#I imagine he’d be more like nine fingers

[cats-obsessions]

I do wonder how much freedom Gortash had to pick his god. I’m sure Bane appealed to him for a number of reasons, particularly power, and I think he deeply admired Bane at some point. But I also do have questions about the logistics of his soul. If Raphael has a contract for Gortash, how many gods can overrule that? Maybe all of them, but how many dare? All those souls in the House of Hope surely had gods once, but did their gods forsake them? Do those who are good aligned meddle in Avernus? Or is it ranking that matters most? A chosen could have their souls kept by their god but a simple follower would not?

I will always say Gortash and Durge fully intended to rise to godhood themselves, but in the meantime, he would have to have a backup plan. And from what I can tell, Bane’s realm sounds like hell even for those he rewards, ravaged with endless wars where his best followers get to *checks notes* be generals in combat forever? Idk man, it’s very high risk and very low reward in my opinion, but I guess he really was that desperate to stay away from Raphael. I wonder if he sought out Bane or if he called out to all the gods like Astarion, and Bane was the only to respond? I wonder if he loved Bane or saw him as a coconspirator? I wonder if, in the end, he even considered Bane an equal, an ally, or if he had it in his heart to over throw him?

[preqwells]

imagining simon with a reader that's extremely awkward since it's their first serious relationship.

simon was practically yearning for your touch, ready to burst at the seams and teeter over while you hesitantly refrained. you two had been dating for at least eight months and had known each other for longer around this point, so he was well-adjusted and within his comfort zone with you; he trusts you. you’ve had flings here and there, all of which lasted more than a month if you were lucky— not your fault these assholes did a complete 180 once you officially put a title on things. for a long time, you convinced yourself that it was your fault since the only common factor in all of those relationships was you until simon was practically desperate to prove you wrong— although his poker face and lack of flowery words would ever allow him to do so.

every time simon would try to get closer to you at night? you didn’t know what to do. cheek kisses? you’d just press your lips into a tight-lipped smile, managing a small “thanks” and averted your gaze. if simon tried to hold your hand? it was almost like you’d find a way to wiggle out of it. it was almost like you weren’t used to affection— how could you of all people not be used to affection, he wondered.

he started to eventually get discouraged at one point. he wasn’t one for affection often, but you didn’t seem to want to get closer to him— why didn’t you want to get closer to him? he’d try to brush it off, but he wasn’t good with words and touch was all he had left.

it was abruptly brought up when you two were seated on the couch, his eyes mindlessly mapping out how your hair framed the side of your face, assuming it began to tickle you from the way you raised your hand and began to gently scratch the softness of your cheek. “why do you move away from me when i try to touch you?” he suddenly asked, his voice vibrating in his chest. he caught onto the way your jaw undulated at the question which only fueled his curiosity. were you aware you had been doing this to him? were you dangling your affection above his head? what a cruel game if you were, honestly. “um…” you began, a silence ensuing between you two. you didn’t know what to say— what could you say? your reasoning felt silly the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to push simon away of all people.

“i don’t know what to do or where to put my hands… and im afraid i’ll get clingy. its not that i dont like it… i do…. i just…” you mumbled, your eyes flickering between his and the tv.

…that was it?

you didn’t know where to put your hands and you thought you’d be clingy just after giving him a small hug? small kiss? he stifled a laugh which you caught onto, prompting a small pout to form on your plush lips. “why’re you laughing? i’m being serious!” you groaned, slightly frustrated at the feeling of simon not taking this seriously. simon took your frustration in stride, the roughness of his hands grazing across your cheeks as he gingerly cupped the sides of your face. “s’nothin— nothin a’ all…” he mumbled, secretly on cloud nine as he silenced you with a kiss, feeling you tense up to which he elicited a throaty chuckle. “it’s not— s’not funny!” you attempted to reprimand him which failed, seeing as how you were holding back your laugh at simon’s smile and at how ridiculous the situation was now that you thought about it.

“you’re right. i’m afraid you’ll be like a leech if you get used to me.” he mumbled against your lips. he was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of your hands returning the gesture and cupping his face, your thumbs grazing the stubble which pricked and prodded needles into the soft pads of your fingers. “shut up.” you mumbled back, pulling him down onto the couch with you as he landed on your chest. he tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart and how it hammered in your chest, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute.

if you weren’t used to affection, he’d have to change that.

[flowersforbucky]

logan howlett x reader

smut, oral, sixty-nining, throat fucking, pet names (sweetheart), language, kind of overstimulation, reader is afab, 18+ only mdni, slightly possessive logan (he really likes seeing you wear his dog tags ok?)

word count: 900 ish

omg i'm sorry if this is your second time seeing this. i posted this a couple days ago and accidentally deleted ☹️

"We really shouldn't be doing this," you moan in a breathy, fucked-out voice.

"We're already doing this, sweetheart," Logan's low chuckle vibrates over your core. You had lost track of time with him nestled between your thighs - drawing more consecutive orgasms from you with his mouth than you thought you were physically capable of having.

"This is a really bad idea, Logan. Our friends are-"

You're cut off by him plunging his index finger inside you. Your back arches off the bed and your fingers instinctively lace through tufts of his hair.

"Our friends are what? Going to hear us?" He pulls his face away from you but adds a second finger, stretching you out with scissoring motions. "Better keep those pretty noises you've been making down, then.”

It's not that you weren't dying to fuck him. It's actually all you have been able to think about for months now. You have imagined what he would taste like, what it would feel like to have his mouth on yours and his hands gripping your thighs. You've pictured the face he’d make when he sheaths himself inside you and the noises that would come from him.

What you didn't imagine was the reaction he'd have to seeing you hang his dog tags around your neck.

You'd found them earlier that day, laying on the countertop of one of the communal bathrooms on the main floor of the X-Mansion. You knew that he wasn't home at the time, so you put them around your neck and tucked them into your t-shirt until you had an opportunity to give them back to him.

“Anyone seen my dog tags?” He bellows as he struts into the kitchen. “Could have sworn that I left them–”

He pauses when he sees you smirking at him from where you stand at the kitchen island, slicing up an apple.

“Oh, do you mean these?” You set down the knife and tug the chain out of the collar of your shirt. The tags settle between your tits.

It just so happens that you weren't wearing a bra. “I found them in the bathroom earlier,” you explain, dropping your gaze back down to the snack you're preparing. “Thought I'd keep them safe for you.”

Fast forward to half an hour later, you're fucking his face and unable to form a coherent thought with how perfectly his tongue feels against your pussy.

“Want you to sit on my face.” He pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling painfully empty at the sudden lack of touch.

Logan crawls out from between your legs, laying down beside you on the mattress. He's still in his boxers, the tip of his cock jutting out of the waistband and glistening with pre-cum.

You position yourself over his body, your knees supporting you as you hover above his face. You’re facing away from the headboard, your position giving you a clear view of the defined planes of his chest and the erection straining against his underwear.

He locks his hands onto your hips, yanking you down the last few inches to his mouth. His lips suction around your clit before he pulls away with an obscene, wet pop and begins to swirl his tongue around your hole. You lean forward, your bare chest rubbing against his as you pull down the fabric of his boxers and free his cock.

Fuck, you really don't know how that is supposed to fit in any part of you.

You start by licking a strip from the base to the tip, trailing your tongue along a thick vein. He groans from beneath you, the new sensation driving him to increase the speed at which he's fucking his tongue inside you. You swirl your own tongue around the head of his cock, collecting the milky liquid dripping out before taking him in your mouth. You've only managed to fit about half of his length when he thrusts his hips upwards, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

He brings his hands up to your ass, digging his nails into the flesh just hard to leave crescent-shaped indentations.

You begin to bob your head up and down, using one of your hands to pump the base of his shaft and the other to massage his balls.

He continues to thrust into your mouth, leaving you lightheaded with tears streaming down your cheeks from lack of oxygen.

There's a warmth pooling in your lower belly - a dam on the verge of bursting. You grind down on his face, chasing your release.

The movements from his hips become erratic - you know he's close. You're preparing for him to spill into your mouth when he suddenly lifts you off of him, flipping you so that you're now underneath him on his bed.

He sits back on his knees, stroking himself in his hand as he looks down at you.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that?” He murmurs, bringing the pad of his thumb to your cheek and wiping away a fat teardrop. His eyes trail downwards, landing on the dog tags that lay between your tits. He grips each of your ankles in his hands, hiking your legs against his chest and over his shoulders. He nuzzles your calf with the scruff of his beard as he plants kisses on your skin.

“I want to see you with my name around your neck when I come inside you.”

----

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are always very appreciated 🖤

my masterlist!!

[beneathashadytree]

EATEN ALIVE - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : biting, Sylus likes feeling his lover’s weight, neck kisses, BDSM mention, implied scent kink, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : spicy fluff <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : This brainrot is a result of that one homescreen interaction where you give him his palm and he bites you, and that one bond story where he’s sitting on the couch reading at some point. The image drove me a lil crazy😵‍💫 Also this was inspired by the song Eaten Alive by Diana Ross 🙏🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Another book on firearms?” they asked, leaning over him to get a glance at what he was reading.

Sylus didn’t look up from the page, glasses perched on his nose and legs crossed underneath his silk robe in the picture perfect image of regal serenity. The only acknowledgment he gave them was a hum, before simply saying, “Not this time,” and returning to his quiet laser-focus.

Annoyance flashed behind their eyes at his complete ignoring of their presence in front of him. And to make matters worse (or in this case, simply more irritating), from their position they couldn’t even read a single sentence upside down. “Aren’t you gonna tell me, then?”

At that, a smirk touched his lips, knowing that he got the desired reaction from them. “You do know that curiosity killed the cat, right?” The look in his eyes was every bit as fierce as it was taunting. “You seem hell-bent on using up all your nine lives.”

Bastard. He loved to tease them relentlessly, didn’t he?

Snapping the book shut with one hand, he pushed it aside face-down. He was taking all the possible measures to make sure they wouldn’t be able to read the title, it seemed. Would a kick to his shins procure the answer they wanted?

Before they could think of another tactic, he clasped their hand in his, unceremoniously tugging them down onto his lap. Yelping as he caught them off-guard, they barely managed to balance themself over him, hovering a little as they tried not to crush him—something he must’ve noticed, given the way he arched his eyebrow at them.

“Put your whole weight on me. I like that.” Sylus’ grin was wicked as he said that, but it was all parts tempting, luring them in like it always did. Maybe it was a figment of their imagination, but they could’ve sworn that they saw his eyes gleam brighter as they settled down properly in his lap. “That’s it, sweetie,” he purred, his hands quick to seek purchase in the fat of their hips.

His touch leaving a burning ache in its wake, he gently caressed every inch of skin he could reach. The hem of their top raised, nimble fingers dancing over their back and trailing over paths he’d long-memorized, he looked like he was truly enjoying the way their breath hitched in their throat, and how they squirmed against him.

