#tipseus are a BLESSING

[serenity-writes]

Pseu. PSEU. PSEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUU. My entire face feels hot because you are just the master at this. I know how hard you’ve worked on this and it shines! Gleams!!! I’m melting at how sweet, yet gentlemanly-full-of-desires he is 💕 also the praise. THE PRAISE. How do you capture his character so accurately! Phew. Incredible.

“Don’t run away, please,” he says. “I can tell you’re getting shy. Do you want to stay like this instead?”

squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee 😳💓 this might be my favorite line. Idk. I can’t tell. I love it all and my brain is full of fluffy spice 🥰💞

last tipseus I asked for Ikerev dirty talk and you said you weren’t quite drunk enough to write for Sirius, so. how drunk are u now? (👀 5⭐️?)

LORD, ummmmmm. I will probably never be drunk enough, but you know what? OKAY!

here we go

(Nonny/ie I cannot tell you how much I admire your verve, the tune of your horn, your pluck. I really struggled with this because tbh I want Sirius to dirty talk me! And I’m hitting a mental wall and I think not ready to put out the specifics of that by revealing too much here. But I hope you’ll enjoy this for what it is.)

Praaaaaaaise. Instructions that are (or are followed by) teases. Wants to ruffle her feathers and be the one to smooth them. That’s ♠️Sirius Oswald♠️.

General style is to tease, tease, tease, but sweetly. He’s not trying to hurt her feelings, but a prickly little part of his brain is trying to keep her blushing (he will deny this in a Cradle Court of Law). He doesn’t use dirty dirty talk (momma raised him right), and would NEVER insult her body or call it anything harsher than “needy” which is, duh, exactly how he wants her anyway! But he does talk about what he’s seeing, and sometimes he gets a little appreciatively graphic, shall we say. When he’s complimenting her his volume dips because he feels a little shy about it. When they’re in it and he’s flushed and sweaty it becomes a little easier to be directly sweet, because he’s so turned on and he feels like he won’t get caught. Not sadly at all, his dick is so good he never gets caught. We cannot blame Alice, only live our surface lives wanting to be her.

(bury me here)

“Breathe,” he reminds her. “I’m flattered by your nerves, but I want you to be comfortable. And conscious.” When she giggles he smiles and laughs a little, too. Her eyes look at his mouth with open desire he doesn’t think she knows she’s showing.

“You want something like a kiss,” he tells her, slowly leaning close, “You have to show me how romanced you are, so I know you’re ready.”

He probably comes close to making her actually swoon a few times. Super amused by it. Not in a mean way, but... he won’t deny to himself that he loves the sweetness of her flusters, early on. He’s gratified by all her responses. When she manages to be the tiniest bit bold with him, maybe reaching for his hand under the table or pressing an innocent kiss to his face as he does paperwork?

“That’s good, little lady, that’s good.” He palms her hot cheek like the treasure it is and praises and teases her until she squeaks or squirms.

“A little forward for you, but I liked it very much.” If they’re in public he’ll ask if she’s trying to tell him she wants to go even farther. If they’re in private he’ll tell her that’s where this is going, thanks to her display. He’d be a terrible example for the rest of the army if he didn’t respond appropriately to a lady’s affection.

If she runs away, he’ll be laughing. If she stays he’ll reach for the knot of his tie and tell her to go lock the door for a few minutes.

Sirius thinks the long flirtation before consummating a relationship (and most especially the long flirtation between entering and consummating a relationship) is one of life’s greatest pleasures, and the person who gets to see how smug he is about that... is the other person in the relationship. His brain is all about speculating what could come next and how to deal with it, that’s why he’s good at his job. He likes every stage they share and revels in wherever they are currently, but he can’t help but put her mind on future possibilities or sequences whenever he sees them. It’s not a form of pressuring her, it’s a form of pleasuring them both. A fantasy he shares aloud. By teasing her with it. 

“You’re so stiff I could use you as a level,” he murmurs at her neck. He’s got her on one of the bay window seats in a quiet room of headquarters. He helped her pick up the room so he could have time to do this with her. “What can we do to relax you back into being a lady, hmm?” He dances his fingertips from the tops of her shoulders to her back, brushes of touch so light they make her skin itch for real contact. Bingo.

“Shoulder rub, maybe?” he offers.

