#COTTON HAS FINALLY POSTED SOMETHING

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Take Me Back To Eden

Multiple Ghosts x AFAB Reader

AN: It’s been a long while. I’ve been busy [insert unhinged ao3 author life update here]. This has been sitting in my drafts for the LONGEST time jeez. Wasn’t really satisfied with any of the directions it took so I finally sat down and committed to something. May or may not have a sequel. I recommend listening to “Descending” by Sleep Token while you read this. As the title implies, I’m kinda obsessed with the band right now. Enjoy!

tags: cult sex, orgy, heavy dubcon, ghosts, ancient deity, mind manipulation, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, WEIRD CUM

Word count: 3.9k

With a pathetic sputter, the incessant humming of your old corolla’s engine gives way to silence. For a few moments, you sit in the dark and quiet, a mixture of excitement and anxiety raising goosebumps on your skin. You’ve done this hundreds of times, you’re sure that today you’re going to get your big hit. It has to be.

You slam your car door shut and take a deep breath, a gym bag filled with equipment and cameras slung over one shoulder, your free hand guiding the beam of your heavy duty torch across the entrance of the abandoned bar. The old, faded sign perched above its entrance is unreadable, faintly you can make out traces of looping letters. Its battered and dusty exterior belies the rumours you’ve heard about the place.

You were supposed to come with your posse, but every single one of them had work or family issues that cropped up at the last minute. Not one to be deterred by fear, you ended up making the drive down alone. In spite of the cool night, your skin is warm with anticipation as you cross the threshold and slip into the bar.

Not much is known about its origins or history- it’s a small, rundown lot in a slow and quiet part of town, so no one has ever paid it much attention. It had been a hole-in-the-wall style pub that attracted a small and dedicated group of patrons before mysteriously closing abruptly. Hours of digging through the net gave you enough reason to suspect that there was an abnormal cause behind why it still hadn’t been bought out for decades, though. The reports of ghostly apparitions in the crevices of obscure forums led you down a rabbit hole. Soon enough, you managed to find a video posted online, taken by some teenagers roped in by a bet. You studied it for hours, pausing at every frame.

You can still remember the sweet thrill, the goosebumps that formed on your skin when you noticed the wispy, grey figures hidden behind corners in several frames. Jackpot. 

Your friends had told you that they were edited but your gut told you otherwise. There was a genuine fear in those kids’ eyes, you bet on it.

As you manoeuvre through old tables and chairs, you notice that the furniture is still well kept, barring the fact that everything is covered in layers of dust.The retro style bar, stools and shelves are all in good condition, though lacking bottles of booze and the typical drink making paraphernalia. Maybe someone still cares for the place? 

You notice a few doors that hadn’t been explored in the video, so you try each handle, one of them leading to an empty storage room, another leading to a kitchen behind the bar, the next to a decrepit restroom. Curiously, there’s a long stairway behind a stuffy curtain going down to what you presume is a basement door. There’s an inlaid symbol on the door, made from burnished golden metal, its fine quality at odds with everything else in the bar. You’ve never seen anything like it before- the silhouette of a tree firmly rooted to the earth, its branches and roots reminiscent of…horns?

There’s something compelling about it. Your stomach dips at the thought of you opening the door, but you want to. There’s something on the other side of it.

When you yank on the handle, it doesn’t budge, breaking you out of your momentary stupor. You shake your head and blink. 

Caught up in the moment?

“Damn.” You sigh. Typically, you would leave lockpicking to another one of your friends. There isn’t much you can do about it, so you decide to set up a few thermal cameras overlooking the tables and bar, as well as an REM pod for proximity detection on the countertop.

Kneeling behind the countertop, you turn on your spirit box, its harsh white noise filling the quiet. Through the static, you call into the night.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

There’s no response, but you introduce yourself and continue. You’re well accustomed to this pattern already, after years of this. The hauling of equipment, meticulously setting everything up, dicking around for a few hours and then packing up and heading home. Keep the time spent idle low, and expectations even lower. Perhaps it’s because you’re alone tonight. There’s a charge in the atmosphere, a certain secrecy and wonder to the ritual.

“I'd really like it if you told me your name.”

“Like.” The artificial, crackly word emerges from the static.

“Yes, I’d like it if you introduced yourself too.” You wait a few more moments before the next word. For a while, monosyllabic words are all you receive. So you dig and prompt until you tag onto something.

“More.”

“More?”

“M…More tha-an.” 

“There’s more than one of you?” You say, peering around the empty bar. There’s no sign of the specters from the video, only swirling mites of dust suspended in the air under the glow of your torchlight. “Where are you?”

“H-Here.”

Suddenly, your REM pod flashes green, red, blue against the shadows, signalling that something is close by, very close by. But instead of its typical bleeping, a warbled wail echoes through the empty bar, causing you to flinch from how loud it is. The fuck?

You turn around and direct your torch towards the pod. Your heart falters.

A crowd of grey specters are standing behind the counter, their forms towering over where you’re kneeled on the ground. Their bodies are featureless, rippling as though they could blink out of existence at any moment, at odds with the physical realm. For a second, you can’t bring yourself to do anything. You feel dread, you're stunned, but underneath it all, the irrational, ghost hunting geek in you is baffled. Holy shit, holy shit.

You jump to your feet, backed against the shelves. Their heads tilt upwards, following your movement. And then you’re fleeing, terror driving you to run from the very situation that you’ve been chasing down for years.

The moment you’re behind the steering wheel, you step on the gas, your corolla protesting as it's jolted out of its sleep and forced to shoot down the empty street. You don’t stop to turn and look.

“Wait.” A real voice overlaps with the one coming from your spirit box still clutched in your sweaty palm, but you don’t stop, turning the corner around the countertop and passing through an ethereal, translucent arm reaching out to stop you. You burst out of the bar into the cooler night air and shakily jam your key into your car, cursing as you struggle to get the door open.

Holy shit, you chant over and over again, they’re real, they’re real!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Your alarm wakes you from a restless slumber, one of many in the past few months. With a groan, you fumble for your phone with your eyes still closed and turn it off. 

“Fuck…” You curse at the soreness in your back and slick between your legs. It happened again last night.

Tugging your underwear down, you stare at the sticky mess you’d created in your sleep. Glimpses of your dream, or nightmare, flash through your head, sending a quiver down your spine. Your breath hitches at the thought, you palm your stiff nipples through your ratty old shirt and begin fingering your cunt, warm and dripping wet. 

You’ve been tormented by a string of dreams lately, each one leaving you aching in the morning. So much so that you have had to incorporate masturbation into your morning routine. It’s never satisfying though, your fingers and toys don’t come even close to what you experience in the nasty recesses of the dreamscape hidden in your mind. All of them are vivid and realistic, but when you wake, you can only recall little snatches- greedy hands taking their fill of your body and being bent over, being filled…being defiled.

And with your equipment left at the bar, what can you do? There is no evidence of your findings. You can’t tell your friends that you’ve been having wet dreams almost incessantly since that night alone in the bar. You would seem like a lunatic.

But it wouldn’t be wrong to call this a kind of madness. Frantic and possessive. Bodies cast in vibrant colour, shadowed and swaying against you. Cast in the black behind your eyelids is a gold insignia, beckoning you closer and closer.

With a whimper, you cum, body folding over and shaking as you ride out your climax. Temporarily satiated, you slump back into your pillows dramatically, staring at your ceiling. Something from that bar had followed you home. And you want to go back.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The empty district is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. It’s a cold night, and you tug your sweater around your shoulders as you lean back in your car seat. It’s undeniable that you’re a little scared- you feel like one of those idiot teenagers in horror movies that get themselves killed for wandering recklessly into danger. Again, something tells you that it’s different. Or maybe you’re just horny.

With your torch in one hand and your phone in the other, you enter the bar. All of your equipment is just as you left it. You trace your finger over the REM pod on the countertop, dusty but intact. It’s…quiet.

What did you expect? To get jumped the moment you came in? There’s no sign of the specters as well. You’re a bit disappointed, because it means that those dreams you’ve been having might not have been supernatural at all, and worse, the specters might have been a figment of your imagination.

Just as you resolve to pack up your things and leave, a sliver of light catches your eye, cast against the dark floor. Purple light streams between the curtains that lead to the locked basement. Your heart begins to pick up pace again, and you rush over, brushing aside the thick, heavy fabric to see the stairway down illuminated. The door is open!

“H-Hello?” You call out, flicking your torchlight off and leaning it against a step. With hesitant steps, you descend, eyes adjusting to the dim artificial light. You know this atmosphere, this tension in the air from the distinctive purple haze of your dreams. Almost instinctively, your core warms and you can feel yourself shiver, a conditioned response.

 When you reach the base of the stairs, your breath stalls in your throat and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. The same apparitions that have been haunting your dreams are there, facing you, as if waiting for your inevitable return. Your nervous eyes scan the rest of the room, it looks like you’ve stepped into another realm entirely- gone are the cheap and neon plastics of the bar, there’s a pool of fabrics and pillows, and an altar, carved from stone with tall pillars of candles by its sides.

Dazed, you don’t realise that you’ve been walking until you’re a few feet in front of the specters, their heads following you uncannily. 

“I-I…” You sputter, jittery under their heavy, obscured gaze. They haven’t even done anything to you yet, but your head is all cotton and gauze. Slowly, you sink to your knees.

“My dreams. I’ve seen you there.” You say, awe-struck. A delicate voice replies, soft as a gossamer sheet.

“I am glad that you’ve returned.” It confuses you. You’re not sure if the voice is coming from one of the specters before you or if it’s echoing through your head, like you’re on a phone call with someone in the same room as you. Up close, their forms are ethereal, shimmering and tinted purple from the lights, shifting ever-so-slightly.

You can still make out the shape of a mouth and a nose on their faces, as well as outlines of their limbs and hands. One reaches out to you, fitting the curve of your cheek in the palm of their hand- your eyes widen at the touch, it feels real, cold but solid against you.

“Good one…pretty one…” They close around you, clamouring to touch you. A hand combs through your hair, traces the curve of your ear, another slides past the collar of your shirt to the dip between your shoulder blades, and one presses its fingers against your lips.

Strange, you think, opening your mouth obediently for the cold fingers to savour the wet warmth of your tongue. Every cell in your body is alight, bristling with energy and ready to burst at the seams. This is what you’ve been wanting for so, so long. 

How could I have been terrified of them before this?

“More, more.” Not enough of you is exposed it seems. You shed your sweater, your hard nipples visible through thin fabric. The atmosphere bristles a bit, you think, as you finally discard your shirt, your breasts and inviting skin on display for them to grab at, their touch growing more hungry.

They whisper, trailing lower and lower. You close your eyes for just a moment, the jostling bodies around you giving way to darkness as you relish in the feeling of hands that grope your chest, firm nipples being pinched and tugged at, your bare body slowly becoming accustomed to their supernatural chill. Something bumps against your lips and you smile, opening your eyes once again to bat your eyelashes up at the specter that has its stiff cock in hand, unabashedly asking for entry.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out for the specter to slide its head against you. You think you hear a whimper, and you’re pleased to feel it twitching as you close your mouth around it, humming as you bob your head and take more of its length down your throat. It’s solid, hard like a human’s, and you can feel the bump of veins trailing down its shaft. Behind you, one kneels down and presses its torso up against your back, a hand cupping your soaking sex and another kneading your breast. 

“Here…!” Two more specters hovering over you tug at your arms impatiently, wrapping your hands around their own dicks. Obliging their requests, you stroke them lazily, eyes flitting between all of the spirits that surround you. The ones that are not latched to your body stand a short distance away, fisting themselves, undoubtedly staring at you get busy. Underneath their innumerable gaze, you’re exhilarated, and a thought flits through your mind- they’ll all have a chance to run you through later, and you’ll be able to experience it all in reality. 

The specter shoves two fingers into your needy hole, grinding them against your sweet spot. You falter, but the specter that’s in your mouth clamps its hands around your head, sinking so deep that your face is flush with their crotch. The two rut into your tightened grip, gasping and groaning fills your head.

“So good…so good…Ah!” 

When a finger flicks at your clit, you cum hard, body arching and thighs quaking. You’re stunned momentarily, and you swallow back the spit pooling in your throat, squeezing around the specter. Suddenly, its grip in your hair grows stronger, bordering on pain as it cums too, cold, thick liquid shooting into the back of your throat and covering your tongue. It tastes like nothing, you note, gasping for air when it detaches from you and releases its grip on your head.

What catches you off guard is the colour of its seed, a thick white substance that drips down your chin onto the floor between your legs, giving off an otherworldly glow. Immediately, another takes its place- the one on the right that had you fisting its cock guides it into your mouth and plugs you up again. This one is less patient, it holds you in place and fucks into your mouth. They use you like a sex toy, taking turns occupying your hands and mouth, grabbing at your chest and fingering your cunt. Any hesitation or endearing nervousness that occupied the specters has disappeared, and you’re elated. You lose count of how many have cum on you, they spill on your face, your chest, covering you in their ungodly semen. It becomes a dizzying cycle, and between your climaxes and theirs’, you lavish them with all that you can give, just as you did in your dreams. What you can take down your throat, you do gladly, an appreciative hum is your reward when you obediently swallow and accept the spurts of cum onto your body.

Suddenly, after a specter smears its cum across your tits, you’re pulled to your feet. Shaky and tired legs unable to support your body, you’re carried over to the altar that you saw earlier and laid upon it. It’s the perfect height, and you groan as a specter grinds its cock against your wet folds. Your legs are spread wide apart, and the empty spaces around you are quickly taken by eager spirits. They pause though, and seem to wait for something patiently. A name is called, something unintelligible, not in the human tongue, not anything you’ve heard before.

They say something in an alien tongue, and look upwards to the ceiling. There is something you didn’t notice before, the same sigil as the one on the door is painted there. In a split second, a collage of memories are made clear in your mind’s eye- you see offerings of wine and food, people kneeling before hulking statues and trees, orgies in secluded areas where hedonism flourishes, lush with the scent of sex and flowers.

The specter between your legs breaks you out of your reverie, and you’re suddenly in the basement once again, fully aware of your dripping cunt, the need. There’s an energy in the room that wasn’t there previously, charged and crackling. You groan when it fits its bulbous head against your entrance, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as it enters you. And finally, finally you are one with them. You stare entranced at where you are joined, its thick, translucent cock stretching your starved cunt.

“Fuck me, please.” You rasp, throwing your head back when it begins to thrust into you, setting a brutal pace. Again, the specters crowd around you and put you to work. Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the wave of pleasure, the friction of the heavy cock in your pussy, the numerous hands that guide you and delight in the touch of your skin.

“You…you…” The voice bristles in your head, and there it is again- snatches of that scene and the voice, it’s getting stronger. You can barely focus, between the ghostly bodies all around you and the thread of a connection to It. They’re both equally addictive- the delicious stretch and fill, the wandering hands all over your overstimulated body, and the irresistible draw to something powerful and primordial. Closer, closer, closer.

The specter fucking into you quivers, its pace quickening and its thrusts growing shallower. It’s about to cum inside you, and you wrap your legs around its translucent torso to force it even deeper inside. In response, its hands grab your hips with so much force that you’re sure they’re going to bruise.

“Perfect.” The word is whispered into the shell of your ear, low but with the power of a command. Instantly, you feel like euphoria has flooded your body, too much of it. Every sensation is painfully amplified, the bliss of each thrust between your legs rapturous and overwhelming. You cum, and the specter does too, you can feel its cold seed like ice in your hot, hot cunt, flooding you, seeping into your being. Every cell in your body is screeching from pleasure so high that it hurts. 

“Oh. Too much?” 

There’s tears streaming down your cheeks. Your thoughts are melting together and no words form on your tongue, all you can manage is a pathetic nod as your body seizes in agony and orgasmic bliss.

“Apologies, it’s been a while.” It says, and just as quick as it compelled you, the euphoria is sapped from your body. The relief is another form of pleasure, and as you relax, you feel a gush of liquid seep past where you’re joined to the specter- you’re squirting, a puddle of it forming on the altar and dripping onto the floor. 

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” It whispers again, cool and calm as you gasp for breath. “I like it.”

“What…what-” You’re cut off by the specter dragging its cock out of you, leaving you gaping for the next one in line. You let out a high-pitched whine as the mix of semen and your slick spills out of you. As though to comfort you, one specter cradles your cheek and promptly nudges its dick past your lips. They seem to be oblivious to the conversation going on, or they carry on in spite of it.

“Don’t think. Just let go.” Another cock is thrust into you, barely giving you any reprieve as it pounds into you, intent on getting you filled again.

What are you?

“A vague question gets you a vague answer.” It tuts, “I am the bliss that found its way into your dreams, the cruelty that left you wanting more, and the hunger that brought you back here to me.”

Hands reach out to pinch and twist your nipples and clit, forcing you to let out a muffled yelp.

“It hardly seems fair for you to pay little attention to those who have been fucking you so vigorously. Well, given that you can’t form a coherent thought, the ones that have you speared on their cocks are my most devoted followers. They have been so gracious as to offer their spirits for my perusal.”

And now you understand- it’s a god, an ancient deity on the ceiling looking down upon you, casting its impartial and frigid gaze on this debauchery, orchestrated for its sake.

“And you, my little pleasure, are the first taste of life I’ve had down here in a long time.” Its tone has a vicious bite, excitement palpable. At that, the specters, or puppets in you cum, the elation of their master influencing their own pleasure, no doubt. You choke around the cock forced down your throat, cutting off your breathing until it pulls free from you and you choke down air and seed.

You’re so replete, so tired, you’re not sure whether you can take anymore-

“You will.” 

Warily, you sweep your gaze across the hoard of hungry spirits hunched over you.

“After all, isn’t this what you wanted?”

Throughout the night, you’re used over and over, your poor cunt fucked and filled more times than you can count. Just as you think it may end, another specter is between your legs, alternating between lapping up the mess between your legs and pumping its seed into you again. All while some ancient and cruel god speaks to you. With each climax, you feel your consciousness slipping further away, the teasing and praise of the voice in your ear growing ever more distant…

When you wake, you’re exhausted. The specters had disappeared, leaving you on the altar. Despite the throbbing in your core and muscles, you manage to pull your clothes back on and make your way up the stairs, the unpleasant stickiness of your skin urging you to get home as soon as possible so you can take a shower.

A draft sends a chill down your spine, a whisper like a caress brushes past you.

I’ll see you soon, little pleasure.

You’re relieved to see your corolla on the streetside, and as you limp to your car you make a mental note to pack up your equipment the next time you’re here.

[blue-mood-blue]

What if Hua Cheng had memorialized the temple?

I don’t think he did, canonically. I imagine that was a memory he wasn’t keen to linger on, especially not to such an extent as to record it, to hover over the details in his mind and commit it to physical imagery. But I could see where he might - maybe catharsis, so that night can exist somewhere outside of his head. Maybe twisting, spiteful justice, so the world won’t be allowed to forget what it did to his god. Maybe just desperation, to record every shard of Xie Lian that he has in an effort not to lose a single piece while he searches.

It wouldn’t be graphic; I think it would be something more stylized, more symbolic. Xie Lian is tied to his own altar. He has replaced the divine statue that should be there instead, the god made present the way he was for Hua Cheng once, the way he was for all of his people once. He is surrounded by blades, but they aren’t piercing him yet. Hua Cheng can’t do that to him even in paint. Bai Wuxiang is not featured, because Hua Cheng would not force any version of Xie Lian into that monster’s presence, but there is a ghost fire hovering near. There is a small, crushed flower on the ground at the foot of the altar, like it was dropped from the Flower Crowned Prince’s hand moments before. The entire tableau holds its breath in the anticipation of something horrific.

It’s painted in a shadowed corner, with a cloth hung in front of it. Not out of shame, or even because of Hua Cheng’s own trauma - out of respect for the prince’s privacy, unwillingness to make a moment of such incredible, painful vulnerability a spectacle to anyone else without the prince’s say-so.

That doesn’t stop Mu Qing from finding it.

Mu Qing, who was already horrified, Mu Qing, who was looking for Xie Lian to drag him out of the caves immediately because he’d seen a statue that suggested things he would rather not think about in regards to his former prince… Mu Qing brushes the curtain aside in that tucked-away corner and stops.

A hundred blades are pointed at His Highness. A hundred faces leer and sob and stare. And Xie Lian sits at the center of it all, head lowered, waiting for the slaughter.

Is it so unreasonable that Mu Qing takes it for a threat? Is it so unreasonable of Mu Qing to drag Feng Xin to what he’s found, for the both of them to slip an arm around each of the prince’s own and pull him away from wherever that altar is somewhere in the complicated network of twisted, obscene worship? That thing painted on the wall - it can’t have ever happened. They would know. Mu Qing and Feng Xin, who spent every day of their early lives with the prince, beside the prince, trailing along behind the prince… they would know. They would have been there; they would have prevented it. This is the fantasy of a ghost king who laid ruin to thirty-three heavenly officials and found his thirst still unslaked.

