#I wish him an obliteration sensation

[propertyofushiwaka]

Green Eyed Monster

Tags/Warnings: oral m!receiving, mild jealousy, mention of cuckholding

a/n: missing my man a little extra today :(

Nanami was never a jealous man. He wouldn’t dream of restricting someone else’s freedoms for his own discomfort. But after you? That patient, calm man that would shrug off interactions that were a little too touchy was gone. Obliterated like it never existed. How could he bear to share the person that matters most to him? It wasn’t purely a sexual jealousy either. Each laugh, smile and light touch was something he desperately wished was only for him. He never wanted you to look at anyone else with that mirth in your eyes. Yet as he watched you speak to the new intern at work (an entirely innocent interaction), he groaned at the all too familiar yet confusing response to his jealousy: he was getting hard.

You were completely unaware of Nanami’s issue despite dating for a year and a half. As he uncomfortably walked by you and the new hire, you smiled at him as he hurried by. Weird. Assuming it was a meeting, you paid no attention to his slightly odd behavior as an increasingly flustered Nanami made his way to the bathroom.

Locking himself in a stall, he sighed as he was finally able to breathe without his trigger looming over him. He palmed his erection and groaned again. Why did you always affect him like this? Did he have a desire to fuck you in front of the intern and show who you really belong to? Maybe, but he wasn’t a possessive man. Secret cuckholding fantasy? Well that’s a new thought. He stared as he grew even harder at the thought of either scenario. “Fuck.” He whispered. He had desperately wished he would simply soften and be able to go about his business but that seemed impossible now. He took out his phone and entered the locked folder the two of you shared. As he entered the pin, the photos unblurred and he gasped softly. While the photos were nothing new, it was mesmerizing each time. He unzipped his pants and freed himself, stroking the precum over the tip with his thumb. Turning his attention back to the phone, started flipping through the photos before he found one that stood out. His personal favorite, the one he took as he was pushed to the hilt in you. There you were before him, mouth open, face flushed, hair disheveled. Blooming bruises and hickeys all over your smooth skin. You looked utterly fucked out.

He began leaking more as he spread it over the head, hissing at the sensation. Why the fuck was he so sensitive? He kept scrolling down and panicked as a video played at full volume. He practically snapped the phone in half trying to get the volume down. Thank God no one else was in the bathroom. But the sound of your moans and the squelching as he pushed into you had him dizzy. He continued to stroke himself, shirt unbuttoned, bracing himself in the stall as he desperately tried to imagine his fist was your hole. He kept replaying the sound of your moans in his head as he stroked faster, nearing his release when his phone started ringing. It was you. Stifling a groan he finished into his hand and panting, answered it with the clean one. “Yes?”

“Nanami, where are you? The intern has to shadow me the whole day apparently and I already made lunch plans with you.” Your voice had a tinge of annoyance that only he could detect. Still trying to get his breath he responded. “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

Lunch was tolerable. You sat next to Nanami to his delight, and the intern was friendly enough. About five years younger than him but knowledgeable about business. He was doing well until you teasingly asked the intern about his type. Nanami choked on his drink. “Well,” the intern responded. “I’m into intelligent women I guess, and people who are patient.” Nanami knew it was an innocent comment, he really did. But in that moment, he wished he could bend you over that table and give the intern a crystal clear view of what you were really like.

“Nanami?” Your sweet voice jarred him from his thoughts. He looked up into your eyes and fuck. He needed you. “I’ll handle the bill.” He chokes out, reaching for his wallet. “Are you sure? Because I-“ You slide the bill towards Nanami and smile at the intern. “It’s alright. We’re your seniors so we’ll cover everything.” You look at Nanami and see his hands trembling as he pays and stands up to walk you and the intern out. He was in one of his moods and you felt electricity course through your body knowing that meant for you. Taking his hand you whispered “Let’s go.”

After escorting the intern to the his car and promising to meet him back at the office, you startle as Nanami pulls your ass against him in the parking garage, his voice raspy with want, “Please, let me have you.” No more words were exchanged. Nanami quickly led you back to his Benz which you had clowned him for buying so early into his career but were now especially appreciative for. As he fumbled with the key fob you unbuttoned the top two buttons of your blouse. Finally the familiar beep is heard and you are practically thrown inside by Nanami who subsequently locks the door behind him, the tint shielding bystanders from your activity. “Kento,” you pant, looking up at his eyes full of need. “What?” He mumbles before resuming leaving hickeys all over your chest. “We need to be back at the office in 20 minutes.” He pushed his face further into you and almost whined. “How am I supposed to focus?” He placed slow kisses on your breasts, trailing up to the column of your neck, allowing you to lean into the pleasure. You weren’t particularly motivated to go back to your desk either. You move to nibble on his ear, intoxicated by his cologne. The car is tight but he moves impossibly closer and you struggle to resist him. “Kento,” You managed to breathe out. “I’ll suck you off while you drive.”

Unsure of how it happened, you found yourself placed back in your seat and Nanami revving the engine, placing his hand over the back of your seat as he reverses. You catch his eyes for a split second and shit. He is not going to make this easy.

You make quick work of his pants, pulling down the zipper and noticing how hard he is. Stroking the tip, you smirk as he hisses. “You’re that sensitive for me already?” He grits his teeth and tries to focus on making his way to the ground floor. “Maybe I already came for you today.” You stare at him and for a moment he worries he’s made a mistake. That worry is quickly replaced by a sudden gasp and you wrap your lips around his tip. He struggles to keep his hips still and eyes on the road as your tongue lolls around the head, licking up the clear, salty pre he kept leaking.

Nanami’s eyes begin to glaze and he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back, opting to place one hand on your head and grip your hair. A man too proud to whimper or moan settling for gritted teeth and grunts. You’re determined to break his pride one way or another. Placing your hand around the base, you squeeze slightly, opting for a featherlight touch. He hisses, a good sign. You suck harder, moving your mouth slowly downwards, taking each inch of him at a time. You can’t see it but his eyes are glassy from the sensation. He could never let you see how undone he was so he made a right turn and accidentally hit a pothole, forcing his dick all the way in, gagging you in the process. So that’s how he wants to play this. You take your attention off his dick and opt to take his balls into his mouth and there it is. He whimpers, it’s brief and choked but you swore you heard it. So you suck harder, stroking his dick and pumping your hand at a gradually increasing pace. He growls and swears but no sign of that lighter, sweeter sound he had given only a moment ago. You’d have to try something else.

You stop touching him altogether and you watch him practically deflate as you wait at the stoplight. Touching his jaw you whisper in his ear “I will break you.” He shudders ever so slightly and oh if he only knew what was about to come. You take his tip in your mouth again, the warmth making him close his eyes before the car behind him honks and he’s jolted from the pleasure. The car goes through the intersection and you take him deeper. Sucking him up and down you place a hand on his thighs and brace yourself as his grip on your head tightens. He’s close, but you’ve barely heard him and you’re determined to fix it. You’re already pressing your nose to his thigh and he can go no deeper but you aren’t to be stopped so easily. Widening your jaw, you suck his balls into your mouth and swirl it with your tongue and there it is. The sound you had been craving. His voice breaks in his throat and the high pitched whimper is a stark contrast to his low, composed baritone. His hand moves to your throat and you feel his balls tighten. A few more breaking whimpers as he turns into the parking lot and you feel him twitch in your mouth. You attempt to mumble out his name and the vibrations of your voice send him over the edge. His voice breaks on a swear and your mouth is painted white, it overflows as you try to swallow it all down. It drips down your chin and onto his balls, which you make quick work of as he parks the car. You lick and suck him through his orgasm as he strokes your hair. Your tongue goes up and down his shaft removing any trace of indecency. Pulling off him with one final suck he pulls you to him and kisses you gently, breathing heavily. You might still be unaware of his jealousy issue, but it manages to work in his favor for now

[your-local-hollow-lover]

Hollow Heartstrings

Summary: Grimmjow misses you crazy, and he's uncertain about how to cope with these feelings... or the unexpected desires you've ignited within him.

A/N: So, remember the poll about which character you wanted to read smut from? Well, Grimmjow won! And no, I didn't forget, I was just really busy, but today is the day I finally deliver! Yei! Hope you like it!

WARNINGS: NSFW / bruising/marking / generally light and not as explicit. Grimmjow can't do soft

AO3

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Grimmjow had come to care. Although he was unable to decide if what he disliked the most was that fact, or that he had flinched back when you tried to caress his bone mask, as if a single touch of yours could ruin him. It was beyond ridiculous, something Grimmjow hated to lose his temper about, yet here he was, butchering a seemingly powerful Arrancar to vent his frustration.

The fight ended just as he was starting to enjoy it. Blood trickled down the side of his pectoral, staining what was left of his torn clothes. Grimmjow snorted as he gazed at the lifeless body of the beast he had pulverized without even using his sword. Gradually, the monstrous panther claws on his hands and feet returned to their normal state.

This had been his routine for quite a while now, eating and killing to avoid thinking. There was just one tiny problem: when the ecstasy of battle faded, his mind couldn't help but drift back to you, and that dreadful moment when he decided to let you impossibly close to him. How wrong it was, how good it felt. 

And so he sought the next fight, and the next one, and the next one, expecting— if not hoping raw flesh to wash such cravings off. However, and much to his dismay, Grimmjow found that no amount of bloodshed could wash away the lingering bites that still burned on him, making his mind spin around the warmth of your skin, the beat of your heart, your nails digging into his back.

Shit. Why wasn’t he strong enough to resist it? Ah, fuck it. He didn’t need to, you’ll have to be strong enough to take it. You started it, didn’t you? Now you’ll deal with it.

- .*.*.*.

He entered through your window, his eyes scanning the unusual darkness in your room. Your scent permeated the air, filling his nostrils, causing a twisted sensation of excitement to wash over him. His instincts tore at his back in a shudder. He shouldn't feel this way in territory that wasn't his own, and yet...

"Grimmjow?" Your voice sounded weak, trembling. "What are you doing here?"

Were you sick? He took a deep breath. Didn’t smell like you were.

You let out a shaky breath he recognized in a heartbeat. Grimmjow did his best to restrain the ironclad urge to seek out whatever was making you cry and obliterate it down to the very last cell.

"What's wrong with you?" 

"I had a terrible week. My boss is killing me, my back is killing me, and— I thought you didn’t wanna come around anymore.”

He frowned as a tense sensation churned within his gut. He had been avoiding you, and you had noticed. Grimmjow hoped you wouldn't be astute enough to deduce the reasons behind his evasive actions.

“Why not?” 

Grimmjow’s voice was strong as ever, even when he spoke casually.

“I thought you just didn’t want to after what we did.” you hesitated. He could make out in the dark your indecision to continue.  “I thought maybe it was a mistake. We won’t do it again.”

He frowned, ignoring how everything in his body throbbed in aversion at what you say. In a heartbeat, he flipped you over, positioning himself above you.

“You don’t get to decide for me.”

It caught you off guard, but as you absorbed the profound craving within his gaze, it became evident Grimmjow had been struggling to comprehend his emotions and his enjoyment of them. Hollows are not made for feelings. They aren’t supposed to yearn. Yet, he stood before you, conveying through every fiber of his being that he desired it.

