#goes for tickling too

[dreadlockholiday]

Thinking about Steve coming home to Bucky splooted on his back on the couch, reading a book that's propped on his chest with the cutest double chin because of how his head is angled 🥰🥰 his socks are all twisted and askew on his feet and Alpine is purring and making biscuits on his tummy 💕🥺

[toadallytickles]

Fuck, Jess, all your posts about ticklish boys are making me really weak. You seem like such a good tickler and I'm almost scared by the idea of being tickled by you. I'm super fucking ticklish, like even feathers work really well on me. I'm overwhelmed just typing this. You're so 😖😖😖😖😖

Okay this is really hot~.🥵 And also very flustering heck-! (〃/ ▽ \〃) Uh oh.. I love starting with feather tickling as a tease and to heighten those already-sensitive nerves. You know there is nothing to be scared of though, sweet boy~. It won’t hurt. It’s just gonna tickle a lot~. You’re in very good hands~ 😈

[starswornoaths]

This Blessed Day - Ch. 18

@blackestnight's commission continues!

A moment of levity, and something that I desperately wanted to work into this backstory: that time that Aymeric desperately tried to teach Lucia how to cook.

word count: 2,706

Prev

~*~

Grief took on many different forms, and showed itself in a myriad of ways. One such way that left Lucia struggling to keep up with herself, was how it seemed to warp the passage of time; somehow, it felt as though it had taken forever for Starlight to approach next, but all the same, its arrival had somehow completely snuck up on her.

Not even the bright, richly colorful decorations that had adorned Ishgard had caught her notice. Everything seemed so muted, in the wake of her grief.

It seemed that the passage of time had caught the Borels off guard, as well; neither Celestinaux nor Ophianne had recalled they had scheduled annual physickals, until Grafant had gently reminded them over morning coffee, on a particularly frigid morning in the early winter.

It was a strange sort of comfort, that she was not the only one that felt adrift.

Still, it was enough warning for them to ready themselves in proper attire, by the time the chirurgeon came for their housecall. Both Lord and Lady were ushered off to individual rooms, awaiting their appointments.

Which left Aymeric, Grafant, Lucia, and Margelyne to their own devices, downstairs.

Not content with remaining idle, Aymeric had rolled up his sleeves, intent on making the breakfast that they had not had the chance to sit down for, prior to the chirurgeon’s arrival. Ere long, he had tied a simple green apron over his clothes, and was hunched over the kitchen counter, neatly chopping an assortment of vegetables into neat piles.

Lucia’s first mistake was in thinking that she would not be roped into helping—if not by Aymeric, then by Margelyne, who had latched onto the idea of keeping her hands occupied with gusto, and would not brook Lucia’s argument that she would rather be training.

“I see little reason in learning how to cook something so complex.” she huffed, even as she continued to cut her own selection of vegetables, beside him at the counter.

The difference in their knife work was minimal—in this part of the process, at least, they were practically equals.

“Cooking is an art form!” Aymeric replied immediately, his tone bordering on offended.

“Oh dear, here we go,” Margelyne said in a mock whisper, nudging Lucia, from her other side.

The laugh that bubbled up in her throat was a weak and startled thing, but genuine. She hid it behind her hand, and tried to cover it up with a cough.

He rolled his eyes, though they crinkled with his smile.

“More than that,” he continued, as though naught had been said, “‘tis an art form that is required for survival!”

With a flourish, he swiped the flat end of his knife across the cutting board, to swipe his freshly chopped vegetables into the awaiting skillet.

Instantly, the vegetables hissed against the melted tab of butter already bubbling in the pan.

“You can absolutely live without cooking for yourself.” Lucia argued around a grin. “I’m helping the economy, when I order food from vendors.”

“And what will you eat when you have no access to one?” Aymeric challenged.

“Rations.” she quipped back, as she walked around him, to put her own vegetables in a separate pan.

At that, he made a noise of disgust.

Margelyne snorted in the middle of a stifled laugh, morphing it into a wheezing cackle that she had to stop kneading bread dough to smother with her hand, as she leaned against the counter.

Not even Grafant, the notoriously stone-faced man that he was, could hold back his chortling.

In a way, it was a necessary sort of levity. It almost felt as though they were remembering how to breathe again.

“I thought you were so keen on self sufficiency!” Aymeric said, as the hissing in her pan died down.

“There are many uncooked foods I can eat, and be sustained.” Lucia replied. “Bread, for instance.”

“Bread is not an uncooked food!” he argued, with an exasperated laugh.

