#bamboo floor care

[silentheiss]

It starts with Shang Qinghua, as many unpleasant things do.

“Come on, Cucumber-bro,” He whines, lying on Shen Qingqiu’s floor and eating Shen Qingqiu’s snacks. “Do you have to go? You promised you’d read my draft, remember?”

“I do.” Shen Qingqiu says. “And I will. Later. I promised I’d help Binghe with his hair before he has to leave for his trip today.”

“You gotta get all the way back to the demon realm just to do his hair before he leaves again?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, bro. I’m sorry.”

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan shut. He doesn’t like his tone.

“Why?”

“What?” Shang Qinghua blinks up at him from his position on the floor.

“Why are you sorry?” Shen Qingqiu repeats, slowly.

“Well, because you have to interrupt your evening to placate my clingy son?”

Shen Qingqiu isn’t sure what exactly about Airplane’s wording bothers him so much, but he doesn’t let it stop his ire.

“You think I prefer your company to my husband’s?” He hisses. Shang Qinghua sits up abruptly.

“Oh, shit, bro.” He mumbles, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you love him and all.”

Does he? Not that Shen Qingqiu cares, of course, but- does he?

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it was hard to miss with all the rage comments and well, uh. Suicides?” Shang Qinghua laughs awkwardly and Shen Qingqiu opens his fan once again. “It’s just that I get that it must be hard for you to put up with his quirks sometimes?”

What quirks! Shen Qingqiu grips his fan tighter. Sure, Binghe can get a bit sticky and is prone to crying, but what’s so quirky about it? And who’s talking! As if Mobei-jun is a completely normal choice of a partner. Shen Qingqiu scoffs and moves to stand up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He snaps. “Binghe’s perfectly normal. I enjoy spending time with him.”

“Of course you do.” Shang Qinghua nods hurriedly, also scrambling up to his feet. “Don’t be mad, Cucumber-bro. I didn’t mean to offend you!”

Shen Qingqiu know that. He didn’t mean to offend him, no. He meant to commiserate. Because, apparently, he thinks Shen Qingqiu must be tired of Luo Binghe.

“I’m leaving.” He says and promptly turns around and walks out of his own house. Binghe wouldn’t like it that he left his martial uncle in bamboo house unsupervised, but it’s either that or beating Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu hasn’t yet formulated a reason inside his buzzing and spluttering mind for why he needs to do that.

Shen Qingqiu is still trying to understand what exactly about the conversation with Shang Qinghua addles him so much as he walks towards the designated meeting spot. Luo Binghe should be there soon to pick him up and take them both to the underground palace. When they last talked – just that night, in a shared dream – Luo Binghe asked if he could visit Shen Qingqiu in their bamboo house as he has some free time before he has to continue on his business, but Shen Qingqiu wanted to be alone with his husband for the short time that they would have, and he’s rarely left alone while on Qing Jing Peak.

“Shizun!” He hears, as almost reaches the stairs. He slows down, allowing Ning YingYing to catch up to him, but doesn’t stop completely. Binghe might already be waiting.

“What is it, YinYing?” He asks, smiling indulgently at his disciple.

“Why is Shizun leaving?” Ning YingYing pouts. “Didn’t he say that he’ll stay for a few days more?”

“Your Shizun will be back shortly.” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes, but his smile is still present. See, Airplane-bro? All his disciples are sticky! Luo Binghe is not worse than anyone else. Well, if only just a little. “This Shizun just has a meeting with your shidi.”

“Ah, A-Luo is back? When will this one get to see him?”

“Luo Binghe is very busy, so he won’t be coming to Qing Jing Peak just yet.” Shen Qingqiu says, stopping at the top of the stairs and looking downward. Binghe isn’t there yet.

“So he’s stealing Shizun all to himself?” Ning YingYing pouts again, but this time her eyes are sparkling with amusement. “Isn’t A-Luo the sweetest?”

And then it dawns on Shen Qingqiu. He quickly sends Ning YingYing back and starts his trip down the stairs, lost in thought. He’s taking Shizun all to himself. You have to interrupt your evening to placate my clingy son. They say it as if it wasn’t Shen Qingqiu who insisted on meeting somewhere else, so they could be alone. As if he didn’t insist on being interrupted whenever Luo Binghe had a minute to spare during his trip.

Because even if they know that Shen Qingqiu cares for Luo Binghe, they are certain that Luo Binghe cares for him more. More to the point of being annoying, even?

Shen Qingqiu sees red. He’s furious with Airplane, of course, because he started it, but most of all he’s furious at himself. Sure, he isn’t as shameless as his husband to declare his love left and right, but did he really let his cold and aloof facade lead people to believe that he is not madly in love with his husband?

Did he lead Luo Binghe to believe that, too?

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t notice the stairs end and almost stumbles, when his foot meets the ground sooner than he anticipated. A strong arm catches him around the waist.

“Shizun.” His husband breathes out and draws him closer, hugging him as if they’ve been apart for months instead of days. Shen Qingqiu is frozen in his arms.

That’s it, isn’t it? Luo Binghe never hesitates to show his feelings. But Shen Qingqiu’s thin face is not an indicator that he loves his husband less! It’s just that-

“Shizun?” Luo Binghe leans away, arms still circling his waist. His brow is furrowed, just a bit. Starry eyes are already watering from Shen Qingqiu's lack of response. How on earth could someone not love this man with their whole heart?

“Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu says, unable to hold the question back a moment longer. “Do you think you love me more than I love you?”

Luo Binghe’s arms drop. He takes a stumbling step back. His perfect, beautiful face freezes completely, not showing a single emotion. A second later tears start rolling down his cheeks.

“Binghe?” Shen Qingqiu takes his husband’s hand and squeezes lightly. “Are you okay?”

“Shizun said-” Binghe chokes, still looking at him without as much as blinking. “He said he loves…?”

Then, the dam breaks and Luo Binghe starts sobbing in earnest. Shit. Has he ever said the L word before? Shen Qingqiu swears on his own grave – on all of his graves – to never let the shame overtake him again.

“So, you do?” He asks, heartbroken and ashamed. He truly is an abominable husband.

“I do!” Binghe cries. “Of course I do. How can there be a love greater than my love for Shizin?”

How? Shen Qingqiu would love for Luo Binghe to see his old room right now. That’d show him how.

“What about my love, huh?” He snaps, fighting an urge to stomp his foot. “Why can’t it be greater?”

Binghe must realize his mistake. He hastily wipes his face and shakes his head.

“Of course this one knows Shizun cares for him! Shizun’s shown this one so much kindness, has been so generous, and-”

“No!” Shen Qingqiu feels his cheeks grow hot. “I don’t just care for you. I love you. I love my husband.”

Luo Binghe stares at him and doesn’t say anything for a very long time.

“Shizun?” He says, finally. “Did you happen to come across any interesting plants recently?”

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“I’m not under any influence!” Shen Qingqiu huffs.

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Go for it.”

A second later Shen Qingqiu feels the blood parasites start fretting. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, but if it’ll make his husband stop humiliating him, he’ll take it happily.

“Shizun is healthy.” Luo Binghe says dumbly. “But then why would he say that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Shen Qingqiu cries. “Why is it so hard to believe? Why do everybody, including my own husband, keep suggesting that I don’t feel as strongly about Binghe as Binghe does about me?”

“Did Liu Qingge say something?” Luo Binghe asks, eyes narrowing.

“No!” Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes. “But I’m sure he would, if he had a chance. Because apparently, I don’t look in love!”

Luo Binghe’s face is quite red, Shen Qingqiu notices.

“But they’ll see.” He continues. “Ang you! You’ll see too, Binghe.”

“I’ll see?”

“Yes.” Shen Qingqiu nods decidedly. He knows how to fanboy, okay? Binghe’s cooking and fretting and gift lavishing won’t stand a chance against Shen Qingqiu’s skill. “Take me home this instant. I have posters to paint.”

“Posters?”

“Now, Binghe!”

Luo Binghe squeaks and reaches for Xin Mo. Shen Qingqiu jumps through the portal before it even fully opens.

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

23. A therapist? ✎

Scaramouche fears no man.

But he does fear four women.

1. Ei — his mother

2. Yae Miko — his mother’s “friend”

3. Nahida — his aunt

4. You — the highlight of his life

There’s no particular order. It depends on the day. Although tonight, that might be the case.

The bamboo pendant lamp hangs beautifully in the intricate walls if Uyuu Restaurant. An order of Tricolor Dango, Shimi Chazuke, Fukuuchi Udon, and Halvamazd scatter along the floor table. Scara settles across his mother. Yae Miko finds the spot next to her and beside him, Nahida chats away with the restaurant owner who introduces himself and the specialties he’d prepared in advance.

Four dishes for four people.

