#< nothing I would love to draw well more than that

[holylulusworld]

Overdue

Summary: You’re a strict librarian.

Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x Librarian!Reader

Warnings/Tags: short reader, mafia au, size kink (Steve), kidnapping?

I changed by posting schedule to match @navybrat817's Monday ask. Go, have a look a her blog and stories.

I had this one in my finished WIPs so here we go with Steve Rogers saving us from our job and boring Mondays. :)

You yawn and rub your tired eyes. It’s a slow day today. The library is almost empty, except for two teens hiding between two shelves to make out. You give them a pass for now if they don’t overdo it.

You turn your attention toward the books on your desk. Your colleague left them there after their shift for you to take care of. Just like always, they are selfish and lazy.

You huff and throw the pencil in your hands onto the desk. Your eyes are blurry, and you are ready to fall asleep. With only the two teens around, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a moment.  

Close to drifting toward your favorite fantasy you sigh dreamily. Your bed is calling for you, and you already miss your fluffy pillows. “So…tired…”

The door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall and you shriek in terror. Even the teens stopped making out to watch a tall man step inside the library.

He sticks out of this place like a sore thumb in his black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and expensive grey overcoat. You can’t see his shoes, but you assume they’re expensive too, just like the rest of his outfit.

“Hi,” you put on your best-faked smile. If only he stayed away, you could’ve daydreamed a little longer. “What are you looking for?”

“A book,” he gruffly replies, eyes roaming the library. It seems like he’s searching for more than a book. “Where do I find the—” His tongue darts out to wet his perfect pink lips, “law books?”

“On the left side, the third shelf. Are you looking for a specific book, Sir? I can tell you where to find it if you know the title,” you offer, but he shakes his head. He’s halfway toward the shelf before you end your sentence.

You huff and turn your attention toward the stack of books left on your desk. You still have to handle the books, check them for damage, scan them, and return them to the shelves.

Engrossed in your task you don’t hear the man return to your desk. He clears his throat, drawing your attention toward him. You flit your eyes up to watch him run his hand over his thick, but well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes search yours for moment before he speaks again.

“How can I help you, Sir?” you repeat the line you said so often in your life you can’t even count it anymore.

“I’m looking for a book,” he repeats, earning a smirk from you. “A specific book.”

“Do you have a title?” You slowly get up from your swivel chair and round the desk. “Sir?”

“Hmm…” he simply watches you step next to him. Compared to him, you’re small, tiny even. “You’re short.” He states a fact you already know about. “Very short.”

You frown at his attitude. Yes. You are short. This doesn’t give him the right to call you short. “What?”

“Oh, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he takes a step closer to get a better look at you. “It’s cute, really.”

“Cute?” you are fuming and would love to shove your shoe up his ass. But you cannot risk getting caught while hurting a customer. “Do you know the title of the book, yes or no.” Your polite smile is fading, and you can barely hide that you’re pissed at the stranger.

“I know the title,” he lowers himself to whisper the title in your ear. “Do you have that one?”

“Yes,” you spin on your heels and march away, not waiting for him to catch up with you. He’s a stranger at this place, but you know it like the palm of your hand.

“You’re not very talkative,” he comments while following you.

“It’s not my job to entertain the people coming here. And it’s forbidden to be too loud at a library.”

“Ah,” he laughs. “You’re very strict, huh? I like someone following rules. I have a few too.”

“Hmmm…” you browse the shelf, finger sliding over the back of the books. “There it is.” You pull the book out of the shelf to hand it to the man. “That’s the one you are looking for.”

“You’re very helpful too,” he muses while his eyes roam your smaller figure. “How long are you working here?”

“Do you want to borrow the book? Are you already a member of our library? If not, you can fill out the application form.” You point toward the application forms on your desk. “I must warn you. Do not overdue the books, Sir.”

“Doll, do you honestly believe I came here for a book?” His features darken, and he licks those plump lips again. He dips his head to drink your trembling form in. “Do you?”

“What?” You splutter.

“You, out!” He jerks his head toward the teens. “Now!” They run out of the library, never looking back. “And you…” He turns back toward you, still that smirk on his lips, “will come with me.”

Your eyes widen in fear. “No.” You shake your head. “I won’t go anywhere with you. I don’t even know you, Sir.”

He chuckles darkly. Before you can blink you end up thrown over his shoulder. You slap him and scream. It’s no use. You wiggle and beg but he walks out of the library, with you hanging over his shoulder.

“I told you to take the day off, doll,” Steve laughs as you mutter under your breath. “Sometimes your man must take matters in his hands…”

Tags in reblog.

[jovieinramshackle]

"I'm supposed to help the Princes? Alright, then I'll make sure they stay in line."

•Groovification: Sheesh, I'm not even a host, yet it feels like I'm doing double the work of one.

•Set Home Screen: The glitter isn’t half bad.

•Home Idle 1: *chuckles* Yes Grim, you look as wonderful as the starry sky with your new ribbon.

•Home Idle 2: What? W-Wait, Neige is coming towards us?? *blushes* Oh no, I'm not mentally prepared to see him- H-Hey, come on, don't laugh at me!

•Home Idle 3: I would love to dance more during the ball, but it seems like helping out the Princes will drain more energy out of me than I'd like …

•Home, after login: I don't usually have my hair in a ponytail, but I believe it goes better with the outfit.

•Home Idle Groovification: I hope there won't be any fights between the two schools…and by that I mean, I hope the NRC students don't cause any trouble. 

•Home Tap 1: Deuce? As a Prince? …oh dear that's- Wait no, no, that's mean of me, I'm sure he'll do great, we should have faith in him.

•Home Tap 2: Jovie’s all over Azul, again. I suppose I should have expected it, but seriously, have some class…

•Home Tap 3: One thing I can rely on Kalim for is hospitality. With that quality alone, I know he'll be a good host for the ball.

