#but the muscle spasms don’t show up

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

FUCK! I’ve been going through my ao3 history looking for a few fics (it’s been taking ages. I’ve been using the site for years and it shows) and I sometimes have muscle spasms or jerks. Well, guess what fucking happened while I was scrolling. MY GODDAMMED ARM DECIDED TO FLINCH/JERK OR WHATEVER! I accidentally deleted a fic from my history and I have no idea what it was. I had still been reading the summary before it! This is worse than when this happens with a bookmark because at least when that happens I can scour my history for what I lost. I’m so fucking mad at my arm right now!

[moonstruckme]

HI omg I’m in love with you and your writing and your sweet demeanor- you’re amazing!! I have a request for emt!marauders in an established relationship - with reader who is terrified of throwing up and emetophobic? Thank you!!!!

Thanks lovely <3

cw: emetophobia, mention of vomit (no description), reader has hair long enough to pull back

modern au

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 679 words

“Dove.” There’s exhaustion in Remus’ voice, and you feel wretched for putting it there. “You’re going to feel so much better if you just get it out of your system, sweet girl.” 

“I’m fine,” you mumble, but you have to swallow after the words. The muscles in your abdomen spasm punishingly. 

“You’re not,” Sirius insists. He’s been alternatively soft and stern with you, a vacillation you know stems from worry and so you’re trying not to hold it against him. Still, Remus sets a pacifying hand on his shoulder when some of your hurt shows on your face. 

You know you’re being difficult. You’d all gone out for dinner the night before, to a nice place, and all gotten the same pasta on the server’s recommendation. It was really spectacularly good. You’re not loving it so much now, though, when you can taste it in the back of your throat, vying for exit. 

Each of the boys had thrown it up in the early morning, and you’d spent the night on the couch, the worst girlfriend in the world, listening to ocean sounds through noise-canceling headphones and trying not to think about what was happening in the bathroom. 

Now you’re still lying curled up on the couch, taking sips of coke through a straw with a tiny electric fan set up on the coffee table to blow cool air in your face. James has wormed his way underneath you so your torso is laid across his lap, one of his hands pressed protectively over the aching part of your belly, and Sirius is perched on the coffee table while Remus watches you from the armchair. 

“Baby,” Sirius tries again, “Remus is right. This sort of food poisoning doesn’t go away on its own. You won’t feel better until you let it out.” 

You make a half-suppressed whimpering sound, and James coos, rubbing your stomach. “I know,” you admit. “I just—” Mortifyingly, tears invade your vision. You press your face into the couch, but not before you see Sirius’ brow crease with sympathy. “—really don’t want to.” 

“We know, honey.” James kneads skillfully at your abdomen, working out the tight muscles. “I get that it’s really hard for you, and you’re scared, but when it’s over it’s over. You only have to do it once.” 

You nod, and hot tears clump in your lashes. You don’t trust yourself to speak anymore. You hear the bucket they’d brought into the living room for you being moved closer, but you ignore the sound. 

“You’re alright,” Remus says, voice low and sure. “You’re going to be just fine. Just let it happen, and then you don’t have to do anything else. We can all relax for the rest of the day, yeah?” 

James’ fingers press gently into your stomach, and your gasp turns into a hiccup. You lean over the bucket with a whine, and Sirius grabs your hair while James murmurs apologies and assurances one after the other. 

“There we go.” Sirius holds your hair in one hand and rubs between your shoulder blades with the other, his touch cool on your hot skin. “Good girl, let it out.” 

When you’re done Remus brings you straight to the bathroom to brush your teeth, and they all oblige you when you want to change into new pajamas regardless of your current ones being perfectly clean. 

“You’re all done.” James takes your still shaky hands once you’re feeling fresh and clean, pulling you back onto the couch and mashing a kiss onto your temple. “Proud of you, sweetheart.” 

You harumph, but cuddle up to him. It is nice to be rid of the nausea, and the clamminess of your skin was something you didn’t realize had become so oppressive until it was gone. 

“I hope you’re willing to put as much energy into snuggling as you did into making me sick,” you tell him. 

Remus pokes you with his foot for being mean, but James does look a bit sheepish as he tugs a blanket around the both of you. “Oh, absolutely. Triple that.”

[hier--soir]

high strung

abby anderson x f!reader

pairing: abby anderson x personal trainer wlf f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: abby has seemed distracted in your sessions as of late. when you discover why, you help to ease some of her tension. warnings/tags: some tight little workout shorts, abby "i'm not gay" anderson has her first experience with a woman, r insert is a trainer but has zero physical descriptions, massage, gay panic, smut, fingering & oral [abby receiving], reference to masturbation [reader], brief mention of other wlf characters from tlou2, brief owen slander lol sorry. word count: 3.5k masterlist a/n: considering abby isn't explicitly queer in tlou2, i wanted to write a short n sharp little bisexual awakening for her. bit of a quick build up but idc i don't know anything about the gym and wanted to get to the gay sex lol, hope you enjoy!

She’s wearing these tight little shorts. Pale blue. So thin they’re almost sheer where they wrap around the bulkiest points of her thighs.  

You don’t look, don’t let your eyes roam over the reedy material, don’t glance down when she bends her knees and drops into a squat. Don’t don’t don’t. Don’t even look when she lays out on the bench, flat on her back, and those shorts bunch and pinch in the crevice where her legs meet her hips. No, you’re well-versed in this now. Adept at not looking.

“Show me ten,” you tap the bar once.

Abby grips the barbell. The skin of her knuckles turns a piercing white as her fingers flex and tighten around the metal. Ninety pounds on either end, and yet she lifts it off the rack with a practiced sort of ease. You feel a familiar rush of pride as she moves effortlessly through the first few reps, her breathing calm—relaxed. Your hands hover, useless, in the air over the bar. Ready to step in if you’re needed, but knowing that you won’t be.

The gym at the base is usually crowded. Sweat covered surfaces, muscle tanks in every conceivable direction, and plenty of shirtless assholes that think they own the place. But this morning you hit the jackpot, arriving early in the morning when there’s only a few others milling around.

“That’s it,” you mutter. “Good, good, give me another one.”

You notice it slowly. The same way it happened last week, and the week before that. The gradual progression; a tilting, wavering, descent into mistakes, into heavy breathing, into distraction. From behind her head, you watch her knees raise a little, feet arched until she’s balanced on her tip-toes, the muscles in her thighs straining.

Her fingers loosen a little around the bar. Grip faltering, failing. A muscle in her forearm flexes and spasms beneath the skin.

“Hey,” you warn, hands darting forward to rest on the metal. “Come on, we’re not even halfway done.”  

Abby doesn’t offer up a response. Doesn’t meet your eyes. She simply huffs out a breath of exertion and presses the bar upward again. Beads of sweat glisten along her forehead, snatching at wisps of loose blonde hair and pinning them to pale skin.

“Good,” you commend, fingers hovering featherlight. But then it happens again. Her face twitches, lips pursing, and she grunts. A low, frustrated sound.

“Abby,” you sigh. She allows you to grip the bar, and together you lift it back into the groove on the rack. “Are you hungover again?”

“No,” she scowls. She sits up and wipes a reddened hand across her face. There’s a patch of sweat on the back of her shirt, and the darkened material clings to her spine.

“Then what’s the problem?” you arch an eyebrow. When she doesn’t turn to look at you, you walk around to stand directly in front of her. “Manny keeping you up at night? Burnt out? What?”  

“No,” she repeats, and this time you think you catch a flash of irritation. Something angry, something heated, rolling beneath the surface of her skin, begging to be expelled.

And you’ve seen the way she can lash out. Seen how people cower and shrink beneath her steely gaze when she’s mad. Quickly, easily, you decide you’d rather not spend your morning getting chewed out for being nosy.

“Listen,” you say. “Why don’t we call it for the day? We ca—”

“I’m fine,” Abby asserts firmly. But the hard set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders hints otherwise.

You watch her snatch a water bottle off the ground and tilt it against her mouth. Watch the way she drinks in long, hurried gulps. Watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows. Watch a dribble of water snake down her chin, her neck. Don’t.

You look away.

“You’re distracted,” you retort with an eyeroll. “If you hurt yourself in here Isaac will have my ass.”

She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. A broad hand pushes the hair back off her face, mussing it behind her ears, and then she meets your eye.

“I’m just…” she trails off and glances away. Clears her throat a little. “I’m feeling a little tense, okay? Everyday I’m either in here, or Isaac has me out scouting some fucking Scar hot spot, and I’m exhausted, and my legs are fucking killing me.”

You feel your face soften, mouth tilting down into a sympathetic frown.

“I get it,” you nod. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know I push you pretty hard in here—”

“It’s not—” Abby shakes her head again. “You’re not the problem.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment the two of you rest in a wary silence. Listen to the sounds of people working out around you; muted grunts of exertion, the spouted praise from spotters standing close by. You notice the way she flinches when someone racks a weight a little too aggressively – a little too loud.

“Let’s go in the back,” you suggest easily, already turning away. “We’ll do some physio; I’ll help with the knots in your legs.”

It’s a simple routine once you get her onto the massage table. Tucked away in a back room, door closed, her shoes off, you can set to work without so much distraction.

You start with her calves. Using the palms of your hands, the pads of your thumbs, you rub against the tightly coiled muscles there. Working out any knots that you find, any hidden strains. Moving slowly, purposefully, working your way up until you hit her thighs. And that’s where the tension becomes evident.

It seems like Abby is in pain as you dig your thumbs into her outer thigh. Her face is all screwed up, eyes closed as soft little grunts slip from her mouth. When you find a particularly tight knot and press she spits a low curse, eyes clamping shut and face turning to the side.

“You doin’ okay?” you check in, eyebrows furrowed as you watch the way she squirms and wriggles around on the table – as if she’s shying away from your touch. As if it’s too much for her. “I’m really not pressing that hard, Abby.”

“It’s good,” she chokes out. “Keep going.”

You continue with a sigh, crackling your knuckles before using both hands to work at the muscle in her upper thigh.

“Jesus,” you sigh. Your palm rolls over her quadricep, working to release the built-up rigidity there. “You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” Abby grits out, voice hoarse and stilted as it sneaks its way out past her teeth. It’s like she’s holding her breath, the way sharp exhales rush from her nose every few seconds.

“It’s fine,” you assure her. Your fingers press against her knee, and you push it up towards her chest until her thigh is pressed against her stomach. Stretch out the muscles there, let her feel the pull, the burn as her knots loosen. “Do you need—oh.”

Because you look down and the words get caught in your throat. Musing caught like a mouse in a trap, your mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. And you were always so good at not looking, never looking. But now… you’re almost glad you looked. Because there’s a damp splotch on the front of her shorts, shades darker than the rest of the fabric. Right in the crevice between her thighs, where the inseam of those tight fucking shorts rests against her mound.

It must be sweat, you think. It has to be. But when you look at her face you notice how flushed she is. See the blotches of deep red that stain the skin on her neck, her cheeks, and you know it’s not sweat. She’s wet.

Your hands freeze in place, keeping her leg pinned to her chest.

Abby says your name quietly, and there’s something urgent in it – a panicked tone to her voice that makes your stomach tighten.

“Is this why you’ve been so distracted?” you ask. Your mouth is dry, lips chapped as you look between her face and that spot between her thighs. Back and forth, over and over. Your fingers tense against her thigh, and the skin there is so soft. “You’re…”

“I’m not,” she rushes, face almost entirely pink now.