“You’re too much,” they managed to huff out, trying their best to school their expression to one of indignation. “Weren’t you… just acting like I was distracting you?”

“A welcome distraction, if anything.” His free hand came up to remove his glasses, a mischievous look in his eyes. “If you hadn’t come for me, I would’ve gone looking for you in a bit anyways.” As though swearing his honesty, he pulled them closer and began pressing open-mouthed kisses against their neck, softly sucking at the warm skin. With every nip of his teeth, he earned a hiss of pain-pleasure, and a jolt of their hips bringing them closer to his. “You taste divine,” he groaned into their neck. “Smell so good too.”

“Hey.” It was supposed to sound admonishing, but it came out as a half-moan, half-whisper. “Stop trying to keep me off-track.” But were their words convincing, when they were writhing in his lap just at his kisses like that? “You’re… hah… avoiding me.”

“‘M not.”

Another kiss, this time at the junction of their jaw and neck, earning a small cry of his name, and that snapped them out of whatever daze they’d been trapped in. With a push to his chest, they managed to pry him off and cover his sinful mouth with their hand, though it seemed that it only spurred on the desire brewing in his scarlet eyes.

“Answer my question.” Panting and their head swimming, it was a wonder they were able to say anything coherent at all. “What were you reading and so hell-bent on hiding?”

As Sylus chuckled into their palm, he merely reached out a finger to drag the book in, quickly flipping it back up.

‘Screw the Roses, Send Me Thorns.’

Oh.

Pure delight danced in his eyes as he relished in their expression as realization dawned on them. Taking advantage of that split-second of their shock, he caught their hand in his, and bit into it—lightly, but just enough to sting in that way he knew deep down they liked so much.

Jumping, they were quick to snatch their hand away from his mouth, cheeks burning with warmth. Before they could even think of snapping at him, he’d licked his lips, as though savoring the taste of them that lingered.

It was all too hot, all at once and in all the most dangerous places of their body.

“I didn’t want to scare you off,” he coolly said, leaning back against the back of the leather couch and eying them with a practiced sultry-sweet gaze.

A promise lingered there; a promise of a forbidden fruit dangling right before their eyes and practically begging to be stolen and feasted on. Their hands itched to take him for themself, but would they do that without being devoured first? A chilling thought, and yet… the warmth in their core seemed to anticipate the moment either of them would snap and give in wholly.

Sylus quietly laughed at their heavy silence and glazed over eyes. At that moment they knew, that they’d fully played right into his hands where he’d wanted them. “But… judging from your reaction, I guess my worries were all in vain, hmm?”

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[asapeveryday]

FANTASY - K.TOBIO

Pairing: (time skip)Kageyama Tobio x Reader

Warnings: sexual fantasies :)

Summary: you’d had a crush on tobio through most of high school, he was your friend and he was cute, so it was only natural. When he sends you a ticket to his game on japan’s official team, that crush is reawakened in a far more mature way.

A/n: I’m gonna be spouting out sum haikyu stuff hopefully 🙏

RED IS A COLOUR you’re not quite accustomed to seeing him in.

It was only a year ago when he was adorned in the beloved navy and orange uniform, a bold number nine spread on his back where a new shiny number twenty now occupies.

Everyone changes in that first year after high school, but seeing Tobio again in person only makes it more apparent. His already broad shoulders have broadened, his arms as built as you remember if not more. His hair still short and sleek, a deep black that accentuates the blue abyss that is his eyes.

You can recall all the times you’d lost yourself, drowned in the sight of his face and his unwavering stare. Of course he never though much of it, dismissing your gaze as being zoned out. You were lucky he was so oblivious of his attractive appearance at that time, because you were nothing short of smitten.

You didn’t particularly care for volleyball unless he was playing. He has a way of engulfing everything in the game, you’ve never seen him so in tune with himself and his surroundings as you have on the court. You forgot how demanding his presence is, even on a team of amazing players he still drew attention.

The look on his face, eyes trained on the ball, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyebrow’s slightly furrowed, red fabric hugging his athletic body just right. It sends an embarrassing shiver through your body that you haven’t experienced since graduating from Karasuno.

It’s his turn to serve and his expression is focused as ever, posture alert and fingers spinning the ball with ease. You can’t help but lock your eyes onto his hands, toying with the volleyball as his chest expands and deflates with every fleeting breath.

The ball is in the air, and his palm makes contact powerful as a spark of electricity.

BAM.

The noise is terrifying, echoing through the whole stadium. the way the ball hits the other side of the court within bounds as Japan’s side of the stands erupt with screams of triumph is cinematic. You find yourself joining the yells of joy, smiling at the sight of Tobio loosening up, a slight smirk gracing his face as he nods at his teammates.

‘God.’ You think. ‘I feel like I’m a kid again, watching him play.’

When he sends another earthshaking serve across the court you can’t help but press your legs together. ‘No,’ you think again. ‘This is different. I feel different.’

He’s ready to really start playing now, jaw in the air and teeth bared into a dangerous grin that you just barely saw during high school. The way his arms flex with every pass, the way his fingers nimbly send the ball to his teammates or over the net, the way his toned thighs tense with every crouch to receive the ball. It just might send you over the edge, sparking thoughts that almost never graced your mind during your friendship with him.

You can see it; his hands caging you in as he hovers above you, careful not to lean his weight onto your body. You can imagine the sensation of his knee in between your legs as he tenderly kisses your lips. Tobio never cared for girls in high school, but you can imagine that a year of playing pro has widened his experience in various ways. Still, you can’t see the boy being rough with you, not when he’d sneak you notes in class or apologize for even touching you in the slightest.

Unless in one of his bad moods, you can see Kageyama Tobio being sweet. Though his length may touch places you could only dream of reaching, pumping in and out of you with the power and stamina he’s worked so hard for these past years, you know he’d kiss you like you were his first love, like he depends on the air you exhale.

“Missed you s’much.” He’d utter under against your neck, painting your skin pink and purple and his hips buck into your heat fervently. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He’d say, and you’d mewl in response, wanting to tell him about how you longed for his focus on you since you were a first year in high school but unable to form the words.

Still, you’d like to imagine he’d know, that you wouldn’t have to tell him about how much you looked forward to his games, to staying back late after school and throwing balls for him and Hinata, to sitting with him at lunch and attempting to tutor him before giving up and going for a walk with him instead. You relished your conversations with the blue eyed boy, he was straight forward and honest. He knew exactly what he wanted out of his life at the time, and you secretly hoped you were included in that.

You couldn’t think of him this way back then, it felt wrong seeing as he trusted you so innocently as a friend and nothing more. Everything was different now. You can see it clear as day from your spot on the stands.

This Tobio, the one currently staring down a player on the opposite side of the net. He wouldn’t mind how the sight of his face coats your underwear with arousal, he wouldn’t care if you pressed yourself against him.

The thought of him spreading you open in that intricate nature of his, deep blue eyes staring up at you as his tongue explores between your legs, nipping at the soft flesh of your inner thighs before delving and devoting himself to your core.

When Kageyama committed to something, he did so to the fullest of his ability. Should he decide you’re worthy of climaxing at his hands, you’re sure he’d make sure it’s the best climax of your life.

You can’t help but bite your lip and pinch your thigh at the idea. It’s shameful how you’re staring at him straight on while fantasizing about cumming in his mouth or all over his dick, but it also adds a rush of adrenaline.

You finally shake the thoughts off when the final point is earned, Japan winning their first game of the Olympic Season. The stands erupt in celebration, you scream and laugh with the strangers by you as if you’re old friends. When your eyes part from the people seated beside you and find the court, you almost freeze at the sight that meets you.

He’s found you in the crowd, presumably remembering the exact ticket he bought you. Despite this newer, more adult version of Tobio initially shocking you, with one look at his face you know one thing hasn’t changed.

He’s still your friend, and his still thinks about you.

Tobio smiles almost nervously when your eyes lock on his, and he subtlety nods towards you. It’s enough to make your heart melt, and enough to fuel fantasies for a lifetime.

[myahs-delulu-palace]

Risqué pic

Scenario: Shigaraki has a online girlfriend who he loves very much. One night she sends him a risqué photo of herself which led Shigaraki to get a lil….excited 👅

Tw// Shigaraki basically stroking his shit 😱

———————————————————————

His girlfriend was such a tease. She just HAD to send him that photo right when he was in front of everyone in the league. Just her…full blown naked on screen. The look on his face was priceless, he was utterly shocked as was the rest of the league.

Shigaraki couldn’t help but get hard almost immediately before standing up and quickly heading to his room, not before Dabi jokingly shouted.

“Don’t forget to lock your door!” He said with a snicker. That bastard. Shigaraki slammed his room door and locked before walking over to his bed and sitting on it, looking over the picture again. God…his girlfriend was so beautiful…and just staring at the photo made him even more excited as he felt his pants get tighter to the point it made him uncomfortable.

Shigaraki couldn’t hold it any longer as he quickly pulled off his pants, kicking them off his legs as he slowly started to touch himself through his boxers. Rubbing his fingers around his clothed cock. The thought of her…and the thought of that photo…was making him drool. He wanted her to be there with him so bad. He wanted to take her here and now in real life. But this would have to do for now…

Just thinking about her pretty face, her sexy voice, her amazing constructed body…made him even more turned on as he started to take off his boxers, leaving him totally bare underneath. He took his dick as started to stroke it slightly. Precum already coming out just a bit from now turned on he was.

Shigaraki was making up fake scenarios in his head as he kept stroking his cock. He twitched and let out shaky breaths and moans as he did. At this point, all he could think about was her. Shigaraki fastened his pace, whimpering and moaning more and more louder. Not caring if anyone else in the base heard him.

Thoughts of her filled his mind up. He was on cloud nine…he was imagining everything he’d do to her as he kept quickening his past more and more. He wanted her so badly.

Shiggy was closing in on his limit…he felt like he was going to explode any minute now, but he kept going. Wanting to finish his fantasies and go as far as he can before releasing. He started to shakily call out his girlfriend’s name in moans now. It’s all he could think about other than his pleasure as he was at the very edge to his release.

Eventually, Shigaraki couldn’t hold back any more and let out a loud moan which filled his entire room as he came everywhere. He fell backwards on his bed and panted. Trying to calm down from the high of his orgasm.

Once he calmed down got up to clean himself off before texting his girlfriend, who had been waiting for his reply since she sent the photo.

“Thank you babe. I put that to good use.”

———————————————————————

Second smut I’ve wrote in my life soo…yeah. At least it’s not as long as the Overhaul one I did 😭 hope you enjoyed reading!!