•Home Tap 4: Hornton looks as magnificent as ever. But I suppose that's to be expected from an actual Prince like him, I just hope he enjoys the night.

•Home Tap 5: I'm expecting appropriate payment for all the work we're doing here. What, tuna? …Fine, I'll make sure to ask for tuna as well.

•Home Tap Groovification: The Belle of the Ball you say…*sigh* No, I've left these things behind me, they're not good for me at all.

The Glimmering Soiree event is created by @starry-night-rose! Make sure to check it and the other people's works out here <3

Ahhhh finally done with Jess! I actually had a lot of fun making this, but the outfit caused some frustrations, so I kept it simple so I wouldn't lose my mind lmao

(Also if it wasn't obvious yes, in the voice lines Jess is talking to Grim)

Also!! I'm planning on drawing a groovy version too, and possibly writing the vignette of the card! Nothing's set in stone yet but it is something I wanna try (only for Jess tho, mainly because I have no idea what Jovie's vignette would be about lmao, but who knows maybe I'll change my mind)

Here's the full thing!

tagging: @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans (lmk if you wanna be added)

[mrs-snape5984]

“There is no other love, it's only yours…”

“You're all I want, all I love…” (“You’re all I want” by Cigarettes after Sex)

Yesterday I had a really rough day. It didn’t just feel like one of my regular “PEM-Crash-Days” (PEM = post-exertional malaise = the worsening of symptoms after crossing the boundaries of my condition, due to my disease ME/CFS). The whole day was also coated in a thick layer of sadness and grief…an emotional turmoil, which I could only barely endure. Well…mixing these feelings with another wave of fever and pain, seasoned with the incapacity of tolerating screen time, adding the suffocating sensation of loneliness….et voilà! The perfect recipe for a day in hell was created! 🙄

In order to cope with my emotions, I found myself drowning in my fantasies of teenage Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules…rewriting one of their short fictional scenes. Again, Severus was tormented by his own insecurities, getting carried away in self-loathing. I don’t know, how many times I’ve already written scenes like these. Jules encourages Severus to stay resilient, praising him for all those traits, which he only identifies as his flaws and weaknesses. But for Jules, there’s so much beauty, so much strength in his imperfections. She’s making his blemishes look like the most loveable attributes of Severus’ personality with her passionate speech.

When I wrote this little scene, I recognised something: I already knew, that I’m identifying myself a lot with Severus…but Jules’ words of encouragement and consolation to her beloved friend Sevy…well, they’re are also things, I would crave to hear for myself (how pathetic, huh?!). But since I’m struggling immensely with the acceptance of my own insecurities and fears, I’m not able to reassure myself of my own worth. It’s just not on the table for me!

So…I’ll just keep on telling Severus in my stories, that he deserves nothing less than the whole world…and that Jules will always try to make him feel loved and cared for. She will never stop to compare his flaws with her own weaknesses by explaining to him, how perfectly they’re matching. Jules will never grow tired to assure Severus, that his cynicism is the perfect complement to her sense of sarcasm. For the Slytherin girl, it's a clear sign for Sevy’s extremely high intellect, which is also something, that she adores about her friend. In Jules’ eyes, his bitterness mirrors a form of hypersensitivity, a characteristic, which she knows so well from herself. That’s why she’s acting so empathetically with Severus, whenever he’s suffering with his life…and Jules is convinced, that sharing those feelings will make them less unbearable! The girl even praises Severus’ stubbornness by telling him, that she’s enjoying every good and intelligent argument with him to clear the air between them. All together, Severus’ imperfections are pure perfection to the hopelessly devoted (and obviously love-struck 😅) girl.

I’m aware of the overdramatic nature and the unnecessary fluffiness of my short stories, but that’s the reason, why I’m writing them for my eyes only. It’s my form of a coping mechanism…the only way of allowing myself some kind of self-assurance and comfort…through Severus!

Some time ago, I found an artist here on tumblr, who made me fall head over heels for her tender style of drawing my beloved dungeon bat. Especially an artwork of her interpretation of the younger Snape made my heart ache with longing for him, so of course, I just had to commission @pssherri for an illustration of Severus and my OC Jules in their teenage years.

Sonja, you did an amazing job with this project and I can’t express, how grateful I am for your kindness and the dedication to your profession! It was a pleasure to cooperate with you on this idea of mine and I hope, you’ll be open to work on more of my requests some day. Thank you for everything, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[cuubism]

Hope for the Future

~2k, Dreamling, 1589 era, post-Eleanor's death, dream conversations and revelations. cw death in childbirth

Dream and Hob meet at Eleanor's deathbed, in a fashion.

--

Ages ago I wrote Patron Saint, a fic about Hob's friendship with Death. For a while I wanted to write a companion piece from Dream's POV since Dreamling is a background ship in that fic but their trajectory is different from canon. But lbr it's been 2 years and I haven't done that-- early on, though, I did write one scene from Dream's POV because I wanted to flesh out a potential moment that Death mulls on in Patron Saint, when she was visiting Hob after Eleanor and the baby died:

“So many babies die,” Hob says. “Mothers, too, I—” he runs a hand through greasy, disheveled hair. “Do you think it will be better in the future? Because I haven’t seen that much improved. Not in my time.” “I imagine so, yes,” Death says. Dream would be able to answer this question for him better. Dream would be able to tell him what doctors might be imagining solutions to the problem, what midwives were dreaming of new ways to care for their charges. Hope for the future is Dream’s business, whether he accepts it or not. She wishes Dream were here. She has a strong feeling Hob would find even his stoic pretense at apathy comforting. Caring for others is strange like that.

Anyway I wanted that scene, I wrote that scene, I didn't write anything else to flesh out a companion piece but I think it stands on its own and can be understood even without reading the original fic.

--

Dream would assert that he did not care about Hob Gadling. He was not interested in Hob Gadling, beyond a passing curiosity in his approach to humanity, sated every hundred years. He was certainly not thinking about Hob Gadling, or his wife and small child and knighthood and other life goals he’d managed to accrue in this century. 