“It’s okay,” you soothe quietly, thumb starting up a slow movement against her flesh. Soft, small circles. And you know you must look calm – but on the inside there’s a hot, wet feeling lashing out against the inside of your stomach. “Is that because of me? S’that why you’ve been so distracted in our sessions lately?”

Abby turns her face, tucking her chin into her shoulder in attempt to hide her blush. You lower her leg back onto the massage bed. “I don—I don’t know why I’m…”

“Abby,” you laugh softly. Your palm is flat against her thigh now, fingers twitching – itching to explore. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not…” she grimaces.

“Not what?” you hum, and you’re playing with the hem of her shorts now. Curling around the thin fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. “Do you… will you let me help?”  

Her eyes widen at the suggestion, and you feel the way her thighs tense beneath your touch. Pressing together, almost squirming at the thought of it. When she doesn’t respond, doesn’t say no, your fingers creep higher. They tuck around the waistband of her shorts and tug once, testing the waters. Again, she says nothing. Those heady blue eyes stare at your face, pink lips parting as her breathing grows heavier.

“Abby?” you urge.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and it sounds almost like a question.

Her eyes turn glassy as she watches you, and then her hips cant ever so slightly upward on the bed. An invitation.

Smiling, you peel the material of her shorts down slowly, but you don’t look. Not yet, not even as you drop the material onto the ground. Don’t look even when there’s so much white in your vision. A field of creamy skin, begging to be seen. Your thighs press together, skin hot, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you notice that she’s sweating again.

“I’m not gay,” Abby says then. So quiet, so cautious.

Your smile only grows, and you nod. Kind. Understanding. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it.” And you do.

You’ve been in her shoes before; confused, unsure. Young and always wondering why you felt so on edge around the pretty girls in those tight uniforms they liked to wear around the base. Always pretending you didn’t think about the way their clothes moulded against their chests, their thighs, as you lay in bed at night, hand stuffed inside your underwear. Never admitting to yourself that you wanted to see underneath – to see their skin; touch it, taste it.

“I get it,” you repeat, hand stilling at her hip. “But I need to hear you say you want it.”

You ruck up her shirt. Just a little, just so it rests above the dip of her belly button, and you can see the rolling hills of her abdomen. You admire the muscles there, the way they rise and fall with each laboured breath. Abs that lead to a hardened v-shape which only encourages wandering eyes to look down down down.

Her skin is pale, and you can see the elaborate network of blue veins that spread out beneath it like spiderwebs. Lifelines, pulsing with desire. For you.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you offer, and she nods slowly, seemingly grateful for the assurance. “I’ll help you out… just have a little taste, okay?”

“Fuck,” she mutters, head tilting back against the bed. “Fuck, I didn’t realise you were—I want you to—yes.”

Finally, you look down at her underwear—heather grey with a tiny hole near the band and a dark wet patch on the front—and ask breathlessly, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t know,” she exhales. “A few months maybe.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” you tsk under your breathe, shaking your head a little. You can see a soft thatch of curls peeking out the side of her underwear. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“When did you?” she asks.

“Last week.”

“With who?”

“Lyla,” you admit. Your hand is on her stomach now, tracing the indents of her muscles. Fingering every freckle painted across her skin, feeling the way her belly expands with every shuddering breath. “We’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t the first time.”

“Lyla?” Abby scoffs, eyes darting down to watch your fingers. “From the infirmary? Lyla’s not gay.”

“Sure,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “And neither are you, right?”

That shuts her up quick.

You climb onto the table slowly, careful not to jostle her legs too much. But they splay easily, spreading open for you to fit between. Murmuring gratefully, you look up to see her watching you.

“You do this with everyone you train?” she asks, voice breaking when your index finger snags against the band of her underwear. “Work them to the bone and then…”

“And then?” you smirk, eyebrows raised.

“And then fuck them?” she gasps. Her hands are tense by her sides, fingers curled around the edge of the table.

You bare your teeth at her and shake your head, slowly lowering until your lips meet the skin at her hip.

“Not all of them,” you breathe against her skin, marvelling at the way her frame trembles beneath you.

Unwilling to waste another second, you lick a stripe up the front of her underwear. Taste cotton and sweat and slick. Your touch is painfully light. So gentle that you wonder if she even felt it. But then she gasps – a sharp, breathy sound that has molten heat pooling between your own thighs, and you smile. Gotcha. Her legs lock up on either side of you.

“Relax,” you whisper, and settle a hand on her thigh. Rub slowly there, pressing your fingers in gently to release the strain in her muscles. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop if you don’t want this.” 

“Please,” Abby says quietly. More desperate than you’ve ever heard her sound. “Do it, please.”

“I will,” you tell her. Smile reassuringly and squeeze her thigh.

When you finally get your mouth on her, no more barriers between your tongue and the wet cut of her cunt, you’re a little mean about it. You tease her clit. Tickle your tongue around it, underneath it, never quite touching, just showing that you know exactly where it is, exactly where she wants to be touched. You use your fingers to spread her open, pressing back her folds until you can see the full spread of her; pink and glistening for you.

The taste of her is salty and heady and soon enough you can’t help swiping the flat of your tongue against her clit, and revelling in the stuttered moan that swells out of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs. “Keep doing that.”

You roll your tongue against it in circles, side-to-side, changing up the rhythm whenever you fear she might have gotten used to the feeling. Spell out your name with the tip of your tongue, and then hers. Spell out words in your own language, one that you’re fluent in and want so desperately to teach her. Like this, your tongue on her clit, is a religion, and you’re a modest missionary sent to spread the gospel.

She makes the most gorgeous sounds. High pitched, breathy moans that burst out of her and have you wishing you could touch yourself. Just slip your fingers past the band of your panties, to where you know you'd be dripping-- No. Not yet, not now. This is about her, you remind yourself.

When you take her between your lips and suck, she cries out. A hoarse, rasping shout of your name that only makes you suck harder.

“Oh my god,” Abby mumbles, voice awed, surprised. “Oh—oh fuck, oh my god.”

Lowering your tongue, you press it against her weeping hole. Taste the slick that pools there, waiting for you to drink it down, and feel a moment of sympathy for her. You wonder if Owen ever touched her like this. If he ever made her feel this good. And as the muscles in her thighs tighten and one of her hands falls against the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair, you know he didn’t. 

“I think I’m gonna—” she gasps, hips bucking against your face. You can feel her slick on your chin, your cheeks, your nose. You lick her clit again in slow, firm circles. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

You press a finger inside of her, slowly stretching out her tight hole. Give her something to bear down on when she comes. And when she does come, it’s intense. Her fingers tighten in your hair, winding around the strands and tugging as she presses your face harder against her pussy. Your nose presses into the light curls on her mound and you groan, inhaling her sweet, musky scent.

“Fuuuck,” she gasps, the word catching in her throat. You open your eyes and watch the way her abdomen tightens, every muscle in her body going taut. Watch the way her eyes clamp shut, mouth hanging open as she gasps and moans and mumbles beneath her breath. “Fuck, don’t stop. Your tongue, oh my god don’t—please don’t stop.”

So you don’t stop. Abby’s still riding out the final ebbs of her orgasm when you push another finger inside of her. Her body jolts against the table, shaking and trembling beneath your hands and mouth. And then, tongue still moving gently, you curl your fingers inside of her. Press the tips of your middle and ring finger against that soft, spongy part deep inside and grin when she moans your name. You think it might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard – your name on her lips.

“You like that?” you mumble against her, the corners of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” she moans, hips bucking against your face. “God, yes.”

“Taste so fucking good,” you sigh, flattening your tongue to lick a broad stripe up her cunt. You can taste her come everywhere. Coating your chin, your lips, the inside of your nostrils. You groan, tongue moving faster against her clit now, desperate to see it happen again. She twitches into the table, and one of her hands falls to your shoulder. Blunt nails dig into the skin there, hot and piercing as she grinds against your mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck,” she cries out when you add a third finger. You moan, eyes rolling back at the way her walls stretch around you. So fucking tight.

Your fingers dig into her thigh. Silently pleading with her; tell me, tell me, tell me.

“So good,” Abby mumbles. “So—shit—so full, m’so full. Ohhh.”  

There’s something hot pooling at the base of your spine. Want – curling against your insides, begging to be satiated.

You murmur that desire into her cunt. Inaudible; the words lost in the mess of her, in the quick glide of your tongue between her folds.

“What?” she gasps.

“Say my name,” you repeat, louder, pleading.

And she does – she’s perfect when she comes for you again. Strong back arching off the table, thighs tensing around your body as she chants your name. Her hands are strong, fingers no doubt leaving bruises where she grips your skin tight, holding your mouth against her pussy as she convulses.

She doesn’t let you pull away for a minute, maybe two. Holding your head between her legs as she grounds herself, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You swear you even feel her stroke the skin at the nape of your neck. Twist the hair there around her finger and tug gently. But then she’s letting you go – strong hands falling back to clasp against her lower stomach, and you’re stumbling off the table.

You hand her those shorts—those tiny fucking shorts—and smile. Can see the way uneasiness flits across her features as she drags them back up her legs, sparing a wary glance towards the door. Probably wondering if anyone heard her; if they heard the way she cried and moaned and gasped your name as she came undone against your face.

“It’s fine,” you reassure, only half-lying. “We weren’t that loud.”

But you can tell by the way she nods that she doesn’t quite believe you. That she’s still confused, still unsure, still wondering what this all means.

So you squeeze her shoulder, thumb pressing into the dip below her collarbone, and promise – “No one has to know.”

thank you for reading! x

maybe ill write another part to this where abby realises she wants to return the favour... idk we'll see

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble

prompt: forehead kisses

(I’m trying some prompts out, and also - I wrote fluff! I actually did it! My cold, angsty heart is conflicted by this development.)

****

Wayne’s back feels like it’s splitting in two, muscles spasming, discs crunching. Years of hard labour and a car wreck after he came back from Korea (a little bit angry, a little bit reckless) and what else could he really expect? He was old, and all his chickens had come home to roost right in his lower vertebrae.

He hears the van before he sees it, wheels spitting up grit on the shitty excuse for a road, and then the bassy rumbling of loud music. Iron Maiden, if he’s not mistaken, and Jesus H Christ, he should not know that.

Eddie throws himself out of the van, and practically skips up the stairs, and oh to be fucking young. 

“Hey old man, what are you doing out here?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” he says, waving the beer and Eddie frowns, tilts his head.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Just my back.”

“Bad?”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, give me a second.”

“Eddie, I’m fine, got a beer, I’m good.”

Eddie scoffs, “sure”, before he heads inside.

Trailers aren’t sound proofed. Every cough, every fart, your neighbour hears it and you hear them. So listening to Eddie on the phone just the other side of the door isn’t prying, it just can’t be helped.

“Hey man… yeah I’m good but Wayne’s not so I can’t make practice tonight… no, it’s his back so I want to be here incase he needs me…”

Wayne shakes his head. The shit people say about that kid, they have no idea who he is. He listens as Eddie hangs up then potters around the kitchen, drawers clattering, kettle screeching. His boy is so many things, but quiet sure isn’t one of them.

“Heads up, old man.”

Eddie takes a seat beside him on the porch, painkillers in one hand, glass of water in the other and a hot water bottle tucked under his arm. Wayne smiles, takes his pills while Eddie places the hot water bottle behind his back.