Your lips curled in a soft smile. “You’re right. So, do I take it as you missed me?”

“Ha! You wish. Ya still owe me a couple's favors, y'know? I'm just making' sure ya don't kick the bucket 'fore ya pay up." 

God, how you loved that smirk. 

“Then I’ll be sure to pay,” you said softly, running your fingers gently along the edge of his jaw. Grimmjow repressed a shiver. His gaze fell to your lips just before he leaned in, trapping your mouth. He kissed you with a roughness that was undeniably his own. You sighed against his lips when he deepened it. 

Grimmjow breathed heavily against you, enjoying the flickers bubbling in his blood as you traced his sides with your hands. Your nails delicately outlined his bone mask. His instincts flitted like one of those red alarm-lights in the human world, warning him: too close, too exhilarating, too good. Grimmjow growled against your lips, his teeth piercing them as he held back a moan. The taste of blood eased him.

Your fingers entwined in his hair as he pressed your body against his, suppressing any space between you. His palms eagerly roamed your torso, caressing and squeezing. His kiss was deep, messy, and still a bit inexpert. However, he managed to make it good. You pulled apart gasping for some air. Grimmjow eyed you from above. There was a mix of slyness, desire, and a half-smile that stole your breath away. 

The veins on his hands vaulted on his skin as he exerted force through the fabric of your clothes. He tore them. You didn’t care for anything that wasn’t bringing him closer. You pulled at his clothes and in one breath, Grimmjow took them off too. 

You both let out a groan as you felt skin against skin. Grimmjow stopped short, his breathing coming down to a slight vibration that sounded like a large cat purring. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders tense.

You rested your forehead against his, silently granting him space to adjust. The cold emanating from the hole in his belly seemed to suck icy air into it, it was the only way you could think of to describe it as you felt it against your skin.

“It’s alright,” you eased.

“Shut up, I know. I can take it,” he gasped. 

His hot breath close to your ear, added to the shake of his voice gave you goosebumps. You nibbled at his ear. Grimmjow cursed under his breath. He bit your shoulder before pushing the back of your tights to settle between your legs. 

His hot breath close to your ear, summed with the shake of his voice, gave you goosebumps. You nibbled at his ear. Grimmjow cursed under his breath. He bit your shoulder before pushing the back of your tights to settle between your legs. 

This was the first time Grimmjow had taken the initiative, and although it was a bit messy and desperate, you couldn't help but feel the warm sensation spreading inside your chest. As inhumane as he was, Grimmjow had come to enjoy this kind of intimacy with you. 

You spread your folds for him and sighed as he slid in. He couldn't suppress the deep groan that mixed with a purr. 

“Shit,” he whined. 

You knew exactly how much self-respect he was relinquishing for this, as his immediate reaction was to bury his face in the crook of your neck before holding you closer.

There was no space left between your bodies, and the only audible sound aside from the rain pouring on the window was Grimmjow's hitched breath. He struggled to resist simply discarding rational thinking and surrendering to the delicious fire spreading through his veins. He lost the fight as soon you started caressing the edges of his hollow hole from his back. 

Grimmjow thrust in with a loud grunt. You whimpered at the feeling of him reaching deep inside you. A tipsy smile was drawn on your face just when he picked up a pace, rough and desperate. Holding you so tight, you may've thought letting go could end him, and Grimmjow didn’t give two damns about looking weak anymore. 

It was more than perfect: sharing moans with him, his warm skin against your own, his very self moving within you, enjoying it without holding back. 

“Fuck I love it,” you breathed. “You’re fucking hot.”

Grimmjow eyed you then, wearing the darkest expression you've ever seen on him. The intensity of his gaze seemed to convey: "I own you. You're mine. You won't leave. I won’t let you. You're mine. Mine. Mine. Mine—"

He bit your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You hissed. His thrust became erratic as he quickened his pace. Grimmjow's breath grew hastier by the second, and at this point, he didn't care for the sound of his moans. He was frantic, eager for release, unaware of the force he was placing on his grip on your thighs.

You opened your legs wider, pushing him further against you so that your front rubbed against his lower belly. It was enough to tie the knot, and you came loud and long, digging your nails on his shoulder and down on his hip.

The pulsations inside you triggered his peak. His teeth dug into the flesh of your shoulder so hard it burned. A warm liquid spreading inside you eased the pain. When the bolts of pleasure finally smothered to a wonderful feeling of after-bliss, Grimmjow replaced his fangs with his lips as he pressed them onto your bruised skin, surprisingly soft.

“I’m glad you came back.” you managed after catching your breath.

Grimmjow huffed, “I never left.”

It sure as hell wasn't his intention, but that was one of the sweetest things he told you since you met.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmȳs (my heart) │ Chapter 9 PREVIEW

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Hey, all! It’s the middle of the week and I’m around 5000 words in ALREADY, so we’ll see; quite possible this thing will be ready before Sunday, somehow. Stay tuned!

“Oh, ’Nyra.” Your belly gets in the way, forcing you to contort awkwardly to the side as you move to wrap your arms around her. Her chin falls to the dip between your neck and shoulder, her laugh gusting across exposed skin at the sensation of the babe that is snugged between you kicking out against her body. You giggle with her, angling yourself toward her ear so that she may hear you fully. “Next time you are feeling this way,” you entreat, “talk to me. Stop shutting me out. I can handle it, I’m old enough now–”

“I know, I know,” she insists, tugging out of your embrace. She lets her hands fall to your middle, and it is the first time she has truly felt the change in you of her own volition. 

You remember when you had forced her to touch the burgeoning swell upon first announcing the lives you bear, how reluctant and feather-light her palm had felt, how the strain had unveiled itself at the corners of her eyes and in the weak tilt of her mouth as you had chattered at her in excitement. 

“Gods,” she marvels, fingers mapping the span of flesh in interest, “but you truly are a woman grown now, aren’t you? Look at this!”

“They are already unruly,” you acknowledge, warm with the delight of finally, finally sharing in this with your sister. “I feel as though I am perpetually seated in the privy, such is their insistence on entertaining themselves with my insides.”

And once your ablutions are complete, you contemplate ruefully, you are not capable of seeking other locales until someone deigns to find you and help you up. It had not been the best task with which to induct your new ladies, but needs must.

“They’re strong,” she responds. “That’s good. Father must have been pleased.”

“Hm.”

“I’d love to have seen the look on Alicent’s face when she first saw you,” she comments, and you shift uncomfortably at the mention of your stepmother. You do not wish to think about her, not here, not now. Rhaenyra does not seem to notice your recalcitrance, persisting along her chosen avenue of oration. “She never could stand it whenever I announced another babe,” she imparts with a mocking cadence, a satisfied smirk settling over her features. “Worried about her precious Aegon, no doubt… What? What’s wrong?”

“I – I–”

At the sight of her concern, so warm and welcome after moons of silence and avoidance, your terrible secret spills forth like water breaking through a dam, unstoppable, rushing torrentially and obliterating everything in its path. You trip over your confession in your haste to get it out, to purge yourself of the burden of carrying it alone.

When you are done, the stillness lingers unnaturally, so quiet that you can almost hear the sound of your blood pumping through your veins.

“Alicent – she… what?” Rhaenyra’s eyes are wide, horrified, face blanched and grey.

“Yes – do tell.”

You turn to see Daemon standing in the open doorway to your chambers, stiffer than the draconic stone carvings that man the entrances to the keep, scarcely stemmed rage emerging thunderous beneath the cracks in his control. It seems to vibrate out of him like the dust that quivers on the air after Athfiezar’s landing, deceptively calm until you look closer. The forbidding cross of his arms and the violence that looms in the shadow beneath his brow is enough to tell you without risking inquiry that he has heard you. Has heard everything.

Oh. Your heart twists anxiously. Oh, dear.

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Hello! I LOVE your writing! If you're still accepting prompts for tickletober, may I please request (bsd) Lee! Fyodor and ler! Dazai (romantic preferably, but whatever's easier for you) with day 18, magic?

Dazai can cancel Fyodor's ability, making him the only one who can touch Fyodor without dying. I have a headcanon that every time Dazai touches Fyodor in a certain, very light way, Fyodor will feel a tingly sensation wherever Dazai touches him as a result of their abilities interacting with each other. Usually, it's just a bit tingly, but it gets very ticklish when Dazai does things like poking, rubbing, tracing etc.

When the two are having a sappy romantic moment (not often, let's be honest XD), Dazai will be a little shit and place his hands on Fyodor's neck/jaw before kissing him, making Fyodor all giggly and flustered. For a more platonic scenario, Dazai is (just like before XD) being a little shit and he thinks it's funny when Fyodor loses his cool. So he quickly grabs Fyodor's hands, causing Fyodor to do a full-body shiver and try to yank his hand back, but since Dazai is stronger than him, he's stuck there, forced to endure the tickles until Dazai thinks he's had enough.

Sorry if this is long, feel free to decline. Have an awesome day!

Tickletober day #18: Magic

Hsjdhskhdjsh I hope this is okay, writing a russian rat and suicide maniac together is quite challenging and after the latest season, I have a hard time visualizing them as romantic partners

I am a Dazai x Sigma believer ✌️

___________________________________________

Fyodor x Dazai (interpret as you wish)

Lee: Fyodor

Ler: Dazai

Warnings: Tickles!

___________________________________________

“You’re not so scary now, are you?~” Dazai teased, having pulled Fyodor onto his lap with ease and more importantly, without getting obliterated in the process thanks to his special ability.

“And look, I can even touch you all I want~” and just like that, Dazai’s hands started to playfully roam all over Fyodors torso.

Being touched like this was foreign to him, to say the least, but he didn’t plan on it to feel so damn ticklish!

“Oh, what’s this? Did I hit a sensitive spot?~” Dazai whispered teasingly close to the russian male’s ear, causing him to jolt upright.

“Tch, I don’t get sensitive” Fyodor let out a huff, trying to cover up the laughter that threatened to spill out of his lips. How foolish of him to think that Dazai would just leave it there, it is Dazai, after all. He thrives on other’s misery.

“Then surely you won’t mind if I do this, right?~” there was an evil smirk on Dazai’s face as his bandaged fingers found their way under Fyodor’s shirt, making sure to touch every inch of his torso.

“Mph!” his eyes instantly shut tight at the growing sensation, trying to squirm away from the offender, but he was too weak when in such a vulnerable pisition.

“C’mon, y’know you wanna laugh~” Dazai’s index finger poked it’s way to Fyodor’s navel, earning a startled gasp from the latter.

“Gah! Pfft! Ahahahaha! Dazai nohoho!” the damn finally broke and Fyodor’s laughter echoed across the room. His pale cheeks quickly turning tomato red as he tried and failed to control his reactions. How embarrassing! Someone so feared being brought down with something so childish, and yet, it didn’t feel all that bad to be touched so gently. Not like Fyodor would admit it out loud, but knowing Dazai, he already has an idea.

“Better get comfy ‘cause I won’t stop for a looong while!~” and thus, Dazai kept softly yet consistently tickling all over Fyodor’s belly and sides. Feeling like he was on cloud 9 for hearing such genuine laughter for once from this man. Even if neither voiced their enjoyment of this moment, it was pretty clear to anyone the giddy expressions they both wore.