And yet, as he felt a particularly vicious nightmare go for Hob in his sleep, not long after their last meeting, he took note. 

He wasn’t sure why he took note. Perhaps because Hob had been on such a disgusting high last they’d met, it seemed strange for this to happen now. Perhaps because he knew this nightmare particularly well, had crafted it from deep in his own soul, as he so rarely did.

He followed the thread of the nightmare. 

Hob was running. Both from and after something at once. A darkness chased him. And another darkness retreated from him.

“Wait!” he yelled, reaching for it. Smoke slipped through his hands. Hob heaved for breath, stumbling to a stop as he ran out of air. He leaned on his knees, panting and coughing. “Wait,” he sobbed, but the darkness did not wait.

The other wave of darkness caught him, knocking him off his feet so he sprawled on the ground, hands scraping on the dirt. It didn’t attack him, just hovered over him like a blanket of fog, blocking the meager light. 

“You weren’t supposed to go,” Hob said into the darkness. It didn’t reply.

It was not an unreasonable nightmare for a father to have, Dream knew well enough. But the sharpness of those dark shadows – this nightmare was not pure fiction. It was drawing more from memory than he’d thought.

“Enough of this drama,” he commanded the nightmare. “Show me the truth of things.”

The scene of darkness faded to reveal an ordinary, if well-appointed bedroom. An air of sickness hovered, and death also – Dream could feel the echo of his sister near. 

A sickly woman, heavily pregnant, lay in the bed, and it was she that Dream knew was calling Death forth. She, and the tiny baby cradled in her womb, not quite ready to be born, and now would never be.

And Hob – not dying, he couldn’t, but he looked about as close to it as a man could come. Ashen, shaky, trembling.

“I love you,” he was saying, kissing Eleanor’s hand. “You know?”

This was still a dream, and this had all already occurred, Dream knew. There was nothing he could do here, not that he would. He turned to go, feeling stiff and cold in a way he decidedly did not like, when Hob looked up, and saw him.

Dream had not meant to be seen.

“My friend,” said Hob, surprise temporarily wiping the grief from his features. “You’re here.”

“I… am,” Dream conceded, and, drawn in despite himself, sat in a chair beside Hob. 

“I’m grateful for it,” said Hob. Dream didn’t know what he could possibly be providing that Hob was grateful for. Then, “There’s no hope, is there? I mean. I don’t know why I’d think you would know.”

Dream looked at the mother and baby before him. Hob had called him friend. A friend, he thought, would tell Hob that there was always hope. But that was not what Dream believed.

“I do not think so,” he said. “I am… sorry.”

Hob sighed. He was still holding Eleanor’s hand. “I have to tell you, I– whatever I might’ve said to you at our last meeting, I’m struggling to feel any of it right now.”

“That is understandable.” More understandable, Dream thought, than his declaration of Life is rich! that Dream had found so hard to swallow.

“I’ve known others who’ve lost wives, children,” Hob said, and Dream looked down. Hob would have no way of knowing who those others might have included. “But I guess I always thought, not me, never me, never my Eleanor. Not until she was old and gray, anyway. But I guess everyone thinks that, don’t they?”

“Perhaps.” Dream thought he himself had always known the cost would come due. Destiny might have said that was one of the reasons it did come due. You make your own end. But that would not help Hob.

“It’s got to get better,” Hob asserted. “It’s got to. It’s got to stop some day, doesn’t it? All these children, and mothers dying.”

The instinct to sneer at his optimism jumped up Dream’s throat, but he managed to bite it off. He did not want to be… cruel, he realized, to someone who was suffering. Especially within a dream; dreamers’ minds were not for him to subject to his own feelings.

“In Guangzhou,” he started slowly, the dreams coming to him like a light rainfall, “there is a doctor who has just crafted a new medicine to ease pain during childbirth. She has been dreaming of it for years. In Oyo, a healer is learning to tell earlier and earlier when a pregnancy is troubled, that they might intervene in time. A few months more, and they will have it. And down the street, here in London, a midwife is just planting the seeds for the hospital she will open to help unwed mothers with nowhere to turn.”

Hob stared at him. He seemed to be holding his breath.

“Dreamers abound,” Dream said, “but it takes time for their work to come to fruition.”

Hob continued to watch him. Something shifted in his eyes, as he looked at Dream. Dream wasn’t certain he liked it. 

“You know everything, don’t you?” Hob said.

“Not everything.”

“You know all of that,” Hob mused, “all these things that are happening. And… you still come to ask me if I wish to live?”

Dream bristled, and Hob raised his hands in surrender. “Never mind, never mind, forget I said anything. You’re entitled to your own feelings on the matter. Thank you, for those stories. It helps. Truly. And I’m glad that I’ll get to see it. One day.”

“‘One day,’” Dream echoed. “‘One day’ is a time when no children die and no famine walks the earth, when soldiers break their swords before the fight, and later bread with their enemies. One day is always one step into the future, Hob Gadling. Ever-moving.”

“Aye,” said Hob. “That’s the point.” 

Dream frowned. What pleasure could be derived from wanting and wanting, and never having, he could not fathom. He had crafted nightmares thus. What hope to find in hope itself continually being dashed?

“I look forward to seeing you every century, you know that?” Hob added. “No matter what else happens. Bad days, or good ones.”

Dream kept frowning, unsure of the connection.

“It’s important to have those things,” Hob said. He squeezed Eleanor’s still hand. “Even now. Especially now.” 

In Dream’s own… aftermath… he could not imagine finding comfort in anything. What help could some nebulous future date possibly be?

“If that is what helps you,” he said. 

Hob cast him a look like he just knew that Dream didn’t get it, and it rankled. But there was no true criticism in that look. Hob looked at him with an unfathomable fondness, always.

