#except he keeps getting more and more feminine in their work

[nitro502]

Hey it’s ok actually to headcanon Eddie as a trans guy without drawing him uncharacteristically feminine. Encouraged even. Especially if you yourself are not trans.

[incognit0slut]

Buried in the pillow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A night of restless sleep ends better than expected. Based on;

warning: 18+ explicit content including edging, a little chocking, sexual intercourse, and dom spence

words: 4,6k (I got carried away😭)

a/n: am I supposed to be writing something else? Yes. Will it stop me from writing a slow, lazy sex scene? NO

MASTERLIST

“…you’re buried in the pillow, yeah you’re so loud…”

THERE WAS NO DENYING THE WARM FLOOD OF AROUSAL RUSHING IN HER SYSTEM. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath, her heart rate climbing in her chest she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire body. She readjusted herself along her pillow and closed her eyes before exhaling, her thighs pressed together as she tried not to let her mind travel into any lewd thoughts.

But the sound of his shallow breathing was enough to make her terribly aware of the abrupt shift in her body. She could feel the dull, needy throb between her legs merging with that burn of sheer want for him low in her stomach. Her eyes fluttered open then, and there he was, sleeping on his side of the bed with his face facing toward her.

Spencer looked so peaceful. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing along his cheeks, and his mouth slightly parted while his chest rose in a steady rhythm, a sign of him in complete slumber. She had seen the drowsiness in his eyes the moment he walked through the door this evening, the fatigue clumped in his shoulders as he kissed her in greeting. It had been days since the last time he had proper sleep, having to travel across the country for a recent case, and today he finally had the chance to rest his bones from all of the work.

But it also meant it had been eleven days, fifteen hours, and forty-six minutes since the last time she had him buried deep inside her...

Not that she was counting.

Fine—maybe she was. Maybe she was keeping up with their time apart because being with him was something she looked forward to, in and out of the bedroom. How could she not? He was her partner; her smart, caring boyfriend who she loved too damn much and would do anything to bide the time relishing in his presence.

Although tonight she did have a specific activity in mind, which now seemed more like wishful thinking considering he was already deep in slumber. He needed the sleep, she reminded herself. He was simply tired and he needed all the rest he could get.

Swallowing hard, Y/n tried to push her desire back down. She turned over, laid back down on her back, and let her eyelids fall back down as she settled her arms to her side. But the position was too uncomfortable. She let out a groan and shifted again, hips moving along the bed a few times before she finally stopped.

The feel of something shifting woke Spencer up, his mind slowly stirring awake. A soft sigh escaped him as he lay silently, his mind quieted in the stillness of the night. Then his breathing evened out a moment later, exhaustion of the past few days took over before his eyelids lowered, body drifting back to sleep. Except for a little bit later, he heard more rustling along the pillow, a soft, feminine sound of frustration barely ringing in his ears. This time he slowly opened his eyes, adjusting himself in the dark.

The first thing he noticed was a mass of hair laid in front of him, then bare arms and a slender body clad in a silky nightgown. There was silence as he tried to pick up her breathing, watching her back move steadily in the poorly lit room. When another exasperated sigh escaped her, Spencer inched closer and reached out, an arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer toward him.

"Hey," he softly murmured, concerned about her constant movements in her sleep. "You alright?"

Y/n stopped herself from letting out a moan. On normal occasions, being pressed up against him in bed would lull her to sleep, the comfort of his arms provided an immense amount of warmth and safety. Definitely not tonight. The way his arm tightened around her, tugging her back into his solid chest awoken that part of her she tried to suppress. The heat of his body enveloped her and she found herself leaning back, accepting the warmth he was offering.

"Hmm," her returning hum answered, sinking deeper into his embrace.

"Bad dream?"

She stopped herself from snorting. She couldn't even get a wink of sleep and here he was, concerned about the possibility of her having nightmares. But it was a better reason than to admit why she couldn't rest her eyes, so she nodded, her voice slightly breathless as she whispered, "Something like that."

The silence in the air after her reply was jarring. If Spencer was half-awake before, he was fully awake now, the rasp in her voice far too familiar for him to ignore. And when he finally regained his consciousness back, he became highly aware of his surroundings. The soft mattress underneath him, the plush pillow below his head, and the soft curves pressed against him.

He could feel her body trembling underneath his palm, her breathing picking up its pace as his fingers glided along her stomach. He could practically hear the sound of her heartbeat as he pulled her even closer, his head shifting along her shoulder, his nose brushing against the back of her neck. The subtle fragrance of flowers and honey filled his nostrils as he breathed in her scent, nuzzling further into her, the stubble of his jaw grazing along her skin.

"Spence," she muttered, tilting her head into the pillow. "What are you doing?"

"You seem to be having trouble sleeping." She felt the bed shift behind her as he moved again, and then a moment later she felt him pressing his hips into her ass. She let out a gasp. "I'm helping you relax."

She felt something pleasantly warm grazing her neck, his lips moving deliberately slow, as if he was in no hurry and only wanted to savor the taste of her skin. His hand then slid further up her stomach, palm flat as it dragged up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It eventually stopped its roam, halting its search when he cupped her left breast tenderly.

She couldn't stop the strained moan from slipping out of her mouth. "Sleep isn't exactly on my mind right now."

"I figured," he murmured beside her ear, his hot breath drawing goosebumps along her skin. "How long have you been awake?"

His hand gently kneaded her breast as his mouth traveled along her neck. Her eyelids lowered slightly, a wet heat forming between her thighs as her arousal intensified. "I haven't slept."

"And why is that?" A finger brushed across her nipple through her thin nightgown. She suppressed a helpless whimper as his thumb circled around the nub, caressing it so gently she could feel her body shaking with need. "Go on." He tugged on her nipple between his fingers. "Use your words."

"I..." She felt his tongue softly grazing her skin before he wrapped his mouth around her flesh, sucking on the spot. What was she to say? That she was too aroused to relax? She carefully weighed her words, feeling bashful verbalizing her thoughts, so she finally settled with, "It was too hot."

He hummed in response, somehow acknowledging the meaning behind her words. She watched as his hand left her breast, sliding up her bare arm before it settled on the strap of her flimsy sleepwear. He gently tugged down the thin string as his mouth lowered towards her shoulder, languorously trailing kisses down the line of it. "We should do something about that, shouldn't we?"

She couldn't think clearly when his touch sent her into a whirlwind of chaos. To crave something was one thing, to actually acquire that craving was an entirely different thing. She had wanted to feel him so much, but as his hand trailed back to her now-exposed breast, her mind was in a mess of desperate longing and need. Somehow his mouth trailing on her neck wasn't enough. Somehow his callused fingers stroking her nipple wasn't enough. She needed to feel every inch of his body on her. She wanted all of him.

More, more, more.

"Spence," she breathed out, her hoarse voice hanging in the air.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Tell me." His grip on her nipple tightened, and she shuddered at the sensation. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she answered in a daze. "I want you."

"What do you want me to do?" He gently bit her flesh. "Do you want me to make you feel good? Do you want me to touch you, relax the tension in your body?" Then her heart sped up in her chest, slamming roughly into her rib cage at his next words.

"Do you want me to fuck you to sleep?"

A strangled whimper left her mouth. Spencer was a lot of things in bed. When they had first been together, he was so timid and unsure of himself, too caught up in his thoughts that left him too afraid to touch her—which she honestly hadn't minded, she loved being the one who saw his transformation in the bedroom. But when he finally started to loosen up and be himself with her, exploring things he wanted to try, to finally take control? It drove her absolutely wild to experience him gain his confidence it made her weak in the knees every damn time.

Like this side of him now always managed to render her speechless. Perhaps it was the way he was so poised and calm outside the bedroom, a very different demeanor when he was alone with her, that made it all seem so overwhelming. In the safety of their bedroom, he was everything he desired, and being crude and demanding was what he decided to be this night.

His hand caressing her nipple slid up her chest, his fingers gently wrapping around the base of her neck. Her breath hitched as he softly gripped it, pulling her even further into his chest. "Tell me, is that what you want?"

She was breathing even heavier now, her shoulders heaving with each audible inhale. "Yes."

He bit her earlobe, evoking another breathless shudder out of her. "Explain it in words, I need you to speak to me."

Y/n enjoyed the sweet, gentle way he made love to her. She really did. Very, very much so. But there was a certain enjoyment whenever he was in control. Whenever he let himself go and have his way with her—crass words over sweet nothings, rough stokes over soft touches. It burned her skin and gripped onto her arousal, waking up the submissive side of her which she enjoyed more than she should probably have.

Spencer's grip tightened at her silence. "Are you not going to answer me?"

"Yes," she quickly responded, feeling the subtle bulge of him pressed along her backside. "Please."

"Please... what?"

She couldn't believe he was making her say it. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and leaned into his touch, practically shifting the weight of her body on top of him. "Spence."

"I need to hear the words or you won't get anything at all," he spoke, his thumb grazing her chin.

The thought of being left sexually frustrated was enough for her to nod, giving in to his command. "Yes," she whispered, and because she wanted to make him feel as desperate as she was, she squirmed, hips writhing along his groin as she searched for friction. "I want you to fuck me to sleep."

A pleased rumble vibrated in his throat. Letting go of her neck, his hand trailed down her body and landed on the top of her thigh, gently massaging the muscle beneath his palm. His fingers skimmed up toward her skin, pushing up her nightgown, exposing more delicate skin and skimpy underwear barely covering her ass. Then it happened so fast. One moment he was caressing her, the next thing she knew his hand drew back before it came barreling forward with a sharp smack that echoed in the room. She gasped in pleasant surprise, her clit throbbing in excitement as his palm rubbed along the stinging flesh.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

She whimpered in response. Then his hand retreated from her ass only to come flying forward again with another sharp crack. Her hips jolted forward at the impact, her eyes closing at the delicious sting as his hand held onto her her stomach. His fingers then slowly trailed south and her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his lips hot on her ear.

"Open your legs, sweetheart."

Her knees fell apart at the demand, one of her legs laying on top of his. She waited for him to touch her, to dip his hand into her aching folds in the confinement of her underwear. Instead, his fingers slipped into the side of her fabric, tugging the material to the side, exposing wet, damp skin to his desire. The slick evidence of her arousal stuck onto the fabric so thickly it was enough for her to feel the heat creeping along her cheeks.

"Would you look at that?" He whispered, lips touching the back of her ear. "I haven't even touched you here and you're already soaking wet."

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest as she watched him. There wasn't a moment of hesitation while his fingers tugged the waistband of her underwear, gingerly sliding them down her legs before pulling them past her feet and casting them somewhere over the side of the bed. Then he grabbed onto her knee, parting her legs further apart but not doing anything to quench her desire. He could feel her trembling, writhing with need as she pressed further into his front.

The cool air hit her exposed skin, and it took a lot of self-control for her not to beg even further, but the way her body squirmed was enough to let him know what she craved. Though his hand stayed where it was, firmly gripping onto her left leg, sliding it on top of his while his lips lazily mapped along her neck.

"Here's what we're going to do," his gruff voice filled her ears. "I'm going to touch you, I'm going to please you in every way you like—" His hand slid painfully slow down her thigh before it came to a complete stop. "—but you can only cum when I give you permission to." His fingers inched closer to her throbbing heat. "Do I make myself clear?"

A shiver spread along her body, understanding what he meant by those words. He wanted to rule her, he wanted to be the one in charge of her own body. And while she should've felt appalled at the thought, her arousal rather grew deeper at every ticking second as he waited for her reply.

And then suddenly his fingers wrapped around her neck again, gently pressing onto her skin as he jutted his hips towards her. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she begged him, her hand lightly tugging around his arm. "Perfectly clear."

Then his hand trailed down again, slightly brushing her aroused nipples before it settled on the heated span between her legs. When the pads of his fingers lightly grazed her clit, his teeth bit down on her shoulder. A hiss of pleasure instantly flew out of her mouth. Two of his fingers began running back and forth between her damp folds, the sensation was gradually pulling shallower and shallower breaths from her.

"You're so wet," he growled against her skin. "This what you've been needing?"

She faintly nodded, her hips moving gradually with his fingers. His fingers circled in swift motion and it was enough for her to roll her head back onto his shoulder. His fingers then slid back into her slicked entrance before he abruptly slipped two of them into her. Eyes snapping shut, she groaned in pleasure. He began thrusting slowly into her over and over, curling them deep inside. A whimper escaped her mouth at the feel of them as he began to pump into her roughly, her hips pressing eagerly back into his hand.

"I can already feel you clenching around my fingers," he whispered. "You really needed this, didn't you?"

"So much," she found herself answering, a hand grasping onto his arm as he kept thrusting his fingers at a steady pace. "I needed you."

"Then you have me. You'll always have me."

A breathy moan flew out of her at his words, her back arched in response. She felt his lips pulling into a smile along her skin, thrusting his fingers all the way in. She moaned loudly, her head dropping down between his shoulders as he pulled his fingers out before quickly pushing them right back inside.

"Spence," she breathlessly sighed, his fingers still vigorously thrusting into her, only pausing to occasionally curl inside of her which in turn had her toes curling on the bed, her body feeling closer to the edge of her release. "I-I'm gonna—"

"No. You're not."

She let out a loud groan, griping his arm as he thrust deeper, his fingers spreading wider into her as another finger entered her heat. His warm breath was brushing over her skin, the sensation mingled with his finger still thrusting into her deliciously pleasant. "Baby, I-I can't—"

"You can," he whispered, his breathing sounding harsher than before. "You're going to wait until I give you my permission."

A harsh moan ripped in her throat, her body spasming as she tried to force herself to control her body. but it was getting harder to do when her vision felt like it was blurring, her breath coming in sharp pants as his fingers continued to drive into her, the sensation had her legs shaking. She could hear how wet she was, the slick sound of him pumping into her echoed in the room.

"You're really enjoying this," he ground out as his pace picked up. "You're already so close."

She nodded against the pillow, whimpering out an affirmative noise that wasn't quite a word.

"Then I can't let that happen."

Instead of getting what she wanted, he abruptly pulled his fingers out from inside of her before she whined in protest. The loss of his touch on her body was too much to handle as she gripped his arm again, guiding him back between his legs. Spencer couldn't help the amusement dripping in his voice as he watched her move his fingers with her own. "What are you doing?"

"Spence, I was so close—"

"That's not how this works."

Then he retrieved his hand again before shifting behind her, and when she caught him pulling down his sweatpants, she couldn't help but arch her body towards him. She swallowed hard, goosebumps raising along her skin as she watched him pull out his cock, his hand gripping onto the length of it as he settled between her legs.

A moment later she felt the head of his cock rubbing through her damp folds, a shudder running down her spine at the sensation, a soft hum vibrating through her lips. She felt him line himself up with her entrance, her breath feeling like it was catching in her throat as she impatiently waited for him.

And then, finally, after many days of being apart, the tip of him slid inside of her so slowly. A gasp fell out of her mouth. Spencer rumbled out a very gruff, contented noise as he gradually sunk even deeper inside of her, pausing to let herself adjust to him.

