a certain blonde doctor 👀

-casually constantly horny. Never stops.

-can and will keep going- like any other situation, puts both his endurance and strength to use

-puts that oral fixation and his habit of staying quieter to good use, because he WILL stuff his mouth with cock or cunt within moments of you telling him he can

-unnaturally long tongue, just a strange genetic trait. Serves him well when he pleasures partners

-dude will wilfully ignore arousal in lieu of his work but does get worked up if you tease enough to piss him off

-a touch possessive, mostly because he worries so much- leads often to him using a broad palm to press against your spine (or Arcade's, if he's also in on it all) to pin you down under him

-prefere giving over receiving, but if you do give, he certainly won't complain. It's one of few ways he gets vocal though, so be mindful

-takes as much as he gives. So if he ducks you hard, he expects you to fuck him harder right after

-silent touches and the holding of hands, even if he's rough

-only real exception to this is if he's pinned your hands or has both hands on your hips; he just loves being able to feel his partner(s) there with him

-king of aftercare tbh; despite growing up in the wastes, he's no less attentive of a partner. He is a sniper, after all, and he will notice every little wince or tightening of muscles even if you don't realize it.

-ultimately leads to him soothing kisses over soft bruising in the shapes of his fingers and teeth

-speaking of teeth, he likes to nibble! Not too hard, but he puts those sharp teefies to good use and thoroughly enjoys kissing into soft skin just to sink his teeth in a little bit.

-always makes sure to pay attention to all bites, bruises, and other aches and marks whenever it's said and done.

-regardless of gender, if he's fucking you from behind, spooning you to fuck you, or missionary- if his hand can support itself against your belly, it will 100% of the time unless he's preoccupied with something else

-likely stems from a need to protect that can and will get incredibly snippish toward those who aren't with him

-this man doesn't get jealous for the life of him, but he DOES get pissy when someone flirts with who he's with, primarily when they know he's with them

-leads to rough fucking just to be sure his partner(s) are marked fully. Followed quickly by tender, slow sex just so he can relax and worship

-he sounds he makes tend to be deeper grunts, and the sucking in of air in sharp, harsh intervals.

-but you can make him cry when it's tender enough, and you'll get soft whines and delightful noises of pleasure from him if you let him lose himself in it all

-switch, and can easily change that day to day. Most often a dominant bottom or a service top unless he's in a particular mood

-will happily get on his knees for a partner

-scrape your fingers through his buzzed hair- you can't pull it, hasn't been long in years, but it still riles him up

-bite at his wrist and kiss across his knuckles or kiss and suck little marks into his jaw and throat; that'll all have him worked up and anxious to bend you over just to see the arch of your spine

-the type of attentive to stuff a pillow under your hips but ignore the pain in his own knees

-prone to sub drops, so be very tender with him

-doesn't like admitting it for a long while, but he likes spanking to a lesser degree, and also has a thing for pain play

-it's NEVER enough to cause genuine damage, but he thinks reddened and swollen skin on a partner from the sheer size and weight of his hands is hotter than sin

-also likes sticking his fingers in a partner's mouth; the muffled sucking gets his brain hazy in the best way

-will put in HOURS when able just learning your body, learning what makes you tick and what has you teetering over the edge faster

-as per my much more sfw post, I expressed that I think he has nipple piercings. I think he'd have gotten them early into the NCR, likely as a dare or whatever, then found he liked them and never took them out

-I ALSO think he's the type of cheeky to have a Prince Albert. It's a hassle in the wasteland at times, but then, what isn't?

-shove a cock down his throat until he's sobbing with pleasure; he doesn't have a gag reflex and any choking that occurs is either by your hands, his own, or him struggling to breathe through tears of want

-likewise, he will choke someone lightly. It's mostly just his hand resting against a partner's throat and giving reassuring squeezes, but it makes him feel like he's protecting them in a way

-ride his thighs, PLEASE ride those thick ass thighs! He is not a small man by any means, and if you suck hickies into his throat and scratch at the tattoos on his broad back while rolling your hips against his thigh, hoooo boy, he will fucking ruin you

-is down for quickies when out and about in the wastes, but generally holds off unless he's angry, teased too long, or until you're back in a safe place (typically the Lucky 38, or if everyone else is gone for the time being, the Old Mormon Fort)

-is cheekiest when taking it up the ass, I don't make the rules. Can be a bit of a cocky tease, if not a downright soft brat

-ask him to keep the beret on and he'll cum in his pants in seconds.

-this dude fucks nasty AND sweet. Ends up with some curious but enjoyable experiences

-hates orgasm denial, but adores overstimulation every time

-he's patient but orgasm denial leaves him feeling more pissed off than eager

-but he'd like to be a shaking mess- or make his partner into one- or both! So make sure to use it

-will try to toy with partners under tables. He doesn't give a fuck, he will have a hand on your thigh and will stroke you then and there

[shabbytigers]

i feel bad for loving zara suddenly

but their men’s pants are fucking incredible? the hell? i got a pair of light grey straight-cut jeans and a pair of cream wide-cut pants in heavy twill that functionally are ~jeans but will also pass for like chinos-level smart casual

i spent decades in the womenswear trenches where dark colors are easiest for pants. in menswear, the optimal default is lighter on the bottom half. as an immigrant, i can’t overstate how weird that is. and executing it is even worse. one’s eye isn’t well trained, and a lot of epicycles get sucked into to wrangling different and conflicting narratives about how to minimize vs maximize hips. derek guy has been very helpful with the theory side, but he can’t actually shop or get dressed for me

derek disapproves of fast fashion like zara, and he’s right, but what does he want from me? every time I find a good pair of pants, i change shape and/or gain or lose weight. i got four pairs on sale last summer that should have held me for a couple of years and then i shrank for no reason and it’s all too big now. my hit rate with strategic online thrifting for high quality stuff is low? partly because my measurements are an unreliable target

so it’s gonna be 1. brick and mortar thrifting for mostly mass market tier items priced cheaply or 2. brick and mortar fast fashion

and i love thrifting, but it kind of happens in its own time and you can’t be too goal-oriented going in

[coffee-writesthings]

I made a headcanon about Scout and Spy both having EDS, soooo here's a fic i wrote expanding on it a touch. Warning for some internalized abliesm but it's dealt with pretty quickly

WC: 1k

MannCo recently sent a shipment of a variety of things: food, weapons, ammo, and a large roll of tape which Scout ordered specially for himself. It was sticky, and would look very similar to his skin-- the perfect thing to hide his slippery joints with.

He went to look through the boxes the moment he heard that the truck left. It had to be in there, and he had to get it before anyone found out. There was no way he'd be allowed to stay on the team in this sort of condition!

With a little searching, he found the right box. It was marked in large, egregious letters, "DISABILITY STUFF". He cringed at how the words glared up at him, practically shouting out to the world how 'broken' he was.

Broken or not, he needed the help, so he dug into the box-- with the help of a pocket knife. Though, what he found wasn't just his tape. There were braces of various kinds, pairs of glasses, and several bottles of what he assumed were medication.

He was dumbfounded, and at the same time wanted to kick himself-- of course his other teammates were also disabled. Medic needed glasses, Pyro needed stuff for their burn scars, Demo only had one eye for gods sake! Had he really just not considered that at all?

Really thinking about it as he dug through the boxes to find his tape, he realized that, no, he'd never thought of his team as disabled-- and they probably didn't either. They were just living life and had found things to work around whatever they were struggling with.

Underneath a sort of brace he'd never seen before lie his tape. It was a massive roll, far larger than what he'd ever used before, maybe as wide across the circle as his forearm?

With new complaints from his hips starting up, he abandoned the boxes and got to work 'fixing his life with duct tape'.

Under the dim light in the bathroom-- jeez, they really need to change that bulb out sometime-- he was able to put down some strips of tape where he felt it was needed most at the moment. Two strips starting just above his hip and trailing down to his inner thighs already helped so much. But with that out of the way, he started on his knees-- he made a sort of x shape from a little above his knee to the side of his calf with a strip of tape for each side, for each leg.

"Thank fuck, my joints are actually jointing now--" he muttered before bumping into Spy.

"Merde, what are you doing up at this hour?"

"I should ask ya the same thing."

"If you must know I'm looking for my new brace. Medic suggested it specially for my Ehlors-Danlos. Tell no one. Please."