He turned back to Eleanor, just gazing at her face with an expression Dream found difficult to witness in its softness. Were this the waking world, she would have certainly passed by now. But moments could freeze indefinitely in the Dreaming.

“Do you think I’ll forget her?” Hob asked quietly, still looking at his wife. “The details of her face, I mean? Her voice? What she smelled like? My memory’s far from perfect, and there’s a lot of time for it to fade.”

Dream knew without having to actively make the vow to himself that he would be sending frequent dreams Hob’s way to ensure he did not. He should not do so. He should not interfere. 

But.

“There are some things one does not forget,” he said.

Hob swiped at his eyes. He was crying now. “S’pose you’re right.”

If Dream was any sort of friend – and he was not sure that he was, though Hob had declared him so – he would end this dream now and spare Hob any further torment of reliving this memory. 

Instead, he sat beside him, far longer than he intended. Sat in silence, listened to Hob’s breaths, his sniffles as he cried, the subtle movements of continued life. He stayed in this sea of human endings and sickness and grief. With Hob. Something unnameable sitting heavier and heavier within him. And more than once he told himself to rise and to end the dream, and he did not. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hob finally said, when much time had passed and they still sat side-by-side. And it was this that finally reminded Dream that he should not be.

“I should leave you,” he said, standing abruptly. “This dream is–”

“Wait.” Hob took his hand. Dream should– Dream should yank it away in offense. He should take his leave of Hob instantly for the familiarity, the daring. 

He did not. He merely stood frozen as Hob pressed his hand between both of his own. His touch was very warm.

“Keep all those things in mind,” Hob said. His eyes still glittered with tears, but his words were steady. “Those infinite things you know about the world. Wherever you’re going.”

“I have much in mind at all times,” Dream told him. Hob had no idea how much. 

Hob smiled at him sadly. “I’m sure. Just think about it, okay? Those doctors in those faraway places. Alright?”

Dream studied him, but gleaned no additional information from it. “Very well,” he said at last.

Hob squeezed his hand once more, then let him go.

A friend might comfort him again, in these circumstances. But Dream was not certain it was necessary. He could see in Hob, even now, the spine of a man who would not break, even when he was so far down.

It was… curious.

Hob bid him farewell, eyes just crinkling at the corners. “Until we meet again, dear stranger.”

Dream stepped back into the comforting arms of the Dreaming proper, discomfited by the moment in a way he could not quite pin down, and by his own willingness to stay and engage in it at all. To involve himself in Hob’s life in a way he had not intended. 

“Until then, Hob Gadling,” he said, letting the scene dissolve around them, “this dream is over.”

[ddodol]

oh no — h.sh

one shot ⭑.ᐟ synopsis⭑.ᐟ oh no, you just love him too much. content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, ex-bf!seunghan, fem!reader, pet names, reader might be drunk because they miss seunghan so much (me), fingering (f.), unprotected sex word count⭑.ᐟ 1.6k+

a/n; we miss you seunghan pls come back

✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ oh no — softee ]

“i hate you.”

you were on top of seunghan, straddling him after you tackled him to the ground, sniffling as the alcohol in your system made your head pound. the man below you just chuckled, laying down comfortably, welcoming your familiar weight on top of him. seunghan knew you didn’t mean it, because why else would you even think to do this?

there was no way you called seunghan over just to tackle him down and profess your hatred for him. he’s not buying it. “i know.” but he could still play along.

seunghan used to be your boyfriend long ago and you never got a proper closure because you were the one that cut everything off— upset about something that even you don’t remember. seunghan’s hand ran over your leg, the familiar touch making you shiver. he knew what he was doing to you, he knew too well.

“babe.” god, his voice was just as you remembered, sweet and gentle. you hated how he made you feel, a feeling you thought you got over until you saw him. “i hate you,” you repeated, determined to believe that you really did even though your hands were pulling him up closer to you. seunghan was so close to you, you could feel his shaky breath and the way his sharp eyes looked at you with affection. those cursed eyes.

”seunghan,” you whimpered, your heart beating against your ear as he smiled. you knew how he loved hearing his name from your lips and he missed it dearly. you ran your hand through his dark hair, “what if i kissed you right here?” your voice became smaller, less certain as your resolve wavered in front of the gorgeous man in front of you.

seunghan just smiled at you, “i’d love nothing more.” you bit your lip, “what if you felt the way i do?” he lets out a soft chuckle, his hands now on your back, “i already do. i never stopped loving you, princess.”

his words were enough for you to throw yourself at him, lips desperately latching onto each other. just like you feared, you could feel how much seunghan loved you with every kiss. warmth ran throughout your body, your head spinning at how lost you got at the mere contact. you missed him. everything about him was the same, the way he’d move your head for you so you wouldn’t clash or even the way he’d hold you so tenderly.

”princess,” he sighed out, gently pulling you in even more until he could feel your body against his. seunghan’s other hand ran over your curves, biting on your lip softly. you let out a sigh of your own, barely keeping up with his pace as you began to get dizzy. you stuck your tongue out, making seunghan smile and suck on it before running his own up your mouth. you loved it as much as you missed it.

you grabbed on his shirt, trying to pull away as you felt his bulge against your thigh. seunghan didn’t let go, locking you in his arms as he pushed you down his growing bulge. you let out a whimper, eyes fluttering open as he looked into your eyes. seunghan couldn’t look away, afraid that you’d disappear again if he did.

“show me how much you hate me, baby.” you wanted to laugh at his words but you could barely hold yourself up, laying your head against his neck. “i hate you, hannie,” you whispered against his skin as your hips moved slowly. seunghan let out a soft moan, the one you liked drawing out of him. this only spurred you on, biting on your lip with determination as you grounded yourself even more. “fuck, princess,” he hissed, brows furrowing at how good you were making him feel.

if it was up to seunghan, he’d love nothing more than to pamper you and whisper how much he loved you. but your absence in his life made him crave you more and more, seunghan didn’t want to lose you again. “get up for me, princess,” he muttered and you obeyed immediately, feeling his hands undo your pants and slip them off of you. you let out a broken hum, going back to his arms as soon as he was done.

seunghan laughed at how ironic you were being but he let it slide, he loved you too much to question it. he lifted you up slightly, just enough so he could slip his hand in between your legs. seunghan sighed at your heat, “you’re still so wet, princess.” he gave you a quick peck before slipping a finger inside, groaning at how tight you felt.