"You feel so warm," he groaned out. "So perfectly warm."

She moaned in response, breath coming in hard. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

She could feel her walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his girth. Then his hips slowly began rocking into her, pleasure washing over her body in waves at the sensation. His mouth lowered beside her ear, each of his panting breaths falling straight into it. "Nice—" He moved his hips back before pushing them forward leisurely, enjoying the way she clenched around him. "—and slow."

The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting. Sparks of electricity began to ricochet along every nerve. The coil inside her was building up, her chest was rising and falling faster, more and more, dragging desperate breaths into her lungs with every thrust of his hips.

Then her eyes shifted downwards, watching the way he entered her deliciously body. It was a strange sight, to watch her body react to something so wonderful. Her muscles tensed, goosebumps sprang up along her skin, and it was all there for her viewing pleasure. She watched as he shoved himself into her, over and over again, her walls trembling at how intoxicating he was making her feel.

"Baby, I—" she whimpered, trembling in her wake. "I can't hold much longer."

"You can," he assured her, his fingers digging into her skin.

Weak and desperate, she surrendered in the wake of the urge elicited by his abrasive touch. His hands were all over her, large and expansive, confident in the way he touched, squeezed, and fondled every part of her body. Eager flames bloomed in the pit of her gut. "I—I can't."

He relished the way she clenched around him, her breathing coming out shallow as he took what he wanted. Then he gripped her hips, building up his pace as he thrust deeper into her. "You're so close, I can feel it," he pointed out. "Do you want to cum?"

She tried to focus her mind on something other than the feeling of him inside her. "Yes."

"Hmm," he hummed out, his pace briefly slowing. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he demanded, "Beg me or I'll stop."

A whimper left her. "Spence."

His lips found her neck when he felt her walls squeezing him even tighter, "Do you want to cum?" he repeated against her skin.

"Mhmm."

"Use your words," he groaned as he increased the pace of his movements. "Say it."

Swallowing hard, her head rolled against his shoulder. Her lips were quivering as he kept up his pace, her body inching closer and closer to her release. She was fighting to hold it back, her body slowly beginning to shake along the mattress.

"Beg." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

She was so close. Her eyes were half-lidded her voice rang in the air, breathless and desperate for his mercy from the overwhelming pleasure. "Please," she finally breathed out, almost letting out a cry, her lips parted in delight. "Baby—I-I... please let me cum."

"What was that?"

"Spencer," she whimpered desperately. "Please. Please. Let me—fuck.. baby, please."

This time she did let out a cry.

He snarled behind her before his teeth snapped at her earlobe, tugging at the delicate skin. Her body was quaking on the bed as she whined, struggling to hold back any longer. And when she felt like she was about to lose control, he finally released her earlobe and spoke, "Go on, then. Cum for me."

A loud moan flew up out of her throat, her body pressing back into his. She felt the hard clench of her walls around his length as pleasure spread through her entire body. As the coil in her stomach grew, she couldn't help but snake a hand down to where they were connected and quickly found her throbbing sex. Catching her desperate fingers, he swatted her hand away, replacing it with his own as his fingers circled around her clit.

His rough fingers taunting their joint bodies tipped her over that tantalizing edge. She felt each pulse of her walls so acutely, felt the heat flow throughout her spine as the high she reached never came to an end. He buried his face into her neck, kissing and biting the smooth skin. A certain movement from his fingers made her whole body shake. She couldn't handle it, couldn't see through the tears falling, couldn't feel anything but him and the hot pleasure.

She finally came with a scream, wrenched from her throat so roughly it seared its way out of her lungs and into the air. She felt herself clench around him, hard, and his hips shuddered violently against her. Her ears tingled at the rhythm of his grunts as he exhaled her name, his thrusts growing erratic. Then she felt him completely, she could feel his warmth seeping into her heat as he let out the most primal groan she had ever heard.

Silence engulfed them afterward, their heart slowing down from their erratic breathing. It wasn't until he slipped out of her that she let out a tired moan, her voice echoing in the dark. He gently grabbed her body and turned her around, cradling her cheek before leaning in for a kiss.

Then slowly, but steadily, all he tasted was her. It felt like a missing puzzle falling back to its place as his warm lips connected with hers. He was so enraptured by her touch, by the taste of her, that it took a lot for him to pull away. Breathing heavily, he finally rested his head back onto his pillow, a coy smile stretched on his lips as his thumb stroked along her cheek.

"Hi."

A sincere smile flourished on her face. "Hi."

"Well, that was... something."

She laughed as she leaned closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. "It was fun."

"It really was," he agreed, suddenly feeling shy as he realized what had just occurred. "I always surprise myself when I'm with you."

"Good," she simply said. He wrapped his arms around her as she settled in his embrace. They lay in comfortable silence, her head on his chest, legs draped over him as his fingers drew lazy patterns on her thigh. Then after a moment of relishing each other's presence, his deep voice cut through the silence.

"You know," he started, his voice very soft. "You could've just woken me up if you have trouble sleeping."

She slightly leaned back to look up at him. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Nothing about you will ever be disturbing to me."

She wrinkled her nose. "Even if you got home from a long, exhausting trip, you wouldn't mind if I woke you up for sex?"

"I'd especially want to be woken up for that reason," he replied in disbelief. His fingers trailed under her chin, angling her gaze on him. "Wouldn't you?"

She smiled at the thought. There was a delightful feeling as her mind wandered on the possibility of him interrupting her sleep because he craved her touch. "Alright," she agreed. "Duly noted."

His arms tightened around her. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

She hummed out a positive response, her face burrowing along his skin, just beneath his chin. Her body suddenly felt the heavy post-sexual bliss, and now surrounded by his warmth, she could feel the fatigue creeping into her body.

"I was hoping so," he murmured.

Tugging the sheets up higher over their body, she felt him shifting along the bed for a minute, his arms encircling her waist. His chin was carefully tucked onto the top of her head as he drew her in tight under the covers. And when the steady rhythm of his breathing embraced her, her body finally relaxed, falling into sleep.

[metalandmagi]

Romance Anime Starter List

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sick and tired of seeing “Top ___ Best Anime of All Time” lists that are nothing but shounen. So, with "My Happy Marriage" getting a little attention from the anime community, I wanted to put together a list of some romance anime that I consider good “starters” for the genre. Because if I were just now becoming an anime fan, I’d think all there was to offer was shounen action series.

And by “starters” I mean basic stuff that’s not too…out there, and actually involves the characters getting together instead of just harems or using romance as a side plot (sorry Ouran High School Host Club and My Next Life as a Villainess). 

So if you’re new to anime and want stuff that’s not just guys beating the shit out of each other (which is also fun, don’t get me wrong), here are some basics.

Taisho Maiden Fairy Tale- When the pessimistic Tamahiko Shima loses all function in his right arm, his family sends him away to live in the mountains with the cheerful, hard working Yuzuki Tachibana…who was purchased by the Shima family to pay off her family’s debts and basically act as a caretaker/future bride for Tamahiko so they’d never have to deal with him again. It’s a more cheerful version of My Happy Marriage (without the supernatural stuff), except in this one, the guy is the one who has massive self-esteem issues and an abusive family. There are still very serious themes, but ultimately it’s not meant to make you cry every episode. I swear it’s so good, but nobody watched it!

Horimiya- A slice of life in which pretty and popular high school queen bee Hori, finds out her quiet, unassuming classmate Miyamura is hiding piercings and tattoos that could get him expelled. The two gradually find out more about each other and get together in the most realistic way I’ve seen depicted in an anime. It’s also fucking hysterical and genuinely emotional.

Recovery of an MMO Junkie- Another slice of life that focuses on two adults who meet in an MMO game without realizing they also know each other in real life. I don’t want to say much more than that. It’s adorable, and the main character is so relatable it hurts.

Love with Yamada-kun at Level 999- Speaking of MMOs, this is a newer series about Akane Kinoshita, a college first year who’s reeling from a bad break up. In an attempt to get back at her ex, she winds up meeting Akito Yamada, a popular gamer who happens to be in her guild in the MMO they both play at an IRL meetup. The two go from acquaintances to something more as they keep running into each other. Even more relatable main characters and just wholesome relationships all around.

Snow White With The Red Hair- A fantasy in which an apothecary named Shirayuki (meaning, you guessed it, “snow white”) runs away from her home in order to escape becoming the concubine of her town’s prince. While fleeing, she is rescued by Zen, the prince of a neighboring country, and she ends up becoming an herbalist to repay him. It's super cute with some genuinely swoon worthy moments and a couple that just works so well together. I have a habit of comparing this to Akatsuki no Yona, even though the two aren’t really that alike. This is more romance driven while Akatsuki no Yona is more of a serious historical fantasy with romance elements (Yona manga is amazing, but the anime barely scratches the surface, so that’s why I didn’t include it).

Sasaki to Miyano- When the shy, easily flustered Miyano meets Sasaki, a cool “delinquent” upperclassmen, the two end up bonding over manga…specifically BL manga. That’s right, Miyano is a fudanshi, but due to his small stature and somewhat feminine appearance, he’s constantly trying to convince others that he’s not interested in having his own love story where he’d be reduced to a stereotypical doe-eyed uke. But as Sasaki and Miyano spend more time together, they realize that what they have is more than friendship, and they have to come to terms with their own perception of gay relationships. This is my favorite romance of all time. It’s a slow burn, but boy is it worth it. Their relationship is so natural and realistic, just like Horimiya. Just two people hanging out and bonding over things the way people do in real life!

Given: The story of some boys in a band with trauma. Enough said. It's great. Go watch it.

Bloom Into You- Yuu Koito is a high school girl who’s been waiting her whole life for her own perfect romance to start…but when she receives a confession, she realizes she doesn’t know how to respond when she’s just not into the guy. And then she gets another confession…this time from the cool student council president Touko Nanami, who basically jumpstarts her lesbian awakening. Very cute story about how we perceive the concept of love vs actually feeling it. Also has a canonically aro/ace side character, so that’s a win for me. Another show like this is Adachi to Shimamura (but I honestly don’t remember much about it. It just didn’t stick with me as much).

Ore Monogatari- Takeo Gouda is a tall, bulky high school first year with a sensitive heart of gold. He wants nothing more than to find his own true love, but most girls are intimidated by his enormous stature, and they end up falling for his conventionally attractive friend instead. That is, until he meets the tiny, adorable Rinko Yamato. He falls in love instantly, but he’s sure she’s interested in his best friend like everyone else, so he vows to help get them together, even though his heart is breaking. Peak himbo behavior. Pure of heart, dumb of ass.

Yuri on Ice- Yes it’s the gay figure skating anime everyone knows. And yes it’s a fucking romance, okay? I will die on this hill. The romance between Viktor and Yuri is just as important as the plot!

Kaguya-sama Love Is War- Two insanely smart high school students both have a crush on the other, but since they’re…you know…high schoolers, neither of them wants to admit it first. So they come up with increasingly convoluted plans to get the other to confess first. This will go down as one of the best of all time. It’s a hilarious yet poignant modern classic.

Fruits Basket- I’ve talked about it before and I’ll talk about it again. A romance “comedy” that slowly morphs into a drama about a girl named Tohru who finds herself living with the mysterious Sohma family after her mother dies. Little does she know, the Sohmas are the victims of a  (somewhat silly, but ultimately tragic) curse that she must fight to break. Even though I’m more into it for the family drama, the romance is still top tier and plays an important role in the story. This is my second favorite anime of all time, and it’s a classic for a reason. If anyone hasn’t watched it yet, GO WATCH IT! IT WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!

And now for some honorable mentions that didn't quite fit into the regular list:

Ride Your Wave- A movie about a surfer who falls in love with a firefighter……and I’m not going to say any more than that. Go into it blind. If you like stuff like Your Name, this is a good one to watch.

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun- A comedy about a high school girl who finds out the upperclassman she has a crush on is actually a shoujo manga artist, and no matter how she tries to confess to him, he just never gets it.

The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague- A slow burn slice of life that focuses on a guy with ice powers who has a crush on his coworker. That’s it. That’s the show. When I say slow, I mean SLOW. It’s perfectly cute and fluffy, but my god does it take forever to get anywhere with these two.

Skip to Loafer- A high strung, small town girl decides to go to high school in Tokyo, where she meets a variety of classmates, including the laid back Sousuke Shima. The unlikely pair become friends, and soon enough, she starts to feel something more than friendship. The only reason I didn’t include it in the main list is because they don’t get together by the end of the first season, but it’s still really cute (also canonically trans character for the win!?)

So that’s my starter list. And no, I didn’t include Toradora, even though it’s a classic. I know it’s blasphemous, but I like it more as a comedy than a romance. It kinda lost me with the ending. But anyway, maybe someone will find something they like. Or maybe you'll just want to roast me and my picks 😅

[positively-mine]

You're a girl?!

how they find out & they're reaction

tags: afab, stalking mentioned, no spoilers

a/n: I FORGOT TO QUEUE THE POST 😭😭 also I couldn't find a purple banner so...yeah

series: ❤️ 🧡 🩵 💛 💜 💙 💚

Vil

Firstly, it's that he's an actor himself and he knows. Part of being an actor includes observing your coworkers and how to make the chemistry between each other work to ensure the success of the media. Whether it's how you interact with the other guys or you're using baggy clothes that are way too big for you, or overall uncomfortable atmosphere (behavior etc.) coming from you when you're around the NRC students. Secondly, it's his eye for detail that is able to put the pieces together and figure you out. No stopping it there I guess 🤷‍♀️

It would be a lie to say that nothing changes. On the contrary, he visits you more often to leave you beauty and skincare products. Oh yeah and he forgot to mention that he "borrowed" your uniforms to make some alterations to them. He may not need to know the reasons why you're keeping it a secret but he'll be damned if he lets you walk around campus with shabby clothes and skip out on your face care routine due to the lack of necessities.

Rook

Stalked. Do I need to say more. He's curious about the student that's unable to use magic and stopping blot after blot. You've piqued his interest and now he needs to quench it. So he decided to follow you around for a while. Which eventually leads him to discover you're a girl. The situation in how he finds out? Well there's many possibilities. You change in a different room, you try not to go to the toilet outside of ramshackle, constantly monitoring you and overhearing what you talk with Grimm. But if anyone asks, he'll say it's hunter's instinct.

Obviously stopped stalking you. I mean he may have weird habits but he draws the line at being a pervert. When it's just the two of you, uses more feminine pronouns (I think some french words change depending on the gender they're referring to, if not pls correct me 🙏) Doesn't make it awkward at all with you. Nothing much changes except for the fact that he's more protective of you and suspicious of other people's intent on approaching you. Stalks them instead to figure out their motive..

Epel

Sweet boy thought that you were also a victim of pretty face syndrome. Maybe that's why he found it easier to talk with you and hang out. Don't be surprised that he's always trying to sit with you during lunch. What he didn't expect however was that when he was walking over to your table, he overheard you talking to Grimm. The context? I will leave it to your imagination. But poor Epel was stunned. So you were a girl. He's kind of upset that you didn't tell him but what can he do. Now he's having mixed feelings too because it was understandable that you had a feminine face. But he's alone in it, again.