"Oh hey, I have that same problem! Yeah, my joints are all wonky, I basically tape em together."

He winced in a way that was almost unnoticeable.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No, nothing."

"Alright then. Make sure you get some sleep for your old bones then!"

It hit him in the face when he woke up, Ehlors-Danlos is inherited... They'd be around the same age, right? 26 and late-40s, early 50s. It's not unreasonable. He would've been... Somewhere between his age and somewhat younger.

It's not... uncommon for someone to have a kid at that age.

And there were other things too, other things that were shared between them. Their faces were incredibly similar, now that the thought about it-- one thing that the Director's visit helped with.

Something his Ma talked about once or twice came into the mental conversation with a steel chair-- his dad was french. Like, it was significant enough to warrant having a favorite french thing to watch on tv.

Damn, stuff like this had him feeling like an idiot for never noticing.

"But, what about Tom Jones--" he muttered to himself, "No. No wait. Hang on." He cursed loudly, remembering that Spy can use disguises.

That warranted a knock on the door from Engineer, "Everythin' alright in there?"

"Spy's my dad."

"Huh?"

"Spy, the 10,000-euro-suit-wearing asshole, is my dad."

"Have you... Considered talking to him about this, perhaps?" The voice that came out of that mouth was patiently off, too French for Engineer's Texas background.

"Your accent is slipping."

In a cloud of smoke, Spy dropped the disguise. "You caught me."

"So you admit it? You're my dad-- how freakin' long did you know?"

"About a year after you joined the team."

"Y'know the hell of it all? I can't even blame you, it's not like you were there most of the time. Didn't even get you for the big moments."

"I am sorry, I couldn't be around in ways you were aware of-- it would have put you in more danger than it was worth." his gaze moved downwards with his frown, "The few times I was able to, I had to be invisible. I didn't want you to become entangled in any of this."

He held back the insult, thinking better than to kick a man while he's down. "I'm still angry, but.. I guess it's at least good to know. Thank you."

Silence hung in the air for the next few seconds, not quite tense, not quite calm, but a third unknown thing. Spy broke the silence, "Do you want to see what I use for my joints?"

"Sure, maybe I can teach ya something."

"Don't get too cocky, I don't see anything you can teach me when it comes to your post-battle scores," he took a gulp of his cup of coffee.

"Oh you ass. Hey, why'd you dress up as Engineer by the way, you planning on taking him out sometime?"

"Who's to say I'm planning?"

"Well damn-- does this mean I'm getting an extra parent out of this?"

He choked, taking a few seconds to regain his breath, "You heard nothing."

[fallendemon6000]

ONLY TO HURT YOU 5

After the fall from Heaven, Crowley quickly settled into Hell, he immediately understood how things worked. The recurring words were: TEMPTATIONS, CONDEMNED SOULS, UNHAPPINESS and DAMNATION.

He had made his way and stood out among all the other demons, in his own way but he had done it. It was so natural for him to tempt humans, a soft voice near his ear and a snap of his fingers and that was it! Every month many souls entered the files of Hell and even Lord Beelzebub was satisfied with this magnificent work.

Beelzebub: "We are all very pleased with you, demon Crowley. You know, we prefer you as a demon than as an angel."

Crowley: "Mmh thanks."

Beelzebub: "We would like you to pair up..."

Crowley: "No offense Lord Beelzebub, I work alone."

Crowley rarely partnered or teamed up with other demons, he was solitary and so he wanted to stay. He had already met the angel long before, in the Garden of Eden, they had exchanged a few words that day and from there they had not seen each other for a long time. When Crowley had no missions, he often liked to roam Earth in tree glades and smell the wood and flowers. On one of those days, while he was lying on a lawn, his nose was overwhelmed by a strange smell. So he decided to follow that trail up to a kind of farmhouse that seemed abandoned. When he got closer he heard strange noises coming from inside. He looked out of a half-open window to get a better look. What he saw was a naked man lying on a bed while a woman, also naked, stood over him as he continued to move his hips rapidly. Crowley turned away from the window slightly embarrassed, it's true that every demon had their own methods of tempting humans but he would never go that far for a soul. The girl had probably noticed him since the demons could perceive and recognize each other even when they changed the shape of their appearance.

A few minutes later Crowley heard the door of the house creak and saw that woman come out, this time she was dressed, long black boots, tight pants, a red shirt with a black corset cinched at the waist and long rich hair with purple streaks. She is very charming for being a demon.

Crowley: "What kind of demon are you?"

A:"Hello to you too, Crowley."

Crowley: "Well, I'm pleased to note that you know my name but I don't know yours. What should I call you?"

Angie: "Angie, nice. Lord Beelzebub told me about you. The solitary Crowley, excellent tempter and with the highest number of souls sent to hell."

Crowley: "Angie, Angie...wait, but you're the succubus of Hell, the orgy queen on Earth and the biggest cannabis smoker in history."

Angie: "That's right, that's me. You forgot 'hardworking slut'."

Crowley: "Ahah, I would never say that."

Angie: "I am a little bit. What brings you to these parts?"

Crowley: "A very strong smell coming from this place."

Angie: “You were drawn to these then.”

Angie pulled four joints out of her jacket pocket. She handed one to Crowley who sniffed it very intently.

Crowley: "Oh wow, yes, they're definitely making this smell."

Angie: "Do you like it?"

Crowley: "I don't know, I have mixed feelings about it."

Angie: "Do you want to try one with me?"

Crowley: "Mh, okay."

A few hours later they were both lying on some straw laughing and joking like old friends who had known each other for years, even if they had only known each other for a few hours.

Crowley: "Oh wow... this stuff is so strong."

Angie: "And it's the best...ahahaha."

Crowley: "But ahahah...sorry ahahahah...how can you afford all this Cannabis?"

Angie: "Do you remember the guy you saw me fucking before?"

Crowley: "Of course yes."

Angie: "Well... he and I have some sort of agreement... he supplies me with cannabis and I give him the charity of fucking him..."

Crowley: "Charity?! Come on, Angie...ahaha"

Angie: "Ahahaha...What?"

Crowley: "You may be a demon, but even demons have their dignity and you're wasted on someone like him. You deserve better, that's all."

Angie: "But he will soon be a new soul for Hell...and then you know it better than me...demons don't fall in love, we are damned and no one could feel love for us, Crowley."

Crowley: "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Those words remained in Crowley's head for many years, and they were also the reason why when Crowley started spending a lot more time with Aziraphale he didn't want to admit to himself that he was falling in love with him but obviously he couldn't declare it, there was too much in game. Then what everyone knows happened, an angel and a demon had managed to stop the end of the world, they had moved away from Hell and Paradise, they had lived for a few years in a serene and peaceful way, always remaining close to each other, Gabriel showed up naked in the angel's library and finally Aziraphale's stupid decision to return to Heaven and the Big Kiss. Then, obviously, another catastrophe was avoided by a pure miracle, Aziraphale had returned to Earth, he had looked for Crowley to ask him for help, the demon had categorically refused to help him and to make him go away, Crowley had had to use heavy means, including a bit of infernal flames, in which the angel limited himself only to defending himself and then left. Crowley then felt guilty for having attacked his only friend and sought him out in turn, he did not apologize but simply stayed close to him. So with a bit of luck and good friends they managed to make peace between Heaven and Hell, signing a kind of pact between the two factions, signing it as: 'THE GREAT INEFFABLE PACT'. Now everything was quiet, more or less. Crowley couldn't forgive Aziraphale, that abandonment had hurt him more than anything... more than his own fall. Now he needed someone and Angie was the only one who could, somehow, give him some comfort and take the place of the angel.

[runthepockets]

I feel like talking about music. I'm gonna post 7 albums that describe me. Shit that shaped my worldview, reflects my aesthetics, and all that other stuff. Puttin it under read more so no one's dash gets clogged.

ZUU - DENZEL CURRY.

I'm a huge fan of southern Hip Hop. It's dense and eclectic and always so full of life and culture, everything from Andre 3000's thick Atlanta twang on Intl Players Anthem to DJ Paul's production on any given Three 6 Mafia project, it's just my shit. It all speaks to the state of living in the south and has made so much impact on the broader state of Hip Hop. especially in the modern day.