His hands go lower, to the tall waist of her skirt. “Or a back rub?”

His hands keep moving. She’s not quite brave enough yet to stay put and see what happens. He pulls her back on the seat with him and hugs her, really rubbing her shoulders and doing it and doing it and doing it well.

“Don’t run away, please,” he says. “I can tell you’re getting shy. Do you want to stay like this instead?” Her nod against his chest makes his heart feel like it’s blooming.

“You need to use your words, then, sweetheart,” he reminds her, and he keeps rubbing her shoulders as she gets through that gauntlet.

“You’re making this so difficult, silly,” he tells her at one point. But difficulty is his. 

When they’re at the point where they are touching each other more, he’s talking more, too. She’s wiser and a bit more comfortable dishing a little heat back at him-- not the kind of heat he serves her, but her own little objections, ways to call him on what he’s doing. He loves it. Their flirting makes him feel so free and happy and in love with her.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this,” he confesses, watching her hands undo each button of her blouse. The bench at the end of his bed has never been the site of so much happiness (and of course that has him thinking about how eventually they’ll make each other happy on it. all in good time). It’s a comfortable spot to watch her progress. “You’re doing so well,” he tells her, because she is. But his voice must distract her, because her fingers slip over a pearl half-sphere and he stands up to help her.

He lets his gloved hands-- her request! brave girl-- wait in front of the swell of her chest. Her eyes are wide and pleading when they look at one another, but he only lifts a brow.

“H-help me?” she says. He kisses her forehead and helps with the buttons, surer and more careful work than taking the sides and tearing it open.

“Always so polite,” he tells her, and puts the tinest bit of teeth against her ear when he is done. As expected, her arms fly around his back. He can’t see anything she’s revealed by opening her shirt this way, but her embrace is its own reward.

“Careful manhandling me,” he whispers. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You already have quite a few ideas, I think!” she hisses back. It makes him laugh much louder, more happy than seductive.

“You have no idea,” he tells her as he gently pushes her chin up from where it’s tucked so tightly against his chest. “Don’t hide from me and I’ll share a few of them with you.”

At first he only kisses her closed eyelids as he touches her and listens to every hitch of her breath. Then she gets too loud, and that’s when he pulls her down onto the blue velvet, uses his body to cover her dainty chemise with its lace edging and its hopeless fight against the points of her nipples, and he kisses her silly.

Eventually, of course, there’s more. Her own bed, in her own cheerful room. It smells like her in this space. Especially against all her pillows, where she’s sitting, beautifully bare, in his lap with her back to him. He likes his own bed but has to admit hers is perfect for this, soft and a little farther away from the others than his own room. She seems to feel more secure here, which is so cute he has to tease her about it by going a little more into explicit territory. They don’t get this time often, he wants to use it well.

“Eyes here, watch.” His arm is around her, the base of his palm snug against her mons , and his fingers spread her lips w i d e opening her to the air. He loves it when she sags against him that little bit more, helpless and whimpering, needing him “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Eyes, little lady. Tell me what you see, hmm?”

She sputters and he has to clench his jaw not to laugh. He’s glad she can’t see him. She’s been getting more decisive about how she will let him arrange them, so he likes to think she knew what she was getting into.

“Is there not enough to see?” he prompts. His middle finger curls to stroke her little button, and she starts making those soft puffs of breath he likes. “Ah ah,” he reminds her. “You’re still not looking. We’ll be here all night at this rate.”

“Oh no,” she huffs dramatically. “I’m sure that wasn’t your plan at all.” He laughs again and rubs the spiral she likes.

“Tell me,” he repeats, firmly now. “Or you know I’ll stop. And who knows what else I’ll do. You are very naked, you know.”

She does know, so she tries. He keeps making her describe how things look and feel until he swears he can feel the heat coming off her face from his place behind her. Her nipples have been pinched and stroked, her sweet sex has been cupped and patted and fingered in combinations that dizzy even him, and he’s the one who’s done it all.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, safe behind her and all her pillows and the headboard safe behind him. “You did well.”

She hums a questioning noise, a little too blissed out to have caught what he said in so hushed a voice.   

Instead of repeating himself, he says “I love you.” Her arms slide around his, wrapped around her tummy. She’s not far from nodding off, he knows what she’s like.