“What a funny guy! What’s his name again?” Yae Miko asks after the owner left.

“I believe it’s Okazaki Rikuto,” Nahida answers as she scans the roster of food available. Scara notices the eagerness in her eyes. Sometimes, his aunt resembles that of a child – if only she wasn’t so perceptive.

“Care to share your thoughts?” Nahida asks.

There it is – as always.

Scara clears his throat, “No. Let’s eat.”

It will have to wait.

Minutes of uncomfortable silence fills the room. A wave of anxiety begins to envelop Scara’s thoughts. Considering his intrepid personality, he’s sure that even outsiders can tell the absurdity of his actions – from fumbling his chopsticks to checking his phone every passing second. It’s a telltale sight. He curses himself.

“Whatever you wanted to discuss with us, you should do it now,” Ei states calmly. Although It’s not a suggestion, rather a demand.

Scara clears his throat a second time. There’s hesitation in his words. But stalling will get him nowhere, “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Yae Miko looks up grinning, “A therapist?”

The urge to say “fuck you” and hold up a middle finger begins to increase.

“Miko,” his mother warns. Scara can’t tell the expression Ei is wearing – he can never tell with her. He hates that. She is uncertainty, someone he’ll never fully understand.

Nahida interjects, “Is it [name]? I’ve seen articles and comments.”

Scara nods.

Always so perceptive.

Yae Miko Gasps, a hand over her mouth, “Oh the poor girl. I can’t believe she chose you.”

“Miko!” Ei screams.

A simple “fuck you” might not be enough. One more comment from the pink haired lady and they’ll have to call the ambulance – and it’s not for the right reasons.

Yae Miko looks at him with false pity, “You do know, it’s bad to lie–”

Ei cuts her off, “When can we meet her?”

Scara is caught off guard in the best way possible.

A genuine smile is written on his mother’s face – satisfaction.

“You should’ve invited her tonight,” Nahida added, “I’m a big fan of her work.”

He’s dreaming. He has to be.

“I had no faith in you,” Yae Miko says matter-of-factly.

Nevermind. He’s not dreaming.

“Look, you were a socially awkward child – a problem child, even now.”

He’s never been in a cat fight, but today might be it. Should he pull the top of her hair first or the bottom? Which one would be more efficient, he wonders. Venti would know.

“I mean Ei, do you remember the time–”

Or perhaps he should ask Heizou for blackmail materials. Then perhaps his mother would finally cut her off. Taking down the Yae Publishing House… What an exciting thought.

Scara tunes out the voice of his primary hater.

“Next time, you and [name] should visit Tenshukaku. I’d love to meet her,” his mother says in-between giggles.

“You’re not upset?” He asks, just to make sure.

Ei looks offended, “Why would I be?”

“Well–” He halts, not sure of what to say, “Because of the scandals…”

He doesn’t care about those trivial issues, but they might.

Nahida giggles, “For someone who doesn’t seem to care about people’s opinions, you sure are obedient today.“

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Ei shakes his head, “I know I never told you this, but I’ve always wanted the best for you,” She hesitates, “I apologize for making it hard for you to tell me simple things like this. I’m not a perfect mother, but I’m glad you’re sharing a part of your life with me – with us.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, merely nods.

If you were here, you would’ve loved them and they would’ve loved you.

He’s sure of that now. He’s wrong for doubting them.

“But anyway, is there something [name] would like? I can send her newly-made desserts from the shop.”

Yae Miko interjects, “Does she read light novels? I can give her a discount.”

“Or maybe she likes plants? Have you given her Padisarahs? Rainbow Roses? It’s supposed to mean passion and romantic encounters,” Nahida suggests.

Ei lights up, “Oh I know! A copy of your childhood photo album – you were an adorable kid.”

“Mom!”

“Hey, I’m sure she’d want it.”

She’s right.

Notes:

in a world where everyone is happy 😃

kept this in the basement for too long

next chapter is the last chapter then the extras

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go on an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo album. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

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[kechiwrites]

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause. 

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

[patrywoso]

9. Georgia Stanway

+18 SMUT

“Don’t be scared,” you enjoy it somewhat but you don't let on, admiring your handiwork as the tightly wound football player spins off the floor in bundles and bundles of rope. “This isn’t about hurting you or making you feel small. I just want you to feel good…”

“I feel like a rotisserie chicken,” Georgia murmurs, clearing her throat and blushing.

“Yes you’re right, rotisserie chickens are very delicious,” you nod, smirking and capturing a thigh to tighten it up a little bit. “I think we’ll get this knee a bit higher so I can watch that pretty cunt of yours do little twirls for me.”

“Do you have to be so crass?”

“Yes baby,” you crane down and kiss her forehead, push-pulling on the working ends to bring the thigh up higher to the bamboo. “I do.”

It had started with flirting around the idea, spoken about yet never with serious intention on Georgia’s part, she knew about the shibari classes, the workshops, that it was an interest you felt passionate about, but not a hobby she had the precious hours in the day to indulge in. Your relationship was one of quickies: shower sex, stadium sex, car sex, elevator sex. At first, you thought it was because Georgia really did only have so much time in the day. But, you knew Georgia far better now that you both had been dating for some months. you had come to realize she just got off on the exhilaration of possibly getting caught. Georgia was more kinky than she realised.

“The inside of my thigh feels a little sore,” Georgia observes almost clinically.

“I would be very worried if it didn’t, bratty girl.” you smile and undo her pristine ponytail into a cascade of glossy blonde hair.

You dig and rub your fingers into Georgia’s scalp, finding little pressure points on either side of the temple to relieve tension. Georgia can’t help herself, she sighs happily and the tightness in her shoulder blades visibly releases. The rope cradles her, suspends her, and keeps her arms in a box tie behind her spine, her thighs splayed and supported, clean suspension lines that are approximate and comfortable. “You look so fucking beautiful,” you whisper from the back of your throat, lips pressing to Georgia’s ear, teeth nipping the pinkened top of it. “Do you feel far away and dreamy yet?”

Georgia exhales and thinks, her brow wrinkling into a furrow as though she wants to deny it but her thighs are hanging apart and the evidence is plain to see. When she inhales, you push on the flat of her shoulder and send her slowly spinning around on her axis, like a little planetary body, like a little world in and of herself.

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” you laugh, sultry and low. “We have the whole evening ahead of us, remember?” you remind her. “You can take as long as you need to get there.”

“About that,” Georgia murmurs, eyes closed and struggling to be the disinterested onlooker that she was when the rope first went on. “I might have a business call to take in a little…”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care.”

“If the phone calls then I’m answering it.”

“Oh, are you now?” you hum, glancing around the living room, and then your eyes land on the phone by the coffee table. “Tell me more, please? I like it when you’re grumpy.”

“Baby.” Georgia opens her eyes, determined to be in control and to have the final word. “If my phone goes then we’re stopping so I can take…..wait, what are you doing?”

“Dynamic problem-solving.” you bring the phone back towards the tied-up troublemaker. “Thumbprint, please. I’ll put your phone on airplane mode.”

“No.” “You promised me an undisturbed evening for my birthday,” you say sternly.

“One little phone call won’t ruin a whole evening.” Georgia tucks her fingers in her fists behind her spine and won’t budge.

“Give me your thumb, Georgia, this is your last warning.”

Georgia just smiles coyly and keeps her thumbs and fingers balled. “Sorry,” she somehow manages to shrug in her box-tie. “No can do.”

“Alright, have it your way.”

“What are you…” Georgia’s eyes grow wide as the arm pulls back, the shoulder swings and the phone is thrown through the open balcony doors “Baby!” She hisses.

“No more call,” you shrug and pick up her flogger. “You want to complain about it?” You twist the handle and show the crybaby the spreading falls of leather.

Georgia’s ribs swell outwards against the rope with a long, deep inhale of breath. She holds it, cheeks puffed, eyes fixed on the flogger that was about to punch holes in the plot points of her machinations.

“I’ll get to it later,” she says, much more diplomatically.

“You know I think a little polite deference is the only thing incapable of hurting you right now.” you lift your eyebrow, smirking and remembering the words you both had negotiated around as being possible greens.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Georgia licks her lips and closes her eyes.

“That sounds so pretty in your mouth little girl,” you quirk a pleased look, spinning the flogger around until gravity gathered up and concentrated the falls. “Does it feel right?”

Georgia pauses for the longest time.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And,” you wiggle your brows, striking the front of her thigh with a tame gentle thud. “I would like it if you made a point of using it for the rest of tonight, please.” Georgia nods but says nothing.

The strikes of the flogger are never too solid, never more than you feel Georgia will find pleasurable. The flogger whips the air, its bark far worse than its bite, striking the front of her thighs, expertly wrapping over the hip to catch her buttock.