“That okay?”

And he can’t help it, but it strikes him how fucking proud he is of this kid, and alright, it’s a little thing, but still. He hears it all day long from the guys at work, complaining about their kids, how they’re selfish, how they don’t listen, and you know Eddie’s not an angel, and he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and he cares and he’s not afraid to show it if you let him.

Wayne gingerly raises his arm and pulls him in, hears him squeal “don’t kiss me!” He pulls him close, and lays an exaggerated kiss on Eddie’s forehead, and gets a “not in public, Jesus Christ,” for his efforts.

“You’re a good kid.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have me.”

He laughs, despite the pain in his back.

“That I am,” he says, squeezing his boy tight. “That I am.”

[risuola]

ENTRY #3 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

The skies bear the stars, And the oceans – so full, Yet I realize, All I crave is blue.

cw: arranged marriage!au, slight misogyny — 0,9k words

a/n: you voted, I deliver - an entry that might seem slightly out of place, slightly not relevant but it's important to the story, it shows the slow development.

series masterlist

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You sat on an armchair, somewhat tensed despite the comfort of your own home and the soft cushions below you. In front of you sat a man. An arrogant grin plastered onto his objectively handsome features that somehow made you cringe at the sight. His mouth moved, he was speaking, over and over again telling the same story from a different angle and throwing facts at you that didn’t quite make sense, no matter how many times they were replayed.

“It’s an offer,” he spoke again, his pearly white, perfectly straight teeth glimmered in the sharp sunlight that bounced off the glass in the frame containing your wedding picture. “There’s a prestige tied to it, a status much more influential than your current last name could ever provide. I understand Gojo Satoru’s high position in the world of sorcery, but realistically, it doesn’t benefit you the way it should.”

He was talking, confident and loud but you couldn’t help but find him slightly sociopathic. Severely narcissistic. His sharp brown eyes were piercing through you and you could tell that every spasm of his muscles was forced, creating a fake illusion of some twisted version of kindness and gentleness. He moved in a way to appear more approachable, more inviting. You were taking in his form, clad in traditional kimono and hakama bottoms, oddly contrasting with his bleached hair and pierced ears. Thing is, there was nothing inviting about him.

“My marriage is an arrangement made with the thought of the best interest for both mine and my husband’s clan.” Your words flew out of your mouth a little too rough and yet, it was the first time you put a heavy accent onto the word that described who Satoru was to you right now.

“Of course it was,” the man chuckled. Evil. “But you see, Satoru Gojo is an anomaly born for the first time in four hundred years. Probability of you bearing a child that would bring value to his, arguably extinct, clan is relatively low, if not zero. On the other hand, my technique is easily passed down in blood and strong as it is, even without considering the possible Ten Shadows awakening though I believe that the input of your cursed technique makes the chances that much higher.”

“Forgive me my bluntness, Zen’in, but my marriage is finalized and I don’t intend to–“

“You don’t understand, woman,” he snapped, harsh and rough and raised up to his feet a little too eagerly. Realizing that, he took a breath and walked towards the wooden dresser. His greedy hands snatched the picture framed in the constellation of intricate veins and leaves carved into the dark oak and his fingers run across the glass front. “There’s nothing better you can do, than marrying me, one and only rightful heir of the Zen’in clan. Me, Naoya Zen’in, a man above all those weaklings around. I’m a prodigy, a genius. I’m the stronges–“

“I dare to disagree,” you cut the reckless spurt of nonsense leaving his lips. “I do recognize your strength and the values you represent, but as I already told you. My marriage is finalized, I’m married to Satoru Gojo and, with all due respect, you’re not close to being the strongest.” You stood your ground, firmly and with confidence and as you approached the man, you gently took the picture from his hands. “And also, even if I were not tied to Satoru, I wouldn’t allow myself to ever cross paths with a buffoon such as you, Naoya.”

“Clearly, you don’t know your place, do you?” He groaned, lowly and animalistically and it was a split second before his long fingers dug into the fat of your cheeks as he grabbed you by the face. “You know where’s a place of a woman? Three steps behind her husband. On her knees, ready to serve. There’s no other purpose for you than to–“

“I’ll advise you to take your hands off my wife, Zen’in.” Another second and your husband was home, right next to you, appearing out of thin air. His large hand wrapped tightly around Naoya’s forearm and their eyes meeting in a challenge. Despite the ice-cold tension in the air, Gojo’s face was neutral, amused almost. The corner of his lips twitched, lifting up just slightly as his unwavering gaze slowly pierced a crack into the arrogant mask of the guest.

“We’re just talking,” he hissed through his teeth but allowed his fingers to relax, releasing your jaw.

“Actually, it seemed as if you were leaving already,” you added calmly and it didn’t take longer than two minutes until the doors closed and the blonde left, mumbling insults under his breath. You exhaled, deeply, allowing the tension to leave your body as you twisted the locks and it’s just at that moment when you realized how much relief and sense of safety your husband brought.

“Care to explain why was Naoya Zen’in in our house when I was out? I don’t remember that visit being scheduled.” Satoru questioned and you let out a sigh, approaching him. With gentle hands you reached up to where the blindfold hung loosely around his neck and carefully pulled it up to cover the blue of his eyes.

“I’d love to know more than you do, but I don’t,” you replied. “He came uninvited, offered me marriage and didn’t take rejection too well.”

“Offered you marriage?” He scoffed. “The audacity.”

“Doesn’t matter. I said no and he left. Thank you for showing up.”

“I’m fulfilling my duties. That’s all.”

“Of course, you are.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban, @lotomber, @netflix-imagines, @kawliflo, @nishloves, @ghostfacefricker6969, @thejujvtsupost, @yozora7154, @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost

[wheresarizona]

September Part 1

Austin, 2003

summary: Joel comes over on his lunch break for not-birthday sex.

rating: E (18+!! This is smut with some plot. Oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, TLOU spoilers, slight angst, emotions)

pairing: Young Joel Miller/f!reader

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: Yeah, the show got me in my Joel feels. I think this will be two parts. Thank you to @invisibleismyname for betaing, @juletheghoul for giving it a look over, and @perropascal for coming to my aid last night to let me know it was okay. Love you all!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated!

Part 2 - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

“Oh god,” you moan, staring down at the man’s face between your legs. The bed sheets are soft under your bare body, big hands holding your thighs open, hearing the obscene slurping sounds as he ate you out like a man starved. “I’m so close, Joel,” you continue.

His eyes are on yours, “You gonna come for me, baby?” The words are muffled into your sex. Joel sucks your clit between his lips, making you gasp his name, your body alight in pleasure, feeling your muscles tightening, your hand grabbing onto his hair for something to hold onto, keeping yourself up with your other elbow digging into the mattress.

He groans when you tug on the brown waves of hair, your back arching when he presses two thick fingers easily into your slick entrance, reveling in how they stretch you, his tongue swiping through your folds as he pumps his digits.

You were so fucking close, could feel your orgasm just in reach.

Crooking his fingers, he searches for a moment until he hits something that has you shouting his name, your body tensing as white-hot pleasure pushes you towards your release. He pulls your clit back into his mouth, while focusing his attention on rubbing that spot, and you’re gone, euphoria exploding in your veins as you come with a silent cry, falling back onto the bed.

“There it is,” Joel says, his fingers still working. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride out your high, pussy spasming around his digits, breathing hard.

It takes you a second before you can speak, your eyes open, sitting up on both elbows to see the bottom half of Joel’s face wet with your slick, a smile on his lips, his naked shoulders so broad and golden.

“You’re too fucking good at that,” you pant.

He chuckles lowly, taking his fingers out of you and kissing your thigh.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yes. Now, how much time do we have before your lunch break is over, because I need your dick inside of me, and I don’t think I can wait until Sarah goes to bed tonight for your birthday sex,” you reply, pulling your lip between your teeth.

His eyebrow quirks.

“This isn’t my birthday sex?” he asks.

It was just your luck that Joel was doing a job in your neighborhood, and on lunch, he’d come over, his mouth on yours the moment you’d opened the front door, him stripping you as he walked you to the bedroom. He’d kissed you ravenously the whole way, like it’d been on his mind all day, and he wanted to taste every inch of your mouth, until he got you onto the bed, where he dropped to his knees beside it to eat your pussy.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “The birthday sex involves lingerie, me giving you the sloppiest blow job, and letting you fuck me however you want.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Lingerie?” he asks thickly.

You smirk.

“Oh, yes. Something I think you’ll really like—time, Joel. Do we have time to fuck?”

You’re needy and wanting him inside of you, wanting to feel him split you open on his dick.

“Fuck, right,” he says. You watch as he leans back to pull his Nokia from his pocket, eyes squinting as he reads the time before tossing it haphazardly onto the bed.

You giggle when he starts moving quickly, him getting up with a groan, seeing his hard cock bulging against the zipper of his jeans.

“I can get you off again before I have to go,” his voice is deeper, his hands working to unbuckle his pants and get them undone, your heart thumping hard in your chest when he pushes his jeans and boxers down, freeing his throbbing length.

Your mouth waters at seeing the reddened tip of him glistening with precum, your cunt clenching at his thickness—foreplay was essential when it came to fucking Joel, him needing to open you up to be able to take him.

He grabs the meat of your thighs, pulling you to the bed’s edge, his eyes locked on your pussy, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

He spits on his fingers, using them to wet his dick, pumping it a few times before sliding it through your wetness, a moan falling from your lips when he nudges your clit, meeting your eyes when he notches himself at your entrance.

“You gonna give me one more?” he asks.

Seeing the hunger in his gaze has you fighting not to let a moan break free from your throat, your cunt already pulsing, wanting to feel him inside you. You know for a fact that he’d get you off again, your body already thrumming in anticipation.

You nod your head.

“Fuck me, Joel.” His eyes are so dark you can’t see any of the familiar brown remaining. “And finish inside me, I wanna feel it.”

He groans at your words, eyes closing for a moment.

“Best fuckin’ birthday,” he rasps.

He starts pushing in, and your back arches, moaning as he stretches you open, filling you inch by inch, your fingers digging into the bedspread. You’d been dating for over a year, and no matter how wet he got you, there was always a slight burn that you loved.

“God, you feel so good inside me,” you moan, feeling so fucking good when he bottoms out, his hands gripping your thighs hard, his eyes on where you were both joined.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. “Fuckin’ love bein’ inside you.”

He pulls out halfway and slowly pushes back in, him watching his cock moving in and out of you knowing it was shiny with your arousal. His pace starts out languid as he lets you get used to him before he speeds up, it feeling like electricity is flowing through your body with every push and pull of his hips.

You’re on cloud nine with how he’s fucking you, his grunts and your moans filling the room with the wet slap of his hips, hearing your pussy taking him over and over again. He’s so thick and hard, your cunt weeping around him, his rhythm pushing the air from your lungs with how he’s pounding into you, your skin hot and buzzing, him working you up as the pleasure heightens.

You get louder the closer you get to your release.

“Scream my name, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Want the fuckin’ neighbors to hear how good I make you feel.” His hand leaves your thigh, licking his thumb and pressing it to your sensitive little clit, moaning his name as a jolt runs through you. “Want you to come for me,” he continues. “Want another one.”

Your body is winding up, his cock spearing into you over and over again, feeling like you were going to snap at any second, your pussy fluttering, chanting his name with your eyes squeezed shut, feeling so good.