(Mu Qing does not consider the eight hundred years of Xie Lian’s life he knows nothing about. Feng Xin does not consider the eight hundred years of Xie Lian’s life he knows nothing about. It’s a habit they’ve grown skilled at, over eight hundred years.)

They don’t explain to Xie Lian, so Xie Lian has no opportunity to explain to them what they saw. And Mu Qing isn’t wrong, when he concludes that Xie Lian has been stalked and watched and hunted since he was seventeen. He isn’t wrong. He just doesn’t know, yet, what direction the threat is coming from. There’s no time for anyone to tell him, or Feng Xin, who tied the restraints and provided the sword.

They’ll find out. Masks are made to be removed.

[nouearth]

blue current.

clark kent x male reader headcanons.

warnings: fluff, co-workers at the daily planet, maws!clark, soft!clark, intern!reader.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since i've written anything! i feel so bad because i've been swamped with school, so hopefully this will hold you guys over until i post my next fic! it's not much, but i've been feeling fluffy as of recent, and clark is the perfect candidate, HAHA. idk, i've been feeing low-key creatively stuck for writing, so hopefully this well get me out of the slump!

gif credits to: fukutomichi!

—clark was smitten from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

—it had only been the fourth month into his internship, but it was no secret that the higher-ups, and even his colleagues, have been impressed by clark's rapid growth.

—it was enough to ensure their trust in clark to train the new intern as the lead journalist had taken a month off for vacation. while he had his doubts if he would do a good job, clark always loved challenging himself.

—his mother had always reminded him: one who feared failure will never achieve greatness.

—sure, you weren't being mentored by the best journalist in the city. though, you had to admit that you felt defeated since miss lane was the only reason why you chose the daily planet over other internships.

—but bitterness turned to throat-drying, cheek-flushing, and hand-flexing sweetness when you came in your first day and met the man who would be training you.

—for clark, it was the drowsiness in your gaze that suddenly brightened when he met your eyes. if he could have seen his own face, clark would reckon that his eyes lit up the same way yours did upon meeting you for the first time.

—he's so... handsome. maybe training him wouldn't be so bad after all...

—his blue eyes sucked you in like heavy ocean current, but instead of fighting back the pull like any sane person would, you allowed him to drown you in the gorgeous wash his gaze doted on you with.

—god, are you toying with me right now? have you finally come around to my reckless behavior back in high school? i knew you always would!

—it began with a handshake. when clark's large hand cupped into yours, a current of sparks flickered from the bone of your knuckles to his own, and you both released with a gasp.

—"sorry! it must be my vest or something—has a lot of... cotton, i think—" clark assured with a laugh, but cursed his lame excuse in between breaths.

—"no, you're fine! i guess your sweater vest knew i was half-asleep, huh?" you laughed with him, and almost as if it was choreographed, you reached back to rub at your nape when he does, and the discomfort left the collective laughter in a fleeting dance.

—"well, lucky for you, our first stop is the break room! i'll show you how to make a poor man's mocha if you get sick of the coffee here!"

—from then on, you two had quickly become close friends.

—where clark would teach you more hacks to spice up an ordinary roast of coffee, you would return the favor by surprising him on random days with lunch that you prepared the night before.

—on nights where you were too tired to function, you simply settled for sandwiches and prepared an extra meal for clark.

—whether he claimed he forgot his lunch, or was too busy to even take a glance at his lunchbox; eating lunch had become a rarity for him.

—unless it was with you.

—even before opening the brown paper bag, clark knew it was going to be delicious.

—you always remembered what ingredients he liked and disliked since the first time you had lunch with him.

—clark smiled to himself as he ate the meal you didn't have to prepare for him in big bites.

—and then laughed when you watched in amazement and mirrored him like a parrot with messy bites.

—somehow, the thought of cared for was more filling than the actual meal.

—in moments where clark suddenly felt guilt for liking you as more than a friend, he sat silently, staring blankly ahead, with the tissue crumpled in his hands.

—and you sat beside him on the bench, compelled by his silence, while the birds watched from their home of oak and birch.

—it had been happening more frequently: clark's sudden mood shift. no matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he attempted to pacify your silent worries with his handsome smile, it was clear that something was bothering him.

—at first, you tried to break him with a joke.

—"geez, was my sandwich that bad?! i guess i shouldn't have used that expired mustard..."

—you've studied clark enough to anticipate a half-hearted chuckle from him; weak, but still had the intention to please. to masquerade his thoughts.

—instead, the birds chirped in his absence, and your frown only deepened as clark maintained a fixed gaze to the pavement.

—"clark?" you nudged him once on the arm, and he immediately dropped his head in between his legs with a heavy sigh.

—"what's wrong?"

—"there'ssomethingigottatellyou..." he muttered into the crook of his elbow, and your brows knitted together in worry, despite your amusement at the fact that he was behaving similarly to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

—"huh? didn't quite catch that when your mouth is full of linen." you gently nudged him once more to vacant the space between his legs, then another with a gentler squeeze to his arm when he doesn't.

—"clark, come on. talk to me." you squeezed harder to the sound of his groans. "people are staring—"

—then another squeeze.

—"there's something..."

—and another.

—"i gotta tell you..."

—and before you could alert him once more, clark returned the pressure into your own palm when he suddenly took your hand into his, and held it as if it was a pirate's lost treasure.

—the warmth of your skin compelled him to sit back up, but he refused to look at you. instead, he gazed every perimeter that didn't involve your eyes.

—the birds again, the sky, the trees, anything to drown out the sight of potential rejection.

—but how you wished he would turn to you right now, because you smiled. wide enough to sting the apple of your cheeks, and as much as you wanted to yell out his name for him to do so, you wanted to let clark do it for himself.

—to take upon the challenge of potentially meeting failure or success.

—heat crept onto his cheeks as he stared at a couple who were charmed by chubby ducks floating on the nearby lake. for a brief moment, he could see you two walking hand-in-hand, while the other free hand threw feed at the eager ducks.

—he was lost in his imagination. a blink turned into a dream, and a dream turned into a desperate paradise.

—it wasn't until the trail of your hand that looped your fingers into his, tightly sharing the warmth of anxiousness with a sticky clamp, that clark opened his eyes again and finally turned to you.

—wet eyes and shaking blues, they told a story that you didn't need to read into.

—silence filled the space between the two of you, then groaned in annoyance when you scooted closer until your knee was pressed to clark's. you folded his hand into yours, still clutching onto him tightly, and laid the joined affection on your lap.

—"i like you too, smallville." your thumb ran several laps over his knuckles to calm the tremors clark had possessed.

—he watched, open-mouthed as if he was about to respond, but the shock trapped the remainder of his words within his throat.

—you lounged back and squinted at the radiance of the sun, the brights of the sky.

—"(m/n)..."

—the sunlight faded into the background as the beauty of your best friend came into frame once again. he absorbed all the color and light of the world until your focus was on him.

—"i really like you."

—the sigh on his lips told a different tale compared to the previous exhales. it curled his lips upwards and finally pacified the shakes that had been bothering clark for months.

—when he pressed his palm back into yours, folding his fingers over your own, you braced for impact as you felt the electrical current from the first day you met him return in stronger pulses. it nipped at your skin, then at clark's, in its desperate escape.

—but clark held tighter, as did you, until the shockwaves melted in his skin, into his veins, then into his blood, and became one with the victorious cheer of his heart.

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

[livingemkayde]

en route

joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 3.5k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f!recieving, light choking, dom!joel, a mild enemies to lovers mixed with sunshine!reader and grumpy!joel miller. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: hey guys...heres a little one shot in a followers/blog milestone celebratory fashion (!!!!!!!). this sort of turned into a one shot from the scrapped ideas regarding my new series. its also helping me gear up for taking on the task of beginning to write a new dynamic (i am definitely putting off completing chaser because i have an emotional attachment to that story BUT itll be out sometime this week). i love you all so, so, so much. you have no idea. thank you for everything (can you tell i live for a flashback fic).

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“You’re—” he quirks his brow at your attempts, “you’re an asshole, Joel,” you finalize.  He takes a step toward you. You take a step back.  “You’re rude. And inconsiderate—” he smirks, it makes you more mad, “—and snarky and a jerk for no reason.” Your back hits the hallway’s wall. He takes another experimental step towards you.  “Okay. Yeah, keep going,” Joel breathes out, encourages, like you're amusing. “What else am I?”

You can’t stand him. 

You really can’t stand him. Hate is a strong word. Maybe not one you use often. But the disdain you feel for Joel Miller hinges to the breaking point each time you run into him. 

What a fucking asshole — you finally willed yourself to believe after weeks of kindness. It was practically seeping from your skin but it seemed to brush off his worn leather winter coat onto the fresh powder. It died there, and so did your hopeless attempts. 

“Hi,” you breathed out, that first fateful time. It was a surprisingly clear winter night. He had just moved in. The women were fawning over him, ogling, jaws dropping in the town square. You just observed and tried to keep your face neutral. As neutral as you can be. 

But Joel stood in front of you and just grunted in response. 

It made you try harder. 

“I brought these — made these for you,” you said, extending a pack of sandwiches for him and the girl you happened to see by his side. You figured she was with him. You traded a hell of a lot to get the meat for the sandwiches. But kindness and new neighbors seemed to fare well. At least in your very limited experience. 

“What is this?” he questioned. He didn’t take them from your hands. His fingers—big and rough and calloused, picked at the skin of its own. He didn’t take a step outside the threshold. You were suddenly unwelcome. You felt the weight of the sandwiches grow tiresome in your outstretched arm. 

“Sandwiches. Thought I’d say hello since you’re new around here,” you smiled, sort of shaking the pack, here — fucking — just take them, jesus. 

But he didn’t, and your arm grew tired, and so did your smile. 

“‘M good, thanks,” he mumbled in response, and shut the door in your face. 

And yes, of course he was handsome. He was — rugged — and you can see the wired muscles stretch the cotton of his shirt on patrol sometimes. In those especially unfortunate circumstances where Tommy has the nerve to pair you two up together. 

Handsome, yes. With a hulking bounding step over snow, and menacing shadow when he towers over you. A southern drawl—something so pitch-deep and honey-like, something you’ve never heard before. Not until you met him. And you were nursing a stupid hopeless crush over a guy you hate, but not really. And that drove you insane. 

Because he was fucking, rude, yes. Definitely. 

But you lost it. That last time you saw him. Because what’s worse was he wasn’t even being Joel Miller, his usually brooding self. He was being — nice? Kind? Funny? Maybe. You weren’t sure. You couldn’t hear much over the piercing ringing in your ears. 

“You like this route, Joel?” you said, peering over your shoulder at him on horseback. 

You tried to keep it up, the kindness, the fucking — benefit of the doubt bullshit. You really did. He seemed keen on it sometimes more often than not. 

“‘S fine,” he replied back in a rumpled, annoyed way. 

“You gotta see my favorite part,” you say, almost to yourself, almost forgetting about his dark drawl, only thinking about the meadow half a mile from the checkpoint. 

 He just snorted at that. You just tried to keep a happy face on. 

The songbirds twinkled around in the surrounding trees. The winter snow was receding, making the small dribble of water a full stream. You followed it, straying slightly from the beaten path, earning a couple protesting growls from Joel, but you ignored his pleas, and surprisingly, he just followed you. 

You got off your horse. Joel followed suit. You trudged across a little bend of water. He let out a scoff sounding more like a complaint each time he let one echo in the silence of the forest. 

“C’mon,” you said, smiling, that time, a real smile. Maybe this would make him smile too. 

You reached the crest of the small hill, hiked up your sleeves over your elbows, and bent down to touch the soft petals of the flowers beneath you. 

“Look,” you said, sending him a sideways glance behind you. He was still clamoring to the top of the hill. 

“Yeah, alright,” he groveled. You ignored him. 

Joel joined you at your side, his chest puffing slightly out of your skewed peripheral vision. 

“‘S beautiful, isn’t it?” you said to no one in particular. He didn’t respond. You didn’t expect him to. 

You bend down, picking a strewn orange flower blossom from the floor. Something broken off with the wind. 

“This what you do all day? Pick flowers?” he mumbled.

“Maybe,” you grinned, maybe you were finally getting him to crack, too. “And what do you do all day?”

“Not this,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Really?” you said, “Enlighten me. What does Joel Miller do everyday?”

“Joel Miller minds his business,” he replied, snarky, but he smirked. 

It made you a little scared, you remember. Maybe you were under some sort of falsehood that made hating Joel Miller easy. So when he actually talks to you, teases, follows you through the meadow, it seems a little intimidating suddenly. 

It’s different. 

It’s fucking weird. 

“Which one’s your — favorite,” he whispered, gesturing out to the field in a vague sort of motion with open palms. 

“Lilies,” you replied, tense. You pointed down at a brighter purple lily plant to your right. Joel’s eyes followed your hand. 

You wouldn’t dare look at him, but you could feel him moving beside you. He was in front of you suddenly, his indomitable presence made you turn your head and look up at him through the sunlight. 

He lifted his hand, in line with your ear. Your head backed away from it instinctually, but you kept a keen gaze on his eyes. 

Your brows knit together. So did his. Your mouth parted, almost speaking into the soft mountain air. But he moved his hand again, closer to your face. And you saw a flash of something orange. Like the little flower you picked up. He brushed those big calloused fingertips on your cheek, and slipped the orange flower between hair atop your ear. 

You were so confused, you didn’t know what to say. But it was bad. He was risky. You tried not to think of the fact that maybe, if he wasn’t so fucking rude, and you didn’t hate him so much, maybe that small little schoolgirl crush would blossom into something bigger. 

Because that’s all it was. A small, fucking stupid crush. He teases you. Pulls at your hair. Shoves you off the monkeybars. You put on a kind face anyways. 

And you hate him for that. Decidedly. 

“We should go,” you whispered. He dropped his hand. You both rode back in silence. 

That put you in a horrible mood for the rest of the day. And when you went to sleep and woke up this morning still in a horrible mood, you know exactly why. 

Joel Miller doesn’t get to do this. He can’t make you hate him and then pull the rug out from underneath you. Especially not with something as low as putting a fucking flower behind your ear.

You show up at the patrol meeting in an equally sour mood. 

And maybe, yeah, you are being irrational. But at this moment you couldn't care less.

You find the assignment board for next week and see your name card slotted under Joels.

“Perfect,” you huff, already moving quickly out of the building, saving your usual chit chatting for another time. Maybe when you’re less pissed off. 

“Hey,” a voice calls after you and you know. You could pick that voice out of a hundred recordings. It pulls you back, and you fight hard to keep moving forward. You’re close to your house already so you continue walking. 

He calls your name this time. 

You don’t falter in your huffing steps. 

“Stop,” he says, grabbing at your arm, pulling you around towards him. When he sees your face, he hesitates. Though the air seems a little humid and sticky, you wrap your arms around yourself. A shield. 

“What, Joel?” 

“You—left,” he breathes out, looking down to your body slightly. It’s unnerving, him making you squirm. 

“Yes. I’m leaving,” you roll your eyes, turning around again, but he locks hard onto your arm and pulls you back to him. 

“What’s—” you shake out of his grip, “what’re you doin’?”

“I’m going home,” you say, and then under your breath, “Obviously.”

“What’d you say?” He's a bit defensive now, maybe falling back into old habits. Back when things were so perfectly hostile between you two. 

“I’m going home, Joel,” you say, annoyed. “Is that okay with you?”

He doesn’t say anything. His mouth parts in confusion. You start walking again, this time, he lets you, falling in time with your steps next to you. 

“Are you alright?” he says, almost worried now. Your footsteps fall faster as you see your mailbox sneak into view.

“I thought Joel Miller minded his business,” you grumble under your breath. But loud enough for him to hear. You know it. You reach your porch, stepping onto it. The morning dew springs to life from the vibrations of your rough boot. 

“So you’re gonna throw a tantrum?” he growls, following you up, reaching the first step, you, on the top one. 

“Real mature,” you say, turning around, hands on hips. 

“Right,” he nods and looks down to his feet, “Ignoring people is mature?” 

“‘M not!” you say, looking down at him, throwing your hands out at your sides, “You’re right here talking to me!”

“Yeah ‘n I had to chase you down the fuckin’ street,” he extends one arm towards the road. 

“No one asked you to,” you bite, the venom sneaking past your lips. 

He doesn’t even flinch. 

“You wanna play that?” he mumbles. An empty threat at best. You hope. 

“No,” you say. Tears are already in your eyes. “No, I don’t wanna — fucking — do this anymore, Joel,” you whisper while unlocking the door and walking inside. It doesn’t shut behind you, not all the way. And you hear his boots follow you in. 

“The hell is your problem?” his voice echoes. He follows you in your house, to the skinny hallway which leads to your room. 

You spin around, pushing at his chest with a pointed finger. 

“You are my fucking problem,” you affirm. 

You crane your neck to look up at him. His hair is pushed back, like he just got out of the shower before attending the patrol meeting. His chest puffs in time with your rapid heartbeat. 

He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t say anything. 

“You’re—” he quirks his brow at your attempts, “you’re an asshole, Joel,” you finalize. 

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. 

“You’re rude. And inconsiderate—” he smirks, it makes you more mad, “—and snarky and a jerk for no reason.”

Your back hits the hallway’s wall. He takes another experimental step towards you. 

“Okay. Yeah, keep going,” Joel breathes out, encourages, like you're amusing. “What else am I?”

“You’re —” your breath accidentally catches in your throat. He places his palm on the cold wall next to your head, leaning down closer to you. He’s fucking intoxicating. You’re drunk off his lowbrow and the curls that form at the base of his neck. What you wouldn't give to run your fingers through them right now—

“C’mon,” he chastises. His mouth is so close to yours, you keep switching between his eyes and his lips. 

“You’re an asshole,” you mumble. 

“Yeah?” you nod. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby.

“Don’t stop,” his lips get closer to yours, “What else?” 

“You’re…” you look at his lips. He gets so close that his chest brushes up against yours. “You’re mean…and you’re arrogant.” 

You find it in you to put your open palms gently on his chest. You don’t find it in you to push him back. It’s not like you want to push him back though, not when all you need is to bring him closer. His breath punches gently on top of your nose. 

“Can I tell you what I think?” he grumbles, you shudder. He snakes his head down to whisper in your ear. His beard brushes the delicate skin on your neck. 

“I think,” his lips brush over the spot right under your ear. You breathe so hard you might get light headed. “You’re a pain in my ass,” the hand on the wall catches on your waist. You squirm against his body.

“With your distractions, and your sandwiches, and your little flowers,” he’s so close, he’s almost kissing you. He slots his thigh between yours. 

“Shut up,” you say, because that’s all you can say right now. The dark hallway encases him in the shadows. Even when he picks his head back up and looks into your eyes. 

“Careful,” he warns. 

You stay there, silence filling the air. Your shoulder blades dig into the wall there. 

“You need to learn some manners,” he mumbles, shaking his head, looking down at your lips. 

“I have manners,” you breathe, admittedly a little shaky, “just not for — fucking —”

“Not for what?” He smirks. 

“Not for you,” you push against his chest again. He doesn’t flinch. 

“Yeah?” something in his tone makes you fight harder, “You gonna be a bad girl?” 

“Shut up,” you say, because you don’t trust yourself. You brace yourself against the wall in a desperate attempt not to whine. He’s making you slip. You silently chastise yourself. What happened to ‘Joel Miller doesn’t get to do this’?

You suppose all rational thought flies out the window when his roughed hands land on you. 

“You can be a bad girl,” he said, pushing his fingers under your shirt. They’re surprisingly warm. You fight the urge to groan. Your eyes flicker down to your bodies touching and drag them back to his eyes. “I’ll teach you how to be a good girl, too.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, half under your breath. Joel’s eyes dance with yours, flickering from your lips to your left eye, to your right. Your nose, your eyebrows. Then back down to your parted mouth. You’re fighting a losing battle, you both are. You had no chance of winning it. Not even in the slightest, not at all. And you both know it. 

So, fuck. 

You kiss him. You learn forward, as much as the space between you will allow, and kiss him. He smells like pinewood, and fresh soap, and something smokey. He almost tastes sweet. His fingers splay across your waist. You feel the tips of them dig in there. You fight the urge to groan when you shift on top of his thigh slotted between your legs. 

He hauls you into your bedroom, you sink down on the bed. He takes off his flannel. He’s slow, in his movements, almost like he’s teasing you.

Punishing you. 

“Joel,” you say. You hate how you sound so whiny, so desperate. But after all, maybe you are desperate for him. 

“Sit back,” is all he says, in that honeyed drawl. 

You do. 

Joel stands in front of your slightly open legs, playing with the hem of your shirt in his fingers. 

Contemplating. 

“You gonna be a good girl?” he mumbles, his eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t look at you, just raises your shirt up slightly. 

And you know what? You don’t have an explanation for it. But you just say it—

“Yes,” while looking up at him. The salt and pepper on his patchy beard. His hardened brow and quirked lip. His fingers drift from the hem of your shirt up, up, up. Until his thumb grazes your nipple and you moan at the feeling. 

