#featherlight jacket

[military1st]

Jack Pyke Technical Featherlite Jacket

Summer weather can be unpredictable, but Jack Pyke Technical Featherlite Jacket will get you through even the most ferocious downpour.

This exceptionally lightweight coat is made of waterproof Taslon Nylon, with mesh lining and underarm vents for enhanced breathability.

It features a large and detachable hood, lined with mesh and fully adjustable, full-front zipper with a double storm flap, and an elastic drawstring at the bottom hem and elasticated cuffs to guarantee customised fit and excellent protection against elements.

Moreover chest pocket and two lower front pockets come with weatherproof zips to keep valuables dry and safe.

Jack Pyke Technical Featherlite Jacket is available now at Military 1st.

The UK customers: https://mil1.st/JJKTSHLWUK

The rest of the world: https://mil1.st/JJKTSHLWUS

Enjoy free UK delivery and returns! Swift delivery to Ireland, the US, Australia, and across Europe.

[queerpumpkinnn]

Kinktober 5th: Goldmine

aka hair pulling with Rodrick Heffley

2k words

Summary: Rod learns something new.

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x reader

Warnings: hair pulling obviously, choking, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex (don't do this at home kids), smoking, thigh riding, lots of hickeys/biting, scratching, lots of sweet praise but it's also kinda condescending, this is just porn with very minimal plot, let me know if I missed anything!

While reading, I recommend you listen to the altar is my hips - a Spotify playlist by me!

~

"Y'think I should get a leather jacket?"

Your shoulders shook under the weight of Rodrick's arm as you chuckled. "Why, you get an idea for a costume?"

"Absolutely. Even got the name for it." You could see the familiar smirk he wore even as your eyes remained on the screen. Smoke billowed in your peripheral, the smell of his near-finished cigarette long since clung to your clothes.

"It'd be a cute couples costume too," he continued, "you could be Tina Gray."

You turned to look at him. "Oh could I now?"

"Yup." He grinned as he put his cigarette out. "You've got the bedroom personality for it too."

You swung a pillow at his face, but Rodrick easily caught it and tossed it behind him. You huffed in false annoyance, falling back into your spot curled up under his arm.

His hand fell absentmindedly to your hair, gently twirling strands around his finger. The sensation makes your eyelids heavy, getting sleepy as he continued to soothe you.

Until you felt a sharp tug. Your eyes flew open, and you audibly gasped. Your entire body froze, and you curse yourself when Rodrick turns his head. A soft "oh?" leaves his lips, which are curled up into a curious smile. It had only been playful tug, but that was before he knew you'd react like that.

"That's not how you do it," you breathe, ghost of a grin teasing your lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was a condescending lilt. "How d'you do it?"

Instead of speaking, you take hold of his wrist, pushing it towards the back of your head. His fingers thread into your roots and he takes a fistful, tugging slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a deep sigh.

Before your eyes close, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend's reaction. His eyes are wide and full of amusement, and he's smirking incredulously. His brows raise, and you can see the gears turning in his brain.

"That's interesting," Rodrick mumbled, almost more to himself. "I wonder..."

He climbs up over you, legs caging in on either side of your hips. His foot kicks the TV remote onto the floor but Elm Street is long forgotten. His hold on your hair returns, the tingling in your scalp pulling a weak noise from your throat.

"Now, what would happen..." Rodrick's thought trails off as his fingers ghost over your throat, touch only featherlight until the pads of his fingers find your pulse points and press. Your breathing is shaky and your vision begins to blur, but your hands still fly to his shoulders. You might have even been a little embarrassed at how your hooded eyes began to cross if not for the fact that it just felt so good.

"Aw, y'like that?" Rodrick lilts, his face pulling closer to yours. Heat creeps up your neck.

"Y-yeah," you attempt to nod, but you aren't given much room for movement.

"I like that too, baby." He murmurs against your mouth before he kisses you slowly, tasting of nicotine and gum. They were gentle, teasing kisses, but quickly gave way to a more desperate rhythm as his tongue glided over your lower lip. He hummed a deep note when you let him in, when you whimpered as he started sucking on your tongue.

You let out a disappointed noise when Rodrick lets go of you, rolling back to sit but it's forgotten when he pats his thigh. You quickly oblige, skin heated and brain frazzled.

As soon as you're sat on his leg, the friction to your clit has you gasping into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, your hips began to roll against him, so slowly but enough to make your head swim and heat boil in your gut.

"Oh, sweetness," Rodrick murmurs in between kisses, "so needy already? I've barely done anything."

He knows he doesn't need to do much. Just a few words- or a tug of the hair- and you'd be turned into a pile of mush. He knows you too well, and he loves having that effect over you.

Even though he's teasing you, you can't be bothered to care, muttering an mhm and rutting your hips faster. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, then trail to his thigh to ground yourself.

"Atta girl, keep goin'." Rodrick murmurs in your ear, licking a stripe down the shell of it, planting soft kisses wherever his lips wandered. "'M right here baby, that's it, yeah, good girl."

Rodrick's encouragement was sweet honey to your ear, and a sickening contrast to the hand that hand re-found purchase at your scalp, tilting your head back so that he could teethe at your neck, soft plucks of skin turning into bruising. Deft hands made work of your top, leaving your chest bare.

Your rutting became increasingly frustrated; your thighs burned and you weren't getting any closer to your high.

"Rod... need..." your words were mumbled and breathless, and your brain was too cloudy to be fully coherent anyway.

"Hm? Couldn't hear you, bunny, say that one more time?"

"Need more," you cried, hands pushing into Rodrick's hair when his tongue laved over your nipple.

"More what, baby?" He lilted, cupping and pinching your other tit lovingly. He groaned when your fingers clutched his hair tighter.

"Need you, Rod please..." you sighed, tugging at his wrist.

Rodrick chuckled. "Baby, I don't think I can do that. Might hurt you if I don't get you nice and prepped, yeah? How about we start with fingers?"

"Anything, please," you babbled, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I got ya. Let's get these off, hm?" He tugged at the belt loop of your pants. They were off in record time, along with your underwear, leaving your entire body bared to him. You felt naked, more than just literally.

Once you were situated on his lap again you tried pulling on the hem of his shirt. "Off," you mumbled. Happily he complied, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and plant loving kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

You didn't realize when you'd risen up off your behind that it gave Rodrick the space to slip a hand between your legs, pulling a squeak out of you, muffled against his jaw.

"Aw, so messy baby. A little hair pulling did all this?"

You knew that it was a few other things, but you were so far gone you gave him a whiny 'yeah' anyway. Rodrick's fingers massaged your entrance, gathering slick and smothering it around your clit, making obscene noises- probably on purpose.

"So fuckin' wet, sweet, y'hear that?" Rodrick presses kisses to your pulse point, up to your jaw, then kisses you deep. Swallowing your moans into his mouth as the kiss turns messy.

"Please, Rod..." you're breathless and your pleas are barely coherent, but Rodrick knows exactly what you're asking for. You keel when you feel a finger glide into you, curling up towards your stomach.

"Yeah, good fuckin' girl." Rodrick's grin widens at your reaction when a second finger joins the first. "Always so eager, hm? That's my girl."

"Yeah, 'm your girl," you pant, hips canting to meet his hand.

"That's right," he coos, thumb tracing wide circles over your clit. "So proud of you, my girl."

"Rod," you whine, "need you."

"Hm?" He hums between nips to your collarbone. "You have me."

You shake your head vigorously. "Need you inside."

This gets Rodrick's attention. His fingers slow, while his free hand moves from your hair to his pants. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock out from his boxers. You watch as he takes his fingers, soaked from your cunt, and wrap them around himself, stroking slowly. His head falls back against the couch, lips hanging open and you feel the sudden urge to bite them.

Before you get the chance, however, Rodrick is pulling you forward, lining himself up to take you. Slowly, so slowly, he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick around. You jerk when his head catches on your clit, sending electricity shooting up your spine.

"Rod..." you whine against his neck, "please."

"Please what?" You want to slap him for the knowing glint in his eye, but that was for another day.

"Please fuck me."

And who was he to deny you? Guiding your hip, Rodrick eased you down on him, guiding you but letting you set your own pace. The stretch set your loins on fire, but it was heaven.

Your head kicked back, and you let your voice have a mind of its own as you sunk down on him. Long and pornographic, and Rodrick matched it. You felt him throb inside of you.

"Fuck, sound so pretty." Rodrick started rolling his hips into you, and you cried out at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it. Moan like a fuckin' whore for me, c'mon."

And who were you to deny him? You had the house to yourself, and the name alone sent your brain into overdrive. He filled you up so nicely, and the drag of his cock inside of you made your skin tingle with delight.

"Rod, yeah, oh- just like that, ohmygod-" your voice was caught in your throat when Rodrick, with the usual knowing twinkle in his eye, takes a fistful of hair and tugs you forward into a sloppy kiss.

All of the sensations- that Rodrick was giving you- were sending you closer and closer to tumbling headfirst off of that ledge. The sting in your scalp, his tongue sliding against yours, the sounds of wet slaps and your combined moans. The smell of cigarettes and the heat of his skin under your fingers. The head of his cock piledriving into your cervix again and again and again.

"Rod I- oh god, I'm gonna- oh, so close- Rod please," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking down his chest and leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"I gotcha," he grunts, hand snaking between your bodies to press circles over your clit. You can hear it in his voice that he's holding back. You don't want him to. "That's it, baby, come for me. Make a mess on my cock, c'mon."

That extra pleasure is all it takes to have you diving headfirst into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, and all you can feel is Rodrick. Shaky hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as hot pleasure courses through you.

You're acutely aware of the hot spurts hitting your cervix, and the fluids seeping out of you, but your body is still tingling all over. Your voice has long since become scratchy, but that doesn't stop you from whimpering and crying as he coaxes you through it.

"Good girl, did so good for me, yeah?" His grip on your hair is no longer a grip, but gentle, soothing strokes, almost as if to apologize.

You hummed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder as you breathe. The smell of sex had permeated the air around you, and you were suddenly very aware of how sweaty you'd become.

"Think we need a shower, baby, c'mon." Rodrick nudged your head.

You wanted to, you felt sticky, but your body was on fire, this time with a less-than-pleasurable ache. Begrudgingly, you lifted yourself off of his now soft dick, hobbling down to reach for your clothes and then to the nearest bathroom.

The shower was peaceful, and the water was soothing on your muscles. You both worked in a comfortable silence.

"Well, I was right." Rodrick finally said.

"About what, the hair pulling?"

"Nope."

You turned around to face him, head tilted in confusion. His mouth was curled upwards and his eyes were lifted in a smile.

"You do have the bedroom personality of Tina Gray."

~

Rodrick Heffley Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Miscellaneous Characters List

Main Masterlist

~

[pseudowho]

Deeper, Harder, Faster: Reader/Ino/Nanami

After a chat with the lovely @nanaslutt, I can with absolute delight say that they have given me their blessing to write this exquisite smut blurb in full.

Everyone say thank you @nanaslutt 🙇‍♀️ for allowing Haitch to go to town.

Based on this! post here. Please do go and like/reblog the original idea.

Warnings: 18+, mentor/mentee relationship, threesome, PiV, anal, oral f!receiving

Here we go...

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento bristled with annoyance, as another doghouse sigh broke his fragile peace. Ino slumped on his arms, his cheek pressed against the table, looking like such a boy that Nanami couldn't help but enquire.

"What is it, Ino?"

"It's nothing, Nanami."

Nanami folded his book closed, huffing a little. "It's clearly not 'nothing'. I'm not one to pry, but--"

"It's my girlfriend, Nanami, I'm letting her down. She says 'go faster', or 'go deeper', or 'go harder' and she doesn't know what she's asking for, I don't want to hurt her--"

"Stop. Ino."

An awkward silence hung between Ino and Nanami for the former's fractious outburst, and the faintest blush smattered across Nanami's high cheekbones. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses.

"Well, that took...absolutely no insistence at all on my part, did it?" At Ino's groan, muffled as he pulled his balaclava down over his reddening face, Nanami cleared his throat again and continued. "While that was...altogether none of my business, I might hesitantly suggest that the young lady knows her own mind, Ino. If she is...dissatisfied with intimacy, have you considered doing as she asks?"

"I just think she's asking too much, y'know? I'll hurt her--"

"Have you a safe word?"

Ino hesitated, stuttering. "A-a...safe word?"

"Yes, a safeword. You've tried some different positions, I assume? Perhaps you've let her lead the way if she chooses? Responded to her cues?"

Nanami looked over his glasses with each recommendation, feeling grimmer and grimmer at Ino's continued vacant expression. Nanami hummed into his coffee, a cover-all sound of dismay, before a switch flicked on Ino's face.

"Could you show me?"

Nanami choked on his coffee, recovering with a cough, shocked by how eagerly his cock twitched against his thigh. Thoughts of watching you spread beneath Ino, pleasured by his own instruction, bloomed a sordid power fantasy he'd never known he had. He tried to look impassive, and not as eager as he felt.

"Show you?"

"Yeah, uh...I-I bet she wouldn't mind."

Nanami could blame the way that the blood rushed from his brain to his dick, as the reason for his easy agreement, but he'd be lying.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami was as taut as a bowstring, his suit-jacket discarded, in yours and Ino's bedroom. He was humid with the scent of your sex, shot through by your whimpers and gasps, as Ino fucked lazily against the bed with your clit in his mouth.

Nanami's fists clenched as your head rolled on the bed to look at him; the only outward sign that he was at all affected by your plush, parted lips, the way your breasts peaked, lonely and without attention, and the way your orgasm crept closer. And yet, it all meant naught when your pleasure was so two-dimensional.

"Deeper-- Takuma-- please--"

Though Ino was tonguing your wet little pussy to climax through mouth alone, you arched, frustrated, wanting more than just the first slim inch of Ino's fingers. Ino curled his fingertips barely past your entrance, featherlight, hardly past the first knuckle. Nanami suppressed a scowl.