“It is if I did not cook it.” she answered.

Margelyne tried to use the heavy plop of the dough into a leavening bowl to mask her snort of laughter. Her efforts were in vain, as she continued to snicker all while covering the dough with a tea towel.

Aymeric and Lucia shuffled out of the way of her, as she squeezed past them to set the dough on the counter in the corner of the kitchen, where the sunlight never hit through the windows, to let it rise.

He handed Lucia a wooden spatula, handle first, with a wry twist of his lips.

“At least spread out your vegetables more evenly, would you?” he groused through a good-natured smile.

Reluctantly, once she returned to the stove, she could concede that the peppers, mushrooms, and onions were all a haphazard mess, with a good bit of the pan’s surface still being visible, for how it had all piled in on itself. A mess that she rectified, though not without some grumbling about it.

All the more, once she spared a glance at Aymeric’s pan. He’d gone so far as to distribute the vegetables amongst themselves along the bottom of the pan. There was a sort of pattern to it—he’d insisted it was so they would all cook evenly.

Just to be a little contrarian, Lucia hardly paid any effort to spread the vegetables in her pan. It couldn’t have mattered that much, surely.

Her rebellion was mild—playful, even—but she was not above her own mischief. Nor could she truly see the point in learning how to cook more complex things, were she completely honest.

“Now then! Choose how many eggs you would like in your omelette!” Aymeric instructed.

He took a moment to brush his hands on his apron, before he gestured toward the basket of them on the countertop, laid neatly in a gingham printed cloth, to keep them from cracking.

Did it matter how many she used? She could not fathom how.

Still, she humoured him, and plucked a single egg from the basket, and held it in her palm, as she looked at him expectantly.

In all likelihood, the joke was not going to be worth the payoff, but her mischief was something, after so long of feeling numb, and hardly able to think.

That, and the effort that Aymeric had to visibly put into keeping his expression neutral was nearly enough to send her into howling laughter. She snorted with the effort to keep it held in, and decided that it already was worth it, for that alone.

“Right.” he said in a voice just as strained as his smile. “We will whisk our eggs—I’m personally in favor of whisking them in the pan, and seasoning the eggs at this stage, but that is a preference. Others whisk and season their eggs before adding them, for a more consistent texture.”

Shrugging, Lucia followed those instructions, cracking the egg atop her chopped vegetables, using her spatula to break the yolk, and mix everything haphazardly together.

The egg scrambled, for whatever that was worth. Which was, evidently, little: it barely covered half of the vegetables—the egg, spread so thin, cooked quickly, and only served to coat the vegetables in sad, sickly clumps of egg.

The larger problem was that, since she had followed Aymeric’s example for how much butter the vegetables had been cooking in, there was now more butter in this dish than egg, reducing the whole amalgamation into a bubbling mess.

Determining that she might have perhaps erred in her choice of a singular egg, but refusing to concede the point, she threw an extra dash of salt and pepper on top, and let it cook for a few minutes more, prodding and poking at it, in the fleeting hope that pushing the vegetables around might make it more presentable. Alas, save for reducing some of the butter, it did little to salvage the culmination of her culinary sins.

Refusing to concede defeat, Lucia plated the experiment while maintaining eye contact with Aymeric.

The lower lid of his left eye twitched.

“As you like.” he said through a tight jaw, and sharply spun away from her dish, to focus on his own.

He chose two eggs from the basket, and cracked them, one at a time, into his pan before quickly whisking the eggs to scramble them. As he did, he lifted, and rotated the pan, so the eggs could coat the bottom of the pan.

Once a thin layer of egg had evenly spread across the pan, and he had seasoned the dish, he plucked a third egg from the basket, and cracked it on top, whisking it, so that it oozed into the cracks that were left between the vegetable bits, binding them.

When he asked for the spatula back, Lucia handed it to him. Practically chirping his thanks, he started the process of delicately folding one half of the omelette over the other—the eggs had cooked just enough that there was a positively delicious looking, lightly golden crust, holding all of the vegetables together.

With a light press, to properly glue the yet unfinished middle together, he then scooped the spatula beneath the whole thing and flipped it, catching it in the pan with a flourish.

“Showoff.” Lucia snorted.

“When I started learning how to cook, Margelyne used to have contests with me, as we cooked breakfast.”

“Ohh, you do remember!” Margelyne sighed happily. “Flipping flapjacks! You finally got the hang of it when you were, oh, what, ten summers?”