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, his thumb playing at your chin, your bottom lip. Your hands dig into the comforter at his words. Your bottom jaw slowly falls under the weight of his singular thumb. 

He pushes in, tugging your mouth open. You suck his finger obediently. 

“‘S good—baby,” he whispers so low under his breath you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly. 

You look up at him through your lashes, he pushes you back with his hand in your mouth until you’re laying flat on the bed. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says, pulling back his hand. While he shucks off his shirt, you undress frantically. 

You snap your legs shut when your panties are finally off. The cold air bites at your ankles. 

He nudges them apart until he’s slotted in between your open thighs. Your cunt stares back at him, glistening. 

He runs his hands along your frame, kneading at the skin on your thighs. His fingers, big and rough and calloused—but it feels fucking good. 

“Fuck—” you puff out, reaching for him, “I—”

He puts his finger up to his lips. Quiet. He says. 

You listen. 

“Just let me—” he says, drifting off when his fingers brush over your cunt. “Jesus—baby,” he mumbles, running his thumb through your slick. You moan and whine against his hand. 

“Joel,” you say again. Pleading. 

“I know,” he is all he says before twisting his hand and slipping a thick finger into your cunt. You gasp, grabbing at his shoulders and at the cotton beneath you. His free hand comes up near your neck, resting there. Not really doing anything.  

“You’re loud,” he points out, pumping out, adding a second because you’re so wet. You moan, gasp, whimper.

“’N you never fuckin’ listen.” he mumbles, looking at his fingers pumping out of you. 

“I do—” 

He shuts you up with a strong hand wrapping around your neck. Not enough pressure to really do anything, but enough pressure to cut your words short halfway garbled into an excuse. 

“Is that what you needed?” he groans, straining against his boxers, rutting up against your thigh. “Needed someone to tell you what to do?” 

You’re close. You moan. He thumbs at your clit. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering into his ear. His hand finds yours, pinning it back to the gray cotton there. 

“You needed me, baby?” he drawls.

Just when you’re about to come, he stops. Your eyes widen, he’s breathing heavily, his fingers are statues deep inside you. 

“Joel—just, fucking—” you whine. He starts pulling his fingers out, receding away from you. “No—fuck, please, I—please,” you reach for him. 

He looks at you. You whimper. 

“I—fuck—I needed you,” you whisper. And you think to yourself that it’s true. “I need—you.”

His face goes soft. 

“Okay,” Joel breathes, pulling out, but reaching down to take himself out of his boxers. Your legs part silently. “Fuck, angel. Okay.” 

He guides himself through your folds, you squirm underneath him. He mumbles something into your ear but you can’t focus on anything besides he dull stretch when he pushes past your walls. He’s stretching you out already, just the tip. But the pain feels surprisingly good. 

“God, Joel,” you whine. He goes slow. Excruciatingly slow. 

“You—” he eases into you. He groans against your hair. “You’re — fuck.”

“Shit,” you curse out, he slips into you all the way, until his hips are flush with you. “Shit—you feel f-fucking good.”

He stays like that for a bit, letting you mold around him. He pants into your ear. You scratch designs into his back. Memorabilia for when he returns back to his house and gets a good look in the mirror. You grasp at the curls at the nape of his neck. They’re soft. Just like you thought they might’ve been. 

He pulls out—almost all the way. And then thrusts back in. You both gasp into each other’s mouths. 

“Goddamn — tight, fuck,” he says, finding a pace that elicites the most unintelligible moans from you and sets it. He’s rough—but not too rough. And he’s hitting that spot that inches you further to a pulling blinding light. 

“Good, fucking girl—” he moans, he holds himself up above you with a strong hand next to your head. “You’re doin’ so—fuck—so good, pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the pretty girl. Or his praise, or his cock punching deep inside you, so deep that you can feel him in your fucking stomach, but you get closer. Tighter around him. He can feel it too. 

“Joel—gonna—ngh—” you whimper. He hikes your leg over his hip, hitting something deeper. 

“C’mon, angel,” he groans, “lemme — ah — lemme f-feel you.” 

He drags it out of you, your muscles pull taut and your vision pulls white and he keeps going through it all. You moan, whimper, maybe even yell. But he keeps up his relentless pace. You dig your fingers in his back, marking him with little crescents to go with all the rest of them. 

“Fuck—fuck,” he pants, his hips stuttering while you clench around him. 

He thrusts into you, one, two, three more times, your aftershocks sending towards his release. 

He lets out a broken groan spilling into you, rocking his hips with each pulse of his cock. “Shit,” he says, gripping your waist, “You — jesus, fuck.”

Joel collapses down next to you. He cleans you up, too. You both drift off to sleep. He kisses your forehead in between a floating, dreamless slumber. 

Somewhere between then and dinner he leaves, mumbling in your ear. You’re too tired to wake up and walk him to the door. And when you wake up, and make your way downstairs you spot it, sitting pretty on your front porch through the glass. 

A little makeshift bouquet, with fraying string wrapped around two stems.

Lilies.

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for Writing and Drawing Amputees: Bandaged Stumps

When writing and drawing amputee characters, unless your character only just lost their limb, they don't need to wear a bandage over their stumps.

to be clear, eda's depiction in the show was fine, since she'd only just lost her arm and went (presumably) without any medical attention, but because the show didn't have much time to show her afterwards, I've noticed a tendency of the fandom to draw her wearing the bandage permanently, so that's why I'm picking on her for my example lol.

It's a bit of a trope at this point, and I think it comes from one of a few different places:

Amputees do wear bandages on their stumps, but usually only for the first 6-12 weeks post-amputation, sometimes longer if the amputation was a result of a burn. It's possible people saw this though and assumed it was permanent.

Most amputees wear a sock made of either cotton or silicone under their prosthetics to provide them with some extra padding. These socks, called liners, often stick out from the top of the prosthetic socket and could possibly be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

Some amputees will wear compression garments for a few months to a few years after their amputations which could also be mistaken for a bandage from a distance. These garments are designed to stop swelling and reduce phantom pain, but they aren't bandages.

Stumps get cold easier because their circulation typically isn't as good as the rest of the body, so some amputees will wear socks over them even if they aren't wearing a prosthetic to keep warm, which again could be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

This one is funny, but in my experience unfortunately, it's the most common: people think the end of an amputee's stump is just a perpetual open wound that never heals. Meaning to avoid "gore" it needs to be covered. I've met fully grown adults who believed this until I showed up to work/uni without my prosthetics or socks on.

People are uncomfortable with seeing an uncovered stump and so put bandages over it to avoid confronting their biases.

Some combination of these points.

But yeah, unless your amputee has only just lost their limb in the last few weeks, they don't need a bandage.

The ironic thing too, is that for most amputees, bandaging a stump is nearly impossible. I've been in and out of hospital since I was 1 year old and only ever met 3 nurses and no doctors/surgeons who could successfully bandage my stump in a way that the bandage would even stay on. This is because stumps are usually tapered in shape (meaning they are wider at the top, closer to the body, and thinner at the bottom), so gravity will pull the bandage off 9 times out of 10.

On a final note: it's ok to show your amputee's stump, it's not gore, there's no blood, it just looks like a regular limb that just stops early. In fact, if you are writing/creating anything for kids or that is likely to be seen by kids, I encourage you to show your amputee's stumps at least once. I used to work on a disability awareness program for kids, and I lost count of the amount of times kids were terrified of me, because they all expected my leg to be bloody and gory. For a lot of kids, I was their first real-life exposure to an amputee, meaning they'd never even heard of people like me, or they had seen an amputee on TV, but because the show went out of its way to avoid showing the person's stump, they assumed it must have been because there was "something scary at the end" that they weren't supposed to see (kids are surprisingly perceptive, they will pick up on stuff like that without you realising). And scared kids aren't good at articulating why they're scared, and would often say really mean or hurtful things to me. I knew not to take it personally and learned how to handle those situations, but not everyone is used to dealing with kids. For a new amputee (or anyone who's less confident in their disability), the kinds of things those kids would say could be absolutely confidence destroying. I never blame the kids, it's not their fault, but the whole situation could have been avoided if they had seen people like us before they had the chance to hear the wrong info. Good representation like this can be the difference between a kid crying, making throw-up sounds and calling an amputee "disgusting monsters" (all things I've had kids do/say) and them just being like "oh ok, cool."

[satoruwiki]

Stripper gojo shakes his dick on your face and he also rolls his hips and grinds it against your face. Maybe shoves your face(not mouth) against his dick😳😳

SNUGGLED UP! — SATORU GOJO

minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.

content: nsfw; smut; stripper!gojo; afab!f!reader; porn with a ml of plot; blowjob

w.c: 1.4k

n/a: previously on stripper!gojo series. not proof read! sorry for making u wait so long! anon why are you giving me the graphic image of it (jk i thought of it before). hope this can make up for the wait! any interaction with this post is very much appreciated.

"Watch out! Damn," you laughed, holding his arm to keep your balance and his.

After that encounter at the club, you agreed to a second date, at which Satoru invited you for drinks. It was both a pleasure and a surprise to learn that you wanted to continue seeing him after discovering his 'little' lie. Pretty open-minded of you, he thought; most of them would've ditched him already.

On that date, you discovered two things. First, how misleading appearances are (your mom was right; don't judge a book by its cover), and two, Satoru sucked at drinking. Really, he was worse than a lightweight. Being a man of pride -and who doesn't say no to a bet- he accepted your drink challenge; after two drinks, his speech was slurred, and coherence had been thrown out the window.

Staggering, you arrived at the door of his flat (which you thought was located in a really wealthy part of town; it made you wonder if stripping made so much money, maybe you should change careers). You were grateful that the bar he chose was close to his place, and you didn't need to ask for an Uber. Satoru took his keys out of his pocket and clumsily dropped them on the floor. He bent down to pick them up and lost his balance, falling butt-first to the floor.

By this time, you were drunk as a skunk, and the slightest thing would be hilarious. 

After much trial and error to get the key inside, Satoru finally opened the door, exaggeratedly motioning for you to enter first. "Ladies first," he said in the most gentlemanly -and slurred- tone he could imitate.

As soon as you stepped in, you could tell how lavish his lifestyle was, which matched the area he lived in. You didn't get to explore much before he trapped you in between him and the wall. A small gasp left you as his lips crashed against yours, messily ravishing in your lips— you could still taste booze on his tongue.

The bind you had sworn on yourself to never break of no sex before getting to know him better was immediately broken -more like forgotten- by the haze of intemperance that clouded your mind.

How long has it been? Your perception of time had been screwed up by the booze coursing through your veins.

With your eyes squinted, you looked up to Satoru, whose brows were knitted together in pure bliss as breathy moans left him. 'Was this a kink of his?' you thought, feeling the cottoned texture of his boxers rub against your right cheek.

You would be lying if you said you didn't think this was hot either— you felt your lower part throb with carnal desire, and your mouth tingled to engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth. Something that would generally disgust you -have your face shoved on someone's dick- had you mewling and whining, a coy smile curving on the corner of your lips. The scent of his musk had a primal effect on you, and as much as it turned you on to have his big cock (because it was, you could see it at first glance through the cloth covering it) rubbing against your face, your desire to run your tongue over his throbbing veins was more. You parted your lips, letting your tongue flick out and wet the bulge of his clad dick, hungry to feel the soft skin of his shaft around your lips.

Satoru elicited a moan and shuddered, the mixed haze of both pleasure and booze clouding his mind so blissfully that he felt his knees about to give up and buckle. The hand he had on the back of your head pushing you against his erection fisted your hair and yanked your head back. Clicking his teeth, he gave a light slap to the side of your cheek. "We're getting impatient, huh?" he smirked.

You pressed your lips into a pout, and a soft and desperate whine came out of you at his teasing. "Stop playing with me," you said.

Satoru shoved his underwear down to his ankles to reveal his lengthy cock. It was so pretty, the type you would wrap a pink bow around, you thought, a gasp leaving your lungs as you admired it.

He was big and well-trimmed, with only a few specs of white hair coating around the base, as a few veins ran down the limb up to the slight curvature at the tip. The bulbous and pink tip wept in pre-seminal liquid, enticing you to lick it off clean with your tongue. "Wanna take a pic?" He teased, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hand let go of your hair and stroked it while the other held the base of his cock and gave you light taps with the head on your lips.

"Shut up," you replied, flustered - wincing as his cock rubbed all over your face, the scent of his musk having your panties soaked in arousal. Your fingers delicately wrapped around his dick as you lolled your tongue out - the lewd plaps of his cockhead tapping on your wet muscle drew a low moan out of Satoru, his eyes lidded at the kinky scene before his eyes.

He took a sharp intake of breath as your warm saliva made contact with his fat tip, your hand spreading the spit across his aching cock. Your lips parted around his head and slowly pushed it further into your mouth as a curse fell out of his lips while you welcomed him in. Satoru fought against his hand to not shove you down his pubic bone, the temptation too strong as your mouth felt heavenly warming his shaft.

You closed your eyes as you began to bob your head lazily, your tongue pressed firmly under the underside of his tip and swirling around it. "Fuck yeah, that feels good," Satoru hushed, moaning lowly as his hand guided your movement. He thickly swallowed, holding his hips as you sucked his sensitive and bulbous head oh-so-gently, like the sweetest candy you'd ever tried. He might as well be, as he felt himself melting in your skillful tongue.

Your tongue passed over his frenulum down to the base, prying your eyes open as you took his ballsack into your mouth— your hand squeezing and pumping his dick as you kept your ministrations on his balls. "Just like that- oh, shit," he moaned, his head falling back as you licked on his weeping slit and took him back into your cavity, sucking his dick with more eagerness. His cock twitched inside your mouth as your pretty doe eyes locked with his elated ones.

You took pride in the reactions you elicited from him, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense with veins prodding out his neck as each suck of yours sent a tingle cascading down his spine. His soft words of praise inflated your ego and sparked your arousal, evoking soft moans that thrummed around the erect limb in your mouth. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to find some relief from the ache you felt in your wet cunt.

"So fucking good, those pretty lips feel so fucking good, milkin' my cock dry," Satoru hissed, his breath laboured as his hips jerked forward, thrusting into your mouth to feel himself as deep as he could.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his cock bullied the back of your throat, snugging him so tightly and drawing sinful noises out of you. Your jaw started to ache as you stilled and gagged on his cock. Satoru began to babble nonsense— head was so good he was falling into delirium while fucking your face. You brought him to sweet ecstasy, drunk in the feeling of your plump lips snugging his cock.

He let out a guttural groan at the burning sting of your sharp nails digging into the side of his thighs. "Shit, I'm close- you're gonna let me cum in your mouth, yeah? Gonna drink what I'm gonna give you?" he moaned at the thrum of your gargled moans around him.

He took your broken whines as a 'yes' and thrusts deeply one last time, his cock pulsing and spurting rope after rope of his seed down your throat, "Yeah, drink my milk, swallow that up," Satoru panted, pumping shallowly, making sure every drop of his cum stayed in your mouth.

You pulled out of his dick, gasping for some desperately needed air, your hand subconsciously massaging your jaw down to your throat to soothe the burning pain in the back of your throat.

Satoru dipped down to kiss your tears away, his hand replacing yours to soothe your jaw, a sweet gesture compared to the one done moments ago. "I'm sorry, I got a little carried away. Was it too much for you?"

[fayes-fics]

Rescue and Ruin

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony rescues something for you... and it will likely lead to your ruin.

Warnings: None really. Flirting, sexual tension, banter, and the promise of more. A lot of teasing, soaking wet Viscount.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Unbetaed. Very belated request fill for @daisfordaysstuff (request:  I’m rewatching season 2 again, and I think I need one on this scene [lake Anthony]). I just had to post an Anthony story today to commemorate the birthday of Jonathan Bailey, the man who plays this titan of a fictional character. This is actually my oldest request fill, lingering in my inbox since Sept 2022. Sorry, my lovely; I hope late is better than never. I just got an idea of how I wanted this to play out. I hope you enjoy <3

“I’ll get it!”

A chivalrous call comes as you watch in dismay as your favourite bonnet take off in a gust of wind and flies over the lake, landing almost gracefully about twenty feet out into the gently rippling water.

You had just stolen down to the water's edge to get away from the crowds for a few moments of solitude, drawn to the beauty of the water as the sun danced on the little peaks caused by the gusty breeze. It had looked like a shimmering mirage from the terrace.

You are shocked when the one and only Viscount Anthony Bridgerton gives you a brief, polite nod as he passes you, then dives off a little jetty, still fully clothed, making you gasp loudly.

What on earth?!?

This is his garden party. Well, strictly his mother's, but he is Viscount, and this is the Bridgerton family country estate, Aubrey Hall. You are still awestruck to be here, a guest of your maternal aunt you are staying with here in Kent. Why on earth he would dive into his lake to rescue something as trivial as a hat seems mystifying. You are certain he has staff that could assist rather than take it upon himself and quite clearly ruin his outfit.

He re-emerges to the surface from his dive and swims with awe-inspiring speed towards your hat as it skates across the surface, propelling along not unlike some toy boat. When he finally reaches it, he holds it aloft triumphant and twists to swim back one-handed as he keeps it above the water.

You find yourself drawn down to the jetty he jumped off of. To give your thanks, express your surprise, and take back your hat and hope it is salvageable. You twist around to check, but all the other party guests seem oblivious to the incident or his actions, the string quartet playing so loudly closer to the house and the buffet table so laden everyone's eyes and ears are preoccupied.

“Thank you, my lord,” you demure as he pulls up to the jetty and places your bonnet on the wooden slats by your feet. “That was completely unnecessary, but I am, of course, so very grateful,” you curtsy and pick up the bonnet.

Luckily, thanks to his swift actions, it will be fine. Just the brim and lower edge touched the water. You wring out the soaked ribbons as best you can, then wrap them around your neck and tie them in a secure bow. It may be too wet to wear on your head for now, but at least it should dry while tied securely and draped down over your back. You curtsy again as you feel him watching you, unsure what else to do to convey your gratitude.

He laughs, and you see him fighting with the buttons on his jacket, still standing in the lake, the water around waist height. “There is no need to curtsy or to be so formal Miss…?” he squints up at you expectantly.

“Oh, it's Miss y/l/n,” you rush out and, for some reason, curtsy again.

“I mean it; please stop curtsying, especially to a man in such a state as me,” he says drolly, fighting off his jacket and tossing it, sodden and heavy, onto the jetty.

You are blatantly staring as he peels away his waistcoat and fights with his cravat. His thin cotton white shirt has turned entirely transparent in the water; it is barely there. Under it, you can see so much skin, toned and rippling muscle as his jerking movements strip off his clothing. Over his chest is a patch of dark hair clinging to the material you cannot look away from. You have never even so much as seen how a man looks without a shirt on before, and this sight makes your heart pound and your body tingle.

Glancing up from his actions, the corner of his mouth quirks up, and you know he has caught you—openly ogling him. Your cheeks are aflame, and you cut your eyes away.

“You may look, Miss y/l/n,” his pitch has dropped to something low and velvety, and it buzzes right into your core. Hesitantly your eyes dart back to his handsome face; the lip quirk spreads into a devastating, stunning smile. “It is alright; no one has marked us,” he assures, his gaze cutting to your right towards the house, then back to your face. “You shall not have broken any rules of propriety by talking with me. Or staring at me as you are,” he teases, an eyebrow arching appealingly.

“My lord, that is not what….” You begin to protest, knowing it's a lie even as you voice it; your reflex to appear chaste is so crucial to your need to find a match that your aunt and parents are so desperate for you to make.

But your words die out as he places both hands firmly on the dock and propels himself up and out of the water in one swift, athletic move. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as he unfurls upwards from the kneeling position, drawing up to his full height. Water sluices down his body and makes his clothing cling to every single contour of his toned, defined torso. He looms closer; you tilt backwards, entranced by the tracks of droplets over the lines of his handsome face, his burned umber eyes catching the sunlight and boring into you as he crowds closer.

“Do not lie to yourself or to me, Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles, “we both know you were and, indeed, continue to stare”.

His words make your body riot; your stays feel too tight for your lungs to breathe, your skin pricking hot. He’s so close now you can smell the vaguely mossy lake smell on his skin, on what little clothing he has left on; it’s dancing there on the breeze alongside something spicier and amber that you can only assume is his cologne. You want to stutter an apology, to offer your thanks again, to ask him to leave, to ask him to stay, to ask him to touch you—so many jumbled, contradictory thoughts.

“The more pertinent question is, do you like what you see?” he murmurs and leans in, his words ghosting warm on the shell of your ear.

This is the sort of thing your aunt has warned you about. Rakes. Handsome, wealthy, titled men who will tease and take what they can from young, innocent ladies such as yourself. You want to be affronted, tell him to desist, and give him a scathing remark about appropriate behaviour. But once again, you don't. Your body drawn to him, you want to trace your fingers over the swell of his chest muscles, to feel those strong arms grab your waist and haul you against his sodden form.