Ino muffled something into your pussy as you came with a weak cry; an orgasm, yes, but not the one you had wanted. Not the one that would have you seeing God, and forgetting the days of the week. Your cunt and belly had, after all, been left utterly unfucked.

"See, baby? Nice and gentle..." Ino whispered against your thigh, pressing tender kisses to your folds, to your blushing, half-satisfied smile. "So good...so pretty--"

Nanami felt your frustration; despite having never been entered, he knew the unique deep, yanking climax of a hook behind one's navel, and suspected that you were fucking yourself better with toys than Ino was with his body.

Nanami squirmed, spreading his thighs to allow room for the heavy tenting of his lap, and tried to be unaffected by the way your head turned to him again, a thread of pleading in your eyes. Nanami was never one to deny a woman begging, and it tortured him even to pay witness to it, as a mentor.

All the worse, even Ino's cock was gentle, sliding into you as if you were made of glass. Nanami could have cried for the way Ino shook with the effort of holding back, despite your arching, despite the way you whispered to Ino, for him to move 'deeper' and 'harder' and 'faster'.

Watching the slow, supple roll of Ino's tight body into yours, and watching the way you had given up asking for more, Nanami's self-restraint snapped, his cool voice belying stormy waters.

"Listen to your girl, Ino. Do as she says."

Ino's hips stuttered, a flush on his cheeks as he threatened to come before he'd even taken you to the brink and back again.

"S-she's...she's okay, aren't you, babe?"

You blushed beneath Ino, lying as if you weren't scrutinised by sharp brown eyes; lying, as if your own eyes hadn't been begging for Nanami's intervention only moments before.

"Yeah, I...I'm fine, I--"

"Fine?" Nanami spat, on his feet now, and prowling around the end of the bed, examining Ino's slowly fucking hips from all angles.

"You're supposed to be pleasured until you can't remember your own name, and you're just fine?"

You blushed, called out, turning your head away as Ino's movements slowed to a halt, and he gazed down at you, breathless and uncertain.

"...babe?"

Nanami continued, growling, palming his aching cock against his zipper. His breath, his cologne, ghosted against Ino's flushed cheek.

"You're supposed to be making love to her, not treating her like a little glass doll. You're satisfied with her calling your cock 'fine'?"

Ino doubled down, foolishly. "I just don't wanna hurt her, I'm big and I--"

Nanami growled, his hand tangling into the back of Ino's hair to yank Ino's head backwards. Nanami's voice rang deep and dark and desperate; "She said deeper. She said harder. She said faster. Do you need to be forced?"

Ino's lip puckered up, almost tearful, defiant, as if he hadn't been the one who had asked his mentor for help. Nanami nodded, coming to a slow realisation, before firmly, affectionately, slapping Ino's cheek once, twice, three times.

"Ah...I see. Well, if that's the only way you'll learn..."

Ino watched with a squirm in his belly, as his mentor, thick-bodied and tall, paced over to the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube.

By the time Nanami had walked back round to observe the way that Ino's cock had completely stilled within you, he had unzipped himself and hooked his own aching cock and balls out.

Still in his tie, his shoes, his harness, fully dressed, Nanami hissed as he slid one lube-wettened fist down his twitching length, gritting his teeth, his eyes blackened over by something altogether more military. He cast his eyes over the pair of you once more, barely more than a pair of kids in your early twenties, fucking like amateurs.

It wasn't your fault, Nanami reasoned, masturbating himself as if his cock could possibly get any harder. And so, he threw his attention back to his mentee.

"What are you waiting for, Ino? Deeper. Harder. Faster."

Ino shuddered, every fine sinew across his sculpted shoulders twitching, as his hips picked up a fractured, barely increased pace. You arched again, sighing into the almost there thrusts into your core, whimpering with frustration when Ino chased his own hips backwards at your insistent arching.

In immediate response, Nanami's free hand slapped Ino hard across the ass, eliciting a yelp from Ino. A muffled giggle burst forth from you, before you clapped a hand over your mouth. It threatened to bubble over, as you swore you saw the hint of a laugh at the corner of Nanami's mouth. Instead he rumbled again, to Ino's mortified blushes.

"Deeper. Harder. Faster."

"I am, Nanami--"

"I don't see you having to hold her in place. I don't hear the headboard rattling. I don't hear a single fucking noise from her."

By the time another minute of Ino's shallow, pitiful thrusts had passed, Nanami had made up his mind. Ino felt another slap to his ass, yelping as Nanami chased him up the bed. You scooched up beneath him, and your heart stuttered to feel your boyfriend pressed down to your chest, with Nanami arching above him, mounting him.

"Am I going to have to show you, Ino?"

That voice; so much calmer than Nanami was, in truth, with precum dripping onto Ino's ass. Ino felt every hair on his body stand on end, swallowing thickly. He felt Nanami's cock, longer and thicker than his own, heavy against the small of his back.

"I...I..."

"Well?"

"I...o-okay. Y-yeah. Show me."

A satisfied grunt from behind Ino...and the wet pumping of a bottle of lube. Ino felt Nanami whisper at his ear, and a thick, insistent nudging at his entrance.

"Even with less prep than you gave your girl, you'll take me hard, and deep, and fast. If that's the only way to show you."

Ino felt Nanami's bulbous, slippery cock head fuck into his entrance with little warning, and Ino collapsed onto his forearms above you, his hips finally flush with yours as he was forced deeper into your pussy. Nanami swore, cursing and pushing himself even deeper in one swift movement, to bury his cock fully inside Ino.

Ino whimpered between you and Nanami, and you bit your lip, burying your fingers into Ino's hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

"...attaboy...show you what she needs, hmm? Fuck...so tight..."

Nanami appeared to be collecting himself above you both, panting and straining with the effort of giving Ino a moment to adjust. You threaded your other hand around Nanami's harness, your fingers tight against his chest, and he opened his eyes, heated. The hint of a smile was there again, and he looked into your eyes as he pulled almost completely out of Ino...before fucking into him again, immediately setting a ruthless pace.

You and Ino both crumpled as one, crushed beneath Nanami's overbearing force. The harsh drag and thrust of Nanami's cock in and out of Ino, moved Ino's hips for him. Ino's cock only hardened with Nanami's relentless pounding into his prostate, and you finally felt every single inch of Ino, forced into you to the hilt, finally giving you the belly-deep fullness you had craved for so long. Your guttural moan, and the way you dragged both Ino and Nanami closer by harness and hair, told Nanami he was finally hitting the mark.

"There you go...Ino...see?" Nanami panted, slamming himself into Ino's prone, twitching body. "Look at...at her now. Harder...deeper...faster. How does it feel...darling?"

"G-god-- o-oh my god-- so good so so good--augh--!"

The noises coming out of Ino were barely human, burned at both ends until his entire core was aflame. It took all of his strength simply to not crush you, and he found himself woefully out of control. He had only the vaguest, nebulous thought that his hips were being slammed into you with more force that he could ever generate himself...and you were crying his name in absolute bliss. Not begging him to stop. Not telling him it hurt. But, begging him for more, in desperate little babbles and whimpers.

Though Nanami's thrusts were brutal, they showed no sign of slowing. When he felt Ino's hole clenching around his cock, seeing the first signs of Ino's orgasm approaching, Nanami looped one thick forearm around Ino's neck, forcing Ino to arch up to him, and growling into Ino's ear.

"Not yet-- I don't think the lady's quite finished, is she? Don't be such a boy."

Ino sobbed into your neck, begging to be allowed completion, his voice wet against your skin as Nanami denied him his orgasm for the sake of your own. Ino's sloppy mumbling was barely coherent, combining with Nanami's fractious grunts and curses to give you the orgasm soundtrack of your dreams.

"--s'too much-- so f-full, sorry--s-sorry, I didn't...feels so good...m'gonna come-- babe--"

Reaching around Ino to you, and pulling back for just a moment, Nanami scooped your ass and thighs up into a harsh mating press, with Ino crushed between you both. With Nanami's enormous hands pushing your knees to your chest, and Ino's sobbing, forced fucking into you, you were reduced to divine whimpering, your pussy beginning to clench around Ino's twitching length.

The heavy pressure of Ino's weight forced against your clit and his belly-deep thrusts, sent you tumbling over the edge fast. Finally, your orgasm had teeth, and the cries that left you were hoarse with bliss.

Unable to look at Ino, with his tearstained face still buried in your neck, you instead cried your pleasure to Nanami, your eyes glossy, your face twisted as if in pain. Seeing the way his pupils dilated, and the way his hips stuttered, made you certain you were milking Nanami's cock, instead of your boyfriend's.

You heard Nanami's satisfied whispers guiding you through, feeling him admiring the way tears glittered on your lashes.

"--good girl...good girl, you knew...knew you could take it...clever girl..."

Ino followed you swiftly into oblivion, your plush fluttering walls dragging his orgasm as Nanami's cock against his prostate pushed it. Ino convulsed, a choking symphony of moans spilling over, unbidden. His legs kicked out against the bed, his hands clasping the sheets, while white-knuckled pleasure surged through him from head to toe.

You knew his seed would take time to trickle out of you tonight, so deeply seated was his ejaculation against your gulping cervix, that you wondered if any would make its way out of your cunt at all. Nanami was too far gone, husky, and still, somehow, chastising Ino through his pleasure.

"--listen...to your girl, and don't...don't come crying to me...if you can't satisfy her...don't deserve her if you don't listen to her...shit..."

Having done his duty, with commas of hair escaping over his forehead, Nanami buried himself to the hilt inside Ino and came with a hushed, broken roar. All the while that his teeth clenched, and his seed striped the inside of your boyfriend, you could have sworn that you felt the pulsing heat within you, instead.

Nanami groaned and murmured, his cock fucking slower, deeper, softer, his orgasm long and draining. You knew you wouldn't be able to look at him the same again, knowing the voice of his pleasure.

Finally, Nanami stilled above Ino, groaning and giving Ino's hair one firm ruffle, before pulling out with a hiss. Nanami stood back on shaking legs, surveying the wreckage before him, sniffing and swiping one hand back through his hair.

Cleaning himself, Nanami nodded to you. Ino was too fucked-out and spent to even begin to communicate, and covered you like a weighted blanket, filled with Nanami's cum, while his own filled you.

"Any problems," Nanami toned, calm and collected once more, "come to me."

"Y-yeah." You panted, crushed beneath Ino's whimpering weight. "I'll... I'll take it...from here."

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe loves to put his fingers in sensitive!reader’s mouth & her favorite place in the world is his lap...

cw: mean older!rafe being a tease & making her choke on his fingers, heavily suggestive, size kink, use of daddy

wc: 1.6k

in love w this man so more of him on the way xx

this is an additional part to this

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rafe has had a bad day.  

She notices it immediately by the way he greets her with only a brief peck on her cheek; carelessly throwing his jacket on the couch before slumping down against the cushions and letting out a washed-out exhale. 

For the entirety of the week, gloomy clouds have painted over the dusty, colorless horizon and wet water puddles have saturated the socks of passing pedestrians and dog walkers alike. However, Rafe is not someone who particularly minds rainy days, which is why she assumes that the reason for his disgruntled mood has something to do with business, as it more often than not does.  

He scratches at the buzzed hair still slightly damp from the rain while she simply stands there and blinks; unsure whether he wishes to be alone or not.  

”What are you doing? C’mere,” he suddenly orders in a somewhat of a stern tone and she has no choice but to pad over to his sprawled out legs, lowering to sit on top of him and letting him paw at her waist as his beefy arms pull her closer. And she can't really complain when the heat of his body seeps into her flesh in such a comforting way; makes her insides feel all fluffy and featherlight.

In the same way that Rafe seems to enjoy her needing him to take care of her when everything feels like too much, she loves being there for him; likes to feel useful, needed.

”Do you wanna...talk about it?” The muted melody of her vocal chords reaches his ears as vivid raindrops pitter patter against the glass of the windows and he groans in exhaustion at how perfect she is for him.  

”Not really,” he dismisses her with a shake of his head. ”How was your day, hm?” 

”It was uh, okay. I don’t know, the usual. Had some boring lectures, almost fell asleep…questioned every decision I’ve ever made,” she huffs out and settles her palms on his strong biceps.

”Mm,” he’s only half listening; beginning to mindlessly twirl a strand of her hair around his index finger.  

And she takes that as her cue to continue blabbering out complete nonsense as she begins to grow slightly restless being this close to him. Truth be told, she’s pathetically been missing him the whole day; the only thing granting her the motivation to go about her routines being the thought of seeing him at the end of it all. And now that he’s here, he seems frustrated; mind entirely elsewhere and she doesn’t know what to do except ramble on and on about her dull day.  

Then, completely out of the blue, he’s grabbing her jaw into his massive hand and hushing her. 

”Shut up for one second, yeah?” He mutters out before he’s tucking a thumb past her lips; a surprised squeak leaving the back of her throat at the sudden intrusion because he was the one who asked for her to talk in the first place.  

However, she can’t exactly say that it’s unexpected. He often gets a tad bit meaner whenever he’s had a dreary workday and takes it out on her in some form or another. And regardless of how unhealthy all of it might seem, there’s a crooked part of her brain that yearns for it; wants him to come to her whenever he’s upset. If she’s utterly honest, the thought of him searching for solace in anyone else makes nausea creep up her bones.

For some reason, the firm pad of his thumb making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth placates her; turns her brain into a needy, dingy muddle in a way that only Rafe is capable of.

”Shit, just needed something to suck on, huh?” He pushes down on her tongue, making her swallow around the digit with a whimper.  

”So fucking pathetic sometimes, you know? Just take anything Daddy gives you,” a low-pitched chuckle thunders from his chest, seemingly amused by the ease in which she gives into him.  

However, there’s also something gooey, syrupy beginning to whirl in the pit of her tummy. It reminds her of the countless times she was perched on the park swing as a little girl during the balmy summers of her childhood; thinking she could reach the fluffy clouds with the tips of her sneakers if only she could fly a little higher.  