He does treat you with more respect. His mom didn't raise him like some beast, and if she caught wind of how he's been treating you...yikes. But what she doesn't know wouldn't hurt her. Does get more protective of you as well. He's on guard when he sees other students talking to you or when guys approach you. This is his chance to prove how reliable and a gentleman he can be. Essentially takes up the big brother role.

reblogs are appreciated!

[zepskies]

This is more of a Sam and Dean request than a reader and Dean request but what about Sam having a crush on Dean's gf? How would he react to that, I am honestly CRAVING angst and this is the angstiest, is that a word, thing I could think of, I am so sorry if you don't like angst or this makes you uncomfortable!!!

Oh my God. You killed me with this one, hun. 😫😫 I have another SB imagine coming next week, but I thought I'd put out this one for Dean to break it up a bit.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,500

Imagine: You are Dean's one exception.

Sam knows it's wrong.

You're smart, with a degree in history that aids them well on hunts.

You're sharp, with a smart mouth that rivals Dean's (and keeps him on his toes).

But you're also kind. You take care of him and Dean with all the feminine grace and care they've never had in their lives.

Sam realizes it when he's up until 3 a.m. in the bunker's War Room. He's sat at the table, researching, eyes bleary, hands cramping from turning pages. And he finds a mug of hot tea sliding next to his idle hand on the table.

You're there with a smile and a hand on his shoulder. "Workin' hard or hardly working?"

Sam clears his throat and nods, chuckles a little. "I'm good." He eyes the mug. "Thanks, though I might need something stronger."

You eye him with gentle reproach. "Nope. Green tea is better for you this late at night. You really should go to sleep, Sam."

Sam tacitly agrees, but only because he can feel the warmth of your hand through his clothing, and it makes his face warmer than the tea. He watches you walk away, notices the curve of your ass in those little shorts. He can imagine your warm hands on his body, caressing him. He can imagine letting his lips graze your skin, exploring you, then devouring you.

And that's when his thoughts stutter to a halt. Sam inwardly cringes.

Despite his sleep-deprived brain, he's reminded that you're traveling down the hall to the room you share with his brother, and for Sam, it's nothing short of torture.

Because he realizes then that he isn't just fond of you. He doesn't love you like an older brother, or even a quasi-brother-in-law. He wants you.

Again, Sam knows it's wrong...but he can't help it. It's one of the saddest cliches in the fucking book. You're his brother's girl, and he wants you for himself.

And it's getting harder to hide it from Dean. They know each other too well -- a result of having no one but each other, but more practically, having lived in such close quarters for so long before they discovered the bunker.

When Sam gets hurt on a hunt, the cut is at a bad angle. He can't quite reach, so you dutifully come around and gently move his hand out of the way to do the stitch yourself. You tsk at him in playful disappointment. "I swear, it's a wonder you and Dean aren't walking patchwork quilts at this point."

Sam chuckles through his nose, wincing when the movement pulls on the stitch. You shoot him a stern look. "Stop moving."

"You're the one making me laugh!" he says, smiling incredulously.

"I don't accept excuses," you retort. "Keep still, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam says, his breath hitching for a different reason as he feels your soft hands along his side. He plays it off as pain. "Sorry," you murmur more sincerely. He tells you it's okay. His gaze flicks up, unconsciously finding Dean's face across the room.

He's just finished cleaning a cut on his hand. But he's been watching; Sam can tell. Dean's too perceptive not to notice Sam's discomfort. He probably even knows why. Sam can see a glint of it in Dean's eyes, the stoic front of his face.

"There we go!" you say in satisfaction, and you pat Sam's bare arm. He gives you a wan smile. "Thanks."

"You done, sweetheart?" Dean asks. You get up from your seat by Sam. "What do you need?" you ask.

"You. Come 'ere," he says with a smile, giving you a beckoning finger. "I felt that knot on the back of your head earlier. Think you're slick?"

You huff, but you also smile, in the way you only do for Dean. Sam watches you get up and go to Dean, who touches your cheek, stroking with a thumb first. Then he parts your hair to inspect the back of your head, and you wince a bit. You did fall pretty hard, now that Sam thinks of it. He frowns.

Dean lets out a deep breath. "You've got a nasty bump. You're taking it easy tonight, got it?"

"Yeah? Gonna help me relax?" you whisper. But Sam still hears you, because apparently no one taught you how the hell to whisper.

Dean smirks. "Watch it. I'll think you're flirting with me."

You give him a coy smile as your hand travels up his chest, between the open edges of his plaid shirt, then all the way down, to tease at his belt. "Believe me, when I do, you'll be the first one to know."

Dean's smirk deepens, but his eyes are softer. He closes a hand around yours and brings it to his lips. You lean up and request, wordlessly, for a kiss. Dean obliges you, capturing your lips with a soft kiss.

He eventually breaks from you, only to press his lips to your forehead next, closing his eyes with a sigh. He doesn't like it when you try to hide your injuries from him. You just don't want him to worry so much.

You smile and rest against his chest afterwards. It's clear as day what your heart holds.

It's hard for Sam to watch. His throat constricts, but he takes pains to avert his gaze.

He's so full to the brim with this that he sees no other recourse. He catches Dean alone in the kitchen and tries to make a confession. "Dean, we need to talk."

"Can it wait 'til I'm done?" Dean's plating up some stovetop mac and cheese -- your favorite.

"You're done cooking," Sam points out. Dean looks up at him. "We're doing a little dinner in bed situation. I made her promise to take it easy."

Sam admires the way Dean takes care of you. He really does. But it's also like a small oyster knife twisting in his gut. "Good. I'm glad," is all he says. "Yeah, we can talk later."

"Later" doesn't come for a long time. Weeks, in fact. But every time he tries to broach the problem, Dean finds a way to wiggle out of having the conversation. Always a distraction. A hunt. A fire you almost started in the kitchen. Being "in the middle" of something -- something in the bedroom that you insist needs Dean's immediate attention. Sam gives up for a while after that.

But Winchesters are nothing if not goddamn stubborn. Sam finally catches Dean alone in his room for once. You've gone to the grocery store, leaving the brothers alone in the bunker, but not for long, so Sam needs this chance.

"Dean, can we talk?"

Dean looks up at his brother from where he sits on the edge of his bed. He taps his knee, releases a breath. They both know what this is.

"Are you gonna do more than talk?" Dean asks. It's not what Sam expects. "What?"

"Whatever's on your mind, are you ever gonna do something about it?" Dean asks.

Sam stares back at his brother. He thinks. Hard. He's flipped back and forth for months. If he tells you how he feels, it's over. Things will never be the same between the three of you. It'll confuse you. It might even hurt you. It'll hurt Dean. Sam loves you both, if in very different ways.

So Sam is a bit deflated when he raises his resigned gaze and meets his brother's. "No."

After a moment, Dean nods. "Then we've got nothing to talk about."

But... Sam wants not to want you. Not to love you. Deep, deep down, a large chunk of him feels that he shouldn't have to hide himself. That you have a right to know the depths of what he feels, and what he feels for you.

"I see you're not convinced," Dean says dryly. Sam is silent, until Dean sighs and beckons him over. Sam obliges and sits down next to his older brother, the man he's looked up to (at least metaphorically) his whole life.

"I'd give my life for you. You know that. Right, Sammy?" Dean says. "If I couldn't tear the world apart, I'd lay myself out flat."

Sam sighs. "Dean..." Of fucking course he knows that. Dean already had given his life for him once. Remembering that only adds to Sam's guilt.

Dean meets Sam's gaze directly then. "But this is where I draw the line. She's my line," he says. His face is almost stoic, but his eyes are filled with unyielding fire. "I'm not layin' down on that. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Sam's heart clenches with every kind of pain, but he's also never respected his brother more. He nods. "I get it."

"No, you really fucking don't," Dean says. He's more than serious. "I mean it, Sam. I'll break your damn nose."

After a long moment, Sam nods. He knew Dean loved you. Of course he did. But this is the first time Sam truly understands how deeply. How completely. It's more than jealousy can fathom.

Sam realizes then that he lost, even before he began.

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 I got way deeper into this than I expected to. Poor Sam. 😭 But I hope this scratched your angsty itch, my dear!

Read the Sequel

Here's the requested sequel to this: Sam crosses the line.

Also, if you want to read the reverse of this (Dean is in love with Sam's girlfriend): Dean gives you an impossible choice.

Dean Winchester Imagines

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[thisblogisaboutabook]

The cycle of life

Azriel x Reader

Fae cycles suck, thank the mother for your attentive mate who is there to provide you with all of the smut and fluff you desire.

warnings: smut, language, self-esteem and body image struggles, anxiety, slight breeding kink

She didn’t know when the self-loathing crept in - although it was always the first sign. The week had been busy, she’d poured herself into her work. Being a bookkeeper for such a wealthy court was… tiring to say the least. It was fulfilling work, especially when it came to the Court of Dreams. Balancing ledgers and creating budgets for various charitable endeavors was a duty she was proud to take part in. The High Lord and Lady’s efforts in keeping their court thriving was admirable. Most would find the work mundane, and she supposed it could be, but accounting always felt like a puzzle to her - using her brain to solve problems and contribute to the advancement of the Night Court was rewarding.

She wasn’t perfect though, despite that desperate desire within herself to be. She’d push, and push, and push herself completely overlooking all the good she did and absolutely berating herself internally when the occasional mistake occurred.

Azriel was her number one supporter. She’d always imagined him to be better suited for the likes of a fellow warrior such as Mor or a Valkyrie like Gwyn. Perhaps even someone soft and lovely like Elain, a glowing beacon to come home to. Y/N had told Azriel as much when he began pursuing her.

“Why me?” She’d wonder to herself as she assessed her figure in the mirror - overlooking the enticing feminine curves that all but screamed “squeeze me, grip me, take me”, the way her plush lips bowed into a perfectly kissable pout, how her radiant skin that nearly glowed rendered her ethereal. She only saw imperfections. Not to mention that she wasn’t graceful or stealthy, she couldn’t cook or keep plants alive to save her damned life, and she had a tendency to get stuck inside her mind.

Truthfully this week was more than busy, it was hard. She’d pushed herself to meet deadlines that she’d gotten behind on due to an influx in workload. She’d made a few mistakes that nobody had issue with - except herself. Nuala and Cerridwen were taking well-deserved time off, leaving the essential household tasks on the back burner. Between working endless hours, Azriel being gone on a mission, and a flare up of the anxiety that she’d put so much effort into working through over the years - she was exhausted.

Physically her muscles ached, stomach cramped, and her head pounded as the all-too-familiar symptoms of her impending semi-annual cycle took root. Her mind and spirit were utterly fatigued from the busy week, the flare up of anxiety, and the overall stress of life. She was desperate for Azriel to return from his mission soon.

It was around 9PM when she coerced herself into wrapping up work on Friday night, she spent three hours afterward tending to the house and catching up on neglected tasks from the week, too tired to even bathe as she crawled into bed - sleep claiming her immediately.

She awoke the next day to a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Hello beautiful.” Azriel whispered against her skin, pulling back to allow those intense hazel eyes a chance to examine her. Her eyelids fluttered and brows furrowed as she let out an exhausted groan, “baby…” a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she reached toward him in a needy manner that made his heart ache. He hated leaving her for missions though she always understood and supported him. He leaned down, wrapping his arms around her body, letting his warmth seep into her bones as she melted into his embrace.

Azriel noticed the flinch she made as the sun shone through the window into their room, quickly flaring his wings to block it from view until her eyes adjusted. “What’s wrong, love?” He whispered, though he already had an idea. The heat of his breath against her ear sent chills through her, prompting her to give a quick nip to his neck before kissing it.

Gods, she’d missed him.

“Nothing baby.” before he could call her on her lie she continued, “what time is it?”

“Well, you missed breakfast.” He smirked.

“Ugh… how did I sleep in so late?” She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes.

Azriel shrugged “Your body must have needed it.”

“Says you.” She scoffed. “You were off all week doing physically demanding work and busting your ass for this court… while I sat on mine balancing ledgers.”

“Y/N…” he spoke, his low voice barely more than a warning growl. “We’re not going to do that. You are allowed to feel tired, allowed to let your body rest. Your work is important.”

She sighed, knowing better than to press on. She knew to pick her battles and that this one was not one she would win.

“Fine.” Y/N shrugged, eyeing a paper bag on the bedside table. “What did you bring me? Please tell me it’s something with chocolate.”

Azriel’s lips curled up into a grin that she’d never tire of seeing, handing over the bag. “See for yourself, darling.”

———

Azriel knew from the moment he stepped into the quiet house that she’d need extra love and attention today. His loving, caring, selfless mate who typically rose early - he swore the sun rose on her accord and not the other way around - was still sound asleep in bed.

He immediately exited the house before she could sense his presence and stopped by her favorite bakery along the Sidra. Chocolate croissants were a necessity in times like these. She’d need a pain relieving tonic, epsom salts and soothing oils, and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t hurt either.

He went ahead and picked up ingredients for a few quick meals and a new book she’d mentioned recently as well.

He had to laugh at the irony. His mate often questioned her worthiness of him. HIM. She couldn’t see what he saw. A passionate, intelligent female who cared for her mate, her court, and family more than anything. Always putting her own needs last but the first to volunteer when help was needed. The cauldron truly found his equal - someone who gave and gave but it was never enough. Someone who couldn’t see her own worth, her pure heart, her devastating beauty - while the rest of the world marveled at it.

She’d been the catalyst in his own self-acceptance. He’d spent centuries believing he wasn’t enough, that he was unworthy of a mate, of his position, of the power he was born with - just to meet this intelligent, radiant being who could bring an entire room to a halt and assume they were only seeing flaws. Not the beauty that could make even kings fall to their knees if she’d only ask. When the bond snapped, he decided then and there that he would show her just how worthy she was. In the decade they’d been mated, she finally started to see her worth, how precious she was to him, to those she graced with her presence. But life is complicated and triggers are inevitable, especially when it came to the flare of hormones that accompanied an impending cycle.

—————

The chocolate croissants were a win if the drawn-out contented sigh Y/N let out upon finishing her third one was any indication. He’d shared details of his mission as she indulged in the pastries and she gave him a few details of her week - frowning as she went into detail about the “mistakes” she’d made.

They were common mistakes that anyone would make, truthfully, some weren’t even her fault, but he listened as she let it out. He’d learned over the years that sometimes she just needed to get it off her chest and not advice. Simply hearing each other out had become a key element in the foundation of their relationship - when thoughts became too much - they were always listening ears for each other.

Once she’d gotten it off her chest she changed the subject by asking, “What do you want to do today?”

Azriel had a lot to do - but his mate took priority this weekend. He gave her a wicked grin, “I want nothing more than to waste away in this bed with you all day.”

“But?” She replied.

“But nothing.” He flicked her nose. “I want to spend the day in bed with my mate - is there something wrong with that?”

Azriel could see the war in her mind. Debating whether she deserved to take a day off, or should tend to other tasks. Before she could object he leaned in, lips capturing hers in a deep, loving kiss. She immediately opened for him, his tongue lazily tangling with hers. “Fine” she murmured.