This album feels....so personal. Like coming back home and meeting up with an old friend and realizing you both still know that secret handshake you made up in middle school, or watching the emotional climax of a coming of age movie. I was as wild as I was loving in my youth, so tracks like Ricky and Speedboat and Shake 88 which reference everything from getting in fights in your high school Dickies and football hoodies to escaping hood life to spitting bars about neighborhood bad bitches. It just speaks to me and my experiences, It's always good to know there are other black dudes out there writing love letters and cautionary tales about the violent environments and close knit & loving cultures that surrounded them in their youths spent below the bible belt. I wish I'd had this album when I was 17.

2. VIVA LA COBRA - COBRA STARSHIP

I've been listening to Cobra Starship since I was about 15, and this album has never left my all time greats. It's so fucking fun, like an 18 year old stole his dad's credit card and drove up with his friends to hang in NYC with fake IDs. The bragging, slightly macho, slightly cynical, fun but not too stupid persona Gabe Saporta personifies on this album speaks to me so deeply and shaped me into the man I am today. He has the cynicism and self aware, sarcastic edge that only a former Punk making dance music could have.

3. THREE DAYS GRACE - THREE DAYS GRACE.

Around the age of 13 I was carrying a massive weight; some of it was dysphoria, some of it was internalized racism, some of it was just plain average shit that comes with the territory of being a child under capitalist patriarchy. I felt lost and misunderstood, until I found this album completely by accident. Tracks like Home and Drown spoke to my experiences with abuse and the intense bouts of willpower and self sufficiency that I knew I was capable of but didn't have the courage to act on. I'd put these songs on in my room and drift away, all the pressures my parents and friends and school had put on me just washing away. It was loud and raw and angry and fueled the newfound passion and teen rebellion that would make up the majority of my teens and shape my worldview in adulthood.

4. RUN THE JEWELS 2 - RUN THE JEWELS

The aggressive machismo on this album and the general fuckboy-isms of it all speak to me. Bars like "you want a whore in a white dress, I want a wife with a thong" and verses like "I got that dick in her mouth all day" are just standouts. Just laying everything out, speaking your mind, holding back no punches. The album also weaves in tracks about police brutality, class warfare, and the harsh reality of being pushed to do things you aren't proud of to make ends meet (Killer Mike has a bar about having to sell cocaine to a pregnant woman, and another about his wife being shot by police in front of his son.) I honestly can't see who wouldn't be changed after listening to this, or at least feel seen. It's a no skip banger from beginning to end, if you really wanna understand the essence of Jared, this is it.

5. SOUL GLO - DIASPORA PROBLEMS

Growing up a black kid who liked rock music was extremely taboo, back in the day. It earned you some level of alienation in both black and white dominated spaces. I'd always felt in between worlds; The gritty realism of Hip Hop spoke to me just as the maniacal, commanding essence of Rock and Metal did, and it seemed neither party wanted much to do with me.

Imagine my excitement in 2022 when I find out about Soul Glo, an all black Punk band from my town, who frequently scream their hearts out about everything from police brutality to fake friends to feeling ostracization and tokenization as a black Punk band, with absurd humor and such intense display of vulnerability unlike anything I'd seen before. Finally, I thought, a band that understands me. A band for guys like me.

6. MOBB DEEP - THE INFAMOUS

I got way too high on acid while solo tripping last year and spent a lot of that trip freaking the fuck out. Doom Metal was too much, looking in the mirror was too much, watching tv was too much, everything was just too fucking much.

Except for this record.

This record saved my life and got me into Rap music again. I've cried to it as many times as I've lifted and shaken my ass to it. Though I've never been involved in the street life-- especially not to the degree that Havoc and Prodigy lay claim to-- I grew up privy to it. My environment was incredibly violent. A lot of moralizing by mass media and white people of all backgrounds was lost on me; my father sold drugs to keep me fed and to put Christmas presents under the table, and he'd brought a couple of sex workers into the mix as well (all of whom were incredibly kind women), I felt if anything or anyone was failing, it was the justice system that put guys in these positions.

This album is fucking ruthless. The Jazz and Boom Bap elements add depth to it that I can't really say any other Jazz or Boom Bap rap album has done the same way since. It's also incredibly vulnerable at times. These guys have more nuance and versatility than any other rapper of their time, and it speaks to me as a black dude of working background and experience.

7. THE SLIM SHADY LP - EMINEM

Anyone who's followed me for more than a day knows how much I love Eminem. I think he's witty, charming, funny, and a really down to Earth dude, which probably sounds insane considering the amount of violence and bigotry he spews on the mic at any given time.

This album practically shaped my life and the way I internalize other people's opinions of me. As a kid, I grew up with a pretty abusive mom, and as such always felt the need to apologize or shrink in on myself just for existing. I hadn't really learned how to nurture the spirit until Eminem. The rage, the insanity, and the violence, was all a sheen for an album that truly told a story of how to power through life only trusting yourself and a few other insane, close friends, but most importantly to not let anything get you down and to simply not give a fuck (and to tell anyone who insists otherwise to get on their knees and suck it). The guy spoke real shit and had the credentials to prove it, he knew what he was about and made his dreams a reality, and that was awesome to me.

[kiidwritings]

so cringe, but i love u <3

chapter 0: prologue

wc; 3,563. tags/warnings; maybe ooc .T4T RAAAGGHHHH!! Trans horangi. Trans könig. 5+1 Things. sorry if könig is ooc. im trying here. also horangi might be ooc. I TRYING. idk i based his AUDHD on mine so :P. same with könig's social anxiety. author is nd. Author is trans. she/he/they könig. transfem könig. im trying my best ;-;. not beta read. events based on stuff in author's real life. lol mention of masturbation. author knows very little german. like the basics of german. thanks duolingo. FART JOKE/MENTION DFHBDGJB. possible grammatical errors

pairing: kim "horangi" hong-jin/könig

READ ON AO3!!

Love is a remarkable thing. Whether platonic or romantic, it’s something that everyone deserves and can really change a person’s character and heal wounds that were never properly treated. Love is expressed in many different ways; cooking for someone, basking in the warmth of another’s touch, or even through the act of lovemaking (or fucking if you’re freaky like that). 

Life isn’t some fictional romantic book with some ridiculous trope like soulmate strings, or love at first sight, you have to learn what love is beneath all the lovey-dovey shit- love was awkward flirting, one-sided infatuation, heartbreak, and realizing some things just don’t work out between people. 

Sometimes it feels like you’ll never find love, no matter how long you wait, it seems like no one has the desire to make you theirs.

To have those little inside jokes that no one else understands.

To be able to sit down and work out problems in a way that leaves both parties satisfied.

To have rubbed off on each other so much that everyone can see that they're yours and you theirs.

To be able to love is a beautiful thing, whether sexual or romantic activities are involved.

So when König first saw Horangi, dressed down in his all-camo attire and sunglasses that just barely made his almond-shaped eyes visible, he couldn’t help but let his nails pick unconsciously at the dead skin along the ridges of his finger beds and begin sweating underneath his hood from the raising temperatures.

Of course, König kept his distance, needing to read him from afar before even thinking about approaching him. His skills were good no doubt about that, KorTac is only filled with the best, but it seemed like König was taking too long because one afternoon, Horangi waltzed up to them and practically demanded a sparing match.

“You’re sparing with me today.”

König blinked, sweat pooling under their mask from both Horangi’s presence and having just beat the shit out of a punching bag (she had a lot of built-up anger that day and not enough sleep, you couldn't blame her!)

“What?”

“Sparing match,” Horangi pointed to the sparing mats, “Now, let’s go.”

He didn’t even wait before walking over to the mats, expecting König to follow him like a trained puppy at his beck and call. If König was none the wiser, maybe they would’ve seen the sway in Horangi's hips, like a cat courting a potential mate.

But deep down, König couldn’t help but be turned on by Horangi’s dominance, and their leg bounced and thumped like an excited bunny.

The more the two were around each other- whether it was for a mission, during a debrief meeting, in the mess hall, in the training rooms, or even after hours when everyone started to retreat back to their dorms, König and Horangi would always make some extra time to see each other.

Maybe Horangi liked the rank imbalance between them, or maybe it was the fact that they were both trans, but it seemed like whatever higher powers had finally answered König’s prays to be loved for once (by someone besides his mom and grandmother- whatta ladies man!) because after many long months of pining for each other, getting flustered over lingering gazes, and landing in awkward positions during sparing (which usually ended up with Horangi knuckles deep in himself), König made the first move.