“More please” Georgia whispers out of nowhere.

You grin when it registers in your brain.

“You’re forgetting something, baby girl.”

“More please, Ma’am.”

Georgia spins and twirls slowly in the rope, quiet, thrilled, straining, and sweating. In the moments she’s capable of speaking, she whimpers instead. You bury your fingers deep inside her little tight cunt, push-pressing into the tiny spot of heaven right behind her clit, palm dug against her swollen hood, edging her towards the gates of hell.

“Ma’am please, please, please…” Georgia’s eyes crack open. “Please can I cum?”

“Is it my birthday or yours?” you hum and slip your other hand up her belly.

The box tie makes Georgia’s breasts bulge and squeeze off her chest, nipples swollen, begging to be sucked, bit, played with, and squeezed hard until she breaks into tears. You do none of these things. You graze over them gently, circling, teasing them stiff and hard until Georgia is gritting her teeth and whining.

“Such a dirty, wet, messy little thing.” you remove your fingers and hold them up, webbing them, pushing them into hung crimson lips to be sucked clean. “Good girl, use your tongue. That’s it…” You slip the two fingers over the flat of her eager little tongue and make her gag and wretch into her fingers. “Good girl, give me your spit. What do you say Georgia?”

“Thank you,” Georgia mumbles incoherently against the fingers pressing down into her tongue. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Such a good, good girl.” you smile happily. “Tell me what you are.”

“Your good girl, Ma’am,” Georgia closes her eyes, embarrassed and thrilled.

“My good girl, huh?” you push your fingers back inside slick, swollen cunt lips. “You know I take great pride in pretty things that belong to me… maybe I’ll have to get you a collar,” you said while fucking her hard.

When Georgia whimpers and moans, it’s so much weaker and softer than her normal sounds. It’s the noise of a woman on the brink of her sensibilities, on the brink of new realizations about herself. You want to give her all and more, she looks so pretty like this, tied-up, spread open, pink, and puffing for air. She would look prettier with a hand wrapped around her throat, you think, but decide that will be more fun when it’s negotiated for another special evening, and there certainly will be another.

Fingers hilted far inside her cunt, curling against her g-spot, you are fucking her deep and fast until her hips are jolting and shaking in the air, you work her hard, relentless even. Her gleaming little asshole twitches and flexes. You grin, gathering saliva on the back of your tongue. When you hoicks a glob of spit, expert aim, dripping down her asshole, it does things to Georgia. You press your thumb into her ring, not penetrating, not delving too far, just pressing and circling against her slippery little hole. Georgia cries out and bucks her hips, forehead wrinkling, brows knitted, teeth clenching, her throat tense and rocking with want.

“Poor little baby girl,” you crane down and kiss her belly in sporadic little trails. “You feel so fucking drippy and desperate, princess, I can feel you clenching, you should be careful… I would hate it if you were sore tomorrow.”

“Shut up!” Georgia barks, giggling and moaning in the same breaths. It gives you an abrupt good laugh too.

“Fine baby,” you whisper and you fuck the clingy little cunt with your fingers, slipping out, smoothing your fingers over flush wet lips, circling her throbbing clit, pushing back in fast and deep. “You want to cum?”

“Yes please Ma’am, And.” Georgia nods frantically, gathering her breath. “Will you… will you put your thumb in?”

“My thumb in your butt?” you have to bite back the smirk.

“Please?”

“Well I would just hate it if it was too much for you to take kitten.” you grin and nip her hipbone, fingers curling and fucking her to oblivion. “But, if you’re sure”

“I’m sure!” Georgia almost wails. “I’m sure, sure, sure! Please, I can’t…” Georgia rocks her hips, desperate and close. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

“You’ll hold on as long as I fucking tell you to hold it, baby. God help you if you don’t.” you made no bones, warm and soft and indifferent. “There’s a good girl, just give up, there you go, it will be so much better for you when you learn to just let me make the decisions…”

Georgia finally cries. It isn’t thick horrible destructive tears, she weeps, bottom lip going, nodding slowly, melting into her helplessness. She cries, and it’s enough to soften the little malevolent god between her legs.

“There you go,” you hush, thumb dipping and pressing inside. Georgia inhales a breath too big for her lungs, stiff and on the edge of herself. “Jesus, you’re sucking me inside greedy girl” You feel her muscles tense and flex against your thumb.

“So good!” Georgia makes less and less sense, barely holding on to herself. “Please? Please, Daddy?”

You blink, registering the deference, a word that hasn’t been negotiated, and yet… sounds and feels so fucking perfect. You just nod into it, feeling it out, thrilled and aroused beyond reason.

“Okay baby,” you husk when her muscles get tight all at once when the poor little baby dripping down her wrist can’t take anymore. “You can cum for Daddy.”

“Thank you!”

Georgia cums in a rush, explodes all at once, a big bang in and of herself. You grin and feel her flexing pretty holes get tight, fucking, forcing them to take more and more despite the sensitivity. It makes Georgia blink away tears, makes her open-mouthed sob stay hung and silent, frozen, her brain stuck like a stalled engine. You fuck her harder, faster, thrumming against her swollen g-spot until you’re certain you got the right angle.

Then, you really make Georgia burst.

“There you go princess,” you hush and rub dripping fingers up and over her soaked, twitching swollen cunt. “Such a good, good, good girl.” you laugh, teasing a bucking, over-sensitive clit that twists and tries to escape your ministrations.

“S-sorry,” Georgia stutters out of nowhere, nervous and not quite sure of the mechanics. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean…” She glances at you, then immediately looks away.

“What baby?” your brows furrow.

When you look down, taking stock of yourself, of your dripping wet t-shirt, your sprayed jeans, and the tiny puddle on the living room floor that would definitely need mopping. You nod and close your eyes, trying your hardest not to be pleased. “It’s okay, baby, that’s just squirt.” Your voice wobbles with amusement. “Georgia, it was very much intentional on my part,” you whisper and start the process of untying the suspension lines.

“Wait.” Georgia stares in disbelief as her thigh is slowly lowered back to the ground. “You… you can do that on purpose?”

“Yeah baby,” you knitted your brow together. “You want to try again later? Get you a snack, some water, put you in the bath first?”

Georgia’s expression is glittering, glowing, giddy, and pleased. It makes you feel pleased too. When Georgia has both legs back on the floor, curling and tucking up towards your chest as the rope is untied and takes off her shins, that’s when she finds her voice again.

“That sounds lovely baby.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is stunning. It's an estate built in 1988 in Danville, CA. The inspiration was Frank Lloyd Wrights famous masterpiece "Fallingwater." It has 7bds, 14ba, and it just had a price increase of $500K, for a total asking price of $10.5M + $745mo. HOA.

Isn't this beautiful? Walk in, and climb the stairs to a bridge. I wonder if they have someone to care for all the plants.

Look at the wood. That ceiling! And, then the varied stones and greenery. It looks like the bridge goes over a trough filled with river rock.

I wonder if the the plants and statuary convey. These floors look like slabs of stone or marble.

This is interesting. I've never seen a living room with the same furniture pieces facing one another. What symmetry.

There seem to be lots of levels and stairs.

Here's a bear by a waterfall.

The kitchen cabinets look like bamboo and it looks like they have stone counters.

We've never seen a kitchen quite like this. Some of the cabinets and appliances are set into stone.

This dining area is so large, it looks like an entrance hall with big glass doors and a fireplace. The floors are flagstone in some parts of the house.

Instead of a regular dining room table, they have the formal dining room set up like a restaurant. It looks like this floor is marble.

A wine cellar and a glass-enclosed tasting room. Very classy.

Kind of like walking thru a hi-end mall.

Here's the primary bedroom. It's quite large. There's a sitting area that looks like a living room and above there's a loft.

What a pretty bathroom, except that I don't like the carpet, but it was popular in the 80s.

There are so many places to sit. Lots of rocks and water features. Also notice how the ceiling changes.

Another bridge. You could get lost in here.

This secondary bedroom looks like a nice hotel room.

This looks like another entrance. It's beautiful. Look at the orange on the rock walls.

Have you ever seen a garage like this? It's for a car collection and features slivery columns and a row of chandeliers. What if you aren't a car collector? Maybe it could be a theater.

There's a bar in here.

This is an outdoor covered pavilion with a barbecue kitchen.

The grounds are gorgeous with paths, water features, and bridges.

It has a tranquil pool surrounded by plants.

The 4.54 acre property looks like a small town or mall. Note the tennis court on top of the roof of the garage, the fountain in the middle, all the greenery.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/81-Eagle-Ridge-Pl-Danville-CA-94506/18435730_zpid?