[pseudofaux]

Something dirty with the Comte? 🥺

Something dirty with the Comte. 😎

(I hope you will enjoy it! It’s Comte from me so it’s still pretty... thinky. But it gets there!)

Ten years they have been together now. Ten years closer to the time she came from and will see again, ten years on from the year they fell in love.

“Fall” is such an interesting word. Tomber, cadere. One can fall from a terrible height. Lucifer fell. But you can also fall into a soft bed, or into love. The whoosh of predetermined movement, that’s the falling part. And for his fall for her there is no end.

Sometimes he thinks as they move with one another (hand in hand in their garden, arm in arm in their Paris, body in body in their home) that there is some great descent occurring, that he is tumbling down through time despite the endlessness of his share. What awaits him?

In the last ten years he has thought about this less and less. But he is himself, so he continues to notice. He has such magnificent companions to move through time with, and of course he has her. When he pushes into the plush, vibrant squelch of her body, graceful and carnal in the way that she is, he falls— he falls more deeply in love with her, and he commends himself further to time. He falls when he lets his forearms take his weight, his cock sliding in to join with her that much more. He falls when he bites her and when she bites him, an exchange of pulse and power unlike anything he has ever known.

He feels something in the cavern of his chest drop when he sees her kindness, and when she whispers love to him it is as though there is nothing underneath him, even though the whispers often come when they are on the softness of a mattress or the strong slats of a bench.

And then there is the guillotine fall that severs all his restraint, quicksharp, when she, chemised and classical as any painter might dream, sinks herself down around him. Wet, soft, loving, sucking in a breath through her nose and piercing her own tongue on the sharpness of one of her teeth, just to help herself focus.

When she blesses him this way, he falls backward, and his hips and soul hunt upwards for the heaven that rests in her graceful body. He finds it when she falls down to join him and the breaths tumble out of their mouths to become new, rising, air. 

[pseudofaux]

Pseu! I wanna know your favorite kink for a favorite boy! :D :P

Kashi! I wanna SMOOCH YER FACE! :D

Thank you for asking!* Gonna cut for content. (/∇＼*) HINT: it’s Comte, and it’s semi-ritualistic, semi-public sex, and body worship!

*do you have a quick HC request or other question? throw it at me! I had wine and these things HAPPEN

SOOOOOOOOOOOOO did you know I love Mssr. le Comte? I LOVE Mssr. le Comte. So much. And I know he loves his lady, and would take great, sweet, painful pleasure in drawing out their mutual agony before becoming (official) lovers. BELIEVE IT OR NOT THAT IS NOT THE KINK I AM TALKING ABOUT, even though I very very very very very much enjoy that!

Digressing here. Instead, I am talking about semi-ritualistic, semi-public sex, and body worship!

I’m all about the idea of Comte being so enraptured with how she looks when she’s being pleasured that he eventually arranges a special garden demonstration because he feels he owes it to the worthy, true aesthetes in his life to grant them exposure to her bliss because it is so. damn. beautiful. Does he struggle with this? Of course he does, he is Comte, he is made to suffer. He desperately wants to covet her and keep her to himself, once they are together. But once they are, and once he watches her (a million times, never enough) he truly feels it is his duty if she is willing. She is.

He commissions a new pavilion for the mansion garden, a design of columns (lovely cream marble with veins of deep colors) that allow in lots of late-afternoon light, with a wide pedestal in the center where he sets up a very fine mattress and whatever she needs to be comfortable. Just a few chaises ring the bed, each at a column at the edge of the pavilion. There are only a handful of guests, and their number includes Leonardo (also made to suffer). They all have something rich and sweet and cool in the garden as the sun begins to move toward the horizon, and Comte touches her freely (not in overtly sexual ways, but often) as they entertain their few honored guests. When the golden hour begins he removes the laurel crown he put on her before their friends arrived, and replaces it with a diadem of gems and beaten gold leaves. The lucky guests settle onto the chaises as he leads her to the platform. Slowly, reverently, he undoes her ribbons and lets them all watch. As he undresses her, he puts more jewelry on her— fine bracelets, some bands about her upper arms to emphasize the swell he loves, a ring on one of her toes, a giant polished coral bead on a chain so long it hangs to her belly— and lets the air and his lips touch her. He leans her onto the bed, then, and begins to pleasure her all the ways he knows how. He is at once supplicant and master, in charge of the event but completely at the mercy of her body. He probably bites her during one of her peaks and as she rests he strokes her skin and tries, in a daze, to describe the taste. The onlookers are permitted to speak but choose not to.