“Eleven.” Grafant chimed in from the table, smiling fondly. “Just after his nameday.”

“Oh, well, you would remember!” Margelyne sniffed. “Between you and the lord Viscount, he found his sweet tooth afore he knew his letters, even!”

Neatly sliding his omelette onto a plate, Aymeric set it on the table in front of Grafant—and then fetched him cutlery. All the while, he snickered at their bickering, poorly hiding it behind his free hand.

“I cannot be faulted for the young lord’s good taste.” Grafant answered with an air of mild offense, before accepting the proffered silverware from the young lord in question. “Nor his good manners! Thank you, my boy, this looks impeccable.”

“Of course, Grafant.” Aymeric said, with a bow and a brush of his hands against his apron again, as he turned back to the counter. “Yours will be ready anon, Margelyne!”

Lucia looked down at the plate of her own cooking, and tried not to compare it to the omelette that Grafant was now gleefully cutting in half.

They had both started with the same ingredients, and yet, the red and green peppers on her plate looked almost ruddy from how she had cooked them—their color only turned more gray, thanks to the egg. The boldest bits of color were the mushrooms—the darkest shade of gray on the whole plate, point of fact.

There were onions, somewhere. She knew that. She had added them. But overcooking had turned them so translucent, they were almost impossible to spot amidst the globules of egg, and the gloop of the butter.

Less an omelette, as she understood it to be, and more an egg that had been forcibly introduced to a pan of frying vegetables, and drowned in fat.

Comparing her creation to the omelette that had been served to Grafant only served to make it looked all the more tragic: the eggs bounced against the knife, and the insides were a bright assortment of perfectly colored vegetables, all well balanced in a fluffy egg, encased in a light crust, cooked to a golden perfection.

When she reached for a fork, and Aymeric realized that she was actually going to eat that which she had inflicted upon the world, he hastily said, “Don’t feel as though you must—I am making enough for all of us—”

Stubborn pride bolstered her resolve, as she attempted to spear some of the oily scramble onto her fork—alas, the vegetables were too limp and soft, the egg, too thin, for her fork to pierce. Undeterred, but wavering, she used her fork to scoop it up.

The butter dripped down, when she held it aloft.

She had not sat down, to taste test her creation. Looking down at the way it oozed on her fork, she felt she should have. Her knees wobbled, as she stared down at the fork.

“Lucia.” Aymeric said, pained even at the sight of her bringing the fork to her mouth. “For God’s sake, love yourself more than that.”

At the cloying, heavy scent of the melted butter and overcooked eggs hitting her nose, any sense of stubbornness to see this through dissolved. She did not even dare to take a bite—that smell that reminded her of burning hay told her everything she needed to know, as to how it turned out.

Aymeric sighed in visible relief, when she set the fork back down and pushed the plate toward him.

“Thank heavens!” he exclaimed, plucking the plate up and promptly swiping its contents into the trash. “Yours is next, once I have Margelyne’s finished.”

Awful as her attempt at cooking breakfast may have been, it seemed to be enough to break the ice that had held the lot of them in stasis; as Aymeric milled about the kitchen, and bullied her into taking a seat, the group of them chattered idly.

Once everyone’s dishes had been made—with heated cloches atop two extra plates, for the Lord and Lady of the house when their exams were concluded. Margelyne popped the bread dough in the oven, as Grafant brewed them all fresh coffee.

Their chatter was idle and easy in a way that it had not been, since that horrid morning at Witchdrop. In some ways, simple though this breakfast was, it was akin to a gasp of fresh air, after being stifled for so long.

Granted, it helped that they felt as though they had to suppress their laughter and merriment, so as not to disturb the chirurgeon seeing to Celestinaux and Ophianne, upstairs. Tittering like church mice around the table made that warmth in Lucia’s chest flutter. It reminded her of younger years, in a way that did not hurt.

Bishop Egrant had told her, once, that congregation was what healed the soul, but that congregation did not always mean attending church. Sat there, surrounded on all sides by those who had taken her in as family, as closely related as blood, Lucia thought that she had, at last, understood what he had meant.

Breakfast felt almost dreamlike—the sun gleamed like citrine through the kitchen window—though it was undeniably cold, the snow had not yet come, and it still threatened to be an unseasonably warm day out. A cozy sort of contentment had settled with the warmth from those sunbeams, and the comfort of good food in her belly.