“Open your eyes, baby. Let me see you come.”

You do as he says, staring into his dark ones, the skin of his neck and chest flushed and glistening with sweat, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed.

“Come for me,” he orders.

His order is your undoing, all of it coming to a head; his thumb, his cock, the way he was looking at you like you were the only woman in the world, it all sending you over the edge with a cry of his name, your pussy clenching around him hard enough to make his hips pause.

“There we fuckin’ go,” he groans. “So fuckin’ good to me.”

Pleasure was radiating through your body, Joel working into you again, his thrusts wetter from your release as he extended your high and chased his own.

When you catch your breath, you speak, “You fuck me so good, Joel.” His breathing is shaky, seeing his eyes shut, looking like he’s in pain with his rhythm not as steady as before. “You gonna come for me?” you ask through heavy breaths. “You gonna fill me up? Fuck me full of you, baby?”

The groan he lets out is low and long, his hips stuttering.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he says through his teeth.

His hands grab onto your legs, hoisting them up onto his hips as he leans forward, sucking your pebbled nipple into his mouth and making you moan as pleasure shoots to your pussy.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you pant, pushing your fingers into his sweat-damp hair.

His thrusts get short and shallow, his head moving up to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says, kissing you hard, knowing he was close with how desperately his tongue licks into your mouth and tangles with your own. It doesn’t take much longer for him to finally push in deep, Joel raggedly groaning into your mouth as he comes, feeling his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he fills you.

He moves to nuzzle his face into your neck, feeling the sweat on his chest against your own, him panting hot breaths into your skin, while you rub your fingers through his hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp, hearing him hum happily.

You stayed like that for minutes, basking in the post-coital bliss.

“Happy birthday, babe,” you finally say, kissing his hair.

He lifts his head, giving you a boyish grin.

“Thank you, baby.” He kisses you sweetly.

When you break the kiss, you ask, “What time do you want me to come over tonight?”

His smile turns to a frown, him sighing as he looks away.

“I’m pullin’ a double—promised Sarah I’d be home by nine and that I’d bring a cake.”

“Well, I’ll just keep Sarah company after school, and we’ll go get you a cake, so you don’t have to worry about it,” you reply, kissing the tip of his nose.

He smiles crookedly.

“Sarah would love that.”

He’d been nervous about introducing you to Sarah, with her mom being out of the picture, but the two of you had gotten along swimmingly, and you absolutely adored her and she you.

He kisses you tenderly.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Beeping sounds on your bedside table, your work pager going off.

“Shit,” you say, Joel already reaching to grab it for you. You take it. “Goddammit,” you groan.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“There’s an emergency at the clinic, and I have to go in. Hopefully, I’ll be done before Sarah gets home.”

His hand strokes your cheek, him looking you deeply in the eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. If you do, then great, she’d love to spend time with you. If you’re there late, just head to the house when you’re done.”

“Okay,” you reply. “I’ll try to be quick. Happy birthday, Joel.”

He smirks at you.

“Thank you for the not-birthday sex.”

You laugh.

“I promise the actual birthday sex will be better.”

He leans in to kiss you.

“I thought this was pretty fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips.

You hum in the back of your throat, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“It was, but it can be better.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue into your mouth and kissing the breath from your lungs.

“Tommy, we gotta go to her house!” Joel shouts, looking at his brother in the driver's seat.

Fear is curling in his gut, Sarah safe, him not hesitating to kill a woman to protect her, and now he’s panicking because he hadn’t been able to reach you with the phones being dead. His priorities had been to get to Sarah, then find you.

“Okay, okay,” Tommy replies, the tires screeching as he sharply turns a corner. “She’s over by the job site, right.”

“Yes, next street over.”

His heart’s pounding a mile a minute in his chest, sirens, and explosions sounding in the distance. He can’t believe what’s going on, how the world’s going to shit before his eyes.

“Daddy, is she okay?” Sarah asks, taking him from his thoughts.

He turns his head to look over the seat at his daughter, seeing the fear on her face, and he wants to take it away from her, hating she was having to live through this, having to see the things she’d seen.

“I’m sure she’s okay, baby girl,” he replies, doing his best to sound reassuring, but his guts were churning, thinking the fucking worst because he wasn’t sure, not with what he’d seen tonight, and he's so fucking scared. “She should be safe at home by now.” He hoped she was, was praying that she’d left the clinic and made it home, which was why she wasn’t at his house. God, she better be okay. He couldn’t lose her. She’s the best thing to happen to him in a long time, wanting to spend his life with her, and had planned to ask her to move in tonight when she came over. Sarah loved her, he loved her, fuck, he needs her to be safe.

Sarah distracts him with questions about what is going on, him and Tommy answering the best they can but both having barely any idea, passing houses on fire, people running, police cars racing towards something.

“Turn right here. It’s her street,” Joel says, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest, his brain chanting over and over, please, be okay, please, be okay.

Something has the night sky lit up, and his stomach plummets when they turn down your street.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he murmurs.

“Is that?”

“Stay in the truck, Sarah,” Joel orders, not bothering to answer Tommy as he jumps out of the vehicle before it’s even fully stopped.

Hours ago, he’d been with you here. He’d kissed you goodbye, told you he loved you before he left, and now the house was engulfed in flames, his eyes burning, the heat hitting him, his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Were you in there?

“Joel!” Tommy shouts, him jogging to reach him.

Joel’s frantic mind whirling, looking at his brother.

“I need to see if she’s in there,” he says, already moving, but Tommy grabs him and stops him in his tracks.

“You can’t go in there,” he reasons. “I’m sure she made it out. She’ll be okay. We need to get out of town—get Sarah someplace safe, then we can try and find her. I know how much she means to you, but we can’t do much right now.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, hitting his thigh. He presses his hands to his face. “Shit, you’re right.” He looks at Tommy again. “We need to get the fuck out of here—need to get Sarah out of here. Fuck,” he says again, tears brimming in his eyes. “I love her, man,” his voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t lose her, not after…” He sucks in a breath.

“Not after Sarah’s mom,” Tommy finishes for him, rubbing his shoulder. “Yeah, I get it. Let’s get somewhere safe, then we’ll figure shit out and find your girl.”

“Okay,” Joel replies, nodding his head. “Sarah’s safe. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You’d gotten out.

Barely.

Halfway to the clinic in the city, something deep down told you not to go—an instinct, and so when it was safe to do so, you were doing a u-turn in the middle of the two-lane highway to head back to Austin, planning to go wait at Joel’s house for Sarah.

You must have run over a nail or something because your tire went flat, finding yourself on the side of the road, trying to change it out, annoyed when you realized your spare was flat, too.

Miles were between you, Austin, and San Antonio, your cellphone not picking up a signal to call a tow truck.

No one stopped to help you.

No one stopped to offer you a ride when you started walking back towards home.

The military aircrafts screaming across the skies had frightened you, many police vehicles flying down the highway towards the city, realizing something was going on, worrying about Joel and Sarah.

To your dismay, a gas station you’d come across was closed, and the payphone outside not working.

Hours you spent walking, hours you spent hoping the two people you loved most were okay, wanting to get to them as soon as possible, trying to stop any car that drove by you with no luck.

Chaos awaited you when you arrived in town with the dark sky as a backdrop, hearing screaming, sirens, explosions, knowing you weren’t safe, and hiding from anyone who came near.

Joel’s house was empty, the elderly neighbor dead outside, and you feeling so fucking scared, your only option being to find a car and get as far away as possible, knowing deep down that Joel would’ve done the same to keep Sarah safe, and that gave you the strength to walk through the Adler’s open front door, find the car keys hanging in the kitchen, and start driving.

You’d made it out, hoping and praying that somehow Joel would find you, that he and Sarah were okay.

He didn’t find you.

You never found out if they made it out.

Days turned into weeks, turned into years of surviving and using your medical skills to get by and eventually join the Fireflies.

Joel Miller never found you in 2003.

But twenty years later, you found him in a Firefly hospital.

Part 2 - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @star017 @artsymaddie @hansolosleftbuttcheek @deadhumourist @pretty-brown-eyess @hotchlover @eternallyvenus @allfoolsinluv @eppy816 @katareyoudrilling @babykangaemoji @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp @grimeysociety @bruxasolta @peachyaeger @din-jarhead @lovesbiggerthanpride @loonymagizoologist @pinebeam @spacenerdpascal @padbrookcottage @Karlawithacapitalk @trickstersp8 @that-friend-in-the-corner @iamskyereads @beskarprincessjenny @beecastle @manuymesut @alexxavicry @leithatnight @trinkets01 @boiistfu @pedropascalsx @kulicny @xoxabs88xox @enjoyourlattebitch @guess-my-next-obsession

[sashi-ya]

THERAPY 🍯˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

🧸 byakuya kuchiki x masseuse! f! reader 🐝 tw: +18 mdni. masturbation. rough sex. domination. 🍯 wc: 821

The curve of his back, the slight bump of his buttocks against your thighs. Hands sliding to the front, index fingers following the V carved in between his abdominal muscles until down, down sinful territories.

“ngh…”

He squirms just a little, so sensitive to your touch… to the biting on his nape, to your hard nipples grazing against his back.

A skin so feverish; you are hot, captain… are you running a fever, captain?

“no… ugh…”

Soft hands, drenched in oil, surrounds the base of his shaft. Thumb going up and down until the tip. Oh, the oozing transparency of pleasure, dripping on the floor.

“are you so very needy, captain? Are your muscles still sore?”

He can’t say much; he doesn’t need to, anyway. Byakuya Kuchiki has been visiting this special therapist for some time now. Every time, every afternoon, his back pain is gone by your magical hands. He comes back home so… relaxed, because those hands of yours do wonders.

“I am… good, I-“ he looses his mind when you pump up and down, and your wrists twists just enough to add that special spice. Byakuya’s legs shake, inner thighs twitch, spasm.

“Oh yeah? Are you, Mr. Kuchiki?” a sweet whispering, playful and naughty, leaves your juicy lips. Lips that are avid to be kissed, to be bitten, to be almost ripped by his. “Relax, Captain… relax more and more. You need to let it go all of your stress, cap”

Your words give him chills, his lower belly shows signs of tensing, and his shaft gets hard, harder… like a rock. He is about to break; he needs to relieve the tension building inside of him.

Wet sounds come from your palm and his sex. Sex that’s imbued in pleasure elixir of lust and aphrodisiac oils dripping down his inner thighs. The scent of cinnamon and honey mixed with manly sweat fills a warm candle illuminated private room.

You shiver to such depiction of masculine fragility; the dichotomy of pure primitive desire versus the class, the delicacy of a cherry blossom man.

“I’m com- coming…” he whimpers, contorting around your grip, around the pinching of his right nipple while you give him pleasure too.

His pointy nose lets a drop of sweat detach and fall to the ground. His everlasting frown, erased by pleasure grimace. His long, silky hair becoming a mess as you nuzzle right into his nape.

“Come, then… captain. Work for it. This is why you came here, right?”

Is not a surprise that such freak control enjoys from time to time to lend control to someone else. To give you total power over his body, as you push his intelligence down until his brain becomes a mush of nothingness but mere need.

Byakuya’s hips move on their own, giving thrusts to the air, fucking almost your hand. Oh, poor man… why would you stop jerking him off right when he is about to come? Edging him so badly… to punish him, perhaps even, of a neglected so needed eruption?