”Feels nice to have something in your mouth, doesn’t it?” He ogles at her, mesmerized with intrigue twinkling in the Carolina blue that has always made her think of the sky.  

She lets out a faint moan when he drags the digit out and then back in, making her gag around it; her hips involuntarily rutting against the growing bulge straining against the zipper of his pants, desperate for some sort of friction if even through the soft material of her sweatpants.  

”Didn’t give you permission to move, did I?” He feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows that gets her to reluctantly halt her shifting.  

”Daddy, need your...” Her words are cushioned against the obstacle he’s planted between her teeth.

”Can’t really hear you, Kitten,” he mocks before he’s pulling the thumb out of her mouth altogether.  

However, the next thing she knows, he’s stuffing in his index and middle finger both at the same time. They reach far deeper; a muffled sound of gagging following his actions as he seems to discover a perverted sense of satisfaction from her struggle.

"What did you say?" His lips twist into a cruel smirk when she whimpers pitifully and tries to draw away from him in order to catch her breath but his other hand only grips her jaw tighter, keeping her exactly where he wants as she’s forced to breathe through her nose.  

”I think you can take it for a bit longer, yeah?” His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he simply stares, seemingly absorbed into the obscene scene before him.  

And she should feel embarrassed, demeaned even. And she does! However, the humiliation of letting him do whatever he wants as if she’s nothing but a cheap toy for his entertainment blurs over the lines when her cunt throbs in response to his degrading attention. She flutters uselessly around nothing; powerlessly begging for some sort of alleviation with a whine that merely earns her a tut of his tongue.  

Therefore, the only thing she can do is sit there like an obedient animal because he’s already scolded her once. She hasn’t turned entirely dumb just yet; knows firsthand how ‘Daddy doesn’t like to repeat himself’ and that the next time she misbehaves will result in a punishment her poor cunt probably wouldn’t be able to handle in this helpless state of hers. 

”Don't think you could take Daddy’s cock even halfway in this pretty mouth,” he mindlessly croons, thumb smoothing over the skin of her throat as she swallows the spit beginning to dribble down her chin.  

The thought manages to pique her curiosity because his cock has been at the forefront of her mind for a couple of weeks now, due to him constantly teasing her with the notion of letting her suck him off properly. He keeps murmuring about training her throat and fucking it raw but never actually doing it; merely allowing for her to drool and mouth over the tip because apparently she's 'not ready yet'.  

She’s beginning to turn into something desperate because whenever she tries to take more of him into her mouth, he stops her with a click of his tongue and big hands lifting her head off him. ”Don’t be greedy now, Kitten,” he’d scold her but she's certain she’s going to die if she doesn’t get to feel his cock nudge at the back of her throat soon.  

”Ray…” she tries to fruitlessly speak but he’s not exactly making it easy as he keeps stroking against her tongue. However, she doesn’t need to say anything. He knows what she wants.

”I mean, can barely fit into this tight cunt, don’t know why you keep whining about wanting me in this mouth so bad. Don’t think you’d even enjoy it that much. It’s a lot, you know?” There’s something almost patronizing in the way he’s speaking to her as if he’s not the one who brought the idea up in the first place.

It’s like he’s trying to talk her out of it yet his fingertips keep prodding past her gag reflex every few minutes, almost as if testing the waters before plunging in and it’s making her head spin.  

She whines and tries to defend herself but the digits fussing with the inside of her slobbery mouth don’t allow for her to form anything audible as she begins to grow troubled. 

”What was that?” The line of his mouth curls when he pokes deeper once more, causing her to moan with watery eyes pleading him for anything at this point.  

”Such a dirty girl. Bet you’d like choking on my cock, huh?” He grunts and she hums in response; nodding fervently before he’s finally withdrawing his hand and smearing the spit-stained fingers against her pouty lips.

They’re both panting heavily as he gently swipes at her under-eyes in order to catch the teardrops ready to trickle down before petting at the apples of her cheeks with a tenderness reserved only for her.

”Shit, always know how to make me feel better, don’t ya?” He rumbles fondly against her mouth; following his saccharine words with a messy kiss soon after. Maybe he'll finally allow her to have what she so badly craves…

[moviestarmartini]

hey lil mama - jude bellingham x reader

el tiempo puede pasar / te perseguirá mi nombre / yo siempre seré tu hombre.

summary: fwb!jude calls you up in the middle of the night, insistent he needs to come over.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: lowk an undefined situationship, nsfw (18+), soft dom!jude, praise, a tiny bit of degradation, p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T!!!!), creampie, two very needy idiots, lowk a happy ending.

A/N: took this lil blurb from my lovely @judesecret (thank u sm prettyy !!) and turned it into this train wreck of neediness hehehe enjoy y'all

now playing... hey lil mama by eladio carrión, rauw alejandro

“Hello?” 

Your phone had almost fallen off your nightstand with the incessant buzzing. You ignored for a certain time, as you did with your first alarms. You only rolled around and reached out to answer it when the idea of someone calling you for an emergency appeared in your mind, deciding to not take any chances.

“Baby…” You perked up at Jude’s breathy; whiny, even. You could notice he was agitated just from the way his exhales saturated the microphone. 

“Jude? Is something wrong?” You asked with a yawn following close after. Your voice showed disinterest, but you were surprised to hear from him; you hadn’t done so in a while. At least not directly, his name, voice, presence… the ghost of him followed you everywhere. The silence seemed to lull you back to sleep, his labored breathing miles away in your hazy mind. 

“I just need you, darling.” He finally breathed out. “So bad.” It wasn't usual to hear Jude in such a desperate state. If you weren’t half asleep, you would’ve jumped eagerly onto teasing him, enjoying the way his cocky attitude was knocked down a peg.  

“Jude it’s…” You parted your phone away from your ear, the screen lighting up. Your eyes squinted to get used to the sudden stream of light, making out the numbers to be “Four AM. But we can FaceTime, alright?” You stirred a little, but the will to make yourself look presentable was lacking. 

“No.” He quickly stood his ground, and you could hear movement on the other line. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I know where the emergency key is hidden.” 

Then he hung up.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, believing firmly he was probably messing with you. Starting with the troubles and tribulations of your relationships, once built upon pure infatuation, now just consisting of jealousy and sex. He also had training in the wee hours of the morning, the risk too great to be taken. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’d woken up from a wet dream, blushing like a prepubescent boy. The desire for your body watered his mouth as he rushed to pack a duffel bag with his clothes for training in less than a few hours. With a shrug, your arm outstretched to place the phone back on the nightstand and chase back the few minutes of sleep that were slipping through your fingers. 

But at exactly four-thirty AM, you could hear a key jingling and twisting around the lock in the peculiar way that the doorknob to your place required in order to unlock successfully. You only raised your head at the noise, the door closing was followed by a thud and featherlight steps.

“I thought you were bluffing.” You tutted at the figure standing by your doorframe, Jude slowly making himself welcome in the room. Without saying much, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket before sneaking under the duvet with you. You’d always found it funny, that such a tall, muscular man like him laid in between flowery bed sheets, frilled pink duvet, and stuffed animals. 

“Never.” He finally responded, a strong arm wrapped around you as he cuddled up from behind, his lips planting a kiss on your shoulder. You snuggled back against him, goosebumps blossoming with the way he toyed with the hem of the large tee. 

It was his shirt. 

“Not when I knew you were laying like this in bed.” He hid his face in the crook of your neck. Feeling your heart thumping against your chest, the deafening sound filling up your ears. “I know you wear those skimpy panties because you think no one will see them. Do you know how much I torture myself with that information?” His voice was low, and raspy because of the slumber he must have awoken from at some point before the call. 

“You live in my mind rent-free, princess.” He pressed a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand inviting itself under the top. “I missed you so much.” His fingers traveled your torso painfully slow, the same way he displayed kisses down the length of your neck. 

You didn’t reply for what seemed an eternity. You thought about it profusely; you could be snappy, ask why the sudden urge when he hadn’t been giving you the time of day for almost two months now. But you didn’t have the energy to argue, instead finding comfort in the way he caressed you. 

“You should’ve called earlier.” You breathed out, ignoring the way your skin prickled, and only nestled further in his arms with the pretense of getting comfortable. The groan that left his lips echoed in the cold air. 

It was quick, the way he swiftly shifted his weight and placed you under him. Startled, your chest heaved against him, lips parted in surprise. 

“Because you’re always available for me, right?” Jude cooed, his hand gently reaching and squeezing your cheeks, before stroking your cheekbone. You felt small under his gaze, identifying a certain mocking tone in his voice. “My sweet girl…” His knees pried your legs open as his torso found its place between them, finally closing the gap between your lips. “I knew he couldn’t please you like I do.” 

Your eyes widened significantly, eliciting a small laugh out of him. He’d found himself enjoying the taunting, letting his hand caress your left thigh. It was enough distraction on the painful hard-on he’d had for around half an hour now. “You think I don’t keep tabs on you, lil mama?” He reached to flick on your bedside lamp. It became a habit; your expressions only tipped him over the edge further and motivated him to do the most to make you cum. Under the warm light, Jude noticed you were still visibly tired, but you were as gorgeous as any other day you applied makeup and had your hair done. 

Leaning closer, his lips brushed yours, and he’d even pulled back when you tried to close the gap. He wanted to get you riled up, the same way you’d make him feel when his sources told him you were attempting something with some random guy. The way you huffed, hands reaching to pull him in, made Jude know it wasn’t going to take long to reach his first checkpoint of the night. 

“Jude…” You complained, all those weeks away from him had started to weigh in. “I was jealous, okay? He could never make me feel like you do.” It was the little things; things Jude learned with time, with touch and experimenting. The hours you’d spent locked in a bedroom with one another had him learning the tips and tricks that ruined everyone else for you. 

The desperation made his chest swell, your admission dissipated any of the pent-up jealousy, the need taking over every inch of his soul as his lips crashed into yours. An involuntary moan left your mouth, mixing with the heavy breaths, getting lost in the frenzied sync your lips took. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer. 

Goosebumps formed at the trail his hand left down your leg, hand edging dangerously close to your warm core. You shivered under him at the ghost of his fingers over the thin layer of cloth, fingertips grazing the damp area lightly. You tried leaning in closer to the touch, trying to get some— if any— tangible pleasure. But Jude just smirked between sloppy kisses. 

In a swift movement, he tugged the light fabric aside, with such strength you could hear some seams breaking. “Damn, lil mama,” Jude breathed out, his index finger collecting a good amount of slick. He placed it in his mouth, humming at the taste. You were still wondering if this was a dream, if you were actually asleep and would wake up with your alarm in a few minutes. 

“You still get dripping wet from just kissing me.” It sounded more like praise than mockery, and you could tell he was proud… of himself. It riled you up, enough to lower your hand and cup his bulge with a smirk. “I could say the same.”

There was that defiance once more, but Jude seemed to be having none of that as he took your lips, hostage, in his again. You almost yelped, but once his hand slid downwards, you helped in undoing his pants. The same sentiment of need had spread over to you, tugging down your panties, both struggling to keep your lips in touch. 

The desire was suffocating, Jude was unable to keep his hands off your body, pulling the shirt upwards but with no intention of removing it fully, too desperate to go through the whole process of getting bare and turned on by the fact you were wearing his memorabilia. 

“C’mon mama, help me out here,” He panted, lining himself to your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his hips to give him a better angle, almost melting into the mattress with each inch that filled you up to the brim. “Look at me,” Jude complained, his voice coarse as he pushed you back against the bed, knowing you were inevitably going to hide your face in the crook of his neck once he moved his hips. 

Jude watched intently the way your face contorted with every slow thrust he gave you; the parted lips, eyes struggling to stay focused on him, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jude praised with his whole chest, cupping your cheeks with one hand and giving you yet another ferocious kiss. 

Your moans found their place at the back of your throat, practically choking you as he slammed into you, tongues intertwining. It was bizarre; the groans and the peculiar sound of skin clashing mixed with the soft tweet of birds outside as the sunrays overshadowed the hard work the nightstand lamp was doing by lighting up the whole room. The world seemed to move around you, but time stood still every time he hit that particular spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. 

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Jude managed to groan in your ear, your flustered face hidden in the crook of his neck. “I’ll always be your man.” The hand resting on your hip tightened its grip, and the way you arched your back to respond to the touch only sent him more shivers down his spine. 

“Jude,” You whined and moaned, almost like a plea. He only could smile gently and caress you, just before manhandling you into laying on your stomach, pulling your hips back to give him that perfect angle. 

“That’s it— ohh, you fucking slut, arch your back,” He muttered, admiring his last name and number 5 on the tee before slamming back inside you. He subsequently took off his shirt so nothing could obstruct the recoil of your ass every time his lower abdomen came in contact with it. 

“I-I’m gonna cum, baby,” You whined against the pillow, his hands digging into the doughy skin of your hips as he fucked you right into the mattress with enough force to make the bed creak even louder than it did before. 

“You’ve been amazing for me, do it,” And as if his praise wasn’t approval enough, he leaned down, his hand across your abdomen and downwards to press two fingers against your throbbing clit, drawing circles around the numb. 

That was it. The thing he knew how to do best: send you shivering and chanting his name for your neighbors to hear. He found it perfect also, as you squeezed his cock deliciously, making the rhythm of his hips sputter before he filled your pussy up to the brim. 

Jude collapsed on top of you, feeling a big amount of melatonin rush back into his system. “I missed you too.” You muttered from under him, replying to what he said seemingly hours ago. 

“Hm, yeah?” He rolled off to your side, pulling his sweats up before drawing you to his chest straight away. “We must do this more often, then.” He peered over your shoulder to check the time, turning off the lamp once again. “Great. We’ve got one hour left.” 

“You’re not leaving?” You tilted your head up. He never lacked in the aftercare department, but left as soon as it was prudent. 