___________________________________________

Update: After doing a very crack rp of me playing as Fyodor, I can say I believe in FyoZai love LMAO

[huggingtentacles]

shard bearers fave soups go

Godrick: Has lost his ability to taste long ago, eats purely for the sake of nutrition. I can literally boil some grass and tree bark for him and he'll eat that shit up with the dumbest grin.

It's not like I can't make tree bark soup taste good, it just doesn't matter.

Rennala: She likes chicken soup because it helps warm herself up during her depressed slumber era. The moment I introduce her to Ukraninan Okroshka she will immediately find joy in life and conquer the world.

Radahn: Before he got obliterated by Malenia, he would probably be into some hearty beef soups that are easy to make in a giant pot and share with his officers. These days I don't think he sees much of a difference between a bowl of soup and a literal corpse of his soldier.

Morgott: Doesn't allow himself a single bit of joy, he eats only for the sake of sating his hunger.

I'm probably not the right person to feed him. Please someone summon a Morgott simp to this post so they can give him some good food for once.

Mohg: Rich, flavourful, spicy soups. This motherfucker FEASTS. His soups are so spicy they're gonna give you a stroke and he just eats that up without flinching which is as worrying as it is impressive.

Rykard: A soup made of cowardly resummoning gankers who farm invaders in a cleared out area while spamming moonveil and lagging like shit.

Malenia: Cheese soups with mushrooms and herbs. She's all about sensations when it comes to food, so she likes mushrooms for their meaty texture and the herbs make it smell really nice, and cheese gives the soup really pleasant flavour. You can also add some chicken meat into it to make it more filling. She deserves some nice soup, even if it takes quite a bit of effort to make. I wish I could cook for her <3

Anyone feel free to write your own additions this is no longer restricted to shardbearers.

@maranull @ferrerorogier @superanonymousthethird

[hopefulgardenshark]

I was destroyed for 24 hours after the finale of Good Omens 2. Then I channelled my internal Crowley and started asking QUESTIONS. And that thought process alone got me in a much, much better state 😊

Rejection… ough, it’s complicated

You can read about my take on the stage of the relationship the angels are here. To be clear, I read them as a long-term, post-pheromones companionship, something waiting to move towards whatever it is after at least ten years of relationship in human terms.

Aziraphale gets his "job offer." I must make a caveat that, as most of us have already deduced, this was the choice between Coffee and Death. What does it mean for the couple? From Aziraphale's point of view, he is in a long-term loving relationship. He has been threatened with the utter obliteration, what means not only that he would have never existed but also that this act would leave a black hole in the life of his precious companion. This fragile demon hates loneliness and craves companionship as much as the angel craves crepes. And he also KNOWS how much the demon loves him, to the point that they can kill anyone who threatens him. And that can turn out very nasty for them.

So we get the whole messy scene that, on the surface, makes no sense. And this is the first time they suck at communicating with each other in all 11.5 episodes.

Aziraphale SAYS  he wants one thing totally out of character, and Crowley KNOWS it is (the series established that he recognized his angel tone of voice). Aziraphale's goal is to save Crowley from himself (see here why the plot analysis tells us so), which I dare to say Crowley suspects. Crowley, on the other hand, wants something totally IN THE CHARACTER (both times he was rejected, he wanted the same thing), and Aziraphale KNOWS it. Crowley's goal is to get into a "we" of a relationship SOMEWHERE, leaving to the stars together. We know that he loves the stars, which was established in S1 and again in S2. He does not say, "I love you"; he says, "I would like to spend my existence with you." He also says "we've spent our entire existence pretending that we aren't". He does not mean it as in "we pretend to each other." Pretending to Heaven and Hell.

This is not a moment of a big confession about love or feelings. This moment is an infliction point, all about what we want from this relationship from now on. And the moment of loss and realization of loss. Crowley got what Aziraphale wanted for five episodes, only to see his angel inexplicably change his desires. The whole mumbling about Heaven and Crowley as an angel doesn't make sense to Crowley because HE KNOWS his angel wanted a nest., It reminds me of all the tropes most recently explored in "Marriage Story." It is not an outcome two loving partners wish for, but sometimes people want different things WHILE STILL LOVING EACH OTHER. The" nothing lasts forever" has many meanings and can be read in different ways. On one level, it is a marker of changing desires and aspirations. On another level, the facial expression of Aziraphale, when looking at Crowley, full of absolute caring love, tells us that Crowley may not last forever, and he is just making sure he does. There is no rage in that scene, only mutual love and hurt. People part ways even if they still have a lot of love for each other. Sometimes, they find each other again.

And then the kiss. The kiss is mutual (you can see it when you play the scene very slowly), not romantic but desperate. They both hurt, but Crowley initiates this absolutely in character: the one who has always initiated a deep dive into the earthly sensations (it is first established in the Petronius oysters' scene). Then, he is forgiven because Aziraphale must say something that hurts (maybe someone is eavesdropping? At the end, the Bentley plays the Song. The way Aziraphale looks at Crowley and Bentley makes me think he asked the car to play it as a coded message.)

Crowley behaves differently from TWO other rejections he experienced in Season 1. The other two were very early on in their courtship. He felt them as personal back then: "I don't even like you, you are the demon" and "It is over." Sort of stuff we yell at our SOs when pheromones are high. Crowley does not take it well; he loves himself enough to know his dignity and has no problem leaving. In Season 2, this is more complicated. The long-term bonds of "precious existence" are stronger because KNOWING THE OTHER is on a deeper level. And he knows something is very, very wrong. Why is he staying there, waiting? He does not feel rejected as himself; he does not feel his love was rejected; he only understood his Alpha Centauri will not happen for reasons he does not truly understand. Right now, he probably thinks precisely what he said: Aziraphale is an idiot talking nonsense. Crowley hopes he will return to his senses. Because deep down, Crowley is an optimist. And he has what other demons do not: imagination. So don't cry for him, he will be OK. And remember the last Jane Austen novel on Aziraphale's shelf: Persuasion. Not to mention the only book Crowley probably has read: "The Crow Road"…

__

I realized I wrote this from the point of view of Crowley. But Aziraphale had also his heart rejected. He cried I NEED YOU and he got silence, because his stubborn husband refused to follow. That rejection also hurts.

---

Another thought: The ending is our human equivalent of one partner deciding to accept that well-paying job half-way across the globe, while the other wants to stay put. The one who leaves, temporarily, thinks about the opportunity: the money earned to finally pay that mortgage, pay student loan... to be finally free and get on with their life. The one who stays does not see it this way. Who is right... we'll see.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

you mentioned you were writing a proposal fic. is that still happening? i loved the preview you posted!

I am! That one’s going to be longer and I’ll probably finish and post it while the shows on break! Here’s another little scene from it for you, though…

The sticky pads holding the heart monitor sensors to his chest itch. Buck lays in bed staring balefully up at the ceiling and tapping his chest with his fingertips around the nodes, trying to relieve the feeling. Not only does it not work but he also starts to worry that maybe impacts could be jostling the sensors enough to mess with the readings, so he rolls over (gently) to grab the notepad he’s supposed to writing down the “time and severity of any sensations of discomfort or pain, or any irregular heartbeat or palpitation” in and sheepishly writes “maybe itched chest too much, 4:32 pm.” He rolls to his back again. He wishes he could google how to stop itching without actually itching, but his cell phone is in a drawer in the kitchen next to the microwave, which he is not allowed near.

“Ugh,” he says, petulantly, to no one.

Except not no one, because Christopher chooses that moment to make his way through the bedroom door, arms laden with school work. He hands the stack to Buck wordlessly, who holds it above his chest while Chris walks to the other side of the bed and crawls in to sit against the headboard. He holds his hands out and Buck gives the pile back.

“You need help with homework?” Buck asks, passing over the pencil he’d just been writing with.

“It’s math, Buck,” Chris says, making a face. “You can’t help.”

“Ok, rude.”

Chris doesn’t dignify him with a response, getting right to work. His serious little face makes Buck smile. His forehead crinkles when he concentrates, just like Eddie’s does. Buck lays there, listening to the scratch of Christopher’s pencil and watching him breathe. He wonders what his heart monitor is reading from him now. Can it hear the way Buck’s heart swells up like a balloon every time he sees this kid? Should he write that down? 4:43 pm, loved Chris Diaz. Except that is always true, at any time, an overwhelming and constant state of being. Maybe they should have put the monitor on Christopher instead, Buck’s heart outside his body.

Chris glances down at Buck occasionally as he works. His eyeline is aimed at Buck’s chest so he doesn’t think he’s aware of Buck’s study of him. The line of his mouth gets tight each time it happens, a worried little grimace. 4:55, heartbreak. Buck reaches out and wraps his fingers around Chris’s ankle.

“Hey, bud,” Buck says softly, jostling his leg a little. “I’m ok, you know that, right? This looks scary,” he gestures to the wires coming off him, “But it’s just for a longer check up than they have time for at the doctor’s.”

Chris chews on his lip for a moment before responding. “What if they find something wrong?”

Buck holds on tighter. “You and your dad are taking such good care of me already. I’m doing good, and Dr. {name} doesn’t think she’ll find anything unexpected, but if she does and I need a little extra help I know I’m in good hands.”

Chris looks all over his face, examining him in the way his father sometimes does, and then rests his hand on Buck’s chest, careful not to nudge any of the tape. “We’ll help you, Buck,” Chris says, breaking out in a mischievous smile. “We’re even learning to make mac and cheese from Bobby.”

Buck throws his head back in a laugh. “Aw, no! What will you even need me for?”

“We’ll always need you, Buck.” 4:59, emotionally obliterated by a 12 year old. “Dad burns it every time.

Buck laughs again as Chris grins and gets back to work. His hand stays on Buck’s chest, and Buck doesn’t let go of his ankle.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 17

“We’ve been watching you.” Her voice sounds hollow, as if a singular person spoke in an empty cave, yet it’s rather unsettling to the mind.

“Zariel?” I ask. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You are very observant. Smart. Yes, I’m Zariel. If you aren’t aware already, we want Raphael out of his position as archdevil. By ‘we’ I assume you know I mean every single controller of the Hells.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Her brow furrows and she looks stern, her face as tight as stone.

“You have had dealings with Raphael on multiple occasions, have you not?”

“Unfortunately, you’re correct. And?”

“You are the key to him losing that power. Sorry, my mistake – your child is the key.” I swallow feelings of fear and shock, the sensation curling up in my throat as I resist the urge to scream. I’m left here speechless trying to make it all make sense. My eyes are glued on her as I try to process what she said. “Are you not aware of why?” She can sense how uncomfortable I am. Her tone is full of irritance, realizing I’m completely confused.

“Please explain.”

“Your child has compelling and potent traces of the Weave within her. We need these strains to destroy the pathetic man that is Raphael.”

“She’s…a baby. Are you implying you need her to die? I won’t let that happen.”

“I’d just need her soul, nothing more.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think for one second I’d allow that!” I can feel my blood boiling and my anxiety is about to reach an all-time high; I can’t imagine losing Jenevelle.

“She wouldn’t die, she would be blessed with immortality. It’s a wonderful exchange. As a baby, she wouldn’t need the Weave at all, so why not put what she has into good use?”