“Keep- please… don’t… stop” he begs, pleading so stupidly for more.

Your devilishly, mocking laughter makes him as mad as humiliatingly harder. Byakuya feels like he is going to burst, coming, squirting and who knows of what more his body is able to react to such torture.

“Mr. Kuchiki, you are just like a teenager…” “You went to far…”

You pushed too far your own limits, honey… and now you are the one being pinned against a massage table.

Your legs become spread with brutally snatching, and your hair painfully pulled by hands of blooming flowers.

“You made me this way, (Name). You wanted me to do this, didn’t you?” he grunts, pumping his slippery sex that’s painfully swollen with desperation.

You are speechless; yet, he is right. Of course you wanted this, violated by a man turned into a beast. Someone who neglected his heart to took over because he denied his own humanity… now is allowing to an even deeper part of himself to reign. There is nothing more deliciously desirable than a man ruled by animal hunger.

The deepest instincts of Kuchiki Byakuya. The deepest thrust into you, in between swollen labia, covering it all with dripping honeys.

Your arching back, forced to stay in place, with breasts squeezed against a hard surface. Aching buttocks from the slam of his legs as he fucks you so hard you can barely think…

But it’s not enough, of course it isn’t.

His right hand, sliding from behind to your belly as you did, lifts you up. Completely curved, your back and body tries to take it all. With feet hanging barely above the ground, with pressure trying to scape in between his sex taking over everything inside of you… of his seed flooding it all.

“Now, my stress is completely gone (Name)… thank you for your service”“Kuchiki-sama… nghh… I’m glad you enjoyed today’s session”

[petersbaby]

Virgin!eddie x reader featuring Steve

A/N: this takes place in college and it’s gonna be an awkward read most likely because, well, he’s a virgin and that’s a given. Don’t tell me it’s cringe or I will bite you I know it is that’s the point

Warnings: cuckolding kinda, smut (sex), awkward/virgin Eddie

-

“She loves it. See?” Steve starts, his voice coming from behind you, speaking to the boy across the room and then to you, “Don’t ya love it, baby?”

“Yes, Stevie.” You lift your head up off the pillows your face was buried in to respond. You don’t know quite how, but you’ve ended up in a situation that goes something like this: your boyfriends best friend, who he shares a dorm room with, has some perverted tendencies and your boyfriend tends to enable them.

Eddie would watch you two fuck, Steve would show Eddie nude pictures of you that he took on his Polaroid camera, Eddie would masturbate at the thought of you, soon getting comfortable enough to start masturbating at the sight of you.

Right in front of you. You couldn’t deny that he’s big, never in a million years. But you never said it out loud, it was more of a secret thought to you because you knew you shouldn’t be thinking it. No matter what, Steve enjoyed this, he liked the strange power dynamic. He had something his friend didn’t and he loved to show you off.

Eddie was basically a virgin, chronically lonely and sexually frustrated, and Steve had the girl of his dreams- both of their dreams- wrapped around his finger to the point you do a lot of things you’ve never done before just because he asked you. Like this, for example, being bent over with your ass in the air, back arched, trying not to fall apart as Steve wrecks you.

Backshot after backshot, each thrust seems to increase in force. Your face hid itself in the bed, as it usually would, to keep you quiet and from being heard moaning. The other boy watches from his own bed, eyes wide with some kind of perverted sense of wonder.

“Holy shit, that feel good?” He asks curiously, not to either of you in particular.

“Mhmm,” “Hell yeah it does.” You and Steve respond at the same time.

This time Eddie wasn’t jerking off, which he’d done in your presence a couple of times before, instead just palming at himself through his sweatpants, just trying to ease the ache he got from watching you get fucked senseless.

He thought he could control himself, wait til later to get off. Wait til the two of you had gone later on to go get late night snacks or something and have the room to himself to moan your name while he did it. Maybe even with a pair of your panties he wanted to steal but never did from your overnight bag.

“Oh my god, Steve, please.” You cry, unsure what you’re begging for.

“I got you, baby, gonna cum for me?”

“Mmh- yes. Gonna cum.” You breathe out, and he slams into you a few more times til your muscles tighten and spasm and you’re moaning out desperately. He pushes your face back down into the pillow to muffle your cries as he fucks you through your orgasm and into his own, pumping every last bit of his seed deep inside you.

Suddenly, Eddie looks down to see he’s had a bit of an accident, wet spot visible on his grey pants where the tip of his cock sat throbbing. As you get dressed again, and Steve remains shirtless but puts back on the same blue jeans he was wearing, you both decide to check in on Eddie and when you look over at him, his cheeks are tinged red with something. Shame, embarrassment?

The two of you silently agreed to leave him alone, opting for putting the rest of your clothes on and running out for snacks from the nearest 7/11.

“You want anything, Eds? Going to the store across the road.” Steve offers while shrugging his jacket on and grabbing his wallet.

“Huh? Oh. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

-

“So what do you think?”

“I don’t know… I know he watches but he’s never actually come close to me and… you know, touched me, and everything…”

“You’ll literally make his entire life. Best day ever for him, in the books, one hundred percent.”

Your eyes wander around the room while you think.

“He’s always been a really good friend to me, I feel like it’s my duty to get him laid. For Christ’s sake, he came in his pants yesterday. It’s almost pathetic.”

“That’s your fault, you created a monster. I’m not the one who said he could watch us have sex, that was all you.”

“And anyways, I know you’re at least a little bit curious. Don’t think I’ve never noticed the way you stare at him while I’m fucking you.”

“Okay, yeah, fine. Maybe a little. I mean, he is pretty cute..”

“Ah ah. Stop right there. Don’t go too far, gonna make me jealous.”

“You can’t handle me saying he’s cute but you want me to fuck him?” You question incredulously.

“It’s just a one-time thing. Once he gets this experience, he’ll be able to go find his own girlfriend. You’re mine.”

-

“Alright, you two, I’m gonna go take a shower. I’ll be right back.” Steve announces, smiling at you before grabbing some clothes and walking to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Eddie. You sit on the floor with him, on the carpeted surface you had lazily sat on for the past few hours while you studied and he wrote in his journal. Probably song lyrics, you think.

You sigh loudly, shutting the book in your lap and looking over at him.

“That’s about all the studying my brain can handle for tonight. What’re you working on?” You ask inquisitively.

“I dunno, it’s either a song or just a really shitty poem. It’s stupid.” He shrugs.

“Can I see?” You ask, and before he has the chance to answer you’re scooting over to where he is to sit beside him.

“Uh, yeah I guess. It’s a rough draft, okay, so don’t make fun of it.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder as you read the page of the notebook he was holding. It definitely read like a shitty poem, but he said it was a work in progress, to be fair.

“No, it’s good. I like it.” You tell him assuringly once you finished reading.

“Really?” He asks.

“Mhm. Really.” You say softly.

“I’ve got uh… I’ve got some more, if you want to see. Better ones, finished ones.” He clarifies.

“I’d love to.”

But before he could turn the page, the door to the room cracks open and you see a wet-haired Steve peeking through it carefully. When he sees you two on the floor, right beside each other reading the book, he pushes it open carelessly.

“Cmon, what are you guys doing, cuddling? I told you to make a move on him.” He says flatly, disappointedly.

“Steve.” You scold through gritted teeth, trying to warn him to shut up, and he shuts the door behind him.

“Do something.” He says, making eye contact with you.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie asks Steve, confused.

“She’s gonna let you fuck her. Isn’t that real nice of her?” He says in an almost condescending tone, which happened often when he was joking. He didn’t mean it, but Eddie starts to panic in confusion.

“I- uh.. I..” he starts to stutter.

“Drop the attitude. You’re scaring him.” You tell Steve, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s leg.

“You’re right, you’re right. Sorry. Did you kiss him yet?” Steve asks, coming to his bed to sit, looking down at you both on the carpet.

“No, I didn’t.” You say sheepishly.

“Do you want her to?” He glances over to him.

He’s still confused, but nods.

“Okay then. Go on.”

“Yeah?” You ask Eddie softly, searching his eyes for any kind of negative emotion before leaning in.

“Yeah.” He nods quickly again, and you turn to face him. You take his chin in your hand, stubble beneath your touch, and press your lips against his. You kiss sweetly for a minute, slow and gentle. Before you can deepen it any, he pulls away.

“No. Wait, seriously, I’m confused. What… is this?” He asks, looking at Steve and he chuckles.

“I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, big boy. Whether you take it or not, that’s up to you.” He offers. Eddie takes his glance away from Steve and back to you, and goes right back in but harder this time, your lips smashing together. You smile slightly into the kiss at his sudden force, the way he moved like he needed you in order to breathe.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting on it slightly which made him gasp. When his mouth parted, you took advantage of it and parted your lips too, tongue gliding over his bottom lip and gaining entrance. At this point, you understood. The feeling that you can’t breath, the pure need and built up lustful tension that you hadn’t realized was there.

“Go get to your bed, no girl is gonna be very happy with being fucked on the ground.” Steve advises, and you both get up and into Eddie’s bed where you lay down and he climbs on top of you.

“God, holy shit. When uh- what do we…” he rambles, pulling away from you again. Steve muses at the flustered state of his friend “Whenever you’re ready.” You respond, knowing he isn’t positive what he should do next.

“Shit, okay..” he sits up on his knees, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans down his legs and somehow shimmying out of them. He isn’t phased that Steve is right there watching, it’s nothing that he hadn’t seen before. Steve has seen all of him, and Eddie’s seen all of Steve. It was a weirdly close friendship but you never questioned it. He freezes.

“Take ‘em off her” Steve instructs and Eddie moves to pull the shorts off your lower part but leaving your panties. You weren’t sure if he meant to do that or not, but either way he leans back over to hover above you, getting situated between your spread legs and kissing you again.

This was when you felt it, his cock which you think must be so hard it’s painful press right up against your heat through the thin lace material barrier. You let a moan slip out without meaning to, and his heart skips a beat (or several) at the sound. Yeah, he’s heard you moan, but you’ve never moaned from him. From something he did.

“Go down and feel her, if she’s pretty wet, she’s ready for it.” Steve says from the opposite side of the room on his bed. How the tables were turned. He wasn’t used to being in Eddie’s position, watching you fuck another guy when he desperately wishes it could be him. He reminds himself this isn’t about him, this is about Eddie, and more importantly that it was all his idea in the first place.

Eddie’s ringed fingers come to brush against the crotch of your panties, and you gasp when he finds your clit immediately and presses two fingers against it. He repeats this a few times until you’re basically dry jumping his fingers, grinding against them. You look up at him desperately hoping he’s gonna give you more soon. He gets a little preoccupied with just rubbing you through your panties, feeling the wet spot grow more and more soaked until Steve notices you whining.

“Go, you dumbass. She wants it. Don’t keep her waiting too long.”

He’s quickly snapped out of his trance and hooks his fingers into your panties and pulling them to the side. He groans loudly when his tip makes contact with the warm, wet entrance to your cunt practically pulsing around nothing.

Your shirt was still on, so you pushed it up for him past your chest so he could see your tits. You take them in your hands, tweaking your nipples while you waited for him to start pressing in. He does, slowly, but you nod to tell him it’s okay so he goes quicker. Once he’s sunken about halfway inside of you, his breath is caught in his chest and a long string of curses fell from his mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He groans at the tight feeling enveloping him.

