#entire underside matted

[3-aem]

cat and i no longer friends after the the great de-matting

[softshuji]

CW: NSFW, ptv, daddy kink mentions, reader wears makeup and a dress, marking and lots of pet names. this is pure smut that's literally it, just pure filth I am so sorry I had to get this out, I'm pretty sure I blushed writing this, extremely self indulgent bye.

Hanma's been eyeing you for a while.

You think maybe he'd know that you knew how often his eyes are shifting from the mirror to you in front of the vanity as you apply a light coat of blush to your cheeks. You're leaning forward to see yourself better in the mirror, rocking back on your feet when you turn to look at the makeup and find a complimentary shade of lipstick.

He's done and undone his own tie so many times, a little excessive maybe, but he likes to watch you - and it's even better to him that you don't mind and will let him for as long as he wants to.

You do like an audience after all, he knows that first hand. And he's yet to shrug on his jacket when you feel his hands, creeping along your sides as you hold up a hand mirror to inspect your handiwork more closely. To him, the waiting is unbearable, and of course it is, when you look so delicious so effortlessly and he can't simply be content to just watch you and wait till you notice and turn around.

"New dress?" He says, lips dropping down to where your hair meets your ear, a soft trail of kisses and a light brush of his lips against your soft and open hair.

You cast a glance back, a smile inlaying your now coated lips before you pop them experimentally, a little internal relish at how his Adams apple bobs and his eyes drop to the matted sheen of them. "Mhm, yeah, you like it?" You know he does.

"Yeah," he says, muffled and whispered as his warm breath falls and dances further down with a caress and gentle trail along your skin. "Real pretty sweetheart, you look perfect. Looks nice with your pretty hair too." He knows you know that he thinks that already, because he makes it known often just how pretty he thinks you are. And oh how often he reminds you, as you know he wants to do now.

"Yeah?" And you can tell, so easily. When he bites his lip, and his teeth are grazing along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, big and rough but assured hands now coming around your hips to pull you flush to him, it's almost too easy to tell. "I got it cos I thought you'd like it."

"oh you did it for me? That's sweet and I do like it princess. How'd you know?"

"It's easy to tell. You like the ones with easy access." You grin at him in the mirror, slightly pushing your hips back against him and he laughs, pulls his hand up to your throat to tilt you back till the back of your head rests against his chest, a firm but confident grip on your neck that has your thighs twitching- a visceral reaction you know he can feel from where he's pressed up against you from behind.

"mhm, yeah I do. Got me rock hard so early in the morning, I should punish you." And with that he grinds his now hard cock against you- hips fully flush to yours as his breath ghosts and curls over your lips.

Your chest trips, eyes flitting up and then down to where his other hand creeps and dances over the hem of the white dress. "You'll be late, I'll be late too," you say, without conviction, tongue swiping at your bottom lip to wet it in anticipation, your hips still meeting his in tandem, a heat pooling between your legs.

"I'll be quick pretty girl." Although he knows you don't need any convincing when your eyes are clouding with lust, that familiar glassy shine glimmering in them as you - expectedly, press your lips to his. "Five minutes princess, just wanna feel you."

You always start off soft- a little push and pull, him pressing himself into you with a needy and eager bite, and you curling your tongue along his from the underside, soft breaths and gasps as you try to drink him in entirely. You push, press yourself further against him, an unmeasured whimper against his mouth when he drops his hands to massage and squeeze your thighs, fingers dancing and stroking at the soft inner sides. Back and then forth, and back again.

"You always say that, and then you make us late," you whisper as you pull away for air, a thin string of saliva now pooling on your lips. It never lasts and he knows your rebuttals are half-hearted, that the wetness now dampening your underwear says enough.

He chuckles, a hot breath curling along your skin when he flips you around, his size and shape and the entirety of him backing you against the dresser. "Oh you don't wanna? How wet you are says otherwise pretty girl. You think I can't tell? You're dripping."

"That's your fault," you say even as you lift a leg to hook it around his waist, ankles locking around the lower end of his back to keep him in place and pressed firm to your hips, as his thumb lightly circles your clit over the seat of your panties- a sharp and broken whimper lost against his lips as he bites and nips at you.

"oh my fault huh? So shall I stop then pretty girl? Want me to leave you dripping and wet and aching?" And he pulls your panties to the side now sticky and hot, thumb pressed to your clit to draw firm and measured circles against the achy bundle of nerves.

Your eyes flutter, teeth biting down on your lips as you twitch and your thighs squeeze together. "No please, please, I need you." And oh how he draws it out from you easily, with so much need, an eager rock of your hips to feel him more, the rough pad of his thumb and then his fingers slipping inside you.

"yeah? What do you need sweetheart? Use your words for me. Tell daddy what you want." Middle and ring finger curling inside you, slow and drawn out and perfectly punctuated against the soft and twitchy sensitive spot, thumb still caressing your hot and wet clit, arousal now drooling down his wrist.

A broken whine escapes your lips. "I need- need you inside me, please please? It hurts. Need you to cum in me."

And be laughs, giggles in fact, with a grin that you can feel against your neck from where his lips are sucking harsh deep and purpling marks into your skin. "Good girl, that's My girl. Don't worry, I'll give you what you want." And then, as his nose nudges against your collarbones, scent of your perfume on his tongue, "Gonna cum in that pretty pussy of yours. You feeling good? Like having my fingers In you?"

Saliva pools on the edge of your lips as his fingers repeatedly curl and press against that soft and swollen spot, thighs clenching and lifting to meet him more, till his knuckles brush absently against your clit. And then deeper still, broken and gasped choked moans pressed to his shirt from your saliva now dribbles onto the white linen- too much for you to form a response in return.

He coos at you, soft and teasing, till that tight wire of heat and tension simmers in your tummy, moans and breathy broken whines getting quicker and sharper and you tightening around his fingers with every curl of them against your soft, warm walls.

"shuji- fuck, oh, I think I'm-" you try, and it comes out as a heavy breath, you panting and gasping against his shoulder where your cheek is pressed until suddenly, he pulls them out, cool air now pulling your orgasm further away from you as cry in protest.

"shhh, relax princess, I got you," he says, undulated under the sound of metal as his belt comes undone. "You trust me right?" And he lifts your hips, easily, your thighs now resting on the dresser as his aching hard cock springs free, now dripping and drooling with precum.

You stifle a gasp, tongue pooling in anticipation as your eyes trail, unashamedly from his darkened gaze to where his cock now twitches with need.

"I- I trust you baby, promise. But please, I Need- need to cum so bad." And as if to enunciate your point, your hips lift and jerk, an eager shuffle that has his tip pressing against your clit.

"I know, I know Doll, take a deep breath for me yeah? Relax, let me make you feel good," he says, a slow and measured press of his cock further into your pussy, loud moans from the both of you now whined and broken against each other's lips.

"I- I can't, it's too much-" quick and sharp gasps now lost in the wet and sticky sound of your arousal spreading further along your thighs and you're clenching still, sucking him in, ankles now tightening around his waist, a hand coming up to his hair to tug at and the other bunching his shirt between your shaking fingers.

His hands find your hips, smooth and reassuring circles rubbed into the skin even as he sinks deeper and deeper still. "Shhh you can do it sweetheart, just relax and ease up a little- look at how much you're sucking me in." And then, somehow, his hips press flush to yours, buried in you to the hilt and his tip now kissing lightly at your cervix.

You take sharp breaths between the broken whimpers, the pitch of your sweet voice rising as he begins a languid grind of his hips, his hands now bruising at your skin gripped tight between his fingers. He drops his forehead to the crown of your head, hips snapping as the dresser shakes behind you.

"shit that's it pretty girl- so warm and tight and perfect for me, so fuckin soft and pretty." He slurs, half lost in the clouded daze, lips parted and reddened, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck as you pull and tug at his soft curls.

"fuck, oh my god, sh- shuji-" you whine and whimper, moan and whisper, loud and broken and it's all lost under the wet sound of his hips snapping against yours, the repeated slapping sound punctuated by the rock of the dresser against the wall.

"I got you, I got you pretty doll,- hah, you feel like heaven, pretty princess pussy was made for me huh?"

Your lashes flutter, lips grazing his neck as you pull and tug and tighten your fingers in his curls, the one scratching down his shirt that clings with to the shifting muscles in his back. "I was, I promise," you babble, tears forming in your eyes as the mascara runs and smudges on the white linen. "I'm yours- I'm yours- I'm yours, all yours."

His cock twitches, pulses and stutters, hips stilling momentarily. "You're mine?" And then. "All mine? Only mine?"

You shuffle and grind up against him, that all too familiar wire of pleasure bubbling in your tummy. "Only yours, forever. Please, let me cum, can I cum?"

He lifts your chin then, a soft and tender kiss to your forehead, cheeks now tinted pink, a rosy sheen to his skin as his lips press softly to the crown of your head and you almost keen, a fluttery beat that only increases tenfold when his thumb finds your clit again to run smooth circles into it.

"Cum for me then sweetheart, cum for daddy and let me feel you," he says, and your lips part, hips rocking as you spasm and twitch with the orgasm that has your vision clouding white. You choke out his name and it feels reverential, feels tender and intimate and delicious coming from your swollen lips now wet and smudged with lipstick and he loves you dearly, loves you in a way that's terrifying and otherworldly.

He thrusts messily, a few pumps of his cock till he's spilling into you, warm and hot and sinking his forehead to yours, your name chanted and sweet on his lips till he slows his hips down and your breath softens as the heady pleasure carries the both of you into bliss.

"I love you," you say, mumbled against his shoulder as your breath evens out, hands running softly up and down his back as he pulls out.

"I know sweetheart, I know you do." And he presses an extra kiss to your cheek, hands now smoothing reassuring and loving circles into your hips as you both come down together.

It's overwhelming in the moments like this, somehow more intimate than the sex, when he looks on you and your reflection shimmers in his pupils blown wide with love and an adoration that borders on worship and he waits and kisses you softly, small little murmurs of your name on his lips.

"we're late, you made us late," you say with a hazy smile as your hands trail along his forearms, finding the veins and junctures, small scars and fissures in the skin that are silvery and pink in the light.

"such a greedy needy little thing aren't you? Came on my cock and now it's my fault we're late?" And it makes you laugh - so unreservedly, that the tension and pressure of the moment slips and peels away.

"you're the one who liked the dress a little too much."

He grins, thumb and forefinger taking your chin between them. "Well it is a nice dress isn't it? My pretty girl is just too pretty." And you love him entirely, so big and beautiful in all that he is, all the bad and the good that comes with him that maybe, being late is worth it.

You know he's worth it all and more.

I am not proofreading, I'm too embarrassed to go back and read it, take what you're given.

Reblogs appreciated though

[plutoswritingplanet]

And I'll Be Like Sugar (Silco x Female!Reader)

a/n: slowly but surely i'm migrating all my works from ao3 on here. this one's a bit old, back when Arcane was super popular and there wasn't as much Silco content out there. Cross-posted on AO3

Warnings: tender Silco (but not like, too tender), mentions of blood and violence, imbalance of power but not really, Silco's touch starved, s-m-u-t

Summary: After a job-gone-kinda-wrong, you get a visit from the Devil himself.

Your heavy boots are splashing the drain water with every step, as you fly through the Alleys, the shadow of pursuit hanging over you like a dark cloud. There is a small scroll in your hand, paper crumbled by your deathly grip. Inside is the key to a new Shimmer shipment, all the places, all the dates, straight up treasure. If you play your cards right, you could help your gang lift up higher from the ground, maybe enough to feel the sun on their fingertips. 