“What does immortality all entail? Please be specific.” While I know exactly what immortality is, I need this devil to be perfectly clear before I consider any deal. Devils are known for their trickery and mind games.

“She cannot die, she cannot become ill, she cannot age. She also cannot feel pain of any kind.”

“So she would be a baby forever?” That’s quite a decision to make, and I don’t even think Gale would be on board. We would be sacrificing so much of her life because of a damned devil I wish I never got involved with.

“Correct.”

“How long do I have to make a decision?”

“You have seven full days to decide. The clock is ticking and I will be back once time is almost up.”

“And what happens if we say no?” The look in her eye could easily answer me without her saying a word: death. I see images in her eye of rotting flesh bursting into flames, people screaming, and a black hole that I can’t seem to figure out the significance of.

“You do not want to find out.” At this point, I’m not sure who is worse: Zariel or Raphael.

Gale knocks on the bathroom door to check on me. I didn’t realize how long I’ve been gone, but apparently quite awhile.

“Is everything alright in there? Did dinner cause you discontent?” I can’t help but release a light chuckle. I open the door and sigh, trying to decipher how I’m going to tell Gale this unexpected news thrown at my face.

“I wish it was an upset stomach. I finally got confrontation from a devil.”

“Raphael?”

“No. Zariel.” He looks extremely disgruntled as I say her conniving name out loud.

“Oof. That’s so much worse.”

“You’re telling me! Apparently Jenevelle has such a strong strand of the weave, it’s enough to completely destroy Raphael. The reason why I bring that up is because…well…they want us to sacrifice her soul to the Hells and use her Weave to obliterate him. In exchange, she’ll gain immortality and not die.” He gulps nervously, apprehensive about the outcome of this situation. He’s itching to do something vile to the devil who is making us choose this.

“And if we don’t partake in these endeavors and just live our lives?”

“She said we don’t want to find out, but my assumption is we all die and she becomes a thrall.”

“And there’s no way to get out of this deal? I assume not, but I just want to be sure there’s nothing I’m missing.”

“No. We have seven days to make a decision. I just wish this was something Jenevelle could consent to. We would be taking away her entire future.” Our best bet is to sell her soul and the devils take the Weave within her, destroying Raphael. This way she’s still ours and she won’t die. However, her soul will belong to the Hells, but I’m not sure what that will mean for her if she’s an immortal baby. I hate this so much and I’m not sure what to do. Gale holds me close, sighing with discontent as this weighs heavily on our chests.

“This is what I get for me being so up Mystra’s arse all those years. The Weave is so strongly held within me that of course our daughter would have this problem. It wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for these god-forsaken devils.”

“Surely there’s others with the same situation as us. Not that I want anyone to go through this, but why were we the ones chosen?”

“Well, whoever those hypothetical people are more than likely don’t have past dealings with Raphael, I bet.” Gale sighs once more, and I can tell he’s at a loss on what to do. We have a lot to consider and not enough time to find a solution that makes everyone happy – or at least content.

“Go to bed, my love. It’s late and you have to teach tomorrow. I’ll join you in a moment. It’ll work out like it always does, I promise. We can get through anything,” I tell him. He stares in my promising gaze, then smiles lightly, his eyes are heavy with exhaustion. I can tell he almost wishes he took the crown for himself, but he won’t admit it. Maybe it’s a feeling of impulse or stress, and he doesn’t mean it.

“I love you. Please don’t stay up too late, you need your rest too.” His voice is soothing like a soft poem under the midnight moon, gently whispering in my ear. He’s right. We’re under a lot of stress but overthinking the situation and worrying nonstop won’t do us any favors. I follow Gale to the bedroom and we both crawl in the bed, curled up within each other’s warm embrace until we fall asleep.

I wake up in the morning, finding a note on the bed right on Gale’s pillow. It seems he already went to the Academy to teach for his usual four hours of the day. He must be exhausted.

“Good morning my love,

I didn’t want to wake you. You were heavily asleep, so cutely, but I did manage to place a kiss on that forehead of yours. Shadowheart got here early this morning to help take care of Jenevelle and bring you some delightful company. I’ll see you at noon.”

I smile at the sweet note, folding it up and placing it on my bedside. I walk to the living area and notice Shadowheart holding my little one, both keeping each other company and entertainment.

“There you are. About time you show up!” Shadowheart teases. “I’m kidding.” I feel like there’s no way it’s morning; did I really sleep in late?

“Wh-what time is it?” I ask.

“Let’s just say Gale left roughly two hours ago. You deserve a rest.” Why do I feel so guilty for sleeping so late and Gale had to be up so early? I never sleep in like that. He will be home in two hours and all I did was sleep!

“Oh man. I need to clean or do some gardening. I’ll nurse the baby real quick. Would you like to join me outside in the garden when we’re finished?” She hands Jenevelle over to me, who looks ready to eat, though I know Gale gave her a bottle when he woke up.

After I nurse her, we head outside to the garden and I sit down on the mahogany bench that overlooks the sea. A soft late morning breeze gently strokes my face as the sun shines on our flesh.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you today. I have so much to tell you,” she says, sitting down next to me. We stare at the beautiful field of vegetable plants ready to be harvested, enjoying the view before we get started.

“Tell me everything.”

“Well, Astarion and I are in the process of the adopted! A half-elf little boy, three weeks old. His parents were killed in a vicious bugbear attack. Luckily the little boy wasn’t with them.” I smile, knowing this is what she’s been wanting, though circumstances for the baby are rather sad.

“And Astarion is on board? I didn’t think he ever wanted children.”

“He didn’t. Not for a while. We haven’t even been together long, but after all the adventuring we did, it’s like we’re a married couple, you know? Anyway, turns out he was more frightened by the thought of pregnancy, even though it would’ve been me going through it. Then again, I’m also sort of disturbed by the thought myself.” I shrug in agreement, completely understanding her fear; I probably wouldn’t go through it again to be honest.

“That’s so exciting! I’m happy for you.” The thought of our children playing together and growing up with one another will be quite exciting, though I do recall her saying her baby will be a half-elf. That means he will age much slower than Jenevelle would, and if we make her immortal, she really won’t have friends at all. “I wish our children could grow up together. With yours being a half-elf, who knows how long it will take before he’s even walking?” She’s hesitant for a moment, and it appears she’s coming to that realization now.

“Oh man… I didn’t think of that. Well, at least I’ll always be able to come to you for advice.” We exchange smiles, enjoying the presence of our friendship as we observe the beauty of nature in front of us. I finish feeding Jenevelle and begin to burp her, coming to the decision that I need to tell her what happened with Zariel and our life-changing decision we need to make. I explain everything to her in extreme detail, at least to the best of my ability. As I say the words aloud, my eyes begin to tear up, every fear revealing itself through my anxiety once more.

“Well, wait. If she’s immortal and can’t die, what’s so bad about selling herself to the devil?” Shadowheart queries, trying to make sense of all of this.

“She won’t age. I’d be taking her whole life away from her. The experiences of growing up, visiting new places…on her own. Gale and I will eventually get older and die, leaving her behind.”

“Then how about you and Gale become immortal with her?” That idea just opened up a brand new world of answers for us, something I should have realized the moment Zariel wanted me to make the deal. That was not a situation I had considered, though Jenevelle would still have her whole life taken from her. “All I’m saying is that it’s better she becomes an immortal than be dead or a thrall for the Hells.”

“You’re right. This may be the only option we have. We’ll all have to…sacrifice our souls. Not an ideal surprise, but I guess one we will have to live with. I’ll talk to Gale when he gets home.” Shadowheart half-smiles yet there’s a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry it had to come to this,” she stammers, her voice so soft. I place my hand on her shoulder, smiling at her with rejoice.

“Thank you.”

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/30/2022: CRIMES OF THE FUTURE (2022)

I love this movie.

I hate making top 5-type lists, or being forced to name a favorite thing within your favorite field. If you really care about something, wouldn't your feelings about it be deep and wide, and not attached to a single monolithic example of it? So when pressed, I usually answer on instinct, and just say that David Cronenberg is my favorite director. It's more or less the truth. His imperious intelligence, polymorphic perversity, and his embrace of all god's creatures—even the pathological and parasitic—as the heroes of their own narratives, all add up to a form of satisfaction that I just can't get anywhere else. He's simply the best, and too smart, too hip, and too original to be imitated despite his indelible influence on the horror world at large.

Portrait by Jean Ber. Hubba.

But, if I'm being completely honest, when I think about him, I tend to think of the Cronenberg from the before-time. The horror films that he made between SHIVERS and CRASH are what characterize him for me as an artist. These are stories about evolution, whether humans are obliterated or uplifted by it, and the way some of us crave to accelerate evolution through personal and political means when it doesn't come fast enough to keep up with our evolving ambitions. Max Renn's indoctrination into the revolutionary cult of VIDEODROME, Seth Brundle's overhaul of his own genetics in THE FLY, and the underground war waged by post-humans in SCANNERS are probably the boldest and best-remembered representations of the artist's ethos. However, viewers like me may remember 2002's eXistenZ, a spy thriller about viscera-based video games, as the last truly Cronenbergian film—not that he stopped making good, even great movies, but thereafter he leaned into literary adaptations and psychodramas that explore social dysfunctions and deformations of the mind more than they do the possibilities of the flesh. I enjoyed those movies, but I also missed the classic Cronenberg, the experimental one who used the body as an allegorical battlefield for the struggle between old and new ideologies. I figured I wouldn't get him back, either, thinking of William Gibson's retort to readers who wish he still wrote the way he used to when he said (approximately) that Neuromancer is a young man's novel, and if he were still doing exactly what he did decades ago, then something would be seriously wrong.

Ronald Mlodzik as subversive dermatologist Adrian Tripod in CRIMES OF THE FUTURE (1970), about to be set upon by a hot piece of rough trade with webbed toes.

Anyway. I'm thrilled to be able to report that the old Cronenberg is alive and well in this sensational update of his 1970 short film CRIMES OF THE FUTURE. Many have been careful to note that the 2022 release is not a remake of that early project, but I would refute the assertion that the two movies have nothing in common beyond their sharing one of the greatest movie titles ever written. In CRIMES '70, a rogue dermatologist seeks a way to preserve humanity in the face of a gynocidal plague caused by toxic cosmetics. In that world, traditional heteronormative, masculine pageantry has all but evaporated, leaving the surviving males with increasingly androgynous forms of self-expression, contributing to the creation of rival factions with their own sociopolitical agendas. In order to protect the human race from extinction, the protagonist is faced with the decision to do something appalling to a small child. In CRIMES '22, the human race as we know it is threatened by Accelerated Evolution Syndrome, in which certain bodies rapidly produce new organs and new abilities that are incompatible with the old way of life. The government is taking oppressive steps to preserve the standard qualifications for human taxonomy, but the mercurial state of biological affairs is changing everything, including the expression of sexuality and desire. Ultimately, the ability of the new people to retain their human status will hinge on the protagonists' willingness to do something radical with the body of a child. With all that said, it is clear that the early short film planted the seeds of this late vintage masterpiece that is among the finest and most distinctive works of David Cronenberg's entire career.