“hannie,” you moaned, voice shaking as seunghan thrusted carefully. “does it hurt?” he asked carefully, trying to peek at your face. “n-no, i can take more,” you boldly stated, your voice ironically shaking. seunghan bit back a smile, placing a kiss on your shoulder as he pulled his finger out now slowly pushing two fingers inside. you whimpered as you felt his fingers scissoring you inside. you missed it when seunghan stretched you out for him, loving the way his fingers would move inside of you.

seunghan licked his lips, noticing how you were dripping down on him as he fingered you. “think you can take me now, princess?” he sounded desperate and you couldn’t help but want to feed into seunghan’s desperation. you raised your head up to look at him, smiling as you saw his face.

seunghan held your cheek, in awe at the small smile he finally got from you after so long. “really need to feel you on me, princess,” you let out a small moan when his fingers purposely reach that deep spot you liked so much. you knew it was his subtle way of telling you that you could get more of that if you let him.

”give it to me.”

he didn’t need to hear more, nodding quickly as he pulled his cock out. you wanted to take a peek, see if it’s just as you remembered when seunghan held your chin, making you look at him. “keep your eyes on me, princess,” you felt shivers down your spine, biting on your lip as you felt his tip prodding against your entrance. and, god, he was just as big as you remembered him.

”seunghan,” you whined, already feeling stretched with only his tip inside. “you feel just as good as i remember, baby. so good to me,” he sighed, placing kisses all over your skin as he sank you down slowly. you adjusted almost immediately, your walls welcoming seunghan as if they missed him just as you did. seunghan’s lips were parted prettily, trying to keep it together as you sat on his cock so prettily. he could feel your slick on his skin, darting his tongue out as he looked up at you, half-lidded eyes looking back at him.

he smiles, pulling you in for a kiss. you melt against his touch, walls embarrassingly clenching down at the way his tongue moved against yours. you were so needy but seunghan didn’t call you out on it and that made it worse because you could feel him smiling against the kiss. you pull away, pouting at him.

seunghan laughs at your pout, kissing it away as his hands on your hips began to bounce you up and down. your lips parted immediately, strings of moans slipping out your mouth at how full seunghan made you feel. you loved it, you loved him so much.

”hannie,” you bit your lip, seeing how he just watched your face, “you’re making me feel too good, hannie.” seunghan grinned, leaning in to kiss your cheek, “i know princess, i’d love nothing more than to make you feel good.” you cried out when he bit on your skin, burying your nails against his back.

you begin to move your hips, feeling the familiar pool of heat building up in your stomach. seunghan knew full well you were close, biting on his lip as he let you move as you pleased. he pulled the shirt you had on over your head, easily unclasping your bra so he could play with your breasts. seunghan smiled when you clench on him, you were just as sensitive as he remembered and he wanted to use that to his advantage.

seunghan latched his mouth against your nipple, eliciting loud cries from you. “h-hannie—” you grabbed on his hair, wanting to pull him away but you just kept it there. seunghan licked all over your skin, leaving small marks everywhere— the way you liked it. your body began to tense up, thighs trembling as you start to feel extra sensitive.

”cum for me, princess, i got you,” seunghan muttered breathily, still watching as your face contorted in pleasure. you whimpered, letting out broken moans, somewhat struggling to reach your high. “can’t cum by myself, hannie,” you babbled, hips stuttering with each movement. seunghan let out a groan, flipping you over on your back.

you licked your lips in anticipation when you felt seunghan pulling out, almost biting on your tongue when he thrusted back in roughly. you could feel him hitting your sensitive spots, crying out as you finally reached your high. you cried out incoherently, walls clamping down on seunghan’s cock as you came all over him.

seunghan stilled inside for a second before puling out, pumping his cock until he shot his load on your stomach. you laid on the floor, breathing heavily as you ran your fingers over your stomach, playing with seunghan’s cum on your skin. seunghan chuckles at you, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips.

”do you still hate me?” he asked timidly that you couldn’t help but laugh, voice hoarse from everything he did to you. “mm, maybe not as bad as before.” ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Could you make a fanfic where king Baldwin has a very obsessive fan who keeps writing poetry about him and publishing it in Jerusalem and one day he finds her ?

I’d appreciate a bit of angst , thank you lots

♧ Secret Admirer - King Baldwin x Reader ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: Hello Anon, thank you for this request. I had a lot of fun with this one, it was different and I like it a lot. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of death/murder, Mentions of stalking

“My lord, a letter for you” the young servant boy called out softly.

Baldwin stood from his desk and took the letter from the boy's hands. “Thank you my friend” he replied, turning the letter over in his hands as the boy scurried out of the room.

Needless to say, he was confused. This was the fifteenth letter he had received that month, written on the same type of parchment, in the same type of envelope, with the same wax seal that he did not recognise. 

Baldwin sat back down at his desk and opened the letter slowly so as not to damage it. He already knew what it would be.

Just like all the others, the letters contained a single piece of parchment with a beautifully written poem on it. But not just any poem, a poem about himself.

He had not only been sent these poems, but he had also seen others about him being published in newly written books and just placed around the kingdom in general.

This came before he began receiving the letters, almost as if whoever wrote them wanted him to notice. They were always signed anonymously and never included a place of sending.

The whole ordeal had the king confused but intrigued. The poems, although slightly odd, were beautiful and very well written. They often detailed how much they admired him and longed to meet him, each one littered with compliments of not only his work, but appearance as well.