The entrance to your lair is right in front of you, but instead you turn right, into a small back alley. You jump through a stinking cloud of pollution, remembering to hold your breath, as you immediately duck under some boards. 

You crawl right to an entrance to the drain, kicking it up, before jumping towards a ladder. You can never be too careful, especially since the person you stole from was quite literally the most powerful man in the whole Underside, hell even on the top he was quite revered.

So powerful, in fact, that he couldn't comprehend the fact, that anyone would be so dumb, as to try and steal from him. And yet here you were, the biggest idiot on the face of the earth, currently jumping from roof to roof. The air is much thinner up here, easier to breathe. The familiar roof of your lair is getting closer, an open window upstairs awaits your arrival. For good measure, you throw a quick look behind, seeing nothing but empty rooftops. That finally soothes your worry, and you dive inside, feet first, landing on a dusty mat that has been moved under the window. 

The place is warm inside, heat enveloping you almost instantly. Downstairs, you can hear your people chatting amongst the muted sounds of music. Shrugging off your coat and a scarf, you make the short treck to your office. Swinging the door open, you go straight to your desk, hiding the scroll in one of the drawers. 

- Silco knows - a heavy voice of your right hand, Solomon, startles you.

He's standing there, leaning on the door frame, a deep frown settled on his features. Before you took over the organization, his scrutinizing gaze used to make your palms sweat with stress. Now, after years of working together, you've developed a mutual sense of respect. 

- Knows what? - you ask incredulously, throwing a tired look over your arm.

This job has taken all your strength, rolled it up neatly and then chucked it down the drain. There was a throbbing pain beginning to bloom deep inside your skull, and you felt a familiar burn in your legs from pushing your body to its limits. You are going to be barely alive tomorrow, and quite possibly, you won't be able to move in the morning. Your bed is right there, behind a heavy curtain, and you feel a sudden need to plop down onto it.

- This isn't a joke, Y/N - Solomon sounds concerned, which in turn makes you concerned. 

He's the most stern out of the entire gang, rarely showing any emotion, which is why, you turn to face him fully.

- He's probably already on his way here - Solomon takes a few steps inside the office, his heavy boots making the floorboards creak. - I don't know, what kind of agreement you two have, and frankly, I don't want to know. But this? - he motions to the drawer with an offended gesture - This is too much.

God, you should've locked the door behind you, that way you could at least pretend you're not here to answer all of that. Instead, you take a deep breath, pressing your pointer and middle finger to the bridge of your nose. 

- It's just some shipment plans, he won't even notice the loss - your voice is calm and monotonous, like you're explaining the most mundane of things - I doubt he would treat it so personally, at most, he'll send one of his goons, and those I can deal with. No problemo.

Solomon doesn't look too convinced. He opens his lips to speak, but is promptly interrupted, as a scrawny looking kid barges into the office. He's barely standing on two legs, breathing heavily. When he looks up at you, you almost fall back at the panicked expression on his young face.

- Silco is coming here - he finally wheezes out, the words filling the room, soaking into the walls, the floor - I saw his men two streets away.

Fuck.

- Hide everything he doesn't know about, tell men to scram and not to engage - your decision is almost instant, leader skills coming to the forefront. - Bring him straight to my office, I'll deal with him myself... And don't look nervous, we did nothing wrong. 

That's a fat fucking lie, you did several things wrong, starting with stealing from the damned man.

The boy nods and bolts out of the room, his high-pitched voice carrying through the corridors. Downstairs, you can hear your men run around, sounds of crates dragging on the floor make you wince. Solomon looks at you with a typical "I told you so" expression.

- It's all your fault, by the way - you stand in front of your desk with your hands crossed in front of your chest.

- My fault? How exactly is this my fault?

- Yeah, you spoke of the Devil.

The next ten minutes are filled with silent tension. You sit down behind your desk, hand subconsciously close to the treasure drawer, the other one supporting your chin. You look harmless enough, with tired eyes and disheveled hair. Hunched figure hanging over a bunch of papers. Old shipments you've dug out of some boxes. 

Flour, eggs, clean water. Innocent enough.

Your heart starts jumping in rythmn as the sound of boots clicking on the floorboards fills the office. At this point you're able to recognize him by his footsteps alone. A confident walk of a man secure in his power. Before he enters, you manage to take one, calming breath, exhaling it in time with the creaking of the door to your office. 

It's silent for a moment too long, and slowly, you drag your eyes up from the papers.

He's angry. You can tell by the evil glint in his dark eye, a terrifying image, but one you've seen quite often back in the day. You can deal with angry. Like always.

- Silco - your voice carries a steady, calm tune - What brings you here?

He's looking at you from above, somehow seeming even taller than you remember. Can men his age even grow? Probably not, must be the light. Or your nerves, which are currently wracking you from the inside. 

- Don't play coy with me - he seethes through his slightly crooked teeth, something that makes him look even more intimidating, if it's possible.

You open your mouth to shoot something clever his way, but the thoughts dies down as quickly as it arrives.

- I said don't - there is a bark to his voice you didn't expect.

One of his eyebrows twitches slightly, and finally it downs on you.

He's not just angry, he's beyond furious.

You've dealt with furious significantly less than angry. 

- Silco - you try with a gentler voice - It's nothing, you know it's nothing.

Wrong move. His evil eye gleams in the darkened room, a snarl settling on his lips as he takes two long steps towards your desk, nearly colliding with it. The pace at which he came at you makes you instantly recline back in your chair. 

- It's not fucking nothing - his slim figure leans over the desk, sharp fingers dragging over the mahogany wood - We've lost a whole shipment yesterday, three weeks of work went to shit.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper and it makes the hair at the back of your neck stand right up. He's close, you can feel anger coming off of him in waves, invading your space in an intimidating aura. For such a lean person, he can be surprisingly nightmarish. 

- I will not loose my product again, not one barrel.

- You won't exactly loose it - against all reason, the words leave your mouth, stunning him into silence - To loose something, you must be oblivious as to where it is. And you'll know where your one barrel...

The word "barrel" doesn't even fully leave your lips, before Silco collides his fist with the desk. You yelp, jumping in your chair. Your hands come up on instinct to shield yourself from... Well, from whatever is going to happen. 

He has turned around, a frustrated groan leaving him, as he pushes stray strands of hair from his forehead. You can see the muscles of his back move.

- I should kill you for it - he sighs finally, after a tense moment of silence.

- You won't - your voice sounds confident, but your right hand comes down to the dagger at your thigh, fingers skimming the handle, just in case. 

Finally he turns to face you, and you recognize his expression immediately. He's tired. Exhausted in the same way you are. Suddey all of his threats, and all of your jokes fall short, because ultimately, this is who you both are. Just a couple of really tired people.

- Give me the documents, so I don't have to kill anyone this evening - his voice sounds almost pleading, almost like he truly doesn't want to hurt people.

You know better though. There is no compassion here, he's just tired, and corpses tend to create problems. 

- It's just one barrel Silco - slowly, you push yourself from the chair, standing on slightly wobbly legs - One for two months, three if we're careful. It's good business.

He hums low in his throat, the good eye trailing over your face, neck, your hands. He looks less like a creature from your darkest nightmares, and more like a human man. A small victory on your part.

- Good business, that costs me - he counters, watches closely, as you slide to the front of your desk.

- I beg to differ - there is a cautious smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

Not enough to irk him, but enough to make his eyebrows raise.

- If anything, I'm creating more customers for you. They buy my goods, and get addicted to yours. And round, and round it goes...

To that, he tenses, a careful expression tugging at his features. You know he's thinking over what you've said, by the way his eyebrows scrunch together, amd his scarred lips form a single, tight line. 

- One barrel, three moths, half the price - he says after a moment, a note of finality entering his tone. 

Years have taught you, when to stop pushing, and so, you nod. Then, with all the grace you can muster from your exhausted body, you go back behind the desk, and take out the scroll.

Instead of taking it to him, you place it delicately on the desk, sliding it slowly towards the edge. He gives you an annoyed look and with a single step towards you, grabs the paper. 

- Expect a cdelivery, should be here by the end of the month. Have the money ready by then - he concludes, voice quiet and reserved, just like everything about him. 

With that he turns to leave, securing the scroll in the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

- I've had many pains in my ass, but you, Y/N, are something completely different. - he mutters, as his steps carry him towards the door.

You look over the papers on your desk, eyes focusing on anything other than his back. 

- That's why you love me.

Silence falls over the room like a thick blanket. Your heart stops in your chest and nearly jumps to your throat, as you realize, he isn't leaving, you can't hear any footsteps. It takes all of your strength not to look up from the papers. You have a feeling, that if you did, you'd be dead in a second.

Too much, you always say too much, and then you're fucked.

All you can hear is the deafening sound of your heart thrumming inside your chest. You can feel it, beating against your ribs. The whole situation is making you dizzy. Still, you refuse to look up, cursing yourself for speaking, cursing him for saying nothing.

- Come back to the Last Drop with me.

It takes your breath right out of your lungs. The way his silent voice carries through the room, slicing the tension. When was the last time you've heard him say something so delicate, so pleading? Then again, maybe it was just a dream, a small hallucination, caused by the ever present toxic fumes. You have to know, if you've heard him correctly, so you look up.

He's back is turned to you, slightly hunched. There is tension in his muscles and you can see his right hand clutch at the scroll he's just recovered.

- What? - you ask cautiously, there is no point in denying his effect on you, not anymore.

- I said - his evil eye finds you in the darkened room, shivers running up your back as it stares at you unblinking - Come back to the Last Drop with me.

His lips do in fact move in rythmn with the words, so he must've really said that. Your gut churns, twisting inside. Because you want to, despite the threats and the violence, and all the sins this man has committed, you want to take him up on his offer. 

But, you're people need you here, they need to see how strong their leader truly is. If they saw you leave with Silco, it would shatter any semblance of respect they've gathered for you. And so, you shake your head, look down at the papers to escape his burning gaze. He can see your internal conflict clear as day, in the way your brows crease, in your clenched jaw.

- You know I can't - of course he does, that doesn't stop him however from crossing the room right back to your desk.

- Or I can just take you - he muses, one lanky finger tapping at the wooden surface, so close to your hand, you can almost feel the heat.

It's so much harder to control your breathing, when he's nearing you. And despite the desk being right here, he doesn't stop, sliding next to the edge. 

- Make them think this is your punishment - the offending finger slowly starts to drag from your wrist up your arm, your stance waivers - To run errands for the awful, terrible, merciless Silco.

His hand squeezes your biceps gently, before sliding further up. You follow his silhouette, until he escapes your peripheral vision, settling behind you. The other hand comes to rest against your hip, tugging gently at the fabric of your pants. 

- Silco... - you don't exactly know what to say, and you instinctively try to turn around, to face him.

He doesn't let you, however, thin arms encircling you whole, as he presses against you, lithe body resting entirely on your back. His chin finds purchase at the juncture of your neck, where you feel his nose trace up, towards your ear.

Silco inhales a long breath, his hold tightening even more.

- I want you there, at the Last Drop, with me - the words are breathed into your neck like a prayer, the tingling sensation is making you sway in your place.

- No you don't - you manage to choke out, when you feel his thin lips press against your pulse.

- Oh? - one hand leaves your hips and goes straight to your hair, grabbing a fistful, and craining your neck back.

Finally, you're able to move, arm coming up, to touch his scarred side of the face, fingers skimming over the abused flesh. His evil eye stares at you, fire swirling inside, but the good one, the beautiful green one, flutters closed for just a moment.