“Nu-uh.” Jude yawned, his grip around you tightening. “Let’s snuggle up. And have a lunch date later.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead, brushing the lightly sweaty strands back.  

You nodded, an arm across his chest. Now the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat combined with his hand massaging your scalp lulled you to sleep, not the tears you’d spilled because of him. 

You were so glad you picked up the phone. 

[yogurtkags]

❝ HERE WITH ME ❞ — kageyama tobio

cw. gn!reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship word count. 860 synopsis. tobio comforts you in the only way he knows how

"i'm home." the first thing tobio notices is that it's too quiet.

taking his shoes and jacket off by the door, he peers over the corner to see the house seemingly empty. that's odd, you're usually home by now.

practice ended a little earlier than usual, or as coach calls it, a reward, for finally getting down some of the new attack formations that the team has been working on for the past couple of weeks. he had no complaints, taking the shortest and fastest way home to you.

it’s daily routine that he gets home after you after all — you’re always there at the door to greet him with a hug or at least be within sight, either lounging on the couch or busying yourself with something. with a sweet smile and crescent moons for eyes, your head will shoot up from whatever you're focusing on, searching for the face of your lover. you're always so happy to see him.

today, you’re nowhere to be found. the still air of your cozy abode is stifling as he scans his surroundings, the only indication that you're home is your bag laying by the door, half of it's contents spilling out like it was thrown aside. something’s up.

frowning in confusion, he quietly pads to your shared bedroom, taking cautious steps towards the door left slightly ajar. gently pushing the door open, he finds you laying face down in bed. if it weren’t for your muffled sniffles, he would’ve thought you were asleep, and his heart shatters when he realises — you’re crying.

his eyebrows furrow as he slowly approaches your figure, kneeling down and grazing his fingers along the back of your hand with a featherlight touch. the last thing he wants to do is scare you in case you didn't hear him come in.

you did in fact hear him, but simply didn’t have it in you to get up after the grueling day that just passed. the universe seemed to be against you — everything that could’ve gone wrong, went wrong, and what started as a peaceful morning ended with you dragging yourself home and barely holding back tears.

barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “hi love, i’m home.”

with your face smushed into the pillow, you miss the concerned crease between his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips at the sight of you like this. tobio knows very well that he's a far cry from being an empath, but seeing you in this state makes his shoulders stiffen, body tensing up as he imagines the distress you must be in.

you always did take pride in being strong and slow to crumble in the face of trouble. it's one of the endless list of things he loves about you, but he also knows that you tend to bottle up your negative emotions.

shifting over to give him room to sit, your turn in his direction just as you feel the edge of the bed dip with his weight, eyes still closed and almost afraid to face him. it’s not that you can’t be vulnerable with him, he already has so much on his plate, you don’t want to bother him any more after a long day.

he thumbs at your damp cheeks and sighs, “look at me, please?” reluctantly fluttering your eyes open, you meet his worried gaze with exhausted, glossy eyes. there you are, his beautiful baby.

“bad day?” he knows, and with your nods he soothes you, “you don’t have to tell me if you don't want to okay?”

he’s worried, he’s never been good with words, neither does he ever know what he’s doing when you’re the one that needs comfort. he lets his actions do the talking instead, stretching out his arms for you for you to fall into. i'll be your safety net.

but little does he know, his simple words are enough to soothe your soul, knowing they’re from the heart. like a glimmer of sunshine piercing through the sea of dark clouds, they quell your worries and shelter you from the storm, even if just for a little while.

“shh it’s okay, i’m here.”

the moment he takes you into his arms, you’re falling apart, a fresh wave of warm tears finding a home in the junctures of his neck. his arms, toned and strong from years of volleyball, cradle you with a softness he only ever knows with you, hands delicately smoothing up and down your spine as he gently rocks back and forth.

the quiet humming and tender kisses to the crown of your head ground you with time, your tears slowing in it's tracks. with a deep exhale, you catch your breath and finally lift your head to look him, heartstrings tugging at the way his loving gaze seems to find yours.

tobio brushes the loose strands of hair out of your face, placing a reassuring kiss on your forehead, followed by each of your eyelids. it tickles and you let out a humoured breath at the sensation, bringing a soft relieved smile to his face.

"there you are. you're safe, here with me now."

notes. back to the regular scheduled program ~ i apologise in advance, this is extremely self-indulgent and possibly ooc. i started writing this in my lowest point last week after a night of crying myself to sleep, i know, not my brightest moment eueueue. i hope this can be of at least a little bit of comfort to you < 3 (dividers: @/cafekitsune) reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Scars Like Mine

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: angst | words: 3,3k | warnings: this story explores a little darker themes, like childhood trauma and fire, so please, read with caution. playlist: hurts | scars to your beautiful | beauty marks | stronger | fly with me

“Where did you get those from?”

Azriel startles, both at the little voice talking to him and the soft touch against his hand. It is featherlight, almost like a gust of wind and feels so odd in a place like this. In front of him, is the barren landscape of the Illyrian mountains, around him the eerie war camp, frigid and somber. 

The shadowsinger’s gaze drops immediately and he‘s met with big, brown eyes that belong to a tiny girl, barely reaching to his knee. Her wings are tightly tucked in. She is wearing a dark blue wool hat that has a few holes in it, and a jacket that looks far too big for her small frame. 

Shock runs deep the moment he sees that half her face and also the exposed part of her neck is marred by scars, very similar to those on his hands. But despite those scars, there is a smile on her lips. One that seems so bright within the darkness of this camp. 

Azriel’s throat is all of a sudden so dry and constricts when he wants to talk. A cold shiver curls around his spine, and his knees tremble. What could have possibly been done to her? Where did she get the scars from?

Finally he crouches down, his hand still in the hold of the little Illyrian girl. He is nearly on eye level with her when his lips part to say something, anything, but she beats him to it.

“From fire?” Her eyes open wider, and curiosity sparks within the deep chocolate brown. Her lower lip, though, trembles slightly. “Like mine?”

Slowly, Azriel’s chin dips, his chest squeezing and his heart beating in a sad rhythm. He has accepted so, but hearing it out loud hurt. He feels tremendously bad for every child who had to experience a similar fate to what he had to go through and telling by the amount of scars she has on her body, the fire she had to face wasn’t a small one.  

“Do they still hurt?” She flips Azriel’s hand in hers, the back of it exposed now, and trails her little index finger over one particularly bad and deep scar. 

“Not that much,” Azriel says in a calm, soft voice. “Only in winter when my hands are so dry.” He smiles at her and the little girl nods, a pensive look on her face.

“Mine do too,” she finally says after a moment. “You need to put cream on them. My mummy always puts cream on my skin. I can ask her if she can help you, too?” Her smile widens a little, her eyes looking so hopefully that tears brim Azriel’s.

But the mention of her mummy—Azriel suddenly realises that the girl is all alone, in the middle of the war camp. 

“Where is your mother? Why are you here all alone?”

A cold breeze blows through the war camp, and Azriel notices that other than a few Illyrian brutes the little girl is completely alone (now with him, and he would of course protect her, but otherwise she is alone).

“Mummy picks up our laundry. I am waiting for her here. She is right in there.” Using her index finger, she points at the building behind Azriel and a breath of relief leaves the shadowsinger. 

Thank the Cauldron, she isn’t alone and her mother is close. Azriel’s tense shoulders visible relax, wings slouching to the ground.

The little girl drops his hand and looks at him in shock, eyes wide open, lips parted. “Careful!” she cautions. “Never drag them over the ground, there are pebbles and stones, you might get hurt.”

This is all it needed for a single tear to break the damn and slide out of his eye. Azriel releases a shuddering breath and says, “Oh thank you so much for the warning.” He quickly tucks in his wings, straightens up and smiles at her.

It is most definitely something her mummy has told her, and Azriel has to smile at the thought. A mother who truly looks after her child…

“She taught me how to fly when no one would,” the girl tells Azriel. “They thought I couldn’t fly with my crippled wing.” She lifts her right wing to show it to Azriel, the thin black membrane also adorned with the same scars that grace her skin. 

Azriel swallows thickly, his jaw clenching so hard it almost hurts. “But I‘m sure you proved them wrong.”

The corners of her mouth lift. “I did. I can actually fly really well.” A joyful grin spreads over her face and a kernel of pride blooms in Azriel’s chest — of course she can and of course she showed all the Illyrian fuckers that despite her wing being marred by scars it doesn’t stop her from flying. 

“Do you like flying?” he asks, still in his crouched position but now with his wings neatly tucked in behind his broad shoulders.

The girl shrugs and then inhales deeply. “I like it, but I‘m often not allowed to. Only when mummy has time.”

That makes sense. She is very young and letting her fly alone would be much too risky. Azriel nods slowly and braces his hands on his thighs. He makes a mental note to buy cream, although the mention of someone else taking care of his hands sounded so very wonderful. But obviously he could never accept that offer.

“What is your name?” the little Illyrian asks and brings Azriel back to the moment.

“Azriel,” he answers and likes that here in Illyria where somehow everyone knows him, she doesn’t know who he is. 

“I like this name.” She smiles and bounces on her toes, reaching for a shadow that curls towards her. “Do they have a name as well?”

Azriel has to chuckle at that. She is incredibly adorable and somehow talking to her, and her treating him like any other person and not showing a hint of fear, does something to his heart. And to his eyes. He clears his throat and says, “Unfortunately not. They are just my shadows.”

One of them now curls around her finger and it makes her giggle.

Azriel‘s gaze drops to her shoes. They seem a little too small and old and dirty. One is not fully intact, and it makes him sad. 

Quickly, he asks, “But, do you have a name?” in order to not overthink why she might be wearing those old shoes. It would break his heart.

“Of course, I do. My name is—”

“Elia!” A female voice calls and Azriel looks over his shoulder and is met with a female of beauty he has never seen before. You drop the basket with laundry you have held before and run towards him and Elia.

There is terror in your voice, and horror etched upon your features and Azriel quickly straightens up. He lifts his hands but you completely ignore him. All your attention on the little girl. “Elia! I told you to stay close to the building!”

You are so scared. So incredibly worried and terrified and Azriel’s shadows sense it, tell him.

“I don’t mean any harm or danger—”

“I don’t care. She isn’t supposed to talk to any Illyrian brute!” you snap and finally meet his gaze, your arm sliding around your little girl’s shoulders, pulling her to you. 

You have never seen a male of such beauty before and— he is the High Lord’s shadowsinger. But that doesn’t matter. After everything that has happened to you —to her— you can’t risk anything. Never, ever again. What has been done to you in Ironcrest—

Your breath catches, but before either of you can say anything, Elia opens her mouth. “He has scars like me, mummy.”

Your stomach could, and your throat works around a swallow. “I am very sorry to hear that,” you finally say and your gaze brushes his again. A cold smile is on his face, but other than that there is just empathy. No hint of cruelty, or 

“He also got them from fire,” Elia adds and looks up at you with her big brown eyes, her lips pouted. “Just like me, mummy.”

“Oh baby.” You brush your hand over her head and then turn to address Azriel again. “I’m sorry that this happened to you as well. And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. Thank you for keeping her safe while I was gone.”

Azrirl bows his head. He technically didn‘t do anything, Azriel thinks and says, “Nothing to thank me for.” 

“But there is.” The sincerity within his eyes is proof enough that you really mean and he can sense your gratitude. After what has probably happened to your little girl, no risk could be taken.

“Do you want to have dinner with us, Azriel?”

“Elia!” you reprimand with a chuckle. She and her big mouth. But she is so joyful and so hopeful and seeing your little daughter happy is the greatest gift the Mother could ever give you. She has finally met someone with scars like hers, and you would love to invite him, solely to thank him for looking after her while you were inside the laundry place. 

He didn’t mean any harm and was kind to her which is a rarity for Illyrian males up here. 

But he works for the High Lord, you doubt he has time for such mundane things as having dinner with you and your daughter. 

“I’m sorry, she is always so straightforward. I would love to invite you to have dinner with us to thank you looking after her, but I totally understand if you are too busy and don’t have time to– ”

“I would love to have dinner with you. Only if it is alright for you, of course,” Azriel interrupts you and smiles a little sheepishly. “But there is absolutely nothing to thank me for. I didn’t do anything.”

Still holding onto your daughter, you step a little closer to him, gaze honest and sincere when it locks with his. “You did. You made her feel protected and safe. She wouldn’t have talked to you otherwise.” You swallow, and mean every word you say. It is the truth. “And you made her smile and I will forever thank anyone who does so.” Reaching out, you grab his hand and squeeze it lightly. 

What has been done to her can never ever be changed again, but every day forward and every little smile on her face, cures a little bit of the pain. And whoever helps you two in going forward and bringing her happiness, has a place within your heart. 

Azriel now also closes his fingers, naturally curling them around your hand. He wants to say something, anything, just so he can look at you a little longer without making it seem weird. But he doesn’t have to say anything, Elia does the job for him. 

“And after dinner, you have to put my cream on his hands as well. Azriel told me that in winter his scars also hurt a lot.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Don’t, please, I can do that.” Your cheeks flush again at his closeness and how helpful he is. You are not used to behaviour like this from other Illyrian males and so you appreciate it greatly. 

Azriel places the plates in the sink and smiles at you. “Please, allow me to help you.” Lastly, he collects Elia’s empty glass, leaving yours and his own on the table, both still filled with a bit of wine. When everything is in the sink he collects a cloth and cleans the table. 

Dinner was wonderful and Elia asked Azriel many questions about his scars but also his shadows and if he likes to fly and what he likes most about flying. He answered each one of her questions, making your heart thrum happily within your chest. 

You know he didn’t tell her the real story about his scars, having seen the look in his eyes. Despite being grateful for it for sparing her the worst details, your stomach has been twisting and coiling since he started with his story. What could have possibly happened to him?

Elia didn’t want to go to bed when it was time for her (actually she stayed up even an hour longer than she is used to, but you allowed her to do so, loving how she thrived in Azriel’s presence, finally having met someone who shares the same past with fire as she does. 