CRIMES OF THE FUTURE (2022) focuses on Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen, who is the new Rutger Hauer) and Caprice (Léa Seydoux), a pair of performance artists making the most out of Saul's acute case of Accelerated Evolution Syndrome. Saul's condition makes him dependent on a variety of high tech, Gigeresque orthotic devices, including a bed that shifts his body to ameliorate its painful inner workings, a chair that rearranges him in effort to support his waning ability to eat, and a special sarcophagus originally designed for autopsies that is now the chief tool of Saul and Caprice's artmaking. For their fevered fans, Caprice vivisects her partner, who experiences a post-sadomasochistic ecstasy at being penetrated and fondled from within. For many ordinary people, pain and infection are things of the past, so self-mutilation and body modification are now popular pastimes—or, as twitchy government spook Timlin (Kristen Stewart) puts it, "Surgery is the new sex." Embedded in this ever-expanding subculture are dissidents who seek to defend their status as human beings from the state's attempt to track and constrain the anatomical changes cropping up everywhere, which places Saul and Caprice in a moral quandary when they meet Lang Dotrice (Scott Speedman). The rebel leader requests that the couple make a political statement by publicly performing the autopsy of his mutant son, who was slain by the child's phobic mother. This lands the artists in a world of espionage and identity politics with no lesser stakes than the fate of the human race, and the rules for who is allowed to partake in it.

CRIMES OF THE FUTURE really has it all. It's beautifully designed, atmospheric, blackly funny, sexually subversive, profoundly disturbing, and most of all, timely. It takes place at the end of the world as we know it—a place many of us feel we already inhabit—but it holds out hope for a future in which being who you truly are, both privately and on the record, is a radical action in and of itself. Mutation and adaptation are the way forward, not conformity and foolish sentimentality, and these things are as good for the world as they are for the individual. But of course, Cronenberg doesn't apply this balm in the pat, corny way that I just did; the path to his ambiguous yet oddly optimistic ending is fraught and full of ambivalence as it orbits around one of the most shocking images that anyone has ever filmed. Somehow, in his late 70s and in our decadent age when explicit sex and violence dominate popular prestige television, David Cronenberg is still pushing buttons and violating our remaining boundaries with the skill and deliberation of a surgeon, and like a surgeon, he can change you if you let him. Surgery is the new sex. Long live the new flesh.

[elejah-wonderland]

*

The door bell went and Elena breathed in to still the butterflies that had ruffled up.

 Opening the door wide open, she bit a gulp back and muttered "Elijah"

"Elena" His voice light and musical, accentuating her name with a loving tone.

"Hey -come in," Elena said and as he walked in, she went straight to the point, not able to keep all that was whirling inside her any longer, "I'm sorry that I ran away like - a crazy woman yesterday. Everything was -"

"Unexpected?" Elijah suddenly jumped in, his nerves getting the better of him, concentrating now on jumping of her heart, trying to deflect from his own. 

"Well - yeah - no - so you think it was unexpected?"

"No - I mean - I - Elena, can I be frank?"

"Yes."

"In truth, yes. As you know I -" For the first time in a very long while he felt like the nervousness got the better of him. He, who has always been most eloquent one, now couldn't find the correct words to say what was nestled deep inside of him.

Lately when I look into your eyes, I fly

You're the only one I need in my life

Baby, I just don't know how to describe

How lovely you make me feel inside

You give me butterflyz

Got me flyin' so high in the sky

I can't control the butterflyz

"You are still not ready for anything. and I get you. So - we brush it like it's just one of those things - that happen." Elena made a little hand clap, feeling her stomach flip over with an unexplained disappointing hurt burst in.

"I do not wish to brush it off - in all these past months I have come to - admire you more than ever. And this admiration has grown into something that I have felt for - a very long time. Elena, I feel very profoundly for you. I always have done. There are no number of mistakes that I have made, but kissing you last night was not one of them."

"No, it was not a mistake. It felt good and right." Elena felt her heart bloom open like a rose. 

"Yes. Oh, Elena" Elijah stepped forward, closing the gap between them, cupping her face with his hands. He leaned down and drew Elena's lips to his. She trembled, a feeling euphoric warmth rushing through her. His lips were gentle, warm, fervent.

Pulling slightly out of the kiss, the Original looked for confirmation in the Doppelganger's eyes"You want this?"

"Yes, I want this." Elena's eyes shot back at Elijah now pulling him back into a zealous, demanding kiss.

Elena felt a smoldering heat deep within her as Elijah's grip tightened slightly, crushing her body to his, gentle yet firm. She slanted her head further, deepening the kiss.

Enveloped, Elijah sped them up to the sofa. They slowly peeled their clothes off inbetween kisse, twisting and gasping together as they worked the buttons, hooks, zips with unsteady fingers, until the last impediment slipped away.

Breathless with delight as he showered her with gentle, soft kisses, each with its own flicker of warmth, Elena shook, feeling the heat spread all over.

And then in the warmest rhythm of her flesh, both shuddered with the overwhelming sense of this was what they needed, wanted. Her body writhed under his smooth kisses, losing themselves completely in one another, he was only dimly aware of her whispering his name, egging him on. There was nothing but obliterating sensation, thrilling and swelling, and the sound of skin on skin as their limbs slid across each other in this sensuous meeting of two bodies, souls, hearts. 

You and I are destiny

I know that you were made for me

[grumpyascianteddybear]

Vaguely Horny Part Two

Here is part two. Have fun with it.

@seatedsacrifice

@atdutiesend

@jedikitteh

Ophiuchus watched as she went for the rope. It didn't surprise him when she started with his legs. Winding the rope around them to make them secure. The sensation sent shivered through him as soft moans escaped him. She had started toward his knees and were making it so that he would be ties into a knealing potiton.

That didn't bother him, nor did the light kisses laid over his shoulders. Those kisses soon traveled down his spine, causing his whole body to shiver. The fur on his ears even stood on end, and a loud moan left him. Those sound only continued to escape him as she pulled his arms back. Another rope was also gotten as she started on a harness that would also bind his arms behind his back.

" Such a good boy."

Yes! He was a good boy! The kisses turned to soft nips causing more moans and soft whimpers. As she finished the harness and ensured the rigging was secure, Ophiuchus could catch his breath. It did last long as he got him hooked and pulled up, so he was hanging above the bed. The feeling of hanging there in the air was a whole other sensation.

Deep, quiet breaths were drawn as he felt her move around him. Her fingers ghosted over his skin and the ropes. Ophiuchus soon realized he was hung high enough for his face to be a boob level when he lifted his head. He knew why that was and wasn't going to complain. Especially when she was soon kneeling in front of him.

A soft whimper left him as he felt her hands on his face. He was aching for her. As their lips met, his eyes fluttered closed, and he released a soft moan. Her hands soon traveled down His chest and to his tip. She spread the pre cum he had been leaking over the tip, which caused a long moan to escape him. That felt good, but it made him ache more.

" I have so much planned for you."

He didn't doubt it. She didn't even have to ask him to play with her nipples. Once the kiss was ended, he went right to it. Ophiuchus was a good boy, and he knew what his mistress wanted. He smoothed his tongue over one of her nipples and reveled in the moan it pulled from her. Part of him wished to be able to touch her, yet the other part was more than happy to be tied at her mercy.

More moans left him before his eyes rolled back as she started to rub his ears. The fur was soft, and the rubbing caused his tip to leak more precum. Ophi sucked on the nipple before rolling it between his teeth. He knew what she liked, and the moans he still getting told him he was doing a very good job.

A whine lifted him as she pulled away, leaning back to get the butt plug and the lube that went with it. Ophiuchus pressed his lips together and watched as she moved to his rear. He felt the lube first and realized it was the warming kind. His toes curled, and she spread it and even pressed her fingers into his ass to prepare for the plug. She would ensure he was ready for when she decided to peg him.

She slowly inserted the plug, causing Ophiuchus to moan loudly. A shiver ran through him before he gasped as he felt it start to vibrate. His toes curled as he was left to hang there for a moment with it. As she came back around, he saw her grab the gag. It was a simple fabric with a rubber piece covered in the fabric in the center.

The Emissary knew what she was going to do with that. He opened his mouth obediently for her to place the rubber piece in his mouth. Once that was done, she tied the loose ends at the nape of his neck. A moan left Ophiuchus as he felt her go under him before his eyes went wide. Why was she...

All thought was obliterated as he felt her tongue run from the base of his length to the tip. He moaned, thought it was muffled by the gag. Ophiuchus found himself unable to focus on any one thing. There were so many sensations, and all of them made him feel as if the world could end any minute. It would be the best end any man could for, though, so he wasn't terribly concerned.

His eyes rolled back as he felt her hand start to gently massage his balls. Shivered followed as she took his length into her mouth. Ophiuchus was well aware that Hadianna had no gag reflex. She hadn't had it in before the sundering and didn't have it now. It was great, considering how much she loved to deep-throat him.

It didn't take long for things to start building for him. Soft whines left him, and he bit his lips as he tried to hold it back. He didn't want to fall over that edge yet. He wanted to keep enjoying what she was doing. Ophiuchus grunted before a groan finally left him as he released into her mouth. He knew she was just swallowing it all. The thought actually turned him on more.

His head fell forward, and he watched her pop off his length. Ophiuchus released a small whine as she moved to reveal a wet spot where she had been sitting under him. She was so far from being done with him. He watched her crawl over to where the strap-on lay on the bed.

He watched her put it on, the butt plugs still vibrating. It kept him from completely coming down from the high. She didn't want him to come down, not completely. Ophi liked that. The over-sensitive buzz that came with never coming down from the high made the next time even better.

" Is my good boy ready for a good pounding?"

The purr in her voice causes a shiver to roll through him. He watched her stand and move behind him. She turned the plug off before carefully removing it. A small whine left him before he felt her manipulate the ropes so he was hunting upright. His eyes widened, and a long moan escaped him as he felt the strap-on push into his rear.

Ophiuchus gasped as she started to move, head rolling back. She was hitting all the good spots. Moans left him and he shivered, feeling one of her hands come around to stroke his length. It twitched in her hands, already hyper-sensitive from before. It hurt but felt so good at the same time.

It once again didn't take long for him to reach that edge. This time Ophiuchus wasn't able to hold it off. He nearly screamed as he came again, shooting the load out all over the bed. The Emmisarry huffed, eyes wide before his eyelids fluttered. The pleasant buzz still remained, and he knew she wasn't quite done. He had cum twice, and she hadn't at all.

[xstarforged]

LOCATION: Velaris & the most recent Starfall event

TARGET: @azraehl​

DETAILS: Flashback (recent). Continued from previous thread, remade for tumblr formatting purposes!

Cosmic eyes openly indulged in him; unashamedly memorising every angle and shadow when he coolly turned towards her. It was a prevailing habit to sweep over his impressive stature, scrutinising for any sign of injury - especially since those sinister moments threatened to invade and to torment. An urge to protect ached through her veins, igniting them with an ethereal light which webbed across her skin like the fracturing of a star’s heart. She wanted to carve out the souls of their enemies and obliterate them into nothing more than dust between her ancient fingers - not even the gods were permitted to harm him again. 