They are there until the moon fully rules the sky, and their guests have wept and perhaps sketched a few lovely studies or written a few poignant lines attempting to capture what they’ve been allowed to see. le Comte was correct— her rapture is extraordinarily beautiful. THAT’S MY FAVORITE KINK FOR HIM BUT THERE ARE OTHERS GODDDDDDDDDDD I LOVE HIM SO MUCH thank you Kashi, bless you for this opportunity to talk about ALL OF THAT

[pseudofaux]

🥃!

Would you write one about Ikesen Mitsuhide pls? One that’s mixed with lots of yearning and 5 star spice pls! Something intense like a glass of pesky Irish whiskey that burns even with the tiniest sip. Cheers and I hope the rest of you weekend is good! 🥃

YES<3 <3 <3

Omg does he even know any other way of being? His route REALLY did a number on me last year. Thank you for requesting a tipseu, I truly hope you enjoy it! 🙇🏻‍♀️

She is leaving, and he knows it is not likely to be a forever kind of leaving. But it is a leaving. He has pulled strings and made sharp, unquiet threats behind the scenes, but he must stay while she goes on this ambassador’s trip. Deep within himself he is sick with worry she’ll be ambushed and he cannot shake it. She knows how to deal with something head on. But she can’t travel in full armor and even if she could, it would leave vulnerabilities. Her graceful throat. The ticklish spots under each arm.

If he cannot stop the trip entirely--and he is not done trying-- he can delay the ambassador. That’s something comfortably within his capabilities. And enjoyments.

She can’t even make out all the syllables of his name, so there is a rain of mi-tsu, mitsu, mitsus falling upon his back as he works at her. Her pleasure is always gratifying, everything about her is gratifying. And they mean to send her far away and keep him from her? For a moon’s worth of nights at least? He’ll let Azuchi have it with all the dedication he’s currently letting her have it. He has to hope he will frustrate Hideyoshi into pulling at his hair as tightly as she is holding his. Hideyoshi really could do with some time spent between a woman’s legs. Anyone’s legs.

They have been together long enough that she can tell his full focus is not on her, and she tells him what she thinks of that with a sharp tug. “Apologies,” he murmurs, right against her slit, and he makes a show of bowing his head so his nose slips against the spot that makes her legs jump. Because he loves to rile her, he brings his face up on the exact same path to bump it again.

She doesn’t chastise him, she only moans his name in the night. It breaks free from her whole for the first time, and it gentles something in him that had been covetous and rough only the moment before.

“I’ll come back,” she sobs. “You need to trust me.”

He makes her come again before he answers. Her trembling is precious, but her star-eyes and her face are too far from him, so he pushes himself up and over her until his wet mouth slides against hers, softer than he had been before. Too wet to do anything but slide, really, so he enjoys that for awhile to keep the quiet between them.

One of her hands is stroking the back of his neck.

“You I trust,” he tells her when their kisses have smeared away most of what she left on his face. “The world, never.”

“I am in the world,” she says gently, putting her pillow palms on each side of his face.

“Then let me cover you from it and keep you safe,” he hisses. His frustration is not with her. He does not want to speak to her this way, even though the keenest edge of the pain and fear he feels at their soon to be separation is that she has never once tried to get out of it.

Her star eyes close, and she kisses him again. “Cover me like this,” she tells him, hands slipping behind his shoulders and pulling him close. She bends one of her legs to cradle him close.

“Don’t think I don’t know you are covering me, little ambassador,” he says, but his body cannot deny hers. He has no interest in doing such a fool thing. Instead, like a blessed scholar, he takes himself in hand and fits himself at her entrance. As always, the warmth of her threatens to obliterate him. He must never, ever let her know this. Or confirm it, if she already does.

So instead he allows her to push him inside by the pressure of her palms on his back, with that one leg keeping him centered at her hips.

How he is expected to live without his wife for at least a month, he does not understand. It is so cruel a torture he will be using it on their enemies. And perhaps on their newest allies, if she is not back in Azuchi quickly.

“Mitsuhide,” she whispers. “I love you.”