- When did you become an expert on what I want? - he asks through gritted teeth, voice sharp, in contrast with his serene expression.

You try to turn again, and this time, he lets you. 

- You need me here - your voice is quiet, yet reasonable, the way you know will work on him - Someone needs to control these people, and God knows, they don't trust you, not after everything that's happened. 

His lips curl into a snarl, not a threatening one, you'd recognize that one everywhere. This one is different, like something is hurting him from deep inside, and for a second you can't help but wonder. Does he regret his decisions, all that's happened with Vander years ago.

- I want you near me - it's childish, you both know it, an impossible plea.

- You have me.

That's all he needs, this single admition, and his hand comes up to your face, palm sliding over your cheek and finding purchase in your hair. The other, grabs at your hip, kneeding the flesh, dragging you closer. And finally, finally he kisses you.

There is no gentleness, all tongue and teeth, devouring you like a man starved, and in a way, he is. The desk is digging into your thighs, as he presses closer, and closer still, like he wants you to envelop him whole. Which, given his slim figure, is not something out of the realm of possibility. 

- Please - you gasp, when you both finally part for air.

You don't know for what you're asking, but you're asking for it all the same, fingers tugging at the stiff fabric of his waistcoat. 

Silco looks over your disheveled state, taking in the mess of hair, the swollen lips and the glossy eyes. His teeth worry his bottom lip, and it's as close as you'll ever get to a flustered reaction.

- My girl - he whispers under his breath, and that little phrase goes straight to your core.

All you can do is nod, too stunned to speak. He, in turn, dives back in, aiming for your neck. The hand on your hip dips lower, under your thigh, a silent command, which you obey without question. You're shuffling backwards onto the desk, free hand throwing the documents off the surface. They spill around you, shipments from months ago, a ruse you've already forgotten. Because now, he's biting down on the place your neck meets your shoulder, the mixture of pain and pleasure makes you whimper. 

Hands tug against your shirt, the dirty cotton giving way. You can hear the fabric tearing around your neckline, and immediately you throw your hands up. God knows, you can't afford a new one. Silco doesn't waste time, immediately ducking down to suck a hickey right in the middle of your collar bones. He was never one to give jewelery, and this ornament looks better than any necklace, in his humble opinion. You can feel him, hard and ready on the inside of your thigh, the fabric of his pants scratching your skin. 

- And who's the pain in the ass now? - your smile is sharp, when he looks up at you, abandoning the abused flesh.

You can see his eyebrows scrunching, and a deep panic settles into your bones. It wouldn't be the first time, when he leaves you hot and wanting, simply because you've said something that irked him. He was not a man to triffle with, yet, you simply couldn't stop. That being said, it's been a long time, for the both of you, so when you first see the dreaded crease between his eyebrows, you act immediately. Both hands shoot out, towards his belt, and before he has a chance to withdraw, you hook your fingers into the loops of his trousers, dragging him back to you, closer than ever. 

- Your girl - you remind him in a breathy voice, and by the way his evil eye glints, you know, you have his complete attention. 

A new spark fills him, and with strength not expected from a man of his stature, he makes quick work of your pants, pushing your hands away when you try to help him. Your hips fall on the desk, as he tugs your clothing from your legs, the furniture shifts slightly across the floor from the force of his actions. You knew it was a long time, but your had no idea it was that long. Or maybe he just really missed you. Wishfull thinking.

Your breath catches in your throat, as a familiar sound of a belt buckle getting undone fills the room. Silco doesn't like to be seen naked, a habit you've grown well accustomed to. Which is why you nearly jump from your place at the desk, when he quikly unbuttons his waistcoat. First three buttons of his shirt come flying open as well, exposing portruding collarbones and a lean chest. Shit, he's pretty, despite the scars, and bruises, and time. 

It's honestly, quite embarrasing, how easily he sinks into you. One push is all he needs to be completely seethed, one push to arch your back righ off the desk. He doesn't comment on it, a small blessing. But then again, he doesn't really say much during the act, he's not a vocal man. 

Or so you thought.

Because as soon, as he starts moving, a harsh, snapping motions that make you jump on the desk, you swear you can hear something amongst the creaking of furniture. It's a small sound, like a grunt of pain, but you know better. And as soon, as it happens, his grip on you tightens to an impossible degree, bony fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, as if trying to rip it apart. There will be bruises in the morning, but this is a problem for the future you. The current you is slowly starting to loose yourself in the rythmn, the cruel pace that leaves you breatheless at his mercy. Silco drags you closer, when you start to shift away on the desk, the wooden surface scratching your back. 

- Shit, Silco... fuck - the words you spit out are nonsensical, punctuated by sharp thrusts.

One hand detatches itself from your abused hips, finding your clit in a matter of seconds, and immediately starting to circle it with a force that borders on painful. Borders, being the key word, and as soon as the ministrations start, you throw your head back. All you can do it scrunch up your face and bite down on your bottom lip, to stiffle the broken moans threatening to spill. Soon, you're coming, hard and messily, legs shaking on both sides of his unrelenting hips. Tears prick your eyes, the sensation quickly becoming too much to bear. 

As if on que, his rythmn staggers, first low moan spills from his lips, and you try to rise on your elbows, to catch it in your lips, like smoke. He helps you, one arm coming behind your back and dragging you up, until you hang on his lithe frame. He's breathing hard against your neck, fingers finding purchase wherever they can. Finally, when you think you can't take anymore, he stops, burried deep inside you. You can feel him shuddering against you, and he comes with a strangled moan, one that's too broken, too intimate. 

Both of you stay motionless for a long while, catching your breath against eachother. Your fingers comb absentmindedly through his short hair, slicking it back to place, scratching his skull. He answers with gentle pressure at the back of your neck, the tension in your shoulders coming undone under his palm. You don't want him to leave, nearly reach out for him, when he finally detangles himself from you. But yet again, old habits die hard, and you fall back down onto the desk with a thud, letting the pain in your bones consume you. 

You half expect to hear the door open, after you note absentmindedly, that he has fixed his clothes. What you don't expect, is gentle touches cleaning you up, helping you straighten your legs. You don't expect him to wrap an arm around you and help you get off the desk. And most certainly you don't expect the kisses. On your forehead, nose, cheeks. On the crown of your head. Alas, he does all that and more, as he places you on a sofa, in the corner of the room.

- The Last Drop - he whispers against your temple, crouching next to you - Think about it.

And then he's gone. His knees crack, when he stands up, bony hand leaving your grasp. You allow yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, before springing to action.

There are people here, your people. And you have to look presentable, before one of them, inevitably barges in, so terrified for your safety. 

[isacksteban]

Girlfriend — Pedroscar

Oscar moved aside, lazily unbuttoning his shirt as he went. The fabric had started to stick in uncomfortable places, chafing his armpits and the underside of his pecs. He slipped the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it to one side before turning to watch his friends. When he did so, Lando was staring back. 

“What?” Oscar chuckled, putting a hand on his hip. “See something you like?”

Lando's eyes widened as he scanned from neck to waist. “So that’s why you’ve been off your game. Who’s the unlucky lady?” 

Oscar was puzzled until he glanced down at his chest. Oh. How could he have forgotten?

It was nothing new for Oscar to show up with matted hair and a fresh hickey or two, but this was something else. Bites and scratches mapped his entire torso — chest, biceps, hips, back. A particularly concentrated smattering of bruises trailed down his stomach before disappearing into his trousers. 

“Whoever she is, she clearly doesn’t like you very much.” Lando said when Oscar gave no reply. 

Oscar crossed his arms defensively. “Ha. They’re from... working out.” 

“Oh? Your personal trainer has resorted to fighting with teeth and fingernails, has he? And is that… rope burn?” 

Oscar swiftly moved his arms from in front of his chest to behind his back, concealing the raw flesh of his wrists. Lando tried to exchange a bewildered look with Carlos, but he had wandered off to god knows where — thankfully, Oscar thought. The Spaniard was dating Pedro's friend after all. Oscar watched him for a moment, wondering if he was listening in. 

“Well, out with it.” Lando said. 

Oscar's eyes snapped back to him. “Out with what?” 

“Who’s the girl? I will no doubt be picking up the pieces of… whatever’s going on, so I’d like to know what I’m up against.” 

“There is no girl. I told you.” 

“And you actually expect me to believe that?” 

Oscar shrugged, a gesture that suggested defeat rather than denial. “It’s the truth. Take it or leave it.” 

Lando chewed on this for a moment. Oscar, meanwhile, put his shirt back on, embarrassment far outweighing his desire to feel comfortable.

“It’s not like you to be so private about your weekly fuck-buddies.” Lando said eventually, the choice of weekly almost making Oscar laugh, it'd been the same fuck-buddy — boyfriend — for years now. “Someone special?” 

“Just leave me alone, Lan.” 

Lando turned to Carlos who was still jabbing at nothing in particular. “Surely he’s spoken to you about this. Help me out here.” 

Carlos paused, failing to conceal a sigh. “I don’t concern myself with where Oacar puts his dick, and neither should you.” he said, Oscar practically falling to his knees to thank him for not tellinh. “This is the gym, not the drivers room. Either pick a machine or take your gossip elsewhere.” 

Said gossip made its way around the garages at record speed. It had been a while since they’d had anything to talk about but racing, so Oscar's masochistic exploits were a welcome distraction. By late evening, even the team principles were whispering about it. Oscar fielded question after question. Who was she? Did it hurt? Could they see? 

Carlos, too, got his fair share of grilling. As Oscar's — strangely enough — closest friend, it was assumed that he’d be clued in on whatever debauchery Oscar had stumbled into. He responded with typical hostility before finally escaping to his room, Oscar managing to do the same. 

Hours passed without incident. Pedro lounged aimlessly in the hotel he'd booked for the week. He was just about to flick the lights off and go to bed when there was a faint rap at the door. 

He opened the door only a crack. “What do you want, Osc?” 

“I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.” Oscar said, leaning against the doorframe, Pedro adoring having the need to look up to meet the Australian's eyes. 

“It’s late.” 

“Does that mean you’re not gonna let me in?” 

“Give me one good reason why I should.” 

“I’ll give you two.” 

Oscar bent down and kissed Pedro twice, once on each corner of his downturned mouth. The kisses were swift, but Pedro chastised him anyway, peering out into the halls to check the coast was clear, they'd managed to go almost three years without being caught and he wasnt taking any chances. 

“Come on,” Oscar said, inching forward, “everyone else is in bed. Just let me in. I wanna have some fun” He whined, bottom lip jutting out as Pedro sighed.

Pedro relented and moved out of the way, sitting down at the desk with his laptop opened as the door clicked shut. Oscar shrugged his jacket off and idled in the entryway. “Y’know, you don’t half make my life difficult.” he said.

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning everyone has been harassing me all day about some imaginary girl,” Oscar said, pulling his collar to one side to expose his bitten shoulder, “because of you.” 

“It isn’t my fault you can’t seem to keep your shirt on.” So, Carlos had either told Jorge about it — who obviously told Pedro — or word had truly gotten to everyone.

Pedro clicked through his tabs, hardly glancing in Oscar's direction. Eventually, this denial of attention had its desired effect and Oscar stomped over to slam the computer shut. Pedro stood up, a smirk replacing his disinterested frown. 

“It’s not funny,” Oscar said, still pouting, “it’s embarrassing. How would you like it if I did it to you?” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

A moment passed before Oscar tried anything. He danced his finger-tips up Pedro's arm in an attempt at distraction. When he ducked towards Pedro's neck, he was quick, but Pedro was quicker. A hand came to his throat, keeping him at a distance. Pedro pushed against this force, earning a firm squeeze on either side of his neck. 