“No answer is, in some ways, an answer,” he chuckles with a lilt that is both arrogant and devastatingly attractive.

“My lord, we may be seen at any moment…” Your protest is weak and breathy, not moving away as he continues to stand far too close to you, as lake water drips onto your shoes.

Suddenly a clammy hand wraps around your elbow, and you are being pulled towards the nearby cluster of thick trees and bushes that abut the lake. You almost stumble and smack into him face-first as he pulls up short and releases your arm. The air feels cooler here, with dappled shade, verdant and alive with the scent of flowering bushes and leaves. The view of the house and, indeed, the party guests is wholly obscured. No one would ever know you are here.

“Do you have an answer now that we cannot be seen?” he breathes inches from you, towering over you.

“My lord… I,” you cannot find words, hanging your head. You know this is wrong. Very wrong. Your aunt would kill you for being this wanton, for allowing him to do this to you. And yet…. Every fibre of your being wants this. To see what he will do. To see what you will let him do. You suspect it's more than you even understand.

“Say it after me….” he intones, a finger tilting your chin up to look into his fiery gaze.

“I…” he begins.

“I…” you parrot.

“Like…”

“Like,” you repeat, and the grin on his face grows wider.

“What….”

“What,” your breath quickening with each word.

“I…”

“I,” that finger still lingers under your chin, caressing gently.

“See.”

“See,” you exhale shakily.

“There. Now was that so hard…hmmm?” he teases, that finger now joined by his thumb stroking over the point of your chin, the lake water running down his forearm to the point of material bunched under his elbow that now drips down the front of your dress. The dampness seeps through the material and into your heated skin.

The cord of tension in the air is palpable. You don't know what to say or what to do.

“I have another question for you,” he buzzes, and the fingers on your chin slip lower, over your throat, lighting a line of fire as they trail over your delicate skin. Your pulse pounding in your veins. You swallow hard and feel the calloused fingertips trace into your suprasternal notch. “Maybe this one you can answer,” he huffs a sarcastic laugh as your body spirals and you fight to keep your breath even.

“What is it, my lord?” your voice barely a whisper.

“Would you be willing to help me, your gracious host today, get dry?” he practically purrs.

“How…. how on earth could I do that?” you stumble.

He smiles predatory and so handsome you give up and let your chest heave, ragged breathing.

“Under your dress, you wear a chemise, do you not?” he continues, those fingers tracing over the wet bow of your bonnet strings tied over your clavicle.

“Yes, my lord,” you answer shakily.

“Well did you know such items can be an excellent towel in a pinch,” he shrugs one shoulder and lifts an eyebrow as his fingers slip lower over your breastbone until they reach the neckline of your dress, at the swell of your breast.

There is no point in pretending he is not utterly destroying you now. You can’t school anything—the blush darkening over your skin, creeping up from your chest, the tingle in your lips, the hot flush you feel all over. A viscous pulse in your underwear that feels entirely alien and where your decision-making seems to be centred at right this very moment.

“So I suppose my last question, for now, is, are you willing to give it to me?” you gasp at his turn of phrase as those fingers swirl patterns over the neckline of your dress. “Your chemise, of course,” he amends with a wink.

Utter, utter rake.

“H-how can I give you my chemise without removing my dress too?” you wonder aloud.

“Well, that is the challenge, isn't it?” he smirks. “Now I can see two options here. I can do the gentlemanly thing, turn my back and allow you to undress and then you may hand me your chemise once decent again. I will dry myself the best I can and return to the house to change.”

“And the second option?” you cannot resist querying.

“Ahh, that,” he seems to pull even closer, and the fingers slip over the neckline and onto the silk ruching that covers your breasts; even through the material layers, you can feel his fingers lingering over your nipple and the throbbing between your legs turns almost painful. “The second option is that I am not a gentleman. Not in the slightest,” his answer cryptic but dripping with a dark, forbidden promise.

“What does that involve…?” you pant.

You watch, enthralled, as his tongue pokes out of his mouth and licks his bottom lip, and in seeming slow-motion, his mouth begins to form a shape to speak words…

“ANTHONY!!”

The yell is from a few feet away, on the other side of the bushes. Both of you jump apart as if burned.

“ANTHONY?!” the male voice calls again, “ARE YOU AROUND?”

It's obvious the person has no idea you are merely a few feet away, only that they are looking for him.

Stay here, Anthony mouths silently, and you nod, your heart beating wildly at the whiplash of experiences.

With one rueful glance at you, at the interrupted moment, he turns around and fights through the mass of foliage back out to the lawn.

“Oh, there you are!” the voice exclaims. “We wondered what the devil had happened to you!!”

“Colin…” you hear him respond.

“Hell and the devil. Why are you soaked through?? Did you decide to go for a swim fully clothed? Did you find my special tea??” his voice ramping up in incredulity as he likely clocks Anthony's bedraggled appearance.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Anthony’s reply seems clipped. “I rescued a small beautiful creature, if you must know,” he obfuscates.

“Ahh, hero antics,” Colin laughs. “Well, you had better go change right away. Mother expects you to make a toast for our esteemed guests in a few minutes.”

You hear Anthony’s frustrated noise of derision and have to stifle your giggle behind the back of your hand between deep breaths, trying to bring yourself back to a state of normality after the rollercoaster of experiences you just had.

“Urghhh, alright,” Anthony sighs, embattled, “I think I dropped my pocket watch back in the bushes. Give me one moment to find it, and I will accompany you back to the house.”

“Side entrance,” Colin responds dryly.

“Indeed,” you hear Anthony call.

You tense as the bushes before you start to rustle as he fights through them to reach you. He stalks up to you, and you gasp audibly.

“Shhh,” he warns quietly, his lips right at your ear, gusting hot, “it looks as if I must sadly depart. Your chemise is safe for today, Miss y/l/n.”

With a boldness you didn’t know yourself capable of, you grab the shirt's sleeves rolled up around his elbows.

“I would never want not to be helpful to you, my lord,” you whisper tremulant, fingers twisting in the soaked fabric. “If removing my chemise can ever be of assistance to you in future, please be sure to let me know.”

You cannot believe you allow yourself to say something so scandalous.

He pulls back slightly, and it's his turn to exhale unsteadily, his pupils dilated; his expression wild. You can see a vein hammering in his throat.

“Oh goddd,” he moans, closing his eyes as if pained.

“What?” concern suddenly flooding your tone.

His eyes reopen, and they pin you with their intensity.

“Mark my words,” his tone is low, gravelly, “if you continue to talk so brazenly, it will only encourage me.”

It is the sexiest warning bell you have ever heard.

“And if you continue to tease and defy me, I will pursue you. Relentlessly,” he growls, and once again, your body is rioting.

“Good god. How long does it take to find a pocket watch, man?” Colin calls impatiently, once again breaking the moment between you as it threatens to bubble over.

“I've found it!” Anthony twists to call over his shoulder. “I’ll be there presently!”

“Hurry up!” Colin grouses.

Anthony turns back, and his breath is hot over your cheek. He seems to stare at your lips for an inordinate amount of time as you stare back. Transfixed.

“Today, I shall be a gentleman,” he states reluctantly and draws away slightly. “However…” and your heart spikes in victory, “once that clock strikes midnight. I make no promises. And I shall be standing right here,” his tone decisive, his finger pointing to the spot right by his feet. “Just so you and your chemise will know where to find me,” he rumbles, then gives you a polite bow and is gone.

You have to grab onto a tree to stop yourself from swooning. Already knowing you will be stealing away from your room as the clock strikes midnight. Uncaring of consequences.

You want him to ruin you.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz

[tkaulitzlvr]

hii can u pls do c0ckwarming with tom omg

STAY STILL - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: tom can’t wait any longer, but knows that you are too tired to fix his problem the way he wants you to. but you can’t deny the need slowly becoming mutual so, you decide to meet him halfway, and he doesn’t complain.

content: smut (not full sex, just what the req says lol)

a/n: thanku for the req!! SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING, hopefully this makes up for it! literally screaming and giggling whilst writing this (help), also the way he moves his tongue in this vid HELLO (need it inside me) ++there won’t be a part two (don’t hate me!) my upload schedule is just too irregular, i have a ton of requests and just don’t think i’d be able to write one, in the future if i’m less busy i may come back to this!!

“please baby, i’ll do all the work, i promise.” tom pleads for probably the tenth time, digging his head into the crook of my neck and placing open-mouthed kisses onto the skin, whining lowly against it. any other time, i would’ve given in the second his lips made contact with my neck, and he knows this, deciding to try his luck once again. however right now, the circumstances don’t work in tom’s favour, much to his annoyance. i am too tired to even properly decline his request, sighing loudly and shaking my head as my eyes flutter closed. this isn’t enough for tom, my lack of response not a concrete ‘no’, this all he needs to press himself against me once more, hoping that it would be just enough to push me toward that three letter word he has been longing for me to say. whilst our proximity doesn’t do that just yet, the frequent motion of tom’s hips rocking against my waist reminds me just how desperate he is, the hardness evident through his boxers - not that the cotton left much to be imagined anyway.

“baby i’m tired, tomorrow, okay?” i sigh out, half-heartedly pushing tom away as a frustrated groan leaves his lips. though he fails to see the mischievous grin that spreads across my face with the small push that i place to his chest when he flops beside me, clearly not understanding what i am doing. honestly, i wouldn’t have minded lazy sex - tom never complains when he does all the work and, if i give in, it will make him shut up, his whining already getting on my nerves, whether he is trying to irritate me or not. but, watching the way his face furrows in utter frustration, wincing every so often at the pain that begs for a release from underneath his boxers, gives me the motivation to tease him just a little more - but in the end, i am more than willing to give him what he wants, or at least, meet in the middle.

“fuck.” he mutters under his breath, wincing a little at my response, eyes squeezing shut as his chest heaves up and down, loud and shaky breaths escaping his lips, making it hard to close my eyes and finally fall asleep. i know that he won’t give up yet, so, i lay silently, wondering how long it will take for him to continue pleading me to let go and give him what he wants. and, as expected, not even two minutes pass before his hand snakes around my waist from behind? his body pressing itself firmly against my back.

“this isn’t gonna go away baby, shit- i’m sorry, just, please…let me do something.” he sighs out, a low whine following his plea, hand firmly squeezing my waist whilst his head buries itself into my neck, teeth digging into the skin softly. “fuck- need you so bad, please.”

a small laugh leaves my lips, stifled quickly once i purse them shut, thinking out loud as my amusement towards his desperation quickly becomes evident. tom stops his slow kisses against my neck, whipping his head upward in confusion, failing to see how i could possibly be laughing right now. “what’s so funny? seriously schatz, this fucking hurts. please, just let me take care of it. i won’t be long, just need to feel you.”

his voice reduces to a mumble, eyebrows knitting together once again, though a wave of relief visibly washes over his expression when i roll my eyes, sighing in -totally forged- annoyance, though he doesn’t recognise that. all he realises is that he is getting something, not even completely sure what, but in this moment, anything at all would be enough for him to release - he is far too desperate to be picky. soon enough, he hauls himself up, hurriedly undoing the button of his oversized jeans and tugging them from his frame, carelessly throwing them onto the floor. and god, if i had thought his problem looked bad through the denim, then i am quickly proven wrong, the firm print of his dick through his boxers almost painfully prominent. his hand brushes against it, the cotton of his underwear now creating more friction, his head falling backward as a low groan sounds from the back of his throat, showing just how sensitive he really is, and now i know that it won’t take a lot to give him what he craves.

he quickly moves to climb on top of me, not getting far as my hand rests flat against his bare chest, halting his movement. his eyebrows furrow in confusion, mouth opening to protest my resistance, though i interject, deciding that if he wants me that badly, then he shouldn’t complain about how he gets me.

“mmm, no. sit back baby, i want to try something.” i whisper, teeth grazing the skin just below his ear, tongue running over it afterward as his eyes flutter open and closed, mouth hanging open with a small smirk on his face. he nods his head quickly, sliding backward until his upper half rests against the headboard, head tilted upward and legs sprawled onto the bed. his hands however, fail to be so still, reaching outward hopelessly and grabbing me by my waist, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls me on top of him.

he winces loudly once i sit directly on top of his chest, the sound soon turning into a low moan, mouth dropping downward into an ‘o’ shape at the dangerously addictive mix of pain and pleasure that i give him. i smirk in satisfaction at his desperation, finding it almost pitiful, watching intently at the way his eyes flutter, on the verge of closing, though they manage to stay half lidded, soon shooting open when my small fingers make contact with the waistband of his boxers. his breathing becomes more erratic, hands flying to my hips once more, chest rising up and down at an even faster pace. right now, wearing only a small pair of shorts and crop top appears to work perfectly in my favour, and tom’s, as his hands reach to pull the strap down, lips soon attaching themselves to my breast, whilst my own hands move my shorts down my body, tugging tom’s boxers down soon after.

his eyes are fixed on where our bodies connect once i line myself up, sliding down onto him at an agonisingly slow pace, wincing slightly at the feeling of being stretched out, going from being totally empty to so full within the space of a few seconds. tom is way out of it, and had been ever since i began to sink onto him, his mouth uttering low curses and grunts under his breath, nails digging into the flesh of my waist, teeth occasionally digging into his bottom lip.

“fuck schatz, yeah…you’re so tight, so good for me.” he utters when i bottom out, though his satisfaction doesn’t last long, eyes quickly opening once he realises that i am not moving, instead staying still with him still inside of me. he decides against questioning my behaviour, his hips beginning to thrust upwards as a slow pace, incoherent whines leaving his lips as he does so.

“ah ah ah…” i begin, lifting my hips upward and almost completely off of him, hand moving to rest firmly against his chest. he slows his movements, pushing my hips so that he is inside of me once again. “no moving baby, just let me sit. stay still, okay?”

i clench around him unconsciously, moaning quietly as he groans under his breath, clearly holding back from snapping his hips upward again. “fuck baby, you’re fucking killing me, you know that?” he confesses, shaking his head slowly, eyes lustful as they stare into my own, the pools of brown silently communicating exactly what he wants to do, the intent behind them nothing close to innocent. but, no matter how tempting it sounds to let him take control, to reverse the roles and have me pinned beneath him, thrusting in and out of me whilst muttering confirmations of how good i feel, how perfect i am, i enjoy seeing him like this, completely helpless underneath me, begging for something, anything, other than the teasing that i keep up, and i don’t intend on giving in.

“you wanted this, right?” i taunt, lips curving upward into an innocent smile, my thoughts anything but, aware of what i am doing, the frustration that takes over his expression proof of my success. “i thought you wanted me, like this…” my voice is low and suggestive, thick as honey, words as addictive as a drug, and he continues to take them all in. my lips make contact right next to his ear, slowly kissing just below it, digging my teeth in afterward, his hips jolting upward at the sensation. and if that wasn’t enough, when i adjust myself on top of him, moving my lips ever so slightly, that is when he loses it, head quickly rolling backward, mouth dropping open, a deep groan sounding from the back of his throat.

“oh my god, fuck- you’re driving me insane, please just- do something.” his voice is shaky, cut off by small groans, his tongue coming outward to play with his lip ring, flicking the silver metal in small circles, all whilst his eyes never leave my own, the desperation within them never diminishing.

“nope, you’ll live baby.” i state in response, leaning forward and resting my chest against his, wrapping my arm around his frame and sighing nonchalantly, closing my eyes. “i told you i was tired.” as i do so, he shifts his weight underneath me, slightly altering the angle that his dick rests inside of me, his eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. no matter how much he wants something more, he doesn’t refuse my embrace, wrapping his arms around my back, his hands tracing circles along the bare skin, lifting up my crop top and resting underneath it.

minutes pass like this, my walls clenching around him every so often, getting him just a little more riled up, enough to make him sigh out in pleasure and groan at the feeling of slight relief, though it is never enough to satisfy him, just enough to keep him on the verge of losing his mind, to keep him guessing, waiting for something more than just being inside of me. this feels like more of a punishment than a reward to him, the frustrated groans he lets out only seeming to get louder, though he doesn’t give in, knowing that he could thrust upwards into me - all it would take is a slight movement of his hips and he would have me, yet he holds back, almost testing his own willpower, even though we both know that it is non-existent, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise.

and it doesn’t take long for him to finally reach his breaking point, no longer able to handle just having me here, sitting beneath me helplessly, his mind encouraging him to move, whilst his body is too desperate, too completely needy, to even comply with his unholy thoughts. instead, he voices them as a request, trying once again to elicit something from my own still body.

“kiss me.” he mutters into the silence as my head remains rested in the crook of his neck, hearing slightly muffled. though the quiet doesn’t show it, he is becoming more restless, breathing getting louder and faster, his hold on me tighter, almost inaudible whines sounding from the back of his throat every so often.

“hm?” i mumble half-heartedly, lacking the energy to lift my head upward from where it had been resting, staying still within his embrace instead. my thumbs trace the firmness of his back, travelling over each bump, each muscle, all coated with a thin line of sweat, all of it evidence of just how needy he is for this.

“i said kiss me.” he repeats, somewhere on the verge of desperation and frustration, clearly not willing to let me take control of him anymore. as he speaks, his hand moves from my back, making contact with my chin, using it to lift my head upward so my eyes look straight into his own, faces inches apart. warm and heavy, his breath fans against my face when he speaks, the close proximity and admitted need for him creating a light shade of pink to etch upon my cheeks, though it is nothing compared to the helplessness that tom displays, his words proving it if that isn’t enough. “no more games. just fucking kiss me.”

something inside me snaps. whether it is the close proximity, his enticing gaze, or the time that i have spent on top of him, doing nothing to pleasure either of us, it doesn’t matter anymore. all that i am certain of is that i no longer want to tease him, placing my lips onto his quickly. the kiss is slow and gentle as i initiate it, tom reciprocating it, his shoulders quickly relaxing as he already receives some relief after waiting for so long. though it is too soft, too reluctant, too tender for him. he wants more, and he wastes no time in acting on his desire, pressing his lips more firmly against my own, deepening the kiss and biting down roughly onto my bottom lip as it parts in response, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

and when my hips jolt upwards slightly at his sudden movement, he soon realises that he has me where he wants - still inside of him, and that realisation is all it takes for his hips to snap upwards, thrusting in and out of me at a fast pace. his hands find my lower back, trailing down to my ass and roughly cupping the flesh, using them to quicken his thrusts and allow my bounces to meet them, fingers leaving harsh red marks in place of the soft skin. the distance between our faces only increases beyond a few inches once i let out a loud moan, smiling in satisfaction.

he places one final kiss on my lips, flipping us over in one swift motion whilst staying inside of me. i cry out when his tip hits the sensitive spot inside of me, though i soon play it off, attempting to return my facial expression to something as close as neutral as i can get it - on the inside, i am screaming, silently begging for him to carry on. but he doesn’t. his eyes twinkle with satisfaction, enjoying the way i lay helplessly beneath him, even though moments ago, the roles were completely reversed. he picks up on my attempt to act casual, aware that i am just as desperate as he is, if not more, my entire being transparent, almost pathetically easy to decipher to him.

“this whole nonchalant act doesn’t suit you baby. you can stop acting like you don’t want it, we both know you’ll be screaming in a couple minutes, watch.”

those are the final words he says before reconnecting his lips to mine and speeding up his thrusts, soon proving his bold statement to be nothing short of the truth, making my temporary dominance seem a fragment of my imagination within seconds.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[kechiwrites]

what’s in a name?

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: ‘It’s not his fault.’ He reasons. ‘It’s not his fault you’re a brat.’ 

wc: 1.1k

cw:  fem!reader, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, teasing, dirty talk, light brat taming, spanking, pet names (princess, darling), no use of y/n ever.

an: yes, i know i should be posting kinktober IN NOVEMBER, but my god does this man make me wanna [redacted] his [data expunged]. enjoy!

He’s your most stubborn patient, in fact, his entire squad is a pain in your ass, but Ghost takes the cake. Always grunting and scoffing as you administer care, as if this is all a frivolity and not you saving him from gangrene or tetanus or whatever other peril has found its way into his blood that week. And that’s if he even deigns to be seen to at all.

It’s another one of those days, marshalled out of your bed at the crack of dawn because there are wounds to dress and blood to take. It makes you irritable, just short of bitchy really, and you’ll be damned if you have to work this early in the morning for a couple of jarheads who can barely string together decent conversation.

Ghost is the first person you see. Naturally. And it’s much of the same. Groans and impatient huffs while you snip gauze and sanitize abrasions. It’s rapidly turning you from irate to downright incensed.

“What’s your name anyway?” You murmur, while you fold up his shirt sleeve, baring a muscled, veiny forearm, covered in ink and dried blood, courtesy of a deep gash that’d only ceased bleeding thanks to a field tourniquet applied in the nick of time.

“No.” He mutters. As if that’s an answer. You scoff, turning in your swivel chair to grab more cotton wool from your desk. When you return he has you pinned with what little of his face you can see, dark, long lashed eyes peering out from the mask and face paint. As though he can see through you.