Needless to say, as confused as he was, Baldwin was truly flattered. He was determined to find just who was responsible for the beautiful work. He wanted to know who they were to show his gratitude and ask why they would write such things. He pondered this as he sat at his desk, reading the poem over and over. 

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

On the other side of the kingdom, y/n sat at her own desk, inside her small family home. Well, it used to be her family home. Not anymore.

She was entirely lost in her writing, as per usual. It was her escape from reality. In her writing, she could allow herself to be lost in the beauty of her king.

Baldwin was her obsession.

She adored him, even though he had no idea that she even existed. She loved him with her heart and soul. She admired him from a distance, memorized every detail of his masked face and clothed body.

Her house was decorated with horrifically realistic drawings and paintings of him. She wanted nothing more than for him to one day see her. Notice her, touch her, feel her.

She wanted him down to the bone, she wanted his heart and soul just as he had hers.

Y/n was always odd. Her family thought of her as a freak. But the tables turned on them, and now they were gone. Y/n made sure of it. She had to do it. She had no choice. They were going to accuse her of witchcraft, she could not be sentenced to death before feeling the love of her life beneath her fingertips, just once.

She could not allow that to happen.

She barely remembered it, it all seemed like an awful dream now. But one day they were there, then they were gone. All four of them. Her father, her mother, her sister and brother. But she did not need them. All she needed was her quill, her parchment, and her beautiful muse.

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

It was late evening when y/n set out to put her poetry up around the kingdom.

She did this often, it was the only way she could let the world see her gift. Women were not permitted to do such things like publishing work so this was the only way the world could see how she felt.

That along with the anonymous book publishings. But she was not sure if he would see that or not. Not only that, but the letters she sent to, but she did not want to send too many. Just in case they found her through where they were delivered from.

She walked around the palace, nailing parchment onto the high walls that surrounded the castle. Dodging the guards, keeping in the dark.

Staying hidden was what she was good at. Unfortunately for y/n, that night would be different.

“HEY YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!” a voice shouted from behind her. Y/n did not hesitate to run.

She did not even turn around to see who it was, she knew it had to be a royal guard. She could hear them running after her. They were fast, but she was faster. Not being clothed in metal armor gave her the advantage. It wasn't until she rounded a corner that she was caught, coming face to face with two large guards. 

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

Y/n was bought into the castle in shackles. The guards pushed her to the ground, she kept her eyes on the floor the entire time, refusing to speak to anyone.

A tall man with graying hair was the one who attempted to make her speak. “Do you want to tell us what you were doing young lady?” he asked her, bending down to look her in the eyes.

She refused to look at him, her long unkempt hair hung in front of her thin face. Her large building eyes stared off to the side, just behind him. She still said nothing.

“Would you care to explain yourself to the king instead?” he offererd.

Y/n’s eyes shot up to look at him. “Why does he need to know about this? I was just putting up flyers” she lied confidently.

“You call this a flier?” the man asked, holding up one of her poems for her to see. “I think the king would like to know who his mystery stalker is after all these months” he stood up, gesturing to the guards to force her to her feet as well.

“You will be brought to the king this instant. This matter has gone on long enough and it's time that it is resolved. He can decide your fate”

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

Y/n was placed in a holding cell underneath the castle while the man went to inform the king of her capture.

Since it was late at night, Baldwin had long since retired to his bedchambers and was currently dozing with a book open on his chest.

He was immediately jolted awake when Tiberias knocked on the wooden door. The king sat up groggily, reaching for his mask “you may enter!” he called out when his mask was concealing his face securely.

Tiberias entered the room quickly. “I am sorry to wake you my lord, but this is an urgent matter. The person who has been sending the letters has been identified as a young woman, we have her in the dungeon holding cell and she is awaiting you to decide her fate-” 

Baldwin got to his feet quickly, any lasting tiredness leaving his body instantly. “Please, take me to her at once” he ordered. 

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

Y/n sat in the small cell, staring ahead of her at the wall. She was weighing up her options.

She could tell the truth and declare that she was the one to write the poems, allowing the odd secret to be shared to her muse or she could lie and say she was paid to put them up by someone else.

She decided on the first option.

If she were to be executed, at least she could die with the knowledge that the man she loved the very most in the world at least knew how she felt. 

Not long after this decision, she was pulled from the cell into a larger room. Still in the shackles, she was pushed to the floor and two guards stood either side of her.

Then he entered.

Baldwin was in the same room as her. She felt her heart skip a beat, but little did she know, his heart did too.

He was as anxious as he was curious to meet the person who had written to him, and now she was right in front of him. And she was oddly beautiful. In a slightly creepy way.

She had large eyes that stared up at him with admiration, but also subtle kindness too. Her long hair hung around her shoulders, slightly covering her face and she wore a slightly dirty white dress. He figured it was dirty from the cell. She was pale and a little strange, but still beautiful.

“So, my secret admirer” he chuckled.

Y/n was surprised by this. She was not sure what she was expecting. Perhaps anger, maybe even a hint of fear at her obsession, like her family felt in their last minutes.

“Yes, “ she said bluntly. Her eyes returning to their place on the ground in front of him. “I must say,” Baldwin said softly, bending down to meet her eye. “I love your work” he added after a few seconds.

Y/n looked at him with shock. She could see his bright blue eyes behind his mask, looking right at her. It was the most amazing moment of her life. She felt as if she could die a happy woman, right there and then.

“You- you do?” she stammered slightly. “Yes, very much so. Your poems are beautiful” he replied, she could have sworn he smiled slightly.

She tried her best not to blush, but she couldn't help it. The blood rose to her cheeks quicker than the grin formed on her face.

He was so close to her, crouched down just in front of her face. He was looking at her. Right at her. Telling her that he loved her work. This had to have been a dream.

“Thank you my lord” she uttered, voice barely above a whisper. The king rose to his feet slowly. “You shall remain here for the night. I would love to speak with you more in the morning”  he told her. Y/n nodded with anticipation.