Yet there was a newfound distance to Azrael after the war. It felt as if a veil shrouded his innermost sanctum; carefully weaved from obsidian winds and fierce darkness. She wondered whether the isolation was designed to shield the world from his sacrifice -  to forever keep his people safe - whilst he bravely, yet tragically, faced his inner torment alone. But she was also there. Immovable and patient. Her soul ached to envelope him in soothing starlight, cocooning him from the agony that pursued him. In the deep night, Seren heard the cracks splintering, and the howls of his roaring screams echoing from those sleepless dreams. Unable to retreat and rest, seemingly hounded by the traumatic tempests which unleashed hellish nightmares. Visions which she shared in and would cradle him through, whilst reminding him in a gentle voice that he was safe and their enemies had been punished. Destroyed. Eliminated. Rendered into nothing. The bitter poison of hatred would always still coat her tongue - at the reminder of his treatment at the hands of those monsters.

Yet no barrier or wall could conceal his mighty strength from her - a peerless power that seemed to wield the midnight touches of a legacy born before life itself. It roared with the force of night’s dominating shadows. She had witnessed it eradicate enemies into nothingness within a blink of an eye. He was captivating and unconquerable like the sky above them. Indomitable. Unyielding. Where there was chaos, he brought order - tempests stilled, torrents stemmed, and thunder stopped. His will came manifest, where he so chose. Some called him a monster for the power that raged within him. But they did not understand the vast complexity of his very soul. He may be the manifestation of midnight and all of its fearsome secrets; but even darkness could breathe with a gentle, cooling touch. They both echoed the enigmas of the eternal night; the dark side of the moon and the light of the stars. Unfathomable to most, but not to eachother.

When an easy smirk appeared on his lips - a sight which she delighted in seeing - Seren bathed in that answering surge of joy. Everything else faded into obscurity as she focused on him. Everything he was and ever will be. There were no beginnings or endings, simply the present, and the thread which bound them together. “Such a wicked High Lord for asking me to predict your secrets,” she purred slowly in response. When his voice echoed in her mind and she felt his presence embrace her inner thoughts, a wider smile tugged on the edge of her lips and she dared to take a step closer.

His scent seized her; grounding her with the sensation that this - him - was home, and she tilted her face upwards to indulge in the closeness. A dangerous line they had been balancing on for too long. I would wish for a selfish dream, her voice - low and intense - echoed through the bond. To hear his laughter again. To chase away his demons. To secure the night - his legacy and birthright - to only bliss, and not to torment. To take his place in shouldering those burdens. All of those wishes rushed through her mind with a burning, painful ache. Because even if she was bestowed with a boon - a wish - for anything in the vastness of reality, she would still wish for him. Let her be condemned to the consequences of selfishly choosing him over the world. Tell me. What would you truly wish for, Az? Her breath whispered across his skin, challenging every ounce of her immortal patience, yet she remembered that they had the power of time. To heal, to build, to forge. Sensing the possible vulnerability that lurked beyond the shadowy ocean, she tugged on the bond with a teasing tone. A playful distraction, followed with a huff. And she raised a single, curved eyebrow in amused defiance. But every High Lord must have its secrets. I might forgive you for your silence if you indulge in my request for company. Our beloved family has already raided far too many bottles of my favourite wine.

[stariwrites]

ma’am, i have had a Thought... sukuna (or even gojo cause they’re on equal levels of cocky asshole) using domain expansion to have you writhing and cumming over and over again without them even having to touch you 🥴

🥴RIIIIIIIIN this is everything my brain really looked at this and went why not do both lmao

Putting my response under the cut cause it’s long

MINORS DNI 18+

Contains: Overstimulation, Dumbification, Sir kink, Slight Degradation, Dubcon, and Slight breeding kink

Sukuna:

He loves the way your twisting and writhing in his domain. He lost count of how many times you’ve reached your high, instead he’s decided to study the way your thighs attempt to close together when it becomes too much. You can only whine when your attempts are in vain.

He laughs quietly tutting, “You won’t be able to escape Little Sorcerer.” He examines his long talons imagining them raking down your skin. You would sound so pretty while whimpering at the stinging sensation. He smirks, storing the thought for later. You should be grateful he’s even giving you the time of day.

Clearly nobody has been able to fuck you properly. He doubts the way your body is ripping orgasm after orgasm out of you is normal. He’ll just have to change that. With a flick of his hand a wave of heat engulfs your entire body. You sob, your eyes rolling back.

Even if you pass out, he hits you with another wave of pleasure to have you jolt awake with a shout.

He loves seeing you reduced to nothing but a babbling mess pleading for him to fuck you, even though you’re already dripping. He doesn’t move from his throne, instead he rests his head against his arm that’s leaning on the chair.

You’re shaking, body trembling against your will. He watches you with feign disinterest, before his will completely breaks. You look so pure, so beautiful splayed out before him. He wants to take that and obliterate it with his touch.

He licks his lips slowly approaching you. You whimper, the way your body arches towards him sends heat directly to his core. He can’t wait to take you.

He teasingly removes his robe, revealing himself to you. He takes pleasure in the way your eyes widen as you unconsciously lick your lips.

“Oh pet,” he drawls mockingly, his talon tracing down your side forcing a shudder out of you. He smirks, leaning down and licking a tear off your face.

“By the time I’m done with you,” he rumbles into your ear. “The only thing you’ll be able to remember is my name.”

Gojo:

“Look at you, already so wet and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he teased. You wanted to retort but before you could you reached your high, a loud moan escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

You shouldn’t have agreed when Gojo said he wanted to try something, normally it meant nothing good. You knew this was wrong but the way he pressed against your cervix while whispering absolute filth in your ear was too good to pass up. Nobody would ever be able to fuck you like he would and he knew that. This was the final nail in the coffin to seal the point home.

He watched you, transfixed on the way your thighs were covered in your cum. He would never get tired of the sight. He almost wished he could take a picture to keep with him when he was forced to go away on missions.

“Sir please!” You sobbed, your thighs shaking from the force of your most recent orgasm. You needed him, you needed his touch, needed to feel him against your walls, filling you up with his cum.

He hummed, pretending to mull it over. “Please what pretty?” He asked, you wanted to scream but were unable to. “You have to be more specific or else I won’t know what to do.”

“Fuck me, use me sir just please!” You mewled arching your back. Your body was fighting to move away from the pleasure wracking through you, but you were rooted in place.

A sadistic grin slid onto his face. “Just one more princess.” He coaxed, his fingers slowly entering you causing your head to fall back in ecstasy. You could barely make out the last thing he said. “Just one more and then I’ll breed you like the good little slut you are.”

[swtki]

In The Dark - D.M

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw! Fem! Reader.

Summary: Draco gets lucky in a dark closet

Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, swearing, semi-public sex, underage drinking if you aren’t in the UK, party, SoftDom! Draco,praise kink, Hook up sex, no previous relationship between the two parties, Oral (m),.

All characters in this story are 18 in an AU where the war never happened.

The music drilled harshly into my ears, making me wonder why I even came to these bloody things. Sure, Slytherins were known for throwing the best parties with the finest firewhiskey in all the castle, but that didn’t make it necessary for me to attend. I hardly drank, I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the other Slytherins, it would be in bad taste as I had an image to keep. The Malfoy’s could never be anything but perfect, but if everyone around me was pissed - did it really matter? It’s not like they would notice if I let loose a bit, or even if I nursed one small drink.

“Seen Parkinson ‘nywhere?” Blaises voice pulled me out of my thoughts, he had leaned in close to me and when I turned to his voice I was taken aback to see him so close. I turned my head back around, slumping in my chair.

“‘M not her keeper. The girl could be in Germany by now and I doubt she would’ve tipped anyone off, ‘s not unusual for her to disappear.” The tall man laughed, gripping my shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Why’re you so interested anyway? Didn’t think you wanted to shag the girl that badly.” Blaise shook his head.

“It’s not Parkinson I'm interested in. It’s her friend, she’s bringing a Ravenclaw girl.” I raised my eyebrow in suspicion, “She must be superb for Parkinson to overlook her house, no?” I tilted my head in an unsure response. We never invited non-Slytherins, hell sometimes we didn’t even invite Slytherins.

I stood from the smooth velvet chair, pushing my way past people as Blaise followed me. I poured pumpkin juice for myself in one of the crystal glasses. Blaise topped his drink off, I scoffed at him. “Don’t make me drag you back to the dorm when you get so pissed you forget your own name.” He frowned at me - unamused by my joke as it was a sensitive topic; The December Party Incident.

“There,” He calls out, I snap my head in the direction, “That’s not at all how I pictured her, you know, Ravenclaws aren’t usually into anything other than their own classes.” Blaise had a point, the girl who stood next to Parkinson wasn’t like the usual Ravenclaw. She wore a black dress that cut off at the knee and showed most of her collarbone. Though simple, she was striking in it. She and Parkinson walked over to us at the make-shift bar.

“Right, this is Y/N. She bites.” the more familiar girl said, stepping away to see to her empty glass.

“Draco Malfoy, a pleasure to meet you.” I say, scooping up her hand and laying a kiss to the top, like a true gentleman I might add. She pulled away from me, wiping her hand on her skirt.

“I know who you are, you made my life a living hell for years one through four. I’m not even one of the Potter Possy.” I fell pale, embarrassed at her comeback. Although, I found myself intrigued and impressed by how fiery she was.

“Potter Possy?”

“Are you surprised that Ravenclaws came up with that name?” she said, slyly. I decided I liked her in that moment. She was interesting, she was unlike the others I was so used to surrounding myself with. I offered her a drink, to which she declined and said she was one of Parkinson’s keepers for the night, and then we went our separate ways. I went back to my chair, and she went back to Parkinson. Except, I couldn’t help but keep an eye on the girl. Something about her made me want more - no need more. Her perfume, her eyes, the feeling of her soft hand in my own, I was hooked to say the least.

Eventually, she detached from the group and sat in the couch next to me, how convenient. She had her cheek propped up on her fist, looking around the room. “Why are people so bloody boring, isn’t the point of a party supposed to be for fun?” I laugh at her words.

“Yeah, suppose so. I’m just here because I have to. Any one of these idiots die and it's somehow my fault by proxy.” That was my comment that sparked a full on conversation.

We talked for hours, about her family, her home, her friends in Ravenclaw that would obliterate her if they knew she were there with me. I looked at the large clock on the wall. “Merlin, it's two a.m and these animals haven’t even begin to calm down.” I mumbled.

“Do you wanna maybe - get out of here? Not too far of course.” She winked at the last bit.

“Alright, not too far though.”

“Not too far, now come along.” I laughed and followed suit.

She brought us out to one of the corridors, cool air slapping me in the face. I followed her down, getting more and more confused by the minute. She stopped and turned towards me, a blank look upon her face. “Alright, what are we doing here, darling.” I quickly regretted my words as my cheeks went hot. The last word just rolled off my tongue. I saw her smirk in the dim light as she slowly walked towards me. I didn’t dare move, I wanted to see what she had planned.

“I just,” her soft hand slid up my torso, yanking my tie so that my head was level with hers, “thought we could entertain ourselves.” Softly, she kissed me. It was electric and suddenly the cold air around me was no longer there. I only focused on the brilliant woman in front of me. She leaned in close to my ear, “if that’s alright, Mr. Malfoy.”