{btw the ending kinda ass cuz I’m bad at writing endings 💀 not to mention I ain’t know what to put at the end}

[heauxvibez]

Dipsea 2

warning: smut (18+). I had to change my panties after typing this bad boi up..

You looked at your phone with a desperate whimper, the frustration of the sudden interruption running through you. You had just begun to sink into the sweet rhythm of it, and now, you were certain the app was worth every cent. There was no way you’d be left on a cliffhanger—not when the heat was already pooling deep in your pussy, and his words were making your body ache with need. No other free option would suffice. Joe had started this, and you were determined he’d be the one to finish it.

With a quick tap, you paid for the app, heart pounding, pussy throbbing as the screen shifted. You watched as all nine parts unlocked, the bright purple and orange hues of the app glowing softly against the darkened room. The colors pulsed much like the warmth building inside you, teasing you as you imagined what was coming next. You were ready to dive back into the sultry depths of Joe's voice, ready to be carried away again, this time with no interruptions.

With another quick tap, you clicked on part two of Watch, your excitement beaming as the screen transitioned to reveal a new silhouette of him. This time, the image was a stunning depiction of his back, his broad shoulders and sculpted muscles bathed in more hues of deep orange and violet that painted the app. The soft gradient colors traced the contours of his body, highlighting every curve and dip in his toned frame just as much as the last silhouette.

His hair and tattoo were the only contrast—bold, inky black curls outlined by thin, glowing lines of orange, the strands seeming to ripple with motion as if you could reach out and feel the soft waves between your fingers. The black tribal patterns were striking—precise and pristine. The lines were sharp, curves fluid, creating a seamless flow of ink that wrapped around the silhouette with an almost hypnotic grace. The design seemed alive, as if the artist had studied every inch of his form with care. Whoever had illustrated this masterpiece deserved a raise.

The silhouette cut off just above his lower back, but not before emphasizing the curve of his spine and the dimples that rested at the base, drawing your gaze down. The image lingered there, inviting you to the details and shadows that made him feel more magnetic. It was impossible to look away.

You pressed play and closed your eyes without hesitation, you were ready to fill your ears with his voice and your mind with his image.

"Now go ahead and play with that pussy for me, but take your time. I don't want our fun to end so soon," he commanded. It was the same line he had whispered at the end of part one, a teasing reminder that he knew exactly where you both had left off, pulling you right back into that state of arousal.

But this time, things were a bit different. Your panties, once tangled around your ankles, had now disappeared somewhere within the soft, silky sheets beneath you. Your fingers hovered above your clit, ready to obey him, knowing exactly where they were headed—into the same silky folds that ached for attention, craving the touch you’d been holding back from for too long.

You could already feel the tingling between your thighs, the way his voice alone had the power to make your body respond, your mind slipping into a haze of pleasure. Just as he’d asked, you were savoring every second, drawing out the pleasure because you both knew there was no rush. It was about indulgence—taking your time, sinking deeper into the sensations, and losing yourself completely.

Your middle finger drew light, teasing circles around your clit, barely grazing the sensitive nub. Despite the faint touch, you were already soaking wet, your juices slick against your skin, and you hadn’t even fully given in yet. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you imagined his eyes on you, the thought heating your skin even from a distance. You could picture the way he’d tilt his head back slightly, his eyes dark while lifting his hand to stroke his beard in that slow, menacing way he always did when he was gathering his thoughts. His fingers would glide over the coarse hairs, tracing the strong line of his jaw, and then move down toward his throat, his palm smoothing over his skin as if grooming himself in preparation.

You could hear the sound of him shifting in his seat, the sound of his body moving making your breath hitch. It was subtle, but you pretended as if it was an involuntary thrust, his horniness impossible to hide. You imagined his dick strained against the fabric of his tight bottoms, pressing insistently, desperate for relief.

"Just like that, sweetheart," he groaned. "Fuck, I can barely keep still over here," he chuckled, the sound rough and deep, making your body tingle in response.

"I can see you drippin' all the way from here," his voice purred through your earphones, carrying a teasing tone that vibrated in your ears.

"Those lips, glistening and glossy... all for me, right, baby?" you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Your body responded before you could think, the words slipping out in a breathless whisper.

"Yes, daddy..." you murmured into the air, your toes curling with the rush that came from answering him. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke again,

"Good girl," he affirmed. "Now, can you slip those fingers inside for me? But tease yourself just like I would..." what he wanted from you, what he asked of you was so damn irresistible, and as your middle finger slid down your slick slit, you listened, teasing your entrance, tapping it lightly, just as he’d instructed. The teasing was unbearable, your body aching for more as your fingers played along your soaked folds.

"You're such a great listener, baby. Go ahead and slip those fingers in.."

"Whew, Jesus," you sighed, finally giving in as your middle and ring fingers slipped into you, the warm, tight sensation wrapping around your digits beautifully. Your palm brushed against your swollen clit, your body pulsing around your fingers. The friction was maddening, every stroke drawing you deeper.

You could hear his breath hitch in your ears, shaky and uneven, as he narrated your pleasure. "God damn if only you could see yourself right now," he groaned, "Your pussy taking in your fingers, going deep and curling against your g spot... Shit, you don’t know what you’re doing to me."

It was wild how his words were basically tailored to cater to your own pleasure. Every syllable felt like it was crafted just for you. His praise, the soft, commanding tone he used, was almost too much. You could hear every minor shift in his voice, the way he controlled each breath, making it deeper, huskier when the moment needed it. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he wielded them, like a lover’s touch, knowing exactly when to soften, when to tease, when to push.

"Keep the pace slow,” he uttered, “I want you to enjoy and savor this. I want to enjoy and savor this. You know I love watching you fall apart in agony, knowing that you've been waiting to nut all night. Knowing that you're holding onto that nut just for me. Knowing you ain't gon nut until I say so."

“Fuck," you cursed as you slowed your movements, still doing as he says even though it felt torturous. Your finger slid in and out of you with agonizing slowness.

The contrast between the slow, teasing strokes and the need inside you made everything feel so much sweeter. It was as if his voice was in control of your body, holding your hand, pushing you just to the brink but never letting you tumble over. The slowness frustrated you, yet it pleased you so perfectly.

"Just like that, my love. In..." His voice purred as your fingers slipped deeply inside, "And out..." he continued, his words guiding you as you pulled them out slowly, feeling the slickness of your folds against your skin. "In..." You pushed your fingers back through your wet heat, your breath trembling. "And out..." you obeyed again, this time a soft moan escaping your lips as your fingers retreated, leaving you wanting more.

"Mmm, you hear that?" His voice was now getting lower, making your whole body shiver. You listened closely, the only sounds in the room now were his heavy, steady breathing in your ear and the unmistakable sound of your juices being pushed in and out of you. The wet, slick noise echoed throughout the room which did nothing but tighten the knot deep in your belly.

Your fingers moved with purpose, matching the slow, teasing pace he had set, the wetness coating your fingers making the motion smoother. You were getting closer to the edge.

"You ain't ever been this wet baby. I just know them fingers are drowning in that nectar of yours.." he murmured, with his words being slightly interrupted by throaty moans. The sounds of fabric rubbing made you think that he might be stroking himself through the barrier of his clothes, fueling the fantasy and pure delusion of him watching you.

"Aht, remember what I said? Keep that pace slow; I know you can take it..." His voice urges you to follow his demands despite the desperate need to cum.

"I can’t..." you whimpered, your voice breaking as your back arched in a sad attempt to increase the friction against your palm. The struggle to maintain the slowness was killing you. You were doing your best to follow his instructions, but he was too damn good at this erotic audio shit. It felt impossible to hold out much longer—his voice was relentless.

His breaths seemed to grow louder, more insistent, and his moans were becoming deeper and more profound. "Wrap your left hand around your throat, mhm," he instructed, "Make sure you grip it well. Just like I would when I'm holding you in place, keepin' you from runnin.'"

Your left hand moved slowly, trembling slightly as it glided up your body, feeling every shift in your skin. The vulnerability of the touch made you acutely aware of how fragile you were. Even the gentlest of touches at this moment felt like they would do you in.

"Just like that. Fuck, you're gonna come, ain’t you?" He questioned seductively, his voice was filled with a knowing confidence as if he could read your mind.

He laughly breathlessly, a sound of cockiness that made you want to reach through the phone and give him a light slap on the wrist for being such a know it all.

"Your breaths are gettin' shorter, your pussy’s gettin' wetter, and I can see those legs trembling, trying to stay open." You were stunned by how right he was, it was a perfect reflection of the torment yet pleasurable moment he was talking you through.

"Cum for me baby, cum for daddy," he whispered compelling your fingers to delve deep inside and your palm to press the perfect amount of pressure onto your clit. Your body quivered as your orgasm radiated from the top of your head to the tip of your toes and back up again like waves. Pure waves of euphoria that is. Waves that nearly shatter you into pure bliss.

Your back arched with each breathy word he spoke to you, “Keep going, sweetheart. Don’t stop. Don’t stop moving those fucking fingers,” he growled, his words were rough and delicious. Your fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping deep and steady. Your thighs tightened around your wrist, pulling you closer, your juices flowing freely into your palm, glistening with every stroke. Your pussy clung to your fingers with a needy grip, pulling them in as you withdrew, a constant dance between your walls and your digits.

Tears streamed freely from your eyes as your left hand stayed firm against your throat, the sensation of the choke making you lose your mind, while also serving as a grounding anchor. You couldn't quite tell if it was your own grip or his that held you captive. Physically, you knew it was your hand, but emotionally, this man had an undeniable hold on you, wrapping around your mind with his words, and his energy.

Your body gradually relaxed, the tension melting away after the breathtaking orgasm that had left you well…breathless. You had been holding air in your lungs, caught in the throes of pleasure, until his soothing voice gently pulled you back to reality.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured, his sultry voice and slow, deep breaths filled your ears. You matched his rhythm, each inhale and exhale guiding you back to yourself. When you finally opened your eyes, which had felt closed for hours, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, still reeling from your release. You could hardly believe how powerful it had been. “That was good,” he chuckled, and the sound made you crack a small, satisfied smile.

“Mmm, now that I’ve watched, come over here so I can listen to you moan in daddy's ear.”

Click here to play "Listen" narrated by Joe, voiced by Roman Reigns.

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

I feel absolutely DELUSIONAL after writing this. Only because I feel like something like this could actually happen LOL.

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80

@headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @sheyaish @saintmagx @mzv11

@venusesworld @tshepisho @cyberdejos2

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! I tend to forget to tag sometimes, so just direct message me. It'll be easier for me to keep up lol!

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one. 

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand? 

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by. 

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely. 

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

[railleriee]

Genshin Impact Dick Analysis

Summary: Explanation of what I think these genshin men's dicks look like!