“That’s my girl.” He cooed before returning to claiming her mouth, the shell of her ears, her neck.

“Mmm” she purred into his kiss while he palmed at her breast through her silken cobalt night gown. Her swollen breasts immediately peaking beneath his touch.

“So responsive” his low voice growled into her neck, sending fire straight through her, igniting her core. “Is that beautiful pussy as ready for me as these are?” He asked, tweaking a nipple through her gown.

The responding moan told him more than enough as he hitched the hem of her nightgown up to her waist, exposing the dripping cunt practically begging for him underneath. His eyes rolled back at the intoxicating scent of arousal drifting up into his nose. “Holy shit, Y/N.” he groaned, clearly pleased with the sight.

He ran a finger through her slick core, adding a teasingly light amount of pressure to her clit but before he could insert a finger she moaned “No Az, I can’t wait. Please.”

“You don’t want my fingers?” He teased, slipping one inside of her. Mother, she was absolutely soaked.

“Az…Fuck. No. Please.” She pleaded. Reaching down to palm the hardened length beneath his sweatpants. “I need that inside of me. Now”

Typically he would reprimand her for being so demanding, robbing him of his playtime with her sweet, dripping sex. But the desperation in her voice left him desperate to oblige her.

“Since you asked nicely.” He replied, to which she frantically helped him out of his pants.

Before she could reconsider taking more fingers, he thrusted his length into her. Hard. Every thick, aching inch of him, stretching and filling her completely.

“Like that?” He asked as her moans filled the room.

“Yes. Yes, Az.”

“Fuck.” She cried out. “Just. Like. That.” Each word coming out individually timed to the thrusts of his cock.

There was no way he was going to last long at this pace, especially after being away for a week. “Not gonna last long like this. Fuck!” He ground out.

She grit her teeth as his thrusts became harder, more erratic. “Then fill me, Az. Need your cum.”

Slipping a hand between them, he pressed his thumb to her clit, moving it in that perfected motion he’d finessed over the years as he diligently studied her body, a scholar whose sole discipline laid in pleasuring his mate. Locking his eyes with her, he gently commanded “Cum with me baby.”

With that they both let go. Their releases filling the room like a song. A melody Azriel would never tire of, one he replayed in his mind somehow far too often, yet never enough during his time away.

Azriel stayed inside of her until their breaths settled, evening out into sync with eachother. He reveled in the warmth of her. His perfect mate - physically, emotionally, spiritually. He’d never take this for granted.

Finally he pulled out of her in one long sweep, she looked down to admire the still considerable length of him even when partially softened. Her stomach dropped to see blood mixed in with their combined releases.

“Az, oh, I’m so s-” She started but he cut her off.

“Baby. It’s just a little blood.”

She almost looked ashamed. “I know but- I’m embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” He puzzled. “It’s completely natural. Do you really think blood bothers me? Come on now beautiful, we’ve had sex during your cycle before. Why shy away now?”

“I just didn’t expect the bleeding to have started already. It explains why I’ve felt so lethargic, I suppose.”

Azriel went to get a warm cloth from the adjoined washroom, returning to wipe her. Her cheeks flushed at the intimate action.

“Stop overthinking it. Besides, we’re mates.” He smiled, a soft look overtaking his eyes. “If you still want to have children with me someday, your cycle is kind of an essential step of the process.”

Y/N flushed at the comment. The thought of carrying his babies was something she’d dreamed about for years now. Thank the gods for her distant Illyrian ancestry and the genes that blessed her with curvy hips capable of birthing winged babes.

“You know, with my cycle returning… we could always start trying? If we stopped taking our tonics now - it should be out of our system in time for ovulation. Rhys has offered recently to let me bring on an assistant book keeper, which would be excellent timing.”

Azriel’s heart fluttered at the thought of it. His mate round and glowing as she carried their baby, a babe that would know so much more love than he ever had as a child. Something so pure and beautiful that could come from the love between he and his mate. They’d talked about it for years now, a dream of theirs. He had to quickly blink away the silver lining his eyes at the gift she was offering him, his selfless mate in all her infinite love. There was no way he could verbally reply in the moment without choking up so he sent waves of adoration, joy, and gratitude down the bond.

She sent every bit of love right back to him, propping up on her elbows to capture his lips in a promising kiss.

———-

After they came to a decision, Azriel carried Y/N to the bathing room where a hot bath full of the oils and epsom salts he’d picked up that morning were waiting. She nearly cried at the relief of the welcoming heat that greeted her.

Before she could object, Azriel quickly stepped out to change the sheets, promptly returning to slide into the bath tub behind her. He washed her hair, massaging her scalp to which she nearly purred like a cat. He carefully washed her entire body massaging her back, thighs, calves, shoulders, and breasts in the process. By the time he was done tending to her, she’d nearly fallen asleep.

Ever the caretaker, she tried to wash him in return but he insisted that this was about her - passing her a rolled up towel to place behind her neck while she relaxed, letting the oils from the bath soak into her skin as he lathered himself. He got out first, toweling himself off before lifting her out of the tub and drying her off with a heated towel.

Though she insisted she could do it herself, Azriel wasn’t having it. This was his day to care for his mate so he helped her into cloth lined linens and selfishly left her topless, slipping her underneath the fresh blankets.

He assured her he’d be right back slipping out to the kitchen to heat up her favorite gnocchi soup and fetch a tray he’d prepared with her pain relieving tonic, bouquet of flowers, and more chocolate.

It didn’t take much to bring his mate joy - the genuine gratitude she’d send down the bond at even the smallest gestures was never lost on him. Perhaps it was self-serving but he couldn’t resist surprising her, coveting each warm smile she’d give him as if he’d never feel warmth again.

He prayed their future babes had her smile, her eyes, any of her features, truly. But most of all, her heart - maybe then, beating within the most precious gift the mother could offer them, she’d finally see just how beautiful she really was.

————

He had to beg and plead like a mad male but finally she agreed to spend the entire weekend in bed with him. Who knew that he, the one who was typically the workaholic, would be the one to grovel at his mates feet begging her to take a break.

Fortunately, she was not immune to his charms and obliged him. At one point, she snuck out of bed in an attempt to accomplish a few tasks around the house before her cramps humbled her. Azriel was promptly startled awake from the nap he’d drifted off to as she loudly exclaimed from down the hall, “Fuck it. Back to bed.”

They spent the rest of the weekend making love, whispering of their dreams for the future, indulging in sweets, and reveling in each others touch with no shortage of laughter and kissing in between.

——————————

A/n: So I’ve totally been under the weather this weekend with no motivation to write but as I laid in bed with my own partner tending to me with whatever I needed, I couldn’t resist writing this. I intended it to be a Drabble but the words just kept flowing. I stan fluffy Az. Anyway, thanks for reading!

For those of you waiting on new parts to my current fics - I promise they’re coming along and will be out soon! xo ♥️

[ladyinwriting18]

A Loyal Death Eater (Severus Snape x Reader)

Summary: Severus comes home to find he's been left a gift from The Dark Lord--you.

Words: 4901 Warnings: PIV, Human Given As A Gift, Master/Servant, Pet Names, Fingering, Oral Male Receiving, Dirty Talk. Author's Note: Hiiii if you know me then welcome back--WILL I EVER STICK TO ONE FANDOM TO WRITE FOR? The answer is no lol If this is your first time reading my writing then welcome! I hope you enjoy my first ever Snape one-shot!

Severus Snape is tired. So very tired. Tired of living this double life. Death Eater. The Order. Following Dumblerdor’s orders. Secretly protecting Harry. Funneling particular information to Voldemort for the sake of keeping up appearances. All while teaching potions. The vein in his temple throbs at the mere thought of his students. He doesn’t want to think about them now. He doesn't want to think about anything. All Severus Snape wants is to bury his face into a pillow. And that’s exactly his plan as he walks into his home and heads up the stairs towards his room... That is until he notices the piece of parchment stuck to the bedroom door. He’s immediately on high alert. Tension has his spine straight and his shoulders up by his ears. With his wand drawn, he creeps closer, ready to hex whatever intruder has managed to sneak into his home. But the signature at the bottom gives him pause. Why the hell was The Dark Lord leaving him handwritten notes? Dark eyes scan the entire letter. “To my most loyal Death Eater. I’ve left you a gift. A reward for all of your hard work. Use it however you wish and dispose of it when you’re done with it.”  Severus raises a brow. It? What exactly was waiting for him on the other side of the door?

There was only one way to find out. With a heavy sigh, he pushes open the door, but what he finds stops him dead in his tracks. A woman sits kneeling on the floor beside his bed. Your head is bowed with your hands placed palms up atop your thighs. But the most shocking thing is that you’re completely naked except for a black and green garter belt on your right thigh. “What is the meaning of this?” he commands, still in a mild state of shock at the scene before him. You, however, do not stir, keeping your body still. “Hello, Master. It is a pleasure to meet you. How may I serve you tonight?”  Your voice is warm…feminine…inviting. It draws Severus in and has him stepping into the room. But the closer he gets to you, the more your words sink in. “Forgive me…serve me?” You nod. “Yes, Master. I belong to you now. For as long as you want me.” The realization hits him like a bludger to the face. “You’re…my gift.” You nod again. “From the Dark Lord.” “And why would the Dark Lord send me a human as a gift?” The disgust in his voice isn’t directed at you, but you respond nonetheless. “To use as you see fit. I am yours and any desire my Master has is mine to fulfill.” He doesn’t know a single soul alive or dead who wouldn’t be tempted by such an offer. And though his heart had been lowered into the ground on the same day that Lily’s body was, he is still a man. A man with needs that he hasn’t even dreamt of allowing himself to feel. He’s standing directly in front of you now. “Look at me,” he commands You eagerly obey, and look up at him with large doe eyes. You stare at him with your gaze filled with willingness. He searches your eyes, attempting to find even an ounce of fear or disgust but finds nothing but devotion. As if you truly want nothing more than to serve.

His mouth goes dry and all of his body’s blood supply seems to be traveling south to his cock. This is wrong. Who knows what the Dark Lord had threatened you with…or where he had stolen you from. But everything about you screams submission. It awakens a darker side of himself. One that he hasn’t felt stirring since he was a young, newly appointed Death Eater. Back then Lucius Malfoy would hire girls and throw secret parties down in the dungeons below his estate. It was at these “parties” that Severus found his proclivity for knots…and magically binding girls to the ceiling so he could fuck them until they were begging to cum. It’s a time that he wishes he could scrub clean. Not only from his mind but from the history books of his life. Shame had accompanied him at those parties because he knew this was a part of him that he couldn’t share with Lilly. Even if James Potter had never been in the picture and Lilly had somehow been his. She was too lovely and sweet for that sort of depravity. She would have never enjoyed such things. And he would never— “Master?” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, his eyes focusing back on you just as you reach out to take his hand. Your grip is so light, almost as if you’re worried your touch will offend him. “I want to please you. Want to give you whatever it is you need. Please? All I want is to be a good girl for you.” A good girl. His cock throbs. How you knew exactly what to say, baffles him. Perhaps you were a skilled Legilimens—allowing you a peek into his thoughts. Either way, you said the phrase that never failed to stop him in his tracks. He grips your hand more firmly and lets his other move to your cheek—to see if you’ll flinch at his touch. But, bloody hell, you lean into his palm and press your lips to the pad of his thumb. Never once averting your gaze. He lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. You’re all his.  “You said you’ll fulfill any request?” His thumb grazes over your bottom lip, opening it to reveal the tiniest bit of the inside of your mouth. “Anything,” you concur. His mind races with endless possibilities. He hasn’t tapped into this part of himself in years. It makes him antsy to claim you. But Severus Snape is not a rash man. He does not allow his emotions to make him sloppy. He is cunning and calculating. And more importantly, he knows exactly how he’ll have you prove yourself. He slides his foot forward, placing his black leather dress shoe in front of you. “Kiss it.” Immediately, you obey, positioning yourself on all fours before leaning down to press your lips to the tip. But you don’t stop there. In fact, you cover the entire top of his shoe with kisses. With each kiss, you let out a soft, sweet noise–as if this act of obedience is actually bringing you pleasure. 

Severus lets out a rough command, “Don’t stop.” You don’t, lowering your upper body further onto the floor, but purposely keeping your hips in the air to showcase the curve of your ass. Your kisses turn to licks, making the top of his boot glisten with your spit. The sight of both almost makes him lose control. “Keep going,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling his cock pulsing within the constraints of his pants. You pull your torso off the floor, moving closer to him so you can start kissing and nuzzling your way up the length of his leg. Not once do you break eye contact. You look at him without fear, without disgust, without judgment. 

It's an unusual occurrence for him. He’s used to his students being intimidated by the mere mention of his name. Even in his school days, he had never been known as a looker. But this is different. You are different. You look at him with reverence and lust while you continue your path up his leg. However, once you reach his groin, you stop and sit back on your heels. You return to your earlier position, with your feet tucked under you and your hands resting palms up atop your knees. You’re so submissive. It’s perfection. “You’re waiting for my command, aren’t you?” he asks, moving his hand to hover over the bulge in his pants.

Your eyes dart at the movement of his hand that’s now slowly rubbing his erection through his pants. You seem transfixed but still manage to reply.

“Yes, Master. I’m your property. My sole purpose is to please you.”

“My property?” he breathes, freeing his aching cock from his trousers.  

He watches with satisfaction when your eyes widen at the sight of it. 

You only nod, too busy watching as he starts to slowly stroke the shaft of his cock. He does this more to tease you than for his own pleasure. It clearly works because you fidget ever so slightly. “You’re my property,” he repeats, louder to refocus you. “My beautiful…little good girl.” Severus pants between words, stroking himself with a firmer grip.

“Yes, Master,” you moan with a lick of your lips. “I’m your good girl.”

“Then prove it by sucking your Master’s cock.” 

You almost take him by surprise with how fast you rise onto your knees. Gently, you nudge his hand away before wrapping your own around the base of his cock. You hold eye contact with him while tracing your tongue over the veins in his shaft. “You taste so good,” you moan out and drag your tongue along the underside until you reach the tip. You clearly know what you’re doing. Severus swears his heart beats in time with the flicking of your tongue. Your hand and mouth work simultaneously—tugging firmly while playfully licking. That is until your hand falls away so you can swallow his cock whole. “Bloody hell,” he swears, involuntarily bucking his hips forward.  