If she���d told younger her that she made a move on a cocky, badass baddie such as Kim “Horangi” Hong Jin, little Anton would’ve scoffed.

Him? Talking to anyone about romantic interest? Yeah, probably in some other universe where König didn’t feel like the room got ten times hotter whenever anyone even remotely up to his standards stood within a 10-foot radius of him.

But here they were, standing outside Horangi’s door with shien of sweat over their skin, shaky hands, and having had hit his head thrice on the doorways around the base, his mind too clouded by how to even start going about this.

He owed another thanks to whoever was listening to his prayers because despite having not a complete family for the entity of his adolescence, KorTac had definitely filled in the voids he was missing. Asking around for advice was both embarrassing and nerve-racking.

Roze went the straightforward route; go up to Horangi, ask him out, take him to dinner, bring him back to base, fuck him hard and nice, and then ask him out. The euphoria of the moment will help bring out Horangi’s true emotions without the shadow of insecurities. (Maybe it was the fact that Roze was aromantic and didn’t care much for the several steps skipped when someone usually tries to ask someone out.)

Hutch’s advice was much more thought through and less… vulgar . Sure what Roze said about going to dinner would be great- König and Horangi were kind of in the awkward stage of wanting to be with each other- but in the following days after the date, it’d be best to try and keep everything as they were before, and if Horangi’s feelings grew, then she knew it was time to make it official with him.

With his mind still full of insecurities and inexperience, König went and flopped down on his bed, limbs hanging off due to his imposing stature. 

“ Gottverdammt … this shouldn’t be so hard, right?” König muttered to herself as she stared at the painting chipping on her walls. She inwardly cursed herself for not having gotten over her stupid social anxiety and gotten some game back in his youth. (His therapist would’ve shaken his head if he heard him say that.)

Maybe she could think about it over some paperwork, the reports piling up on her already messy desk. Neh, König needed focus to do work, and having his mind also occupied with this whole dating situation would have him staring at the same sentence for half an hour, damn his ADHD. 

Working out always helped relieve stress and it was late, so he’d basically have the whole gym to himself. (They will still never live down accidentally farting while bending down to pick up a weight… ugh .) But König did have paperwork to be done, damn that paperwork, know he’s gonna be thinking about it for the rest of the week, URGH !

Shuffling onto their back, they let out a deep belly sigh. Staring at the semi-stained titles of his dorm ceiling, he thought back to his childhood, memories of brisk early mornings, perfecting his handwriting so his teachers would stop berating him for it, running home to avoid being hit by rocks by kids who never seemed to be in school and helping with as many house chores as needed in order to help his mother who worked relentlessly for her baby’s sake. König smiled, remembering a day when his mother came home, her crooked teeth showing in her big smile, standing on her tiptoes to give Anton a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

<“Mama, you look happy. Did something happen?”> Anton asked as he shifted in the too-small table chair. The already-worn wood creaked under his weight. 

Elena’s lips were cracked, having worked out in the cold from the first light of day to the late dusk hours, but her smile never flattered. 

Anton was her rock and she was his, having stuck through everything in life together. 

When his father left, not needing to be weighed down by the responsibilities of being a father to a baby who would never grow up to be as much a man as he is, she cried and cried to her mother, a strong widow who was more than welcome to take care of her daughter’s pride and joy despite finally feeling her age. 

When Anton went through growth spirit after growth spirit, having to retuck his shirt into his waistbands and feel the breeze on his constant plumbers crack, she took all the old clothes her late father and dead-beat ex-husband left behind, stitching up whatever tears and rips were in the fabrics and sending him off, praising Anton for looking like such a big, strong boy when really, the clothes just made him look like the homeless man he’d see during his bike rides to the overpriced supermarket in the next town over.

<“Oh Anton, my sweet boy,”> She came over, cupping his cheeks riddled with freckles (they were more prominent on colder days), ance, and scars from said ance and placed one of her sloppy, motherly kisses on his forehead. His curly auburn bangs stuck to her lips as she pulled back. 

The sight of his mother’s smile made his hands shake and slap against his thighs with untamed happiness.

<”Go put on something nice. We’ll pick up your grandmother and go out for something to eat. I’ve saved up enough for us.”> Elena’s thick eyelashes were glistening with tears and up close, Anton could see the bags under her hazelnut eyes.

After fancying themselves up and picking up his grandmother, they made the half-hour drive into the city. To regular standards, the restaurant was barely even considered fancy, it was just some family-owned diner with mediocre food and greasy tables, but the sight of the food made Anton enthusiastic while reciting the prayers his grandmother made them say before meals. 

Whilst in the midst of practically shoveling food in his mouth, Anton’s grandmother spoke up. 

<”Enkel (grandson)...?”> She spoke in a weak yet gentle voice. It had lost its verbal liveliness, but only those closest to her could understand when emotions ran high through her words. Anton looked up, his lips coated with the spicy broth from the Potato Gulasch he was practically inhaling, before quickly wiping his mouth with a crumbled napkin. His grandmother taught him better.

<”Has your mind cleared from the last time we talked?”> There was slyness in her tone as Elena raised her eyebrow and finished chewing a particularly chewy piece of beef in her Tafelspitz.

<”Hmm? What’s this about?”> She questioned rightfully so, if there was something bothering her son, she should be the first to know!

Anton blushed and began pushing around the vegetables in his stew. <”I…umm, I wanted to ask out a girl. Remember the one I was paired with for that project?”> 

Elean seemed to perk up even more, playfully bumping shoulders with her son.

<“Wunderbar! (Wonderful!) Oh, my sweet boy!”> She gushed and grinned wildly. In other circumstances, Anton would’ve laughed bashfully and gone pink, but in the middle of a busy restaurant where any of his schoolmates could’ve walked in or been within earshot of this conversation, he ducked his head and mumbled incoherence, embarrassed.

<”Yeah…I just, don’t know how to though. She’s so sweet and pretty I just… she’s too good for me.”>

 Elean blinked at this, her smile gone and looking rather serious as his grandmother shook her head.

<”Enkel, we talked about this. You need to-.”>

<”No girl is too good for my son!”> Anton’s grandmother was cut off by Elean’s sharp words. She was frowning and looked rather upset. Not at Anton himself, but at his mind and his insecurities and the words he dared to utter, belittling himself and his abilities.

<”Whoever this girl is, she’d be lucky to have someone such as yourself, my own flesh and blood, ask her out on a date! Good confessions come from the heart of someone just as good, and if she can’t understand how blessed and pure you are by your words, then she doesn’t deserve shit from you!”> 

Elean’s cheeks were flushed by the time she finished her rant before they got even redder.

<”Ah! Entschuldigung, Mutter! Bist bald! (Excuse me, mother! I’m sorry!)”> She hung her head at her grandmother while Anton just stared at his mother in astonishment. 

Just his mother’s words alone filled him with such… confidence. He felt his hands shake and suddenly his mind cleared with only one thing in mind; asking this girl out.

His grandmother only smiled and let her ankle knock against her daughter’s in a silent acceptance. 

The rest of the dinner went well, Elean even treated them to some desserts. The ride home was filled with comfortable silence and the rumble of Anton’s stomach as it tried to adjust to the spices that laced the Potato Gulasch. 

Anton smiled to himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. The reflection in the mirror was no longer someone he scrunched his face up at, but a young man who was slowly breaking out of his shell, like a caterpillar wiggling its way out of its chrysalis.

With a full stomach and his mother’s words still echoing in his head, Anton nuzzled into his flat pillows, forgetting all his other school troubles and only thinking about the happy-go-lucky brunette who went the extra mile to say hi to him in the halls.

(He also doesn't think he’s ever farted so much in his life. His stomach growled and rolled from the spices that were now coating his insides and attacking his bowels. His asshole was on fire that night.)

It was about 20 minutes before lights out, the usual sounds of the Kortac base were now mellowed down as the night hours passed. 

König balled his thin sheets up in his calloused fists before jerking up in bed, death staring at the hickory door of his room. König wasn’t a pussy, he wasn’t gonna disappoint his mother, and he didn’t his rank as colonel by letting his insecurities get the best of him!

Social anxiety be damned, this mountain of an Austrian man knew how to get shit done when shit needed to be done!

Without a moment’s hesitation, she threw open her door and made her way down the halls of the barracks, getting stares from those who were still up and about. She made a beeline for Horangi’s room and wasted no time giving the door a sturdy three knocks.