Characters Included: Childe, Albedo, Itto, Cyno, Xiao, Venti, Kazuha, Zhongli, Gorou, Diluc, Kaeya, heizou, Ayato, Tighnari.

Warnings: Sex, dick sizes and description, Degradation, and praise, kinks. ( Let me know if I missed any! )

Childe: 

Eight inches, nine when hard. Longer than it is thick. Has a few veins running down the sides. He’s very sensitive towards the tip. His cheeks reden and he lets out the sweetest moans. Gets hard incredibly quickly. 

Cums fast when you play with him but lasts a little longer when he’s in you.

Albedo: 

Six Inches, a solid seven and a half  when hard. THICK. His tip gets so red and drips of precum when you play with him. Surprisingly incredibly skilled. Stamina is amazing,  could go three rounds. It’s incredibly pale, although his tip is usually a dark pink. Twitches at the smallest amount of affection. 

Itto: 

Pretty big. Around 10 inches. THICK, prepared to be stretched. Has to prep you with four fingers. Dick piercings! I see them going down the front of his cock. They feel SO good when he’s fucking you. Doesn’t like to do anything besides topping you. Will get horny at the absolute worst time. 

Cyno: 

Around six inches. Average size. Definitely on the more skinner side, although his stamina and skill makes up for it. Into a TON of foreplay. He’s a switch whether he’ll admit it or not. He loves the idea of you being in control. He’s a big fan of cock rings. 

Xiao:

Five Inches, but grows a ton when hard. Around 7 Inches. VEINY. He’s incredibly sensitive. He’s a pretty pink color all around, I see him on the more pale side of a pink. Another switch. He’s either really dominant or really submissive. He LOVES calling you names, such a turn on for him when he sees your reaction. Please deny this boy and orgasm, he has the most beautiful whines. 

Venti: 

He’s a god, he has to be a decent size. Feeling around seven inches, around eight when hard. It's genuinely so pretty. Smooth, on the larger size than thick. He keeps himself very clean. He has SO much cum. Fucks it into you until theres too much and it’s dripping out of you.  He’s down for any position. Also a major experimentalist. 

Kazuha: 

Thinking eight inches. Doesn’t grow much when hard. Slim, and pretty. It’s a pretty darkish pink. He’d definitely enjoy sexting. He’s very passionate when it comes to sex. He’s very sweet and full of praise. He’s a switch, loves to be denied an orgasm. Whines, definitely a big begger. 

Zhongli: 

Man is huge. In his Morax “form” I imagine him to have two dicks, each around eleven inches, Twelve and a half when hard. Normally he’s around eight to nine inches! Either really sweet or really rough. Man knows how to please. He’d eat you out until he can no longer breathe. He cums so much. High stamina, at least 6 rounds. He loves seeing you all fucked out, muttering incoherant words. 

Gorou: 

Six Inches. Round tip that hits just right. Loves face fucking you. Total breeding kink. He’s a total switch, he usually enjoys being on the bottom most of the time. Deep breathes, he doesn’t moan a bunch but you can hear his breath hitch. Occasionally lets out a few whines. He loves watching you play with yourself. 

Diluc: 

He’s big. Nine inches, ten when hard. Lots of cum, he loves watching you struggle to swallow all of it. Heavy. When he’s completely hard, he has a dark pink tip. He’s definitely veiny. Curves a bit to the left. He’s pretty vanilla when it comes to sex but is willing to try things if you asked. Missionary is his favorite. Adores watching you try to hold back your moans. 

Kaeya: 

BIG! I’m thinking nine and a half inches. He’s long and thick. Very clean shaven, Dark pink almost burgundy tip. Man can fuck like no other. Hickies, he LOVES giving hickies. He holds your face to make you look at him as he fucks you. Makes fun of you when you struggle to take him. Man finger you SO good. Hits all the right spots. 

Heizou: 

He’s around six inches, but oh boy is he thick. His technique? Wonderful, he doesn’t have much experience but he picked up what you liked quickly. He loves bending you over his desk and fucking you. Willing to try almost everything. He’s a switch but prefers to be on top. When he’s on bottom he definitely has loud moans and gasps. He’s very vocal. 

Ayato: 

Solid eight inches, Nine and a half when hard. It’s so pretty, a singular vein running up the right side. Also curves a bit to the right. He’s more of a pale pink color. He’s always very clean shaven. Such a fan of doing it in risky places. Touching you under the table while at dinner. Has you secretly giving him head, under his desk, while he has a meeting with the commission. Very romantic. 

Tighnari:

On the smaller size, around five inches. Although he grows a bunch when hard, around seven inches. Heavy, and thick. He's not completely clean-shaven but he keeps it well-kept and trimmed. Breeding kink. He's incredibly skilled and knows what he's doing. Into marking and trying new things. He enjoys being a bottom but it rarely happens. Quite moans when he's fucking you. Lay's his head onto your chest as he fucks you.

[dark-and-kawaii]

ok HEAR ME OUT your last raphael fic was magnificent and got me..thinking of things🫣 imagine him taking tav with him to the HoH after impregnating (if he hasn’t yet before), to always keep an eye on her progress and to f her whenever he pleases of course, worshipping her body like she’s a goddess as she grows

I may have gotten carried away with this, but I really enjoy Raphael and this request had me cooking for a while. It got dark near the end but we gotta remember this is still Raphael bahaha!!! Thank you for the love and support 🫶 I really hope you like this anon

Raphael - Pregnancy - Possessiveness - Death - Protectiveness - NSFW

Raphael’s world was turned upside down when he discovered that you were carrying his child- an heir that awakened an intense sense of ownership within him. Should anything happen to his child or you he’d rip every soul from every last being once he claimed the nine Hells. Consumed by these feelings, he had made the decision to bring you back to Hell with him, driven by a need to keep a watchful eye on your pregnancy's progress.

With each curve of your growing form, Raphael is both enraptured and possessively drawn to you. He admires your pregnant beauty as if you were a goddess, your radiance captivating and enthralling him. Unyielding desires surge through his veins, fueled by a hunger for power and utter control. Raphael sees your pregnancy as the ultimate manifestation of yours and his union, a divine creation meant to bring forth an heir worthy of his wicked legacy.

Walking through his House of Hope, Raphael's lustful needs called for fulfillment, and it was you he would seek out… Bypassing his personal incubus, Haarlep. Perhaps he’d come back to the fool once his child came to be in this world… As for now though, Raphael only wished to devour you whole and to watch you come undone on his cock once more while his hands rested on the swell of your stomach.

Your moans and pleasurable screams could be heard throughout the boudoir and into the grand hall of Raphael’s domain. He savored the way your voice grew louder, quivering as you urged him on, the rhythmic thumping of his bed against the wall getting faster as you bounced on his cock vigorously. His name slipping from your lips while you cum on his pretty cock for the third time that night.

“Always so eager to please me, rest now little mouse. You deserve it after such a riveting performance.”

With your head now rested on Raphael’s chest, your body coated in sweat as you slept soundly… He glides the tip of his fingers down your exposed flesh as Haarlep watches their master display a rare form of affection.

Haarlep, driven by their own carnal desires, could not comprehend the depth of Raphael's love for you. For you were only supposed to be tool for him to use. Has his master grown soft? Mocking and taunting, Haarlep belittles Raphael's affections for you, “A once lost thief in the night now held tight by the devil himself as if she were some precious treasure. How-“.

Raphael scrunched his nose with stern disapproval, he had enough of Haarlep’s impish behavior and warns his incubus, “If you aren’t careful dear pet you may find yourself hanging in the basement with our dear friend, Hope.” The devil made it abundantly clear that his love for you was to be respected and not ridiculed… Haarlep stayed silent, their tail resting on your leg- a sign that they know their place and will do their best to keep their masters lover safe when not around.

A deep laugh emanated from Raphael’s chest, “Good. I’m delighted that you’ve found sense again, I was worried there for a moment.”

Though as time went by Haarlep's mockery persisted, but Raphael's unwavering love for you remained true as your pregnancy progressed. He refused to let anyone, not even Haarlep, cast doubt on his devotion. With a immoral determination to protect you his beloved, and his unborn child; Raphael defended you against the jeers and taunts of Haarlep, showing that his feelings were not to be trifled with...

One morning you awoke to a strange coldness… Both Haarlep and Raphael were usually entwined with you each and every time you awoke… Yet, “Raphael,” you call out to him, nudging him attempting to wake him, “where is Haarlep?” The devil pulls you into him best he can without putting pressure on your stomach, his wings enveloping you, “You’ll be leaving with Korilla in an hour to Baldurs Gate. Make haste and get ready, you don’t want to keep her waiting.” You could hear the grin in his voice, “I expect a visit from my dear father, Mephistopheles and I rather you not be present when he shows.”

A chill runs through you with every word your fiendish lover speaks… Raphael wickedly confessing to you that he has taken the life of his incubus, no remorse or regret evident.

[lets-break-free-from-our-chains]

Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader—General HCs

(A/N): I’m obsessed with the Barbie movie. Margot is so stunning as always and she’s one of my favorite actresses. I absolutely adored Ken in the movie. He’s such an icon! Let me know if you guys want more! Sorry if this isn’t the best. This is my first head cannon and I’m using to writing stories and not this format. So beware with me and enjoy!

Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader

The ultimate Golden Retriever (Sunshine) x Black Cat (Grumpy) trope

Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader is honestly very similar to Cruella de Vil from the 2021 Film—minus being evil part. More so, your creativity and chaos vibes are on the same level as Cruella’s.

Ken thought he was in love with Stereotypical Barbie until he locked eyes on you.

You were absolutely perfect. Your style was one of a kind and the hottest in-style in Barbieland—everyone wanted to commission outfits from you— and you seemed so elegant and confident.

Non Evil!Cruella de Vil vibes 1,000,000,000%

He literally tripped right in front of you in his haste to make it over to you, but he pulled himself up and gave you a killer golden smile.

You wanted to say you weren’t amused in the slightest, but even you couldn’t help but give a slight smirk at his goofball antics.

You’d never given him much thought beyond the facts that he was super loud, always freakishly happy, acted like a shaken up soda bottle you accidentally opened up.

You thought you might be able to scared him away with your sharp wit, sarcastic and mocking smart remarks. You were sure that your over all jaded and blunt personality would do the trick.

NOPE!

He falls even harder for you. Finding your honestly, transparency, and overall confidence to be so endearing but so unbelievably HOT. Not even Stereotypical Barbie could touch your level.

Imagine his surprise when he finds out you and stereotypical Barbie are very close friends who go way back. TOTAL Pikachu face!

He loves watching you work. You’re so in your element and hyper focused on what your doing. He’s left in awe while watching you tear apart and shred different fabrics. It’s total chaos but he’d never question you. He trusts your masterpiece process almost religiously.