Pleased by his reaction, you hum and tighten your lips around him as you pick up your pace, bobbing your head up and down while sucking him off. He watches you intently. His dark brown eyes burn almost black as you suck him off like your life depended on it. “The good girl is enjoying this, isn’t she?” he hotly whispers, cock stiffening in your mouth. You nod with a mischievous twinkle in your eye. The sounds of you slurping and sucking with such passion sends Severus into a frenzy. His fingers twitch with the need to touch you. Your mouth is warm and so fucking inviting, like his cock was always meant to be there. He wants…no—needs more. No longer able to keep his hands to himself, Severus’ hand grips the back of your head. Long, nimble fingers tangle within the locks of your hair and start to move you up and down at just the right pace. Obeying his physical commands, you allow him to fuck your mouth while you drool all over him. So much so that he can feel saliva dripping onto his balls. Fuck you were messy. He loves it. Almost too much. But you’re looking at him with an affectionate gaze and it only makes him want more. Both of his hands grip onto your head, thrusting his hips forward so he could slam his cock into your throat. Your hands grab his thighs to try to hold yourself steady and not gag. “That’s it,” he grunts, “choke on your Master’s cock.” You groan with brows knitting together while saliva drips from the corner of your mouth. Severus would have thought he was being too rough if it wasn’t for your crumpled, pleasure-stricken face. He allows himself a moment to take you all in, wanting to commit you to his memory. So that when you’re gone, he’ll still have this image of you prettily sucking his cock. That’s when he notices you pressing your thighs together. Fire pools within his rib cage. You’re actually getting off on this. On pleasing him. On gagging on him. On obeying him. Suddenly, having you down on your knees isn’t enough. “Stand up,” he commands and forcefully pulls away, slipping his cock from your mouth. You take a moment to catch your breath and wipe the spit from your chin. Wanting to give you time to compose yourself, he keeps himself busy by stripping fully out of his clothing and casting a quick protection and contraceptive spell with a few flicks of his wand. By the time you’re on your feet, he’s standing before you naked. Your eyes run over his form and take a step forward with hands outstretched as if you want to touch. He doesn’t give you the chance. Instead, he places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you backward until your knees hit the side of his bed and you fall back onto the mattress with a surprised yelp. Your gaze shifts, looking at him towering over you with large eyes. He steps forward, nudging your knees apart with his leg. “Be a good girl and open wider for me.” Your knees fall apart, giving him a full view of your cunt. 

“You’re so wet,” he breathes, in awe that you’re already dripping when he hasn’t so much as touched you. Calloused fingertips run up your inner thighs. The skin there is tender so you shiver until they make contact with your cunt and a chorus of sweet melodies leave your parted lips. You greedily grind into his touch, already wanting more. With a grin, he enjoys himself as he plays with you. He prods your opening and watches your eyelids flutter close. “What a needy cunt you have.” He means it as a compliment, but it’s laced with a snark that’s meant to embarrass you. It works, color flushing over your cheeks. “It’s your cunt now, Master. All of me is yours.” It’s clear that being owned is a massive turn-on for you. And if he’s honest, he’s more than happy to play this game. “That’s right,” he breathes, fingers tracing up towards your clit. “Every inch of you is mine. Including your clit.” He applies pressure to the sensitive bud, causing you to whine and twitch. You nearly come undone from how skillfully he draws circles on your clit. But every time you buck your hips forward, his fingers move away.  “More Master. Please, give me more.” You whine and twitch, pleading sweetly. So sweetly that it’s impossible for him to continue teasing you. His fingers move to your entrance, and he plunges them inside your tightness.  You cry out in surprise, both hands grabbing ahold of the arm pressed between your thighs. His fingers are long and thick, moving in and out in slick quick thrusts. He finger fucks you mercilessly and you love it. 

You toss your head back, mouth falling open wide as you moan towards the ceiling.

Severus leans in, caging you beneath his body, and nuzzles his nose along the side of your face. His body is pressed against yours now and you gasp at the feeling of his hard cock leaking precum on your thigh.  “Master…” you whimper, and he chuckles before whispering hotly into your ear. “This belongs to me as well. This tight dripping cunt is mine. Is that understood?” he asks while picking up the pace of his fingers. You struggle to respond, tripping over your words but he doesn’t relent—wanting you to work through the pleasure. “Y-Yes. Yes, Master! I-I understand.” He hums his praise, calling you a good girl before falling silent. For the next few minutes, the only sounds heard are the sounds of your desperate cries and the wet squelching sounds of your cunt. Your orgasm is drawing closer, threatening to take you over. “I…I’m going to–” But your words aren’t needed because Severus knows what a woman looks like before she’s about to cum. “I know, sweet thing,” he cuts you off, looking at you and holding eye contact. “But cumming for me is a privilege. One you must ask for.” You nod your head, gripping his arm tighter, “May I cum? Please let me cum for my Master?”  With a proud grin, he says the three most glorious words. “Cum for me.” The permission is all you need, the cord inside you snapping. 

Your body goes rigid and your ability to speak is replaced with breathy, unrestrained moans. Your orgasm hits you hard, but it’s only when you limply slump back onto the mattress that he carefully removes his fingers from you. They’re soaked in your juices. Severus suddenly finds himself very parched. You’re looking up at him with a flushed face and glossed-over eyes but are clearly too focused on catching your breath. So, he lets you watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean. You make a noise of surprise, mesmerized by his mouth. Satisfied with this small taste of you, he releases his fingers with a soft ‘pop’. “Mmmh, delicious.”  “I’m glad Master thinks so. Thank you for letting me cum,” you murmur politely.

And just when he thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Sitting beside you on the bed, he grabs your upper arms and hauls you towards him. He crashes his lips onto yours, forcing his tongue inside of your mouth. You return the kiss in a flurry of passion as your hands begin to roam freely over his body. Starting from his shoulder, you trail your hands down his bare chest to his hip bones. He moans into your mouth, enjoying the feeling of your soft hands and the way you gently suck at his tongue. Your hands continue downward until your fingertips brush against his still very hard cock. He breaks the kiss with a smirk. “Is there something you want, Little One?” You brush your lips against his with a nod. “I want to help my Master to cum.” He can already guess what you’re about to say, but still, Severus tucks a lock of hair behind your ear and whispers, “And how do you plan to do that?” “However you’d like me to.” Your answer is immediate but something tells him it isn’t the entire truth. His fingers grip your jaw, tilting it so you’re forced to maintain eye contact with him. “Tell me how you want to make your Master cum.” With wide eyes, the truth pours from your mouth like uncorked wine. “My cunt. Please use my cunt.” Your plea is so desperate that he doesn’t waste any more time leaning in closer until you have to shift your position to lay back on the bed. With a nudge to your thighs, your legs part to accommodate him as he places a hand beside your head, trapping you beneath him. He’s settled between your thighs now with his cock pressed against your core. You moan in unison at the contact. As if it’s painful for both of you to not have him buried inside. 

Your hands run from his forearms, over his shoulders, and down his chest. “Take me, please. Let me feel my Master’s cock inside.”

He straightens his back and guides your legs to wrap around his waist fully. You continue to plead, but instead of giving you a verbal reply, he plunges balls deep inside of you. You both instantly tense. He, because of the tightness of your walls clinging around him, and you, because of the sudden intrusion of his cock demanding to be taken. “That’s it. Taking me so well,” he breathlessly praises, slowly moving out, then back in so you’d have time to adjust. Severus had always refused to inflict pain on his partners that they hadn’t consented to and begged for. And he isn’t about to start now. So he waits until he feels you relax.

Your head lulls to the side with a moan, feeling beyond stuffed full, but also whole.

You coo, arching into him. Severus knew he couldn’t keep his movements slow for much longer.

“Is this what you want? To be fucked until I own this cunt?” “Yes!” you whine, starting to grind your hips in an attempt to get his cock deeper. “I want my Master to ruin me for anyone else.” It’s the word ruin that does him in. Unable to wait any longer he slams into you. You yelp, grabbing ahold of his forearms and sinking your nails into his flesh. The slight bite of pain only spurs him on, his pace anything but slow. The rough and steady rhythm of his thrusts has you already clenching around him. 

He isn’t sure where to look. At your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure, or at your cunt that’s currently swallowing him whole. You toss your head back, slightly obscuring you from his view. So he settles his gaze downward–watching how his cock glistens from your juices every time he pulls out. It’s an intoxicating sight.

One that threatens to force him to spill himself inside of you. But he won’t. Not yet. Not until he’s done enjoying you for a bit longer. Not until he can make you cum again. He grabs some of your hair and tugs so you’re forced to look back at him. “You love this, don’t you? Using your cunt to please me?” Your legs wrap even tighter around his waist, drawing closer…deeper. “Yes, Master! Feels so good pleasing you!” Pressure builds in your lower belly from the orgasm that’s steadily approaching. It feels like he’s everywhere. In you. On you. All over you. “M-Master I—so close. P-Please.” 

You’re struggling to form words but he already knows what you’re trying to say. He reaches between your bodies to your clit and rubs it, strokes it, and draws circles on it until he finds the touch that has you babbling in broken, indecipherable sentences.

“I want you to cum,” he speaks in labored breaths, teasing your clit while still spearing you on his length. “I want you to cum for me now.”

For a moment, you fall completely silent, but then it hits. The unfiltered, beautiful howls that accompany your climax. All the while, your inner walls close around him in the most delicious way. He curses, lurching forward as you gush and spasm around him. It’s too much, and he’s quickly following you over the edge, filling you with his cum. You both tremble through your aftershocks, unable to detangle from one another while coming down from your highs. He feels like a new man after cumming for the first time in God knows how long. But one look at you and your sleep-heavy eyes has him focusing on steadying his breathing faster. Memories from his past return to him, and words like aftercare play through his mind. It displeases him that he doesn’t know what you require right now—space or intimacy? Deciding it’s best to take the middle ground, he slowly slips out of you but sits on the edge of the bed beside you. He takes the utmost care not to jostle you but you don’t seem to notice because you’ve already turned onto your side facing him. You make yourself comfortable, curling up with your eyes closed and a relaxed smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Relieved, he lets out a breath and runs his hand through his dark locks to move it off his face. “That felt amazing. Thank you, Master,” you mumble happily into his pillow. “Call me Severus.” “As you wish, Master Severus.” A spark of warmth emanates from his chest. He likes the way you say his name. It makes him feel things. He reaches for you, tugging you into his arms to help you sit up. At first, you whine, but relax when he pulls you to sit between his thighs and leans you against his chest. He holds you close and whispers, “Will you tell me your name?” You peek up at him with a smile and say it. He repeats it, liking the way your name rolls off his tongue. You nod, your smile widening across your face. He can’t stop himself from stroking your cheek. “I’ll be right back.” He stands, making his way over to his wardrobe. “Get yourself ready for bed, Little One.” He calls from over his shoulder as he uses his wand for a simple cleansing spell. Since you’ve managed to coat even his balls in your slick. 

Afterward, he slips on a pair of black silk pajama pants. He’s about to put a shirt on when he turns back to you, expecting to find you dressed, but instead, he finds you sitting on his bed and watching him. “Where are your night robes?” You fidget uncomfortably, looking away. Severus should have known this wouldn’t last. He tries to disguise his disappointment but fails. “If you don’t wish to stay, then just say so.” The ice in his voice is evident and you snap your head up in his direction. “I-It’s not that!” you protest. “I want to stay. I just…don’t have any clothes.” His frown deepens, “The Dark Lord didn’t leave your clothes here for you?” You shake your head ‘no’. This only confuses him further. To have you waiting for him nude was clearly meant to entice him, but to leave you with nothing to wear after doesn’t make sense. “No personal belongings at all? I don’t understand how he expected you to get home after this.” You flinch, once again looking away. “He said…” you trail off. “Never mind, Master.” He didn’t need spells or potions to see the discomfort radiating off of you. With the long-sleeved shirt he had intended for himself in hand, he makes his way over to you. Of course, he could have simply conjured you some clothing, but if he’s being honest with himself— He wants you wrapped up in him for a while longer. “Arms up.”

You lift your head and see the shirt in his hands. You obey, and he slips the shirt over your head to help you dress. “It’s a tad big on you, but it will do until morning.” You pull your knees to your chest while muttering a ‘thank you’. There’s still something bothering you and Severus is determined to figure out what it is. “Look at me,” he commands, knowing you’ll obey. When you do, he continues, “Tell your Master what’s bothering you.” Perhaps it isn’t right for him to pull the ‘dom’ card when you aren’t technically his submissive, but he needs the truth. You stall for a little longer, gnawing on your bottom lip until you finally respond, “The Dark Lord told me that I didn’t need to pack any of my things because he didn’t believe you’d want me after you were through with me.” “I see…What else did the Dark Lord tell you?”

“That I belong to whoever comes into the room, and that I was to serve them until they no longer had use for me. Which he predicted would be just for tonight…Then he–” You falter, bravery abandoning you. He lets out a breath, resisting the urge to scrub at his eyes. Of course, he had threatened you. Placing a finger underneath your chin, he gently raises it. Your eyes flutter, struggling to meet his gaze. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” You only nod. “You have my word that you’re under my protection now. Do you understand?” You nod again and summon your bravery so you can continue. “Then he said that maybe he would pass me around to the other Death Eaters or maybe he’d use me himself.” Severus can’t explain the jealousy that boils within him. But it’s there. Hot and nauseating. Suddenly, he can’t bear the thought of another having you. Not Voldemort. Not anyone. “No one is allowed to touch what’s mine.” The threat of his words hangs in the air, but you look relieved. “You…You mean you’ll keep me here with you?” He hadn’t realized he had said that aloud. Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. All he knew was that the only hands he wanted on you were his. “Is that…something you’d want?” You smile bright, brighter than the summer’s sun. “Nothing would make me happier, Master.” As beautiful as you are, and as lovely as it sounds to have a warm cunt to bury himself in each night, the cold blade of reality cuts through. “Listen to me, there are still many things we’ll need to discuss—”But you aren’t listening because you’re too busy crawling into his lap. You straddle him and nuzzle your face into the side of his neck.

“Thank you, Severus,” you whisper against his skin, melting against his body as you make yourself comfortable.

No one has ever thanked him in his entire life. He isn’t sure how to handle it.

The longer you lay against him, the more a warmth blooms inside his breastbone.

He can’t deny how good it feels to have you close.

Things can’t be this simple can they?

Nothing in his life had ever been simple.

You let out a small sigh, seemingly starting to fall asleep while sitting up. It tears him from his thoughts and instead has him worried about your comfort. He shifts and lays down on the bed with you still tucked into his chest.

He had no way of knowing if this would work, but bloody hell did you fit perfectly against him.

Years of tension seemingly start to melt away as sleep threatens to take him over.

Voldemort had given you to him for being his most loyal Death Eater.

And while nothing could be further from the truth, Severus Snape can’t help but think.

This was the best damn present he’d ever received.

[alllgator-blood]

I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done

my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION

I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut

Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.

here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.

So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.

For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....

I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time

OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard

[cinnamonest]

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

[pinkcandyhearts04]

zoro and sanji teaching each other how to fuck you (pt 1, pt 2)

18+ ACCOUNT/CONTENT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

warnings: even more exhibitionism, degradation, lots of praise, p in v, afab reader!, more men whimpering we love to see it, feminine pronouns

your back arches off of the bed with a quiet whine as sanji buries his tounge into your heat, his thumb still toying with your clit despite the way your hips spasmed every so often against his mouth. he pulls away, panting softly and glaring at zoro. "they've had enough, don't you think?" he grumbles at the swordsman who was now sitting in the lounge chair, watching the two of you with nothing except for his pants on, the zipper unzipped to give him easy access to his cock. "shut up. we're not finished yet, are we, sweetheart?" you vigorously shake your head over at zoro and then at sanji, the pleading look in your eyes sending a chill down the cook's spine. he swallows thickly before his mouth gets back to work, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit that make you tug on his hair. you loll your head over to look at zoro, moaning at the sight of him jerking himself off and not shy to make direct eye contact you as he watches your features twist with pleasure.