She was almost asleep at the table, chin resting on her hand when you picked her up, cradled her to her chest. “Good night, Azriel, and thank you for sharing your story with me,” she said to the shadowsinger and smiled at him. 

Azriel said her in return, “Thank you for inviting me to dinner and remember all these scars are just proof of how strong you are.” This brought tears to your eyes. 

By the time you reached her room and laid her down she was already asleep. 

He sits down at the table again and you claim the spot beside him, a shy smile on your lips and a small jar of cream for his scars in your hands. 

“We are not from here actually,” you start and loose a long breath, lifting your eyes to meet his hazle ones. “Elia and I come from Ironcrest. After the fire, we fled. Ironcrest was no longer safe for us. My…my ex-husband wanted us gone, thinking I betrayed him and that Elia was not from him. It was utter bullshit, I would have never cheated on him, but his mind told him other things.” 

Your throat constricts as the memories replay in your mind and a shuddering breath leaves you. You close your eyes for a second and suddenly feel a soft touch against your hand. 

“You continue when you are ready,” Azriel whispers, his hand gently placed upon yours. Your lids flicker open and with a look full of gratitude, you meet his eyes and slowly bow your head. 

“Elia had to pay the price for it. I collected some last things for our departure when he set our house on fire. She wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t there fast enough. When I returned I saw the massive flames. It is all I can remember, and Elia’s cries. How she sobbed and wailed and how I held her and dragged her outside. And I–”

“But you were.” He squeezes your hand. “She wouldn’t be here today, if you had been too late. There is no blame on you. She got out of the fire before it was too late. You saved her. You, alone as a young Illyrian female, fled the camp and came here to give her a better life.”

His words…

Tears run out of your eyes and you flip your hand over, cradling it tightly and then lifting it. You bring his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles. “No one has ever made me see the past like this. I’ve always blamed myself.” You swallow around the ache in your throat, tears tasting salty on your lips. “I should have stayed with her. Not left her alone.”

“You can’t always expect the worst and you arrived there in time,” Azriel breathes, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand, his own eyes glassy, tears visible in the corners of them. “You did all you could, and do so every day. Don’t be so hard on yourself, I know you are a great mother.”

Gratitude fills every fibre of your body, and through your tears you smile at him. “Thank you, and please,” –you have to chuckle– “this time just allow him to thank you.”

He dips his chin, the shadows around him that have been calm before, now swirling quite vividly around their owner. 

Azriel reaches out the hand that is not held by yours, and uses his thumb to brush away some tears and then tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are allowed to thank me, but only if I am allowed to say that Elia most definitely has the best mother in all of Prythian.”

You close your eyes when new tears start to bubble up. You want to shake your head at him, but his palm is placed against your cheek, his thumb stroking over the damp skin. 

“And most definitely also the most beautiful mother in the entire world.” His smile brightens and there is so much honesty within his eyes, you really believe him that he means it. It does something to your heart and to your soul, starting to glow deep within your chest. 

Your cheeks heat, probably also turning bright red and so you need to change the topic. 

“Now let me take care of your hands.” You let go of one of his hands so you can reach for the small jar. Azriel also lowers his own hand, humming in approval. 

“And while you do so, maybe you want to tell me the real story of what happened to them?”

Sadness and pain passes over his face replacing the former lightness. He says nothing for a long moment. You give him time, the same he gave you before, and unscrew the jar, scooping up a bit of the cool cream with two fingers. 

Gently, you apply it to the back of his hand, softly starting to apply it to the rough surface. 

“My step-brothers thought it would be interesting to test my Illyrian healing powers. They held me, poured oil over my hands and set them on fire. When my father’s warriors arrived, it was already too late, the damage has been done.”

Shock knocks the breath from you. How could people be so cruel? How could your own family do something like this?

“I am so sorry.”

“It is alright,” he whispers. Azriel enjoys the soft touch of your hands and what you do to him too much to allow himself to dwell on past memories and those haunting experiences. He wants to revel in the feeling of your hands on his forever. 

“But it isn’t,” you insist. “It never is. I hope they paid for it?” You lift your gaze to meet his, and move on to his other hand, gently taking it into yours while beginning to work a bit of the leftover cream into his skin before scooping up some more. 

“They did,” he assures you and releases a long sigh, visibly relaxing in his chair. “Your hands work wonders.”

A little giggle leaves you, letting your fingers glide over his, intertwining them for a split second. “I assume you need to come here more often then?”

“Is this an invitation?” With a small smirk on his lips, Azriel raises his brow at you. 

“I’m sure Elia would appreciate it greatly.” You smile at him. 

Azriel leans forward a bit and your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribcage. For most part of your life, you have feared males, avoided them like the plague except for the male you one day had to marry but who is now your ex-husband. It is different with Azriel. You like being near him despite not even really knowing him. But you like to be in his presence, to talk to him, to touch him. It is something new, and something that surprises you but it is a welcome feeling. You like it. And he even has the bonus that also Elia likes him and feels safe and secure in his presence.

“And her mother?” Azriel says in a voice that is an octave lower, almost like a velvety brush against your skin. “Would she like to see me again?”

You grin at him, some tears having dried on your cheeks by now. “She would love to see you again.”

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[delirious-donna]

Higuruma Hiromi is a migraine sufferer. He knows all too well the gnawing pain that would see him wishing he could slam his entire body against a wall repeatedly, just to feel something other than the continued ache in his head.

He’s no stranger to pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed tightly shut to block out every iota of light and how even a strong odour could have him retching, running for a restroom.

The only thing that’s worse is when he returns home to find the house bathed in a blanket of twilight despite being still light out. An empty water glass set on the kitchen counter and the cabinets still half open from where you’d likely rummaged for goodness knows what.

With his briefcase and jacket hastily deposited by the door, he strides purposefully for the bedroom, loosening his tie as he goes. His heart rests in his throat at the sight of your curled up in your shared bed, trying to make yourself as small as possible with your head half buried under the sheets and pillows.

His only relief is that you’re asleep, the sound of soft snores tugging the corners of his mouth upwards whilst he pads quietly into the room and sits on the bed. It’s almost pitch black but he sees you as clear as a summer day, his reason for being and the person he holds above all others.

If he could take the pain into him he would, even knowing how debilitating migraines could be. Hiromi would suffer a thousand migraines if it spared you from even one. His fingers ease back your hair, chuckling at your favourite metal water bottle you’ve managed to wedge into the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t dare remove it. This is your comfort, and he wouldn’t strip you of it even if it did look a little silly.

You wake not long after, the faint tippy tap of fingers flying over keys alerting you to the presence of your husband, and you roll over to find him. In his favourite band t-shirt from his youth, you discover Hiromi tucked in beside you with his laptop balanced on his lap. He smiles when you blink up at him, though concern lines his brow and mars his expression.

“How is your head, my love?” He asks, reaching out tentative fingers which dance across your forehead then down to your jaw. You lean into the affection, grateful for his presence and glad that the worst of the migraine has subsided.

“Better.” The answer comes out as a croak, and you quickly clear your throat, feeling how dry your mouth has become. You needed a drink in the worst way and your husband knew it.

“There’s green tea with ginger in a flask on your side, and a glass of water.” You hum your appreciation at his thoughtfulness but he continues on. “I also grabbed a cup of ice incase you’d rather suck ice cubes, and there are some crackers too to replenish your salts.”

“Hiromi…” You feel yourself become choked with emotion, the continued way he looks after you even when you haven’t asked.

Gently, he cups your face in both palms. “In my hands, I hold my whole world.” His lips press into your forehead, featherlight but with such meaning behind it that it reaches your soul.

Migraines were the worst but with Higuruma Hiromi by your side, you could deal with anything.

[machveil]

Trying not to think about Simon 'Always Doing Acts of Service and Caring for Others Silently' Ghost Riley forgetting to care for himself as much, and how it would probably touch a part of his heart he thought wasn't there anymore if someone did the same for him. Something simple, like just a new jacket after his old one got wrecked from wear and tear, that's thick and durable but soft and comfortable, a nice weight on his shoulders but doesn't make him sweat, resting over his chair. Or after a long day of work where he's dragging himself along, finding a meal already made for him sitting in the fridge, something actually cooked and seasoned the way he likes so he doesn't have to think about cooking or go to bed on an empty stomach. Idk, this has been rattling around in my brain all day and I needed to get it out, sorry if this is weird! Also really like your art and writing, congrats on the 1k, you deserve it and so much more!

anon I’m smooching your big, beautiful brain (I wrote this in one sitting, hope it’s not terrible lol)

Simon Riley is a man of action - Ghost, the most literal manifestation of serving. Ghost follows and gives orders to assure his team, his friends, make it home safe at the end of a deployment. as a Lieutenant, Simon wouldn’t say it out loud, but he cares so deeply for his team. Task Force 141 is a second home to him, more so the people, and thus makes it his job to protect them

but Simon Riley is also a man of action off duty - a civilian who’s heart rests in your hands. loyal as a dog, Simon would do anything for you. a man of action, he’ll insist you relax, you shouldn’t lift a finger for something small. anything Simon can do in your stead he will. because, while his team is a second home, his true home is you

but Simon, stubborn and strong as he is, gets tired. front door clicking shut, mask already being tugged off, his muscles are tense and sore after a long day. dirty blond hair messy and eyes half lidded with exhaustion, he’s still only got one thing on his mind - to serve you and make you happy. he already planned on trudging into the kitchen to make dinner, something simple but filling. he pauses when he smells food already though

kicking his boots off, worn and dirty, he makes his way to the little kitchen around the corner. cracking a small, barely there smile at the sight in front of him. you, moving about the kitchen. the lights a little dim - he’d change the lightbulb later, and there you are, cooking a meal. one step ahead of him, and he soaks in the domestic scene. a part of him wants to step in, tell you you’ve done enough and he’ll finish everything off… but he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt this cozy, intimate moment

it’s only when you see him does he approach, hands a touch too rough and calloused - he’s sure you’ll make him moisturize later. “Smells nice, lovie.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hairline. eyes fluttering shut as he holds your hands, a small grin tugs at his lips, “S‘pose the food smells good too.”. he relishes in the laugh that leaves you, the way you squeeze his hands. he moves to press a kiss to your jaw, slightly crooked nose nudging against you as his hands wander to your hips - touch featherlight, as if handling you any rougher might shatter you

there’s a reluctance in his heart as he lets go of you, scoffing when you tell him to go sit down. “Bossy little thing.”, he mumbles, voice lighthearted as he leans back against a counter. he stays there for just a moment, one last glance at you happily cooking - cooking for him. it melts his heart knowing that you’re just a loyal as him, that you’d both run to the ends of the Earth for each other

he’s content to finally relax, leaving the kitchen to slump against a chair in the small dining room. head tilted back a little as he rolls his shoulders, his hands move to idly take his belt off - he’d change later, a hot shower after dinner always made him feel better. maybe he’d convince you to join him, better yet— maybe he’d convince himself to indulge in a hot bath instead. and when you join him at the table, sitting down next to him with a full plate for him, Simon feels butterflies in his stomach

he loves eating with you, sharing a meal and letting his guard down. gaze smitten as he listens to you recount your day, breathing steady as he hums. and when everything is done, stubborn man, he’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. as much as he’d like to wash them straight away, he settles for leaving them in the sink tonight. soon enough he’s sweeping you up in his arms - no matter how roughed up and sore he is, he always finds the strength to carry you. he’ll ignore any protest that, “Simon! I can walk—“, a gruff chuckle rumbling in his chest, “Know that, love, but I can carry you just fine.”

and from then on, Simon feels like he’s floating. in a dreamlike state, he sets you down on the cool bathroom floor, feet making contact with tile. gently thumbing at your hips, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, “Thank you.”. soft spoken words contrasting his gravely voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek - lips a little chapped, but he’s never heard you complain about them

and when you help each other slowly strip, the bathroom filling with mist like steam, he feels the tension in his muscles give. he puts up a little fight, grumbled words, when you insist on sudsing him up. he’s all bark though, when he feels you rub his aching shoulders he feels like he could never muster up any bite ever agiain. comfortable and turning to putty in your hands, he’ll happily let you mould him into a soft, gentle man

he’ll lazily return the favor, rough hands lathered in your body wash. content. feeling you under his palms, warm skin dotted with beads of water and bubbles, Simon’s content. a warmth in his chest that he’s still not used to. the simple intimacy of washing away the sweat and filth from the day, it makes Simon feel like a new man - and to wash you? he’s happy you feel safe enough, that you trust him, to handle you so carefully

and at the end of the night, cleaned from the dirt of his daily life, Simon settles in bed with you. all gentle touches and soft, murmured praise - you did so good for him today. he fights the back of his mind off, you’ve taught him better than to believe those gnawing words. Simon Riley deserves this. a phrase you carved into his heart, long since settled at the forefront of his mind. and as he holds you to his chest, warm hand on the small of your back, he sighs deeply…

a man of action deserves rest

[mrchiipchrome]

Princess Treatment

W.C. - 2.4 k

a/n: if you've seen this before, no you haven't

--------------------------

Ever since Ella was little her mum had told her that she had a ‘princess attitude’, that she only expected the best and anything less than that was unacceptable. She was also told that no boy would ever keep up with it, lucky for her, she wasn’t even into boys. 

When you met Ella you were 14, and yet you were already more than a couple heads taller than kids four years older than you. It was no surprise that people were a bit scared of you, tall and rather buff. 

But Ella saw through it all, all the snide comments from the other girls and all the rumors, she saw that you only wanted love from people, to love people just the same as anyone else. So when she started dating you only a year after your official meeting it only surprised the ones still believing the rumors and the ones who were making them up.

Ella was already getting the princess treatment when you were strictly friends, being somewhat of a people pleaser might’ve had something to do with it. But nonetheless she loved you with all your flaws, just like you did her.