His panic is so great that he kisses her instead of telling her the same. But she is his wife. She knows. And if she were to forget, he is inside her and above her. The slowest pull and push of their hips and the gentle embrace of their arms keep them wound together like one of her clever thread knots.

He does tell her he loves her, but only when he’s taken each of her legs and fit them into the bends of his arms so he can fuck her more ferociously. Not without love, never without love. But with a terrible uncertainty tied to the sunrise the night gave way to. He told her he loved her countless times, and she gasped and whined and murmured it back each one.

[pseudofaux]

Headcanons about preferred lingerie to see on their S/O for your top three IkeRev boys! :3c!! Also omg pls, I watched you debate opening these on Twitter, cannot believe ya did it you absolute icon

YEAH I LOVE THIS! You always have the best Ikerev asks, holy moly. ♥️♠️ TYSM for asking for a tipseu, ILYSM Kashiiiiiiiiii 😍😍😍

Sirius, Fenrir, and (o’course) Lancelot under the cut. I forgot going to browser would take away my pretty colors AUGH je regrette, anyway:

Sirius loves pretty lingerie, he’d be hard pressed against his slacks to say if something embroidered with dark flowers or gingham with eyelet lace is better. Definitely not so much into all over sheer or net, or cutouts over the important bits— he wants to be teased by the fabric, and ideally it’s an experience to see his S/O wearing it.

Two very important deviations from the “pretty” rule: he’s hella turned on by decorative leather straps. 😌 And garters or any kind of thigh holster absolutely make him WEAK. He LOVES seeing an intimate partner’s legs, so stockings are appreciated but it’s really really really the thighs and anything that draws attention to them that he loves.

Fenrir on the other hand would bliss-lose his mind over all over sheer or net or cutouts over the important bits (bless!). He makes an appreciative mess of all his S/O’s lingerie but is never one to rip— it just gets wet and messy fast. 🤷🏻‍♀️ He’s into brighter, lacier confections like all-lace bralettes paired with wider-than-long tulle skirts over shockingly bright boyshorts. Wear every set you can find at Ross or TJ Maxx for him! It’s not that he has no taste, it’s that his taste is YOU.

Fenrir is attracted to his S/O tips to toes, but he’s extra into necks, so any sort of choker or dramatic necklace is gonna make him feel his own throat when he gulps. 💕

Lancelot likes a full set, like Sirius he is into the experience and “to do” of seeing an S/O in lingerie. But he’s partial to derrières and truly loves to see the one he loves in something rich, sleek, and short, like some of Carine Gilson’s silk and lace floaty shorts or one of her slip dresses that keep treasures just out of view. Favorite color very obviously red, but has a poorly-hidden fondness for royal blue. Loves silk. LOVES silk. WILL be sliding his hands over it. The look of a piece of lingerie is important to him, but nothing is as important as the feel of it-- he is so lonely, he needs to touch. Please let him.

Surprise bullseye on the king: toe rings and anklets. Not that he’s into feet (BUT HE COULD BE), but the daintiness of that jewelry, hidden away in every day life... that settles and stirs his soul. ♥️

[pseudofaux]

~tipseu~

Tried to get back into the swing of things and give myself some thinky word stretches to do between wringing the edits of this SLBP Mitsuhide story out of stone. Briefly opened requests while I was wined up. Here are links to all of them!

“A favorite kink for a favorite guy?” (IkéVamp Comte)

“semi public + Leo” (god BLESS)

[SLBP] Ieyasu being soft in the bedroom (WRITER DOWN, WRITER DOWN!)

Masanori HCs

Shigezane— how would he care and like to be cared for?

Shigezane aftercare HCs 🥰

The Ieyasu is fluffy (for him), the rest have spicy content. Please enjoy, if you would like!

Looking for other stories/games? You’ll probably find the way to them somewhere on my main masterlist.

[pseudofaux]

Ahhh, I'm loving all this tipseu content (also a bit disappointed with myself that literally only just noticed this was happening, thanks brain) Thank you for blessing my dash with all these treats!! :D

Thank YOU! Tipseus are quick, usually only open for a day. And it’s so easy to miss things on tumblr... I hope to be able to open requests again soon (less alcohol-fueled), if you’d like I’d be happy to send you a message when I do. 🙇🏻‍♀️💕

(Loved your “art hoe squad unite” tag on the Yoshimoto’s birthday even post)