[alexa-fika]

PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU I NEED MORE 🙇‍♂️🙏🛐

I NEED MY DAILY DOSE OF PLATONIC WHITEBEARD PIRATES

Demonically obvious ( Whitebeard pirates x nezuko!reader)

Part 1

A/N HERE WE GO, Im sorry for the wait but finally we got part 2! and lemme tell you I COOKED, Im so exited for this one guys, I had a blast writing it and hope you guys like it as well, HERE YOU GO COSMO, YOU ONLY HAD TO WAIT A WHOLE MONTH XD

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/Saradika

-He cared as much as he cared about Ace being Roger's son, aka he did not care.

He hummed after Ace finished confessing both his heritage and the true nature of Dokucha's current ailment.

"Roger, huh, Don't look much like the old bastard," he chuckled, taking another chug of his jar as he glanced at the small girl happily cuddling up to him.

"And a demon, who would have thought? Definitely something you don't see every day," he hummed. 

"I have just told you I am the child of your greatest enemy and that my sister is a dangerous being. Don't you want to kick us out?" 

He let out a bellowing laugh at his worries. 

"See, when I saw you come in with such a somber look on your face, I had thought you had important news to tell me, but I could not think of something more trivial," he exclaimed, laughing further at Ace's shocked expression.

" I could not care less about where you came from or what you are. At the end of the day, we are all children of the sea; your backgrounds do not change the fact that you are now my children."

Ace stares at him for a bit longer until he slumps down, a small smile breaking on his face.    

"you're something else pops."

"Gurararara Had me on my toes, boy. I thought I was going to lose my son and my only daughter."   

Dokucha frowned as he tilted the jar further, gulping more and more of the liquid until she had grown tired of it, and kicked the jar away from his grasp, much to the shock of both men.

Whitebeard frowned, glancing at at the wall she had kicked the jar to, watching as all that remained were small fragments littered throughout the floor. Glancing back at the child, who sat on the corner of the bed, kicking her feet as if nothing had occurred

"I already have the nurses and Marco on me for drinking, now you?"

Dokucha glanced his way, and he could notice a slight upward tilt of her lips wrapped around the bamboo and a mischievous glim in her eye.

"Cheeky Brat," He grumbled.

"Don't take your eyes off her boy. She is going to be a troublemaker; I can feel it."

He chuckled

"She already is. Hey pops?" he called, receiving a slight hum from the older male.

"Thank you."

"Don't you get sentimental on me, boy."

He knew she wasn't human due to her lack of food intake and other peculiarities.

"I know," he stated as he continued cutting the kale on his cutting board, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the board filling their ears.

"What the hell do you mean, you know?"

"Din't know she was a demon, but I knew she wasn't human either, also." Thatch looks up at him, narrowing his eyes at him and pointing his knife his way

"Stop using those words around your sister; she's gonna end up cursing like us," he grumbled, glancing at Dokucha, who sat next to Ace, dewy eyes staring back at him.

"Hi, pumpkin; you hungry?" he questions, returning to his previous actions of cutting the vegetable, letting out a soft hum when she shakes her head.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" he asks, giving Ace a side glance.

"What?"

"I'm the head chef of this ship, Ace; you think I wouldn't notice the fact that she never eats?" he questioned, raising a brow to the younger male.

"At first, I thought she was shy about eating in the mess hall. We ain't a quiet bunch after all, but she doesn't have any problem with hanging around the mess hall at all," he noted  

"Maybe I was just missing it, so I started looking more. I never saw her take any food, nor did I see you make any action to give her some; she always said no when anyone offered too," he listed

"What, are you a stalker? he scoffed

"I'm observant, ya nitwit," he snapped back.

"Not to mention the odd sensitivity to the sun, and the little bamboo piece she always carries around didn't help the case alone. They didn't mean much, but it kept stacking up."

He rolled his eyes at that, leaning his head on his hand as he stared at him, his sister looking up at the chef, waiting for his response.

"And you're okay with it?"

"Ace, we have fishmen, minks, mermaids and giants in our crew, not to mention most of the 'humans' in the crew aren't the spittin image of a human, have ya seen Marco? He's a walking chicken, or a pineapple.' He muses, grinning when he gets a choked laugh from the freckled man and a joyful laugh from the demon beside him

"She fits right in with us, and even if she didn't, we still would have made it work for the lil pumkin," he spoke, reaching over the counter separating them and ruffling her hair.

Ace smiles slightly at the interaction until a thought pops into his head.

"Marco is gonna kill you for saying that, y'know?" he snickered, remembering the commander's previous jabs.

"Eh, what he don know won't harm'em." 

-Knew she wasn't human due to their first encounter, lack of injuries, regeneration, and discrepancies on her devil fruit. (also that is such a nice gift, look at that man < 3)

"Oh, Was that supposed to be a secret?"

"W- you also knew?!"

"Ah, you probably forgot since you were out of it back then, but the little miss was quite protective of you; lunged right at me," he said, looking down at the small girl who began trying to climb her way into his lap, eyes slightly teary as she did

"Ah, it's okay, Dokucha; I know you only meant to protect him; I'm not mad at you," he reassured her as she nuzzled into him.

He looked up, returning the attention to the fire-user

"Her strength wasn't anything to scoff at and at first I thought it was the Toshi-Toshi no mi, but that fruit was consumed by Jewelry Bonnie," he recalled

"Not to mention that The fruit wouldn't change your body the way it did to her; it would only age you up, so that wouldn't explain the teeth, the eyes and the horn," he said, petting her head as she slowly dozed off.

“Seriously, you guys need to lay off on the staring”

"The cherry on the cake to that was the fact that the injuries she got from our squabble and any other injuries she has ever received healed instantly, much like the Tori-tori no mi Moderu Fenniksu, but last I checked, I'm still alive, and kicking so she can't be the holder of that fruit" he listed, ignoring his previous statement

"She could have just had a different fruit that was capable of those things." Ace pointed out a frown on his face

"Hmm, I thought so too, but I found it weird how, despite her incredible regeneration, she seemed to be incredibly sensitive to the sun, getting quite the nasty burns when she left that umbrella of hers; those are the only injuries I have ever needed to treat on her, it was peculiar but a devil fruit still could have been to blame, until I saw her swimming in one of the islands we stopped in, no care in the world and definitely not weakened by it."

"Hah, I guess we weren't the best at hiding it," grumbled Ace

"You sucked at it," Marco affirmed

"Okay, now you're going too far," he glowered, the scowl on his face growing as the doctor simply threw a smile his way. 

"Do..do you know of a cure?" he asked tentatively.

" I do not." 

Ace sighed at that, slumping down in defeat.

"But I'm sure we will find something; I have gathered a good amount of journals and information over the last few years. I don't doubt that the solution is among one of the journals; we just need to look through them,"

"I have been looking through books and information for the last three years. What makes this any difference? "

"The Difference, Ace, is that you were alone, at most with your crew You had what, twenty people? On the other hand, we have more than a thousand in the main crew alone, and that is without taking into account the dozens of subordinate crews and affiliates."

"I see the humility runs deep here," he mutters sarcastically, giving him an unimpressed look.

"Watch it."

He rolled his eyes, waving him off.   

"Do you really think we can find something?"

"Absolutely"

"You guys may have just recently joined, but you are as much as our siblings as anyone else, not to mention that everyone would do anything for their only sister."

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Again i loved writing this, Like i can just picture Ace dumfounded look as he realized that the crew did not give two craps about it almost everyone already knew, he thought he was being so sneaky. What we thinking of southern Thatch again?

Also cosmo, next request is also yours XD red pirate/whitebeard one. AND after that I have yours holo, second attempt

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

Fic specific taglist (Alarm bell for part 2)

@holoimtrans17

@khaleesihavilliard

@unsuretater-simp

@lunaizhere

[willtheweaver]

A writer’s guide to forests: traveling through the woods

Getting from point A to point B is something that both people in real life and the characters of your story will have to figure out. Whether as a means to get to a plot point, or as a part of the plot itself, travel presents opportunities for the writer.

Hack ‘n slash- Where paths are nonexistent, your characters will literally have to blaze a trail (the ‘blaze’ in this case has nothing to do with fire. Instead it is a trail marker made by carving a mark into a tree. The mark resembles the white patch seen on the forehead of mammals, most often horses.) Being the pioneer is slow going, especially if the undergrowth is thick and requires clearing. Cut bamboo can go through the foot, poison oak and poison ivy can give a nasty rash, and biting insects can make life miserable. And then there is the matter of marking the trail. A character on the run will not want to advertise their location and will do their best to keep their trail hidden. But for others, they will want to mark the trail. Stone cairns, arrows, blaze marks in trees, and even sticks and knotted grass can point out the path to other travelers. This can be helpful to others, but it can also present a danger. Thieves and outlaws can create false trails that lead travelers into a trap or ambush.