"You can tell me your actual name, or you can bleed out." It’s unnecessary, really. Probably even dangerous to ask, but it’s always bothered you that his medical record has those black marks where a Christian name should be. And you’re nosy. Nosy enough to pry it out of the soldier himself.

You stare at each other, neither daring to back down. Your threat is horse shit and you both know it, you're obligated to give the best care possible. He could wait you out. If he wanted to.

Apparently, he doesn’t want to.

"Simon."

You give him a smile in return, cartoonishly big and saccharine sweet. You begin cleaning the wound, humming happily with yourself. Satisfied.

For the next two months, it's relentless. Everytime he sees you, it's;

"And do you know your blood type, Simon?"

"It's lovely to see you again Simon."

"There are easier ways to stop bleeding, Simon."

It irks him, makes his skin feel like it's not sitting right. Makes him feel like his teeth are stopping his tongue from laying in his mouth comfortably. Makes his blood hum in his veins.

Eventually it's too much.

"Would you come off it?" He asks, voice rougher than he means it to be, but maybe that's what you need to end this little joke of yours.

You keep reading the charts on the clipboard in your hand, as if he hasn't spoken at all.

"Come off what, Simon?" You purse your lips at whatever you're reading, but he suspects you’re trying not to laugh.

"Saying my name like that." He flexes open the fingers of one hand, keeping the other balled in a fist on his thigh.

"Like what?" You finally look at him, head tilted to the side, the picture of innocence.

What a lark.

"Like you want something from me." He stands, looming above you, jostling himself into your personal space.

"It's your name." Now you are smiling, a confident, amused thing that transforms the look of your face, makes him forget the bags under your eyes and the familiar bone-tiredness of his body when it’s been pushed too far.

And these days, it’s always too far.

“We have code names for a reason, darling.”

“Darling? I was beginning to think my name was ‘Ugh’.” You drop the timbre of your voice to mimic him, though he doesn’t look very flattered by the imitation. At least, that’s what you get from the very little of his face you can see.

“It’s Ghost from now on.” He ignores you. It’s necessary, really. To block out the things you say. The things you do. The songs you hum cheerfully when you do inventory, the way your medical uniform stretches over the curve of your ass when you need something from the bottom cabinet.

“Sure, Simon. Whatever you say.”

‘It’s not his fault.’ He reasons. ‘It’s not his fault you’re a brat.’

It’s not his fault when he pushes you over to the examination bed. It’s not his fault when he fists his hands in the waistband of your scrub bottoms and yanks them down, it’s not his fault you’re wearing a thong, for christ’s sake. It’s not his fault that you giggle and sigh and beg so goddamn pretty.

It’s certainly not his fault that your cunt feels like a fucking dream.

He takes you like you deserve for all the teasing, brings the weight of his hand down on your ass when you moan something that sounds suspiciously like “About time.” Ghost gropes at your tits while he has you bent in half, in for a penny, as they say. His fingers pull and flick at your nipples, and you wish he’d put his mouth on you, fucking anywhere, and you don’t care what it does, bite, suck, kiss, what-fucking-ever. When you say as much in between the gasps he fucks out of you, he responds immediately, voice subdued under his mask.

“Maybe next time.”

Your eyes nearly roll out of your head at the idea of next time.

When you come it feels like your pussy is buzzing, stretched over the length of his dick and he tunnels into you, fucking into you deep before he grinds the head of cock into you, scrambling any thought you could’ve had.

It’s a battle for him to not come inside you, to resist covering the sweet, soft walls of your cunt in his seed, but he prides himself on what little control he has left, and pulls out, doing you a favour by letting his come shoot onto the floor rather than stain the baby blue fabric of your scrubs.

"Now, I think we can both agree to you saving that name for when you want me to spread you open, yes?" His voice is gruffer somehow, covering your overheated skin in the rasp and cadence of it.

"Fuck off." You moan miserably in response, your forehead sticking to the paper covering the examination bed below you.

"I want an affirmative, princess."

"Yes." You hiss from between your teeth, your head still spinning from your orgasm. “Yes, Ghost, I agree.”

“That’s better. Don’t worry about getting up.” He pats your exposed lower back, and when his hand withdraws you can hear him zip his fatigues back up. “I’ll see myself out.”

endotes: hehe...i love him. my mask kink is in full effect y’all. support content creators + city girls, reblog. find part 2 here. 

[grandlinedreams]

hi i literally love all of ur posts u nail all of the characters its crazy.

one of my favorite tropes is hidding an injury and getting the classic “who did this to you.”

if ur still taking requests and are in an angsty mood would u plzzz write this with zoro?

Hhjg I try, thank-you!! But also mood it's just so GOOD and I hope that I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: mentions of canon typical violence, blood/mention of an infected wound, angst]

Staring down at the gash in your side, you bite back a hiss as you prod at it, the weep of milky fluid from it. The split skin is puffy and an angry red, heat eminating from it ㅡ it doesn't take a genius to know that it doesn't look good.

Normally you'd have the little handful of supplies from Chopper, tucked away in your backpack ㅡ but it's gone, along with everything else beyond your weapon.

At least you're not wandering around by yourself, though. As if on cue, there's the sound of footsteps behind you, and you drop your shirt back over the poorly bandaged wound.

"What are you doing over here?"

"Just fine," you answer as you turn towards Zoro. "I wanted to see if we could reach a clearing and get a good read on where we are."

"Fair enough." Zoro studies you for a minute, and you worry that he's going to know about the wound on your side ㅡ the one you'd casually "forgotten" to mention to him. "So which way should we be heading?"

"West," you answer, glancing up at the sky. The sun has begun its slow arc of descent, and you sigh. "We need to hurry, or we'll end up needing to camp for the night."

"Right." You turn to watch Zoro go, feeling the irritated twitch of a muscle in your jaw.

"Zoro. That's east."

ㅡ

By the time the sun has set, it's clear that something is wrong.

There's a fine layer of cold sweat on your face that you scrub at, trying to ignore the heaviness of your limbs and throbbing ache of your side. "We should stop for the night," you hear yourself say, "it's useless to try and navigate after dark."

Zoro grunts his agreement and turns to look at you, brow furrowing. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You want to answer him, you really do. But your ears are ringing, mouth full of cotton when you try to answer. Dark spots dance around the edges of your vision, and you're distantly aware of Zoro's noise of alarm when your legs finally give out.

"'m fine," you finally manage before the dark spots expand, sinking you down into the silent black of unconsciousness.

ㅡ

You wake to the awkward bulk of a backpack under your head and the smell of woodsmoke. Sitting up, you blink when a damp cloth drops from your forehead into your lap.

"Finally awake?" Sitting nearby, Zoro prods at the fire with a long stick before he turns towards you. "You have a fever."

Your hand slides to your side, feeling the stiff press of bandages underneath, the answering throb of the gash beneath.

"Took care of that too." Zoro's gaze is sharp. "I'm not Chopper, but it'll do for now. Mind explaining who did that and why you didn't bother telling me?"

It's clear he's far from amused, and you look away, feeling guilty. "Happened when we all got separated," you say, "and I didn't think it was going to be that much of an issue."

Zoro wants to scold you, but he knows he'd be a hypocrite if he did given the amount of times he's blatantly ignored his injuries. Instead he sighs, watching the logs crackle for a moment. "Hope you killed the guy who did it."

"Of course I did," you answer with a hint of pride, and Zoro smirks.

"Good."

ㅡ

"I think this is a little excessive, Zoro."

"You still have a fever," Zoro says as he adjusts his grip on your legs, "and we won't get anywhere if you collapse on me again." He feels you tense, and he frowns. "How are you feeling, anyways? And don't lie."

"A little better." You rest your forehead against his shoulder, and though he won't admit it out loud, the fact he can feel warmth radiating from your skin worries him. "I'm sorry about this."

"Still should have told me," he says, though his tone is softer, his grip tightening on your legs. "Idiot. We're crewmates, aren't we? We're supposed to trust each other."

"I do trust you."

"Then act like it." He stares ahead, footsteps steady. "Don't go getting hurt and then hiding anymore, you hear me?"

"I hear you." You pause. "Zoro?" He grunts in answer, and you exhale softly. "Thank-you."

Zoro tells himself that his heart doesn't pick up a little bit at how soft your voice is, the cling of your body against his. And that he definitely isn't blushing, just a little. "Yeah, yeah. Can't have you die on me and leave me to deal with that stupid cook all on my own."

[thankyouivy]

MORE JEALOUS REID!!! MORE!!!!

i think ive re-read your last blurb like 10 times I NEED MORE

R’s ex wont stop texting her so Spencer finds a way to let him know she’s doing alright (def more then alright ;) ) without him

OK THANKS ILY

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND! I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS PROMPT!!!

OOPS ITS BEEN A SEC. I’ve been super busy with finals and family stuff this holiday season!!! (merry Christmas and New Years if you celebrate!!) I'm trying to feed you heathens before I start working on the alphabet blurbs, prepare yourselves!!! this might be my fav blurb I've done so far….

Warnings: Smut (18+), exhibitionism, harassment from an ex, revenge in the form of recording good sex, oral sex [f rec], fingering, exobitionism, piv sex, marking/hickies, spencer says “good girl”, possessiveness, spence being a thigh man, vocal sex, dirty talk, praise, begging, riding, squirting.

!!the link with this colouring is to a p0rnographic image depicting a scene in the fic, be warned!!

———

Show Off - Spencer Reid X Fem!reader

You’ve been laying on his chest with your hands carding and tugging through his hair while since he got home.

Spencer’s hands caress your sides as you lazily make out, hands running over the soft cotton of your underwear and the warmth of your smooth skin. The only sounds in the room are the quiet, content hums and whines coming from your mouth, and the wet smacking of mouths licking into each other, but suddenly there’s a buzzing from under the sheets, which startles you.

You know it’s your phone, Spence always keeps his ringer on, so you both ignore it the first time, letting it go to voicemail. But when it rings again, you huff and fish for your phone under the covers, flipping your hair out of your face while using one arm to hold yourself above Spencer as you decline the call and place your phone on the bedside table. You look back to Spencer with a lust-filled gaze, leaning down to finish what you started, desperate to have some uninterrupted alone time with him after he’s been away for a few days.

Two minutes later, it’s buzzing again. You groan in annoyance, grabbing your phone off the nightstand to turn your ringtone off before, again, going back to Spencer.

Not even a minute later a series of ding’s are coming from the nightstand. You let out a frustrated whine, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you grumble.

“Work?” Spencer asks, voice raw and breathy from the previous heated moment. You shake your head and mumble something incoherent about “the jackass” into his neck. “He’s still calling?” Spencer asks, chuckling lightly at your nickname for your ex-boyfriend.

“Mhm” you groan, pulling your face out of his neck, the notifications still coming from your phone. He smiles sympathetically at you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your jaw. “No matter what I do I can’t get him to stop! I considered changing my number, but my boss said I can’t ‘cause all my files and data are listed under this one. It’s gotten worse since I started posting photos of us on Instagram.”

“I can ask Garcia to blacklist his number from your phone?” Spencer breathes, rubbing your back in an attempt to relax you and try to think of a solution. “Penny already tried... it worked for a little, but you know you can’t blacklist disposable cells,�� you frown.

your phone dings again, and before Spencer can stop you, you’re snatching your phone off the bedside table and frantically typing something before tossing it off the bed, and onto the carpeted floor in frustration.

Spencer chuckles at your dramatics before climbing out of bed to grab your phone off the floor, looking down at the screen. “‘Trying to fuck my FBI boyfriend who has a gun.’ really, sugar?” He huffs out a laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand soothingly over your leg.

“Worth a try,” you shrug with a giggle. “It’s honestly just getting inconvenient, every time I get a notification I don’t know if it’s something important, or this dumbass,” you sigh.

“Remind me why you ever dated him?” Spencer teases, receiving a shove to his shoulder as he looks down at the phone again. “huh.”

You peek over his shoulder at the screen, draping yourself over his back, intrigued at his intrigue, “What is it?”

—

22:23 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:24 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:27 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:29 - Fucker: hey babe

22:29 - Fucker: miss you ;)

22:29 - Fucker: and those tits of yourss

22:31 - Fucker: wyd?

22:33 - You: Trying to fuck my fbi bf who has a gun

22:33 - You: Stop calling.

22:34 - Fucker: ur dating a fed?

22:34 - Fucker: he fuck like one 2? know u miss this d

22:35 - Fucker:u know u want me

22:36 - Fucker: u miss how i make you feel he dont make u feel like that and u know it

22:36 - Fucker: admit it

—

“Well- he’s got clear narcissistic tendencies and incredibly high ego…” Spencer mumbles to himself. “And a tiny dick,” you add with a giggle, kissing at his neck.

Spencer frowns at that, and you can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He’s half upset at the knowledge that you ever had sex with this guy, and half upset that it was clearly not pleasurable for you, at all.

“You know… even though pathological narcissists often portray themselves as shameless, that is part of the act, they are extremely self-conscious. Humiliating them often results in them losing control of the image they've built, which causes avoidance and denial. So… theoretically, if I were to out-do him in the area that seems to boost his ego the most, which is clearly sex, he would back off.” Spencer explains, pulling you into his lap.

“Baby, even though we both know its true, if I told him you’re better in bed, he’d just deny it and get more aggressive.” You smile at him, kissing his cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands fall to your waist.

“That’s true, so what if we had some… evidence... to back it up?” Spencer asks, blush appearing on his cheeks as you let out an exaggerated gasp. “Doctor Spencer Reid! Are you suggesting we film ourselves having sex to scare off my ex?!” You playfully hit his chest in mock-shock.

“I- yeah- yes-, b- but only if you’re comfortable with it- there’s no way he would share it, so there’s no risk o-” he stutters before you cut him off with a kiss.

“Yeah?… You wanna prove you can fuck me better? Got a big dick, long fingers, a good ass tongue, and know how to use ‘em, huh?” You ask seductively, slowly grinding yourself onto him in slow, teasing circles.

Mouth open in a silent groan, he looks down at your hips grinding on him before looking back up to you, open mouth turning into a smirk. “Worth a try,” He breathes, pushing his hips up into yours, swallowing your whimpers with a kiss, pulling you in by the the back of your neck.

Not breaking the kiss, he undoes your bra and pulls it off, running his hands up your sides to your chest. “Well he got one thing right; these ‘tits of yours’ are gorgeous.” He gropes your chest with his large hands as you giggle.

He stands up with you in his arms and flips you around, tossing you on the bed and climbing over you, sucking on the pulse point of your neck. “Can’t believe you used to let him touch you like I do,” Spencer growls into you, kissing over the mark he’s made.

“trust me, baby, he never touched me like you do- ah!”

You’re breathing heavy and whining as he teases you, no doubt trying to get you all worked up so you’ll show off just how desperate he makes you.

His hand traces shapes along your hip bone while moving lower down your body. He begins kissing along your chest, sucking and nipping as one of his hands dips beneath the band of your panties.

He teases you, laying his large hand flat over your lower stomach, applying a bit of pressure as his slender fingers dip into the crease of your inner thigh, touching you everywhere but where you need him.

You whine and wiggle your hips, desperate for some sort of relief from the swirling need in your core, but to your dismay he just continues teasing, pulling his hand out from your panties and running his middle and ring fingers over the mound of your clothed pussy.

You gasp as his fingers run down to the damp spot over your entrance. A groan muffled by your chest falls from his mouth as he attempts to press into you through the fabric before his fingers come back up to your clothed clit, moving in slow circles, pressing hard against you as your hips buck into the friction of the fabric.

“Spencer,” You moan, but it’s more like a plea, a plea for him to do something more, anything, really.

He chuckles at you, deciding that he’s done teasing (for now). He hooks his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off your hips and down your legs with a little help from you.

He moves down your body, sitting in between your thighs, torso hovering over your pelvis to get a good view of his work.

You let out a whine at the lack of touch. “Mm, impatient are we?” He mutters, running his hands over your upper thighs and spreading them wider. He grabs your phone off the bed and swipes over to the camera, keeping the camera flipped to the sheets, and hits record.

Humming in delight, he spreads you open with this thumbs, “Always so fucking wet for me,” he praises, gently rubbing up your pussy with his middle and ring fingers, pressing against your clit.

“Baby,” You gasp into a moan as your opening clenches around nothing and your clit pulses at the sudden touch. Spencer’s pupils are blown wide with lust as he gazes at you letting out little gasps and moans, completely enamoured by your body, bottom lip stuck beneath his teeth. “Fuck, sugar.”

One of his hands pulls your folds open while the other one plays with you. His middle finger runs up and down your folds, collecting your slick and rubbing it over your clit before teasing your entrance.

You whimper and push back against his digits, desperately trying to get his long, thick, skilled fingers inside you.

Slowly, he dips his middle and ring fingers into you, curling them slightly as he pushes them as far as they will go inside you, making you cry and writhe against him. His other hand works slow circles over your clit as he begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster and faster.

Little uh, uh, uh's fall from your lips as he pumps in and out of you. He bites his lip in concentration and lust, the wet sounds of your pussy reverberating around the room only heightening his arousal.

"That feel good, baby?"

"Mhm!" you cry out, eyes clamping shut in pleasure.

“Yeah?” he teases, smirking as he watches your eyes flutter shut once he starts rubbing that spot inside inside you that makes your vision turn white. Your jaw hangs open as strained moans leave your mouth, your hips arch off the bed, and your hands grip the sheets as you reach your first orgasm.

Spencer groans as he feels your muscles clench around him and your release gush around his digits, his hard cock twitching and leaking in his boxers. He slows his pace, helping you through your high with the consistent stimulation his gentle touches bring you.

“Good girl,” He whispers in that sexy grainy voice of his. You giggle breathlessly as you reach to stop the recording, looking down at him just when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Bringing them up to his mouth, he lets his tongue fall out, moaning in delight at your taste as sucks your arousal off his fingers, “Fuck, baby, I need to taste you.”

You wiggle your hips in anticipation as he hooks his forearms under your thighs and grabs your waist, his large hands almost covering the entirety of your abdomen. He lowers himself down, kissing and nibbling from your knee to the base of your thigh.

He roughly sucks and bites at your inner thighs, wanting to make marks that last for at least a week, marks that you’ll feel whenever your plush thighs brush together. He switches thighs while absentmindedly rubbing at your clit; too softly to get you off, but just enough to make you needy.

Just as predicted, you become a whiney, needy mess in a matter of minutes. You’re only knocked out of the pleasure-filled haze when Spencer pauses his attack to lean his smug face against your abused thigh and mumble, “He never went down on you, did he, sugar? ‘s that why you were so confused the first time I told you I wanted to?”

He phrases it like a question, but you know he already knows the answer. You avert his eyes when you nod your head, blush appearing on your cheeks as he coo’s.

“Awe, poor baby… ‘should show him what he was missing, yeah?” He mumbles, nipping the flesh of your thigh, his fingers still working gently over your clit. You whine, bucking into the sensation as you nod your head. “Go on, sugar, set up the camera,"

He goes back to sucking bruises onto your thighs as you prop the camera up on the plant pot that lives on your bedside table, angling it so the focus is on Spencer, and hit record.

Once you lay back down, he tightens his grip on your waist, keeping you in place as he licks a fat stripe up your pussy.

You let out a startled moan, slipping a hand into his messy curls and tugging, earning a groan from him. He kitten licks around your clit and down to your entrance, pulling away momentarily as your back arches off the bed to mutter, “god, you taste fucking incredible.”

He switches between flicking his tongue over your clit and lapping at the slick pouring from your opening, listening to your sweet cries. His tongue increasing its pace as wet, lewd, sounds from his mouth lapping at your pussy fill your hot bedroom.

Spencer watches from between your thighs as your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as your pretty lips part, letting out a strangled cry of pleasure as he suckles on your swollen clit.

Your squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face as you yank on his hair. Spencer groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble, never stopping his attack on your cunt as your orgasm courses through your body.

He takes his time working you through your high and then cleaning you up, savouring the taste of your arousal as if it's not permanently stored in his mind through his eidetic memory and the sheer amount of times he's used his mouth on you.

He licks at you until your whimpering and physically can't take the overstimulation anymore, pushing his head away from your sopping cunt. He grins at you, lips and chin wet with a mix of your slick and his saliva as he licks his lips and pants, still catching his breath.

He crawls up your body, licking up your neck to your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips before throwing a smug look at the camera and stopping the recording, tossing the phone into the sheets as he goes back to kissing you, his soft lips mixing with yours.

You whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, that warm feeling in your core returning, and you know only one thing will calm your needy body.

You reach down, fingers tracing the lines of Spencer's toned stomach, dipping into his boxers, and gripping his cock.

He hisses at your touch, "fu-uck- we- we don't have to, sugar, you don't need to- I can ju-"

"I wanna. I want you..."

You hook your heel around his hip and flip the two of you over, so you're on top, biting your lip and moving so you're straddling his upper thighs.