“Yeah, there you go.” Steve smiles.

You look up at Eddie with your face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows knitted together, and he slides in the rest of the way.

“Ah- oh my god,” you moan, trying to be quiet but failing when his top hits that spot so deep inside you could feel it in your stomach.

“Holy shit, holy shit.” He tries to get himself together but finds that’s a lot harder than it sounds. The way you squeezed around him, the way you were dripping down onto his bedsheets, the pretty little noises you were making beneath him.

He pulls all the way out only to enter again, repeating this while picking up the speed gradually.

“Mmmh,” you whine, “you’re so good, doing so good, eds.” You try to reassure him with your shaky voice.

“Fuck, will you say my name again?”

“Yes, Eddie, you’re fucking me so good.”

“Fucking hell. God, I can’t-“ his movements become sloppy and falter.

“It’s okay.” You assure him, knowing he wasn’t gonna last that long ahead of time. With a couple more thrusts, he spills, filling you up while cursing out loud.

“Dude, did you cum in her?” Steve sits up in bed, alarmed. Not scared, so much as just a little jealousy burning inside. That seems too personal, too intimate. He wanted to be the only one who ever did that to you.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it, I’m so sorry.” He starts to apologize to both of you, panicking.

“That’s alright, I’m on birth control, it’s okay Eds.” You assure him.

“Shit, okay. Shit. Holy shit.”

“That feel good?” Steve asks the flustered and exhausted boy.

“Hell yeah it did.”

[intheticklecloset]

The Couch (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Primary Universe

Summary: Chuuya finds himself becoming increasingly obsessed with Dazai's laugh. Thankfully, the night after a rough mission gives him an excuse to hear it again.