There were countless opportunities for Oscar to fight back. He could have wrestled Pedro to the floor quite easily if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Instead, he invited the familiar dizziness in and welcomed new contusions to his growing collection. Pedro ran his tongue over his canines as he watched Oscar turn pink. “Oh, Osc,” he began, softening his grip to allow a breath, “what am I going to do with you?”

Oscar didn’t try to speak. He communicated in slow blinks and stuttering inhales. Pedro squeezed again, harder this time. “I’m sorry you find it so embarrassing, but if you weren’t such a slut, I wouldn’t have to mark my territory. You understand that, right?” 

Oscat nodded vaguely. Pedro demonstrated remarkable control over his own strength for someone capable of killing with a single blow. His nails — overdue a trim — were leaving crescent shaped grooves on Oscar's skin. How did he learn this skill, Oscar wondered, of inflicting the perfect amount of pain?

Pedro used his free hand to open Oscar's shirt. Oscar's heartbeat quickened with every button. “Of course,” Pedro continued, running his finger over old bruises, “if you don’t like it, I can always find another way to make you behave. Maybe I should leave you tied to my bed all day, hm? Is that what you want?” 

A strained whimper escaped Oscar's lips which made Pedro grin like a hungry shark. He released Oscar's throat and replaced his fingers with his teeth. “It’s not easy for me either,” he whispered between nips of flesh, “having people ask me if I know what girl did this to you. I don’t like hearing people talk about my boy as if he belongs to someone else.”

“ ’m sorry.” Oscar uttered. He inhaled sharply as Pedro grazed his earlobe. 

“Oh yeah?” Pedro said, grasping Oscar by the chin. “Get on your knees and show me how sorry you are.” 

Obedient as a dog, Oscar dropped to the rug. Pedro took his time removing his trousers, savouring the sight of Oscar waiting patiently beneath him. Once Pedro's legs were bare, Oscar trailed kisses from ankle to knee then explored either thigh with his tongue. Pedro held him by the hair, yanking it back when Oscar failed to meet his eye. He traced the boundary of Oscar's lips with two fingers, and Oscar was all too willing to open up for him. “That’s it,” Pedro said, pushing past his teeth, “show me how much you want it.” 

Once Oscar was good and desperate, sucking Pedro's fingers like he wanted to strip the flesh off the bone, Pedro pulled away. A web of saliva trailed after him which he then wiped off on Oscar's cheek. He stepped back to lean against the nearest wall, motioning for Oscar to crawl after. Upon arrival, Oscar treated Pedro's stomach to feathery kisses while dragging his underwear down. Pedro's smile glinted wickedly in the dim light. He was half-hard, still in need of a little encouragement. Oacar wrapped one hand around his shaft and teased the tip with his tongue. Only when Pedro was achingly hard did he progress from teasing to sucking. 

Pedro hated to admit that Oscar was good at giving head, but he was. Maddeningly so. Good enough to make Pedro wonder how many cocks he’d had to suck to master the craft. He’d deal with his jealousy later. For now, he was too busy biting back his moans. 

Not only was Oscar good at sucking dick — he also managed to look good doing it. His eye-contact never faltered, pupils blown and eyelashes fluttering. He took inch by excruciating inch with tearful gratitude, his own cock dribbling precum in his pants. He made gorgeous, gluttonous little sounds every time Pedro struck his soft palette. It took all of Pedro's restraint not to buck forward and take control, but no. Oscar had to earn it this time.

Oscar anchored himself with hands on the backs of Pedro's thighs and, pulling forward, throated his entire length. This earned him a rare, unrestrained groan from above, and another firm tug on his hair.

“Such a good slut for me.” Pedro choked out, clawing at Oscar's scalp. “I’m already so close.” 

Oscar's tongue struck a particularly sensitive spot and Pedro jolted, triggering Oscar's gag reflex. The sound of it — a fragile, ragged gargle — crumbled the last of Pedro's resolve. He wrenched out of Oscar's mouth, desperate to prolong matters a little bit longer. 

“I want to come on that pretty face of yours,” Pedro growled, pinching Oscar's cheek, “do you want that?” 

“Yes,” Oscar answered hoarsely, “I wan' it so badly.” 

Oscar grasped Pedro's shaft again, remnants of saliva assisting his slow strokes. Pedro bit his lip, hardly able to handle even the gentlest of touches. “You’re mine, Oscar.” he uttered, trembling. “Say it.” 

“I’m yours, Pedro.” 

“Again,” 

“ ’m yours. I belong to you.” 

With those words, Pedro came undone. His knees buckled. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the tide of expletives. Oscar had, as instructed, directed every drop of cum to his face. His tongue darted to taste what he could reach, the rest dripping from his cheeks to his neck. 

“Get up,” Pedro instructed weakly, “let me look at you.” 

Pedro was not nearly as authoritative in his shaky, post-coital state, but Oscar complied anyway. Once they were both standing, Pedro studied his handiwork for a moment. Satisfied, he pulled Oscar close, smothering his chest in buttery kisses. “I love you.” he said. 

“I love you too.” Oscar answered, wrapping his arms around Pedro's waist. Then, taking advantage of the afterglow exhaustion, he sank his teeth into Pedro's neck. 

“Hey!” Pedro yelped, jolting back. “What the fuck?” 

Oscar winked. “Good luck explaining that one tomorrow.” 

Suddenly reinvigorated, Pedro shoved Oscar towards the bed. “Just for that, I’m taking you for round two.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

[classyruinsbarbarian]

I realized that I forgot to post my boy here anywho!

MY BOY!!

i don't have a name for him, but I will start yapping also his arm is not supposed to be hanging off his face I just realized that

His entire thing is what if the normal person becomes big creature but throw in some realism in there

Jordanian

civilian

A ghost (ghosts in my headcanons are very strange compared to other types of ghost media i found)

Ghosts happen after brain death and total shut down of the body and then come back to life they have a high likely hood of becoming disabled after this event

So yeah uhhh this guy's HUGE like he usually keeps himself wrapped around the largest building in fair city

due to his large size he cannot move around much without destroying anything

His fur is really matted because he has a hard time brushing it he also hasn't showered in years

Eileen had started brushing his hair often, which explains why some of his fur is nice and clean

also due to how strong the wind is he is always squinting (thats also why his eyes are red; dust keeps getting into them)

If I had a nickel for everytime I had a character have a trait based off the Japanese spider crab I would have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice, so yeah that's those strange leg things he only has four of them two on each side of his body

also the underside of his body is like human skin which means moving around is also really painful

classy try to make a able bodied character challenge impossible

also no I didn't want to draw the building

[oh-sweet-mama]

My Little Lilac

Series Masterlist

“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 ��𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝑜. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊- 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒. 𝐼’𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜.” (𝑅𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓊𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝒾𝓇𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓊𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟥

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝑅𝒾𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃

I studied the faces of the candidates only briefly, not bothering to match names to faces yet. Then I saw her.

Dark brown hair braided down her back. It hit mid back nearing the small of it, meaning when it’s down it was long. It was a deep chocolate color, not black still brown, and complimented her skin perfectly. Her nose had a slight up-turn to it and cutely made her face level. Her cheeks were mid-level yet round along with the square of her jaw, it was evident she wasn’t from the paler lands of Navarre.

Where the people had snow white skin and skinny noses. She had a familiar look to her, but I’ve encountered hundreds of cadets during my years at Basgaith. There was a dusting of tan colored freckles only on her upper cheeks, and there was a small scar on the left side of her cupid’s bow. Then her eyes. Long dark lashes kissed the underside of her eyes, and perfectly framed her eyes.

She didn’t search around. She didn’t look excited, scared, nor nervous. Simply indifferent. Then she was next.

“Name?” I asked her. I could see her breathing pick up. She was starting to panic.

“Candidate,” I asked again her, this time slightly louder, “Name?”

“Oh, uh,” She cleared her throat and finally looked up at me “Maeve… Bone.”

I looked into her eyes, catching onto her hesitation. I nearly looked straight down at her. She was as nearly as short as the girl behind her, only an inch or two taller at the most. I just studied her, unable to get a read on her at all. I looked down at her face, taking in the scar on her lips then back up to her eyes.

“Maeve Bone?” I confirmed. She nodded in agreement. “Ok, go ahead and cross.”

She nodded and looked towards the parapet. Determination. That’s the only read I could get. She was determined, and indifferent.

I sighed through my nose and watched as she crossed the parapet, one foot after the other. Not confident, but sure. Goddamn. Heat fluttered in a pull below my navel.

Then Violet-fucking-Sorrengail stole my attention

Conscription Day – The Dais

            “I want Aetos in my wing.” I told leadership, they nodded moving his entire section to mine. I searched the crowd. “And Cadet Maeve Bone.”

            Panchek arched his brow but nodded.

“Cadet…” Panchek began, “Cadet Maeve Bone please move from First Wing Flame Section 3rd Squad into Fourth Wing Tail Section 1st Squad.”

I make no reaction as she comes back into my sight from First Wing. Then she settled into formation, I subtly nodded at Bodhi, he did the same back. She was under his eye and protection.

Challenge Day

            We all gathered around the mat, I watched as Sorrengail utilized poison once again to diminish her opponent, and simple shitty hand-to-hand, I crossed my arms and took in what we had to work with in the quadrant.

            “I challenge Cadet Boone, I mean Bone.” Jack Barlow announced. My gauze looked over at him, and then her as she slowly walked onto the mat.

            Bone showed incredible potential, albeit daggers weren’t her strongest suit; yet she was still deadly with them. A sword would do her better with her smaller frame and fighting style. She got Barlow between the ribs.

            My brow twitched in interest, Barlow should drop in a few minutes due to blood loss, but he was still fighting like she hadn’t hurt him. Barlow swung to hit her, and she dodged every punch. Narrowly letting him get close enough- tease. I saw her crack a small smile. She thinks this is fun. Suddenly with quick move a black dagger flew through the air and took four fingers from Barlow’s right hand.

            “Oh shit!” Cadets gasped from all around as blood spewed from Jack’s hand. I was fighting a grin from forming on my face. Feisty little thing.

“S’that all you got?” Jack mocked her; his tone dripping with condescension, “dagger tricks? What kind of rider will-“

            She took off from one edge of the challenge mat, barreling straight for him, then dodging last second. Twisting away, just out of reach. Bone sliced his Achilles tendon, but then Jack grabbed her by the neck. My pulse jumped.

            “I know...” Barlow snarled in her ear as his chokehold got tighter. He spun around, so I locked eyes with her scared ones. Jack leaned low and murmured something in her ear again.

            She kicked back in fear her feet leaving the ground and Barlow rose to his full height. Cadets were yelling for her to tap out before Jack killed her. Or before he could snap her neck like it was nothing. Choke the rest of the oxygen out of her. Fear that she would actually die start to make my heartbeat faster. She started to go limp, eyes started to droop as the oxygen was deprived from her brain. Then suddenly she stabbed up, and into his neck, then yanked out. She hit the mat knees first then onto all fours. Bone coughed as her lungs drew in air, crawling a few steps before she sat back on her haunches.

            Maeve stood up, her right shoulder popping in the process, and didn’t dare look back at Jack’s body. She met my eyes for a moment and then look to the professor.

            “Good work,” Our professor nodded, “Cadet Bone. All within codex!”

~  Later that night ~

            I waited in the shadows of the hall, against the stone masonry of the unbonded cadet’s quarters. She came walking down the hall in the lacy white silk night gown, the black sling on her right shoulder jumping out in contrast. Right as she just about neared my position, I made my presence known. 