Something snapped inside, leading me to grab her waist and push her into the closest room. It was pitch black, I’d guess a storage closet as there were no windows. Our hands roamed each others bodies, lips colliding in what I can only describe as a violent way. Her hands worked to undo my trousers as I worked on the top half of her.

“Can you get on your knees for me, darling?” I asked, blindly feeling my way around her tits. I felt her body shake slightly, she was nodding yes. She giggled, lowering herself onto the floor. My trousers were pooled around my ankles, the girl in front of me was working my cock with her hand.

I gasped, my hand flying into her hair, “Fuck, wish I could see what you were doing, I bet you wish you could see how good you’re making me feel.” I felt a wet and warm sensation on the tip of my cock, her hand was still stroking me. She made good use of her tongue, but I knew she could do more. “Come on, Sweetheart. I know you can make me feel so much better, just go a bit farther. Wanna feel your pretty throat around me.” her hands grasped my thighs, as she went farther, her nails digged into my skin. Slow at first, she bobbed her head, making a gagging noise that only drove me crazier. I couldn’t see her, but I had been dreaming of how she would look in this position all night. She drove her hands up from my legs to my lower hips, earning a low groan from myself. “‘M gonna cum, darling,” the tension in my stomach grew tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. She pulled her mouth off, giving me a wet hand job.

“Please cum on my face, give me your hot cum, Mr. Malfoy “ I lost it with that phrase, my hips twitching as I felt her stay still. The small space was filled with my desperate pants.

“Wow. That was brilliant. Merlin, I reckon you deserve a reward for being such a good girl” I grabbed her face and could feel the smile decorating it. She stood up, and I went down to the floor, making my way to her lower half. “Wearing a skirt to a Slytherin party, was that another Ravenclaw thing?”. She was going to answer, but within seconds she was putty under my tongue and fingers.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi! So I would like to request a Seb x reader one shot if you have the time ☺️ I just got diagnosed with Endometriosis today and am in need of some soft Seb... Could you write smth where Seb finds out that reader is always in pain during sex and never said anything, though he knows she has Endometriosis and usually cares for her during her period... and he then encourages her to get surgery to try and fix it? Only if it's okay though, I know it's very precise, sorry!

A/N; I am so sorry to hear about this hun, i hope there’s something that can be done, no one deserves to go through that kind of pain. I researched endometriosis and it certainly sounds horrible, I’m sending you all my love and support 💙

Endometriosis - Sebastian Stan x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; based on the request, I changed it a tiny bit so I hope that’s okay, I just feel like if r was in pain seb would notice, I hope you like it hun 🤍

Warnings; endometriosis, smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69ing, mentions of sex toys, illness, mention of alcohol, fluff, pain, swearing

divider by @firefly-graphics

It hurt like a bitch, there was no way to put it, or at least it was a simpler revelation of description at the prying of your womb had you near to tears. You laid your head down into the pillow, mushing it into the fabric, as you wanted the pain to dwindle down into nothing, and thus you tried to ignore your own suffering, as you turned over to be on your back, severely wincing by the change in position. A groan came from the other side of the bed, as the man that was laid there began to shuffle, in the midst of waking up.

“Morning.” He spoke with a hoarse voice, the steadiness obliterated by his blatant hangover that was haunting his form. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his eyes as he fully awoke, stretching his back as he reached his arm out, swiftly hooking it around the back of your neck as you allowed yourself to lay on the muscle. “Guess neither of us got laid, did we?” He laughed lightly, shaking his head, as he tipped his chin up, blinking his baby blues up to the ceiling.

“Considering that we’re in the same bed, and that you’re not a stranger to me, I guess not.” You laughed to your close friend, whom was aware of your condition, but not the extent of it. “Looks like you’re going to suffer from no morning sex Stan, I’m sure that sucks for you.”

“Usually it’s someone else doing the sucking.” You smacked his arm at his off handed comment, pulling a smirk out from the man as he turned to face you, pulling you closer by the contact that he had upon you. “I’m guessing your disappointed that you’re not waking up to some muscular, blonde haired and blue eyes patriotic punk.”

“If you’re describing Evans, i swear that I will punch you in the dick, I said he was attractive once.” You put emphasis on the amount of time(s) you had ever mentioned it. A pout quivered his lips, as he shuffled beneath the covers, angling his hips in a more comfortable position so that they weren’t being crunched down on the mattress.

“You can punch my dick, on the agreement that you kiss it better.” Seb allowed a hollow smirk to mull over his handsome features, as you swatted his bicep once more, an unhumored frown conforming its position upon your face.

“I’m not one of your hook ups, I’m not gonna get on my knees for you buddy.” You bantered back, raising a brow at his inquisition. No, you were not a past sexual partner of his; it was a constant of him never having a serious relationship, he opted for flings rather than any long engagements, you suspected that he had feelings for someone else, but you were not sure of whom.

The thought alone of him being endeared with the image of one woman brought a pain to your body, separate from your medical suffering. Though your opinion wasn’t fair, considering that you as well, or had your time of sleeping around before the pain in your inner walls became too much, and that was one of the many things that you had given up, more or less.

To support the montage of your body’s self torture, you had a mixture of hormone and tablets that helped reduce the unexplainable sensation that willed around in your lower half, swarming around like an internal snake bite in your own body.

“69 then?” He joked, but it felt so serious. You knew he wasn’t being truthful, it was the relationship the pair of you had, though his face had moved closer, his breath fanning over your face, making your heart prominently race as you thought about such a scenario. “Having mentioned Evans...” he began to change the conversation, having felt the heat that had radiated from your body.

“Go on.” You pried at him, interested in hearing what his friend had opted to say about the pair of you. It wasn't every day that you heard celebrities gossiping about you.

“He thinks we’ve hooked up.” Sebastian stated, making your neck reel slightly back as you took in the fact, of well, the perceived view point of a world renowned, household name, actor. A part of you was slightly embarrassed, you held your own cheek as the words that Chris had passed on sunk in on you.

“We, no, never. Okay, I’m exaggerating, that would not be so bad, but it would definitely be weird. But like, why does he think that, of all things?” You asked whilst partially laughing. It made you partially aware of yourself, and the prospect of you possibly having made your feelings obvious, but that however hadn’t been the case as Seb scratched over the stubble that he had on his chin, and did that awkward Bucky smile that had became humorous in his new marvel show.

“Of all things; it’s like you’re trying to break my heart babes.” With one diverging look from you, he knew he was done for. It always pained him to keep secrets from you, and this was the one that he had been hiding for so long. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you? Okay, fine. I still can’t believe that you haven’t caught on, after all this time, but this just shows that you haven’t noticed how I try and scare away every guy with my money and power.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Lightly you scoffed, having many memories of such a situation. It was a pattern that kept repeating itself, but to you it had just become normal, and to say you were fine with it was not incorrect. It gave you hope that he could reciprocate the emotions that you held towards him, though having a wish like that was altogether hopeless. He was just protective, that was all, he probably saw you like a little sister, or something of the sort, that really put a drab annotation on the prospect of romance.

“Ever wonder why?” Ever, more like all the time, but you allowed him to continue without disruption, by doing so more would be unveiled by that mouth of his, and you were eager to learn more, yet a little hesitant. “It is because I am so tired of being your friend, I love it, don’t get me wrong but...” you were dreading what was to come out of his mouth next, you squeezed your eyes shut, almost as if you were unable to see, the pain would not render upon your specimen. “I love you.”

“You what?!” Eyes snapping open, you were blatantly shocked by his confession. “That can’t be right Seb, you’re you, and I’m me, and-“

“We’re us.” He finished for you. As he noticed you relax from his contingence, which allowed him the time gap to slide closer, his warm and soft hand running up the side of your face as he watched you gasp from the sensation. It was not the first time he had touched your cheek, but it was the first instance in which he done so intimately; you were rather fond of the treatment.

You nuzzled your face into the curve of his hand, your brows lightly directed in a downwards motion as you lulled in his touch, and that was when you realised that he had frozen. “Shit.” You stopped him from moving away, pausing the sadness in his eyes for the current second. “I should have responded, that was my bad. I love you too, I’m not just saying that, so you know.”

“That’s a relief.” Sebastian sighed, falling back onto the mattress, bringing his face accidentally closer to your own. The tips of your noses were touching as your eyes ogled deep within the pools of one another’s, it was impossible not to seek a closer vicinity, and thus, you slunk closer, bracing the tips of your nails against his scruff, as your lips worked their way onto his.

“How would you like another kind of relief?” You pulled away, stroking down the smooth course of his shirt covered chest, prompting a suggestive dialogue in your tone. His brow raised as he thought about it for a moment, but then he remembered a rather distinctive matter he didn’t want to cause any obstruction to.

“What about your, you know?” He was referring to your endometriosis, having the knowledge about the unfortunate illness that interfered with your life. Through it all, the doctors appointments, the encouraging you to take your medication on days that you weren’t feeling particularly well, he was there. Now it made sense why.

To reply, you softly shook your head, combing your hands over his shoulders, as you answered him. “If it gets too much, I’ll give you the signal.” You spoke, leaning down to peck his lips, though you still saw the reluctance that was embedded on his forehead in the form of strict lines. “I promise.” You persuaded him, meaning the sentiment, as his eyes trailed down, his hand scourging a fierce, passionate grip upon your hipbone as his tongue weaved its way back into your mouth.

You moaned into the atmosphere of his mouth, grabbing onto his cheeks as you heaved breaths into the internal beyond of this man, rolling on top of him, as you swept your crotch down against his own, extracting a sinister sound out of his guttural throat. It was only turning you on more, and you knew that if you didn’t do something, even despite the recommendations of your doctor, you would be sufficed with a lack of pleasure, and that was all you currently craved.

It wasn’t fair how you had been dubbed with the condition. So many people in the world could have sex whenever they pleased, yet you were forced to commend under the sentence of experiencing a discomfort when all you wanted was the comfort of being intwined with another human being. That connection, it felt mandatory, however you were denied it, for every time that you proceeded to bed a stranger, or a partner of any sorts, the stretch of anything in your walls pursued you with a fracture of pain.

You’d even had to throw out your vibrator, whilst it felt good on the outside, the clenching of your empty walls sparked physical and mental hurt, and reminded you of the fact that whenever you were filled by any length, your body could not function to emit pleasure, instead it was the opposite that you were tasked with contracting. The thought and reminder often spewed tears in your eyes, but you held them back as you got lost in Sebastian.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He admitted sentimentally, and your heart both became full and broken. It was sweet and scorching to the arousal between your legs to know that he was that concerned about your well being; he wasn’t just prioritising getting his dick wet. He resumed pressing succulent kisses on your lips, he lulled in the notion, he too wanted to be close to you, but he wasn’t willing to do inadvertently so to the expense of you being in pain.

That was the opposite of what he wanted, even as your hand wandered down his firm and pheromone driven body, that bucked in your grip, as your hand hooked around his bulge, your thumb stroking over his round sack as he grew beneath the layers of his soft sweats and underwear. “69 then?” You reiterated his earlier words, causing his pupils to blow wide, and his blue irises to darken into the juxtaposition of stormy skies.