A/N: Traveling back in time again for this one! This takes place after The Fedora, when these two idiots are still teenagers working for the Port Mafia. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1430

~~~

Osamu Dazai had a beautiful laugh. Chuuya hated that he loved it so much.

Hearing Dazai laugh for any reason always meant the man was either in a good mood (which made Chuuya wary on a good day) or mocking the redhead for something he’d done that wasn’t as smart a move as he’d make, because the annoying truth was that Dazai was also brilliant, and it irked Chuuya to no end to know and begrudgingly accept as much. The worst part was that even tickling – something that would be torture to so many others, was torture to Chuuya himself – didn’t faze the man. He loved it, the weirdo, in all of its uncontrollable and genuine glory.

So really, if Chuuya wanted to hear him laugh, he would always have to accept that it put him beneath Dazai in that moment, but sometimes…sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.

Like today, when the brunette had decided to crash on Chuuya’s couch for the night after an intense mission that, admittedly, left him too weak and tired to attempt to get home until the morning. To be fair, the redhead had been the one to offer, but now that Dazai was here and making himself comfortable, he wished he’d just made the jerk take the walk of shame back to his own apartment. Or even better – to a mental hospital, because seriously, who threw themselves into the line of fire like that when it was just as fast and way safer to find another way around it?

Chuuya tossed a blanket onto Dazai’s face and grumbled, “You good, then? I don’t have to babysit you or any crap like that, right?”

“Chuuya’s so mean to me,” Dazai whined, pulling the blanket down to reveal his smiling face. “I’ll manage. Go on and get your beauty sleep. You need it.”

“You’re not going to bleed all over my couch, are you?”

“I’ll try to show some restraint.”

Chuuya grunted as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door, along with his hat.

How Dazai got across the room so fast when he was so injured was beyond him, but the next thing he knew his hair tie was being yanked roughly from his head, causing his long red locks to fall in messy strands around his face.

“Yoink!” the brunette giggled, clearly in a playful mood, and that was it. That was all it took to trigger Chuuya’s sudden, intense desire to hear him laugh. Why, he couldn’t begin to explain. The man had been stupid and reckless and was one bad coughing fit away from reopening a half a dozen wounds all over his body, but still…

“Hey!” Chuuya snapped, whirling around only to find Dazai right where he’d left him, looking as though he hadn’t moved a muscle in the few seconds his back had been turned. “Idiot – don’t push yourself! You’ll make it worse. Of course that’s probably what you want, you freak.”

Dazai hummed innocently, stretching out on the couch and pulling the blanket up under his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chuuya strode back over to him, hands on his hips, glaring daggers at the man for a few long seconds – just long enough for a flicker of confusion to pass through Dazai’s gaze. Then he attacked, gloved fingers finding his ribs through the plush blanket, and there it was – that gorgeous smile, that beautiful laugh. Dazai’s whole body spasmed and he dissolved into giggles, squirming in place, not really trying to get away at all. “Chuuya wahahahants to plahahahay, does he?”

“You started it,” the redhead retorted, scoffing halfheartedly at his irritating colleague’s feeble attempts to lessen the sensations. “Still this ticklish through a blanket, eh? And you’re not even trying to stop me. Typical.”

Dazai whined and, as if spurred by the taunt, finally started trying to remove himself from the line of tickly fingers, shimmying further and further up so his back was on the arm of the couch.

“No,” Chuuya growled, activating his ability to keep Dazai right where he was, determined to stay here as long as it took for him to hear that laugh – that light, carefree, beautiful laugh.

Dazai’s eyes widened in surprise, but the fact that he didn’t use his own ability to cancel out Chuuya’s was proof enough that he loved this spontaneous little attack, and he let himself giggle more freely, unable to even squirm away some of the sensation now that he was being pinned by the sheer force of gravity.

“You’re a moron, you know?” Chuuya grumbled, yanking the blanket away, reaching for the brunette’s hips, satisfied when the man let out a brief shriek and began laughing softly, still unable to move a muscle. “Throwing yourself into the path of a bunch of bullets like that. I’ve seen you do stupid shit, but come on, Dazai. You could have been really hurt today.”

“Aww, you d-do cahahahahahare about mehehehehe!”

“Still smug, huh? Fine.” The redhead grabbed Dazai’s arms and shoved them above his head, the force of his ability keeping them trapped there.

“Ah! No! No, wait!”

“Wait, nothing. Maybe this will finally get you to see reason, you suicidal freak.”

Dazai would have thrown his head back and bucked his hips and started kicking, but Chuuya’s ability still had a hold of him and he couldn’t quite bring himself to break free of it, so instead he burst into loud, cascading laughter without moving a muscle, forced to take it, forced to look at the knowing smirk on his colleague’s face. Unbidden, a blush flooded his cheeks.

“What’s the matter, Dazai? Too ticklish for your own good? How’s it feel to be stuck here, huh? Oh, sure…you could get out of this if you wanted to. But you don’t.” Chuuya leaned down so they were practically nose to nose, drinking in the other man’s laughter like it was wine, letting the sound wash over him and fill him up, fueling him for the next time he’d have to deal with the brunette’s crap. In a low voice, he teased, “You don’t want me to stop, do you, Dazai? You want me to tickle you until you just can’t stand it anymore. I was worried about you bleeding all over my couch, but you know, I’m less concerned about that now that I see how desperate you look. It’s so worth it to watch you crumble like this.”

“CHUHUHUHUHUHUUYA!!” Dazai screeched, blushing even harder, wishing he could squirm but still unwilling to break out of the smaller man’s hold on him. “DON’T SAHAHAHAHAHAY THAT!!”

“Why? Can’t handle some teasing?” Chuuya smirked, finding that spot at the center of his underarms and drilling into it with meticulous purpose, enjoying the keening, hysterical scream that ripped out of the man’s throat. “Not so loud, Dazai, or the neighbors will hear. You don’t want everyone on the block to know you’re this ticklish, do you? Don’t make me gag you. I’ll do it, you know.”

Dazai laughed loud and hard for several long seconds before breaking down into silent, wheezing giggles. He tried pleading, but when his voice wouldn’t cooperate with him he finally canceled Chuuya’s ability and curled up defensively, practically rolling off the side of the couch as he begged, “Stohohohohop, Chuuya! Plehehehehease!”

Satisfied that he’d not only gotten to hear that gorgeous laugh but also made his infuriating colleague submit and beg for him, the redhead removed his hands from Dazai and reached for the blanket he’d discarded, throwing it over his face again, unwilling to see that adorable pink blush and think about what it meant that his heart sped up at the sight of it.

“There. You got what you wanted. Now go to sleep and try not to die overnight. I don’t want to have to explain to Mori that you bled out because you were laughing so hard you opened up your wounds again.”

Dazai giggled from beneath the blanket, pulling it down so his face was visible once more. Before he could walk away, the brunette sang, “Chuuya~”

“What?”

Dazai held up the hair tie he’d stolen. The redhead blinked. He’d forgotten all about that. “You look good with your hair down.”

“What—? Shut up! Go to sleep, you moron!”

Chuuya slammed his bedroom door in a flustered huff, Dazai’s laughter managing to slip through the cracks and invade his space even as he flopped into bed and tried not to think about how much he loved that laugh.

[ode-to-fury]

By Firelight

Pairing: Gale/Tav (pre relationship denial)

Summary: Gale can’t sleep, and he’s not… happy about Tav being up, but he’s not not happy about it. (I.e. I was trying to practice my showing not telling and I actually quite liked it)

Gale turned over for the upteenth time before huffing out a frustrated breath. Damn his godsforsaken back to the hells. No matter the position he attempted to lie in, something hurt. His bedroll was hardly a bulwark against the cold, hard, frankly unfathomably rocky ground.

He knew in reality it was the orb. It was always the orb. The artifact that Tav had given him had helped. Slightly. Not enough.

His ears were still ringing faintly, and if he lay still too long it felt as though he spun through the space behind his eyes, which reminded him far too much of nights as an apprentice after the Yawning Portal. The muscle spasms hadn’t quite started yet, but they would. He was all too aware they would. His cure was no cure anymore, and it worried him. Greatly.

To add insult to injury, he was perfectly aware he could probably conjure himself a comfortable featherbed.

He was also perfectly aware that such an act would expose him to enthusiastic and earnest ridicule from the rest of their merry little band.

He huffed once more, and decided he would give up for the night and try and read for a while. He grabbed the first book he could find in the darkness of his tent and crawled out through the flap.

It was a dark night tonight. The moon was only a small sliver amongst the stars, and occasional clouds obscured even that faint light.

The fire was crackling merrily, and Tav sat with her back to the stone in the middle of their camp, staring at the dancing flames. There was the small line of a frown between her brows, and Scratch lay with his head pillowed on her lap, her fingers absently scratching behind one upright ear.

He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her, and her grey eyes flicked to him, then back at the fire.

“I was under the impression you’d already taken your watch earlier this evening,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied shortly. “Thought I’d let Wyll get some more rest instead of both of us being awake.”

“Very prudent of you.”

He groaned as he sat down next to her, leaning back against the rock. It was cool, which was soothing against the aching in his back.

She glanced sideways at him, then back at the flames. From here, he could only see one corner of her mouth, a faint scar trailing along her jaw. He found himself wondering how she’d gotten it. Scratch reached out his nose to sniff at Gale’s hand, then, when he had determined there was no immediate threat, returned to being pampered.

He was glad, selfishly, that she had told Wyll to go back to sleep. He… he enjoyed her company. Was glad of it tonight. It seemed to him, no matter how bleak their circumstances appeared to be, when she grinned her crooked grin, that everything would end up perfectly fine.

“What book?” She asked after a while. Gale started slightly, realizing he’d been sitting there with the book unopened for too long.

He cleared his throat.

“A treatise on the crafting of magic shields and the various attributes of each different type,” he said. “I found it in that ruined temple we explored, though I haven’t yet found the time to study it. Of course, there are quite a few thoughts in the school of abjuration on various magic shields and their uses, and then you have the regional differences, I mean- if you’ve ever read a text originating from Amn and the wizards there you’ll find they approach the entire concept differently from even the beginning of spellcasting when compared to here or even Calimshan. Though the Calishite school again has other ideas on the concept but the point I was trying to make is how region and even regional ways of thinking can influence- “

He stopped when he realised she was looking at him with a small smile on her face.

“What?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, jerking her head toward the fire. “I- I suppose I always thought a shield was a shield.”

He laughed.

“Believe me," he said, grinning, “Many an apprentice thought the same thing before our first abjuration lesson at Blackstaff.”

She looked over at him, frowning, then shook her head.

“You’ve never had any instruction?” He asked.

“Would it make a difference?” She asked sharply.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“A simple question. In fact, I think it’s very impressive you’ve managed so much with no education, especially given the volatile nature of your magic. There was one sorcerer in my class at Blackstaff, but he was of a draconic line, and to my understanding their magic is much less erratic than some other origins’.”

She was still frowning at him.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “I can’t tell whether you’re giving me a compliment or not.”

He winced.

“I assure you,” he said, somewhat apologetically, “It was intended as one.”

He tried for a sheepish smile.

“I’m afraid I’m out of practice.”

One of her eyebrows lifted.

“At compliments?”

“Partly.”

He realised they were moving into dangerous territory, and if she asked any further questions he would not have answers for her. He- he didn’t want to tell her about the orb, or Mystra. Asking for artefacts had already somewhat broken her trust in him.

It was… nice. To have a friend. Besides Tara, of course. Though Tav was much less of a nursemaid than Tara was. Between the two of them he’d never be short on scathing remarks, however. Or stubbornness. For the time being, he would pretend as though he was not a shell of his former self, merely until he had found a different way of sating his arcane hunger. Then he would cease being a burden or a liabillity to her and the others.

“I’ve had… some instruction,” she said, snapping him back tot he present. “Over the years, whenever I liked a spell someone cast, or needed to learn something for survival. Other things just happened naturally, like throwing up a shield the first time an arrow came firing at me.”

He watched as firelight flickered across her face. Her nose was turned upward, and he found himself tracing the slope of it with his eyes.

“And summoning a cow to drop from the sky?”

She tried and failed to hide a grin as she shot him a look. A deep dimple appeared in her cheek. He’d never met anyone with dimples before her. Such an endearingly human imperfection.

“That doesn’t count,” she said. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

He shook his head.

“It took me two months to work out how to summon a tressym,” he said.

“In this world, Gale, there are people with talent,” she lay a hand on her chest, “And people without.”

She looked at him pointedly, and he burst into laughter.

Again, she watched him with that small smile, and he found himself returning it.

“If it makes you feel any better, my father was livid.”

He shrugged.

“My mother was not much better, but she forgave me eventually, I suppose. And let me keep the tressym.”

She snorted softly.

“Good for you.” Her gaze returned to the flames, and he realised he might have touched on a sensitive subject.

“You still owe me the rest of that story, you know,” he nudged her arm with his elbow, regretted it immediately when she tensed.

“You still owe me that drink to go with it,” she said. He did not miss that she moved away from him slightly.

“I could, ah, read to you,” he found himself saying, if only diffuse the tension he had just created. “If you wish. Though the book may be out of date by several decades, if not centuries, based on the penmanship alone.”

She grimaced, looking over at the book he held as though she was looking at a particularly unpleasant bug.

“A treatise? On magic shields?” She asked.

“Forgive me,” he said, feigning understanding, “I could also explain some of the more foreign concepts, as your lack of education would be a hindrance.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and only the faintest shadow of a dimple showed in her cheek.

“I normally prefer different books.”

“Different?”

“More interesting?”

“More interesting than an ancient academic treatise on shields?” He asked in mock outrage.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I like adventure stories,” she said finally. “You know, where the valiant prince rescues the maiden in distress, or vanquishes a dragon, or two young lovers have to stand up to their families.”

He grinned.

“You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“No?”

“No. You seem far too cynical to be caught up in any adventures that are not your own.”

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “Looks can be decieving.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at him, just for a second, and a dimple showed again as she gave him another crooked grin. So different from the cynical adventurer he had met but a week ago.

“I suppose they can be,” he said softly, and found that he was grinning back at her again.

She looked back at the fire, and Gale cleared his throat slightly, feeling suddenly as though he shouldn’t be looking at her at all.

“You can read to me,” she said. “If you’d like. Believe it or not, I like learning. About magic especially.”

She shrugged.

“If anything it will make the time go more quickly.”

So Gale did.

And later, just before dawn, when her head drooped onto his shoulder he told himself he didn’t think much of it, and that she was simply tired.

He let her sleep, however, without complaint, savouring the first friendly touch he’d felt since she’d pulled him from that rock, and realised that he had forgotten to worry about the orb since the moment he’d set eyes on her.

[weskin-time]

Just read both NSFW daddy Albert headcannons

May I request a part three whenever you think of more?

👉👈

Of course take all the time you need and no rushing yourself

Platonic friendship love to you friendo ❤

HELLO FRIEND!! sorry this took so long!!

Albert Wesker x GN!Reader

not edited or proofread

hope you don’t mind that instead of HCs i did,,,

Albert Wesker NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He tries to be good at aftercare but he’s a busy man and sometimes he’ll just leave you after fucking your brains out to go do more work.

When he’s not busy he loves to kiss you in the afterglow. maybe one last bite to your neck before slowly kissing his way up to your nose.

He does clean himself off before helping you clean if the two of you can’t shower. if you can shower you bet his ass what a picking you up and showering with you.

he would just. plop you into a warm bath and leave you sometimes

he’s good at pillow talk tho

praises you for doing so good for him all while kissing you

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his arms. Loves how strong he is and absolutely adores showing off his strength with you. Picking you up and fucking you against a wall, your legs hooked over his shoulders with your arms around his neck, him holding your complete weight by your ass as he fucks you silly.

He’s got super strength of a God so you’re not falling out of his arms any time soon.

He loves your neck. Honesty he loves all of you but he loves your neck and thighs the most. it’s a power thing for him to love your neck. he could easily crush your windpipe if he squeezes just a bit harder, he could bruise the soft flesh so easily, he could kill you with a flick of his wrist and snap your neck. the thought drives him wild.

Loves choking you. pressing his pointer finger and thumb right under your jaw making your head fuzzy. adores leaving kisses, bite marks, and hickies. if you let him he will bruise your throat with his hand.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’ll cum anywhere