“I- just a second!” Horangi’s accented voice was heard through the door along with some rustling. König stood straight and waited for the top of the Korean man’s head to come into view.

Horangi appeared in his doorway wearing some casual attire; a pair of black cargos, a V-necked gray shirt, and a simple black hoodie. His usual pair of sunglasses were nowhere in sight, not even hanging on the collar of his shirt, and his eyes, dark and shimmery like black diamonds, looked up at König with such innocence.

König could tell he wasn’t wearing his binder, not that he made it a habit to look! But when you’re tall enough to see the curve of everyone’s boobs from above, it was sometimes the second thing you noticed about a person.

(Sometimes König wished they had boobs. The mere thought made their face flush and they felt vulnerable even within the walls of her own room. Someday, she’d work up the courage to find a bra that'd fit her chest and cry at the sight of how beautiful his body, which he spent years hating, could be.)

The sight of Horangi made him instinctively hunch his shoulders and swallow hard. König blinked before clearing they spoke, “Ah, good evening, Hor- I mean, Hong-Jin!” 

Hong-Jin made it a point that his callsign was indeed NOT his actual name and that during their casual time together, he preferred that name over Horangi (it especially sounded nice when it came from König’s lips, but he would never say that, no matter how blunt he could be).

“Hello, König. What brings you around this late?” Hong-Jin said as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and without the playful scrunch of his eyes, König would’ve thought the worst, and all his confidence would’ve gone down the drain. 

König had yet to tell Hong-Jin his real name.

Anton is not a colonel, but a citizen. She was beneath the sniper hood König adorned when on base and during missions. Anton was a mama’s boy who was too big for their own good and although hated their dad, wished he hadn’t left so that they might’ve had some sort of male role to look up to. 

But that was a can of worms she wasn’t ready to open, it’d probably go bad by the time she was ready to even think about cracking open its rusted aluminum top.

König gripped the fabric of his pants to keep them from shaking. “Can I come in? I wanted to…talk…?”

He inwardly cringed as his voice went up an octave as his sentence progressed, but Hong-Jin just smiled, well, König assumed he smiled based on how his eyes squinted (it was hard to see when he had his mask on), and stepped out the way to allow König into his room.

Making sure to duck, König went and sat on the desk chair. They were familiar with the arrangement of Hong-Jin’s room from the number of times the two had hung out in it… as friends of course!

Hong-Jin plopped back down on his bed, there were some stray clothes lying about but otherwise, it was tidy, as tidy as a ‘lived-in’ room could be.

“So what’s up, König? Roze told me you two talked earlier.”

König visibly stiffened, heart stopping for a second before pounding at his rib cage like a rabid animal and it was suddenly 80 degrees under his hood.

(Fahrenheit, of course. I’m American.)

“Really? What…what about?” König squeaked out. (What the hell, König didn’t squeak . He’s a grown-ass dude, the fuck would he be squeaking for?!)

Hong-Jin just shrugged smugly. “I don’t know, you wanna tell me? That was your conversation.” His everyday, average teasing seemed to be too much for poor, little ( NOT little. Remember? This was a middle-aged man we’re talking about.) König.

Their chest puffed and they exhaled loudly, almost unnecessarily loud. With averted eyes and sweaty palms, she spoke up again.

“Y-yeah, I had something to admit.” Hong-Jin blinked and if it hadn’t been for his mask, König would’ve seen the pink flush in his cheeks.

Hong-Jin shuffled on the bed but kept silent, pleading for him to continue.

König let out another sigh again, “I’ve been thinking about this for…some time now. Maybe three months after you transferred to KorTac and since we started really talking to each other,”

Her leg started bouncing and the desk chair let out little squeaks. Hong-Jin didn’t seem to care, listening intently to every word that slipped from König’s mouth.

“And, I’m not sure if it’s too early or if you're completely uninterested feel free to tell me off, but I’d love the opportunity to-.”

“ God yes .”

Kong blinked at the desperation and eagerness that dripped from Horangi’s agreement.

Hong-Jin blinked, his body leaning forward and hands gripping his knees, before leaning back and blushing hard.

Oh, such a pretty pink.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Well, is ‘Yes’ the answer you were hoping for in response to your question?” Hong-Jin’s voice was a mixture of bashful and smug. 

König crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then crossed them the opposite way. “I…umm, well it depends! Can…can I finish my sentence?” König huffed in amusement. 

Hong-Jin nodded, so with a little bit less anxiousness, König spoke up again.

“I wanted to ask if you…umm, well, if you wanted to go out?…with me! Not just like in general, but like ya’ know…-“

“On a date?” Hong-Jin’s voice was now smug and he was definitely smirking under his mask. 

That sly cat…

König just nodded and fidgeted with the drawstring of his sweatpants. “ Ja. Well, I guess I already know your answer ‘cause you just said yes, but I wanted you to actually know what you were agreeing to! I’m not even sure if you like me or not, or just pitying me! Which is completely fine if that’s the-!”

“König…” Hong-Jin’s voice was now soft, a natural rumble from his chest, akin to a noise a tiger would make (haha, see what I did there?).

König just fluttered her eyelashes and swallowed, “Hmm?”

“I would love to go on a date with you. I do like you if that somehow wasn’t clear enough.”

So that’s how it started, two predators- a bear with the heart of a rabbit and a tiger who had a knack for teasing, learning to be soft with each other.

What people don’t realize about going from friends to lovers is how similar the relationship is to the previous friendship. You go about your normal routines with a little bit of PDA and flirting added into it (and a lot of fucking, Horangi’s sex drive was higher than König’s). Soon, you’ll be moving in with each other, spending late mornings in each other’s arms, sharing clothes, and swapping spit.

But like all humans, we have flaws and weaknesses. Whether or not you choose to deal with a partner’s flaws shows more about your character than theirs. And if you're strong enough to stay with someone despite feeling yourself physically recoil at the sight of their icks, then that shows your love and devotion towards them.

But one little ick wouldn’t ruin a relationship, right?

Till death do them part…although, it’d be years before those words would even be muttered.

Feel free to give criticism and feedback via ask, I’d love to know how to get better and to hear what y'all have to say about my writings!

Have a good day/night! :3c - alienkiid

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©kiidwritings 2020 - 2023; all rights to the stories are reserved to @kiidwritings! please do not plagiarize, modify, edit, translate, or repost any of my work!

[itiaskia]

do you have physical body trait headcanons for femstars shumika?

NSFW under the cut, also mentions of eating disorder and body dysmorphia

So coming up w/ them I first thought of what Shu’s type would be because I think it’s relevant to his and Mika’s bodies in the original (shu preferring smaller more androgynous looks, not being like that, and Mika also being insecure even though he’s closer to that look than Shu)

I think Shu’s type would be the same pretty much, small and dainty. So fem!Shu would be curvy and a little chubby. She’d have a large chest probably like DD, big nips that she’s insecure about so whenever they fuck she’s always wearing a bra/corset/lingerie cuz that’d also make her more comfortable about her shape (gotta hide the tummy). Hair like Mademoiselle’s but pink, but as for the rest of her body she’s just as hairless as masc!shu she waxes/shaves everywhere there will be no stray hair. Keeping her tall so she’s still 5’10” :333 uhh as for pussy quality I think she has naturally wide hips so she’s never really “tight”, pretty and light pink. She’s convinced it smells weird but it just has normal pussy smell lmfao.

For Mika, still 5’7” but wiry, I originally was a completely flat AAA fem mika truther but I’ve been opened up to lopsided tits mika so fem!mika has like. one AAA and one A. Mismatched like her eyes. Has the same haircut as masc!mika, anorexic but Shu’s been helping her with that so she’s getting healthier… Same eyebrows as masc!mika, and a strong jawline that she’s self concious of because she doesn’t feel feminine and dainty enough for Shu because of some of her stronger/striking features. Pussy quality… Chronic razor burn because Shu makes her shave and she doesn’t change the razors out often enough. Lopsided lips, darker in color than shu (nips to match, they’re like 2 shades darker than shu’s). A little bit acidic. Clit pokes out a little bit but Shu finds it cute so it’s okay. Long slender fingers with bony knuckles but Shu really appreciates them >:3c can’t imagine why.