Game trails- Animals have their habits. They like to take the same path between places. Over time these develop into trails that crisscross the forest floor. For a character on the run, or those who needs to make haste, these are a tempting choice to follow. But be careful. Some animals are able to traverse terrain too difficult for humans (narrow ledges, near vertical faces, and the gaps underneath fallen trees are not fun places to be). And your characters may encounter more than deer or rabbits. Predator species hang out around game trails as they can be fruitful hunting grounds.

Existing paths and roads- Roads can range from simple dirt paths to paved highways. These will be the most direct routes between the principle settlements in your story. Prosperous areas will have well maintained roads with travelers and patrols using them frequently. Characters may also encounter watchtowers, farms, and inns along the way. Poorer regions, those affected by war, or more remote regions will have less well maintained roads, fewer travelers, and few to no amenities between towns. And if your characters can use the roads, expect hostile armies, outlaws, and highwaymen to use them as well. And where the roads go may be limited to the most populated regions, forcing your characters to leave the path if they want to get to isolated villages, caves, temples, or even a wizard’s tower.

Use the water- Of course, you can have your characters forgo land transportation and use the rivers, lakes, and seas. Rafts, ferry boats, and ocean going ships are all viable options. It should be noted that these are not perfect solutions. Rapids and waterfalls will force characters back onto land until they find gentler waters. Storms can delay or sink vessels, and cold winters will freeze water over. Of course, a frozen river or lake is just an excuse to get out the ice skates. Droughts will dry up streams and small lakes, and recent rains can turn placid waters into unsurvivable whitewater.

Up in the trees- Hate to burst your bubble here, but swinging from vines is something that only exists in fiction. If you try to do this in real life, it will not work out well…provided you can even find sufficient vines or fig roots. Of course, in your story, you are free to do what you want. Nothing is going to stop you…well except maybe for your readers and the critics who will pan you for using what may be considered an overused and unoriginal trope. Other options include bridges, cable cars, or even zip lines.

Taking flight- Of course, the forest will not pose an obstacle if your characters can simply fly. This can be achieved by characters that possess wings of some sort. They could have a winged mount, or they could hitch a ride on a vehicle like a helicopter or ultralight plane.

Underground- If in doubt, take a cue from moles and dwarves. Tunnels can serve the same function as roads, with all the benefits and drawbacks included. Of course your characters will also have to be aware that cave-ins are a real and present danger. These can be natural, or deliberate sabotage. And your characters best hope all the recent tunneling hasn’t awaken any ancient evils from long ago…

[thegoldenavenger]

Mmmmm, thinking about Luo Binghe flying high on his sword when a magnificent bird veers close to him, flaring its wings and catching the buffet of wind around lbh and riding alongside him

The bird looks at him with steely, piercing eyes and delicately reaches its talons out to grip zheng yang's hilt. It settles carefully onto the sword, ruffling its feathers as it balances. Idly, it toys with the hem of lbh's robe, at the tie on his boot.

Lbh is heading to Qing Jing Peak, of course and this bird rides with him the whole way. Approaching the bamboo forest, the bird catches flight again, quickly looping around lbh before folding its wings and diving.

Not to be outclassed, lbh also tucks himself in and dives. Unerring, the bird and lbh are heading for the same figure.

LBH finally has to pull out of the dive, jumping off Zheng Yang and sweeping it back into its sheath in an elegant movement while the bird, like an arrow, drops almost directly onto Shen Qingqiu, who is waiting.

At the last moment the bird pulls up, it's talons reaching out and it's wings breaking its speed. It perches on sqq's arm, almost a third to half the size of sqq himself.

"Oh you brought home Binghe! How good!" Sqq scratches the bird's feathers around its face, and the bird floofs and twists its head appreciatively. It delicately nips at sqq's fingers and sqq let's out a little "Oh! Right!" And procures a little meat snack for it.

Lbh, totally not jealous of a bird, announces himself and sqq smiles at him, very gleeful.

"Shizun...?"

"Binghe, welcome back! You may not have noticed, but your Liu-Shishu had a little qi deviation and turned into a bird!"

The bird makes a trilling noise after it—he—snapped up the snack, and goes back to nibbling at sqq's hand, pulling softly at his sleeve. Lbh makes a face.

"How long is he going to be like that?" Lbh asks, edging into sqq's space, not so subtly planning how best to oust bird-lqg from sqq's arm.

"Mu Qingfang said that he would likely have to clear the resentment that caused the qi deviation, before his energy can rebalance and return to normal."

"And... he can do that?" Lbh looks VERY doubtfully at lqg, who is busy trying to fit his head back into sqq's palm, begging for more scritches.

"Ah, well. Probably?" Sqq says, "He has times where he seems more lucid. Yang Yixuan is, uh, dedicated, but I don't trust Bai Zhan to have the delicacy required to take care of Liu-Shidi while he's this indisposed..."

"They might still try to fight him..." Lbh agrees.

"Exactly! He's still so intimidating!" Sqq says this while cooing, dragging his hand down the bird's chest. Bird-lqg obligingly raises a talon, showing off wicked finger-length curving claws to Sqq's obvious delight.

Lbh starts, in reflex, as sqq holds his hand out and bird-lqg curves his talons around it, but bird-lqg is exceedingly delicate, exerting a control that normal birds wouldn't possess.

"And he can't stay on the beast mountain?" Lbh asks

"Well, they have so many other responsibilities..." sqq says, almost pouting at lbh.

Lbh thinks that is entirely unfair. He is the one who should be crying in this situation, seeing as his husband has, once again, done backflips in order to arrange lqg into their care.

"You just want to study him." Lbh accuses, finally burrowing his way into sqq's shoulder, leaning on it enough that it unbalanced bird-lqg. Lbh keeps an eye out, but as expected, bird-lqg launches off of sqq with a few powerful flaps of his wings instead of risking harming sqq to readjusting his perch.

"I could turn into a better animal for you to study." Lbh says, petulant, into sqq's hair.

"Ahhh, it will only be for awhile you sticky husband." Sqq says, but dutifully pets lbh's hair.

Lbh shuffles them back into the bamboo house, intending on visiting the kitchens then heading to bed, but he's stopped by the mess of straw and woodchips spread along the floor. A large, wickedly gnarled branch leans haphazardly across the home, almost wall to wall.

"Shizun......" lbh says in despair. "Shizun, he is not staying in the house, is he?"

As if in punctuation, a beautiful feather floats down lazily in front of lbh's face.

[estellxli]

(small drabble before i sleep ;w; also it's been a while since I've posted lolol)

My Woman

Your shivering hands reached out for the door knob of your home. Smoke leaving your mouth as you walked in. Relief comforted your body as the warmth embraced you.

"Welcome home, darling." Your husband says, donning an apron. That's when your nose finally picked up a familiar scent, your lips tug in a smile. A smile he treasures.

"Here, let me." he says, as he takes of your coat, the fabric absorbing the melted snowflakes. He hangs it on the coat rack.

"Thank you" you say as your right feet goes behind the other, about to attempt to take your boots off. Just then, Zhongli kneels down to your surprise and grabs your left boot, waiting for you to raise it.

A giggle leaves your lips. This damned man, doesn't he know this gestures of his makes you fall for him more? It's bad for your heart.

"Famished?"

Feet free from its cage. His hands guiding you slowly, making sure you won't trip.

"Very"

He looks up with that devilish smile of his. You quite like the view up there, he reminded you of a cute schipperke.

Zhongli grabs your hand, his lips soft and smooth on your skin.

"Perfect. I made us dinner"

As he stood, you were reminded once more of how he's much taller than you. You can't help but wonder if you looked like a dog to him too, or a cat.... or a bunny.

Your trance ended as you were swiftly off the floor, your husband carrying you bridal style. A giggle leaves once more. Really, what is up with him today.

He brings the both of you in the dining room, sitting you down and moving your chair in for you.

Clearly, your nose didn't betrayed you as bowl of slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup is presented on your table. Zhongli watched you eat his dish in delight. He couldn't help but laugh at your pantomime attempt of expressing how good his dish was. You knew how much it was cooked with the utmost care and technique, using only the finest ingredients just for you. He loved doing things for you. And oh, how incredibly grateful you are for that.

"Finished, my dear?" you nod as you gulp the last sip of your water.

He needn't ask if you liked the soup. He knew you did. He knew, since he'll only give you the best and only the best.

"Come now," Zhongli stood from his chair and walked beside you. " — let's have you cleaned for bed."

The both of you sauntered in the bathroom, bathtub filled with water and bubbles foaming out. It smelled like lavender. Zhongli helping you take off your clothes ones more. Heat slowly rising on your cheeks. You've seen each other many times, but you can't seem to help it. Thankfully, the bubbles will hide it soon.