"put them on their knees. push their head down." sanji can barely look at you with the position he has you in, slightly bothered by it only because he's so used to being able to see your face. he loved seeing it in your eyes, the unwavering desire in them as he called you so many sweet things only the two of you knew; you honestly weren't sure just how you would react to having sanji trying to be a little more assertive. "it's alright, mon amour, you look absolutely astounding like this-" "you talk too much. if you're gonna talk, make sure it's to put them on the spot." zoro suddenly says, making sanji scowl at him. "he thinks you're so innocent, huh? but here you are, letting us fuck you in front of each other and watch. you're fucking spoiled." sanji tries to argue back with zoro, to tell him to let up with the degradation, but even he can feel the way you press your hips back against his in an attempt to entice him further towards you.

sanji looks down at you with a slight look of disbelief, looking over at zoro when he snickers. "well, don't leave them waiting." he says, leaning back in the chair and starting to stroke himself again. sanji's eyebrows furrow as he slowly pushes into you, moaning in unison with you at the sight of his cock slipping past your folds. "don't go too slow." as much as sanji doesn't want to, he doesn't give you much time to relish in the stretch of him inside of you. his hips snap against yours at a steady pace, his face already flushed red with desire and his lips parting with soft pants. "grab her ass. as much as you can." zoro groans softly, watching the way your eyes flutter shut. sanji's hands rub over your sides and down to your ass, squeezing it and eliciting the most beautiful sound sanji is sure he's ever heard. "faster. don't let them pick up their head." sanji is a little more willing now to do so, his hand pressing your face further into the sheets as he picks up the pace of his hips.

muffled whines leave you when you feel yourself getting close, shuddering when sanji leans forward so that his chest is flush against your back; not zoro's request but the swordsman was too focused on fucking his fist to worry about it. sanji whispers praise into your ear, his hand finding your clit and rubbing circles into it, making high pitched whines leave you as your hips stutter against sanji's. "i-i'll take care of you, beautiful, l-let go.." he pants softly, keeping his hips close so that he can feel you on every inch of himself. before you know it, the coil inside of you comes undone, making a loud cry leave you as you cum, shuddering against sanji as he continues to ride out his high. not too far behind you, he let out low groans as he presses his hips flush to yours, pumping you full of everything he has.

[decembermidnight]

Who do you belong to?

Summary: You go to the healing baths to massage Mando's hot body with oil. After that, in the hot springs, he makes sure that everyone understands you only belong to him.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, body worship, teasing, unprotected sex, switching (dom!din, sub!reader, sub!din, dom!reader), titjob, exhibitionism, public sex, possessive!din, creampie, facial, praise kink, degradation kink, brief and vague mentions of sex work

A/N: This oneshot is based on a dream I had. This is also the first time I'm writing sub!din and I absolutely loved it and uhm what can I say except you'll see more in the future? As always, I hope you enjoy it. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. Divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian's whole body hurts like hell after his last excruciating hunt. You want to give him a well-deserved massage to let him know how much you appreciate what he does, to help him relax and alleviate his pain, but you don’t want to do that in the cold, dark hull of his ship, so you decide to go to the most renowned healing baths of the outer rim - a place that has private massage rooms and restorative hot springs, even if most of its regulars go there for the brothel.

When you’re discreetly asked if you would like some company for the night, he is quick to turn down the offer. 

"I already have" he then whispers in your ear, hugging you from behind and lowering the hem of your dress to expose your nipple "my whore." his voice is calm and husky as he starts to delicately circle your nipple with his gloved finger right there in the mess of the busy hall, crowded by unaware customers and workers waiting to be chosen for the night. You let out an aroused sigh and lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as you feel your cunt already throbbing with need.

His hand won’t leave your waist as you walk towards your private room for the night, and when you finally get there, you can only catch a glimpse of what it looks like - dimly lit by candles, a big and comfortable massage bed in the centre - before he locks the door and pins you against the wall, closing your eyes with his hand. You hear the metallic thud of the beskar helmet falling on the floor and immediately feel his lips on yours as your fingers start running through his messy hair.

His mouth is greedy and lustful and the way he desires your lips drives you wild, making you hold him tighter, craving for more. You kiss each other in a longing, warm and passionate way. He sticks his tongue in your mouth and you can’t help letting out a moan when you feel it finally meeting with yours.

"What a dirty girl. You like letting me take out your tits in front of everyone, don’t you?" he growls in between hungry kisses.

"Fuck, yes, I do." you’re a panting mess already, incredibly turned on just by the way he’s kissing you.

"Do you like being looked at while I touch you, knowing that you're only mine?" he softly whispers against your lips, barely audible as he gently squeezes your throat.

"Yes, Mando. Let them see what they will never have. Show them who I fucking belong to." you cup his face in your hands and bite his bottom lip fiercely.

He goes crazy at that, and pushes you against the wall even further with his body, his beskar armour against your skin, his erection on your lower belly. You moan again in his mouth and grip tight to his biceps as his kisses make you tremble out of lust.

“I want you. Want you so bad.” you whisper on his lips, as he keeps kissing your mouth lovingly.

“Not so fast” he smirks as he turns you around, pinning you once again against the wall, beskar pressed against your back.

You let out an aroused sigh and keep your eyes shut as you feel his hot breath on your neck and his hands gently caressing your body, worshipping your feminine curves. He covers your neck in sweet kisses as his moustache softly tickles you - the feeling gives you a thrill and you arch your back in response, wanting to feel even more of him, humping his erection with your ass and letting out a gasp. He bites your neck to muffle his moan as his hands strongly squeeze your breasts. With a thrust of his hips, he pushes your body even further against the wall and goes on kissing you, following the curve of your shoulder, playing with the straps of your dress between his fingers, making you quiver at the contact of his lips with your skin. 

His hands trail down to your hips and under your dress to take off your drenched panties. You kick out of them and immediately feel his gloved hand cupping your mound, his finger teasing your slit, making you moan in anticipation. He hums in your ear and softly bites your lobe when he feels how wet you are.

"Please-" you whisper in a breathy moan.

You feel him kneeling behind you and you arch your back, spreading your legs and sticking your ass out so that he'll want to bury his face in your folds. His hands start to caress your thighs as he admires the view of your glistening pussy from under your skirt. He gets close, so close to your core, you can feel his breath between your legs.

"Could eat you all night like this." he whispers against your clit, just before giving it a quick lick that makes your whole body shake in anticipation.

"Too bad it won't be tonight." he chuckles sadistically as you hear him putting his helmet back on.

“M-Mando! You can’t-” you try to argue with him, but he’s quick to turn you around and to lean an arm on the wall behind you, towering over you, lifting your chin with his free hand. You’re face to face with his visor now, and you quit complaining, speechless and aroused as he stands so menacingly in front of you and grabs your throat.

“Shut up. And strip me.” he orders with his firm voice.

His pose, his voice, his order make your knees weak and you’re suddenly so grateful for the wall behind you.

He stays completely still as you go on removing layer after layer of beskar and clothing from his body, taking all the time in the world, letting him simmer as you look at him with lustful eyes, slowly discovering the hot, tanned, muscular frame always concealed underneath the Mandalorian armour. You are so reverentially careful, wanting to gently touch his hot skin at every chance given, feeling his gaze from under the visor following the movement of your fingers on his muscles and the adoring way you look at him.

“Go lay down on the bed. Let me take care of you now.” you let a finger slide on his abdomen and stop right at his dark curls, ignoring his painfully hard cock twitching at how sweet and inviting your voice sounds. He obeys you, going to lay down on his stomach on the massage bed.

You grab an oil bottle from the stand right next to the bed, let a few drops coat your hands and start massaging his shoulders. The muscles are tense, you feel the knots under your loving touch. You hope to alleviate the pressure of the guns and armour he’s always carrying, carefully kneading one of your favourite parts of his gorgeous body. He sinks into the massage bed, completely abandoning himself to you, letting you take care of him and his needs, letting his guard down, trusting you. You slide your thumbs up, towards his neck, concentrating on his nape, hoping it will be a relief from always wearing the heavy beskar helmet.

You keep massaging him, sliding down slowly and softly towards his back. His tan skin is smooth and hot to the touch, and you can see and feel all the small dips formed by his muscles, which you diligently follow with your fingers, wanting to memorise every single one of them, and the scars that he has gained over the years, and you can’t help but think of how many enemies he has defeated in battle, how strong he is, how nothing bad could happen to you while you’re with him. His muscles are so tense and you take your time kneading them, releasing his knots, hoping that it will help him relax and feel less pain. He hums under your touch, enjoying it. 

“Feels so good.” he whispers, barely audible. He loves to feel your hands touching his body. “Will you also massage the front of my body, sweet girl?” he asks.

“Of course." you purr on his shoulder blade, planting a kiss there, making him shudder as you trace your fingers down his spine. "Turn around for me."

When he does, you let out in an exhale all the air in your lungs at the sight of that gorgeous body of his - thick and strong, the outline of his muscles peeks from under his golden, tan skin and is accentuated by the warm, dim light of the candles scattered around the room. There is a slight taper at his waist, making his shoulders the broadest part of his body, and when your eyes trail down, you notice his cock is rock hard for you, its tip deliciously glistening in precum. 

Just as you’re speechless looking at him - every time it’s like the first time, you won’t ever get used to how stunning he is - he folds his arms behind his head. He knows you love it when he does it - this position makes his muscles look even bigger.

"Why don't you start from my arms and shoulders? They've been killing me lately." he teases.

You know he's doing this on purpose, smirking under that damn helmet for sure, feeling how aroused you are at the sight of that devastatingly gorgeous masculine body.

You feel your clit pulsing right under your dress at his teasing, so you close your legs to try and alleviate the pressure so that you can focus on your task.

You start massaging his arms, accurately touching his biceps, oiling them, following the curve of his triceps until his elbow, running your fingers on him as he flexes his muscles on purpose, to make you feel how hard and strong they are, humming under your touch for the sole purpose of teasing you, to drive you crazy, to make you desperate begging for his cock. The look on your face must be of pure lust as you admire the wonder of him, knowing all of that it's only for your eyes to see and for you to touch. You squeeze his arms hard, groping his muscles with longing hands and close your eyes as you feel your pussy clenching in desperate need of attention.

"Is there something you want to ask me, pretty girl?" he taunts you as he sees how hard you're trying to contain yourself.

One of his hands travels to your knee, then up to your thigh, your legs spread for him until he reaches your slit, dripping wet.

“Take your dress off and sit on me.” he orders as he draws circles on your clit with his finger, making you moan loudly as your pussy produces the filthiest wet sounds. He takes his hand away, cleaning it by spreading your slick all over his erection, lazily and mercilessly stroking his cock in front of your eyes.

"Tell me to stop, or I won't." his voice is firm and authoritative, and you feel a blaze traversing your body, making your cunt ache with need.

The sight of him completely naked, giving himself pleasure with your very same arousal in front of you makes your blood boil.

"S-stop. Stop touching yourself." you say shyly as you slowly take off your dress, freeing your breasts and stepping out of it. 

"You don't sound very convincing. Seems like you enjoy watching me do it. Try again." he goads you, gripping his cock even tighter watching your exposed breasts.

Something inside of you snaps. If he wants you to give him orders, you will give him orders.

"I said" you go sit on his lap, straddling him. 

"Stop." you take the hand stroking his cock into yours. 

"Touching." you bring his hand up over his head, your body now is skin to skin against his. 

"Yourself." you look at him straight into the visor of his helmet, a flame burning in your eyes.

He growls under the helmet as your sudden power surge makes his cock throb under you.

"Fuck. You're so hot when you give me orders. Greedy whore. You want to be the only one touching this cock, don't you?"

You purposefully grind your pussy against his erection as you put his hand behind his head, same position as earlier.

"Fuck yes. I own it. It's mine. You're mine." you keep sliding your drenched cunt on its length, making him grunt. You cup his helmet in your hands, close your eyes and lift it enough just to kiss him on the lips. His lips part for you and you slide your tongue in. His mouth is welcoming, warm and passionate and it’s devastating how much he desires you, wanting more and more of you. You rub your body on his, making obscene sounds in his mouth. He swallows them greedily, humming under you. He sticks his tongue in your mouth, so heavily aroused by how authoritative you are in this moment, both with your words and your gestures, wanting to make you understand how much he's enjoying it. No one had ever lifted his helmet before and that little thrill of fear he felt when you did it, makes him even more feral for you.

You try to keep your cool, feeling his cock deliciously rubbing against your clit, so close to where you desperately want him. The mere rubbing gets you close to your orgasm so embarrassingly early, but you don't want to come just yet, not now that you're just getting started. You want it to be a pleasurable torment and tease him until he’s begging you.

You take a deep breath and bite his bottom lip, humming and lowering his helmet back on. After that, you reach for the oil and let a few drops fall on his chest and start massaging him, his firm pectoral muscles twitching under your touch, his erection softly brushing against your swollen core.

You can’t help thinking about how good it will feel to ride him just like that, but you want to torture him a bit more.

Later.

Later you'll ride him.

You slide your hands on his sides and see his abs contracting, showing you how deliciously in shape his body is. Your fingers can't stop touching his body and groping his muscles, exploring the soft dimples of his abdomen and feeling them twitching under the skin.

Your fingers slowly start to tease his lower belly, tracing that tempting v shape that goes on dying in his dark curls, making it glisten under the dim light in the most tempting way. You follow it with your oiled fingers and feel him tremble, ticklish and aroused at the same time, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier by the second, knowing your hands are so close to his erection.

"Why d-don't you go lower?" he asks. It sounds more like a beg than an order.

"Not so fast" you mock him as you trail your fingers desperately close to his erection without ever brushing it, making him grunt and throb under you. He wants you so much, he gives a thrust of his hips and you both moan at the same time.

"Patience, Mando." you tease him as you slide your body down between his legs to massage his muscular thighs. He goes crazy when he sees your mouth and your breasts so close, so damn close to his throbbing cock. You give him a long, excruciatingly thorough massage to his thighs, planting kisses on them until you get so close to his dick, but you won't touch it just yet. You feel his frustration grow stronger, and feel pleased with yourself at how much you're making him falter.

When you decide you made him suffer enough, you grab the oil again and let a few drops fall on his erection, his body marvellously answering by desperately twitching at that light stimulation. You spread the oil with your finger on his length, barely brushing it, just to tease him a little bit more and give him a taste of his own medicine for once.

"How does that feel?" you ask in a low voice, your lustful gaze steady on the dark visor.

He chokes a grunt when you wrap your thumb and index finger around his cock, stroking it painfully slow.