As much as I nitpicked things I do think they’d both be really hot lmao they both just have their own insecurities I wanted to hilight so that’s why it seems like I’m focusing on really nitpicky stuff- I mean thar’s how insecurity works usually other people just don’t really care and people are too hard on themselves.

I think fem!shu wouldn’t be as hesitant to eat pussy as masc!shu. Like in my “Shu oral hc’s” he’s really oral avoidant, takes him years to work up to eating pussy and even more to suck dick for the first time. But I feel like fem!shu would be a lot more open to it. (Also Shu loves thighs so Shu face squished between Mika legs as she pussy munches :333) Mika’s better at eating Shu out than Shu is for Mika.

(For my masc!shmk hcs I actually don’t think they do penetration that much like at all, mostly hand/mouth/sensual maintenance) For fem!shmk I think Shu 100% bottoms but prefers to ride Mika wearing a strap.

[acefusti138]

lowkey hate how in this rp i’m doing, marc (played by me) has inadvertently ended up with the same body dysmorphia issues as I do.

like at this point in the rp he’s had two kids in the span of 18 months (khonshu’s healing worked too well, whoops) and baby #2 fucked him up good. cracked hips during labor, super emotional and just overall took a huge toll on his mental and physical health. he’s not had any missions or even workouts so he’s way softer at the middle than he’s comfortable with and he’s very aware of it. refusing intimacy with steven and jake for months because he didn’t want to look at himself. only when baby #2 is born and he’s able to start getting back in shape does he start to get better, mentally. they all agreed to wait for another kid, and this is where i’m starting to really hate that i gave marc my same issues.

we’re trying to do a smutty scene— breeding kink stuff, teasing marc for just how turned on he gets by the idea of steven & jake defying Khonshu’s godly birth control and managing to knock him up again. and then we get down to it and, after rereading the rp, i’ve come to notice how insanely often my rp partner keeps bringing up how ‘we want to knock you up again but you want to let your body heal first’ as if. saying it. is somehow. reassuring? when it’s NOT. reassuring that like “no matter how your body looks we’ll still love you” MF I DONT WANT TO THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH IM GONNA HATE LOOKING AT MYSELF AGAIN??? and bc that’s how i react to it, that’s how i want marc to react bc seriously it’s such an absolute turn off to be reminded that if they did actually do it, his body would change again. like. BRO. FAM. THE MOOD JUST WENT FROM ‘Damn that’s hot’ to ‘Wow suddenly I want to smash every mirror within a fifty mile radius of me’ AND I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT NOW I DON’T WANNA HEAR REASSURANCE??? like i don’t WANT to look that way ever again because I fucked hated myself the entire time I looked that way!

tldr: kinning a character is great until you give them your personal issues to try and comfort yourself but when it hits a sore spot you aren’t ready to touch you suddenly are ready to figure out how to bury yourself in a hole and never see the light of day again

[na-ta-sh-aa]

The beauty of this chapter, I loved it so so much🥹

“When Bradley parked at work a little early on Monday, he sat in the Bronco for a few extra minutes. He had just witnessed you and Noah making breakfast together, and it was making it really hard to be away from you right now. When he walked into the kitchen, you were brewing coffee and singing the dinosaur song with his son while the two of you spread that weird avocado stuff that you liked so much on some toast. He had started to love it, too, and Noah would eat anything you made.”

This part gave me such a beautiful and sweet sense of domesticity.🥹

"You'll have to thank your girlfriend for me, too.”

I'm sure Bradley will find a way or two to thank Princess for him🫠

“There was a big, light blue shape that looked like it could have been Bradley's Bronco along with a man who appeared to be sporting a mustache. "Is that Daddy?"

"Yes!"

“Then you noticed a little brown blob. "Is that Skittles?"

"Yes! She's his best friend!"

Noah's preciousness and sweetness have no limits, he manages to steal my heart more and more. The fact that he drew his dad and included Skittles is so cute🥹

“When you returned home, Skittles bounded into the house to get to Bradley where he was sitting on the bathroom floor, looking comically enormous with Noah's rubber duck in his hand. You stood in the doorway and watched him automatically reach down to pet the little pup, taking caution with her casted leg while he rinsed the shampoo out of Noah's hair.”

I love how attached Skittles has become to Bradley, Noah is right, they have definitely become best friends🥹

"If you're this excited about something I picked up at the gas station, I wonder what you'll do if I buy you something a little more expensive."

AHHH!!

“You give me everything I need. Everything I want, too."

He is so sweet😭🫶🏼

“His lips and tongue were wet on your neck as you held him close, lost in the domesticity of having sex here now. Just like your first time with him. Right next to the snag in the rug. But this time you could hear Skittles' claws tapping across the kitchen floor, and you could see some of Noah's crayons that had rolled under the couch while Bradley fucked you. You could smell the lingering scent of the pasta sauce from the dinner you made. You could taste Bradley's now familiar tongue as it met yours. And you could feel his rough hands on your hips and belly where he'd now touched you hundreds of times.”

I liked this part so much, because I loved how you made the fact that even though the place of the rug is the same where they did it for the first time now so many things have changed and happened that have brought them to where they are now, together more united and in love than ever🥹

"I'll get you there," he promised

The way he always puts her pleasure first is something I love so much

“I have to take Skittles to get her cast off, and then I need to stop at the store."

Omg, did Bradley really decide to go buy the ring for Princess? It's all so beautiful🥹

“but I heard you're flying in the air show."

I'm sure Princess will be so happy!!

“He'd be able to take you on the tour of the hospital with him, and then you and Noah could watch him fly. His son had never seen him in the air before, and it gave Bradley goosebumps knowing that the two of you would be able to do that together.”

Aww I'm sure it will be a moment Noah will never forget seeing his dad fly for the first time!

"Yeah, you're sweet," he told her, scratching her behind the ears while he drove. He parallel parked the Bronco with one hand while he continued to pet her, and when he took her inside the shelter, he held onto her a little tighter. It was hard to believe she'd been here just a few weeks ago, completely unwanted.”

I'm so happy that Skittles is now in a family that loves her!

“A soft smile made its way to his lips as he said, "An engagement ring."

“Bradley followed behind her as he nodded and said, "A princess cut diamond."

A Princess cut diamond for his Princess😭🫶🏼

This was so extremely perfect! Bradley who will fly to the air show and Noah and Princess will be there to see it, alone time between Bradley and Princess, Bradley who loves Skittles, Noah who is always a sweetheart and Bradley who went to buy the engagement ring for Princess 🥹The way I love this family is so immense and I'm so excited to see what the future holds for them. I loved the way you wrote this chapter, it was truly wonderful!💗✨

The Younger Kind Part 44 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley swallows his pride and seeks out a conversation with Admiral Simpson, but he's surprised by the response he gets. You keep everyone on their toes, and you do it so effortlessly, Bradley knows it's time to go shopping. And he uses Skittles as the perfect cover.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

When Bradley parked at work a little early on Monday, he sat in the Bronco for a few extra minutes. He had just witnessed you and Noah making breakfast together, and it was making it really hard to be away from you right now. When he walked into the kitchen, you were brewing coffee and singing the dinosaur song with his son while the two of you spread that weird avocado stuff that you liked so much on some toast. He had started to love it, too, and Noah would eat anything you made. 

He removed his aviators and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was so much he wanted to get done this week, including looking at a few engagement rings, but he knew better than to make any sort of excuses to get some time alone. That had nearly backfired on him when he went to get Skittles. He was going to have to get creative somehow.

When he pulled out his phone to call the animal shelter about getting Skittles' cast removed, he froze. Across the parking lot, Nat and Javy were both getting out of his car. "Interesting," he muttered to himself as he watched his best friend groping their coworker, and he grimaced. He'd already seen too much. 

"Hello, this is the San Diego shelter. How can I help you?"

Bradley nearly dropped his phone; he'd forgotten he was making the call. "Yeah, hi. I need to schedule an appointment to have my dog's cast removed?"

"Oh! Are you talking about the Yorkie?"

He smiled as he climbed out onto the already hot pavement. "Yeah. Skittles. I'm hoping she has sufficiently healed."

"Why don't you stop in on Wednesday and we can check her out."

"Sounds good, thanks," he replied, following Nat and Javy at a very conservative distance. But apparently he wasn't cautious enough. 

"So," Nat sighed once Bradley joined her in the hangar, "you saw Javy and I in the parking lot." It wasn't a question, so he decided to just nod and roll his eyes in response. "Oh, come on, Rooster. I'm just having some fun."