            “You really should study combat that is tailored to your body.” I told her. Bone pauses and looks straight at me. I retracted my shadows, so she could see me.

            She blinked, evidently in pain, looking at my face like the first time at the parapet. Her face quirked in genuine curiosity

            “Are daggers not my forte?” She asked in curiosity.

            “You’re good with daggers,” I explained, “You’d be better with a pair of swords.”

            “Thank you,” She takes my advice easier than I had thought she would, “I’ll look into it.”

            I take in her injuries, my heart tugging at the sight of her in pain., “your shoulder.”

            “Barlow,” She shrugged with one shoulder, “It should be fine in a week.”

            She knows how to protect herself. Show no weakness. I nod in response.

            “Good night.” She says back softly and continued down the hall. I heighten my shadows soft inky black petting over her silk nightgown, in my own good night.

[armory-rasa]

U MEAN DIS GUY? :D

It's just a weight -- it was a little bag of lead sand or something that I stole from my dad (he uses them for holding his piano sheet music in place, but this one had started to leak so he let me have it), and then wrapped and sealed in leather.

(It doesn't have to look like this, literally any weight will do -- you just want to make sure that it's rounded on all edges, because cased leather is verrrrry susceptible to picking up indentations.)

They're useful for helping to keep your project from moving while you're tooling it -- when there isn't enough friction between the underside of your leather and the top of your tooling surface, each tap of the hammer is liable to move it fractionally across the work surface, which is not ideal.

It's why, even though I have a block of marble big enough to cover my entire workbench (the light grey one), I still tend to tool on a smaller block sitting atop it (the dark blue one), because -- crucially -- I can flip the smaller block over to the unpolished side, which helps it grip the project better instead of letting it slide around.

An example pulled at random from my WIP folder, of a costrel sitting atop the smaller block, atop the larger block:

Though it should be noted that you need to put some layer of padding between the two, so they're not scraping against each other. This is the cutting/hole punching mat they sell at Tandy, which I don't like for actually cutting or hole punching, but it works well as a shock absorber:

But in the case of today's chamfron, it was way too big for tooling on the small block, so I had to do it directly on the polished marble--

--and thus prone to sliding around if it wasn't being weighed down.

THE END. 😊

[stellardeer]

I really don't know what to do with my thick, flat hair ever. Like I feel like my hair is so thick that I have to wear it either half up/half down, all the way up, or shave half of it to get it to look somewhat normal. I mean, idk, most people would probably love to have thick hair, but I look around at other people with straight, long hair and the way it hangs and frames them looks nice, but when I try to wear my hair down I feel like it covers the entire front of me because there is so much of it, like half the time I just put it up so it isn't completely covering my cute outfit.

And it wouldn't be that bad if it were curly, and my hair has a *slight* wave to it if I dont brush it after I shower, and sometimes I will braid it after I shower and let it dry like that and it looks soooo pretty when I take it down and it stays in place so it isn't like.. spread out all over my chest and shoulders, but it doesn't last super long :c And also because it's so thick it is constantly getting tangled and lately I've been brushing huge mats out of my hair like once a week 😮‍💨

All this because I wanted to fucking grow it out so I could have cute little buns 😭 I had been shaving the underside for like 4 years and it was so much easier to take care of cause literally half of my hair was just gone, but I was like teehee I miss being able to put little space buns on my head while still having long flowing hair on the bottom, I shall grow it out again :3 BUT I FORGOT HOW FUCKING MUCH I HAAAATE TAKING CARE OF MY HAAAIIRRR

AND IT'S NOT EVEN QUITE LONG ENOUGH YET TO DO THE BUN THING CAUSE THE UNDERSIDE HAD TO GROW OUT FROM BEING COMPLETELY BALD AND I ALREADY WANNA SHAVE IT AGAIN BUT I WAITED THIS LONG ALREADY AND IM FUCKING COMMITTED AT THIS POINT IM GONNA DO THE FUCKING BUN THING I STGGGG

[mayhemproduces]

Sardonyx vs Tony Deppen

While Sardonyx is wrapping up her entrance, Tony uses the darkness to blindside Sardonyx! The music stops, replaced by the sound of the bell, as this match starts off with a cheap shot! Tony stays on top of Sardonyx, hitting forearm after forearm in the corner, weakening her while Sardonyx was too surprised to even react. Deppen looks to send her off with an irish whip, Sardonyx reversing, but stays hot on his heels. Deppen pulls himself up with the ropes, throwing himself over Sardonyx’s head to get behind her. Sardonyx whips around, but Tony grabs her hips and throws her back to the ropes, while Deppen himself runs the opposite way. He leapfrogs over his opponent’s charge, dropping down on the second rebound, but it’s Deppen who strikes on the third go-around, leaping up for a hurricanrana - but Sardonyx turns it into a powerbomb, crushing Deppen’s spine on her knees! The double knee backbreaker out of the powerbomb causes Deppen’s spine to sing in agony, back arching off the mat before he’s pulled off of it entirely, Sardonyx trying the Hemonga Lock, trying to force Deppen to tap out already, but a quick dive to the ropes prevents that before it can truly get started.

While Deppen may have saved this match by doing so, he doesn’t really save himself, as Sardonyx lands a hamstring kick to soften it up, before Tony sits up, holding his leg, and Sardonyx lands a thunderous penalty kick, nearly leaving an indent in Deppen’s chest! Another one hits before Sardonyx pulls them off the ropes, putting Tony in the corner, where Sardonyx measures him, and blasts him with a chop. Tony’s features contort in a grimace, his skin turning colors already, as he stumbles into a new corner. Sardonyx stays close, and measures Deppen once more, but this time it’s for a penalty kick, and Sardonyx crushes his chest a third time in this matchup!

This time, Deppen falls to the mat after being crushed between the turnbuckles and Sardonyx’s leg, and Sardonyx charges, looking for a snap swing neckbreaker, but Tony reverses! He swivels out along with the neckbreaker, and lands a WICKED forearm! As Sardonyx falls to her knees, Deppen swivels and slides, picking up steam as he turns back to Sardonyx, catching her with a front dropkick, right on the bridge of the nose! Deppen turns to the crowd to celebrate his success so far, much to their displeasure, a fact they loudly let him hear, as Sardonyx picks herself up in the corner. Tony charges, landing a running forearm, and falls back to repeat the process, before tripping Sardonyx up. A third time’s a charm as Deppen runs back, then back to Sardonyx, finally nailing her with a meteora! Deppen smirks as he pulls her out, making the cover!

1… 2 - Kickout!

With Sardonyx in the dropzone, Deppen ascends to the top, looking to finish with a double stomp, but when he leaps, there’s nobody home! Deppen manages to roll through, still, and walks right into a spinning heel kick! Sardonyx catches him on the temple, and Deppen hits the mat hard!

Dragging Deppen’s corpse, Sardonyx hooks him in for a German suplex, but a quick elbow to the temple quiets that notion. Tony spins out, attempting a discus elbow, but a big boot from Sardonyx turns that around, and propels Deppen into the turnbuckles! Sardonyx goes after him, but Deppen lands an enzuigiri, and a nice looking one at that, to send her stumbling back. Deppen rolls forward, stopping on his back, and lands an upkick to the underside of Sardonyx’s jaw! Deppen rolls himself backwards to run the ropes, but as he bounces off, Sardonyx strikes on the rebound, blasting him with a running bicycle knee strike! Deppen’s temple is clipped as Sardonyx brushes past him, and throws Deppen into the turnbuckles again, where Sardonyx traps him with an onslaught of strikes. Throwing in lefts and rights, body hooks, forearms, and eventually stomping Deppen into the turnbuckles, before Sardonyx puts him up on the top rope. She follows up there with him, and with Deppen weakened, she’s able to set up easily, before bringing them down to the mat with a Superplex!

But wait just a second! Despite absorbing the brunt of the Superplex, Deppen ROLLS THROUGH! He picks them back up, and drops Sardonyx with a brainbuster! Deppen may be an annoying little shit, but the audience couldn’t deny that that was a sick, unexpected move, and Deppen may have secured his victory! He looks to put the final nail in the coffin as he rises to the top rope, leaping off, and crushing Sardonyx with a double foot stomp! The outside leg is hooked!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Sardonyx kicks out of the double foot stomp, and Deppen is PISSED!

He gets in the referee’s face, arguing with Clemons over the count, but no amount of shouting can change it. Deppen got two, and he’ll have to keep digging to put Sardonyx away, and end her streak!

Deppen hovers over Sardonyx as she begins to stand, and connects with a slap to the cheek! It’s meant to be more of an insult than to actually harm Sardonyx, as Deppen keeps firing away every time she starts to rise. Eventually, Sardonyx jumps up, taking one last slap to the face, and her features take a sharp turn to stone. Deppen starts to look worried, maybe regretting his decision on slapping her, or even asking for this match, but he won’t have time to apologize, as Sardonyx nails him with a MASSIVE roundhouse kick! Deppen’s out on his feet as Sardonyx runs the ropes, plowing through him with a bicycle knee strike! She lifts him up, swiftly planting him with the Nine of Swords, rolling Deppen over for the cover!

1… 2… 3!

“Here is your winner, Sardonyx!”

[hutheman2252]

Part 3

Like synchronized swimmers the ground crew dragged heavy mats carried by ropes behind them across the runway. Quickly they are followed by the second row of crew beating down the dirt with wide faced hammers. Once again followed by the dragged mats until the path reached satisfactory conditions. Quickly ushered out of the way by the marshall before he took his place signaling one by one four of the five aircraft to prepare for takeoff and be ready.

With considerable haste they moved out one by one. Without realizing the Major was stood beside gareth muttering a tally of the different fighters,

“The Viggen, The Tomcat,The Fulcrum, The second Tomcat, And the Harrier is hovering off the pad.”

Major Davids’ mind seemed to be a million miles away from where he stood analyzing everything from a bird's eye view in his mind. The gears turning almost audible by their rapidity. 

The screeching of enemy fighters grew closer. Davids taking note of the engine notes and body shapes listing off their models almost like a doctor would symptoms. 

“Two Sukhoi flankers, and an f5 tiger shark. Nothing they can’t handle”

Many howitzers. Howitzers made for anti personnel and anti tank applications, Turned their guns to the skies taking aim towards the enemy airframes. The allied jets formed up to go meet the threat head on and ward them away. Before suddenly, And without warning. 

From near the ground a missile hit the underside of one of the tomcats. Killed on impact.

The culprit climbed a corkscrew upwards behind the friendly formation before turning to facing the backside.

The major swallowed before speaking up.

“A Berkut. Fuck”

The major raises his hand and begins to yell across the field grabbing anyone he could to pay attention.

“One of you lot. Bring me a radio patch me through to the squadron’s channel immediately”

One of the ground crew dressed in an oil and muck stained orange coverall. Setting it on a table, Moving the dials back and forth/ until finally giving the thumbs up and handing the handset to Major Davids. The body of the radio itself screeched to life. A familiar voice comes out, Kylahs.

“Well Major, it's kind of a fucky situation. How many did you count? We've only picked up four, including the Berkut.”

The major pushed down the button furrowing his brow preparing to guide his soldier.

“Right Preacher Lad, Go for an invert dive. break formation ‘n take one of the flankers on the slope with you and have Eiffel tails you. After that let Bookie guide you to the next target and act with discretion.”

Once he had put the handset back into its sitting spot he turned to Gareth. Now with his signature grin back on.

“So lad what do you think of Kylah. She your type? She’s ‘bout your age, you know.”