He asks you a zillion and one questions about what you’re doing but lowkey you kind of love it. Someone taking a genuine interest in your art? Everyone else is either too afraid of the consequences of interrupting you or is uninterested in gerenal.

This is one of the many small things that soften your resolve towards him. 

He insisted totally begged you to let him help you carry your bolts of fabrics, material for accessories, and supplies as you went from shop to shop. He refused to let you carry anything.

He talks the whole time and doesn’t really think you’re listening, until you ask him a question about whatever it is he’s babbling about at that point in time.

He could feel the tears of joy welling up in his eyes at the notion that you were actually listening. That could only mean one thing—you respected him.

Don’t even get me started on how Ken acts when you ask for his opinion on a decision or if he likes what you’ve made! He LOVES everything you make btw.

This only sets Ken’s love for you in stone.

Totally asks to be your date to the Barbies parties.

If you thought he was nervous asking out Stereotypical Barbie then oh boy! Fingers crossed, eyes squeezed shut, lip biting—the whole nine yards!

High-key wants to cry when you say yes.

Everyone is always so excited to see the new unveiling of your outfits at any and all parties.

Barbies and Kens never really know what to expect but they all know they’ll be guaranteed the best appearance from you.

Ken is totally smug af that he holds your affections and so he completely and unapologetically rubs it in the other Kens’ faces. 

The first time you genuinely smile at him, he really thought he might die! Your smile is so stunning, perfect, opulent, gorgeous, goddess like, and—

He could go on forever. The point is, you smiled at him! HIM. You never smile at anyone! You smirk plenty, but never smile.

Even on the rare occasion that you do, it’s very small—almost none existent.

You always thought he was very funny. He never had to try hard seeing as he was just a naturally silly fella, but the first time you couldn’t hold back and you laughed loudly at something he said, he was in absolute awestruck.

What he said wasn’t even that funny, it was the way he said it.

All the Barbies and Kens ship the two of you. The definition of opposites attract.

Stereotypical Barbie is totally the official president of the OTP ship fan club for you two.

1000% you look at Ken like this 🥺🥹 and you look at everyone else like this 😒🖕 pretty much!

The patience and softness you exercise with Ken makes others feel like they’ve fallen through the looking glass.

You go from being a ferocious she-lion like this to a total mushy docile kitten with him Like this

Seriously, it so easy for you to snap on someone’s case and put them in their places, but with Ken you have a seemingly bottomless pool of patience.

Legit tho. This was you and him at the beginning of your budding relationship in general…you were over it at first. You really weren’t tho

Someone or something please help the person that hurts Ken—accident or not—whether it be emotionally, physically, or mentally. It’s gonna be a dark day in Barbieland.

It warms Ken all over to have a girlfriend who cares about him and his wellbeing so much. He feels so important, loved, and cherished.

And that’s all baby boy really wants!!!

He loves holding hands and linking arms together.

He’d say it’s his favorite but let’s face it, cuddles are his kryptonite.

Your embrace is so warm and soothing, and surprisingly to him, you secretly adore cuddling.

Though you did tell him if he ever told anyone else that tidbit of information you would never cuddle him again! 

Honey…He sticks to those words like the gospel!

He cannot and will not lose cuddling privileges💯

Now listen. If Ken’s going to date you then his outfits got to be on point, and you make sure of it. You know what he loves outfit-wise and set to work for making him a one of a kind wardrobe.

He actually does cry when he sees the final product of all your hard work for him.

You hate seeing him cry in anyway, it hurts you to see him cry, but at least these are tears of happiness.

You suppose you can live with happy tears…

You guys become the IT couple in Barbieland. You’re the highest standard for couple goals.

Speaking of boyfriend/girlfriend goals.

He has so many adorable nicknames for you but he will never grow tired of hearing you call him by the term of endearment you chose for him.

You call him Baby Darling…

He. Is. OBSESSED!!!

He just about melts into a puddle whenever you call him Baby Darling.

He’s never heard any other Barbie call their Ken that and it makes him feel so special.

Who else loves and ships Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader?

[xazse]

Listen listen I know I have requests to get to but hear me out on Ass eating with GETO, Oh god it’s so hot. Lowkey some of you might be weirded out which is okay But it’s okay because it’s suguru and suguru is pretty. SMUT AND NASTY

Just imagine how lately he’s been hinting for it lately, dropping that it would probably feel amazing but who knows? When you’re both watching porn together to get going, he “accidentally” clicks a video involving it and says you both should watch a little out of curiosity, you don’t think anything of it.

He thinks you haven’t noticed the little shifts of his body whilst you watch it, it’s definitely stirring him up.

You who gets fed up with Suguru beating around the bush so you outright ask him if he’d like to try it, you lie and say it’s been on your mind lately. He jumps at the opportunity but not too much, he needs to remain calm.

You who’s sat behind him while he’s on all fours, taking your hand you push on his upper back to a nice arch. He’s waiting so patiently it’s adorable, you slide his sweat pants off the curve of his ass all the way to the back of his knees.

His cock is half hard with all your ministrations. Not wasting any more time you spread his ass and lick a stripe from the bottom to the top, his whole body shivers in your hold and a moan slips from his lips. You love that reaction and crave more, you begin doing the same thing over and over, and he fucking loves it.

Loud groans fill the room, Suguru’s body feels so good and his cock is now leaking precum, you take it a step further and press your tongue inside his hole, he nearly jumps and another mewl comes from him.

Suguru takes a shaky hand to his cock and begins stroking himself furiously, with your tongue fingering him and his needy cock he’s feeling on cloud nine.

Next thing you know he’s stuttering out how amazing it feels, how good you are and a few more strokes of his cock he’s cumming all over your shared bed with a yelp.

[kteezy997]

Can y/n and wonka maybe have more babies before the candy man series is over? I want them to have a big happy family I think he’d be so proud of them 🥺🥺🥺

Candy Man-Part Nine//W.W.

Warnings: SMUT, soft Dom Willy,tying reader up during sex, use of sex toy, spanking with a paddle, hand spanking, light hair pulling, baby making session, creampie, some cursing, aftercare

You had to celebrate your engagement, of course, and what better place to celebrate than the secret office?

Willy peeled your clothes off, leaving you completely naked. He told you, "Go on, get on the bed, my love."

You smirked, following his instructions, turning and sitting on the bed.

He walked over to wall of coiled up licorice ropes. He pulled on the thick, red rope to the length of his liking, and ripped it off. he brought the long strand of candy over to you, "Your hands." he said simply, holding the length out toward you.

You put your wrists together, and Willy started to tie them together. You were so excited, you had to press your thighs together. You were getting wet already and he hadn't done anything yet.

"You trust me, don't you?" he asked, looking in your eyes.

"Of course." you answered wholeheartedly.

"Good." he responded, tightening the knot holding your wrists together.

It was different, having Willy being a man of few words, and so dominant. You were thrilled.

He took his clothes off. His cock was hard as the stones walls of the room. He shoved you onto your side.

You felt his hands on your ass cheeks and he spread them to lap at your pussy. You writhed and whimpered at the contact of his wet, eager tongue. You ached for him. The point of his tongue flicked over your clit, softly, then suddenly at rapid pace, making you cry out in ecstasy.

He pushed his fingers inside of you, pumping, circling, curling. It was too much. You cried out his name.

"Say 'chocolate' if you ever need me to stop what I'm doing in this room." Willy said.

You took the mental note, and bucked your hips against his fingers, just needing the stimulation.

"Say 'okay' so I know you understand, y/n." he demanded, stopping his playing fingers.

"Okay," you panted, "okay."

"Good girl." Willy said, standing up and touching your hair. "Now darling, if you move, I'll have to spank you. Understand?”

“Yes.” You remained perfectly still as you watched him walk over to the big candy canes. He picked one, and brought it over to you. You had no way of knowing what would happen next.

“This is not like a regular candy cane, my love.” he explained, holding it in both hands, “It is made of silicone, so you don’t have to be concerned about sugar being inside you.”

That’s supposed to go in me? It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was long.

“With your permission, I’ll try it out, would you like that, y/n?” asked your sweet Willy.

“You’re going to put it inside of me?” you whimpered, not knowing if you should be as anxious as you were.

“Only if you say yes.”

“Okay, yes, let’s do it.” you were so horny, you’d let your man try just about anything on you right now.

You could practically hear the grin on Willy’s face. “Alright,” his hand went to your hip as you lay in your side, “just relax.”

You felt pressure on your clit, then rubbing, the object was warm, to your delight, and softer than you imagined.

Willy circled your clit with his candy cane, then with a slight move, he slipped it inside you. It glided easily, filling your walls.

“Mm, fuck.” you moaned, your back arching.

Willy took your response as the go ahead to fuck into you with the pretend candy.

It wasn’t as good as having your darling Willy’s cock in your pussy, but it was damn close. It was amazing. It did reach deeper inside you. Willy hit your cervix with it several times. He used his other hand to toy with your clit as he pumped the candy cane in and out.

Sticky sounds filled your ears and you moaned like a madwoman. You could barely take another second, you needed to touch him. With your hands still tied, you put your hand on his which was fondling your clit.

“Ah-ah.” he swatted your hands away.

Now you remembered what you weren’t supposed to do.

“I didn’t give you permission to move.”

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again, Willy." you tried, weakly.

"No, sorry won't help you, y/n." he countered. You saw him approaching the lollipops on the opposite wall. He picked one of them up, and as he came back over to the bed, you could see that it was a wooden paddle. The colorful, swirly design was deceiving of its real purpose. "You know what I have to do now, don't you, my darling?"

"Yes, I do." you whimpered.

"Okay, good. Now, since you wanted to move so badly, why don't your turn over for me." he demanded. This deviant Willy was so far removed from your doting lover. You didn't know if you were nervous or more turned on by him.

You did as he instructed, getting on your knees as best as you could with your hands still tied. You stilled yourself on the bed with your ass up, bared to him.

Willy touched the head of the paddle to your skin. You noticed how hard it was, and it seemed that there was rubber on it as well. This was going to sting. You gulped, having no real way to prepare yourself for this.

The first smack came down hard on your ass, it was a sharp, stinging pain. You cried out a whimper. Willy gave you another. "Mm." you grunted, biting your lip. Did that one...feel good? You wanted more.

The third hit came and you let out a little high pitched chirp, wiggling your ass a bit in anticipation for the next one. You only wished you could see how Willy was getting off as he swatted your ass with his lollipop.

"You like this, don't you?" he asked, chuckling lowly.

"Yeah," you said with a weak sigh, "I like it."

You couldn't see him, but you knew he was shaking his head and smirking at you. "Alright then, I think you..." you felt his weight on the bed, "need to be filled." The lolly was dropped on the floor and you felt the warmth from Willy's body on your skin. He grabbed your hair, pulling you up and he held you to his chest.