"Look at him," Bradley muttered, glancing to where the man in question was smiling at Nat. "Are you serious right now? You want to make him cry or something?"

Now she was the one rolling her eyes. "I'm not taking advice from you. You're historically terrible at dating."

"I'm doing a pretty good job now," he said, smiling as he thought about you.

"You can't even get Cyclone off your girl."

Bradley covered his face with one big palm. "You noticed that?"

Nat laughed. "Everyone at the botanic gardens on Saturday night noticed that."

"Fuck," he groaned. "If she wasn't so young and so fucking hot, I wouldn't be about to embarrass myself by trying to get him to let me fly in the air show."

She just shook her head as she reached for her helmet and muttered, "Oh, cry me a river."

"Hey." Bradley turned just in time to see Javy greeting the two of them like a puppy looking for Nat's attention. He was honestly worse than Skittles at the moment. "The guys are talking about a beach day this weekend. You know, since the summer is ending."

"We don't need to do another beach day. We live in San Diego," Nat replied as she sipped the coffee she wasn't supposed to have inside the hangar. "It's the same season all year round."

Javy laughed like she was a comedian, and Bradley looked back and forth between the two of them, completely baffled by this dynamic. There's no way you and he made a couple this wild. 

"Yeah, but it's still the end of August," Javy said, now smiling at Nat as if she was the most adorable thing in the world. "Rooster, you can bring your girl and your kid. It'll be fun."

"You know what," he replied, "I think I'll go if Nat goes."

Then Bradley strolled away as they started arguing, because he saw Admiral Simpson on his way to the tower. He just needed to get Cyclone alone for a few minutes, swallow his pride, and try to head Jake off for the air show. The opportunity arose after lunch when Bradley caught him checking his phone outside the rec room door.

"Admiral Simpson, sir," he greeted before grinding his back teeth while he thought about you. "May I have a word?"

Cyclone glanced up before pocketing his phone, a look of vague amusement on his face. "Lieutenant. What can I do for you?"

"It's about the upcoming air show. Sir. I was hoping you could tell me if you'd made selections regarding who would be flying in it."

His look of amusement grew. "I have not. I believe that was on my agenda for today or tomorrow." He paused before adding, "I've been meaning to thank you for that glass of bourbon on Saturday night. Woodford Reserve is one of my favorites."

Bradley remained unflinching. Although he had no idea what Admiral Simpson was talking about, he thought it better to simply agree with him. "Yes. The Woodford Reserve." 

He nearly took a step backwards when the other man started laughing. "You'll have to thank your girlfriend for me, too. And I'm assuming the reason you're here is because you want to fly in the air show?"

"Yes...sir," Bradley replied slowly, feeling very off balance now that Cyclone was being so agreeable. 

Still chuckling, he said, "I'll see what I can do," before turning and walking away. 

Once he was out of earshot, Bradley pushed through the door to the rec room as he muttered, "What the fuck was that?"

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

It was almost fun for you to pick Noah up from daycare now. Not that you would ever admit that out loud. But the enjoyment you found in the way Casey pouted at you was a bit of a guilty pleasure, and besides, you got to have Noah greet you like you were the most exciting and interesting person in the world.

"Mommy!" he called out as he ran across the lobby and into your arms. "Guess what my craft is!"

"A dinosaur?" you asked as you shot an extremely fake smile at Casey before heading outside.

"Nope."

"A... dog? Did you make Skittles?" you asked as you put him in your car.

"Nope."

"The solar system?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. Will you give me a hint?" you asked, brushing his soft curls away from his forehead and giving him a kiss. But he was already unzipping his bag and pulling out his newest painting. There was a big, light blue shape that looked like it could have been Bradley's Bronco along with a man who appeared to be sporting a mustache. "Is that Daddy?"

"Yes!"

Then you noticed a little brown blob. "Is that Skittles?"

"Yes! She's his best friend!"

You laughed, because Noah wasn't wrong. Skittles seemed to love Bradley the most, and as much as he tried to fight it, the dog won him over. "She is," you agreed before buckling him in. "She's his best friend besides Aunt Natasha."

Noah shook his head. "She doesn't count, because she's an Aunt."

"Right, right," you said, not wanting to fight his childhood logic when Skittles wasn't even a human. "You're completely right. Should we go home?"

You started singing the dinosaur song as you drove, and because of a detour, you had to drive past the park where Meredith had chased you down. A shiver rippled through your body as you remembered falling and scraping up your arm in your haste to get Noah safely in your car. You hated coming home this way. There was a reason you never did it.

"Mommy, why did you stop singing?"

You glanced in the mirror at Noah's face. "Sorry! Where were we? The part about how the dinosaur stomp, stomp, stomps?"

Bradley was already home when you pulled into the driveway, and you found him dozed off on the couch with Skittles curled up on his chest. Two seconds later, he was jolting awake with the dog in his hand as Noah ran for him. "Daddy! I made you! Out of paint!"

"Cool," Bradley told him, pulling Noah onto his broad chest as well. "And how's Mommy?" he asked, his voice a little raspier just for you. "How was your day, Princess?"

You shook off the last remaining thoughts of Casey and Meredith as you leaned down to kiss him. "Pretty good." He chased your lips for more, but his arms were too full of Noah and Skittles for him to be able to reach for you. "Looks like you're still tired from the weekend," you said with a wink.

"I had a nice conversation with Cyclone today." 

"Oh? About what?" you asked as you started to head to the kitchen to make dinner. 

His expression remained completely neutral as he told you, "Bourbon. Woodford Reserve, to be specific." When you said nothing, he added, "We can chat about it later."

So you made spaghetti, knowing you'd been found out. You had been tipsy on Saturday night at the retirement party, but you were pretty sure you remembered what you did. Probably. You hoped Bradley wasn't mad at you over it, but he seemed to be in a good mood as he ate dinner and offered to give Noah a bath while you walked Skittles. 

She was stubborn for you at first, plopping down on the front porch and whimpering for Bradley while you tugged gently on her leash. "Come on. You're making me look bad! You were my idea. Mine and Noah's." When she remained in her spot, you had to reach into your pocket and say, "Treat?" That did the trick, and you got her to take a slow lap around the block with you while you broke a milkbone into little bites and gave it to her. 

When you returned home, Skittles bounded into the house to get to Bradley where he was sitting on the bathroom floor, looking comically enormous with Noah's rubber duck in his hand. You stood in the doorway and watched him automatically reach down to pet the little pup, taking caution with her casted leg while he rinsed the shampoo out of Noah's hair. 

"You want to go to the beach this weekend, Bub?" he asked softly. "With Aunt Natasha?"

"Can Skittles come?" Noah asked, and you watched Bradley place a soft kiss on his wet forehead that left you reeling. Suddenly you couldn't wait for Noah to be in bed so you could have him all to yourself. 

"Maybe. If she gets her cast off on Wednesday," he replied softly as the dog fully plopped down with her head on his thigh. 

"Daddy?" you asked from your spot in the doorway. It was almost a whine, and when he looked up at you, you were certain he knew what you were thinking about by the little smirk on his lips.

He reached into the tub to drain the water as he asked, "Do you need some attention?"

You just nodded, still in your scrubs from work, but you felt too warm now as you pressed your thighs together. "Yes."

"Fifteen minutes, and then you can have it," he replied with an edge to his voice. "Can you wait that long?"

"I can try," you murmured before you turned to go into Noah's room and get his dinosaur pajamas ready. Anything to expedite bedtime. You listened while Bradley took his time reading three stories, and then you kissed Noah's forehead before you tried to pull Bradley toward the hallway.

He chuckled and whispered, "I'll meet you on the couch."

"Oooh, the couch," you said before running from the room. Before you could even decide what you wanted to do, Bradley was behind you wrapping his arms around your waist and tickling your neck with his mustache.

"I kind of miss those nights when I would help you study."

You moaned softly. "Anatomy really is your specialty."

You felt him pull his right hand away from your body, but before you could complain, it reappeared in front of you with a bag of Skittles on his palm. When you spun in his arms and kissed him, you whispered, "You're so sweet."

Bradley lifted you up and took you the few steps to the couch where you settled in straddling his lap while you opened your candy. "If you're this excited about something I picked up at the gas station, I wonder what you'll do if I buy you something a little more expensive."