Margelyne had just been rummaging in search of the wooden dough peel, to fetch the freshly baked bread from the oven, when they heard several pairs of feet descending down the stairs. She did not miss a beat, as she delicately scooped the bread onto the dough peel, and used its long, narrow handle, to bring it out to cool.

On his way to fetch the cloched dishes, Aymeric graciously flicked the stove off for her, and ducked past her, to neatly set the table for his parents.

As if he had never been on break to begin with, Grafant plucked two clean mugs from the cabinets, and poured fresh coffee into each, as Lucia set cutlery at each of the places at the table, once she had gathered all of their dirty dishes.

House Borel was a well-oiled, expertly operated house: everyone did their part, everything in its place. By the time the chirurgeon descended the stairs, with Celestinaux and Ophianne trailing behind them, the dining table looked as though they had been ready for their arrival all along.

All the readiness in the world could not have prepared them, for the way that Ophianne took one look at the lot of them, at the breakfast that had been made for her, and at her husband, and immediately bursting into tears.

They would be even less ready for the reason why.

Next

[wormonastriing-archived]

*wakes up* gay hat simulator has a weapon based on tickling and no one talks about it * dies again *

[giggly-agenda]

OKAY OKAY BUT WHAT IF.

WHAT IF KATSUKI ALSO TAKES A LIKING TO TICKLING. BUT HE DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT BC OBVIOUSLY IT 'MAKES HIM WEAK'.

Like.

He's taken into consideration, while designing his hero costume, that while on missions or battles, there's a huge chance that someone or something could come in contact with.. Certain areas and weaken him, or startle/distract him and buy the enemy enough time to attack and whatnot. Or.. What if they decided to use it against him once it was discovered?

His face is red while he's thinking about it. He's just staring, wide-eyed at the paper on his desk, hand clenching the pencil tight enough to where it almost snaps.

That would be.. Interesting.. Suddenly being caught off guard by sudden squeezing to his sides or scribbling to his-

No. Hell no, fuck no. Not by a villain, not by anyone.

He's probably the last one to notice his own squirming as he thinks about it, but flips off everyone before they even question if he's alright.

But.. Now taking those things into consideration, he's altering his design. To better protect his most sensitive areas. While still keeping it badass, of course.

And winter? Hell, an excuse to add more protection to the areas he couldn't shield before without seeming suspicious or risking the involuntary activation of his quirk.

[trulee-peachy]

This isn’t fair!

There are times when I wanna be the princess kind of sub/Lee

But there are many other times I want to be the prince kind of sub/Lee!!!!

And I’m only embarrassed of the prince!!!!!

I don’t know how to indicate these feelings to people I intentionally like/to people who tease me without being shy >:(!!!!!

[ziracona]

Fic comments are wild because most of the time they’re sweet & give you dopamine & get added to the list of people to look up if you ever win the lottery, & suuuuper occasionally they’re just mean, but it’s the internet, so what u gonna do?, but then sometimes you get these surreal ones that are like 80% super passionately nice stuff and 20% backhands you are confused someone felt the need to say to you in the first place. Like it won’t always even be stuff they thought was bad it’ll just be stuff they decided to tell you didn’t vibe with them.

[vanillateaa]

Hey! hope you're having a good day!! i wanted to share something irrelevant- my life is kinda chaotic hectic bad and shitty rn, but LOVE is always around the corner!! i met this girl and i've only seen her once but she's so cool and sweet and soft? and talking with her makes me happier than i've been in a while☺️ i wish u good vibes dude🌻✨

Hi love 🧡 thankyou for this reminder and sharing this with me. "Love is always around the corner" god this is so so so true!! No matter what im going through or how bad my day went, at the end of the day or the next day something sweet happens, sometimes my niece does something really cute and adorable and it just makes me wanna drown her in kisses and squeeze her cheeks u kno??? or sometimes my mutuals send me kind words and they just make my whole day!! Even just talking to them uplifts my mood! I hope you get to have more warm moments anon. If you ever need someone to talk to I'll be here for u 🥺 have a wonderful day/night love 🍂☕✨🧸

[missteriouslee]

Accepting anonymous asks that I will try and answer honestly.☺️

[toadallytickles]

Returning to Ontario this week! I had a ton of fun in Nova Scotia and I’m really gonna miss being here, though I’m looking forward to hopefully seeing our friends again, making new ones, and attending events! And we’ll finally have privacy again for sessions and content making!!