She was shown to the servant chambers. As per the king's request, she would not remain in the filth of the dungeon. In his words, “she was no longer a prisoner, but a guest”.

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

As Baldwin settled back into his bed for the night. His mind drifted back to her. Perhaps this would be the beginning of something very worthwhile.

[cokoweee]

Tada part two.

There was NO way she was going to use one of her own brushes on his hair. She has washed it herself a while ago, but it honestly looked like it has been washed a grand total a twice since she last had. Disgusting. She rummaged through a duffle bag for a bit before finding an old brush. It really wasn’t hers, she had always used it on her brother when he was little enough to put up with her using him as her own personal doll, but she figured he wouldn’t miss it.

There was music playing when she entered the bathroom. He was sitting in the same spot she had left him, staring blankly at the wall. She only saw bathroom tile, but if he was seeing hallucinations it really wouldn’t surprise her at this point. His music choice was top tier though, so he had that going for him.

“ m’ back” she hummed

He lifted his head in small acknowledgment before turning back to wall and staying freakishly still. It felt wrong to say anything to him when he so obviously wanted to escape the confined space, but she figured she could probably make him take a shower when she was done which was a win for her. Distantly she wondered if he was claustrophobic. That was probably the reason why he was so uncomfortable.

She carefully grabbed her old brush, wary of the chipping purple color, and got to work on the mess in front of her. Undoing the clips she brushed out the knots. She really tired to be gentle, but some of the knots were more like matts. She eyed the scissors on the edge of the counter a few times before shaking her head and slapping conditioner into his hair. His eyes slipped closed at one point which helped Kendra fall into a simple rhythm.

“ Do you even own a brush?” She complained after spending a solid ten minutes on a single knot, trying not rip half his hair out, “ It’s like it hasn’t been touched since I last washed it for you”

He said nothing. Which was rude, so she flicked him on the head.

“ Stop that Leo.” He snapped waving his hand at her general direction. A beat of silence before he managed to curl himself into half his size.

“Who-“

“ Sorry, sorry I- you’re not- it’s not. Sorry sorry. ” he stumbled over his words as he gestured with his hands trying to explain.

“ Ok whatever. I’m almost done anyway. Just gotta put the actual mask in. Hold still a bit longer.”

He goes still once more, curling his legs toward his chest and pressing his chin into his knees, careful to avoid smudging his face mask. It looks rather painful, but Kendra can’t really complain because the less he moves, the sooner she’s done. The only real indication he gives that he’s still alive is the anxious twitch of his tail as it flicks on the floor.

~

A satin wrap is nestled around his head and a gentle tap on his shoulder lets him know he can get up. He kind of doesn’t want to, he’d rather stay here curled up in shame. So he doesn’t, and he wouldn’t but a small foot kicks him in the back and it hurts more than he would care to admit.

“ Let’s go.” She draws out the last word dramatically, “ I’m gonna get started on dinner. Which you will not be missing because I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat.”

“ Obviously I eat.” He rolls his eyes.

It was no where near enough food to properly sustain him, but sometimes moving was chore and the thought of food was too much. He has become quite fond of a little juice Drax created with a lovely blend of all the nutrients he needed, for days like those. Which granted was almost every day, but it mixed well with cheap beer, so ya know. He follows her into the kitchen, dragging his feet and hanging his head.

He sits on a stool and flattens himself against the counter top. Maybe he can make himself invisible and she won’t make him do anything else today.

You’re already a burden. She’s practically doing all the heavy lifting around here. All you do is a whole lot of nothing.

A sigh escapes his lips and he pushes himself off the counter.

“ What do you need me to do?” He asks, twisting his fingers awkwardly.

She says nothing as her brows furrow in confusion.

“I don’t really know. I usually do it myself. Don’t like people crowding my cooking space ya know?” She says slowly, turning her attention to the pile of vegetables she had just pulled from the fridge.

He does know. Mikey was the same way. The scene feels painfully familiar and he swallows the lump in his throat before walking over to her side and grabbing some vegetables.

“ Do these need to be diced?”

It would help lower the prep time of the meal if he diced while she did what ever she needed to do. Mike was always happy to have someone help with the grunt work as long as they stayed away, so he figured the same rules applied here.

Her face was still twisted in confusion as she nodded, albeit a bit dazed.

Dice them the way I taught you! Make a good impression on her. Heaven knows you need it.

He moves to the other side of the counter and chops. Over and over and over. It’s grounding and gives him time to think. He really wishes it didn’t. His mind wanders to his brothers as he chops. The kitchen starts to smell familiar, a blend of spices tickling his nose as he looks up at Kendra. She’s stirring something in a sauce pan before looking over her shoulder.

“ You done with those?”

A nod before he picks the cutting board up and brings it to her side.

“ You know how to sauté I hope?”

Another nod.

“ Good. I’ll be back in a sec. Im gonna go wash this out of my hair before it gets stuck to my head” She says walking away.

A flash of panic grips him as he grabs at his own hair.

“ What about mine?!”

“ I put mine in before I had to spend an hour detangling your hair.” She says rolling her eyes.

“ Ah.”

She pulls off her bonnet, running her fingers through her hair and walking down the hallway before shouting,

“ Oh yeah! I just sent the recipe to your phone.”

“ Please don’t burn anything!” She adds as an after thought.

At that he smirks. As if Mikey would ever allow him to be so incompetent in the kitchen that he would burn something as simple as this.

~

The kitchen smells even better than she left it. He’s flitting around the room grabbing all sorts of ingredients. He stirs with a ruthless intent, tossing potatoes and carrots into a pan. It’s oddly funny to watch him work so hard on such a simple dish when all he really needed to do was let it sit.

“ I didn’t know you could cook.” She muses crossing the kitchen to the stove.

A small shrug before he turns his gaze to the floor.

“ Learned from the best.” He says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“ Leo?” She ventures carefully.