It felt incredibly soothing to be in his embrace, to feel the soft skin of the man you loved. His curls tickled your face.

With his mouth to your ear, he whispered, "You need to be put in your place."

"Oh yeah?" you teased, grinning.

"And I think you'd like it." He had reached in front of you, untying the licorice rope that bound your hands.

Finally, you could touch him. You cupped his face that was right next to yours.

He gave you a kiss on your cheek, saying, “I want to ask you something first."

"Okay." you breathed out. Having no idea where this could go.

"Would it be alright if we had another baby?"

"Yes," you said in an instant, "I'll have as many of your babies as you want, Mr. Wonka."

"Good, I want to give you all of my baby-making cream, y/n." With that, he shoved you down, and your chest met the softness of the bed.

You felt the tip of his cock nudging your wetness, and with a push, he was inside you.

You let out a sigh of relief, you were worn down, but you were happy to feel him inside of you.

Over the course of the two of you being together, Willy had built up an impressive amount of stamina. He fucked you steadily for a while. The friction when he first started was enough to send you over the edge and you trembled as you came.

He continued on, bucking away, destroying you. He would shift in his position to hit you deeper and at different angles. At one point, he plunged his entire length inside you, and rotated his hips, letting his tip graze your cervix.

He'd alternate here and there, smacking your already sore, burning ass cheeks, and squeezing them.

It was all you could do to take what he was giving you, and whimper and whine like a whore.

"I'm gonna come, my love." he called out to you. He had returned to your tender, sweet Willy.

"Give me your cream, Willy. Fill me, my darling boy!"

You felt it gush into you with a steady stream, plentiful for making a baby. He stayed inside you for a few minutes afterwards, “I don’t want to lose a drop.” he said, insistently.

Later, he soaked some tea towels in cold milk from his little fridge and put them on your bottom, to help the burns from the paddle. It was soothing to your skin. Willy had a remedy for everything.

He smoothed your hair back, and let you lay comfortably on your stomach. He even gave you a gentle massage over your whole body. He gave you little kisses as he rubbed your sore muscles.

“Oh, Willy” you cooed, so softly, you were so tired you could barely speak, “I love you.”

“I love you, my dear fiancé, and soon to be mommy of three.” he hummed happily.

..........

Nine months later, your third child was born. You weren't totally certain he was conceived that first night in the secret chocolate chamber, but you and Willy liked to think that was when it happened.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @kpopgirlbtssvt

[jolapeno]

ix. put me to bed

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. angst with fluff. dont hate the jo. a love confession, but not to the other. mention of alcohol (a few drinks). one use of the nickname 'bean', no use of y/n

word count: 4.1k

an: the most overwhelming thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this chapter and the next, and giving me the comfort i needed to say goodbye to them.

He doesn’t know where to begin.

For the longest time, he just stands. Eyes sweeping across the effort you had made—the weight of it hitting into him. Contemplating the reason behind it, letting it mist over him, slathering itself onto his clothes, making them cling to his bones.

Drowned. He feels like he’s drowning.

It’s making everything feel tight, uncomfortable. All the while processing this thing he’s squandered. Ruined. Destroyed like he does everything else in his life.

Because you had broken a rule for him.

A declaration that you had encased in a statement, it all bold. He can only imagine from the display (and an array of wick-burnt candles) that it would have been illumed by dancing flames.

That is if he hadn’t overslept. If he had put on an alarm, done something other than close his eyes and hope.

Usually, Frankie doesn’t nap. He barely, and rarely even sleeps. Hasn’t been particularly good at getting a good amount for a while. Too many thoughts which keep him paralysed in the dark, ifs and buts and maybes all circling. The unknown faces of the loved ones that are left behind because he had something to do, achieve, complete.

Even since he’d gotten out, it hadn’t improved. In fact, it had worsened, doubling more so in the time since Colombia—only improving whenever he finds himself next to you. When your soft breaths in, and out, calm him, the scent of your shampoo takes the last bit of stress from him, handing him only a pleasant night's sleep.

He’d wanted to return the favour—give his attention, his time. It’s why he’d closed his eyes to begin with, why he’d thought grabbing an hour would be beneficial.

Now, it’s spoiled everything.

His teeth leave indents on the inside of his mouth, biting further down until it stings. The pads of his fingers tug at his curls as he unsticks his foot from the floor, deciding it was likely best he begin to tidy.

One, in the hope it’ll distract him, pass the time until you return from wherever it is you’ve gone. Two, because it’ll at least provide you with a clean home to return to—no evidence of the night he’d let you down.

It’s only when he’s cleared the table, mid-scraping the food into your bin, does he glance up. Eyes landing on your fridge, finding the Polaroid stuck to it—the one the two of you had taken at some BBQ years ago. Your lips pressed to his cheek, his eyes closed, lines in the corners as he grins something stupid. It always makes him smile when he sees it—had even begged you to let him take it when he began working away.

No. If you take it, you’ll have nothing to come visit me for.

As if that could ever be true.

He remembers when he told you about his license, the stupid drug charge. You had been the first place he thought of going. Rocking up to your door, enveloped in your porch light he stood more mess than man, shaking, trembling, so fearful that his life would go up in flames. But, you were an anchor, a thing which rooted him and didn’t let him float up into the sky. Hand on his back, guiding him in.

Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, Frank. I promise.

You had been right. Like you were about so many things.

Constantly a calming vibe, a thing he instantly feels better around—relaxing and unknotting him, it not mattering what state he presented himself to you in.

Closing his eyes, he runs his thumb over his phone—without even needing to open them, he finds your contact. Suddenly drowned in the dull ringing tone. It sounds out in the tension, vibrating against it, making it more prominent, until it rings to nothing, stuffing it back where he won’t see you and your face illuminated on the background of his phone.

Sinking into your sofa, he feels he should go. Return back to his place, pass all the buildings he’s just torn past, likely hit each red light on the way home (a thing he’s sure he deserves). He should get behind the wheel, tap his thumbs against it as he hopes you’ll ring him, maybe even force him to change lanes and come to you.

He sits instead. Both in the discomfort of his own making and the sorrow of a failed night—letting it sink into him. Pierce in, leave a mark, an invisible tattoo needled in with what he hopes isn’t your tears, sadness and anger. Yet, he suspects it’s all three.

His phone buzzes, heart flipping as he pulls it out of his jean pocket, hoping he sees your name—sees your face lit up on his screen. That happy one, where your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, it snapped a year ago, his shades hanging off the tip of your nose and a streak of jam on your cheek from a doughnut.

It isn’t your name.

Isn’t even a call.

Just one text, from Will.

Come get your girl, Fish.

He drives calmer than when he’d headed over. Only for the fact he doesn’t want to face the judgment when he arrives.

Because Will is nothing but predictable, likely timing him, knowing the exact minute of when he should arrive from either his own place or yours.

Naturally, he’s greeted by him—waiting outside, arms folded.

“Hey. Where is she?”

Frankie is barely confident he’s shut the door of his truck, only hoping it’ll lock as he presses the button, walking across the road to him—coming face-to-face with his friend.

It’s clear there’s judgment there, all heavy—embedded in confusion and disappointment. Both were like old friends sliding in, sketching across the same face he’d been beside in sand dunes and deep in jungles alongside.

“Inside.”

Something tightens, the rope threading through itself further, creating another knot he’ll struggle to undo. “She tell you?”

Will snorts. “No. But she didn’t not tell me either.”

“You out here to defend her or something?”

Narrowing his eyes, Will just stares—letting it simmer for a moment, letting it bubble in tension before he runs his thumb across his bottom lip.

“No,” he eventually says. “If anything, I’m not sure who she’s more pissed at. Apparently, I betrayed her.”

Frankie bites back a smile, dipping his head, hiding it—hopefully.

“Tell me I upset her for the right reason,” Will continues. “Tell me I didn’t make her look at me all crushed for no reason, Fish.”

Scratching the back of his curls, he swallows.

“C’mon man, gimme something here. I’ve had to watch the two of you do this fuckin’ dance for years. Ever since you left Ben’s. I thought, maybe this is it, maybe the two of them will open their eyes.”

Rubbing his arm, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. Staring just passed him, at the windows of the bar—wondering if you’re there, if you’re further tucked inside, simmering, all hating and fury—

“Fish.”

“What?”

Giving him a pointed look, Will throws his arms out to the side. Wearing a look he’s seen before. One usually there when he’s telling someone off—berating them.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he asks.

Because, he isn’t sure. Not even wholeheartedly confident he knows what to say.

It’s why it was supposed to come out solid, all sharp edges and deep. Instead, it comes out shaky, weak—wrapped in nerves and encased in concerns. Defeat flowing through him, smothering everything else—made worse by the tilting head of his friend.

“You want me to tell you that I’m in love with her? Well, I am. I have been for… fuck—longer than I’ve known. You want me to tell you that I’ve been happier than I have been the last few months getting to enjoy seeing what it would be like to be with her, because I can’t.”

Swallowing, Frankie runs his hand across his face.

“You want me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about her, that it feels like my heart has been wrenched out and gutted from my fucking chest because I let her down tonight—that she deserves better—“

“Fish…”

“—she does. Someone good, someone like you who makes her laugh, is there at the drop of a phone call, and can provide—“

The ball doesn’t shrink, it just pulses. Filling the space in his throat, constricting, widening in the limited avenue it has until he almost chokes on it.

“—and I can’t. I… I don’t know how to do any of it. Even if being with her feels like everything—like the fucking rain doesn’t make me think of Colombia, doesn’t make me remember the weight of carrying his body. Because—“

It catches and hits the back of his teeth. Attempting to swallow, shove it back. A sting to his eyes as he tries to blink it away.

But it isn’t so easily hidden, removed—or buried. It’s there now, existing, risen to the surface, bobbing up and down on emotions which are too heavy to sink to the bottom of his soul.

“—Because—“

“Y’need to tell her,” Will says, finally cutting through. Hand on his shoulder, grappling him, digging his fingers in. “Believe me.”

Blinking, he breathes. Takes more air in. Trying to settle his nerves, the adrenaline from letting it all out. “What if I lose her?”

“Y’won’t. Do you know why? Because while you’re getting worked up about what you think she deserves, she’s sat wishing she was good enough for you. So, talk to her. Trust me.”

Nodding, he casts his eyes down, hearing the door of the bar open—the loudness escaping out into the otherwise quiet street—as he locks eyes with you. You, who even with anger simmering, take his fucking breath away.

“I don’t like her like that, Fish,” Will whispers. “Never have. But even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’s always been yours.”

You’re quiet when he opens the door, even more so when you slide in beside him. A part of you knows he'll hate it, the silent treatment.

But, it's either that, or words, all matted together, coming out like a magician's infinite silk handkerchief.