The lovey dovey attitude never disappeared, even as you transitioned from being immature teenagers to being mature adults, you were still acting like lovesick teens who just fell in love for the first time. 

And not surprising was that the princess attitude never really disappeared, she was still letting you carry her training bag for her and give her massages. It wasn’t like she demanded you do these things for her, you just did them like you knew exactly what it was that she needed. Though when she was cranky her mood definitely changed drastically, princess behavior turned up to the max.

The only thing that really bothers you about the whole thing is your teammates' excessive teasing. It made you uncomfortable and you felt as though you couldn’t properly express your love for your girlfriend without being ridiculed. Despite the amount of years you’d spent around your United teammates, you were still closed off around most of them, the only exceptions being Alessia, Mary and Ella.

And while the three tried their best to get you out of your shell, it was futile to even try, you could only work and be open with them on the pitch, where you were doing your job.

Your teammates obviously felt your absence, so in an attempt to get you to open up a little, they put team bonding at a bar, thinking that a few drinks would loosen you up. 

———

“How do I look?” It had been a while since you’d been at a bar, and you didn’t exactly know what the latest club fashion was, so instead of overcomplicating it, you just settled on a black button up tucked into navy dress pants and a brown leather belt. 

“You look good enough to eat baby, are you sure we can’t cancel and take the evening for ourselves?” Ella almost had you convinced, but when you remembered exactly how many team bonding sessions you’d missed just because of that reason, you stopped. 

“No, you already know how many team bonding outings we’ve missed, they’re going to think that we’re avoiding them.” Your shorter girlfriend’s hands come up to rest against your chest, her fingers fiddling with the upper buttons of your shirt, popping two buttons open before you take her hands in yours, pulling them up to your mouth, pressing light kisses to the backs of her hands.

“You look so gorgeous my love, but maybe you should go with other shoes? I know how you get after a while of wearing heels.” When she looks up at you with the slightest attitude, the little glare that shines through every once in a while, you put your hands on her waist and pull her body flush against your own. “Or I can stop being an idiot and let you wear whatever you want.” 

Ella hums at your response, lips resting featherlight against yours, her breath ghosting over your lips as she tells you to;

“Wear that navy suit jacket, it’s warm and your arms look nice in it.” And with that she pulls away, frustrated to no end. As you turn around to get the jacket from where it’s draped on the bed, a hand slaps your ass.

“How have I never noticed how good your butt looks in these trousers babe?” The fact that she’s a hundred percent serious is what amuses you, and even though she asked you to, Ella pouts when you put your suit jacket on, apparently not happy to not be able to shamelessly ogle your ass anymore.

“Come on love, Less is outside and I’m pretty sure that she’s going to get the wrong idea if we keep her waiting for too long.” You send the girl a wink before ushering her out of the house with minimal effort. You kept your hand on her lower back, leading her towards the back seat before you took the shotgun seat.

“One more second and I swear I was going to report you two missing.” Alessia rolls her eyes at the two of you, fake annoyance spreading across her face, and you both act like you don’t notice her huge smile.

Arriving at the bar fashionably late, you immediately spot the huge group of women standing around the bar, seemingly ordering their drinks. Ella pulls your hand to go in their direction, your feet drag against the floor in reluctance.

You listen as your girlfriend and your best friend greet the women, the best you can come up with is a meek wave. 

“A coke please. Oh and just make the sweetest and fruitiest drink you can for my missus.” Your teammates look on in confusion and slight disappointment as you order a nonalcoholic drink for yourself. It was clear that they barely knew anything about you, you weren’t a big fan of the taste or the loss of basic cognitive function.

“Y/n is our designated driver, me and Less are planning on letting loose tonight.” Ella answered their unasked question, the team nodding in disappointment.

Finding a booth big enough to fit the whole team, Ella immediately settles herself on your lap as soon as you sit down, your ice cold cola being set down on the table in favour of wrapping your arms around your soon-to-be fiancée’s waist, your hands setting in her lap. 

Everyone settles into comfortable conversations with each other, you’re content to listen to the voice of your girlfriend and Alessia, tracing shapes into her thigh and taking a swig of your now nearly flat and room temperature cola. 

“Baby, my feet hurt.” Ella stops her conversation to tell you, the tight shoes squeezing her and the high heel likely poking against her heel.

“I told you this would happen, my love.” You tell her lowly, acutely aware of a majority of your teammates' eyes on you, seemingly more engaged in your conversation than their own.

“No you said ‘I know how you get after a while of wearing them’ you never told me what would happen.” Your girlfriend sasses back, saying it as if it were fact.

“Alright, then we’ll do the usual?” Ella gets up from your lap to undo the straps of her shoes as you undo the knot of your laces, sliding your shoes off your feet and onto hers. They were a few sizes too big, despite Ella being known as the bigfoot of the team, and as she settles back onto your lap, most of your teammates look on in some sort of shock.

“Did Ella just extort you out of your shoes Y/n?” Maya asks, like she wasn’t familiar with your girlfriend’s attitude. Being put on the spot like that makes you more than uncomfortable as you shift in your seat, thankfully your slightly tipsy best friend notices it and helps you out.

“Have you seriously not noticed Ella’s obvious princess attitude? God, where are you when Y/n’s away and I have to deal with it.” Alessia joked with the younger girl, teasing her about her ignorance towards her friend and national teammate.

“So you just do what she asks you to?” Millie asks, and you look at her nonchalantly.

“I mean, yeah, pretty much. Ella deserves everything in this world and if I can give her even a fraction of that then I’ll do whatever she needs me to.” You answer sincerely, there was nothing to lie about there, she was your everything. It wasn’t like they would remember it in the morning either way, they were all pretty wasted.

“Awww baby, you never told me that. I love you so much.” Ella smothers your face in kisses, seemingly forgetting the bright red lipstick she’d put on earlier. The red lip marks nearly blend into the skin of your face as you blush heavily at her actions, face closer to a beetroot than anything even remotely human.

“I think it’s time to round off the evening now before poor Y/n gets an aneurysm.” The women around the table laugh at your now significantly drunker best friend, both the blonde and the brunette being wasted by now.

Getting Alessia to pick up Ella’s shoes, you steal yours back for a more comfortable fit, Ella sneaking your jacket from its place on the chair. Turning back to see Ella basically drowning in the fabric of your jacket might be one of your favorite sights ever, she was just too adorable. 

Your hands slip around the back of her knees, the other clutching closer to her rib cage as you carry her in a bridal grip. Ella runs her hands over your flexed muscles, whistling to show off how impressed she was. Another dark blush covers your face at her drunken actions, clutching on to her legs a little tighter in an attempt to expel the embarrassment.

Ella keeps on babbling about nonsense as you bring her out to Alessia’s car, the blonde herself stumbling around behind you. She’d given you her car key at the start of the night to keep safe, and you had to shift your grip on the midfielder to be able to unlock the car.

Slinging Ella over your shoulders haphazardly, you make sure to keep a secure grip around her thighs in order to not drop her. Alessia giggles at the squeal escaping your girlfriend’s mouth, sounding almost like a creaky door.

When the car is unlocked, you carefully open the door and make sure you don’t bump the midfielder’s head, buckling her in and ignoring the way her hands travel over your body like they would at home. Making sure that her hands are inside the car so that she doesn’t get hurt when you close the door, you quickly move towards the passenger door, making sure to open it for the blonde. You were a gentlewoman after all.

After helping both the girls to buckle in, you finally get in the driver's seat, ready to transport both of them back to your house. 

They talk absentmindedly during the whole ride, light music floating through the air in its soft glow. Every once in a while you feel Ella’s hand moving up and down your bicep, seemingly entranced by the muscle. 

“Girls, we’re home. Less, the guest room is ready for you and there’s a pair of pajamas on the bed. I’ll come up with some paracetamol for you tomorrow, trust me you’ll need it.” The girl laughs at your words, exiting the car and walking up the driveway to the door of your house. 

You exit the car as well, unbuckling your girlfriend’s seatbelt and throwing her over your shoulder again. Alessia doesn’t seem to mind the wait, standing in front of your door calmly, picking at her nails.

When the click of the door being unlocked echoes through the calm night you rush into the house, leaving Alessia to close and lock the door behind you.

The blonde utters a quick goodnight before leaving you to walk up the stairs to your bedroom, the guest room on the bottom floor of the house. Ella grumbles when you place her back down on the floor, her feet likely aching still from her high heels.

“How about you take my advice next time, pretty girl? No stilettos okay.” Ella nods a little, her body swaying in an unstable way due to the alcohol still rushing through her veins, leaning against your body as you try your damned hardest to unzip her dress and get her into a comfortable pair of pajamas. 

She’s basically half asleep when you slip the oversized t-shirt over her head, the material reaching just above her knee. Pulling her into the bathroom, you make sure to brush both her and your teeth extra carefully, both of you having had sugary drinks that night.

You lift Ella up to sit on the bathroom counter as you get a makeup wipe out of her bag, carefully swiping it over her entire face, over her eyes and lips, all around her face. When you’re done, she puckers her lips for you to kiss, and when she tries to deepen the kiss even more, you pull away.

Taking out another makeup wipe from her bag, you pass it over your face, wiping away the red markings on your face. Ella frowns as her artwork is removed from your face, her pout quickly being kissed away.

Leading Ella to your bed, she quickly gets under the covers and then gestures for you to get in with her. She quickly forgets all about getting you under the covers when she sees you unbutton your shirt, mesmerized by the muscles of your stomach and arms. 

She gets up from the bed to run her fingers over them again, seeing goosebumps forming under her nails. But just as quickly as the naked skin appears, it gets covered back up again by a t-shirt, the shorter girl seemingly very disappointed with that.

She grumbles all the way until you’ve slipped in behind her in the bed, pulling her frame into yours. It fits yours like a puzzle piece, nothing more, nothing less.

Like always, Ella falls asleep in your arms rather rapidly, her drunken state impairing her ability to stay awake.

In the end, Ella’s mum had been completely wrong, she had found someone who willingly put up with her princess attitude.

[lethalchiralium]

Mirrorball | John Price x F!Reader

a/n: me?? posting??? in this economy?? unheard of. this is definitely not me writing needy price whaaaat

warnings: mentions of injury, trauma

summary: You’re trying to sleep, but someone wakes you up with a long awaited phone call. OR, John’s outside of your door, begging for forgiveness.

It was a work day tomorrow and someone had the audacity to call you in the middle of the night. Your eyes tried to blink away the murkiness of sleep as you answered the call, not even paying attention to the ‘Unknown Caller’ blinking at the top of the screen.

“Hey.”

Your head fell back into your pillow, your hand holding your phone to your ear.

“Yes, John.”

“Don’t be that way.”

Your hand gripped your phone a little more, now that you were waking up more.

“Well, seeing that it’s…” You pulled the phone from your ear, looking at the time on the screen, “2:45 in the morning on a Tuesday, you’re only calling ‘cause you’re bored.”

There was a scoff on the line. “Why can’t you just accept that maybe I’m worried about you?”

Your eyes were still closed, your eyebrows furrowed and you mumbled, “Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”

There was silence. Just the warmth that flooded through your chest every time you heard his low breathing; a signal, a waypoint, your reminder that no matter how much you want to turn away, there’s no escape from your desperate need for John Price. Your fingernails dug into your pillowcase, tears that have broken glass now soak the silk underneath your head. You could almost smell the rich tobacco that seemed to envelop his clothes and his worn skin - he was the feeling of sunlight reflected on shattered glass. Shining just for you.

You could imagine his hand curling your hair behind your ear, his soft lips pressing kisses into your hairline, your shoulder, your spine. You had memorized the way his hand would gently graze over your side, featherlight movement as he would whisper his promises, his mantras, but ignore your desires.

“M’here.”

Even in your half-asleep state, you felt a rush of confusion.

“You were in Afghanistan last night.”

“I lied.”

“You seem to do that often, John.”

Silence again. Your eyes opened to your dimly light room, the small light plugged into your wall helped you make out everything in your room. The jacket of his that still was tossed over the back of your favorite chair, most of his clothes hung in your closet - deep browns and dreary grays that were pressed against your bright blues, greens, and yellows. His breathtaking fiancé dressed in all of the colors that made you feel happy - but all were a farce, a lie wrapped up in a fairy tale. You weren’t happy. How could you be happy when your whole world decided to break your heart?

“Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up, John. I mean it.”

Silence. You could hear the quiet bustle of Liverpool outside your window, the street lamp’s warm light hidden by your dark curtains. Curtains he used to move at this time of night to open your window, he would burn the end of his cigar and watch the city lights.

Now, he stood outside your front door, without even a knock.

“What I did to you wasn’t right, I knew that then and I know that now. Screaming at you and telling you I never wanted to see you again was the biggest mistake of my life. I love you. And love isn’t supposed to be like that. I-I was… I was scared. I am scared. I’m scared of what you think of me, I was scared of what almost happened to me, I’m terrified to lose you.”

“Stop.”

“Please. I’m here.”

“What do you want, John?”

“I want come home.“

Another pause.

“Please let me in.”

Your stomach lurched.

You hated that you sat up, lethargic body dragged behind your mind as you silently made your way to your front door; cold phone pressed to your ear. He was a warm light, you were like a late night moth - hearing the familiar hum of one John Price.

“I’ll do anything, love. Please.”

You stretched your arms as you stood on your tallest tip toes, it reminded you of spinning on your highest heels, just for him. You could remember his hands, gentle on your hand and waist as he had laughed deeply in that ballroom all those years ago. The way his touch never differed from anything gentle or soft, even as he held your hips in late nights, pulling loud moans and cries from you as he fucked you passionately. The way he whispered your name like gospel as you sobbed into his chest. It was impossible to forget what he’s done for you - and what actions he made that caused you pain.

He was made of a broken spotlight, his light reflected on you. Your mirror pieces had fell long ago, your fingers still bleed from picking up your shards, from pressing them into place so when he came around, you would reflect his slowly dimming light just like a mirror ball.