“Will that be okay?” You confirmed it was, even if you weren’t completely sure yourself. The angles, the penetration, it was all elements, that combined gave you an equation that you had yet to figure out. The only way to do so was to try it, even if it concluded in an error, and not a sensible answer. To instigate the next step, you roused your sleep shirt from your body, leaving you in nothing more than your causal panties, but Seb didn’t seem to mind.

In fact he rather preferred the normalcy of your actions and undress, it made the strategy of shifting from friends to intimate lovers into one of relaxation, there was no absurdity nor discomfort yet, for either one of you. Your fingers dipped in the sides of your underwear, teasing the band, as you cocked your head towards Seb, licking your lips as you took in the view of him entranced by your being. “Am I going to be the one naked or...”

You were grateful that he took the hint, and stripped himself from both layers that kept his goods confined. He rapidly removed them, leaving his uncut cock open to your gaze; it wasn’t anything massive which was a relief, but it for now, it was to be attained in the confinement of your mouth, rather than the realm of your cunt, so that slight stretch could await. As you thought of that, you reached your hand out, dancing your fingers lightly over his shaft.

Seb emitted a soft huff from his obtainable lips, he dragged you to be laying atop of him, as your thighs surrounded his length on either side, it was warm, and rested perfectly below your where your cunt was hovering. How you wished to just sink down on it and- “Turn around.” For a moment you took time to refrain your memory to perceive what you had said before. And then, whence your words caught up to you, it was simple to do so, especially with the motivation of what was going to happen.

As you spun around, to be facing his lower half and have your own above his mouth, you watched his cock twitch, as it rested heavily upon his abdomen. You could feel your nerves kick in; it was a substantial difference from anything that you had ever done together, from looking at the stars and watching cheesy movies, to sexual actions, it was quite the leap. But a welcome one, you had waited so long to acknowledge your feelings to him, you'd be damned if you were not going to act on them.

A shiver rippled up your spine as he paved a lick through your slit, it made you tense up for a moment, and you try to register any diagnosis of pain, you coiled when he put one of your lips in his mouth. It felt good, which was a relief, and you took that as a sign to reap your front forwards, and focus on his throbbing hardness that was oozing precum against his perfect skin. The drop of essence looked like liquid moonstone, catching the ambience of the snooping sun that eyes through the crescent opening of the closed curtains, creating a luminescent light against the contrast of his skin.

Leaning forwards, as the initial shock of Seb using his tongue on you had settled in, as a faint plea from inside of you derived away in your eternal being, your tongue glided over the patch of fallen precum, your eyes fluttering at the heavenly, yet rare taste, it wasn’t every day that a man’s cum was relatively nice on your buds. Some perceived eating junk food as a lifestyle, caring not for how the receiver of their sperm would taste within the mouth of a giver on the other end. Sebastian hummed against your slick folds, as he danced his hands around your ass, grasping your cheeks firmly.

His fingers swept through the outside of your cunt, fooling around with your labia as his tongue swirled your bud, making your face grimace on the edge of pleasure, as your warm lips wrapped around the head of his cock, whirling your tongue within his slit, as your hand rested around the rest of his length, jerking it in your grasp, as his hips lightly heaved upwards against your face. He teased a finger around your entrance, running the tip along the wet flesh that mimicked your breaths as it clenched prosperously.

“Shit!” Tears webbed in your eyes as he entered the finger, though he considered that a resonating profanity of pleasure. To your dismay, it indeed was not though, the entry of the digit weighed heavy inside you, prying sorely against your walls as your giving to him paused, as you harshly gripped his thigh. “Shit, that hurts Seb. Fuck!” In an instant, he stopped, extracting his finger out from within you, as it caused you further pain, and helped you turn around, and lay languidly upon the bed.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m so sorry y/n/n.” He panicked, immense guilt wavering his body, as he grasped your face, staring with sorrow into your seasoned expression. “I didn’t mean to- didn’t want to hurt you, shit, I should never have tried to-“ soothing his conflicting emotions, you stroked his shoulders, kissing him to ease his words into silence. He felt guilty, but so did you, you were the one whom had encouraged to pursue the rhythm of your shared sexuality to one another, deducting the poise of your actions with tear beaded eyes.

“It was my fault; I said it would be fine. I should have known it shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.” You reasoned with him, knowing that you had told him that it was to be something that you could manage, but from experience, you should have had better knowledge of how things would turn out.

“Don’t you ever apologise, you’re perfect, the only thing that I want to ease is your suffering. Is there any news on the operation that can be done, should I get you your medication now?” He wanted to be certain, to ensure that you didn’t put the accountability of your situation completely on yourself, he should have asked if a finger would have been fine, he shouldn’t have been swayed by your persuasion. “I could talk to someone, see if I could get the thing moved up, I can pay for it, get you further up on the ladder.”

“No.” You smiled, pressing an ample kiss upon his scruffy cheek. “I don’t want that, many other people are waiting for the op too, and I can’t have you paying for it. That would just be inconsiderate of me, you have already done so much for me, I can’t ask more. You’ve been there through everything, just wait with me whilst I wait for myself.” You pulled the sheets over your breasts, staring opulently into his serene eyes, shuddering as he swept his lips over your mouth once more, deriving you breathless for a moment.

“It’s okay to be selfish, if any of them had that chance, then they would take it. I can afford it, and I would want nothing more than to pay for it, it’s not just about sex, you know that. I love you so so much, you’re my best friend, the girl of my dreams, I’ve waited for you, I just want the pain that you live through to disappear. Out of all people, it’s not fair that it’s you, but it is, and this is the one way to fix the reductive searing of hurt that you live through.” You gulped, water glazing your irises as you stared at her, trying to diffuse your light sob.

His words brought acceptance to you within the scenario, as you took a deep breath in, confronting the trigger that had set off inside of you. It was difficult to handle and attain to, as you curled in his bare arms, exasperating your soundness close to him, as he competently cupped your face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Okay.” You agreed, nodding sincerely along with your words. “Okay, I’ll do it for me. It’s the right thing to do.” A smile raved his face, as you convinced yourself of doing so. It was to be a long road, but Sebastian would be there holding your hand, travelling down this path alongside you.

[tenthgrove]

Hey can I request La Squadra with a teammate who was though dead but was found again but they lost their memory?. Like it was a mission gone wrong with everyone thinking the teammate was dead till boom they one day run into them on the street but they don’t remember pa squadra at all?

A Second Chance

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic/Romantic (Interpretable), SFW

They had loved you, and they had mourned you. They placed a candle in the living room, with a bouquet of fake flowers and your photograph. A shrine to the one they had lost. For three long months, they mourned. The joy of their home seemed to fade with your absence, but little by little they healed. Three months to the day of your loss, they honoured you with a trip to their favourite restaurant. And there, on the other side of the window, you stood.

Formaggio- You may have been associates in murder, but you were also good friends. When you were lost, Formaggio felt his grief every day when he looked for someone to go to a bar with him, or sit down for a night of games. He missed your smile, and your laugh, but even as you stood blankly in the bus station, he recognised you at once. He was the first one to dart up from the table and run for you, calling your name even as you jolted in panic at the sight of this stranger. As the others caught up to him, it slowly dawned on him that you could not recall who he was. He felt his newfound joy melt into sadness. Would he ever see your smile again?

Illuso- He wished he had been kinder to you. You deserved better than a bunch of arrogant loudmouths as teammates. He knows deep down he never offended you with his rudeness, but that doesn't make him any less guilt-ridden. He couldn't believe it when you failed to recognise them. How? You'd lived together for years! Is somebody forcing you to pretend you don't know them! As his interrogation becomes increasingly angered you make your excuses and try to leave, thinking nothing good can come of lingering around these strange men. Illuso grabs your wrist and begs, begs you to hear them out. He's sorry for getting heated, okay? He just- he can't lose you again.

Prosciutto- He doesn't understand how they could have lost you. You were one of the newer ones, yes, but your talent and potential was unrivalled. With time, Prosciutto was convinced you would have gone far. Then you died. And then they found you. The others were quick to panic at the sight of your lost memory, but Prosciutto was not deterred. It was his gentle charisma that convinced you to go home with the group in spite of your amnesia. From there, they can begin to show you who you were to them. He guides you softly as you look through the pictures and possessions, calming your sorrow as the twinges of memory gnaw at you. He will help you through this.

Pesci- La Squadra's apprentice never saw himself as deserving of his place in the squad. But with you, he never felt the sensation of not belonging. Prosciutto may have done what he had to to prepare him to kill others, but you taught him to love himself. With you gone, there's nobody to fill that void. He is silent as they found you on the street, silent as you walked nervously around your old home with the vaguest, vaguest hint of recognition in your eyes. He tells nobody that he is fighting back the urge to cry. When the others leave you alone for a moment he brings to you the friendship bracelet you made together, not long after you first joined. As you feel the beaded letters of his name and yours bound on the string, you cry. Pesci does too.

Melone- Unlike the others, he had always held hope deep down that you might be alive. The logistics just didn't add up. The target's stand couldn't obliterate a body entirely and they'd searched for your corpse for hours. The meetup at the restaurant was sobering for him. For the first time in months, he felt like he could accept your death. That was just seconds before they saw you. When you are home with them, he wants to examine you. He scrutinises your old wounds and concludes this form of amnesia is perfectly reasonable as a result of them. Furthermore, you have some clear lingering impairments that will need a few more months to heal. He announces with a sigh that whoever is taking care of you now clearly isn't doing a good job of it, if they were making you go out for things yourself.

Ghiaccio- Ghiaccio doesn't mourn openly. He lashes out, shouts and rants and kicks even more than he usually does, but never will he admit it's because of the grief. He didn't think he could ever quite feel the same again after you died, and now he has you back with him, he just has to accept your knowledge of your bond together is just gone? When you ask to go back to where you were staying after your first visit back to the base, he insists on driving you. He takes you down the routes you used to drive together when he needed to call off, and tries to reinitiate past conversations. He doesn't miss the way you rush to correct yourself after mispronouncing the name of a city he mentions visiting. He realises with a hopeful heart, that your memories might not be gone entirely.

Risotto- He supposes he should have always known he'd lose a teammate eventually. It didn't hurt any less when it finally happened, and Risotto blamed himself every day for sending you out on such a dangerous hit without more help. When you were found his joy was soon replaced with sadness as he noticed at once the signs of confusion on your face. You did not remember them. Lying in bed after you have returned to your accommodation, he is shell-shocked, but he will not give up on you. He arranges at once for you to meet up again, and once you are certain you can trust them, helps you get your affairs in order so you can move back in with them. Even if you still don't remember them, it's clear they'll care for you better than your current guardians. He watches you from the doorway as you settle back in to your old bedroom. Inhabited, once more.

Sorbet and Gelato- Death pervades in everything they do. They're lucky to go a week without seeing it. But with you, it's different. You were special to them. They'd watched you blossom from a frightened novice into a powerful killing machine, and when they lost you, it hurt. As you settle in gradually back to their base, they can do nothing but watch passively, butting in every so often to ask if you want help with anything, as you struggle to untangle your confused memories. A month later you knock on your door late at night, the couple getting up quickly in anticipation of you asking for more of your medicine. But then, shaking in your skin, you have a different announcement. "I think I remember you," you tell them. The three of you almost fall to the floor in the tightness of your hug, on the verge of weeping in joy as you spill out your newfound memories.