You dip your toe first in the bathtub, and surely enough, it was in the right temperature. Water spilled on the ceramic floor as the bathtub contained to people.

Zhongli sat in front of you, with his feet beside you, legs slightly bent as the bathtub was small for his size.

He placed the bathtub tray containing sweets, and pulled out a bottle of wine, and like the Zhongli you know, he rambles with insightful knowledge.

You exchange conversations while enjoying the desserts he prepared. Which then slowly becomes a water fight as you finish. The room filled with laughter and the floor becoming more wet as the water continues to splash. Closing your eyes and turning your head on the side in case a water splashes on your eyes. Words of conceding escapes your lips accompanied by laughter. The water on the tub slowly calms down.

Zhongli grabs your feet and placed it on his chest. Massaging it with the utmost care. You've been walking around Liyue all day to the point it was tingling.

He kisses the sole of your foot tenderly. "That tickles." a giggle, and a slight jerk on your foot.

He looks at you intensely, the flicker in his eyes didn't leave your notice. Your own foot was blocking the view of his lips, but you knew he was smiling behind it.

He kissed it once more.

"My woman."

[silentheiss]

“Five years?” Shen Qingqiu gasped. “I can’t see my husband for five years, because you can’t write a single fucking page of an adequate plot?”

Shang Qinghua took another step back. He’s been doing it every couple of minutes since he’s burst into Shen Qingqiu’s house, carrying the worst news ever.

“Well, to be completely fair, this particular plot line didn’t make it to the novel!” The hamster of a man squeaked. Shen Qingqiu knew he was making himself look pathetic on purpose. He took great satisfaction in knowing that it wouldn’t help him in the slightest.

“Oh! In such case it’s fine I guess! Your shitty novel didn’t suffer.” Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan open and took a step towards Shang Qinghua. “It’s only a small matter of my marriage, then.”

“Cucumber-bro,” Shang Qinghua pleaded. “I’m so, so sorry, but at least I got here in time, right? What’s five years for immortal cultivators? Painful death would be much worse.”

He was right about that, at least. Painful death that Shen Qingqiu was about to inflict on his ex-best-friend would be horrific.

“I will kill you now.” He said. “Don’t forget to tell me how painful it is.”

Shang Qinghua scrammed. Shen Qingqiu let him, but only because his knees were a little weak and he wasn’t about to embarrass himself by collapsing in the middle of murder attempt.

He took a careful breath and lowered himself on the nearest surface, which turned out to be the floor, but he was at his house and there was no one to witness that. He could sit on the floor all he wanted. Because his husband got himself cursed and wouldn’t be coming back home anytime soon — if at all.

Five years.

Shen Qingqiu sat on the floor of Bamboo House for what must’ve been a long time, because when Liu Qingge barged in it was already dark.

“Shixiong.”

“Liu-shidi.” Shen Qingqiu blinked up at him. “Why are you here?”

“Your disciples worried.”

Ah, Ming Fan and his snitching habits.

“This master is fine.” Shen Qingqiu said. He didn’t try to stand up — his legs have long since gone numb.

“You don’t look fine, do you?”

Liu-shidi, since when are you so talkative?!

Shen Qingqiu frowned and decided not to deign his martial brother with an answer.

“Binghe got cursed.” His mouth said without his consent. “Eternal Heart-Penury Winds. In Lichen Caves. He forgot me and everything connected to me. It’s not for actual eternity, though, if I stay away from him for five years. If I fail, and he sees my face for even a second, then it’s for eternity. How’s that?”

Liu Qingge didn’t say anything. Which, of course he didn’t. What was Shen Qingqiu even thinking, talking to him about it? He knew his Shidi was allergic to feelings of any kind.

It’s just that he wouldn’t see Luo Binghe for five whole years. They’ve been married for four and a half. How was one supposed to react to such a thing?

“I’ll make you some tea.” Liu Qingge muttered and left the room. Shen Qingqiu stayed on the floor, mind just as numb as his body.

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 21- Plead(Yandere 2012 Leo x Reader)

A/N, not important: Today and tomorrow stories are probably not gonna be the best, as I'm currently very worked up over school. Sorry for the inconvenience. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: lashings(?), abuse, dark themes, yandere themes

Words: 884

Summary: Leo really starts to crack down on your attitude

“Leo, Leo please, I’m sorry.” You sob, falling over yourself as you try to back away. His face is blank, a stern look in his eyes while he towers over you. He says nothing in response to your cries. They didn’t move him as they usually did, his walls not breaking nor his stern gaze fading. He was serious this time, and no amount of tears would save you.

He leans down and picks you up, his touch gentle despite the circumstances. You flail about in his arms, tears of desperation running down your cheeks. Your pleads and cries don’t phase him still, his blue eyes cold and hard. Maybe you should have thought through insulting him again just a little bit more, but it was too late now. Your words would be your downfall, until you learned to keep them to yourself.

Leo carries you through the lair while you flail and cry, his brothers looking down and ignoring your screams. Their faces were conflicted, feelings of pity and righteousness fighting with their loyalty for their brother. Mikey turns the volume of the TV up, trying to drown out your desperate pleas. While your cries only louden at the show of apathy, you weren't surprised. They had never helped you before, and you doubted they ever would. Not after you became what was essentially their older brother's stress toy.

The short walk to the dojo seems more like you’re being carried to your death, snot and tears mixing on your chin. Leo sets you down on one of the rugs that sits on the floor, his eyes daring you to move. You sink in on yourself, shaking pathetically while you wipe your face with your hands. 

“Please, please I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.” You try again, hoping to appeal to his sense of empathy or compassion that he usually held with you. He sighs, moving closer once he grabs the soft rope and the thin bamboo staff that he used in times like these. He grabs your ankle when you try to crawl backwards away from him, dragging you across the floor to the wall with no care.

Despite not gaining any outward reaction, you continue to beg for forgiveness, digging your hands into his heart and not letting go. You can tell by his face you were starting to get to him, his steady hands gaining a slight shake as he ties the rope to the hook on the wall, then around your wrists. You pull at the ropes in hopes to get your wrist free, but hiss in pain. The knot constricts your wrists as you tug at it, sending splinters of discomfort up your forearms. Leo’s hand settles in the middle of your back, gently shoving you forwards and onto your knees. He keeps your forehead against the wall, your heart thrumming in your chest as you try not to panic. 

You can’t see it, but you can hear the small woosh of the staff cutting through the air before it lands on the back of your calves. You scream at the hit, not caring how pathetic you looked and sounded at the moment. Your only thoughts were of the stinging pain on your legs, and the hope that Leo might take pity on you and stop early.

The staff comes down on your legs eleven more times, each strike pulling a scream from your throat. You were no longer holding yourself up, hanging desperately onto the rope that kept you still. Your pleads and cries morph together, only forming garbled whimpers while you try to process the pain. Leo’s hand comes back to your back, your body recoiling from the touch. You hear Leo sigh before the clatter of the wooden staff being dropped sounds next to you. One arm wraps around your waist the other loosening the ropes and sliding them off your now chafed wrists. He pulls you back, letting you fall against him so he could hold you tight. He doesn’t pay any mind to your weak struggles, his eyes focused on the floor beside your feet. 

“It’s over now.” He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your temple. You only whimper in response, your face still mucky with the residue to your tears. Leo takes a breath, trying to keep himself calm so as to not scare you more. Your legs strung and throbbed, the hot red marks slowly morphing into deep bruises on your legs.

“Promise you won’t misbehave, and I’ll never have to do this again.” Leo says slowly, acting as if this was a normal thing to do. You nod anyways, not caring for the situation enough to fight him on it. You were afraid he’d just start again. Leo smiles, nodding as he pulls you closer to his chest, seemingly relieved at your promised obedience. He hated seeing you cry, even if he was the cause.

Leo shifts you, hooking one arm under your knees and the other under your shoulder blades, carefully lifting you. You wipe your face with your hands, the tears still falling even if the horrid actions ended. Leo tsks, but says nothing, only making the journey back to his room, lightly chiding Mikey to turn the volume back down so he doesn’t ruin his hearing.

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 15 : Attack on Heaven

It's time for Azure's plan, everything doesn't go as planned though, and things get messy.

For the first time since he agreed to Azure’s plan, Sun Wukong was having doubts. It didn't happen often. He didn't let himself be prey to doubts. He knew attacking Heaven was dangerous but he was confident in his abilities. Yet when he dived in Macaque's worried gaze, he couldn't help but feel his heart throb with pain. Macaque shouldn't look this worried, this resigned, happiness suited him better. He looked breathtaking when he was basking in joy, or relaxing on Wukong's heart-patched fur. Sometimes, Wukong laid under the shadows of swaying leaves, beside the water-curtain cave and found Macaque curled on his heart-shaped patch of fur when he woke up. The sight of the lil guy curled on his chest always managed to make his heart beat faster, warmth filling every corner of his being. This is what Macaque should always look like : relaxed and satisfied.