Almost as if somebody’s hat had dropped. The major had swapped his entire demeanor.

Nevertheless gareth responded in toe.

“Haven’t really thought about it Sir… Not like I specifically have a type.”

The major leaned a bit further forward

“Ah but you're dodging the question now aren't you. You know that's how I met my wife. Through the air force. Was a pilot herself I even got to be her wingman”

Gareth looked away a looking back at the ripping and squealing coming from the sky,

“Suppose so sir”

The radio screeched awake calling for attention. A man’s voice came from it this time. In the distance a loud boom could be heard.

“Preacher speaking splash confirmed sir. But bad news, The Bekrut isn't just another pilot. Roman got close and saw 8 kill marks. Its an ace”

The major’s stomach turned as his expression turned dark before using two fingers to signal one of the ground crew to come closer and listen in.

“Can you tell me anything else about the thing? Any customization, any personalized markings. Hell even any scratches or dents of note?” 

There was a thick pause only broken by the burning of fuel into the sky.

“A giant yellow star on its back”

The ground crew sprinted off inside off to the inside of the cathedral. Seconds To minutes passed on by. Feeling like a year with every moment. Before finally he sprinted back. A single manilla folder in hand. Once the crewman came back the major pressed back down on the button.

“Major! We found the pilot. Apparently they call him mercury. Got his air to air’s by chasing formations. Goes low, shoots high.”

The major taps his foot looking back to the radio swallowing in his throat.

“You heard the man lad. Lordspeed.” 

Davids turned the radio off fully and sat down in one of the lawn chairs Kylah kept in her hangar. Letting out a loud exasperated sigh.

“She likes Hibiscus you. They’re even in bloom right now. You should pick up a bouquet for her so she’ll have something nice when she lands.”

Gareth raked his brain for a sane response before finally swallowing his pride and replying.

“Understood sir. The flower shop is only a block from here?”

The major smiled

“That's right, just exit the gate and go a block left. Should be quick about it though lad.”

Once Gareth had made it out of the gate connecting the base to the road he heard a loud boom. He turned around to see a shimmer of green climb through a plume of smoke and ash from down low. The Dullahan had won.

[sanaavay]

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[ayurvedayogamat]

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello can I request for Daemon Targaryen x reader like the reader lives in a faraway land and has healing powers and saw a dragon and a wounded Daemon like she healed him and he falls for her take her back to his land and marry her

Sumthing like that, the rest is up to you :D

A/n: this will probably be heavily out of character for him but I’m a sucker for softness. This is incredibly bad and incredibly rushed.

“The Targaryens may boast that they are the closest bloodline to god, but to me, they have more in common with the devil then they realise.” Your grandparent hated the Targeryens with their entire being; they hated them more then anything. Despite the glaring fact that you and your family lived afar that didn’t stop your grandparent from keeping their ear to the ground when people from Westeros would travel to your small plot of land for matters that fall into either categories: business and pleasure.

When asked the reasoning behind their anger, your grandparent only remained silent, staring off in a distance with a glare as cold as the icy winds that blows in the North. “Don’t ask stupid questions child.” Was all they’d say before departing to their room for the night; clutching onto the pendent -that no one in your family had knowledge of it’s origins- around their neck tightly as though it’ll be torn from their grasp if it wasn’t kept under constant supervision.So when news of their passing reached your ears, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel even a tinge of sadness nor remorse; if anything you only felt relived, almost as though a weight you hadn’t realised was there had suddenly been lifted from your shoulders and found yourself feeling lighter then air.

After all their stories they told you whilst young of dragons, fire and bloodshed only made you curious of the Targaryens and their bond with dragons rather then fearful but soon came to terms that your dream of one day meeting a dragon up close and personal would never come to fruition and we’re forced to grow up in that grim reality…until of recently when your casual walk through a nearby forest that you took almost on the daily was abruptly cut short when a massive shadow overtook the sky for a quick second, almost making it midnight and within a blink of an eye an almighty thud followed soon after. Rushed forward towards the area where the thud came from by your kindhearted nature you were just about ran ragged when you came upon a sight your younger self would’ve audibly gasped at in all definitions of wonder and awe.

Laid almost potentially side by side was that of a blood red dragon with an extraordinary long neck you’ve ever seen on a creature of its mythological stature; the dragon was a he, you couldn’t explain how you knew that exactly but you just did from the way he breathed raggedly through his nostrils, the warm air from it blowing directly into your face, causing a slight updraft powerful enough to push you back a little from the fissure created from the impact. The dragon was mere millimetres from who it was protecting; a male with platinum blonde hair reaching his shoulders, the underside of his hair was matted in dried blood, his armour was in tatters and bent as though he had been caught in a fight with some sort of monster then fellow man. He was indeed handsome even if his brows were furrowed in what could only be described as pain when his hand instinctively reached for his neck where you suspected the blood that matted his hair came from.

A gasp leaves your lips, “He’s hurt.” Your voice alerted the dragon do your presence as he lifts his head, neck extending to it’s full length above the fissure as he stared down at you as a warning growl came from the back of his throat. It took a lot not to run away but you couldn’t no matter how hard your will wanted you to but your body refused to give way. He was angry but the more you took notice of his current circumstance, it became more clear that it was expressing hurt on his humans behalf. A bond between Targaryen and dragon was certainly fascinating; yet still it was best not to test a dragon, injured or not. Swallowing thickly you eased your hands into the air so the dragon could see that you were unarmed. “I do not wish you nor your rider harm, I only wish to heal,” you saw a dead flower on the ground and an idea struck into your mind, “watch.” You told the dragon as you lowered yourself to your knees, slowly placing your hand upon the withered flowers head as a glow emitted from your hand, causing the flower to regain new life as colour filled its cheeks once more.

The blood red dragon with the extraordinary long neck seemed to be pleased with this revelation as he stopped growling threateningly and instead lowered his head to the injured Targaryen beneath him, nudging him gently with his snout, earning a groan in response and a weak call of his name, Caraxes. So that’s his name, you thought to yourself as you watched the dragon known as Caraxes huff indignantly as he looked back to you with eyes pleading for you to aid his human. A wish you planned on being successful in as you didn’t want to think of the fate that would befell you if you should fail. “I’ll help him Caraxes, have faith and he’ll pull through.” You said to the dragon who’s expression never wavered.

It took awhile for you to retrieve the body but with the aid of the dragon Caraxes you were able to bring the male back to your home where you laid him upon your only bed, having rid him of his ceremonial armour beforehand, leaving him in a dark tunic and pants that looked worse for wear; you prepared yourself to expended the most amount of energy you have into healing the man of all his wounds when you placed both of your hands against his weakly rising chest. A glow, more potent then before, emitted from your hands in an effort of combined strength, channeling through the male and into his wounds, healing them gradually but the longer you tried to remain concentrated in your healing the weaker you began to feel as though your one life force was being used to replenish his own. As his eyes began to open, yours began to flutter shut and the last thing you saw were a pair of blue-ish purple eyes staring at you in both confusion and wonder.

Daemon should’ve known better then to waste his strength on trivial matters but this wasn’t a trivial matter to the Targaryen, this was a matter of pride and he wasn’t one to back down quietly without getting the last word in. Though this time it seemed that he was eating his own words. Yet it seemed the gods had offered him some semblance of pity when they intertwined your fate with his on the day of his fall. Your eyes were the first thing he saw as he was brought back from the antitheses of unconsciousness just as you submitted to your own; just before you collapsed on the floor Daemon found his body moving faster then he could think as his arm reached out to capture your own, dragging you rather forcefully towards him where your head rested against his shoulder. “A healer?” He said to himself as he felt the back of his head from where he was hit prior only to feel it completely healed as though he was gifted a second stronger skin. “Strange, I thought all you died off.” He continued as his eyes scoured over your hands where the glow emoting from them was now akin to a dim light before dissipating from sight and back into your veins.

Daemon didn’t know what to think of your random act of kindness, he didn’t know if it was some ploy to get your own share of the royalties he withheld but something told him that wasn’t the case because you would’ve surly been killed by his dragon for even daring to meet him whilst in a vulnerable state. So for you to earn a dragons respect was something else indeed for the Targaryen that he hadn’t noticed that he had been staring at you a little too long when he remembered that you must’ve used a lot of your energy just to heal him. “Foolish.” He muttered under his breath as he hauled your form into his arms and placed you into your bed whilst he resided at your bedside, holding your hand, his thumb running over the lines within your palms of which your power lied dormant. Daemon hadn’t known himself to become soft but there was something about you that soothed his soul and now he has a taste of it he never wished to depart from it or he’d rather be eaten by fucking pigs.

“What have you done to me, barely a word and you already have me more entranced then any woman in Westeros ever could.” Daemon mused as he ran a finger across your cheek, frowning when he noticed how you almost flinch at the contact. The man had never felt such an urge to protect something in his entire life other then right here, right now, like a dragon protecting it’s kin, Daemon swore to himself that he wouldn’t allow a scratch upon your skin. Your abilities to heal were of the upmost importance to him but even he knew that was a ruse to hide how he truly felt in his heart. So he stayed by your bedside and awaited your full recovery.

-mini time skip cuz I’m shit at writing…also who does time skips anymore?-

“Daemon, where are we going?” You asked the Targaryen as he lead you towards an open field where he called upon Caraxes earlier who peaked his head up like a dog at your voice, purring contently when he saw you and his human approach him. “You’ve told me once before you’ve always wanted to fly on dragon back so that’s what we’re going to do today.” Daemon removed himself from your side to aid you into climbing Caraxes’ back, allowing yo to situating yourself comfortably upon the saddle before taking the reigns into his hands as Caraxes took flight, causing you to gasp involuntary and throw yourself into Daemons back, gripping onto him tightly as your eyes remained stuck on the already shrinking speak that was your home the higher you went above the cloud line. Daemon chuckled, looking down at where your hands met at his chest and beamed in amusement at their death grip on his as though you never wanted to let go out of the mere aspect that it could mean death. In that moment Daemon became your lifeline as you soared in the sky. “There’s nothing to be afraid of y/n, neither I nor Caraxes would dare let you fall. Your in safe company my darling.” He speaks comforting words to you, holding onto your hands gripping on him for dear life, rubbing soothing patterns into them as he felt you stiff state relax gradually until your hands fell slack within his hold.

Curious, the Targaryen looked over his shoulder to see that you were staring overhead in awe and wonder of that of a child and it wasn’t until that moment that Daemon realised the true extent of his feelings for you as he watched a kaleidoscope of colours wash over your skin, bathing you in the most surreal colours that he could’ve sworn he saw heaven and euphoria within your eyes as you allowed yourself to trust his words. The smile upon your face sent pleasant feelings to spark within Daemon like a match was lit within him, burning him up with it’s fierce light and passion to burn that he couldn’t help but smile in response. He felt prideful that he got to see this side of you and it was all for him to see and nobody else, if they did he’d have to kill them. After spending time at your little cottage has Damien thinking about what life would be like if he returned home with you in toe? Would things still be as sickly sweet as they were or would they die? He had no need of his bed warmer of a wife now that he has you within his arms. In Daemon’s eyes you will rightly take her place by his side as his new spouse to be, so without telling you the full extent of his plans, he ushered Caraxes while you were distracted in the direction back to Westeros, his and your soon to be home.