You pull his rock hard cock out, stroking it as you watch Spencer's head fall back against the pillows, mouth open in a silent moan.

You fish for your phone in the covers while you continue stroking him, loving the way his eyebrows knit together and his chest rises and falls sporadically.

You grab your phone and move up further, so your pussy is right at the base of your boyfriends dick, his hard cock resting on your tummy, the tip hitting just below your belly button.

You snap the photo, and grin when you see the filthy image. Your perfectly manicured hand is placed delicately over the base of his cock, his tip is an angry red, and has a bead of precum collecting and threatening to spill against your stomach as you show off his length.

It's perfectly sinful, and you can feel yourself getting wet just looking at it. You can't stand to wait any longer, lifting your hips off him and grabbing Spencer to direct his tip to your core.

You rub his tip through your folds to lubricate it, just like Spencer always does before entering you, with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, and he swears he could cum just at the sight.

Your hands find purchase on his pelvis, bracing yourself as your eyebrows knit together and your eyes flutter shut as you sink down onto him.

Finally bottoming out, you feel perfectly full, the light stretch his thickness brings you feels incredible. His hands find their place on your defined hip-bones as you breathe, getting used to the sensation.

Once you know you're ready, you flex your thigh muscles and lift your hips slightly, and with the help of Spencers hands on your hips you start to create a steady rhythm, fucking yourself down on to your boyfriends fat dick.

"Baby," Spencer gasps, sounding like he's had the breath punched out of him. You manage to smirk at him, despite the moans falling from your mouth as you start to thrust your hips down faster and faster.

"So beautiful like this, sugar- god, look at you, fucking desperate for it, taking what you need from me- fuck-" He goans, dilated pupils gazing at you with nothing but lust. You feel to tight and warm around him, Spencer can't help himself; he begins thrusting his hips up to meet yours, hitting that one spot inside you perfectly over and over again.

You yelp out a moan and twitch as your orgasm flows through your whole body, like giant waves rolling over you. Your toes curl and your nails scratch even marks down his toned chest, earning a hiss from him.

Your thighs stutter and begin losing the rhythm you created, hunching forward over his chest. Spencer takes the hint and plants his feet firmly on the bed before he begins thrusting up into you at a quick pace, forcing a yelp out of you as you fall onto his chest.

You can hear his whimpers and groans in your ear as he chases his orgasm, biting his shoulder to hold back your screams.

"Ah! hng- harder, please...," You moan into his neck, and Spencer's resolve finally cracks. He grips your hips harder and forces your hips down onto him, forcing his cock fully into you every time.

You gasp brokenly and surge forward to kiss him sloppily, moaning absurdly loudly in between kisses, scratching and yanking at his scalp.

"I- I'm so close! Spence- please-," You moan into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescent moons in their wake.

"Shit- me too sugar-"

"please! please... wanna feel it in me..."

He groans, looking down at where he's thrusting into you, reaching down to toy with your clit as you attempt to fuck yourself down onto him, despite how Spencer's caged you in.

"Spencer-," you cry out as you cum for the final time, completely at his mercy. Your pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you gush around him.

His hips lift off the mattress, pulling you flush against him and rubbing your clit impossibly faster as he pumps you full of his cum, jaw hanging open in ecstasy as his high washes over him. You all but scream in pure pleasure, your body spasming as more liquid spurts out of you.

When you come down, you feel the steady rise and fall of Spencers chest as he pants under you, not even daring to move off him. Spencer's hand cards through your messy curls, as you catch your breath, grinning down at him.

Once the two of you catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a choked breath and you roll off him with a whine. He quickly pads over to the bathroom to grab a damp cloth to clean you up and some water for the both of you.

Before he can even start to clean you up, you stop him. He gives you a quizzical look when you hand him your phone, but you just bite your lip nervously. "I- um- I never let him fuck me without a condom, he'll hate it..." You mumble, and you swear you can see his cock twitch when his eyes widen.

Without another comment, he blushes and snaps a picture of your fucked out body on top of the wrinkled sheets. You body is shining with a thin layer of sweat, your hair flowing across your shoulders and the pillow under your head, Spencer's cum dripping slowly out of your sopping pussy.

He cleans you up and makes sure you drink water, changing the sheets while you get ready for bed in the bathroom, and then happily holding you as you fall asleep in his arms.

Before falling asleep himself, he opens your phone and sends your ex a message.

—

23:25 - You: *Attachment: 2 images, 2 videos*

23:25 - You: She is doing just fine without you.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

[angellayercake]

You know you have it bad when you start fantasizing about the silliest softest things imaginable.

Travelling alone is an absolute nightmare on your skin, let alone wearing and sweating in the thick paints every night. Using only horrible hotel room water and cheap soap to wash it off and he is from a generation of men that do not know what moisturiser is.

One day you get tired of seeing him rub at his face with a soapy wash cloth so you take matters into your own hands. You confiscate his usual products and send him into his post ritual shower with a foamy cleanser with careful instructions to only use his hands.

He grumbles when he is finished the stubborn black paint still covering his face but you shush him as you wrap him in the fluffy complimentary robe and sit him in front of you at the mirror. He spares you one last glare before he closes his eyes at your request and lets you get to work.

You begin with a cleansing balm, melting away the remnants of his paint until there are no traces left even in the most stubborn areas. His thick eyebrows, the corners of his eyes and his jawline. He is starting to relax under your hands already, his shoulders relaxing and his brow smoothing at least as much as it can. There are some lines so deep that no amount of relaxation will smooth away but you love him all the more for them.

You wipe the product away with damp cotton pads until his face is clean and clear and as reluctant as he is to admit it this already feels much better than his usual routine as you generously called it. You explain what you are doing as you continue through the next steps. Gentle acidic exfoliation focusing just on the dryer patches that form at the corners of his lips and between his eyebrows.

He had scoffed when you had first explained the products you had chosen but as you apply each layer he begins to feel the deep hydration you are working into his skin. The usual stiff tightness he ignores as he collapses in his bed never even starts as you pat toner into his skin and he can't help the range of expressions he pulls in the mirror without feeling that familiar uncomfortable pull.

You encourage his eyes closed again so you can smooth some light cream over his eyelids, the delicate skin especially abused by his thick black paint and vigorous scrubbing to remove it. Then a thicker balm for his lips though you suspect this is one product he is more than familiar with. You were well acquainted with his soft lips and the fact that they were never ever chapped.

Finally you apply the moisturizer, working it everywhere you can reach, soothing the tension in his temples and jaw, sweeping across his cheekbones and forehead and working down his chin to his neck until every bit of product has been absorbed.

You settle your hands over his chest feeling his slow steady heartbeat and watch as his eyes flutter open, lost as he was in your gentle treatment of him. His face is glowing but not only from the lotions and potions but from his satisfaction. You have shared something with him that may seem small or insignificant but that shows you care for him in a way very few people have before.

He presses his hands to his face marveling at how soft it feels and accuses you of working some kind of magic and demands you explain to him exactly what you did to make him feel so good. You swat at his chest playfully. You had been explaining all along if he had bothered to listen but he takes your hands in his, kissing your palms and explaining how he couldn't have concentrated on anything but your talented fingers.

He gives you that look you can never resist and smiles when you go all the way back to the beginning, listening intently as you explain but only relinquishing one of your hands for your demonstration. You would go through it all a thousand times if I made him as happy as he looks in this moment.

[beenbaanbuun]

mothers w/ mingi

words - kind of short

genres - fluff

warnings - shaving, bad relationships with family, bad relationships with food, body issues, inherited insecurity, mingi is a precarious baby

——————————————————————————

“do you think your ball trimmer will shave legs?” you turn and look at mingi who’s lay innocently on his bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. that is until your words sink in and his gaze shoots up to where you stand with the small contraption in hand.

“i guess so,” he shrugs as he turns his phone off and puts it straight down. you ignore the way his eyes furrow as you turn it on and inspect the blades close up. you don’t know how close the shave would be, but you guess in desperate times, that doesn’t really matter. at this point, any shave will do.

you switch it off again and nod to yourself, placing it on the dresser before going through your drawers to grab your other things ready for a shower. you pick up a plain blue pair of cotton panties that despite not being sexy at all, you’re sure mingi will find an excuse to rip off of you post shower. then you grab your comfiest sports bra that again has one too many holes to be considered sexy. finally you grab one of mingi’s shirts - an oversized one that seems to have taken permanent residence in your pyjama drawer - and begin to head to the bathroom with your boyfriend’s ball trimmer in hand too.

“hang on a second, baby,” he calls out after you, scrambling off the bed and rushing towards you until you’re close enough for him to swaddle in his grasp. arms wrap around your shoulders, pinning you to his chest, “what do you think you’re doing?”

you lean back against him, enjoying the impromptu hug more than you’d care to admit.

“shaving my legs,” you close your eyes as you inhale the familiar peppery smell of his cologne; it’s warm and invades your senses, just like him, “i lost my razor so i need to use this.”

“why are you shaving your legs?” he asks, not quite satisfied with your reply. probably because you’d stopped bothering with that sort of thing pretty soon into the relationship. it’s a lot of effort, and your hair seems to be the last thing on mingi’s mind when he saw your legs. mostly he just thinks about what’s between them and how he’s going to get to it. he hardly even pays notice to the prickly hairs that run up and down your skin.

“we’re going on holiday with my mother,” you grumble in reply, “i have to be prepared.”

ah yes; the monster-in-law…

she’s a lovely lady for the most part, inviting mingi into the family with open arms despite the fact that she obviously wasn’t expecting him when you said you were bringing a boyfriend home. its clear she doesn’t approve of the way he dresses, or the nail varnish that coats his fingertips, but that doesn’t stop her from treating him like her own son. he gets the biggest portions of her home cooked meals and the first pick of desert. she calls him handsome when she sees him wearing something she likes, and compliments his uniqueness whenever he’s wearing something that’s a little more outlandish for her old-fashioned taste. she thinks he’s brave when he colours his hair in an outlandish fashion, and gorgeous when he wears it black. all in all, she’s a pretty lovely woman once you get past the hard shell of her traditional values.

and, of course, if you ignore the way she treats you.

to be honest, mingi is impressed at how resilient you turned out after living with that woman for 18 years. constantly having your self esteem torn down can’t be good for someone’s mental health, and yet you made it out the other side with a relatively normal relationship with your body. you have a healthy relationship with food, if you don’t count the days when mingi has to coax you to eat just a little more, and the days where he’d find you scrutinising yourself in front of a mirror are, for the most part, long gone! sometimes you tell him it’s because of him you feel so comfortable in your body; he refuses to take any of the credit for your own inability to be broken.

in fact, it’s only moments like this that he begins to see cracks in those walls you’ve built up. moments when you know you’ll have to see your mum soon. it’s like alarm bells go off in your mind reminding you that you haven’t quite met her standards yet. eat less because ‘you’ve gained a bit weight recently; you ought to keep an eye on that’. shave your legs because ‘as a woman you shouldn’t have hair on your legs; it’s just not natural’. buy expensive skincare products because ‘acne? at your age? you really should take better care of yourself’. it’s these moments that mingi can see the damage done. that he really has to take care of you.

“you shouldn’t listen to your mum,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head and gives you an extra tight squeeze with his gangly arms, “they’re your legs, not hers; you only ever have to do what you want to with your body.”

“i know,” you say, leaning your back into his sturdy chest. he’s so warm and cosy, so reliable and strong. the small smile that rises to your face as he holds you close is involuntary. you guess you’re just so in love that you can help it, “she’s just so hard to be around when i’m not absolutely perfect.”

“well then i don’t see the issue here,” he lets you go for just a few seconds, spinning you around until you’re facing him. once more he encloses you in his grasp, a loose grip around your waist just to keep you close, “you’re already perfect, baby.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you giggle. he laughs too. in that moment nothing matters to you but him.

“it’s not cheesy if it’s the truth,” he bends down and presses a firm kiss to your lips, “perfect, perfect, perfect baby.”

[wondeurwall]

AUTHOR'S NOTE. here's the other preview for the rafayel fic that i said i would post. tysm for the notes on all my previous ones!! i appreciate it 🥺💕💕 no particular warnings for this, so it's fine to interact with. but, i still do want to make the reminder that the fic will eventually be nsfw 🔞

currently 15k with it... definitely a slow burn. i'm a little worried that it might not be all that interesting because of how long it's getting to be, which is totally fine too. i don't expect it to be for some. feel good experience for me then 😆 💕 i'll make another poll about posting other previews over the week!

WARNINGS. none for this part. unless... mutual feelings? kiss?

“Then, how about I call you… sweetheart?” Rafayel gently takes your face into his hands, rubs his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. He leans in little by little, gives the anticipation something worthwhile for, and until his breath is long drawn-out above yours, you hold it in absently. You feel his warmth once, then again. Soft, tender kisses. “Is that better?” 

You breathe out, humming in approval. 

“Baby?”

He kisses the tip of your nose, and then brushes his own against yours. Back and forth, back and forth. He takes his time with it. Thoughtful and loving.

“Cutie?”

His lips find the bridge of your nose. A gentle peck between your brows. He’s moving over to your left eye, and you flutter both closed, smiling, waiting to feel his sign of affection. One kiss, then another on your right. The sensation tickles, makes you feel a bit intoxicated too. Giddy and light-headed, an out-of-body experience, it’s almost as if you’re on top of cotton candy clouds. The flavor is sweeter than honey. You wish you could somehow gather it, save it by pouring it inside a bottle and get drunk off of it every night. 

The happiness on your face and the laughing whispers, they make Rafayel’s heart swell.

“Beautiful?” 

Beautiful. Absolutely, unequivocally beautiful. How are you even possible?

As his thumb swipes your lower lip, your mouth parts in nervous excitement. He’s so close now; you can taste the air, how desire fills it completely, standing just an inch away. A single step forward, and it’ll be yours, yours, yours.

“Can I?”

Rafayel. Rafayel. Everything is Rafayel and you begin to shake. God only knows just how badly you need to close this distance. You want it gone. You want him.

You murmur, “Kiss me. Please.”

It feels risky, feels scary even to ask him. But, you’re all in, here and now, and when his lips finally meet yours, sweet and slow, the little thing in your chest beats once. 

It stops moving. 

Then, it restarts. 

Blood pumping in the opposite direction, you suddenly know what it feels like to be alive. You can’t explain it – you’ve reached a time and space no one else has brought you before. Except for him. You know this. It resembles home. It is home. It’s painful. It’s liberation. You’ve been wanting this for so long and it’s only now that you realize you’ve been deprived of it, of you and him like this. 

You’re dying. You’re reviving. The desperation is heavy in your bones, heavy in your mind, and it doesn’t seem like it’s a coincidence everything about this moment fits together, as if it belonged here in the first place. 

Just as Rafayel pulls back, a reluctance washes over you. A staggering intensity like no other. Fire in your chest, it spreads aggressively. It burns, it burns, and you burn up – lungs are filling with smoke, and you need the air from him again. You need more. The thought drifts in your head, though your body is moving before you can say anything. Your hand reaches for his, guiding him back into your direction as you tip forward, chasing after his lips.

You plead, “Don’t–” 

You hear him gasp, then he’s breathing a bit harder, trembling inhales and exhales, at your desperation. There’s a brief wonder if he should give into his personal desires now. He thinks it wouldn’t hurt to; can’t find any reason that tells him otherwise, so it shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, he repeats, not when you’re looking at him as if he holds the secret of the universe somewhere in his eyes. 

“Don’t stop yet, please.” 

Not when you sound like that. 

He’s not forcing you, he has to remind himself. You want this. It’s so obvious. Painfully obvious. He’s in over his head by the turn of events and, truthfully, it brings a bit of fear in him, but he refuses to leave you feeling unwanted if he doesn’t make up his mind at this moment. How can he do that? Make you feel unwanted?

“Is that what you want?” he asks. The extra affirmation is a need. Will not go until you can crush that seed of doubt. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Raf–” you bite your lower lip, frustration clawing at your throat. The knot of emotions inside there spills out in waves, currents wild and twisting in a way that mimics a hurricane over the ocean. It’s too hard to speak, to catch your breath. “I want it. Please, don’t leave me like this, Rafayel.” 

You don’t know it – not yet, or perhaps, never – but you have unimaginable power over him. Anyone would be scared. Not Rafayel. He can never deny you because doing that would mean pushing you further away than you already are. Close, so close, yet so far. Command him because you want him and no one else. Take everything that he has because you won’t settle for anything less. You can have it all – please, please, just say it. 

He’s desperate to know that you need him just as much as he needs you. 

You beg, “Rafayel.”

“Shh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers. He will never leave you.

Rafayel kisses you again, deeply, with a love so fierce. The fire is urgent and all-consuming, will never get enough until smoke clouds the air and the world is bled dry, until you and him are left to give your hearts to each other without fear. And, even then, his love will remain boundless and insatiable. 

He has his hands buried into your hair, fists full so you can’t escape. He is all that you have. Mouth crushing down onto yours, he does this with the hope to sear himself into your memory permanently. Maybe, with this, you won’t forget him. His lips are hard-pressed, but they melt, turn a bit softer, then deeper, so much deeper. Breathe his soul and know that this kiss isn’t just a kiss. Taste his addiction, his devotion; his feelings that will never know what it’s like to abandon. His vow to you. 

Every year that’s gone by has been a year worth waiting. 

When you gasp into his mouth, your voice echoes into his ears; it makes Rafayel sensitive, an induced high that forces his body to ache and shudder. Face flushed, eyes hazy, he’s becoming feverish. He’s pulling away again, only barely, as the sensitivity peels his voice raw. What he tells you comes so faintly, slips by you fast and low by mistake: “You’re everything.” 

He leans in one more time, lets his lips stay a little longer.

© 2024 wondeurwall ☆ all rights reserved. please don't repost as your own, modify or translate on here and on other platforms. reblogs & likes are appreciated! ♡

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: WHERE HE TAKES YOU FOR YOUR V-DAY DATE 🥰💘💌 (JJK) (18+) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

*DISCLAIMER: All characters mentioned in this work are over the age of 18.

Writer's Note: I decided to post something early for V-Day. Enjoy! -Jazz

**********

ITADORI (Carnival Date) 

SFW 

Yuji loves to have fun, so it only makes sense that he takes to one of the best places on Earth. 

No, not Disney World. A college student don’t got money like that.

So Yuji decided on the next best thing when he heard that the carnival was going to be in town specifically for Valentine’s Day. He had asked you to go in January, a month before, by surprising you with a box of chocolates.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he excitedly exclaimed, giving you that big, gigawatt, Yuji Itadori grin that never fails to brighten your day. “Thank you, baby,” you giggled, taking the chocolates. “But it isn’t Valentine’s Day for another month.” 

Yuji’s smile faded, replaced with the expression a child would make with his hand caught in the cookie jar and then a blush that makes you feel feral for your boyfriend.

“I know,” he bashfully said. “I just got excited. Plus, there’s a surprise in there. I clipped the thorns off, so you won’t get pricked!” You laughed and did as he instructed, carefully dipping your hand into the bouquet. Your fingers latch around paper and you pull out a sheet of paper with two tickets on it. “Two tickets to the carnival?” you gasped. 

He nods, running hand through his spiked, pink hair. “I figured it’d be the perfect date, y’know? Fun and romantic, for the two of us…i-if you wanna go, that is.” He gets that shy smile again that seems to always drive you insane and you kissed him as an answer, wrapping your arms tight around him. 

When Valentine’s Day finally arrives, Yuji makes sure he finishes all of his work for college courses before picking you up after your shift at work in his car. You changed in the bathroom before hand and Yuji has never seen anyone look so good in a dress and jacket before. His eyes roam over your legs, hair, and face, becoming overwhelmed by your beauty. “Wow,” he gasps. “You look amazing.” 

You smile at the compliment, giving him a hug in greeting. “Thanks,” you giggle. “I wore it for you.” Yuji nearly melts, especially at the scent of your perfume. It’s just as sweet as you, his baby. After opening the car door for you and putting your work bag in the backseat, Yuji hops in and drives off towards the carnival which is packed with couples and single friends for the night. Once you get there and get through security, you and Yuji walk side by side among the many food stands, games, rides, and glittering carnival lights. 

“So,” you start, noticing how close your hands are at the same time as Yuji. You inch closer, interlacing your fingers together as you take his hand into yours. "Where here to first?” you ask with a smile that nearly stops Yuji’s thought process. He smiles back, shrugging. “Anywhere you want.” 

So you go everywhere. You drag Yuji to a haunted house where you both snuffle together in a cart, too occupied with kissing and touching to focus on the screams and impressive, ghostly attractions popping up everywhere. Yuji starts to pop a hard-on being so close to you and feeling your lips on his, but it’s dark enough where he has time to will it down before the ride ends. He then drags you over to a slingshot attraction where he laughs at your wild screams as you’re both shot dozens of feet off of the air, the chilly wind rushing through your ears. 