Your hand pulled open the door, gazing at the man you so painstakingly loved - face dirty, scarf disheveled around his neck, beanie snug on his head. You didn’t care that his rough hands gripped your hips, metaphorically pressing in the glass shards like always. He pulled you to him, your face landed in his scarf as he wrapped you in his freezing embrace. You moved to rest your chin on top of the scratchy wool, your lips right next to his ear.

“Are you hurt?”

He walked both of you into the apartment, skillfully kicking the door closed as he held you tighter. A fist on your lower back, a steel grip on your shoulder as his nose was firmly pressed into your (bonnet/hair). You could feel his chest, how it didn’t dare expand - he was holding his breath. As if he let you slip, that the mirrorball he adored would shatter into a thousand pieces. Your hand pushed into the back of his ribcage, moving in soothing circles.

“Breathe, John.”

You expected a harsh exhale, something loud in your ear, but all you received was a soft sigh through his nose. The freezing clothes that clung to him began to warm, his heartbeat erratic - you could feel it in his back, right behind his heart.

“Are you hurt?” You asked again.

He didn’t answer, silence was his weapon of choice now. He was full of words on the phone, telling you things you wished to hear earlier - oh shit, your phone. The phone you dropped on the floor before opening the door, hopefully it wasn’t broken. You had so many of him on there. So many photos of him hanging off your arm, lips pressed against your soft skin, eyes gazing lovingly at you.

“What do you need?”

You need me. I know you like the back of my hand.

That’s when he let go, pulling away from you to show fresh tears on his flushed face. Your eyes widened with concern, you tried to reach his face but his hands intercepted yours - holding them with a firm grip.

“I don’t need you to forgive me.” His voice was melancholy, a melody of grief and fear that you had never heard before. “I am an awful man. Rubbish. I hurt the one good thing in my life because I thought you hating me would be easier for me to die with.”

Your stomach coiled up into a knot, tight and uncomfortable.

Your fiancé held back a sob as he spoke, “I got hit. I almost died, all I could think about was how much you would hate yourself because I made you hate me. I don’t want that. I want to be by your side forever, I want you to put me in my place, I want you to take everything from me because I am not worthy of anything without you.” His hands squeezed yours. “I want to lay beside you for as long as I live. I want to only know you for the rest of my life. I want to do everything you ask of me.”

“What do you need, John?” Your voice softer than ever before.

He blinked away tears. “I need you to teach me how to truly be a better man. I need you to guide me. I need you to love me. I need you.”

You had told yourself a thousand times that he would never crawl on his knees to you, that his pride would destroy you, that he would never show weakness to you - but here he was. Showing his belly, giving you the chance to deliver the final blow.

You supposed he was waiting for it. Waiting for your teeth to sink in and rip him apart like a chew toy, scream at him until your voice ran hoarse, push him away until he fell onto his ass. But… you couldn’t. You were ready to walk away from him ten minutes ago, but now it’s… terrifying. Walking away from the one thing keeping you whole.

You squeezed his hands. “Marry me, John Price.”

His eyebrows furrowed, he was about to question you. But you spoke again. “Marry me today and show me that all that you said was a promise.”

He didn’t nod for long as he let go of your hands, grabbed your face and kissed you - pushing your head backwards as he pressed his entire body to you. You didn’t care anymore if he cut himself on your glass, you were sure he would fix the edge just to keep you happy.

Keep you spinning like his favorite mirrorball, shining just for him.

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[seineko]

minors do not interact!

warning(s): intercourse in the back of a car, protection is not mentioned (again, wrap it up people), boyfriend shirt (jacket?) trope, dom! character x sub!reader, skirt is mentioned.

look... look, i just HAD to okay? can you really blame me? after that art?!

who gave reader the jacket tho?

thinking about diluc taking you on the backseat of his car because you decided to show up wearing his racing jacker over your tight t-shirt.

diluc who rips apart your skirt to shreds because the zipper got stuck and he couldn't be bothered to patiently pull it down.

diluc who has never once been rough with you before, left marks across your body with how rough he was being now.

diluc who bought you to edge with his fingers three times but didn't let you climax because, 'i was trying to be good, but you don't seem to want that.'

diluc who refuses to push himself in before you told him who gave you his jacket.

diluc who finally, finally pushes in after you told him, almost on the verge of tears.

diluc who makes you come twice on him, as if to make up for the fact for not letting you do so earlier, before he reaches his own peak and let's it all inside you, biting your neck while doing so.

diluc who isn't done yet and pulls you on his lap and bounce you on top of him, fingers digging into your waist and kissing down the middle of your collarbone.

diluc who turns you into an absolute mess with the sheer amount of times he has made you finish in a single night.

diluc who cuddles you close and press featherlight kisses on the top of your head while caressing his hands down your hair to help calm you down.

diluc who definitely makes you wear his jacket again. but next time, without anything under it.

©2023 by seineko @ tumblr

[maximsdeadwife]

The Experiment

Sherlock Holmes x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When you married Sherlock, you discovered a side to him that you would never have expected. A side that was only for you.

Author's notes: See if you can spot the line I included from a Sherlock Holmes story as a nod to Victorian Sherlock… I used a few Victorian terms in this to make it authentic, so on the off chance that you're an historian specialising in Victorian dirty talk, please be kind 😉. This is written with any Victorian Sherlock in mind, but leaning toward Henry.

Warnings/content: nsfw, shameless smut, 18+, f!reader, reader has a vagina, dirty talk (but make it Victorian), first time, marriage, breeding kink, fingering, cream pie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, discussion of safe word, mentions of blow jobs, dom Sherlock if you squint, mentioned aftercare

Marrying a gentleman like Sherlock, there was no surprise that when it came to matters of the marital bed, he was technically as inexperienced as you.

You had been delighted to learn that he had a tendency to live slobbishly from time to time despite scrubbing up exceptionally well; neglecting his hair, sleeping in, wearing his dressing gown all day, not bothering with trifles like what time you ate dinner or who was calling in when his organised chaos took over your home (especially if it was his brother Mycroft).

You were also pleased that he wasn’t a prude — in his line of work you supposed it would be difficult to be completely prudish — because you felt you could comfortably be yourself around him, which seemed such a rare treat for a woman living in these days.

But the one thing you were utterly surprised by, was the way he spoke to you about sex. And even more surprising; how completely crazed he seemed for you. It went against everything you expected of him while courting, and definitely against everything that the general public would ever imagine of him.

Always treating you entirely properly, you’d expected an awkward and perhaps uncomfortable encounter upon consummating your marriage, sure that he would not have time or care for physical affection, especially since he usually displayed such an obvious aversion to the touch of others.

On the contrary, he seemed to have a great deal of confidence as well as an intricate insight into the topic, even upon your first time together. His approach set every nerve in your body aflame before sating you completely and providing a generous offering of his pearly seed to establish itself in your belly.

When you found yourself atop your newly shared bed, at first you worried your ankles may be revealed as your dress lifted above your boots, but he didn’t seem at all phased. You supposed people did see one another in the nude once they were married, and although the thought had been eating away at your nerves, but Sherlock didn’t seem nearly as on edge, which went a long way to soothing your worries.

You’d seen this look of his before. His sparkling eyes devoured you as though you were a new and exciting mystery to be solved, and knowing him as you did, he would no doubt be filled with drive fit for a thorough investigation.

‘Do not worry, darling, I shan’t strip you of your beautiful dress just yet,’ he soothed, caressing your cheek before shedding himself of his jacket and loosening his ascot. ‘Let us start slow, we do have all night after all.’

He moved down to sit beside where you laid upon the bed, and his fingers worked to remove your boots, sending shivers tingling up your legs as his flesh eventually brushed against yours.

You watched him carefully as he rolled his sleeves up, wondering what on earth he was preparing for. You began to feel entirely like one of his experiments, and you supposed that in a way, since this was his first time too, you were. The thought made your lips curl in amusement and your heart race.

‘Have you researched sex, Sherlock?’ you asked bashfully as he lifted your skirts further and ran his fingertips, featherlight and only slightly shaky, up along the contours of your inner thighs.

Gently, he pushed your legs apart, fingers hooking under the soft fabric of your bloomers as that gorgeous curl loosened to fall over his forehead.

‘Of course I have,’ he said simply, still entirely focussed on contributing to your growing arousal. ‘One cannot possibly get something of such delicate balance down to an exact science without sufficient data… just like one cannot perform an exact art without practise. And practice, we shall…’

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson at the imagery of him studying indecent books with your pleasure in mind. You were overcome with an unusual desire to squeeze your thighs together, but ignored it in favour of feeling entirely safe in his apparently capable hands. Hands that were slipping your bloomers down past your knees and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

His fingers began to explore your slick folds, not at all helping to cool the red hot blush that powdered your cheeks.

‘Oh, how I’ve dreamed of bedding you, my darling,’ he breathed, settling properly beside you on the bed. ‘I’m going to satisfy you in ways you cannot fathom. Don’t be shy, you’re doing so well for me.’

Your unexpected cry of pleasure tore through the otherwise silent room, his finger now slowly pumping in and out of your heat. You gripped his arm as if holding on for dear life, fearful that you might otherwise float away in this unexpected haze of bliss.

‘You feel like silk,’ he praised, voice weakening slightly. ‘That’s it, hold on to me, you’re safe. You’re going to come on my fingers first, my needy little minx. Focus on how they fill you, how they caress your inner walls. Does it excite you as it excites me?’

You nodded. Your mind was fuzzy with pleasure like you’d never known, so much so that answering verbally seemed a certain impossibility.

‘I have fantasised about taking you on my fingers,’ he whispered, low and deep into your ear, ‘how divine you would sound as you give in to your pleasure, my name slipping hungrily from between those pretty lips.’

He removed his finger then, and a whine of protest erupted from somewhere within you. You just felt so empty without his elegant digit sliding in and out of your swollen entrance, dragging against something inside that made you absolutely ravenous for more — but a new sensation soon took over and you felt disappointed no longer.

His slick coated fingers dragged up through your folds and you shuddered, all the nerve endings in your body, it seemed, set alight at once. But when he reached the throbbing nub at the apex of your sex, there was suddenly ten times the bliss you’d felt before and your body jolted upward as your scream pierced the room.

‘Ah, it seems it’s not so hard to find after all,’ he said casually, ‘I summised that most men were simply to lazy to bother with this little trick, and perhaps I was onto something. But look at you darling, how you tremble for me while I massage your pretty, soaked flower. What man wouldn’t want to witness their love so utterly wanton for their touch? To feel her blatant arousal at his very fingertips?’

Your mind had turned all but blank, the sensations shooting through your body overwhelming you as his fingers danced with perfect pressure against your clitoris.

‘Sh-Sherlock- I- oh!’

‘I know, darling, I know, you need to come for me, don’t you?’

Swiftly, he pressed his thumb to your clit and slipped a finger easily back inside, fucking you harder and faster than before, watching with delight as you unravelled beneath him.

As the lewd slapping of his fingers fucking into your sopping sex filled the room he, quite pragmatically albeit with a much darker voice than that which he uses during his usual experiments, talked you through your release.

‘This pleasure will soon overwhelm you, culminating in your orgasm. If all goes to plan, your quim will rapidly clench around my finger and there’ll be something like sparks at your clitoris, then you’ll feel a few moments of indescribable ecstasy...’

Your own fingers snapped around his wrist, feeling his steady yet vigorous movements, and you wondered how on earth anything could feel better than this, right now.

And then it hit.

‘Ah, yes, there it is. That’s it! Yes, come for me! Come for me!’

His name did indeed tear from your parted lips, shaky and breathy and desperate, and then his fingers began to slow, easing you down from your high until he gently withdrew them.

Your eyes closed as you relaxed back against the pillows, your legs shaking. You heard a humming sound that pulled you back to the present, though, and glanced across at your husband to see him gleefully sucking your slick from his fingers.

‘It is frankly a disservice to the entire human race to consider that act depraved. Mmh. And you taste like the sweetest nectar, darling... tell me, did it feel good?’

You nodded, biting your lips together.

‘There’s no shame in it, my love. Especially if it feels good.’

‘It felt exquisite,’ you breathed, punctuated with a blissful sigh, and Sherlock smiled broadly. A rare sight. ‘But what about you?’

‘I do not wish to rush you. I will be truthful, however — after watching that beautiful display, my root is as solid as a rock. Whilst I've no intention of pressuring you, I will not turn you down if you’re sure you feel sufficiently ready for me.’

‘I… I think I do,’ you whispered, and you loosened your grip from the layers of your skirt to rest a hand delicately on the broad expanse of his chest.

He gasped at the simple affection, and the reaction caused your lower lips, still throbbing with the after effects of your climax, to quiver.

‘May I?’ you asked carefully, and he nodded. Your hand trailed down gradually, until it reached his lower stomach.

Sherlock’s breath quickened, and you pushed lower still, cupping his erection.

‘Ah- ohhh-’

His eyebrows raised and his eyes fell closed as you stroked his length softly and slowly, but before you could find a proper rhythm, he quickly snapped his hips away, grabbing your hand firmly in his as he leant in to kiss you with fierce passion.

As he pulled away from your lips, he muttered, ‘I hoped to inject you with my seed, but I fear that if you continue touching me for a moment longer, the only thing filled with it will be my undergarments.’

‘Then please, Sherlock, take me-’

And take you, he did. Within a second you were pushed onto your back, and he was settling between your legs, hurriedly unfastening his trousers to release his steadily leaking arousal.

As he carefully pushed himself into you, your warmth enveloping his length, an expression of sheer bliss relaxed his handsome features.

‘Am I too big, darling?’ he panted. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘No- please, don’t stop, Sherlock, I want to be filled with your cock- filled to the brim with your blow-’

He smirked at your words. You mustn't be quite so innocent if you were using words like that.

Sherlock began to steadily roll his hips. Your core burned with an unusual pain, a pain that made you crave more.