[portfolio-of-dreams]

just, friends? | yuta okkotsu x afab! reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni! enemies to lovers(ish), yuta is mean, sparring/fighting, (do you count that?), dom! yuta, a lil possessive, marking, nipple play, shower sex, spiting, slight exhibitionism, reader gets called baby, language, pussy inspection, oral (f!receiving), orgasm denial, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, tummy buldge, creampie, unprotected sex (wear ur raincoat), slight dumbification, reader gets spanked once, dirty talk (kinda ig), squirting, cum eating, cum … swapping.

w/c: 3.5k

a/n: back on my yuta brainrot. another thank you to @xshinigamikittenx for being my beta-reader. you’re awesome and your comments make my day. kissing u softly. REPOST TO SEE SOMETHING.

“Hey, watch it Okkotsu!” you grumbled towards the raven haired man who bumped shoulders with you as you walked on opposite sides of the pathway on campus.

“Maybe if you watched where you were walking, you would have seen me.” He rolled his eyes as he turned on his heels.

You didn’t know what it was but everything about Yuta Okkotsu made your blood boil. Everything he had, everything he was- you just hated. His stupid smirk that would plaster across his face when Gojo congratulated him on another job well done, even though you were his assigned partner for it. His cursed technique always got all the attention. Yuta is so special. Yuta is going to be the strongest. Yuta was the bane of your existence. You knew he didn’t like you either because he always requested to go on missions with you because your cursed tools worked well with him- he preferred to fight in close range whereas you were the long range assistance. You felt as though he asked for you because he knew he would get all the credit and he could rub it in later on. You were just as naturally gifted with your abilities as he was. But it was always about dumb Yuta.

You got so lost in frustrating thoughts you had walked an entire circle around campus. Well, what better way to blow off some steam then go train in the dojo? You took a moment to compose yourself and turned to go back in the direction of the training room.

You pushed open the tall, wooden doors to find your teacher inside. “Oh, Gojo. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”

He looked at you with a soft smile, eyes hidden behind his black bandana. “Not an issue, y/n! Came to blow off some steam it looks like?”

You just nodded your head and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect, I’ll help you out.”

You dropped your bag on the side along the wall and took a fighting stance in front of Gojo. He said whenever you were ready to start, but not to tell him or show any expression that you were going to swing at him. You took a deep breath, counted to three in your mind and exhaled. You stood there for a moment and then quickly bent down to sweep your leg at his ankles. He hopped over it without even paying attention. You kicked your leg up to try to hit him but to no avail. In one quick motion you were back on your feet, sending a right hook towards him to which he responded by leaning to the left. He didn’t throw any punches or really try to defend against your attacks. You huffed as you realized you were getting nowhere like this, even after twenty minutes of being at it. Then you got an idea.

You kept at the jabs in his direction, each one he dodged easily, not even breaking a sweat. You dug your toe in the space on the mat and fell forward. To which he stepped quickly towards you, catching you in his arms and you smirked.

You lightly tapped the underside of his jaw with your fist, “Got ya.”

He laughed in response, lifting the corner of his blindfold with his thumb, looking at you with a sapphire crystal eye “You sure did.”

And then you heard the most dramatic throat clear. You turned your head as Gojo set you on your feet, and saw the lowered annoyed eyes of Yuta. He walked towards the two of you, his eyes trained on your figure. He was slightly taller than you and looked down once he was close enough and feigned an innocent smile that spread across his chapped lips.

“I was hoping I could train a little tonight as well.” And he turned his head to glare at Gojo with honest eyes but you knew it was all an act.

“Sure! Actually, that works perfectly. It’s time for my evening teasing of Nanamin.” He joked as he skipped out of the dojo.

Yuta snapped his head back at you, growling at you to pick up your bamboo kendo stick. You stuck your tongue out at him as you turned to the barrel of sticks to pull one out to use. You took a stance in front of him as he slid one foot behind the other and bent his knees slightly. The both of you lunged forwards, sticks connecting at the tip with a thwack. You jumped backward and stabbed your stick towards his stomach which he jumped out of the way from. Your sticks clacked and snapped against each other with every swing. Feet padding against the mat floor as you two danced and moved in tandem like you could predict the movements of the other person. Yuta’s face fell and his brows knitted together, he wanted this to be over already. He lunged at you with his kendo stick, making you move to your left to avoid being hit and at the same time, he swiped his foot at your ankles, making you topple over.

“I won.” He said blandly as your anger bubbled over, jumping to your feet.

“You cheated. Playing dirty like that.” Your words seethed towards him as he gave you a light shove past you as you walked to the edge of the room to where you dropped your bag.

You rolled your eyes at him, before turning your attention to the floor to pick up your jacket and backpack. In a swift motion, he was pressing his body against yours, your back pushed up against the cool wall of the room.

“Funny that you thought you could take me down.” His hand moved up, holding your chin in his slender fingers. He tilted your head to the side, allowing him access to your sweat slicked skin.

“F- fuck you, Okkotsu.” You knew he didn’t miss the way your words collapsed.

His warm breath fanned over you as he placed his other hand against the wall on the side of your face, slightly above you, his lips just inches away. You let your eyes slip closed when you felt them crash greedily against yours, feeling sparks light up from your spine down to your toes. You shouldn’t feel like this- you hated him, right?

Yuta’s tongue dragged roughly over the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You fought against him; only allowing him to tug on yours. He bit your lip hard enough for you to part them and slide his tongue inside. It was heated and rough- unlike any kiss you've had before. Breathy moans escaped your mouths as teeth clashed. Every sound was swallowed by Yuta’s mouth. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you shivered, feeling him smirk as he squeezed you, grabbing your waist so forcefully you were sure there would be small bruises, pulling you as close to him as possible. You stayed there with him, in a kiss so hungry, so needy it felt possessive. It suffocated your senses and dulled your thoughts to the point you only remembered to move your lips against his with the same vigor.

How much time had passed before you finally broke the connection? You finally looked up to meet his blue eyes, a blue deeper than the ocean abyss. The golden hues of the evening sun seeped through the cladded dojo windows and slanted across Yuta’s face. You felt your stomach clench and pushed his hair off his forehead where it had sat flatly. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and inched closer, sliding one of your thighs up between his. A loan groan escaped his parted mouth, and he pushed your leg down to be replaced with his own.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this”- he smirks, licking a wet stripe along the vein in your neck- “And you were just getting too close to Gojo for my liking tonight.” He spoke as he moved his thigh up, rubbing it against your core.

“Yuta. We’re in public” You barely choked out between moans.

“Then I guess you better keep quiet then.” He growled lowly as his teeth worked the sensitive spot on your neck.

The heat of his lips caused your head to roll back, hitting the wall behind you, your sweat trailing down your temple leaving wet stains against the concrete. He smirked as he continued to kiss and suck at that sweet spot that made you moan his name. He would no doubt leave a mark, as he continued his movements against your sweet skin. Your hands moved up to run through his hair but he quickly grabbed them, slamming them above you with one hand wrapped around your wrists. You inhaled sharply as he rubbed his thigh harsher against your clothed cunt. Your moans became more apparent, echoing in the space. The hand he had on your chin, moves to cover your mouth as you hear the door open. He stands there, staring into your eyes, continuing to grind his thigh on you.

“Shh, baby. We don't want to be found” He smirks at you.

He picks you up easily, stepping lightly towards the open showers. His lips are rough against yours- needy and desperate to taste you again. He places you up against the wall, holding you in place with one strong arm as the other reaches over, turning on the warm water, exposing your breasts. He breaks apart from the kiss- a trail of saliva connecting you two together still. His eyes travel down to your perked nipples, you hear him mutter a shit, before taking one into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud as the hand that's snaked around your waist, grabs at the plush of your skin. Your moans become louder, only slightly muffled by the shower running. Your hands, finally free- run through his hair, pushing his mouth further onto your chest. He continues to nip at the bud as he sets you down. He pulls his mouth off with a pop and takes both in between his fingers, twisting and tugging at the supple flesh. He watches as you squirm, chest heaving into his touch. He chuckles lightly at your groans and pulls until you’re released and then he flicks both sensitive nubs which makes you wince backward. He places a soft kiss to the valley between your breasts and moves his hand down your curves and starts to rub harsh circles onto your clit.

“Yuta. More. Need more.” You groan and you move slightly in his grip.

“Aw, look at you. A mewling mess in my touch. Looks like you don’t hate me as much as you thought” He speaks against your skin, licking down your stomach to your hips.

He pulls the rest of your pants down, exposing yourself to him. He licks between your wet folds, using just the tip of his tongue to tease you. Before pulling away to spread your lips with his fingers, getting too close for comfort as he inspected your cunt. You tried your best to close your legs as you felt yourself heating up in embarrassment. He pushed your thigh with his free hand as the other slapped your wet core.

“Don’t do that. Wanna get a look at this pretty little pussy I’m about to shove my cock into.” He spoke low as he spit on your clit lewdly.

He watched as your walls fluttered, begging for attention; begging for him to stuff it full. But you deserved to wait- after falling ever so “accidentally” into Gojo’s arms as you were training with him earlier. So he pressed his thumb down and rubbed your pretty clit. The way he teased you, the way he touched you- you were becoming addicted to the feeling and you wanted to experience more of him. He kept his face close, hot breaths eliciting a wanton moan from your lips as he slides a finger between your lips. He pulls his thumb away for a moment to pull back the hood of your clit and places a soft kiss to it, making your knees buckle. Your hands are shaking as you move them to his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. Your focus is waning with every pump of his finger- and then he adds another. His fingers prod at your gummy walls, slick coating them as they slide in past his knuckles, lips puckering to suck harshly on your sensitive nerves as his pretty eyes glare up at you.

Something about the look he holds as the water drips from the tips of his hair, his wet white tee sticking to his skin, the way his fingers are curling and hitting all the right spots. Your thighs start to shake and your breath catches as your eyes roll back and you try to brace yourself as you feel your orgasm approaching. But he stops, a soft cry filters over your lips- and he laughs as he stands up.

“Open your mouth.” You knew it was a demand but you were still trying to muffle your sighs from the denial.

He rolls his eyes at your disobedience and grabs your cheeks squishing them together. He shoves his fingers past your lips, pushing down on your tongue to hear those choked whines that sounded so pretty from you. You gag slightly when his knuckles touch your lip as he spreads your juices around on your tongue. He made your mouth close as he pulled his digits out, making sure you got every drop of yourself.

“You taste yourself? So sweet- why have you been keeping this from me?” His words sounded so sinful, your head was spinning.

He peeled his clothes off, tossing them to the corner out of the way of the shower. He stepped back into the water, slicking his hair back as droplets ran down his toned form. Curving around the outlines of his pecs as the bead rolled down over his perked nipples and followed the line of his abs down to his hips. The steamy atmosphere adding to your already spinning head made you see stars. You could feel yourself shaking as your legs wanted to give out, then two strong hands gripped your shoulders. Your eyes trailed up the muscles in his arms and saw the way they flexed knowing your attention was on him. You noticed the way his lips curved up into a coy smirk.

“I’ll take good care of you” He growled in your ear as he hooked your thigh over his hip.

He kept careful eye contact with you as he lined himself up with your entrance. His flushed tip pushing against your puffy folds, covering his tip in your slick. Your back was pushed up against the wall, his thick calloused fingers digging into the plush skin of your thigh as his cockhead slipped into you. Your slick essence and sinful moans spurring him to sink further into your squelching cunt. He went in slow but didn’t give you a moment to adjust as he pulled out to the cut on his tip and then rammed back into you. A choked sob escaped your parted lips as you batted your wet lashes at him.