"D-damn, mesh'la. F-feels so, so fucking g-good"

All of his muscles go rigid as you wrap both of your hands around his throbbing dick, one on top of the other, and when you start slowly stroking it, he lets out a desperate groan.

"Do not move, or I'll stop. You look so fucking good like this. Oiled, naked and throbbing for me."

"M-mesh'la" his voice is begging you to pick up the pace, but he's enjoying this torture at the same time.

You have some fun with it, feeling so powerful and sadistic hearing the whining sounds he's making as you're touching him like this, seeing his chest moving, his abs contracting, imagining how desperate he'd look under the helmet.

"Do you want more?"

"Ngh- P-please" he pleads in a breathy voice.

That's when you start fucking him with your breasts. His cock is so oiled, it slips perfectly between your boobs as you look at him while licking your lips. They're so soft and tempting as you squeeze them in your hands, massaging his needy, throbbing dick. He groans desperately, muttering filth in his native language at the sight and the feeling. You make sure to give him the best view you could possibly offer - his cock slipping between your breasts as you never interrupt eye contact. You're starting to enjoy the control you have over him, feeling so powerful and seeing him so yielding and willing to let you have your fun at his expense.

You tease him for a bit like this, and then you go back straddling him. Your cunt is throbbing and needy and dripping wet as one of your hands is back slowly stroking his cock right in front of it.

He puts his hands on your hips, and one of his thumbs starts rubbing your clit, sending you to heaven. You keep touching each other, never breaking eye contact.

"Was I a - oh, fuck - Was I a good girl, Mando?"

"Y-yes. Yes, you're such a good girl." 

"Do I deserve your cock?"

"You do, fuck. You do."

"I want to ride you. Please. Let me ride your cock. I can't take it anymore. I need it." you whimper as you rock your hips and position his oiled cock in front of your entrance, making him feel how wet for him you are.

He hums in pleasure when you do so.

"Fuck. Do it. Ride me like it's my last night alive." he orders you in a gasp.

"Oh, I fucking will." You take in his cock and it slides perfectly inside of you, slow, smooth and you both let out a long, loud groan of pleasure that empties your lungs.

Being so full of him makes you speechless. His grip on your hips tightens as you start to move, riding him. You roll your head back as your hands rest on his chest and slowly trail towards his sides. You rarely ever see him from this perspective, you being in control of the rhythm of the thrusts and looking at his naked body under yours. You know his dominance is just dormant, he's letting you have a little bit of fun before it crawls out again, making you remember who is actually in charge - him. He loves to see you being in control right now, seeing how you handle him, the many ways you find to tease him, driving him insane. The thought of dominating such a menacing, dangerous man makes you afire with lust. Maker, you’re enjoying it so much that you dig your nails into his hips, scratching him, making him hiss, blending pleasure and pain in such a perfect way. His hips rock against yours, pushing his cock even deeper inside of you, making you gasp, leaving you breathless.

He grabs the oil bottle and pours some of it on your breasts, looking at the way the viscous fluid drips from your nipples to your belly. He then starts to massage them, groping and squeezing them in his hands as he starts to violently thrust into you, heavily aroused at the sight of your oiled, glistening body.

He lets out groans of pleasure and you can see his core tightening, the veins above his cock getting more pronounced. Seeing the shape of his abs sends a hot spark to your core and you put your hands on his, so as to squeeze your boobs even harder, and keep riding him in fluid motions rolling your hips.

"Oh, fuck, you've never been hotter than this. Riding my dick like a princess warrior, taming me like I'm a wild animal, all while looking so hot. I want to stick it so deep inside of you. I want to come inside of you so hard. Fucking hell, tell me you want it. Tell me you want all my cum in that beautiful cunt." he says in an adoring voice.

Your body is shaking as it's getting dangerously close to your orgasm. "I want it. Please come inside me. Please go on. Don't stop, Mando. Oh, please make me come. I'm so, so close." you beg him.

"Damn, I can feel it getting tighter. So hot and wet for me, pretty girl. You're mine. My little whore. Gonna make you come so hard and then I'll fill you. Come. Come riding my cock, mesh’la."

You keep riding him, a few more thrusts and you come just like that, pleasure slowly building up until you reach your climax, your head rolling back and your mouth letting out the most filthy, nasty, loud groans of pleasure, as your hands grip his even tighter on your breasts, sustaining you. Everything turns black and only the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm exists in your world. You hear his voice, muffled and far away as you are absorbed by your own devastating pleasure, as it goes on muttering filth about how beautiful you look when you come riding his cock and how he has to restrain himself from bursting inside of you in this very moment because he wants to keep fucking your hot pussy.

After you ride out your orgasm and come back to your senses, you feel so worn out. You're panting, but you don’t stop riding him. He is so pleased to see that, and you also know he’s close too.

"I saw a hot spring before coming here. Did you see that?" you drawl, still panting.

"I-I did."

"I want you to fuck me there, in front of everyone. I know you want it too."

He grunts as he picks up the pace, aroused beyond limit at the mere thought.

"Let them see how good you fuck me, in a way they could never."

"F-fuck - Pretty girl - s-stop saying those things or I'm not gonna last-"

"Show them. Show them who I fucking belong to." you scratch his chest with your nails in your animalistic frenzy.

He snarls, wrapping his strong arms around your body, lowering your body on his and his pace picks up even more, making you roll your eyes and scream, your oiled bodies rubbing against each other, creating the most obscene sounds.

"Oh, you want to be fucked like this? In front of everyone? Remind them how they could never make you scream like I do? How they could never make you feel this good? How if they ever dare to touch you I'm gonna kill them with my bare hands?"

"Fuck, yes! Yes! Yes!" you scream in his chest, holding tight to his biceps, completely subjugated by the way he's handling you.

"What a fucking whore you are. I'll fuck you in front of everyone and remind them you're fucking mine." he grabs your butt, digging his fingers hard into the soft flesh and starts railing you violently, leaving you breathless. You just helplessly grab his oiled biceps harder, screaming loudly in his chest, your eyes completely rolled back. He's pulling another orgasm from you, and somehow it's even harder and more intense than the first one. Your pussy gets even tighter and starts uncontrollably spasming and you feel every single ridge and vein of his dick as he thrusts into you with a devastating force.

He's overwhelmed by the even tighter feeling, and he screams when he finally comes inside of you, cursing at how tight you are, how good it feels to have his dick in your grasp, how he can't ever get enough of you...

As you both ride out your orgasms, you just lay there, panting into his chest as he's still inside of you and caresses your back, completely exhausted, until both of your breathing goes back to normal, whispering tender words to each other as you enjoy the contact of your naked bodies.

The hot springs are the second main attraction of the healing baths, and for a good reason.

The water is naturally hot due to the volcanic nature of Nevarro and the luxurious room is dimly lit by candles, making the atmosphere suggestive and intimate. The walls are decorated with mirrors all over the surface to guarantee the best visual on everything that happens there. Some of the people present there are indulging in sexual behaviours, while others are just watching.

You two are too focused on each other to even think of paying attention to others. The sight of the Mandalorian’s gorgeous body only covered by a towel on his hips drives you wild and makes you ravenous with lust, and you know by the way he's tilting the helmet that he feels the same way. You undress each other slowly, letting your towels drop to the floor. You can see his cock is slowly getting hard once again at the sight of your oiled body, now bare in front of everyone.

He takes you by the hand as you climb the stairs down to get into the water and sit.

You go behind him and start massaging his back, cleaning his skin from the oil you used before, brushing him with your breasts as you go on massaging his shoulders, making him feel worshipped by your touch and adoring eyes. You cover his neck in kisses as you caress his strong arms.

Mando's visor does not abandon the mirror that reflects the both of you for one second, wanting to look at the way you take care of him so lovingly.

You move in front of him and start washing his chest, when he grabs your hand and puts it on his rock hard erection. You grin satisfied when you feel he's hard for you again and he starts touching one of your breasts, still oiled, making your nipple hard by circling it with his thumb.

He turns you around and starts trailing his hands all over your body, making you look at the image reflected in the mirror.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he whispers as he gropes your breasts, squeezing them in his strong hands. You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder, looking at your barely visible figure lit by the candles of the thermal spring.

"All these men are looking at you, you know that?" he whispers in your ear. "How does that make you feel?"

The truth is you don’t feel uneasy, in fact it's quite the opposite, you feel beautiful and protected, but most of all, you feel powerful. Powerful in a unique, feminine way. You’re a goddess worshipped and loved by the most frightening warrior of the parsec. Nothing bad can happen to you while his hands softly caress your curves and he whispers the sweetest, dirtiest words into your ear. You really do feel beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.

His hands start descending towards your abdomen and then lower, caressing your folds, indulging on your outer lips, slowly teasing you and exploring your beautiful cunt as his visor is locked on you.

"Who do you belong to?" he whispers as one of his hands touches your clit and the other one circles one of your nipples.

"You." there's no hesitation in your voice.

"Good girl." he stands up, bringing you with him, then takes his cock in his hand and slowly slides it inside of you. Air leaves your lungs completely as you let out a moan that makes quite a few heads turn.

"Yes. Let them know. Let them look at you." he encourages you to abandon yourself completely.

He lifts your leg with his arm, spreading your cunt open to show everyone the way his thick cock slips inside of you with every thrust.

"You're by far the best whore out here. Stars, can't ever imagine fucking a more perfect cunt. Let everyone hear how good I'm fucking you. Let them know you're only mine. They can hear and look at you as much as they want, but only I can touch your body and fuck your wet cunt. You belong to me. If anybody ever touches you, I'm going to fucking kill them." he does not only want to assert his dominance over you, he also wants you to enjoy it, to make you feel protected as he fucks you while you just have to take his cock and not worry about anything else.

"No one could ever make me feel this good, Mando." you let out in a shaky, breathy voice.

"Yes, cyar'ika, like this." he wraps his hand around your neck.

At first his thrusts are painfully, deliciously slow and you can't help resting your head on his shoulder, moaning close to his ear. He slowly picks up the pace until he's pounding you hard, making a lot of sloshing sounds in the water, making you scream, making everyone look at you two.

"Fucking look at her. Look at that perfect cunt. Hear her scream. Hear how fucking good I'm fucking her. She's fucking mine. Mine. Only mine." he snarls at all the men there who have been looking at you the whole time, thinking they might own you.

"Mando - oh, f-fuck - s-stop saying those things-" you whisper, pretending to be shy, but loving being treated like his whore, your body completely exposed to all the other people in there, feeling their envy eyes on you both.

"I will say whatever the fuck I want about you. Because I fucking own you. Did you hear that?! I fucking own her." he growls like a vicious animal while grabbing your throat even tighter.

And when you thought you couldn't get any more aroused, he starts to rub your clit. You lose it completely and let out desperate, loud groans.

"Want to come like this? In front of everyone? Let them know how much of a slut you are?"

"Yes!" you plead in a desperate, loud cry.

"Then come. Come for me. Scream my name and let everyone know who is making you come so hard."

You do. You scream the only name you know of him in a loud cry, as your cunt desperately clenches around his throbbing erection.

"Yes. Yes. Like this. Come on my cock. Stars, you're so beautiful, ner cyar'ika."

Your screams echo in the thermal bath as you feel the eyes of every single person on you two. He never stops looking at your face as you come, entranced by how stunning you look when he takes you to the highest pleasure, in a state of pure ecstasy. He feels your muscles clenching around his cock, your swollen clit under his fingers and your yielding body leaning on his. The sounds you make are the most beautiful and heady he's ever heard, he's addicted to how sweet your voice sounds when you moan his name in the ecstatic trance of your orgasm.

After you come back from your high, you lean on one side of the bath, panting, bent in half as he keeps thrusting into you from behind.

"I want to come all over your pretty face and I want you to eat it all. Show them who you belong to." he keeps thrusting into you as he grips your hair.

“Do it. Come on my face.” you pant, completely exhausted.

He gets feral when he hears that, and in an instant he takes his cock out and turns you around, stroking it with his hand.

“Give this filthy whore what she deserves.” you smirk at him.

He grunts as he hears you saying that, stroking his cock even harder.

"Open your mouth for me, mesh'la." You do, and you also stick out your tongue. You look at him stroking his soaking wet dick in front of your face. You close your eyes as you feel his hot release painting your face, hearing him groan loudly.

When he's done coming, you take his cock into your mouth and suck it clean, earning a grunt from him.

You pass your finger on your face and bring all his cum to your mouth, savouring it for his pleasure.

"What an obedient little whore you are." 

"Your whore, Mando." you smile at him as you swallow his seed.

[freelancearsonist]

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought. 

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable. 

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you. 

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to. 

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him. 

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him. 

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too. 

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant. 

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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[libraincarnate]

astrology notes: 6 🐉

quick note: i'm absolutely not an astrologer. these are just a collection of some observations, thoughts, theories, and personal experiences. with that being said, i'm still learning along the way & i may come back to edit this post to make corrections. above all this is just for fun. lastly, keep in mind that i’m not reading your birth chart and i know nothing about you. these are just some possibilities that may or may not apply to you. enjoy!

🗡 sag mercury: “be careful what you wish for cause you just might get it.”

🗡 @elysiansparadise had mentioned that people with sun square moon may have parents who have a strained relationship with each other or they may be very incompatible. my friend has this aspect and long before checking her parents’ synastry chart i thought they worked better as friends.

her parents were childhood friends- her mom has an aquarius venus which can be a “friends to lovers” type of placement. they have an 11th house stellium in their synastry chart.

they have been married for a long time- her dad’s venus aspects her mom’s saturn. with that being said, venus represents aphrodite, love, femininity, women, love & mars represents ares, masculinity, men, sex. her dad has venus opposite mars in his natal chart and her mom has mars square venus in her natal chart.

they’re different in the way that moon and the sun are night and day. her dad is more logical & reserved/introverted. her mom is more emotional & social/extroverted. they share the same faith but they also have some important differences regarding their religious beliefs. she’s loud, he’s quiet. etc.

🗡 how many of you with scorpio, mars, or a fire sign in the 8th house have red as your favorite color?

🗡 taurus/libra/venus in the 2nd house: these natives are so naturally beautiful & radiant. they don’t have to try hard at all. they have a personal sense of style. jewelry was made for their bodies.

🗡 libra rising: libra rising is known for having beautiful symmetrical faces. i’ve noticed some people with this placement who don’t have symmetrical faces might wonder why.

#1 you’re human so it’s normal to have an asymmetrical face, most humans do.

#2 you may have have one of your dominant planets in the 1st house. remember that different planets rule different body parts and are associated with different physical features. for example, if you’re moon dominant and it’s in the first house you may have a fuller/rounder & cherub like face. mars dominant 1st house- strong/defined face & forehead, could be androgynous, lusty eyes. saturn dominant 1st house- intimidating smaller eyes, mature face, sharp facial structure/features.

or you may have harsh aspects to your rising sign. for example venus relates to beauty so having venus opposite rising may have an influence on your appearance or how symmetrical your face is.

#3 with that being said having harsh aspects to your rising doesn’t make you unattractive. you're gorg/handsome regardless so who cares.