“No.” His response is whispered, almost reverent as he turns his eyes toward her,

“ My baby brother. His name was Mikey.”

She doesn’t press any further, choosing instead to grab some flour to roll out the bread dough she had made a few hours earlier. She wants to know, but there isn’t an easy way to approach the topic. Possibilities fill her mind as she works to shape the dough into a loaf. Her thoughts are quelled when he speaks again softly.

~

“ He died saving my twin.” A hand goes to stir the soup, avoiding her gaze. “ He opened a portal to save him from the prison dimension. But it uh- took more than he could handle. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late to help him. He literally crumbled in my grip.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her. He’s never told anyone this before. He might have told Draxum at some point in a drunken stupor, or maybe in those weeks after the invasion when he has clung to the poor goat like a baby. But he’s never actually told anyone what happened.

Words rush out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“ I wish I could have told him not to. His sacrifice was pointless. When we pulled my twin through the portal it was already too late. He was concussed and didn’t even know we had gotten him home.” He took in big lungful’s of air as he recounted the memory. “ He died in my arms, crying for home. I don’t think he even knew it was me holding him because he kept trying to escape my arms.”

His fingers wander to face as he feels a tear escape his eye. He turns himself away from her and stirs the soup a little faster. This is disgusting honestly.

Why would you tell her that? She doesn’t need to know! Now she’s going to know all the ways you failed! She’s going to hate you even more.

He shook his head as if it could clear the voices and continued.

“ A week after the invasion my older brother died due to my negligence. I hadn’t noticed the lingering effects of the infection until it was too late. I thought I could fix it myself, but days passed and nothing was helping him. When I showed up on Draxum’s doorstep begging him to help, there was nothing that could be done. He died because I was stupid enough to think that I could fix what was wrong.”

Draxum has assured him that even if he has gotten help for Raph immediately there was nothing that could have been done. The Krang was something Draxum had never seen before, there was no way for him to cure the infection, only a way to ease the pain. But Donnie knew he was only saying that to make him better.

He had failed his family that day. He failed a lot that day. He could have realized what Mikey was doing sooner and helped him. His hand is a constant reminder of that short coming. He could have stabilized Leo instead of just staring at his broken body. He could have made sure his father and sister were in a safe location instead of just assuming that they were fine. But no. Donatello just sat and watched his younger brother turn to dust. He watched his twin die in his arms. He sat and let his older brother whither away into nothing. He didn’t try to help his father or sister and their own and it cost them their lives. What’s worse, he never even learned his lesson.

He’s creating new failures with Kendra now. He watched her leave each night on those stupid dates. And he didn’t say a thing. He didn’t even try to help when she came back one night injured. He just sat in his room, watching it happen and doing nothing.

He’s so wrapped up in his misery that he doesn’t hear her walk to his side. She grabs the spoon from his hand, replacing it with a bottle of water and stirs the soup.

“ Go sit down,” she says pointedly, her hand on her hip. “ This will be done soon.”

He is more than happy to comply and slinks to the couch. He grabs a purple fuzzy blanket from the basket Kendra must have added to the room and wraps himself up like a child. It’s soft and feels just like the one he and Leo used to share when they had movie nights. The memory causes him to drift slightly out of focus with reality. He knows he shouldn’t dissociate, but falling into a void seems better than dealing with the mess he just created, so he lets himself fall.

Yup. That’s part two.

THIS IS BETTER YHAN ANYTHING I COULD EVER WRITE DRAW CREATE COME UP WITH IMAGINE FUCKI FUCUCIDUCUSIXUQYSIWBFHSHCID

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[raveartts]

I realize I post a lot of Cutthroat art on this acc, well don’t you worry my *checks notes* 19 followers. In just *checks notes again* 3 months, you can all enjoy my To Your Eternity brain rot content

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hey, I had a thought for the fantasy au! So on one of the previous versions of the WH website, there was a rhyme for the show that went:

A house is a place with four walls and a floor,

with a ceiling above and a lovely front door.

There's a bed to cradle you safely at night,

and windows to bring in the morning sunlight.

Your house is a mirror of just who you are,

A reflection that tells you to never stray far.

Which I thought might make a good incantation for when Wally properly summons Home (I can't remember if that's ever required for Warlocks but hey, it's still a fun poem regardless).

ohhhh this. i like this...

bonus og sketch! big ol eyes...

& no capalet because uhhhh eh nah and also i wanted Home's pendant to be on full display!

[twpsyn-who]

JeanMarco headcanons cuz I have the same haircut like Marco so I'm obligated by law to talk about it

They both fight over the mirror A LOT. If by any chance Marco wins and gets to fix his hair first Jean ALWAYS ruffles it just to be a little shit. Deep down Marco loves it- despite needing to fix his hair again

Marco hates when his hair gets sightly longer because it keeps getting in his eyes. Jean loves it when that happens because he gets to move said hair away from Marco's eyes which results in Marco blushing from embarrassment (and the close proximity)

Sometime Jean would let Marco brush his hair. Marco always hums under his breath while doing that, unconsciously. Jean loves hearing Marco sing and Marco loves brushing Jean's hair. It reminds them both of their family (Jean's mom singing around the house and Marco's siblings begging him to brush their hair because he's so gentle while doing it)

They use the same hair products. Is a nightmare

"You look good, Jean" "Ugh, it won't stay the way I want! So annoying" "Jean. Really. I promise you, it looks fine the way it is now" - they have this discussion at least 3 times a week. Jean's a perfectionist when it comes to his hair. Marco doesn't care that much.

Jean always has a hairbrush with him

[skitskatdacat63]

I know it would literally never happen, but whenever the speculation of who the next James Bond will be comes up, I can only think about how I would sell my soul to get a butch lesbian James Bond 😣

[kicksnscribs]

...

[ayakinari]

you ever just

[oatbugs]

ok so heres what happened

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

I do kinda hope we get a sequel, it’d be nice to be able to talk about Lorabetta again