“Yuta!”- you cried as fresh hot tears started to spill from your big doe eyes - “Please t’ too much”

He grinned seductively as he kissed the corner of your eye, “Crying for me, baby? Look so pretty”

His eyebrows furrowed as vulgarities fell from his pink lips as he set the pace. Pulling back and snapping his hips forward into you. The sounds of your wetness are muffled by his groans and the water of the shower raining down and echoing off the tiled floor. You could feel your body melting into him with every force of his hips, gasping with every thrust. Your head lulled into the valley of his neck, teeth grasping onto his collarbones as drool spilled from your lips. He ferociously, mercilessly, pounded deep inside you. Hitting every soft spot along the way, the way the thick vein on his cock rubbed against your gummy walls, and how he kept hitting the top of your cervix- you were at his mercy. He snaked his thumb down your wet stomach to rub your clit and fat tears of pleasure pooled down your face as you cried his name.

“Fuck. Look at you, taking me so well.” His grunts become more apparent as he continues to abuse your overstimulated clit.

You feel him hitting deep, each thrust makes your cunt clamp down onto him. He’s rough as his thumb moves and his fingers dig into your leg, creating crescent shaped indents. He’s hitting so deep, bruising your cervix with every obscene movement. You can only focus on him pounding into you, your nails scratching down his back, no doubt leaving scratches but you know he doesn't mind when he moans out loud. He nudges your head up with his and attached his lips hard to yours. Puffy and red when he pulls away, drinking in your exhales as he hovers over your parted lips. His thrusts got sloppy and his balls felt heavy slapping against the curve of your ass and you know he’s just as close as you are.

Then he pulls out. Making you wince and whine at the empty feeling.

“Turn around, put your hands against the wall.” You do as he says, you’ve been denied two orgasms now.

He grabs your ass, slapping a harsh red handprint onto your right cheek as he spreads them apart. He adjusts himself to your dripping hole again and slides back in. You swear he’s going to fuck the shape of his cock into you- and nothing after him will feel right. Your walls are stretching back out to accommodate him, creating a soreness in your legs. You're whining his name and begging him to let you cum already and something inside him snaps. He grips your ass hard, using it as leverage to fuck into you. Your thighs are twitching with each roll of his hips as he continually bottoms out deep into your cunt. His focus is on watching his fat cock disappear into you over, and over again. One hand reaches around to press against your tummy and you feel him all the way in your womb and your tears are gushing as they fall to the floor in front of you.

You rest your cheek against the wall and take one hand off to reach down between your legs to grab and fondle his heavy balls. He yelps at the new sensation and moves even harder into you. You’re pulling on his soft flesh, and feel them tighten in your grasp. The circling and bucking of his hips falters and you feel the knot inside you bubble up. He’s cursing and stammering under his breath, how good your pussy feels, how wet you are from him. His filthy words send you over the edge and you're spewing your juices against him- squirting them onto the base of his cock and coating his thighs. He loves your reaction- the way your panting and your pretty cunt is clamping and twitching. You feel the final tingle of his balls in your hand and the first warmth of his cum spilling into you and you squeeze your hand that's holding him, eliciting a loud groan from him as you milk him for all his worth. He chases his high, white slick filling you to your brim as it threatens to spill once he pulls out. He bends down to be eye-level with your pussy and he notices the small bead of cum dripping down onto your clit. He’s fast with his tongue, licking a stripe from your clit to your stretched out hole as he collects his spilling seed into his mouth. He stands and turns you around, connecting his lips with yours, his hand clenching your jaw to fill your mouth with every bit of what's in his, spitting the rest as he closes his mouth on yours.

“Swallow.” And you do, because you’re fucked too dumb to mutter cohernt words. Your vision filled with stars.

He snickers at your disheveled appearance as he turns back into the cascading water. You stand there for a minute, trying to collect enough strength to walk under the heated shower as well. But you sigh as your thighs shake and you slide your back down the wall. He rolls his eyes at you and takes your hands, dragging you into the water to clean yourself off.

“So, what now?” The only words you’re able to utter as you sit on the warm ground, allowing the water to rush over your face.

Yuta scoffs at your words, as he wraps a towel around his waist, “What do you mean? We’re just friends.” He walks to the corner to pick up his clothes and turns to go, leaving you to ponder in your thoughts over what the fuck just happened

tagging: @arlertslove @bokuroskitten @kazububs @fairyfuyu @httphaitani @beware-of-the-rogue @mrskenmakozume @blueparadis @momoewn @shinigamiplayroom || @planetonet @hanayanetwork @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi

[tteokdoroki]

ok but yuta would say “i love you” when he cums and fully mean it 🥺 it’s not a spur of the moment thing, he genuinely loves you, and wants to express it as often as he can 🥺❤️

hiccup smiff :(!!! i agree with this 100%

+ tw for slight!dub con !!

like can you imagine poor yuuta, writhing beneath your touch literally losing his mind the minute your tongue rolls out against his leaky tip— eyes rolling to back of his skull as he practically sobs your name and grips the bed sheets until his knuckles turn white. “p-please, i c-can’t. can’t, w-won’t last.” baby’s trembling, jaw going slack and his skin illuminated by the light shine of sweat escaping from his pores. yuuta looks like an angel when he has his head thrown back and his midnight locks matted to his forehead and his Adam’s Apple bobbing with every sweet moan slipping from between his lips. “‘m close, s’too close, s-slow down. please!”

it’s barely been five minutes and the poor baby is stuttering out sweet, breathy moans— apologising for the way his hips buck up and force the meat of his cock further into your slippery hot mouth. yuuta chokes on a gasp when his sticky tip hits the back of your throat, whimpers like he’s in pain from how good the stimulation feels and how he’s holding back, trying not to bust so soon after having you on him.

your finger tips rub soothing circles on yuuta’s inner thighs but it does nothing to calm him...the knot in his tummy is tightening way too soon, tears stinging a pathway down the apples of his cheeks the further you take him down your throat and especially when you swallow down on his cock. “no,” he whines, chest heaving and shaking his head back and forth. “no s’too much. s-stop, don’t wanna cum. s-stop!”

you don’t stop, and instead let your soft hands squeeze at the weight of his balls— trail along the veins on the underside of his cock until his red hot tip is painting your tongue with thick, ungodly amounts of precum that mixes with your saliva as you slurp at him hungrily. yuuta feels like his entire body is on fire, heat pinpricking at the skin by his cheeks as a blush spreads across them and a primal urge takes over him, telling him to grip your head and tug you down even further onto his cock until you’re gagging and forced to breathe through your nose as it’s pressed into the softness of his tummy.

“oh..oh god. okay, okay.” yuuta whispers, gripping the back of your head tighter all while shaking his head and letting his moans grow higher and higher in pitch. “i-i’m gonna— h-hah!” the poor baby splutters, tripping over his words and crash landing into his orgasm as he floods your mouth with thick spurts of cum, pouring his load into you as you lap it up eagerly with your tongue and bob your head throughout his eye. all of yuuta’s limbs give out, his brain goes dead and thighs tremble with the weight of his orgasm, sucking the life from him.

“o-oh! i love you, i love you so much. i-i love...you,” and he means it, he keeps repeating it although his body twitches with the aftershocks of cumming, yuuta falling back into the sheets with a loved up smile and the smallest whimpers on his lips. he truly does love you, pouring all the passion into his words despite the dizziness to his brain and thoughts. “‘m sorry...i-i came too quick and i didn’t warn you! oh...oh that felt so good,” yuuta sighs as he comes down and your hand on his cock starts to slow, pulling your lips off of him. “

“i’m sorry—“ yuuta tries again, but your lips find his own and he squeaks with embarrassment and teary eyes as force him to taste his cum, tongue pushing its way into his mouth as he fills the room with more of his sweet sounds.

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; As Wolfwood gets to his feet the blood rushing through Vash's ears quiets, calming itself from a roar to something far less overwhelming. The sting in his arm finally registers as well, though he pays it little mind. Sero still sits puffed up at his collarbone, beneath his chin; he can feel the blood welling up beneath his shirt from where tiny claws had punctures their way into his flesh and anchored themselves there in a bid to stay in Vash's cowl in the face of something so much larger than itself. Feathers that had lashed out so violently retract as well-- distantly, Vash can feel a scrape or two on the underside of his chin from where they'd made contact, brushing up against bright plumage.

He stands still as Wolfwood goes to retrieve the other monster, unmoving in the sand. The adrenaline in his veins becoming significantly less potent allows whatever form of guilt that would manage to worm its way into him in its stead a home, and Vash frowns as it limps back over.

"Sorry about that one, buddy," he says softly, meeting them half way, both hands coming up to scratch at either side of Dog's neck. "Didn't know it'd go and roll over on ya'." All Vash gets in response after a moment is a huff of smoke and a great big tongue licking over the whole of his face ( "Eugh --!!" ), leaving his glasses askew. It's not that hard to piece together what it's probably thinking. Point taken.

Sero finally leaves his perch, scurrying up Vash's arm and finding its customary spot at the crown of Dog's head, hunkering down there with a quiet trill. He's still puffed up, head still swiveling and eyes still darting around for any sign of trouble, but doesn't move any further than that. Seems like a good enough sign, for now.

"Don't know if it's gonna come back or not. If it does it's definitely not gonna be too happy with us."

Patching one another up had become such a normal part of their routine for so long that Vash isn't even asking before his fingers gently find their way into dark strands slowly matting against Wolfwood's skull. It's a moment enough of calm to take stock, to further calm frayed nerves.

"Nothin' too bad," he reports. "Just bleedin' a lot."

"Still, it prob'ly won't be a good idea to stay out here, especially with him hurt. I don't like just leavin' it out here, but s'not like we can get rid of it entirely."

Those pincers are mere moments from closing around his neck and popping his head right off. Wolfwood stares wildly up into those multiple black eyes, the drooling chelicerae, while his hand is off to the side feeling around in the sand for where the Punisher must have landed when he got pinned. It's no where he can reach, and he can't turn his head like this to locate it.

He opens his mouth to call for help but it's drowned out by Vash howling his name. The Dweller shrieks furiously as those bullets connect, releasing Wolfwood from its hold. He rolls out of the way just in time for the stinger to come back down into the sand again, spraying acid that catches on his jacket and eats a hole through the dark fabric. He lies there wheezing in the sand, heart racing, as the monster thrashes about with Dog on its back. The wolf refuses to move, teeth dug in deep, bright blue acid spilling from his jaws and eating into the glossy exoskeleton.

"Careful—!" Wolfwood yells as the beast spins, slams its weight down on Dog in the sand. He hears what sounds like something breaking, a muffled yelp; when the Dweller burrows back beneath the sand Dog is curled up there, chest heaving, ears flat on his skull.

When Vash grabs Wolfwood's arm and hauls him up. He registers the red trickling down Vash's hand, bright as his coat, and he's aware of something hot and wet in his own hair— blood from hitting his head when he got pinned, most likely. He still feels a little dizzy. Wolfwood stumbles over to where Dog is curled up, dropping onto one knee beside him. The massive hound stares at him. There's blood in his fur. One of his forelegs looks broken.

"Come on, big guy. Time to get up." Wolfwood's hand lands on the thick fur of the Spiramon's neck. He pushes his fingers through it. "Fight's not over. I know you ain't about to give up."

Dog blinks, ears twitching forward again. Wolfwood meets his eyes, brows furrowed. The canine huffs, uncurling himself and slowly, slowly pushing himself up. There's a limp in his left foreleg. Wolfwood rises with him and steadies himself with a hand on his shoulder.

On the way back to Vash and Sero he retrieves the Punisher from the ground.

"Think it's gonna come back? It's pissed, but we mighta scared it enough."