But Sun Wukong couldn't bail on his brothers’ either, he agreed to the plan and even if he tended to be forgetful he wasn't going to betray them this way. The sage crouched down before his friend, fully covered in war regalias, and took his tiny paws in his hands.

“I'll come back.” Muttered Wukong as he searched the macaque’s gaze. “And it'll be better than ever. I swear.” Macaque averted his eyes, his tail sweeping the floor, the sage squeezed his hands in a weak attempt at comfort.

“Alright.” Sighed Macaque, he looked up with a little smile, shadowed by doubts. “Take care, don't be an idiot.” Sun Wukong chuckled a little, glad to see his lil friend being more spirited. “I made something for you.” Muttered the black-furred monkey as he searched in his bag, he took out a simple necklace made of red silk with a little stack of bamboo hanging at the end. “For good luck.” Mumbled Macaque with reddening cheeks, probably embarrassed by the gesture. Sun Wukong closed his eyes for a second to control himself and not melt in a smitten puddle of coos. “I… the wind promised me to protect it, I know how clumsy you can be…” As if to prove it, the wind ruffled both of the monkeys' hair in an affectionate gesture.

Sun Wukong took the necklace and cradled it preciously, he tied it around his neck, the bamboo falling in the middle of his chest.

“That's adorable. You're adorable.” Cooed Sun Wukong as he presented his palm to the macaque, the black-furred monkey climbed the hand and Sun Wukong lifted him to his eyes.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Awkwardly chuckled the lil guy as he scratched his cheek.

“This is a see you later.” Corrected Sun Wukong, he slowly leaned over the Macaque. Once he was close enough, the black-furred monkey opened his arms and hugged his cheek.

“You absolutely have to come back or I'll kick your ass.” Grumbled Macaque as he buried his snout in Sun Wukong's cheek.

“Now I have to come back, ‘cause I know you can pack a mean punch.” Chuckled Sun Wukong, he stayed pressed to the lil guy for a bit before letting him go.

It was time.

***

“You're ready, brother?” Asked Azure Lion as he put on his armor. Wukong looked over at him and nodded. He fiddled with his necklace a little, rubbing the bamboo with the edge of his finger, before putting it inside of his armor.

“Yeah! Let's kick some celestial asses!”

“You seem really eager to fight, brother.” Noticed the Demon Bull King with a raised eyebrow. Sun Wukong was by nature always eager to fight but perhaps he was even more motivated this time.

“Is it because you want to get home quickly and see your little husband?” Teased Peng with wiggling eyebrows, Sun Wukong fur puffed out a little and he glared at the bird.

“He's not my husband!”

“Not yet.” Sneered the bird with crossed arms. Sun Wukong was debating if he should leap forward and chase him.

“Now, now, let's calm ourselves.” Interrupted Yellow-Tusk as he put his hands on both Wukong's and Peng's shoulders. “You'll have all the time in the world to court Macaque when we come back from this.”

“That's true.” Mumbled Sun Wukong. He would win this fight, come back and spend the rest of his days with Macaque. Perhaps, he would even get to court him and become his mate. The mere idea was enough to encourage him.

“Leggo!” Shouted Wukong as he took his staff, the weight of the weapon familiar in his hands.

***

The attack on Heaven didn't go as planned.

It began well. Wukong rushed in to break apart the heavenly soldiers, his staff creating a path in the midst of battle. He felt untouchable, unbeatable, as if nothing in this world could truly stop him. He could hear his brothers battling in his back, their shouts pushing him forward. He stood against the Jade Emperor with the maddening hope of defeating him. He could already see himself win and return home. Macaque would leap to greet him, his lil sun's would organize a feast filled with his favorite fruits and he would begin his courting by offering one of Heaven's immortal peaches to Macaque. He planned it all. He tried before to grow the pits of the one he ate in his mountain's soil, but he remained fruitless.

Once Heaven was defeated, it'll be easy to steal some immortal peaches. It was the perfect way to begin their courtship. He would offer immortality to Macaque and the chance to be together forever. It was perfect.

Sun Wukong thought himself invincible.

He wasn't.

He kneeled before the Jade Emperor, failing in the battle.

He was dragged away from the battle and thrown in the furnace, without a means to escape, he sat and curled on himself. When the flames came to lick his fur, everything was burned to ashes, clothes, armors and even his own fur. The sage took his necklace, hoping it would remain with him, and perhaps someone heard his prayers, the wind came to protect the bamboo.

For 49 days Sun Wukong remained curled around the bamboo, its presence his only comfort.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Not The Bamboo Sheets (Bad Samaritan Drabble)

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Cale has some bratty behaviour to correct.

Fic type: smut lite

Bad Samaritan: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @madspads @merrilark @jaziona92 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

You were quite disappointed actually that Cale had ruined your nice, new bamboo sheets like this. In your defence, you hadn’t meant to act bratty. You’d just had some leftover attitude from work and accidentally let it slip when Cale was just a touch too brooding when you got home. 

How that devolved into him ripping up your bamboo sheets into strips to tie you to the chair in front of the bed was more of a blur, and you were quite angry that he’d done it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably retaliate and break his fancy computer keyboard or something. 

But you did know better than that, and because you valued your life, you were not about to break anything of his. At least Cale would replace the sheets. Probably. 

“Are you going to behave?” Cale asked. He was standing before you with his arms crossed, remote in hand. He’d tied you to the chair so tight that you could not move a millimetre, never mind enough to get yourself out of this punishment. 

“Maybe,” you egged, giving him a proper glare that just, as usual, withered and died before it even made contact. The man was impervious. 

Cale didn’t reply, just nodded to himself in a way that expressed just how unsurprised he was by that answer. This only irritated you further, of course, and you sneered at him. 

Then he clicked the button on the remote and snickered as you yelped. Actually snickered. Cale and snickering were really not two things that went hand in hand in your opinion, but you couldn’t really focus on that right this minute as the vibrating wand was increased in power, rubbing right against that spot that was just a little too sensitive for that right off the bat. 

“Fuck, ow- Cale,” you complained, though he didn’t seem to care all that much. Not that you’d expected him to. He’d so kindly tied you so that you could still adjust your hips over the wand, and so you re-angled yourself so that the wand was vibrating against you much more pleasurably. 

You let out a moan, and Cale smirked. He strode towards you, placing one hand on the back of the chair and pushing it backwards. You shrieked, chest heaving as your heart battered against your ribcage out of fright. 

You were not a huge fan of the fact that he was the only thing holding you up right now from falling backwards and clattering onto the floor. Mind you, if he wasn’t pushing the chair back, you wouldn’t need to worry about it either. 

“Try it one more time for me,” he growled intensely. “Are you going to behave.” 

It wasn’t even a question- there was no room for argument. 

“Y-yes,” you whispered back, grinding against the wand. “Yes sir.” 

Cale let you go, righting the chair once more. He pulled a stool closer so he could sit in front of you and watch as you came apart for him however many times he wanted, in whatever ways he wanted. 

“Right. Let’s get started then.” 

[rendy-a]

I would like to request red panda Cater getting taken care of by reader maybe in the self aware au if that not too much >-<(its totally ok if it is)

I’m thinking this is related to this art piece by @spadesncrows that I reblogged.  Go check out that very cute art of Heartslabyul as animals if you haven’t already!

As you lay on your bed flipping through your game apps, a sudden burst of lightning has you isekai’d into a world that is a combination of the two games you were last playing; a zoo sim and Twisted Wonderland.  Now you are the beloved zookeeper of Ramshackle pavilion at Night Raven Zoo.  Some of the adorable animals you are charged with caring for seem oddly familiar to you and, by the way they crave your attention, you’d guess that you are somehow familiar to them as well.

Red Panda Cater

Cater knows how to play up his cuteness for a crowd.  He’ll spend hours of the day just gazing into the wading pool of his enclosure but, as soon as some guests arrive, he is up and rolling about the place.  Did you see how the adorable panda rolled right off that log and into the water?  How cute.  You smile at the satisfied guests and then it seems Panda Cater catches your eye and gives you a small wink.  See how he helps out?

Cater is a picky eater.  Most of the other animals in the zoo appreciate it when you bring them sweet fruity treats.  Panda Cater will take the fruit from you when you hold it out, but you notice he always will carry it off then.  Later, you’ll find it buried in his enclosure.  Please offer him bamboo instead.  He is running out of places to hide those sweets.