You met his soft eyes and leaned in to kiss him. "How much more expensive are we talking?" you asked, treating him to the orange Skittle you pulled out of the bag. He parted his lips and you slipped it between them, watching his jaw work as he chewed it up. 

"A lot more expensive," he replied as you ate three candies. "Hey, this is a 50/50 relationship here, Princess."

You shoved a small handful into his mouth and kissed his cheeks as he sputtered and chewed. "I'll share everything I have with you. Too bad I don't have much."

Bradley swallowed down the treat and reached for your free hand. "You give me everything I need. Everything I want, too."

You basked in the warmth of his words as your eyes closed, and a welcome heat crept into your cheeks. "I love you."

"Then I think you'll love what I'm planning on buying for you," he whispered as his mustache grazed your chin and jaw. 

You grinned, hoping you already knew what he was talking about, but too afraid to say it out loud. So you pushed the thought from your mind and scooted a little closer toward him on his lap. "What's this I'm hearing about a beach day? And Skittles getting her cast off? This is all news to me."

He didn't miss a beat as he wrapped his big hands around your hips and said, "What's this I'm hearing about some bourbon at the retirement party? It's all news to me."

"Oh," you whispered softly before eating more Skittles, buying yourself a little time to think. "Well, you see... I wasn't exactly sober."

"You're joking," he deadpanned. 

You rolled your eyes and shoved more candy into his mouth. "I may have had a glass of bourbon sent over to Admiral Simpson, courtesy of Lieutenant Bradshaw and his girlfriend..."

After a few quiet blinks, Bradley's head tipped back in laughter so loud that Skittles the pup came running into the room. "You didn't!" Bradley said. "I have to work with that man!" 

"Somebody had to make the big move, Daddy! It cleared the tension!"

He met your eyes, still shaking his head and smirking. "It also made you look like Daddy's good little girl."

Your heart skipped around in your chest at his words, and you set your candy aside in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. "Am I not? Daddy's good little girl?"

"Oh, you absolutely are," he replied as he lifted your top inch by inch. "I just never thought my boss's boss would see it that way." 

You raised your hands up in the air, eager to lose your shirt, but he took his sweet time about it. "Daddy."

"You can be patient," he whispered, smiling when he saw your purple bra. "Pretty." Your top dropped to the floor as he cupped you through the lace, finding your nipples right away. "You feel like going to the beach on Saturday?"

Bradley's lips found the tops of your breasts, and you could no longer formulate real words. You just hummed in response already knowing he was going to take expert care of you right now and on Saturday as well.

"You could wear your purple bikini and tell all the other guys to fuck off," he said as he ran his nose softly along your skin while he unhooked your bra and let it fall next to your top. 

"Would you like that?" you asked as your fingers tangled up in his hair. He answered you by nodding as he took your nipple between his lips. Bradley was all big hands on your bare skin and just the perfect amount of roughness. "Oh god," you whined. 

And then he had you on your back in the middle of the area rug with his body over yours. His thigh was rubbing you through your thin pants, and you bucked up gently against him as his heavy weight pressed deliciously against your body. "I love you," he grunted as you tugged at his hair. 

"I love you so much, Daddy," you gasped as he yanked your pants and underwear down and off, leaving you in only your socks. He fumbled with the front of his pants for just a few seconds before pulling his length free, and you spread your legs wide for him.

His lips and tongue were wet on your neck as you held him close, lost in the domesticity of having sex here now. Just like your first time with him. Right next to the snag in the rug. But this time you could hear Skittles' claws tapping across the kitchen floor, and you could see some of Noah's crayons that had rolled under the couch while Bradley fucked you. You could smell the lingering scent of the pasta sauce from the dinner you made. You could taste Bradley's now familiar tongue as it met yours. And you could feel his rough hands on your hips and belly where he'd now touched you hundreds of times. 

You fell in love with the flood of familiarity he brought to your senses, and it left you smiling up at him when he broke the kiss. "Jesus," he grunted, cupping one cheek in his hand. You kissed the side of his thumb as he stroked your skin, and you watched him slowly come undone for you. "I'll get you there," he promised, changing his angle so he rubbed your clit with each movement.

Just like the first time, he filled you up as soon as you came, and your name was all over his lips as you smiled at the lost crayons before closing your eyes. Bradley collected you against his body as he eased himself down onto his side, and you sighed contentedly. You held onto his wrist as he ran his hand along your hair and kissed you. In that moment you would have agreed to anything he said. 

"Baby, I'll be a little late on Wednesday night. I have to take Skittles to get her cast off, and then I need to stop at the store."

You hummed softly in response, pressing your lips to his. "Sounds good."

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

The only time Bradley heard from you on Wednesday was when you told him that one of your patients came in with an emergency, and you wanted to let him know you'd be helping Dr. Kelly with a minor surgical procedure. He was excited for you, but he didn't want to bother you. Even though he had good news.

"Congrats," Jake drawled in the locker room after a very long day of flying. "Don't know how you managed to pull this one off, but I heard you're flying in the air show."

Bradley ran his towel over his chest before tossing it into his locker. "Thanks," he grunted, trying not to smile. He'd be able to take you on the tour of the hospital with him, and then you and Noah could watch him fly. His son had never seen him in the air before, and it gave Bradley goosebumps knowing that the two of you would be able to do that together. 

Jake gave him one last appraising look before he got dressed. Honestly, it was probably the fact that you upped the ante with Cyclone that Bradley was chosen over the others. Perhaps now things could be called even. You managed to keep everyone on their toes in the best way, and it made him smile even now. 

You were in rare form this week, luring him in for living room floor sex when there was a perfectly new bed in the bedroom. And then last night, you got him to watch a Disney princess movie with you, even after Noah was in bed, and Bradley had begrudgingly enjoyed it. You were laying across his lap on your back when the end credits rolled, and you said, "If you're a good boy, I'll make you beignets just like Princess Tiana."

Bradley had smirked. "Do those have cream filling?"

"No," you whispered as he eased your shirt up so his palm was flat on your belly. 

"Do you want some?" 

He had been thinking about getting you pregnant as he made you bury your face in the couch pillows to keep you quiet.

And that was just one of the many reasons he was about to leave work and head home to grab Skittles before stopping at the jewelry store across town. If Casey managed to bump into there and ruin this surprise as well, he would probably lose his mind. But the jeweler near the animal shelter was one of the best in the city, so that was where he would go. 

Bradley awkwardly held Skittles while he drove, and eventually she curled up with her head on his thigh while he sat in traffic. She seemed to be doing great, so he hoped that was a good sign that the cast could come off. You and Noah were delighted with her, and she somehow made Bradley fall in love, too. 

"Yeah, you're sweet," he told her, scratching her behind the ears while he drove. He parallel parked the Bronco with one hand while he continued to pet her, and when he took her inside the shelter, he held onto her a little tighter. It was hard to believe she'd been here just a few weeks ago, completely unwanted. 

Bradley pressed kisses to the top of her head as he waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call. When she hung up, she asked, "And who do we have here?"

"Skittles Bradshaw," he replied, nuzzling his nose against her fur and wondering how on earth he had gotten so attached to this little pup. "Hopefully she can get her cast off today."

He only had to wait a few minutes, and then he watched as they examined her before cutting into the cast plaster. Once she was free, Skittles took a few tentative steps across the exam table, and then she jumped right back into Bradley's arms. 

After he paid the monstrous bill for such a small creature, he carried her down the sidewalk, enjoying the cooling temperature as the sun set. When he checked his phone, he saw that you'd finally texted him again.

My Princess: Noah and I are going to play at the park near the beach. Leftovers when you get home?

He typed out a quick message letting you know that sounded perfect. Thoughts of you and Noah together filled his mind as he entered the jewelry store, and two women looked up at him and Skittles. "Is it okay if I have her in here?" he asked, but they both immediately rushed over, practically screeching about how cute his dog was. Honestly, the pet would have probably worked out better than the dating app had for him.

"What are you looking for?" the first woman asked as she petted Skittles on her head. 

A soft smile made its way to his lips as he said, "An engagement ring."

"Oh! Of course, let's just head over here to see what you like best. Do you have anything specific in mind?"

Bradley followed behind her as he nodded and said, "A princess cut diamond."

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

A princess for a Princess. Also, there is no way Skittles wouldn't be a magnet for all the ladies. A big man with a small dog... just fuck. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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