& if you’re not a libra rising, you can also apply this logic if you don’t have much of your rising sign’s physical traits.

🗡 neptune-venus aspects: wanting to “fix or save him/her” fall in love during the process and live happily ever after.  

🗡 leo mars: might not like when people touch their hair, certain people like hairstylists may be excepted.

🗡  the house your venus is in can show what you like or love about yourself, what others like/love about you. some of your attractive traits & qualities. and what you like about others.

venus in the 1st house: you might really love your self and be an advocate for self love. others may love your personality, your perspective of life, and think you have a beautiful body. you could be attracted to confidence, the way a person carries themselves.

venus in the 10th house: you may like your work ethic, how independent & disciplined you are. others may like the way you take initiative, your ambition, your honesty. you could be attracted to those who possess fame and success.

venus in the 3rd house: you may like the way you think/your way of applying logic and processing information. others may love talking to you, how you have a way with words, your accent. you could be attracted to well kept or veiny hands, people with vehicles like luxurious cars or motorcycles.

venus in the 4th: you may love your mom a lot or think she's really beautiful. like being at home & could be into interior design. others may like your family/being around them, the idea of starting a family with you, your warm and nurturing personality. could be attracted to those who are family-oriented and possess emotional intelligence.

🗡 fixed signs in the 9th house: if religious, they take their spiritual life seriously and are a firm believer in whichever doctrine they subscribe to. very devoted individuals. consistently going to a place of worship like church, the mosque, a temple, synagogue, etc.

these aren’t fixed signs but cancer in the 9th gives me mother mary vibes lol. virgo here would probably be quite pedantic and technical regarding things like details about sacred text and spiritual practices/rituals.

🗡 having both gemini and scorpio placements in a chart can make one sneaky, stealthy, ninja, fbi son of a gun. scorpios know how to be secretive, source information, remain in the dark and disguising themselves as your shadow as they observe you. able to move around quietly. geminis are fast, agile, also able to source information, devious, double agent like, quick thinkers. they both just know things. always a step ahead.

🗡 jupiter in the 5th or positively aspecting your ascendant or inner planets in the 5th house: winning games, contests, bets, money, prizes without much effort. i remember winning bingo like 5 times in one round and people started getting annoyed lol.

if you read this until the end i hope you enjoyed it & thank you so much for reading. ♥︎♥︎♥︎, those hearts are for you.

[bakuslove]

IT’S IN THE LITTLE THINGS

﹒ॱ˖ 🖇️ FEATURING. pro hero!bakugo x feminine!reader

﹒ॱ˖ ☆ CONTENT. fluff, sfw, established relationship, pro hero!bakugo, no pronouns are used for the reader but they’re written to be feminine WC. 825

﹒ॱ˖ 💬 SYNOPSIS. Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Katsuki doesn’t say ‘I love you’ often.

In fact, those three little words never leave his mouth during the first few months, almost a year actually, that you’re together. No matter how much he wants to say them, he finds it impossible for them to slip off the tip of his tongue. 

He gets red in the face at the mere thought of how difficult it is to tell you the very thing you’ve said to him to months now and he’s convinced there’s something wrong with him. 

He’s been a pro hero for years now, facing some of the world’s most terrifying villains on the daily, but you... you still make his hands sweat like he’s some sort of stupid middle schooler too afraid to confess to his crush. Except now you’re his girlfriend. Of nearly a year. The hard part should be over now. Yet he’s stuck trying to say the words he wishes he could say from day one. 

But his inability to speak his mind around you doesn’t seem to bother you nearly as much, and that’s because you were able to witness the things he did for you and only you. 

Katsuki never needed to say ‘I love you’. Even if the moment called for it, even if the words scrapped against the inside of his ribs and clawed up his throat, even if they danced on the tip of his tongue when you looked at him like that, Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Every word he ever needed to tell you was in the little things. The little things he did for you without you needing to raise a finger or bat an eye or part your pretty lips to ask. 

From the very start, he found ways to work you into his schedule. From waking up just five minutes earlier than you so he could make your coffee just the way you like it to sorting your laundry by colors, whites, and delicates just like he does with his own. From making you an extra portion at dinner even if he wasn’t sure you were coming over to buying you your favorite fruits to keep as a snack at his place when you started visiting more often. 

It may have taken Katsuki almost a year of having you in his life for him to say those three little words, but you knew he loved you before they were spoken. You knew from the way his hand would find the small of your back in crowded spaces and from how he’d always make sure to pick up when you call no matter what he was in the middle of doing. 

Katsuki’s love for you was nestled in the corners and crooks of the littlest things he did for you. 

“Did you buy these?” you ask over your shoulder just loud enough to trump the sound of running water.

“Why the hell else would I have strawberry scented shit in my shower?” Katsuki mumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the doorway, watching as you undress for your shower. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you like me or something~” you tease, flashing him a smile before disappearing behind the shower curtain.

But it still isn't even the bottles of body wash or separate bar of soap -that you’re certain he bought for you but seems to be getting enough milage for you to suspect that he must be using it too- that proves his affection for you.

It happens after your shower when you’re getting ready for bed, applying that lotion that makes him crazy all while wearing that Dynamight t-shirt he gifted you for when you spend your nights with him. It happens when you let you a gentle sigh, leaning your head on his chest as his hands grip your thighs and pull them over his lap. His course palms are rough against the silky smooth plush of your thighs and your hair smells so, so heavenly, the words just slip from his mouth.

“I love you,” he breaths, eyes glued to where his other hand now caresses your own, the scarred pad of his thumb ghosting over your knuckles.

But you don’t squeal, you don’t laugh, you don’t cry, you don’t even get angry at him for taking so long. You don’t react in any of the ways he imagined you’d react in the hundreds of times he played out this scenario in his head before. Instead, you smile at him, soft and sweet like you always do, your pretty eyes shining in the dim lighting of his bedroom, and you press a lingering kiss to the stubble on his cheek

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even after he finally let himself say the words he’s been meaning to say for so long, he never stopped telling you just how much he loved you. Not only with words, but in all the little things he does for you each and every day. 

[deepcolorobserver]

I really want a terf lesbian to coax me into detransitioning

At first she pretends to support me and my transition, pretends to be a trans ally, says all the right things to befriend me and we hit it off. She's cute, funny, and for a while we're just friends.

We flirt a bit, always silly and joking and friendly. The kind of thing close friends do, until one day she admits she sees me as more than a friend. And god it's exciting, it's exhilarating, it makes my heart flutter. Who cares that she's a lesbian, maybe I'm the exception. Someone she likes enough to look past conventional desire.

So we start dating, a casual fling, but the sexting is HOT. She doesn't use preferred terms for my anatomy, always says clit instead of tdick, always asks for tit pics, but it's okay, a lot of the transmasc terms are a little clunky in dirty talk anyway.

She tells me I would look good with long hair. Men can have long hair right? I would be so pretty, such a pretty boy, so I grow it out for her. My hairline starts receeding on T and I'm worried about it, I confide in her, and she suggests stopping T. I got the changes I wanted, right? It's better that I don't hate myself for the changes I don't want, and she's right, even if she says it's mutilating me now. So I stop.

The whole relationship has been digital, and we talk a lot about meeting in person. Joking around, of course, neither of us have plane ticket money. But one day she asks for pictures in panties and a bra. I don't own those anymore, so she offers to buy me a pair. It's not feminizing, and I'm into degradation, she says. Men in lingerie can be degrading, and it would suit me. So I agree, because the idea is kinda hot, and I dress up for her. She's right, it is hot, even if it feels so wrong.

Slowly, she starts to introduce terf rhetoric to me. Very subtly, starting with ideas I can agree with and pushing more extreme views onto me. It makes me hate myself, of course, for transitioning and living as a man. There are lesbians that use he/him, she tells me. And if I were a lesbian, we could make "I'm in lesbians with you" jokes. The rhetoric swims in my head. I'm a lesbian, yeah. I still identify as a man, for a while.

One day it comes to light that we live in the same city. We can meet up easily. And it's like a revelation, a sudden flip. I'm with her almost every day, I'll stay over several nights at a time. Always in the lingerie she keeps buying me. I'm wearing it all day, wearing it to work, just so she can take off my clothes and see it when I get to her place. It's not long before we move in together. She calls me girly pet names, things you would never call your boyfriend. And the wrong feeling, all it does is turn me on and endear me to her.

The day I bring up top surgery, she spends a very long time sucking on my tits, kissing them all over. Don't do it, she tells me. I look so good like this. It compliments my body type, I'm meant to have tits. She makes me say it, say I love my tits. She makes me say that I love my pussy, I love all the things that make me feminine. I'm crying as I say it, but I tell her I think I might be a girl. She says I always was, and always will be. My biology was made with a purpose, and I'm meant to be a woman. I ask her to use she/her pronouns, to use my dead name in bed. We scissor and I cum harder than I ever have, all because she uses my deadname. If it feels this good, how can it be wrong?

She misgenders me outside of bed anyway. Soon everyone is using my deadname and she/her. I'm so wet all the time. She takes my body every night and uses me to pleasure herself. She makes me cum while telling me what a beautiful woman I am.

She convinces me to get pregnant with a surrogate. We both want kids, and this is the only way to do it. The whole time she talks about how beautiful the process is, what a lovely woman I am, fulfilling my purpose. She holds my hand as I birth our child. I forget all about wanting to be a boy.

[exeggcute]

well it's been almost six months which I think is long enough to break my posting embargo, so, uh: guess what! I got liposuction lol. specifically hip/thigh lipo to quell some pretty wicked dysphoria that stemmed from having such a feminine silhouette… and I have to say I'm really, really pleased with the results.

tbh my initial plan was to keep things under wraps for good which is why I haven't said anything about it yet (and even as I'm typing this up I keep debating whether to post it or trash it)—partly because I was/am worried people might Act Weird about it and partly because I get a little embarrassed talking about bodygendershit in general. but here we are. one reason I do feel compelled to finally share, other than being super happy about how everything went, is that I haven't encountered a lot of discussions about body sculpting as a possible avenue of gender-affirming care (although, to be fair, maybe I just haven't been looking in the right places) and I figured at least one person out there would be interested to learn about what I did and where I've ended up so far.

anyway. pics/details under the cut—nothing even remotely risqué (or yucky), I just know that body image stuff is fraught + not everyone is eager to hear surgery talk.

to be precise: I got tumescent liposuction of the inner and outer thigh, plus this ultrasound thing to help the skin shrink. a different surgeon who I consulted (but ultimately did not go with for a number of reasons) said that even if I got the results I wanted from lipo, which he claimed was unlikely, the affected skin would look loose/baggy/weird forever... and that surgeon was wrong on both counts lol. my elasticity was great bitch!!!!

they didn't take out that much fat overall, only eight pounds or so, but it's way more about the Where than the How Much. my actual surgeon (who kicks ass btw) said lipo isn't that great for weight loss per se, and what it's really good for is sculpting targeted areas—so basically exactly what I did. six months post-op I actually weigh about the same as what I did pre-op, but the distribution has held steady; more weight goes to my stomach now and less, proportionally, goes to my hips since there are fewer fat cells in that area now. so my silhouette retains its new shape!

the overall change is admittedly on the subtle side, since I'm pretty short and have wide hip bones (and you can't change your literal skeleton) but it's still gone a looooooong way. the main thing I requested from my surgeon was "I want to fit in men's pants" and boy did he deliver.

also a good place to note that if you're in the las vegas area looking for a plastic and/or cosmetic surgeon—this guy is board-certified in both btw—then I absolutely have the guy for you. feel free to DM me for details. lipo is clearly his specialty (and it shows!) but he also does a lot of breast revisions/mastopexy (i.e., fixing implants that other surgeons did a bad job putting in), regular implants, and face work (particularly facial feminization surgery). one thing that sold me on this guy was an enthusiastic yelp review from a local stripper who said he hid the incisions for her breast lift in her armpits so none of her clients would notice that she'd had work done... a true master of his craft

okay you've scrolled enough so I'll give you what you're here for lol. I don't have many pre-op pics because I was obviously unhappy with how I looked and was not taking full-body selfies on a regular basis, but here's a few I took ~2 weeks beforehand:

these super thin men's joggers were my go-to dysphoria pants, to the point where I bought five pairs in different colors, but now they're so baggy on me that they have the opposite effect and make it look like I have wider hips than I do. so I retired them from my wardrobe...

...except not immediately because I had to wear compression garments 24/7 for the first three months post-op and these joggers were just loose enough to comfortably wear a medical girdle underneath them at all times, 110° degree temperatures be damned. (not that I was going out much for the first month since I was soooooooooooo fucking bruised and sore lol.) here's a few post-op pics in the same style pants:

(first pic is less than 24 hours post-op, about to go to my follow-up appointment, looking greasy as fuck because I wasn't allowed to shower yet; second pic two days post-op and also post-shower, thankfully; third pic is about a month post-op.)

so, like, CLEAR improvement already. I will not be posting pictures of my black-and-blue-and-swollen-all-over legs but considering how puffy I was from getting internally pummeled with a cannula it's wild that I still saw improvement literally as soon as I came home.

recovery was obviously not a blast in the moment but I got off easy, all things considered. I was supposed to get drains put in and was Not looking forward to that at all lol. the first thing I asked when I woke up after surgery was "how many drains?" because they weren't sure if I'd end up needing two or four, but it turned out the answer was zero. no drains!!!

I did have to lie with my feet elevated for the first two weeks straight, and had major bruising that receded over the first month (you could barely see my regular skin underneath all the mottled spots), but little to no nerve pain, no weird complications, and I was more or less back to normal after six weeks. also noelle took very very good care of me and was brave about injecting me with blood thinners so I wouldn't get clots and die :)

when I went into it I was fully expecting to get huge vertical scars up and down the sides of my legs (and had made peace with it!) but instead I wound up with four tiny incisions like this, each less than two inches long:

what's totally crazy is that the scars are basically Gone now. like even when I'm trying to find them I struggle to locate the ones in the front. I joked to noelle that if someone did an autopsy on me they might not figure out that I'd had cosmetic surgery, especially since the skin on my thighs is back to its normal color and texture. (in this scenario I like to imagine that it's dana scully giving me the autopsy and I'm in an x-files plot where instead of regular lipo I got alien lipo and mulder figures it out purely by accident.)

with lipo it can take up to a year to see the full results but I already feel so much fucking better in my body that seeing old pre-op pics throws me for a loop. and I can absolutely wear men's pants now—pants for short and stocky men, to be fair, but actual regular men's pants and not exclusively Pants For Men With Huge Butts And Legs. which is the only style I could even hope to fit in before. and even then it was a stretch.

big pic dump of shitty mirror selfies taken over the last few months:

:)

(also I really debated sharing this one but I already included it in the yelp review I left my surgeon so fuck it: here's a tasteful before-and-after in my undies where you can see my bare legs for easier comparison. left pic is one week pre-op, right pic is about five months post-op. including it as a link instead of embedding it in the post in case your boss happens to be reading over your shoulder at this very moment. also this is the one and only time you will ever see me stripped down on tumblr dot com so don't get used to it lol.)