Cater is obsessed with your phone.  You try to avoid letting him get his paws on it but there have been a number of times you’ve turned around when cleaning his enclosure to notice him looking at your social media.  How did Panda Cater manage to turn on the phone and open the app?  It’s a mystery!  The cute selfies he accidentally(?) takes also go viral on a regular basis.  You think he’d be a natural influencer, you know, if he wasn’t a Panda.

You wipe your brow after finished the final sweep of the floor.  There!  Your task is done.  You turn to your curious companion and remark, “That’s it for another day.  I couldn’t have done it without your expert supervision.”  Panda Cater appears to nod sagely as though agreeing with the sentiment.  He never fails to make you chuckle with his antics.  “I think this causes for a celebratory photo, don’t you?” you ask him cheekily.  Cater’s ears twitch and turn, alert to the words you are saying. 

You pat your thighs in a gesture of summoning to your adorable partner.  Panda Cater is familiar with this gesture by now and quickly ambles over and stands on his hind paws, reaching up with the front ones as though begging to be picked up.  You smilingly oblige, carefully lifting him into your arms.  Then you shift him to one arm and ready your phone.  Cater looks at it knowingly and lets out a trill.  “Just wait, I’m putting on your favorite filter,” you tell him.  Then you are ready.  “Ok, smile!” you command in an upbeat tone.  You and the panda make a cute pose and you click the photo button.  “There!” you say cheerfully.  Cater appears to disagree, giving you a trill.  “What, another?” you ask him.  He doesn’t answer but looks into the camera with focus.  “Alright, one more,” you tell him obligingly.  Then you strike another pose and take the photo.  Another trill emerges from Panda Cater.  You look at him wearily, but he is already preparing another pose.  This might be a long night.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 35

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“We have to go to the hospital,” Lloyd slides the toy out of him and winces. He eases you onto your side as you can do nothing but bounce like a boulder against the mattress. “Shit, fuck, shit.”

He stands and rubs his ass. He steps around and bends over you, “ma’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Jesus, Lloyd!” You snarl, “take this thing off me, first. And put some goddamn clothes on.”

“Oh, uh,” he stands and looks down at himself, his cums sticky and shiny across his stomach as he slowly softens, “right.”

“Ugh, Christ,” you utter as you reach for the straps and unbuckle one. The task is hardly easy as even trying to lift your head sends a spasm up your spine.

You’re trusting your life to a man who doesn’t have enough brain cells to get dressed before he storms out into public. A maniac so sex crazed he follows his dick like the needle of a compass. Worse, you’re bringing a second life into this surreal layer of hell.

He pulls back the other buckle and twists the straps down your thigh. He reaches under you and jolts you as he tugs the other. His urgency overrides any caution he could possess. You yelp as you fall onto your back and he untangles the harness from your legs.

“Damn, shit,” he says as the dildo hits the floor, “did I make it worse?”

“You’re not making it better,” you growl.

“Fuuuuck,” he stomps away and you hear the closet roll open. 

You lay staring at the ceiling helplessly. You put your hand on your stomach and grit your teeth. You try to sit up, only to collapse again and whine. Fuck, fuck, fuck… your internal chant echoes Lloyd’s very vocal one.

He comes back to you as he pulls on a satin shirt with a snakeskin print. What the fuck is he wearing? What do you care? You’re still naked and paralysed with pain.

“What about me?” You ask as he buttons the shirt.

“Right, ugh… we’ll just sit you up,” he bends over you once more, hooking his arms under yours. You wrap yours around his neck and grunt through the agony as he makes you sit. 

“God, that fucking hurt,” you hiss.

“I can’t–” he releases you and raises his hand to smooth his hair, “a robe!”

He spins and races across the room. He grabs the dark silk robe he likes to wear like some idiot incel. The lotus flower and bamboo print makes you roll your eyes. 

“One more time,” he comes to you and leans in once more, “arms around my neck, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?! Don’t be fucking sweet now, dumbass.”

“Hey, I’m doing my best with what I got?”

“Uh huh,” you growl as he sweeps the robe behind you and gets it up your arms. 

He places them around his neck again and stands with you. You scream and he flinches, letting out a pained groan as he tilts his head away.

“Dammit, my fucking ear–”

“I’ll bite it the fuck off,” you sneer.

He huffs and pulls the robe closed, as much as he can around your middle. What is he thinking? He ties the belt under your bump, the gap at the front more than certainly revealing too much.

“Alright, peaches, I got you,” he angles and gets an arm around you, bending to hook another behind your legs. He lifts you up with a strained grunt and you yowl again. Your eyes prick as you throw your head back.

“Wait!? Peaches?” He exclaims and you scowl at him through slitted eyes. “Are you going into labour?”

“No, you dunce, it’s my goddamn back!”

💎

“Slipped disk,” the same doctor as before displays the white on black image before you. Dr. Izhan, you recall. “Doesn’t exactly make things easier for a pregnant woman. Especially as far along as you.”

“Sure doesn’t feel good,” you utter as you grip the bed rails. 

The pain has dulled to a heavy pressure, no longer the sharp stabbing in your spine. They got you on meds but nothing strong enough to brighten your mood. The biggest pain however is the one standing bedside, chewing his thumb as he furrows his brow dramatically.

“I can imagine,” Dr. Izhan says, “I think we should start discussion options. For labour.”

“It’s a bit early,” you sniff, “isn’t it?”

“It is. But… given your age and your dangerously high pain tolerance, I think a c-section would be best. You can schedule one before you’re discharged.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I read that–” Lloyd begins as he rests his hand on yours.

“Shh,” you hush him. All his reading and he still knows nothing.

“How long is she here for, doc?” He changes his course of action.

“We’ll say overnight for now. If the pain improves, becomes manageable, you can take her home. But,” the doctor points his pen at Lloyd, “don’t let her out of bed.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Lloyd smirks.

“Lloyd,” you slide your hand from beneath his and swat his knuckles.

“She’s right. Take it easy. She doesn’t need to be doing much of anything. At least not for a week or so.”

“I promise, doc, I’ll tie her down if I have too.”

You roll your eyes. He really is obnoxious. You drag your hand to your stomach and sigh.

“I will stay in bed. Don’t think I have much of a choice.”

“You don’t. You keep pushing yourself and it won’t get any easier. Even after the baby is here. This isn’t a new problem, you’ve neglected yourself long enough that if you keep doing that, it won’t be fixable.”

You hang your head and nod, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Take care of yourself,” the doctor girds.

“I will,” you look away and cup your cheek, “thanks.”

“Alright, I’ll make sure the nurse gives you another dose when you need it. For now, take it easy. Relax.”

He leaves as Lloyd hovers close to you. You sense his gaze on you. You flick your lashes up and take a deep breath. It’s the pain making you well up. It has to be.

“So,” Lloyd begins, “I always knew you were a delicate flower under all those thorns, peaches, but how long have you been like this?”

“What?” You snap and turn your head, wincing into a snarl.

“Well, I distinctly remember you keeling over in my tub not too long ago. And all those episodes since. I figured it was a new thing. A forty year old thing, but…”

“You’re older than me.”

“Oh, am I?”

“You are, aren’t you?” You wonder.

“Who the fuck knows, peaches. Come on. Doctor’s right. He’s a smart man. How long have you been running away from your troubles? And for once I’m not talking about me.”

You trail your hand down and scratch your chin. You look at the ceiling and slant your mouth. You try to remember when it started. It’s hard to think of a time when the pain was an issue.

“Maybe… I think… I was twenty-nine? I don’t know–”

“Shit, peaches, twelve years?”

“Something like that.”

“No, twelve years. I’m a math whiz–” He stops himself as your eyes drift over darkly, “I’d have to be, right,” he runs his fingers over his mustache, “because you don’t look old. Not that you are old, you know? You look nice and young.” He clears his throat as your frown deepens, “not that I want some young thing. You know, because you’re finely aged. Like wine.”

“I could use some wine,” you grumble, “thanks again, for that. You just have to take everything, don’t you? My dignity, my husband, my wine…”

“Hey, I give you lots of nice things. And I’m talking about more than good dick.”

“Please,” you flutter your fingers dismissively, “the doctor said I’m supposed to relax and you’re here making me lock up all over.”

“Well, I’m not going. Not this time. Ma said–”

“Oh, so you just don’t wanna piss off Dottie? I see.”

“No, that’s not what I–” he sputters, “look, peaches, I’ll let you relax, how about that? I’ll go grab some dinner and we can eat it and watch that reality show with the cat-faced girl.”

“Ugh, fine, I am hungry,” you resign, tempted more by the promise of a brief respite.

“I do know how to please a lady,” he kids, “right, so deep-fried pickles?”

“No,” you drone glumly, “they give me heartburn. But I can have the cauliflowers bites. Make sure you get the ones with mozzarella.”

“Califlower bites…” he repeats dutifully, “got it.”