His forehead pressed to yours, your hot breath mingling with his each time he thrust gently into you and let out a sweet little whimper.

‘I told you I’d- fantasised about- pleasuring you- ha- ahhh- I can’t deny- I’ve thought of many acts, some of which you might consider- mmh- indecent- but each flood of bliss I give to you is- ha- simply the perfect result of an experiment I’ve been dying to carry out since I met you, and- ohhh-’

His voice was so breathy and shaky now, you knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, but you wanted to give him a taste of how he’d made you feel. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his back, pulling him closer and signalling for him to go harder.

‘Do you- ohh- do you w-want my children, darling? Do you want me to- ah!- unleash my potent seed within these t-tender walls and- give you a child?’

‘I want nothing less,’ you breathed, thrilled at his words, and at that he snapped his hips unrelentingly, snaking a hand between your writhing bodies to massage your sensitive clit once again, and Sherlock relished in the moan his touch elicited.

‘Clever little- ohh- trick, isn’t it?’ he just about managed, and less than a second later, came with force inside you.

Your walls tightened, contracting around his thick cock to milk him of every last drop, your tightening walls taking him to a plane of existence he’d never before explored.

This orgasm felt different for you, you noted, and if either of you had been coherent enough to discuss the matter you were sure he would ask you to write it down and keep a record detailing those differences.

Nevertheless, your second peak was just as strong, and you fell weak once again as Sherlock’s seed dribbled onto your thighs and he rolled off you, panting.

‘Darling- that was- oh, it was-’ he muttered, half delirious. ‘You feel- good god, you feel-’

‘I came again,’ you admitted, proud this time, knowing it would please him.

‘I know. I felt it,’ he smirked, and then, almost as if he read your mind, ‘did it feel different?’

‘Yes,’ you chuckled.

‘Oh how wonderful! I should write a monograph on the matter. Only for your eyes of course — although it could benefit at least half of the population if there were more literature on women’s pleasure.’

‘So, a filthy love letter just for me, with a touch of the scientific?’

‘You understand me so well,’ he cooed, stroking your cheek. ‘This is precisely why I adore you.’ And suddenly, there was a sparkle in his eyes that you’d seen when he reached a breakthrough. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard of cunnilingus?’

You shook your head. ‘Not… really. I may have gleaned a… basic understanding-’

‘It’s precisely the act I mentioned may be considered indecent, but I would very much like the opportunity to try it with you.’

‘Tell me about it?’ you breathed excitedly.

‘Perhaps it would be easier to show you. Do you trust me?’

‘Yes. Do it,’ you said eagerly, hungry for as much as he was willing to give you.

‘Consider this another experiment… if you dislike it, you must tell me and I shall end it, however my understanding is that if it works, you will not be entirely in your right mind so we must set a code in place.’

‘How about a word that we don’t associate with sexual activities?’ you suggested.

‘Precisely. “Mycroft” it is.’

You burst into a simultaneous fit of laughter, until he silenced you with another, fervent kiss.

‘You might need to loosen your corset for this one. Providing three orgasms in restrictive clothing is no way to treat one’s wife. And what if there are four, or five? I would never forgive myself.’

Taking his advice, you began to strip, soon revealing your breasts to him.

‘Oh, darling, what a perfect start...’ He wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked lightly, his fingers toying with the other. He was pleased to feel you squirm beneath him and jolts of pleasure shot from your chest to your core and back again.

‘Oh- I never knew they could- mmh- feel like that…’ you groaned, but once again he left you cold to move onto something new, shimmying lower to settle his face at the apex of your thighs.

His tongue lashed warm and wet against your sex, circling your nub, exploring your folds and lapping at your entrance to collect your combined juices.

The way you shuddered had him fighting off a second erection. Not now — he needed to concentrate, and was hoping that with this new method he could give you multiple orgasms in one sitting. His own pleasure could wait.

He hummed into your quim as though he were enjoying a long awaited meal, and you quickly fell apart once again as his hums of delight vibrated through your core.

‘Sherlock,’ you whined, ‘Oh, Sherlock…’

‘One more?’ Came his muffled response, his deep growl reverberating through your weakened body. It didn’t take long for another peak to take over, your mind completely clouded in a haze of overstimulation.

‘I think it’s time for a break now, my love,’ he muttered softly, coming up to hold you, his pretty lips coated in your juices. ‘I rather think that this has been an experiment I would take pleasure in repeating regularly, if you’ll allow me.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ you sighed dreamily, already feeling the pull of sleep.

‘I will also mention that, as soon as you’re comfortable enough, I would rather like to experiment with my own orgasms. See how they feel inside your hand… or your mouth…’

‘Yes, yes I would… I would like…’

‘Shh… for now, it’s time to sleep. Rest, my darling wife you’ve done so well for me.’

You nodded, and that was the last you remembered of the evening.

A thin blade of warm sunlight woke you in the morning. You found yourself comfortably wrapped inside his shirt. He’d cleaned you up after you drifted off to sleep, and you rose feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Creaking open the bedroom door, you heard his handsome voice floating through. He had a client, and when you peeked through the gap you could see that your husband looked impeccably well put together. Unlike you; if anyone saw you like this… you dreaded to think. You smiled to yourself, though, wondering what his stoic looking client would think if he knew what Sherlock had spent all night doing before meeting with him. You bet Sherlock could teach him a thing or two.

You could only hope this case would be too boring for him so he would return to your bed, for you entirely planned to take Sherlock into your mouth the moment you were able. To taste him. To give him as many releases as he had given you. To see him entirely, blissfully weakened by pleasure…

[weskie]

Brave (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

obsessed w kissing this man | Fic Directory

You know you’re special to him. 

You can tell from the way he relaxes around you.  Tight shoulders loosening, the edge fading from his voice…

His gloves coming off.

That last one is how you come to such a bold conclusion.  Wesker doesn’t take his gloves off for anything these days.  Well, anything except for you.

And he certainly doesn’t put his bare hands on anyone unless he can absolutely help it.  It’s almost a mystery that it’s taken you so long to come to the realization that this man, this god, is infatuated with you.  That it wasn’t just mere circumstance that had his knuckles brushing against yours as you walked together in the halls, nor a stroke of fortune that he’d come to show you such favoritism. 

So when that bare fingertip trails along the edge of your jaw and he gazes down at you, eyes glowing behind his shades, you find yourself leaning into the touch– finally giving yourself permission to reciprocate at least some degree of his tactile advances. 

“Peculiar little thing,” he murmurs, lifting his glasses away.  That was special, too.  It wasn’t often that he took those off, and you felt privileged to behold the odd beauty of his inhuman eyes.  Better yet was how soft they seemed for you.

Those featherlight strokes along your face become more, and he smooths the backs of his fingers along your cheek.  You’re not technically trapped, but his proximity and the wall a foot behind you make you feel that way.  But it’s not a bad feeling.  Not at all.

No, you like this.

You like the way he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, titling you perfectly to gaze into his crimson eyes.  You like the carnage hidden within them, and you like that they look at you as though you’re the most perfect sight he’s ever come across.

You watch the tip of his tongue glide slowly over his upper lip, which curls into a smirk.

Oh, fuck it, you think to yourself.  You grab the lapels of his jacket and bridge the divide to kiss that pretty little grin right off his face.  To your surprise, he doesn’t take the lead.  He lets you kiss him senseless, only moving his hands to pull you closer. It’s as though he means to both indulge you and satisfy his own need to see just how far you’ll go– how brave you’re willing to be to take what you want from a god.

You’re in the best kind of trouble when your back hits the wall.

part two here

[oceaneyesinla]

This got longer than I expected, but I thought about Kiryu taking care of you, specifically after you bruise your knuckles, and it spiralled from there.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Imagine being Kiryu's girlfriend, and someone starts shouting insults as you walk down the street, hand in hand. Maybe it's about the way he clips his pretty pink hair back, maybe it's about the way he wears his patterned shirts and his Bofurin jacket; whatever it is, you don't like it.

Kiryu is just ignoring them - why would he care what they say, when he's got someone like you by his side? Besides, he's confident in himself; he likes his style, and one of his favourite things is deciding what to do with his hair every day, usually with your input.

You are less forgiving. This idiot is getting to you. How dare he insult your boyfriend? Someone who one, is better looking than this fucker could ever hope to be, and two, is one of the best men you've ever had the joy of meeting. He's kind, he treats you well, he takes you out for little adventures and never lets you want for anything.

You glare at the guy as you pass, and he just shoots you a cocky, self assured smirk. That's the last straw; seconds later, your fist is colliding with his cheek, and he staggers backwards a couple of steps. He clearly wasn't expecting your reaction, and once he processes it, his face warps with anger.

Before you can begin to regret your hasty decision or start planning for a trip to an emergency dentist when he's knocked your teeth in, Kiryu is putting himself between you and the asshole.

"Now, now. Unless you want me to call my friends," He waggles his phone playfully, and you can hear the smile in his voice, "I suggest you leave me and my girlfriend in peace."

He takes a step forward, and when he speaks again, you don't need to see his face to know his smile has dropped. You can see his expression in your mind's eye, and you don't need to hear his words. The guy's face drops, and moments later, he's staggering away from you both, looking over his shoulder every so often as if he expects you to follow.

Your hand is already beginning to ache, and the skin over your knuckles is reddened and broken in places. How the boys do this all the time, you'll never know. This sucks.

Kiryu slots himself into your personal space, kissing your forehead before taking your hand ever so gently in both of his, his voice a gentle coo, "Does it hurt, sweet girl? It looks sore."

You nod, bottom lip slipping out into a pout as he coddles you. He makes sympathetic noises as he softly pokes at it, murmuring apologies when you wince. Once he's satisfied with his inspection, he places a featherlight kiss to your knuckles, lips just barely brushing over the already bruising skin.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. I can handle some petty insults."

You frown, reaching up with your non-injured hand to cradle his cheek, "Yeah, but you shouldn't have to, Mitsuki. That guy was a jerk."

Kiryu is giving you that soft smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat, though it quickly turns teasing, "Aren't I lucky then, to have such a dedicated protector? A pretty one, too."

You feel your cheeks heat up, and you try to pull your hand out of his grasp so you can pretend to be offended. No such luck; his hold on you may be gentle, but it's secure. Just like always.

"Look at me, baby." When you do, you're met with unfiltered adoration and a smile that reaches those beautiful green eyes, "Thank you for standing up for me."

You can't stay mad at that face, even if you're pretending. You press a kiss to his cheek, then to his lip, pulling away to meet his fond smile with one of your own. You would take a thousand bruised knuckles if it meant he could live his life free of the fools who would try and drag him down.

"Now come on. We need to get some ice on that hand of yours." He laces his fingers through yours and leads you down the street, and you don't regret a thing if it means he keeps smiling at you like that.

[kombuuuu]

Shy baby Miles (42) malfunctioning when he kiss him for the first time

“Baby, look at those!”

“Yeah, Chiquita — I see ‘em.”

The clashing of vibrant golds shone harsh against the night sky. Fireworks sparking at heights unreachable to you.

The sight was gorgeous.

Shimmering pyrotechnic as golden as the favoured hour cast a reflection on waving waters. It seemed as if everything flowed, warm lights in every place you looked.

It was romantic, something picture esc.

There wasn’t a lot of simplicity in this city. But the decision to be simple just this once — seemed unanimous. And like cavemen to fire, you all seemed awed.

Standing at the tallest vantage point you both could find, hands gripping rooftop railings until your knuckles peaked — you cast your eyes over to Miles.

Watching his eyes shimmer in glossy admiration and his lips part just the slightest bit. You were overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him.

To have your cliché ‘kissing under the fireworks’ moment disney channel drove into your head.

“[Name]?”

He was looking at you now, nervous and awe ridden. Like he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, despite thinking they were the prettiest things.

You softened a look at him. Your hand catching his in a sweetened link, always connected — if not by touch, then by the memories that plagued you both.

“Miles.”

“You okay—!”

Your lips brushed his, hand dropping his own and sweeping to cradle his cheek in a featherlight touch. Dancing on the tip of your toes to graze a kiss to him.

He froze — words dying in his throat and a sickeningly adorable blush fainting his cheeks. The boy was smitten, and nervous from it.

You dropped back to your heels, hand falling back to grab at his own and facing the gold sparked sky once again.

He breathed out a harsh breath, stuttering chest and beating heart making it difficult for him to form words. You had kissed him.

Hours spent pondering over how to kiss you, on if you even wanted it — and you had been the one to do it. Without a second thought.

He lifted his free hand, and now he was one to bring your attention by the pad of his fingers. You giving him a smile that had him swooning when he slid his hand just behind your ear, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

He leant down to kiss you again, and this time he met you half way. Catching you in a love much more firm than the first time.

His lips were soft, round and a little chapped. Your chapstick soothing his nervous lip bites. His hand was so warm against you, and you leant closer into his body heat. Miles accepting you with a hand to the small of your back.

You disconnected from him with a wavering gasp, smile stretching his lips into something contagious, and you found yourself giggling back at him — caught up like two teens in a romcom.

You suppose you fit the part.

He pecked your lips again, quicker and less intense. Smiling goofily against your skin and you let him, eyes almost closing with glee and hands grasping his jacket collar before smoothening against his chest.

He trailed small peppers down to the angle of your jaw and laughed lightly again.

“You plan that?”

“Think I took you outside in 9° (48.2°f) weather for no reason?”

“Not even to see the fireworks?”

You watched him glance back up to the sky, before returning to your face. Nothing could compare to what’s in front of him.

“Ehh—,”

He grumbled another laugh and straightened up again, looking down at you over his red-tipped nose and blush ridden cheeks.

“Aaron’s gonna call me a pussy.”

“Probably cause I watched you pussy out eighty fuckin’ times—,”

“Aye, watch it, Ma.”

He pinched your side and you laughed. Joy falling from your lips in a sweet tune. He watched, dazed and in love.

“I’m joking! Swear!”

“Oh, sure.”