cumming inside you is his favorite place to cum, so warm inside you as you spasm around him. loves to scoop up any leaking cum and push it back in with his fingers.

also loves to cum on your face. just seeing you stained with him makes him hard again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s an underwear thief.

he keeps them in his back pants pocket or jacket pocket.

yes sometimes he sniffs them.

sometimes if he’s hard he’ll go into the bathroom and cum in them, if you’re not around. tho he washes them and silently returns it to you bc ew crusty

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

well he’s got a kid so he’s sorta experienced

i feel like he’s not a sex god but he’s also not virgin levels of knowledge? you feel me?

he still knows what he’s doing tho.

also a very fast learner

you like him touching you in this one place? he takes a mental note of it and uses it against you

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

mating press.

he also loves doggy when his hand is on the back of your head pushing you down into bed as he fucks into you hard

loves you riding him. seeing your hips struggle after a while of thrusting, loosing your pace as your muscles burn, but still trying to fuck yourself on him trying to cum on his cock. if you stop your shaking legs and just beg him to fuck you, he’ll show you mercy.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s serious.

you might not be. i mean do you hear how corny half the stuff that comes out of his mouth is in RE5?? i couldn’t keep a straight face during his fight i was too busy making fun of him.

i feel like the only time he wouldn’t be serious is when there’s a continuous funny sound. like let’s say he’s fucking you and some air happens to get trapped and make a funny fart sound over, and over, and over, and over, he would snort and stop, fix the two of you then continuing to make your brain mush.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he’s well groomed

i know he’s almost hairless in RE5 idc this is my head canon and i say he’s got a happy trail

artists please give wesker a happy trail i’m bEGGING

he doesn’t care how groomed his partner is as long as it’s not a 70’s porno bush i think then he would tell you to shave

doesnt mind body hair on his partner either

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

little intimacy honestly

most of the time he’s fucking you so hard you get cock drunk

if you ask he will be slower and more sensual

but even some nights he just wants to hold you. the nights when his red eyes are clouded with conflict, those are the nights where he’ll take his time with you

on these nights he wants to focus on you instead of a mutual pleasure.

he takes it slow, but not a snails pace. he wants to make you gasp, to shudder, to let you feel loved.

he’s not very good with people and not good at emotions either but, he tries for you. he wants you to know he loves you even if he isn’t sensual every night

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn’t get himself off very often

he’s a very busy man

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

i feel like he might be into texture play

leather and latex

he’s a sadist

authority kink (treat him like a god or a superior and he’ll fuck you so hard and good till your a babbling mess)

knife play

blood kink

size kink

i can make an entire list of what kinks i think Wesker has. and no they are not all self indulgent lol >:3

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

LOVES TO FUCK YOU IN HIS OFFICE.

i feel like he wouldn’t want anyone to see you two tho, he locks the doors

slightly public places are fun and fine for him but you belong to him and only he can see and hear you whining for him

loves to fuck you in either your bed or his if you two don’t live together

if you live together then yes his favorite place is yalls bed

shower is also a favorite for him

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you.

literally just you existing gets him hard and horny.

also noticing how small you are compared to him. makes him feral

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything you don’t want to do he will respect and stay away from

i have a feeling he would try anything at least once

not into feet things no, or things that are considered ‘extreme’ fetishes like feeding, anything ‘filthy’, or balloons. those are hard No’s.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers receiving

give him head and he will loose his own head

not afraid to go down on you and will never complain

he just loves to see you on your knees i front of him. seeing your eyes stare up at him through your lashes. you’re trying so hard to make him feel good and please him and it. drives. him. wild.

he’s very skilled with his tongue and mouth. the first time he goes down on you it might be new territory for him, he’ll be a little sloppy at first but he gets learning real fast

sit on his face.

he would prefer you to sit on his face in a 69 than have you lay down on your back

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he loves to start out at a medium speed but mostly focusing on hitting you as hard as he can. it leaves you whimpering and gasping with how hard and deep he’s going

rough rough rough rough *chanting*

gripping onto your hips to help you meet his relentless fast thrusts, his tentacles wrapping around your throat, nails digging into your flesh

fast and rough but at a perfect pace that leaves you breathless and gasping with tears running down your face from how good he pounding into you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he’s not a massive fan of them but sometimes they’re needed

like in his office if he’s horny and you’re there? fuck yea he’s gonna bend you over his desk and take you right there

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s cool to try anything once (within reason)

he can be risky

mostly risky in choking you till you’re about to black out. your vision going fuzzy and black spots appear. if you don’t like that then give him a little tap tap and the pressure is released.

Loves to put a vibe toy in you and control it when you’re out in public. you better learn how to suppress your sounds in public because whoooooo boy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

,,, i’m scared of his stamina

in his boss fight he just falls to the ground and then gets back up in a matter of seconds

if he can recover that fast in a fight imagine how fast he can recover during sex

the hentai trope of fucking all night and into the day? yea he can make that a reality.

if you only wanna have one round? he’s cool with that, he’s not tired but he’ll still go to sleep with you (if he’s not busy)

if you want to fuck him as many times as your body can handle? the man loves a good experiment. he’ll fuck you till your about to pass out if you want.

will keep a chart of how long y’all fucked with how many times he’s made you cum and he tries to top it

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

yes.

to make you squirm yes.

use them on him too. yes.

gags? yes. blindfolds? yes. ropes? yes. he uses them on you.

get him a vibrating cock ring and he will go. f. e r a. l.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

WORLDS BIGGEST TEASE

He knows you love his voice. he uses it against you. like a little shit.

whispers dirty things in your ears throughout the day, telling you how badly he wants to fuck you, how hard he is, how badly he needs you.

loves to pin you against surfaces and kiss your neck, leave marks, and just leave you a panting mess then right when his hands are about to go up your shirt,,, he turns around and leaves you

but if you tease him? oh my gods. he will put you in your place.

tease him more often because it results in you being so sore that you won’t be able to walk for an hour or two after.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

HES VOCAL.

he’s constantly running his mouth with vile words in your ears

but when he finally does shut up he’s moaning and he wHIMPERS

he’s loud and proud and not afraid to make sounds, grunts, growls and purrs

during sensual sex he purrs <3

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves to have you wear his sunglasses on your head when he’s fucking you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s bigger than average, about 7 inches and he’s girthy af.

not so much that he can’t enter you, not enough where he’s going to break you, or have it hurt so bad but jjuuuusssstt enough for that good good hurt stretch

his cock makes you feel full

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he got a normal sex drive i would say

tho sometimes there’s a spike where he’s just a massive horny asshole who needs to fuck you till you both are insane with pleasure

but he’s not constantly jumping in your pants

probably a bit higher than normal really

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if he doesn’t have to leave to do work right after or it’s not a quicky he makes sure you fall asleep first.

he wants to make sure you’re at peace snuggled into him before he closes his eyes

he slightly snores :)

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 — 𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐞

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), this is a dark fic, yandere!rohan, improper use of heaven’s door, toxic relationship, forced consent, creampie mention, suggested mindbreak, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

“That’s perfect,” Rohan crooned, the only sound audible over the scribbling of his rapid sketching. his emerald eyes coruscate as he admires the vulgar visage you had no choice but to display for him. “Keep that pitiful expression.”

your face was flushed, cheeks hot and eyes glassy. there was a minuscule puddle of drool on the floor underneath your jaw. your eyebrows are cinched together, teeth sank into your lower lip as you muffle the pathetic whines that can’t seem to end. you’re panting, and so is he, because he’d practically ripped himself off of you and stumbled over to his desk to grab his supplies. the muscles in your toes were cramped up where they’d been curled so tightly, your thighs trembling, but you keep them spread wide as your knees ache, planted firmly on the hard floor. “Roh—“

Rohan cut you a warning glare, pursing his lips, “Shh, sh sh, shh,” the tip of the pen screams as it shoots across the sketch pad, “keep your mouth slack, just like before. Talking will only soil the realism. If I don’t capture this look on your face right now, I might simply go insane.” you could tell by the twinkle of obsession in his eyes, that he wasn’t exaggerating.

but still, you longed to move. to stretch your cramping muscles, to pick your sore cheek off the side of the hard floor. you could still feel Rohan’s foot planting it there, smearing his sole over your face and applying enough pressure on your head to make you dizzy. “W—when can I get up?”

“Spread your ass cheeks.” he barked, ignoring you, brows furrowed in concentration. “Show me the damage I’ve done already.”

eliciting a pathetic and hardly audible whine of subservience, your hands move before your brain can catch up with the demand, prying your globes apart and, thus, allowing a gush of cocktailed release — both Rohan’s and yours — from your cunt. it was spasming, milking nothing, and each time you clenched, you snagged your lip with your teeth. it’s not like you wanted to enjoy how roughly Rohan fucked you, or how sloppy he wanted his muse to be. you didn’t want to cum when he hurt you, but you didn’t have a choice. you couldn’t fight what had been etched into your psyche, literally.

Heaven’s Door. that’s what he’d called it when he explained it to you; an ability that only he possessed. you couldn’t see these powers, but somehow, you knew he wasn’t lying to you.

and you’d seen him use it before — bizarrely enough, though, trying to recall those moments were impossible.

Rohan promised never to use Heaven’s Door on you, but that was before you tried to leave him.

now, you didn’t have to ask him how he could make you do things even though you didn’t want to do them, or why you had blank patches in your memory all the time. even if you wanted to, you couldn’t fix your mouth to form the questions. he had, somehow, used his ability on you, and was keeping you muzzled and obedient now. with no freedom in sight.

Rohan moans out loud, clenching the pen in his hand when he sees the delicious destruction, “That’s it!” he cries, and you could see his cock, still hard and throbbing, beading with more spunk. he wants to grab himself and milk the rest of it out of him, you can tell, but to let go of his pen would mean he would lose the momentum at which he was creating a mirror of your position. “That’s exactly what I want to see, your body fucked out and shaking, your mind slipping, little by little. I’m going to fuck you stupid before long, and I’ll be able to immortalize that, too— once I’ve turned you into my brainless, little fuck doll. Look at how pretty you look.”

Rohan leans forward, flipping the pad around to show you, and you want to be humiliated. no, more than that, you want to cry. reduced to little more than his pathetic possession, you stare at the equally helpless girl in black and white on the paper. she looks less alive than you thought you did, less herself— or, yourself. were you becoming that? were you losing… you?

“I don’t…” your mouth fights each syllable, trying to keep you from speaking. “I don’t like…. This….”

for a moment, Rohan’s brow arches, and he tears the portrait from the pad, tossing it into a stack of at least a hundred more that were similar. all of you. fucked. ruined. “Oh?” he inquires, half taunting, “you’re unhappy?”

yes. god, yes. please, let your lips work with you. “Y—yes…” you wished you could use your hands to push up off the floor, but they don’t want to obey as easily as your mouth, one slipping forward to plug your desperate opening with two fingers, and you whimper. “I want…” to go home! for you to let me go! help! all of these were options that you tried to force to the edge of your tiers, but none found themselves upon them, and instead, your fingers pumped into you, curling at the knuckle, and your mouth betrayed your mind, “I want you to fuck me, Rohan. Again, and again, and again. I want to lose my mind on your cock…”

no! no, no, no!

at the very least, please let me keep my mind!

“Take everything from me. I want to belong completely… to you.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blurbs

Below, you will find:

Revelling + Amren Swimming + Koschei Overstimulation + Azriel* Bad Memories + Feyre

Revelling w/ Amren

I’m not sorry by DEAN

Her blood red lips split in a feline grin, “are you sure about that, lamb?”

A shiver of excitement thrills down your spine at the name—her preferred blood type. “I wouldn’t have said it were I not entirely sure, Amren.” You know your eyes are sparkling with playful challenge, but she makes no move to haul you from the ballroom. Instead, she leans back against the wall, watching you with those sharp silver eyes of hers.

“I think the wine is making you dumb,” she croons, making you frown. “I’m perfectly aware. Besides, you’ve had more than me,” you counter, flicking your eyes pointedly to the glass in her elegantly pointed hand, the red liquid reminding you of the blood she so used to adore.

Her smile is coy, and she raised the glass to her lips, taking a slow sip while you watch intently. “I don’t think I should need to remind you, but I am much older than you. I know how to handle my alcohol.” She gives you a look that says unlike you.

Your features twist into a frown and you make to push off the wall, “fine.”

Silver eyes flick to you over the rim of her wine. Your own lips fashion into a playful smile, “I’ll find me fun elsewhere, then.”

Swimming in Koschei’s lake

Leni by GoodBooks

Talons made of death wrap around your torso, and you freeze. He’s caught you.

Limbs tremble, muscles spasming as your very world is ripped out from beneath your feet.

“What are you?”

The voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard: a deep, animalistic rasp, sounding like rock against rock and you can picture how sparks would fly.

“You’re not one of the fae. What’s a creature like you doing in my lake?”

Your breathing catches, words a distant thought as your vision blurs. “I’m sorry,” you raps, whimpering. “I’ll never come here again. Please just— let me go.”

He hums, and it sounds like he’s smiling. The claws tighten, dragging you deeper into the lake, your gills flapping as you fight to keep your breathing regular, even as you squirm in his grip. “Please. I had no idea this was your lake. I was trying to escape the hunters. Please, I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for a little and you brace for the crushing impact of his grip but it never comes. Instead, “show me.”

You stiffen in his grip, warily opening your large, dark eyes—eyes made for darkness, yet that are unable to breech his. “Show you?” You ask softly, trying not to stammer or stumble.

A noise like leather stretching sounds, and you have the every feeling he’s smiling. “Show me your hunters.”

Overstimulation w/ Azriel

Damaged by Blood On The Dance Floor

Pleasure rolls across your skin, waves of heated sunlight cresting over you again and again.

Your toes curl as he doesn’t let up, head tipping back into the pillows as his cock touches that spot deep inside of you. His shadows build over your clit and your vision turns blinding white, colour fading as the darkness flicks and nips at the sensitive bud.

Words are stolen from your lips, dragged into his own mouth as he swallows your sounds greedily. In the back of your mind, you’re aware of his quiet whispers, saying you’re being so good, that you just need to give him a few more, that if you can manage to get up onto your hands and knees maybe he’ll go a little easier.

Of course they’re all sweet lies. He’ll be working on you until the sun is rising over the city, spilling into your room like how he’s spilled deep inside your heat again and again. So much that it’s dripping down your thighs, staining the sheets as he pumps you full.

But sunrise is still hours away, and you haven’t even reached double digits yet. He’s going to work you to your breaking point, and only then will he allow you a moment to rest. A few minutes if you’re really lucky.

Aching arousal warms your belly at the thought—knowing you’re free to yield to him entirely, and he’ll take care of you.

Memories of the Hewn City w/ Feyre

Rise by Skillet

Flame singes the hairs of your arms, and you bolt upright, breath curling in the cold Night air.

Vision goes blurry as the memories crush down on you.

The door flies open, and instantly she’s at your side, comforting you, holding you tight, hugging you against her. “Hey, it’s okay sweetness. You’re not there anymore. You’re with me.” She cups your cheeks, “look at me. Look at me, sweet thing.”

Your lower lip wobbles but you manage to look at her through teary eyes, skin still stinging with the phantom pain of a leather whip.

She smiles gently, stroking your skin with such aching reverence. “You’re out. You got out, remember. You’re with our court now,” she smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “My Court.”

You cry more, but for a different set of reasons. Sobs wrack your body, ravaging your lungs as you remember the burning flame, the crack of a whip, the stink of blood and the acrid tang of urine in air. “It was so real…” you stammer quietly, sobbing into her arms as the nightmare lingers, skin aching with memories.

She can do nothing but hold you, keeping you wrapped in her warmth. You’ve made it clear you don’t want her to remove those memories, but it’s so difficult to watch you wake like this night after night.

Still, she won’t go against your wishes.

She’ll keep you close, and hold you until the sun comes up.

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