You're sure that's what is simmering in your chest, all eroding, bubbling, all coiled and twisted. At the heart of it is disappointment, followed up by so much more. It prickles in and around the truck, adding in thick layers to the tension—it all being plucked like the chords of a song.

Your stomach swirls, in the opposite way to your head. The few drinks you had mixed with the emotional whiplash you were still recovering from.

Because when you’d seen him, all you had wanted to do was bury your head into his chest. Somehow hold him, rid yourself of the doubts, the worries. The thoughts which had thundered inside of you, were only diluted by the anger you’d been feeling that maybe, just maybe, he’d decided against doing this thing with you.

It isn’t until the engine rumbles, does your stomach make a noise, a grumble. The hunger rising, not as easily ignored as it had been before—when you’d been turning things over. Purposefully choosing to sit in the complex emotions Will tried to urge you to explain.

But how could you?

Especially when you were unsure at what point they began and ended? A love that had woven in and around all of you, threaded itself between bones and became part of muscles.

“How much did you drink?”

Twisting your fingers around the strap of your bag, you swallow. “Two, maybe three.”

You catch his brow arching, lips tightening into a thin line. His profile is all lit up by the lights above dashing past as he heads down the quiet road.

“Someone spilt a drink on me. That's... that's why you can smell it.”

“You okay—I got a hoodie in the back?”

Snorting, you lick your lips. “No. I’m fine. Was just a shot—smells worse than it is.”

Pulling up to a light, you hear him take a deep breath. A sound you shouldn’t be happy to hear, but you are. It settling things, easing the grip around your heart—the one which had tightened when you’d wondered if something had happened, if he had been hurt—

“You really do stink.”

You don’t laugh, just bite it back, letting the lights go green as he drives and drives. Your head wants nothing more than to turn, stare at him—ask him what happened, shout and even cry.

You do none of it.

Just waiting until he pulls up, in that spot his vehicle always finds itself in. The engine cuts, the air around the two of you turning silent.

It’s just you, and him, your dark and quiet street, and the animals who wish for some privacy as they get up to no good.

“I…” he begins, clearing his throat. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to stand you up—I overslept.”

“I know,” you mumble, shaking your phone. “Saw your text.”

Nodding, he chews his cheek, sighing. “I know people let you down, but please... I wouldn’t, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I just—I needed a nap, just… fuck I just wanted to be more alert.”

Biting your bottom lip, you almost pierce it. It stings, throbs, worsening in the seconds that pass as you nod.

Undoing your seatbelt, shifting yourself to the side. Pulse thumping in your ear, beating, getting louder and louder, and then you look at him.

The way his eyes have widened, soft, all worried. His face pinched, his lips in a thin line, but it’s the dark circles under his eyes, the darkened tinge you know wasn’t there the week prior.

Because you’ve mapped him. Know every inch of him now. Somehow able to carve him from clay with how your hands know him, able to spot the way his hand feels in yours from a lineup.

“I just didn’t want to have waited all week to see you, and fall asleep once I was around you.”

Snorting. “I must be good company.”

He whispers your name, more urgently, all quick. “You’re… I feel relaxed around you, that’s all.”

Sighing, the car fills with the sound, as he lets his head roll back onto the headrest. And you can feel him staring at you, getting the feeling he’s unable to take his eyes off of you. As if he’s almost unable to, commanded to.

You hate that you feel the same. That you always feel the same. Your eyes scanning over each angle of his face, an act you’ve done thousands of times, but this time, feels, different.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t sleeping?”

“It’s not that I’m not sleeping. More that I’m just not sleeping as well.”

You almost say same. Spill it. Share it with him.

You’re just fearful of what will come with it. Confessions are so easy when your mind is full of the things you can’t say, mixing with the tiredness that’s come on from worrying, from being nervous, from crying—from keeping a tight lip when Will tried to get you to open up.

At this point, it would be easier to tell him that you dream of waking beside him. Your linens, but in his bedroom—all dark walls that make the day not seem like it's arrived, just so you could steal more time with him.

“How long?”

Smirking, it softens into a smile as the seconds collect. “Since I began spending one night a week curled up against you.”

Eyes dropping, your fingers begin playing with the zip on your bag. Pulse thundering in your head, that little screech starting in your eardrum as you try to keep yourself calm, try not to let yourself get ahead of yourself.

“It’s why…” pinching the bridge of his nose, you let your gaze wander back to him. “I just wanted to see you on more sleep than I’d had since I was up there.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You want me to turn it off?”

Looking down, you nod. A playful smile begins to grace your lips, feeling him still watching you. You sit in it—all the things unspoken. The fact that hours ago, all you had wanted to do was pour your heart out, tell him, clutch his cheeks—love me, Frankie, please love me.

Now, you fiddle with any part of your bag you can. Secretly wanting him to kiss you, render you thoughtless—make the night fade, blend into a sea of other ones. Because you’re not sure how to explain to him how often you think of him, how his name comes so easily to rest on your lips when you first wake in the morning when you’re having a bad day, when your hand is sliding under the band of your underwear seeking a little something to unwind.

It’s him. Always him.

Even if you know that a part of you also knows he isn’t yours. He doesn’t owe you anything, it all barely an agreement, barely anything in place which would explain the way you feeling—how crestfallen, shattered and smashed into a thousand pieces.

“Bean…” he whispers.

Forcing your eyes to drag up. “You’ve not called me that in ages.”

Smiling half-heartedly, he snorts.

An old nickname, a thing he called you for no reason, but it stuck. Became a fixture. A thing now replaced with other pet names, other terms of affection. You're not sure which one makes your heart double in size more.

Not now. Not when all you do is feel so much for him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you reply. And you do.

Not meeting his eyes, not able to, a part of you worrying what will happen if you do—will you ever be able to look away? Will he see through the facade you’d throw up for him, see all the ways he’s managed to bring old scars to the surface, make you feel at fault, foolish—

Your insides churn.

“Okay.”

Lifting your chin, you slide your hand over to take his, gripping it, not letting go. Because there’s not a thing you wanted more than him, not ever. Not when you’d been sat waiting, with time to tick on, and not now sat, feeling his guilt wash from him in thick, horrid waves.

“I thought you’d had enough of me.”

It’s all you can say, swallowing the rest. That you’d worried you were broken, unsave-able—forever destined to be let down and hurt. A pattern of it stitched into you before him, a sea of bad dates and bad relationships, each leaving a different insecurity nestled within you.

“Never,” he breathes.

You blink, feeling the corners blur as the tears approach—your elbow resting on the door of his truck, teeth nipping at your thumb, biting down harder, more intently, just to stifle them. Stop them from building more, fearful of them falling.

Because it heals a shard inside of you—apply glue to it, knowing it’ll be set in a few hours.

“You coming in?”

“Sure, querida.”

Another part of you calms. It sliding back into its original place inside of you—able to take a breath, a real one. Hearing his footsteps fall behind you, your fingers finding your keys, as your door unlocks with far too much ease with how you’d slammed it earlier tonight.

It’s only when you throw your bag on the hook, passing the jacket he’d left behind, that your mind remembers the evidence at your dining table. The thing you wouldn’t be able to explain, even if you tried. The words are all jumbled now, blasted to the inside of your brain by earlier sobs, anger and now beer.

“I’ve already seen it.”

His voice sounds louder in the quiet of your home and the thudding of your head. Your brain whirring, trying to catch up, to think on your feet—be quick, be witty, do something, say anything.

“Tomorrow?” he adds, cutting you off before words even begin to be thought.

A lump forms in your throat, beginning there, all unable to be swallowed as he runs his hand up and down your arm before he heads into your kitchen. You follow, slowly, more cautious in your steps as you hear the tap, hear him grab a glass—all movements that feel normal, but now feel the very opposite of that.

“Drink this.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Humour me,” he says, nudging the glass into your hand.

It allows you a moment to spot the table—how spotless it is, the only evidence of the night being the candles, the cutlery he hadn’t put away, the rest is gone, vanished.

“Came to find you,” he says, all able to read you—a thing he does with far too much ease.

And it makes you worry, and panic. Because if he can so easily discern this, does he already know? Had it been an element of why he had needed the nap—more energy to end this, the thing the two of you have that has been more than just sex. It has become something so much more.

You had known it. Had been feeling it.

It was evidenced by the fact you had begun to count more than days till you could see him.

“Remember when you cleaned sick of my floor.”

Snorting, he leans against your counter, all legs outstretched, arms folding—even the outline of him handsome, barely needing the light on to see how good he looks. Because that’s just him.

“Vividly,” he says, smirking. “Not repeating that tonight, are you?”

“No. Didn’t drink much.”

“You keep saying that but your eyes are glazed.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t eat.”

He doesn’t speak but rather makes a noise. Something in the back of his throat, something he buries in a cough, smothering it from existence with a wipe of his face, as you drain the last bit of your glass.

“Good gi…”

Biting your bottom lip, you pause as you offer it to him, staring at him.

It’s likely wrong, not the thing you should do, but you do it anyway. The gap closing, all easy to do (barely more than three steps) as you clutch his cheeks, crashing your lips to his, hoping it says enough—a gesture which speaks a thousand of the words which keep circling, swimming.

Can you hear me love you, Morales?

His lips moving with yours, the tip of his tongue sliding across your bottom lip—warm, eager, likely saying just as many things, but they’re not easy to read, to tell.

Pulling back, you press your forehead against him, fingers working around his neck, twirling a curl or two. Just being. Taking in the way you can feel his heart hammer against yours, the two of them trying to find a rhythm, desperate to match, to fit.

“Should sleep,” he whispers against you, a soft kiss against your skin. “We can… we can talk tomorrow.”

“Stay—“

Nodding, he cups your face with his hands. “I will, baby. I promise. Out here, on the sofa. You… we should talk tomorrow. You’re tired, I’m tired.”

Tears threaten to spill, hanging, all delicate from your lashes as you slowly lift your head, trying to nod. Your throat tightening, clenching.

“Bean, don’t cry. It’s gonna be alright, we’ll sleep and then tomorrow we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to smile. “Okay.”

Kissing your forehead, he lingers, your fingers hovering over his waist, desperate to pull him close.

“You’re not leaving me are you?”

Something shifts in his eyes. A moment where they widen and then narrow ever so slightly—like they’re being pinched by his thoughts, things he likes wants to say, spill, let you know and understand.

“No. Never,” he whispers, fingers clutching your chin, thumb drawing a line up and down it. “I’ll tell you how I’m never going to tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

Okay, you think. Biting your lip, casting your eyes down when you hear him say your name.

“If I…” Frankie scratches the back of his head. “You’ve had a drink… I don’t wanna push things, but if you—”

“I want to fall asleep with you,” you cut in.

Okay, you hear.

And it’s different than the one you thought, different than the nervousness in his voice a second ago. It’s different—all of it. You just hope different doesn’t mean wrong.