You eat everything too: cotton candy; hot dogs; funnel cake; chocolate. You feel like a little kid with Yuji, in the best way. You also play every single game because Yuji is hellbent on getting you an oversized plushie that you’ve had your eye on since you got here. Your man is as athletic as he is stubborn, playing every ring toss game or activity where you hit an object with a ball or a pellet. But he just can’t win. 

“Yuji, you don’t have the play every single of these games,” you giggle as he drags you over to yet another game. This one has to do with a bunch of balloon heads made up to look like clowns that you have to toss a ball at and pop. 

He shakes his head as he passes the host a dollar, having used all of your tokens on food and rides. “Until I win you one of those big ass plushies, I’m not giving up,” he huffs, his eyes burning with defiance and determination. You watch from the sidelines as he begins the game, taking a deep breath before nailing a ball at one of the balloons. 

It pops instantly, making you jump. Yuji pumps his fists in victory, looking like an oversized little kid.

“Did you see that, baby?” he laughs, pointing at the popped balloon. “I decked that damn clown!” You applaud him and stand by his side as the host asks you which plushie you want. You admire all of the cute animals and anime characters there before your eyes land on the oversized plushie.“I’ll take the panda,” you giggle. You turn to Yuji who knowingly laughs at your choice. “It reminds me of someone we know.” 

You also take photos in a photo booth, Yuji carrying everything you bought and won tonight despite you telling him not to. “Let’s take some for the road,” he suggests with a smile, nodding at the booth. “I wanna remember tonight.” 

After putting all of the items on the floor underneath you, you crawl into the small booth with Yuji, nearly sitting on his lap because of how tight and cramped the booth is. After two pictures of you smiling next to each other and then making silly faces, you crawl into Yuji’s lap, unable to contain your happiness or love for him. He looks up at you, confused and starstruck at your sudden action. You then press your glossy lips to his before kissing his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, coating his entire face and neck in pink gloss. 

“Y/N,” he groans, blushing a beet red. You giggle, taking his chin into your hands as you turn to face the camera, your face and ass in the shot as you straddle him. “Smile for the camera, pretty boy,” you purr. A countdown appears on the screen and you smile, preparing yourself. 

“I love you,” he whispers right as the camera flashes. You turn to him and swoon at the adoration in his eyes. You bend down to kiss him as another flash appears, snapping a photo. “I love you too,” you giggle against his soft lips.

NSFW

“Y/N, a-are you sure that no one's gonna…oh, shit!” 

You mischievously giggle from your spot on your knees between Yuji’s long legs and muscular thighs that your nails deliciously stroke, causing goosebumps to pimple on his skin in your fingers’ wake. He can only watch as you take his cock deep down your throat as he leans back against the Ferris wheel’s bench, doing his best to not move too much so the box doesn’t swing. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re all the way at the top of the wheel or else someone would definitely see you gagging on his dick like the little slut he loves you as when you’re alone and in the mood. You gasp as you pop off of his cock, his head slipping out from between those plump lips. “No one's gonna find us up here, Yuji,” you giggle. “Unless you’re that loud. Now relax and cum for me. I know you wanna fill up my throat.” 

You go back to work, bobbing your head along his cock that stretches out your tight, wet, sloppy throat that drives Yuji insane. He bites his lip to the point of drawing blood as you begin to fondle his heavy balls too, your fingers massaging them to the point where he is sure he’ll cum. “Fuck, fuck!” he whines. “Baby, please!” His whimpers and soft moans fill the tiny box, his fingers digging into the seat. How are you this fucking hot? 

As you continue to take his cock down your throat like it’s nothing, he can feel himself about to nut, your hot, wet mouth too much to take. “N-No…wanna cum with you! Please don’t let me do it alone, baby!” His begging prompts you to stop, your lips coated in spit and pre-cum. He stares down at you, twitchy and pent-up. “Ride me,” he pleads. “I need to feel you wrapped around me, Y/N, please.” 

Riding him on a Ferris wheel? Who would’ve thought Itadori was so freaky? “Okay, baby, okay,” you coo. “Just keep it down, okay?” He nods as you push your panties to the side and climb on top of him, his big hands grasping your hips and ass the way he needs to. When you finally sink down onto his cock, it takes everything in you to not moan out loud. You have to cover your mouth as you begin to rock your hips into Yuji, riding his dick and rubbing your clit against his pelvis. 

Soon, Yuji can’t take it and begins fucking from beneath you, his hips slamming up into yours with enough force to rock the box, but neither of you care. Not when your gushing, tight pussy feels so good squeezing around him and his cock strokes your walls so well. “Fuck, Yuji, you’re so good!” you gasp into his ear. "Keep fucking me just like that! You’re such a good boy for me!” 

You run your fingers through his hair, gripping onto the pink locks as he gives your ass a smack that nearly makes you bust. “And you’re such a good girl for me,” he groans. “Gonna fill you up so good…make you mine…” You can feel his cock swelling inside of you and you begin to meet his thrusts, slamming yourself down onto him again and again until you both feel that cord inside of you about to snap. 

“Cum with me,” he begs. “Cum with me, baby, please!” He leans up and presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips as you both moan into each other’s mouth. It’s a good thing too because when you cum, you’re loud. You can’t help it, especially the way Yuji spurts cum deep inside of you as you gush all over his cock. The feeling is euphoric though very wet. 

After the ride ends, Yuji helps you with your dress and hair while he pulls his pants back up like nothing happened. But the cum that drips down your thighs is a reminder as he helps you off of the Ferris wheel, spent and satisfied. “Thank you for the date, baby,” you giggle. “And your cum.” 

Yuji smirks, a blush coating his cheeks as he wraps an arm possessively around your waist. To anyone else, it just looks like a guy bringing his girl close to him, but they don’t see his hand palming your ass. “Anytime,” he chuckles. “Now we’ll both remember this night.” 

GOJO (Nightclub Date) 

SFW

When the man tells you to put on your sexiest dress, you think it’s for a romantic, luxurious dinner. Not a nightclub! 

You dug out your best, body-hugging, soul-snatching dress for the occasion, thinking your boyfriend would wine and dine you tonight, especially when he picked you up in a limo earlier. But now seeing where you stand, among the mood lights, dancing people, and bar hoppers, you feel like you shouldn’t have stepped out of the house at all. 

Gojo sits beside you in all black––black tee, black jeans, black kicks––with two gold chains hanging from his neck. He smells of expensive cologne and his usual shades just adds to the sex appeal he oozes. 

“Sooo?” he prompts, grinning at you. “You like it?” 

You look around the club, frowning from your section. Gojo rented out a private section away from the prying eyes of the club. It’s a nice section, you will admit, with a curved booth and complimentary water. “Satoru, this is not at all what I dressed for,” you say, disappointed. “I thought you were taking me out to dinner or somewhere more romantic!” 

His smiles fades, replaced with a pout that reminds you of a child. “But this is romantic,” he argues, nodding at the red and pink lights lighting up the place. You roll your eyes. “And they have food here! C’mon, you didn’t even look at the menu yet, babe! And all the drinks are for Valentine’s Day!” He shows you the menu which comes with shrimp cocktails, lemon-pepper wings, and all kinds of cocktails made for the holiday. 

You mumble indifferently to yourself, still unsure. “Yeah, but…” Though this is a fun idea, you want a candlelit dinner and then your back broken out in Gojo’s bed. He must see you struggling to enjoy yourself because he lowers the menu and stares you down across the table, his blue eyes serious. 

“I wanted us to try something new for tonight than just dinner or a movie. Something adventurous. Plus, you’re way too fine to not take out to a club.” 

You flush at the compliment, staring down at your cleavage that you just had to leave out to play tonight. He leans over to cover your hand with his. “Just give it a half an hour and if you’re still uncomfortable,  we can leave,” he promises, his gaze sad and dejected. “Just want us to have a little fun, Y/N. You’ve been workin’ so hard lately.” 

And you have. You’ve been going overtime to make enough extra money for the spring, so for Gojo to notice and want to do something fun for you is so sweet. It makes you feel incredibly guilty. “Okay,” you sigh. He grins at this, excited. “But only for a half an hour,” you pointedly add, jabbing an acrylic nail at him. He nods though there’s a devilishness behind his smile that makes you believe he is planning something to make you think different. 

After you order some Valentine’s Day-inspired drinks and some wings to share, you find yourself sitting thigh to thigh with Gojo, slapping his chest when he whispers something nasty in your ear. When you turn your head, you find several eyes on you, women and men alike. Their gazes are sharp and pointed with envy while some check Gojo out despite you sitting right there. Feeling hot with awareness and anger, you turn away to tell Gojo, but he is already one step ahead of you, having noticed eyes on him since he walked in…but that’s normal for him. 

Unbeknownst to you, you had eyes on you too, admiring your body in your dress and your hair that Gojo will most definitely be yanking on later when he has you bent over his bed and your cunt gushing around him. He slings an arm around the back of the booth behind your head, trapping you between him. 

“They know I’m here with you,” he chuckles, staring at you from over the rim of his glasses. “And they’re sadly mistaken if they think I’m giving this up for a single night with them.” 

He takes your hand and kisses it, filling you with butterflies and tingles. “You’re the only one for me, baby,” he coos. “And I hope this proves it.” His eyes tick to somewhere behind you and you turn, gasping at the sight before you. 

Your bottle girl has returned with your chocolate martinis and wings, but another stands there with a big ass bouquet of a dozen of your favorite flowers, sweet-smelling and colorful. You thank the waitresses as your food is placed before you and you’re given your flowers. “‘Tarou,” you coo, beaming at him. “You really must want some neck later.” 

Gojo smirks suggestively at your words, a hand snaking over your thigh. “Oh, I want way more than that, mama,” he purrs. “But after we get these drinks down.” You each pick up your martinis and he coaxes you to carry the toast. “Too an amazing Valentine’s Day,” you say with a giddy smile. “Cheers!” You clink glasses and share a kiss before downing your first set of drinks for the night. 

NSFW

You’re so glad Gojo rented a private section for the occasion because the after-party takes place right after the drinks start kicking in…and only you two are invited. 

And you highly doubt anyone would want to see your boyfriend’s fingers stuffed inside of you, your legs spread wide over the leather seats. “Tarou,” you whimper, your hand clutching his toned forearm. “S-Someone’s gonna see!” Your voice hiccups on the last word, growing high-pitched as his index and middle finger curl inside of you, gliding over that spot that makes the world blurry and your body tingly. 

Gojo chuckles teasingly into your ear as he nips and kisses your neck and collarbone, his body blocking the dance floor from seeing you getting finger-fucked. “Someone will definitely see if you don’t keep it down, baby girl,” he coos. “You’ve got such a cute expression when you’re drunk and horny.” 

He uses his free hand to grip your cheeks, causing them to squish together as you whimper and moan, each sound hidden by the music blasting from the speakers above. You shouldn’t have had so many drinks and you know you only made things worse of yourself by grinding your ass against Gojo on the dance floor moments before. You let out a muffled moan behind your hand as his palm begins to rub against your clit in time with his fingers fucking your pussy. “Who knew two martinis and a couple shots would make you so slutty?” he cackles. “Shit, baby, you’re grippin’ around me so tight! That’s my girl. That’s my good little slut.” 

He starts to move his skilled hand faster, coaxing you to cum all over his fingers and the seat. But you stop him, grabbing his wrist. “Satoru!” you whine, desperate for relief but in private. “Not here, please! I need you to fuck me!” At the desperation in your voice, his fingers pause, still snuggly inside of you. You stare into his blue eyes, willing him to listen to you. “I want you to cum with me,” you whimper. “Want you to fuck this pussy and make this night count. Please, Daddy.” 

‘Please, Daddy.’ That line seems to always work for Gojo. You’re saying the exact same thing when he has you on your back hours later in his silky-soft bed, his cock buried deep inside of you and his hips slamming against yours with enough force to make the bed rock. “Please, Daddy!” you beg. “Please make me cum!” 

Gojo hovers above you, his pretty face looking down at you as he watches your titties bounce and your wet cunt stretch around his cock. “Yeah?” he huffs. “You wanna cum? You wanna cum all over your man’s big fucking dick, baby?” He doesn’t let up with his merciless thrusts, causing you to not only cum uncontrollably around his cock, but to squirt, your juices splashing all over the bed and his lower stomach. It triggers his own orgasm and he pulls out to spray his cum all over your gorgeous tits. 

Panting, you lie on the bed, spent and mouth agape from what you just did. “Aww, mama, you squirted,” he coos, laughing at your embarrassed expression. He suddenly pins your thighs apart and begins to rub your overly-sensitive clit, grinning at your gasps and sobs. “C’mon, gimme another one. C’mon, slutty girl.” 

You babble nonsense and protests, stuck between yes and no as tears begin to dot your lash-line. He notices, still flicking your clit with his thumb. “What? You gonna cry?” You nod frantically, hoping he’ll stop…but Gojo Satoru is an asshole. “Too bad,” he chuckles. “You ain’t gettin’ out of this one, baby. Now cum for me again.” 

And you do, once again squirting all over the bed and in your boyfriend’s mouth as he greedily laps it up. 

NANAMI (Picnic Date)

SFW

Nanami is a pretty low-key guy anyway, so a park date appeals to him when you suggest it. 

Even more so when he gets that surprise the moment he happens upon the park’s grounds with you in tow.  You two walk side by side in your warm, wool trench coats through the snowy park on a starry Valentine’s Day night, your hand hooked through his elbow. The minute his eyes widen behind his spectacles, you smile. 

Before him lies a thick blanket where one picnic basket and a portable speaker playing soft music sits under a canopy of trees. You picked a place secluded from the hiking and running trails, not wanting to be interrupted by anyone. “I figured it’d be better than a fancy dinner date,” you explain with a shy smile. “I didn’t cook. I didn’t really have the time, so I just got some stuff from the grocery store.” 

Nanami still looks like he can’t believe that this is happening or that you did something so sweet for him. He has never celebrated Valentine’s Day with a romantic partner before, so he still isn’t sure what comes with it or what he’s supposed to do, but he knows that he’s enjoying it so far with you. He sits with you on the blanket, feeling slightly awkward and out of place, as you pull out your feast for the romantic dinner. 

He can't help but laugh to himself as you pull out the plastic packs of sandwiches on sesame seed rolls, fruit, a small charcuterie pack to share, and a bottle of wine with two plastic glasses. He picks up the sandwich, examining it. “Ham sandwiches?” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“You love ham sandwiches!” you protest, cutely pouting at him. “With extra mustard.” At this, Nanami’s smile fades and he looks down at the pack. Sure enough, it does have extra mustard which means you’ve been paying close attention to him. Taking his frown for something negative, you scramble to appease him. “W-We can always go somewhere if you want,” you quickly add. 

You can feel your heart drooping in disappointment. You know that the picnic isn’t perfect, but you thought it’d be perfect for Nanami. You just wanted to make him happy. But to your shock and utter relief, he is overjoyed. “No,” he firmly says. “This is perfect. I just haven’t had anyone do this for me before.” He puts the sandwich down and takes your hand, his eyes soft and loving. “Thank you,” he softly says, sounding moved by the sweet gesture. 

Your smile is as beautiful as the twinkling stars above, prompting him to retrieve a small bag from his coat pocket. “I brought a little something along for you too,” he says, a small, sweet smile on his face. “From that bakery where we first met. It’s sentimental, yes, but…” He passes it to you, his cheeks coated in a pink blush that makes him so endearing to you. You love when he gets flustered despite him being such a stoic guy. 

You excitedly open the bag, finding your favorite pastry coated in pink frosting for V-Day in there. 

“Keni,” you coo. “I haven’t had one of these in sooo long!” But as you go to take it out and feast on it first, your finger brushes against a small, white box at the bottom of the bag. You take it out, examining it. 

“What’s this?” you ask, staring at the box. Nanami just smiles at you, taking off his glasses. “Open it,” he coaxes, a twinkle in his gentle eyes. 

You do so, opening the box to reveal a silver chain with a small bottle attached to it. In it are grand of sand. “I know how much you love the beach,” he explains. “That’s one of the things we share with each other. This is so you can always think of me when I’m not there. I’m in that bottle, in every grain of sand there, right against your heart.” You stare at the bottle, your hands beginning to shake as emotion overcomes you. 

Nervous, Nanami begins to think the worst. “Too corny?” he asks. You shake your head and when you look at him, he finds that your eyes are glassy. “No…it’s beautiful.” You close your hand around the bottle charm, kissing it. “I love you, Kento,” you whisper, the words like a prayer answered to Nanami. 

But instead of saying it back, Nanami stands and offers his hand for yours. “Dance with me,” he says instead. You put your hand in his and allow him to pull you onto your feet where he pulls you close against him. There, you begin to sway to the music playing, your head on his chest and his chin resting on the top of your head. “I love you too, my love,” he whispers against your cheek and you smile into his chest, happily whipped.  

NSFW

The picnic blanket wasn’t intended for a hot, passionate make-out session, but that’s exactly what it’s used for. 

Only this make-out session is semi-clothed. After downing the whole bottle of wine, both of you are pent up and letting your attraction for each other take over. The pretty skirt you wore is pulled up, your panties down and Nanami’s hand rubbing you between your thighs while he hovers on top of you, his shirt off and your hands gripping his taught ass as he rolls his hips into yours. 

He grinds his clothed, hard cock against your pelvis much to your liking, keening and softly moaning into his mouth as the heat between your legs begins to grow. Noticing how you’re grinding up into him, Nanami pulls away, staring down at you with lustful eyes and lips raw from kissing. “Are you sure you want to?” he asks in a hushed voice. “Out here?” 

You can’t think of a better place to get slutted out than under the stars and in the silent, still park, the music cut off and all sounds ceasing to exist except for a lone owl hooting and your hushed pants and moans. “Yes, Keni,” you whisper, holding his face in your hands to bring him closer. He looks so beautiful above you, the stars and inky black sky a backdrop behind him. “I trust you. I don’t care who sees us. Let everyone know that I’m yours.” 

Nanami doesn’t need any other confirmation to tell him that you’re absolutely certain about or ready to do this. “And I’m yours,” he replies before pressing a kiss to your lips…and then sinking his cock deep inside of you when you shrug his pants down to his free it. You moan into each other’s mouths as his dick sinks between your silky, wet walls, trapping him inside of you where he belongs. 

Slow, passionate strokes of his hips turn into feverish, rough pumps the more into Nanami gets. Seeing you beneath him, your sweater pulled up to reveal your lacy bra and your skirt hiked up over your thick thighs, is too much for him. “You look so beautiful underneath me,” he groans. “So pretty bouncing on my cock.” He fucks you harder, faster, tossing your leg up over his shoulder to get a better, more precise angle at your G-spot. 

And it works because you start seeing stars behind your eyelids that aren’t from the sky as Nanami its into you. “Fuck, Keni!” you whine, gripping his broad shoulders. “S-So big! You f-feel s-so good!” You can’t speak properly, each word coming out as a stutter because of how much you’re bouncing on his dick. 

Nanami holds his eyes with yours, forcing you to look at his handsome face gleaming in sweat and slightly flushed. “Yeah? You like taking this big cock, darling?” You frantically nod, unable to hold back your gasps or moans as he pumps into you like he’s trying to make you cum first…which he is. “It’s all yours. No one else’s. Only you can have me like this…make me feel this way…” 

His sweet, hot words and cock pumping inside you are too much and you begin to frantically rub your clit as you feel that blessed end about to near. “Kento, I’m gonna cum,” you gasp. “I-I can’t…!” 

The handsome blonde leans down to press his forehead against yours, his big body covering yours. “Cum for me, darling,” he grunts. “Look at me when you gush all over my fucking dick. Do it while I fill up what’s mine.” He fucks you harder, rolling his hips down into yours again and again until– 

Crunch. You gasp, causing Nanami to immediately cover your mouth. You both look towards a jogging trail several yards away where you see an older man and his dog from between the trees. “Hello?” The man calls out into the night. “Anyone there?” 

You both are quiet, hearts hammering against your ribcages, but the fear of being caught ignites something in both of you. Nanami doesn’t stop fucking you and you have no choice but to cum, moaning behind your hand. He cums too, burying his face into your shoulder to let out a primal groan as he fills you to the brim with his cum. “Keep cumming,” he demands. “Keep squeezing around my cock, you perfect little slut.” 

You whine at his constant strokes, your pussy becoming tingly and sensitive despite him slowing down. He holds you close, forcing you to take it until he’s exhausted himself and finally pulls out. Luckily, the man believes you’re just animals…and you’d may as well be with the way y’all are fucking. “C’mon, Peaches,” he calls with a whistle. “I think it’s just a bunch of squirrels.” 

And off he totters with his dog in tow, turning his back to the semi-naked couple behind him. Nanami sighs in relief, panting from the sex. “That was close,” he sighs. You nod and then your eyes tick down to his semi-hard cock twitching and glistening in your cum. “Not close enough,” you purr, grazing a nail over his cock, smirking when he tenses at the sensation. “Round two?” you giggle suggestively. 

More like round five because even when you finally leave the park, Nanami fucks you in his bed till dawn. 