FINAL CHAPTER ->

[gilverrwrites]

Their Perfect Dates HCs [Demon Edition]

Well.. demons + Benny

Rating: General

Angel Edition | Human Edition

Please remember: you can do hard things!

Belphegor

No gift, he’s from a time before that was a thing and does not care enough to check what the current trends are.

If you ask nice enough, he might bring you something next time.

Weirdly obsessed with humans however. (Just not in a ‘I wanna be like them’ way)

Find a cafe with outdoor seating in a highly populated area, and people watch.

Laugh at his jokes, and don’t be precious over your food/drink cause he’s gonna help himself.

‘Hot, not, not, HOT, extra hot.’ ‘This is so good, have you tried this?’ ‘It was yours? Oh shit, sorry. At least you have good taste… in multiple ways’ (he’d wink at you then, if he could.) ‘Ew have those pants ever in fashion?’ ‘Haha, did you see that kid face plant the side walk?! Get rekt’

Benny

He’s an old traditional man really, he’ll bring you a bouquet of daisies. Legitimately, if he could, he would ask your father for permission to take you out.

Cooking as has always been, and continues to be a big part of Benny's personality.

It doesn’t matter that the food no longer sustains him, because it keeps him connected to his home, and his history.

Plus, the way to any person's heart is through their stomach,

You’ll be in the kitchen together, cooking gumbo or jambalaya, and bananas foster for dessert.

If you don’t know how to cook, don’t worry. Benny is gonna take the lead anyway, he’ll teach you as much as you think you can handle.

He’s very respectful, but if you just so happen to brush against each other while working in the same space, well, that just can be helped now can it?

Or if you’re slightly in his way, sometimes he just needs to rest a gentle but firm hand on your hip and guide you to the side.

Or if you accidentally get something on your cheek? Your lip? He’ll have to get that for you.

Crowley

I’m picturing a rustic but sophisticated cabin in the woods.

Somewhere private, a safe space just for the two of you.

Something with a big, roaring fireplace.

A big, plush, velvety sofa, and an array of fluffy blankets, pillows, furs, rugs.

A fully stocked bar. ‘Don’t worry darling, you won’t have to lift a finger.’ He or a lesser demon will make all your drinks for you.

Just some real, 1 on 1 quality time together where you can both be vulnerable.

Whether you spend all night in deep conversation, cuddling, or getting even more intimate is your choice.

Meg

Would forget to bring you a gift, but if it goes well, she’ll likely give you one of her many pieces of jewelry, ‘Whatever you like most hun, just take it.’

I feel like she would actually really enjoy something creative, the messier the better.

Like finding a big open space, lowering the lights, laying down a big canvas, cracking open a bottle, and getting busy with some paints.

No brushes, just hands (or other body parts if you like).

Rowena

Gracing you with her presence is gift enough.

If anything, you should be bringing her a gift. Jewelry is always best, but she will settle for roses or red wine.

Rowena knows her worth, and if you don’t, then don’t waste her time.

She deserves nothing less than to be wined and dined somewhere very nice.

Followed by a show. The ballet or the opera.

Just imagine, the both of you dressed to the nines. Holding hands over the table, good food and drink, Rowena sharing stories from her time on earth.

Coffee or dessert? Both. Please and thank you.

Ruby

Would bring you candy, but you have to share.

Also a big foodie, but more eating, less cooking.

Like a street food market, or a boardwalk.

You can compete on the water guns and ring toss games to win each other prizes.

She’s only letting you win if there is something in it for her. – Particularly a prize that she wants.

Regardless of who wins what, you’re gonna be the one carrying everything.

Then stop at every food stand on the way.

Bonus points for somewhere that has proper french fries in large portions.

Afterwards, you can chat at the end of the peer, and/or make out under it. 

[spider-stark]

Shutter

PETER PARKER X READER

Summary - You barely even remember Peter's name, but that hasn't stopped him from forming a dangerous obsession with you.

Warnings - 18+, mature themes, stalking, some non-con acts (taking pictures), -peter being a creep

a/n - this is literally just peter being a total stalker. i didn't proof-read this and i wrote it in like thirty minutes, but i just wanted it to stop living in my brain. get a restraining order against this man please

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE LOWER half of his body laid flat against the icy rooftop, the upper half having been propped up by his elbows. Shaky hands lifted the camera a few inches, carefully bringing it to his eye so he could peer through the viewfinder. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, the sudden influx of frosty winter air stinging his lungs. With each moment that passed, his anxiety grew larger, gaze constantly flicking between his camera and his watch. 

It was already a quarter past nine, which meant that tonight you were approximately twenty minutes late getting home from your shift at the coffee shop. Nights like these were rare considering you were a creature of habit, but when they did occur, Peter often cursed you for having an apartment opposite of the entrance. 

He could never see when you were approaching the building, when you were entering the lobby; which meant his only signal that you made it in safe was when he’d finally see you through your bedroom window. 

Another glance to his watch, the thinnest hand ticking relentlessly with each passing second. He was becoming worried, beginning to consider abandoning his spot on the roof to come looking for you. This is why you need me, he thought to himself, teeth digging into his bottom lip, someone needs to look out for you. 

Yet, before his muscles could even shift the slightest bit, the sight of a light flicking on across the street caught his eye, the camera immediately rising back into his line of sight. “Welcome home,” he muttered to himself, a wave of relief washing over him as the corners of his lips twitched into a smile, watching you throw your bag onto your bed. 

A thin finger hovered above the shutter button, another deep breath as he worked to steady himself, ensuring the shot wouldn’t come out blurry. You were moving quick—too quick for him to get a good picture—kicking your dirty converse to the side of your nightstand. 

Poor thing– Peter cooed over you, snapping another few subpar shots as you pulled your top over your head–they must’ve made you work late tonight. You’re probably exhausted. 

Your boss was always overworking you, taking advantage of your good nature. A few times now Peter had considered paying him a visit, tired of sitting idly by as he ran you into the ground. Perhaps tonight would be what pushed him over the edge, having to wait impatiently for you to get home. 

New York’s a dangerous place for a woman—he would reason with himself—your boss should know that, too. He shouldn’t make you stay late, not when walking home at night is already unsafe for you. 

Peter hated that you walked home alone every night. Oftentimes, he considered asking you if he could walk you back, but always found himself stumbling over his words and deciding against it. Still, he often let himself imagine what it would be like to walk alongside you at night. 

He wanted a chance to get to know you better, a chance to hear you talk more. Peter loved talking to you, even if your conversations had been limited to nothing more than polite coffeehouse banter as he waited for his drink. 

Eventually, he figured, the two of you would get to know each other better. 

Eventually he wouldn’t have to go and threaten your boss for putting you in danger, perhaps he’d even begin to thank him for it, using it as another opportunity to be close to you. 

Eventually, he told himself, he wouldn’t need his camera and an abandoned rooftop to ensure that you were safe. 

And that’s all this was, wasn’t it? He was a hero, and that’s what heroes do. They protect the vulnerable, defend the innocent—and god, you were as innocent as it could get. You were too pure for this world, too kind to be subjected to the horrors that he witnessed on these streets everyday. 

But that’s why I’m here—he’d speak to you, as if you could actually hear him from where he hid—I’m gonna keep you safe. 

His intentions were pure, or at least that’s what he would tell himself. He didn’t often think about the more nefarious images that were stored in his memory card, not letting himself question the morality of his actions. After all, it wasn’t his fault that you never drew the curtains before getting undressed, as if beckoning him to admire your bare body. 

If anything, it served as another example of how innocent you were! You were so unsuspecting, so oblivious to the wicked nature of man. You were lucky that he watched over you, you were lucky that it was him snapping scandalous photos of you. Someone with ill-will might try to use them against you, maybe even blackmail you with them, but Peter? He would never. If anything, he would try to rationalize to himself, the pictures were your way of repaying him for protecting you. 

Nimble hands moved from the shutter to the zoom, adjusting the focal length to move closer in. “What’re you doing, silly girl?” he questioned, brown knitting together as he noticed the hasty way you shimmied out of your jeans. 

Most nights you took your time undressing, too tired from your long day to be bothered with moving quickly. Tonight, though, you seemed to be in an unusual hurry to shed the fabric covering your body. No need to rush, he mused, I’m not going anywhere. 

He snapped another picture, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of red lingerie. He had never seen this particular set before, nor had he ever known you to wear such tempting negligee under your work clothes. 

“Putting on a show tonight, are we?” 

Peter had a nasty habit of forgetting that you weren’t aware of his presence, that your actions weren’t for him. You had become such a big part of his life, such an integral component, that he often forgot that to you he was just another customer in a coffee shop. To him, his feelings were mutual, a shared sense of adoration that grew with each day. You just didn’t know it, yet—he’d try to remind himself—you just hadn’t realized much you needed him. 

His tongue darted across his lips, the sensitive skin becoming chapped by the frigid temperatures. “Where are you going?” He muttered aloud, carefully observing as you inched out of view, drifting towards your bedroom door again. 

A moment passed, then another, before you began traipsing backwards towards your bed. Your ass came into view first, just barely covered by the thin red fabric you adorned yourself with today (another click, another shot he’d put to use later), and then came the rest of you; hands reaching out in front of you, Peter’s heart lurching in his chest as he took in the sight unfolding before him.

You weren’t alone tonight, it seemed. 

Peter bit his tongue, choking back the expletives threatening to spill out and letting the sickening taste of copper overwhelm his senses. He averted his eyes, letting them fall a couple hundred feet to the street below him. The sight of you with another man was already bound to leave a mark on him, but the sight of you with him was worse. 

Harry’s a good guy—he thought to himself, roughly swallowing as he forced himself to look through the viewfinder once again. You were laid out against the mattress, gripping the duvet as his best friend's lips brushed against the crease of your thigh—but he’s not good enough for you. 

It was a problem, a simple kink in his plans to grow closer to you, but for every problem exists a solution; his mind already drifting off to the ways in which he’d deal with Harry. “It’s not your fault,” he breathed out, accepting an apology you hadn’t given, “you don’t know any better—but that’s okay. I’ll fix it for you, okay? I’ll get rid of him.” 

Not tonight, of course. He’d let you have tonight, let Harry borrow what he was so sure was rightfully his. For now, though, he’d stick around.

 Just in case—he snapped another picture, zooming a bit further as Harry’s fingers hooked around the red lace, pulling the fabric down and revealing you to not only himself, but also Peter— just to make sure you’re safe. 

a/n - GOD this was just living in my head today and i needed to get it out so i could stop thinking about it. and in case anyone was wondering, i am still 100% in my harry osborn/dane dehaan kick, and the fact that the tags are so dead will be the reason i fall into a depressive episode. so pls, for the love of all things holy, you guys need to go fall in love with dane ok cause i dont wanna be alone in this