CHOSO (Paint n’ Sip Date) 

SFW

Choso had no fucking clue what people even did on Valentine’s Day. He didn't even know Valentine’s Day was a day away until someone mentioned it. 

Of course, it was Yuji, his little brother, while they slurped on ramen noodles. Yuji nearly choked when Choso told him that he forgot Valentine’s Day was coming up. “You forgot about Valentine’s Day?!” he gasped like Choso just told him he got someone else pregnant. “Dude, Valentine’s Day is the day for couples! Romance! She’s gonna leave your ass!” 

Choso rolled his eyes as slurped down his dinner. “You’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” he sighed, but even he got afraid. He didn’t know if you celebrated Valentine’s Day, but you had to have been expecting something, weren’t you? After all, he is dating you and though he is still learning how to properly “boyfriend”, he knows he wants to give you the most decent Valentine’s Day he can.

So after surfing the web for V-Day activities, he came across an event for one night only at a small art venue that he visited an exhibit before that is hosting a paint-n-sip. The one at 7 PM is for children and serves free cookies though adults can still attend and the other at 10 PM is enticingly naughty.

Choso smirked as read the details for the adult paint-n-sip which entails weed, alcohol, and couples stripping down to their undies to be painted by their romantic partners. He thought it was perfect since he loved painting, you enjoyed watching him paint, and it would be a perfect bonding and learning experience. 

And perhaps, romantic? 

Choso bought the tickets for both and sent the child-friendly ones to you first, wanting to surprise you with the adult ones the night of. “It’s just a local thing,” he shyly said into the phone. “But I figured we could do it since you’ve always wanted to learn how to paint.” You were luckily down with it, making him sigh in relief. “This is so cute!” you giggled. “I’d love to go with you, baby.” 

The night of V-Day, he arrives at your place and tries not to marvel at you in your pretty, pink sweater that makes your skin practically glow and brings a blush to his cheeks. He takes his hand in yours as you walk together, you on the inside while he stands on the outside near the street.

Unbeknownst to him, you flush with bashfulness too, loving how attentive, tall, and handsome your man is. His piercings sparkle in the moonlight peeking through the trees lining the block, making your body tingle in delight…especially the lip ring you love to nibble on when you kiss. 

The art exhibit is small, quaint, and filled with kids running to get their art supplies. Choso stands awkwardly behind you while you get a canvas, some paint brushes, and one of the heart-shaped cookies set out for the guests. “I didn’t realize there’d be so many kids here,” he mutters, making you giggle. 

A little girl running with a big ass paint brush and a heart-shaped cookie stops, staring up at Choso with a gap-toothed smile. “Hey, mister, I like your ponytails!” she shouts despite her mother’s criticism. “You’d look so nice with some bows!” You’ve never seen Choso turn so red before. “Yes, he would,” you agree, struggling to not bust out laughing. 

Though it is embarrassing, seeing you interact so well with the kid makes Choso wanna fill you up with all the babies he can. 

Those naughty, feral thoughts are dampened luckily when the painting begins and the instructor shows an example of the painting for tonight. Choso smirks at your reaction as you begin to sketch the heart out on your canvas, making it big and wobbly. “Oooh, a heart,” he teases. “Think you can handle that, mama?” You side eye him, nudging him in the side. “Shut up!” you whisper. “Not everyone can be a master painter like you.” 

He laughs once he finishes sketching his own heart and begins to mix his paints together, planning on making this drawing as three dimensional as possible just to see you gag over it. He smirks to himself as he begins to paint with a bright pink he made from red and white, your eyes on his and his hand carefully filling in the heart. “So how’d you get a pink like that?” You curiously ask, peering over at his paints. You decided to do your heart in red, but now you’re deciding something different. 

“Just add a dash of white and a lot of red,” he explains with a humored smile. You do as he says, taking a tiny bit of white and adding it to the red in your palette tray. “Uh-uh, like this,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding you. Suddenly, he’s behind you and taking your wrist in his to help you add more white and mix. He is gentle and careful yet firm. His touch and deep voice in your ear does wonders to your body, making you feel like you’re baking in an oven in your sweater. 

It doesn't get any better for you either. You find it hard to focus whenever Choso guides your hands to make certain strokes and his warm, minty breath caresses your ear. “Don’t go so fast,” he murmurs. “Take your time with it. Enjoy the process.” You swear, your pussy is leaking on your chair by the time you finish painting and you’re ready to take your time with your Valentine next. 

Choso’s painting is as beautiful as one could get despite it just being a heart. The same cutie with the gap-toothed smile walks by with hers and gapes at it. “That’s so pretty!” she gasps. “Mommy, look at his heart! I think he made that for his girlfriend!” Once again, Choso blushes and you laugh to yourself. 

“Now I can see why you love painting so much,” you giggle. “It’s so relaxing.” You sneak a hand towards his, laying it on top of his knuckles and caressing his rings. “Without the kids, yeah,” he agrees, earning a laugh. He slowly turns his hand over to lace your fingers together, making your heart and your clit jump with joy and excitement. “You know, there’s an “adults only” paint n sip after this one if you wanna stay.” 

His eyes flash with mischief, intriguing you. “What’s at the adult one?” you ask, curious. You take a bite of your cookie before feeding it to Choso. “More alcohol. Weed. Body painting. I, uh, bought tickets beforehand to surprise you.” A light blush coats his cheek as he chews, making you smile. 

“You had me at body painting,” you purr. “Anything to get my hands on you.” And to spend more time with him. You lean into his side, not so subtly snaking your hand down to squeeze his thigh. He tenses, making you giggle, but he silences you with a kiss in front of the little ones. “Naughty girl,” he growls against your lips. “But the feeling’s definitely mutual.”

NSFW 

Staying for the “adults only” pain n sip was definitely a good idea.

As soon as the kids and their parents leave, the adult couples arrive and bring alcohol and weed that they’re willing to share. Tonight’s activity involves stripping down to your undies (or as much as you wish) and painting your partner’s body with watercolors. “It’s a fun and intimate way to bond with your love,” the instructor says while you’re already trying to get Choso out of his pants. 

You’re given wet sponges and paint brushes to paint Choso’s body with. With a glass of wine and a few puffs of weed in you, you’re already feening and feeling naughty as you watch your boyfriend strip. Your eyes roam over his lean upper torso as he takes off his shirt, revealing his nipple piercings and the tattoo dedicated to his younger brothers on his right side that trails down to his well-defined V-line and happy trail. 

The air feels tense and hot as you begin to paint him in all different colors, reds, pinks, and blacks coating his pale skin in shapes and swirls. “Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he chuckles, catching your hooded gaze as you paint him.

“Like what?” you ask, feigning innocence. “Like you’re the sexiest man in here and you look even better with paint on you?” Sneakily, you pull down his pants an inch and give his ass a smack, making him gasp. “Hey!” he exclaims, swatting your leg with a wet sponge. “What?” you giggle. “It’s part of the activity!” 

He gives you the same treatment when you finally strip off your sweater, revealing your lacy push-up bra. He leans down until he’s eye level with your chest and begins slowly, sensually, painting your chest and collarbone a bright pink. Then, before you know it, his hands are unzipping your pants and looping through your belt loops to pull them down. “What?” he asks, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “It’s part of the activity, ain’t it?” 

Sneakily, one finger trails down to your thighs and sneaks in between to touch your pussy over your panties. ”C-Choso, stop,” you whimper, gripping the chair you sit in. “Someone’s g-gonna see…” Choso stops, pulling his hand away with a hooded look that drives you damn near to sucking his dick. “Then maybe you wanna tell her to wait till we’re back at your place,” he murmurs. “And stop soaking the stool.” You glare at him and shift in your seat to pull your pants up, making him snigger. 

When the event finally ends and you’re finally at your place, you jump on Choso as soon as you’re behind closed doors. He moans into your mouth as you kiss him, your hands moving quickly to snatch off his clothes. “Damn, you couldn’t wait till we got in the shower?” he chuckles, but even he is hurrying to get you naked, your sweater and jeans on the floor. "Hell no,” you gasp as his lips caress your neck. “I at least needed to get you naked…but we do need to wash off.” 

You giggle at your bodies and faces coated in paint of all colors and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Let’s not waste any time then.” And you don’t. Minutes later, you find yourself in the shower under the hot jets of water and among the steam as Choso kneels before you, lapping at your cunt. You grasp his shoulders and his wet locks of hair, your moans bouncing off of the tiled walls. 

“Chosi,” you whine, “you’re supposed to be cleaning me up.” He looks up at you, his soft lips coated in your juices. “I am,” he argues, still in between your thighs. “You’re so wet down here for me, mama. What the hell else am I supposed to do?” 

He then hooks one of your legs over his shoulders and grips your ass, shutting you up. “Now shut the fuck up and put that pussy on my face,” he growls. The only words you have for him as he eats you out till you cum on his face are his name and many, many swear words.

TODO (Couples’ Yoga Date) 

*Note: The Reader is described as Plus-Sized!

SFW

It’s not a particularly usual Valentine’s Day date, but Todo thought it would be a nice activity to do together for the special day. 

“I saw it in the window at my gym,” he excitedly announced to you over fruit smoothies despite the cold. “It’s free and they give out free sugar-free treats after the event! It’d be perfect for us, princess!”

He was so excited for the holiday even though he always treats you like every day is Valentine’s Day. To see the excitement and joy in his brown eyes made you feel utterly guilty for feeling so odd about the idea. 

“Well…” You looked down at your pink smoothie and even pinker nails. It isn't that you had something against yoga. You loved yoga! You practiced it as much as you could, even bought yoga wear specifically dedicated to big girls to feel comfortable doing it. But doing it in front of other people bothered you a lot. 

You always strive to be healthy and have tried going to the gym, but the paranoia you feel about being watched was enough to run you out of Planet Fitness. As a fat girl, you get enough shit with the fact that your arms and tummy jiggle and your thighs shake, and you have cellulite on your ass. Big deal! It’s your body and it’s perfect just as it is. Todo certainly thinks so.

But others think differently. No matter if you drink your water, eat your veggies, and do your squats, society will always perceive you as some unhealthy, gluttonous bitch. 

That’s part of why you’re still so shocked that Todo is still here. Despite the shock people have when realizing such a fit, muscular, sexy guy is with a big girl (though you’re also sexy), he doesn’t let that get to him. “I don't care about anyone else,” he once said to you. “All I care about is you. You mean everything to me, Y/N.” So seeing him sit across from you, with his handsome, scarred face, you had no choice but to give into his idea.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agreed. “But I’m not too hype about your gym girlfriends lookin’ at my man.” He just chuckled, taking your hand across the table and kissing it. 

“Oh, sweetheart, please,” he chuckled. “All of those girls are simply friends and plus, no woman looks better than my pretty little princess!” 

You flushed at his sweet talk, secretly loving it when he referred to you as his “little whatever”. His little princess. His little girl. His little...well, that's reserved for the bedroom, but it gets you purring every single time. 

And it makes sense being the fact that the guy is HUGE, standing at six-foot something and built like a tank. He intimidated you so much the first day you two met, but after realizing how much of a sweetheart he was, all you wanted was to feel him on top of you. 

The night of V-Day is a chilly one so you dress in your favorite coat with shaggy fur like a teddy bear’s. You also dress in your favorite active gear that hugs your curves and rolls but also makes your ass and titties look immaculate. When you answer your door for Todo when he arrives at your apartment, he just about faints. “Oh, my God,” he gasps, his eyes comically wide. “Princess, you look so…so…” 

He clears his throat and clenches his fists at his sides. “No,” he firmly says. “No inappropriate compliments…yet.” You flush at his reaction, feeling better about this date already despite feeling nervous at the idea of being watched while you work out. “You don’t look bad yourself, big guy,” you giggle, patting him on his big, beefy chest. 

He takes your hand and walks you outside, standing beside you like a big, burly bodyguard. Once out in the chilly night, you turn to him. “Now which way are we walking?” Todo raises an eyebrow at you. “Walking?” he parrots, confused. “Oh, no, no, no, sweetie! You’re not walking and getting those pretty shoes all dirtied up. Allow your personal ride to give you a lift.” 

He gives you a wink before scooping you up into his huge arms like you weigh nothing. You gasp as your feet dangle off of the concrete and he begins to walk. “Todo!” you squeal. “Stop, I’m too–“ 

“Don’t say it,” he growls, his brown eyes flashing. “You’re never too heavy for the likes of me, my sweet. Now pipe down and enjoy this ride or you won’t be getting another one later tonight.” You pipe down as he orders, not wanting to miss out on another "activity" once the date is through (but you know you’d get to anyway because Todo is addicted to you). 

The session takes place at the gym Todo is a member of where he introduces you to some regulars and friends of his who you’re 90% sure flirt with you. The atmosphere is nice and relaxing with fake candles lit, the scent of incense in the air, and free snacks and fruit-infused water set aside after the session ends. 

The instructor sits among all of the couples, including you and Todo. “Welcome to our very first couples’ yoga,” she chirps into her headset. “We’re going to start off with some warm up stretches and then get into the poses. Remember to breathe and be one with your partner tonight.” 

It’s impossible to not be “one” with Todo when he has his hands on you every minute during warmups and poses––on your hips, your back, your thighs, your waist. He pretends that he isn't trying to rile you up, but you know different, especially when you bend down to touch your toes as instructed. 

Todo stands behind you, holding your hips in place and placing his foot between yours so they are square and grounded. You gasp when you feel him press against your backside in his gym shorts. “Careful now, princess,” he chuckles. “You wouldn’t want to cause something you weren’t intending to.” 

You know it’s too late for that shit. And it’s too late for you too. When you slowly release the pose and rise, Todo’s muscular body pressed against you from the back causes every part of you to become aroused. Your heart pounds, your breathing is labored, and those familiar and agonizing tingles between your thighs make an appearance. “Nicely done, princess!” he praises you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Those pants do wonders for you.” 

His hand sneaks down to give your plump ass a squeeze, making you gasp and nervously scan the room for anyone watching. 

Your arousal only increases not just because the poses and having Todo so close, but because of his attentiveness and the praise he gives you with every pose you do. During one that is particularly straining on your legs where Todo and you sit face to face and he pulls you into a forward bend by your arms, he keeps his eyes steadily on you, paying close attention to your body. “Deeper, sweetie,” he coos. “I’ve got you.” 

You whimper at the burning in your arms and thighs as you’re pulled lower and lower to the ground. “Todo,” you whine. “It hurts!” Unbeknownst to you, Todo feels his heart burst for you, his pretty, pretty princess, doing this all for him. “I know, but it’s good for you! And you’re doing so, so well for me.” 

A glutton for praise, you inwardly leap at this and hold the pose until, finally, you’re able to stop. “And release,” the instructor says. “Very good!” You groan in relief as you sit up and Todo releases your hands in replacement for your thick thighs. “Very good,” he parrots, smiling proudly at you. “Now don’t you feel all stretched out?” 

His big hands begin to massage your aching thighs and calves, his fingers making your body tingle. “Hardly,” you giggle, biting your lip as you stare at him through your lashes. “But maybe something else can help with that.” Todo smirks, on the same type of time you’re on tonight.

NSFW

And hours later in your bedroom, Todo gives you his own remedy for stretching. 

He has you in the same pose you did before, standing with your feet width apart and attempting to touch your toes. The only difference is now you’re naked and your man’s big, thick dick is stretching you out as he slams his hips into you from behind, making your ass and titties jiggle. “Such a good, good girl takin’ orders,” he coos, one hand palming your breast “You deserve a reward after this.” 

You whine in pleasure and protest, your knees starting to buckle from the effort it takes to hold your pose despite the searing pleasure you feel. “C’mon, baby, touch your toes,” Todo says, stroking your backside. “I know you can do it. Just breathe for me.” 

His gentle touches only make matters worse, your pussy beginning to throb and gush all over his balls and down your thighs. “Todo!” you yelp. “T-Too much! Too much dick!”

You try to squirm away, but Todo grips you to him, causing his cock to sink deeper inside of you. “Ah-ah, princess,” he tuts, poisoning his hips faster into your wet heat. “Don’t run from me now. This is what you get for wearin’ that shit tonight at yoga. Do you know how hard that got me for you? Do you understand how hot you are?” 

His luscious moans and grunts fill your ears as he takes your pussy harder, faster, fucking you in a way that is so primal and mind-blowing that you see stars. “A-Ah, fuck!” you loudly moan, close to screaming. Your knees buckle and you have to catch yourself on one hand to avoid falling face flat on the floor. 

“Well, now you do,” he huffs, “and now, you’re gonna take that dick like a good little yoga bunny if you wanna cum. Is that clear?” He pulls you back by your hair, making you gasp at the sensation of being yanked back. “Yes!” you yelp. “Yes, baby, I promise!” 

Todo releases you, pulls out of you with a soft groan, and turns you around to press a sweet, gentle kiss to your lips. You shiver at the sweetness, your hands stroking all over his lusciously hard and toned body. “Good girl,” he coos. “Now up you go.” 

He hooks his arms underneath your legs and picks you up, holding you up by your ass to sink his cock into you again. There, in the middle of your bedroom floor, he begins fucking you while standing up, his heavy balls slapping your clit that begs for release. You have no choice but to grip onto him and stare into his eyes as he fucks you silly, bouncing you up and down on his hard dick.

“And don’t worry, princess: your man can handle anything. Just feel good on my cock, okay?” 

You only moan in response, going dumb from his dick and the pleasure he gives you. With every mind-melting, orgasmic thrust he gives you, he only says three words that are punctuated by each thrust: “Happy. Valentine’s. Day.” 

[nightdiary]

last night's story (jake) – preview

word count: estimated 15-20k genre: surfer!jake, friends to enemies to lovers, angst, attempt at humor, fluff, eventual smut author's note: the odysseus concept demon got my ass. i cannot get surfer jake out of my mind so this was born .. whew! let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list for when this is released <3 FULL STORY HAS BEEN POSTED!

summary: lured by the prospect of earning a couple extra bucks for the summer, you head north to man your aunt's surf shop on australia's sunshine coast. it's a visit that reacquaints you with everything you've been running from– old friends, abandoned memories, and one unforgettable jake sim.

“You should come watch me at the state titles next week,” Jake leans over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows and fixing you with an impish look. The movement sends a few droplets from his fringe landing by your hands, and he sheepishly apologizes before reaching out to wipe them away.

Instinctively, you want to reach out and shove his forehead with your fingers, but you have to remind yourself that this isn’t the same Jake you’d grown up with. Whatever you’d once had was left decaying in the past.

“Sure,” you say, ignoring the nagging warmth in your chest. Feigning nonchalance, you busy yourself with tapping on the checkout screen of the iPad, if only to give your hands something to do other than to fidget with your shirt. “Me and how many other chicks?”

Jake laughs good-naturedly, but the momentary lapse of insecurity in his voice isn’t lost on you. You feel guilty for just a moment, but don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. As you finalize his order on the screen, you look up to find Jake already looking back at you, almost expectantly.

“Your total’s $270.59.”

Jake’s face falters the slightest bit, but you don’t think it’s because of the ridiculously high price. “Does that factor in the ‘good friend discount’?”

The phrase makes something sour flood in your mouth, and you resist the urge to scowl. The receipt machine prints out his total, and you rip the paper out with more force than admitted necessarily. You nearly slam it down on the counter in front of Jake, peering up at his shocked face through your lashes. “Yea? What’s my favorite color, Jake?”

Noticeably taken aback, Jake’s confident demeanor slips away as easily as a receding wave. He stutters around his next sentence, and you try not to let your satisfaction show as you open the register. Jake looks down as he counts through the bills in his wallet, pulling out several and passing them timidly across the surface. “Uh–, well, hmm. Something… blue? Wasn’t it blue?”

“I hate blue,” you spit the lie out a bit too quickly, and hope Jake can’t see right through you. You accept the bills you’re handed with pursed lips, slipping them into your register and handing back the few cents you owe him.

“You don’t,” Jake answers immediately, not bothering to reach out and pocket the change. “You love blue. That light seafoam shade you see on the shore. Used to say it reminded you of summer.”

Despite how much you want to disagree, your throat feels all dry and your eyes are stinging and you don’t think you can bear to look at Jake much longer without saying something regretful. But something about letting him think he still knows you makes your fists clench and gut boil.

“People change,” you say with an air of finality. “I changed. You changed.”

Jake takes his bag and steps back from the counter with the expression of a kicked puppy. He looks back at you like he wants to say something, something long left untouched, and you resist the urge to hide behind your counter and stuff your ears with cotton.

You feel naked and vulnerable– like Jake has carefully stripped away every last layer of your defenses and he can see the rotting remains of everything you didn’t say. You hate how he looks at you, like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind and the inner monologue you’ve been fighting since you first met him. Like he still knows you in and out, despite moving away and changing every last bit of yourself that reminded you of him.

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the smile you give him is anything but warm, and you shut the register with a bang that echoes around the shop. “Have a good rest of your day, Jake.”

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