[quintes-sin-tial]

New tease that kills me:

My ex was wrecking me tonight and he had his hand on my worst spot, so I grabbed his wrist and in a really teasy voice he goes, "move your hand. This is my spot and I get to tickle my spot however I want. Okay?" Then I called him a shit and he said "excuse me!?" And grabbed my hands and wrecked me 😅

[happiiest]

i am DIGGING putting my hair into a lil ponytail

[andraxicated]

fuck and run!

Pairings: Iwaizumi, Kenma, Suna, Kuroo, Akaashi x f!reader

Synopsis: Haikyuu men who sets you aside after railing you

Tags: suggestive | mildly explicit | established relationship | fluff | smut

Iwaizumi

will do his sports science things after railing you so hard that you have to call in sick the next day. you whine and blame him that it’s all his fault that your pussy down there hurts. yet, he knows all of your antics and pays your whining no mind as he types away on his laptop.

“you’re really mean Hajime Iwaizumi! how could you focus on your work while a naked woman is on your bed!” you huff and puff as you pick up and wear a discarded robe on the ottoman chair.

“distract me and I’ll make you cry again.” he cooly threatens that you stop tying the ribbon of your robe with wide eyes. heat rushes down your body as you clench your thighs together, nipples perking beneath the thin robe exactly as his eyes travel on your body.

it’s so easy to fluster you yet it’s him that’s even more flustered.

"I would like that." the brat in you replies with an amazing brazenness that you haven't processed what you said too. your cheeks feel warm when embarrassment seeps into the silent room. gosh, you really hate it when this man makes you feel so awkward.

iwaizumi's member throbbed when he heard your snarky attitude, the same tone you use in challenging him. his lips twitch a little when he sees you getting uncomfortable with the silence. should he let you suffer more? but he really loves you too much.

he sighs and signals for you to sit on his lap. "you better be quiet while I work."

Kenma

a hand clamped tightly on your mouth, your ass against his cock; kenma releases his load into you as tears prick your eyes from the feeling of being filled along with the pressure pressing down on your mouth.

he’s on mic with his friends in-game while he challenges you to stay quiet as you two get nasty behind the screen. kenma finally releases his grip on your mouth and you loudly suck in your breath making him pinch your ass from the annoyance of your loud breathing.

“get off and pick up your shorts,” he instructs and waits for your wobbly legs to stand and bend over to the floor.

as you pick up both of your thrown bottoms, a startled shriek rips through the air. his light kisses on your back tickles that you can't help your mouth. “kenma!” you quickly shut your mouth with wide eyes, head whipping to your boyfriend’s direction. but to your surprise, his cat-like eyes just softly smile at the cute expression you made.

“come here.” kenma grabs both sides of your waist, then he settles you down on his naked lap. your warm, uncovered lower halves touch against each other; the feeling makes him suck in his breath and throw his head back against his gaming chair.

“I’m sorry if I’m too mean. It was actually muted the whole time.” he presses apologetic kisses along your shoulder as a furrow on your brows slowly forms upon learning his trickery.

“and…can you please move your body a bit? I can’t move my hands easily…” kenma’s request trails off as he sees your blank face and burning eyes. oh no.

Suna

he has no self-control when it comes to you. how could he when his cute girlfriend is walking towards him with sleepy eyes, his oversized shirt draped over your frame, plus with no panties! suna is all ready to go to his practice but the sight of you had him stopping in his tracks. a sigh goes out of his mouth as he puts down his sports bag and strides over to you.

“do your thighs hurt? shouldn’t you be resting?” he asks with a concerned tone as he remembers the night before when he manhandled you for hours. he suddenly carries you to the couch, much to your surprise that it wakes you up.

“were you going to practice? I heard you shuffling early in the morning…” you say to him as your boyfriend presses a kiss on your head. to be honest, it made you sad the moment you woke up and realized he left you after that night. you thought he would at least stay as the apology for holding your thighs up harshly.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll come back later with your favorite food.” suna pecks your cheek with a kiss while the corners of your mouth lift. “that’s a promise?” “it’s a promise.”

he goes back to pick up his bag that’s been left at the door and waves at you. “I need to go now, I’ll stay with you tonight until the next day.” you wave back at him and nod as his figure retreats and closes the door.

should you go to his practice? or relieve yourself on your own? “but suna will get angry” you whisper to yourself with a pout as you plop down on the soft couch.

Kuroo

when you asked your boyfriend for help, this was not what you expected. you expected the both of you to sit side by side with notebooks and pens. you crying out of frustration because your dumb head can’t get the problem and him laughing about how you’re not even listening.

you cry out because of how much the stretch of him hurts and kuroo’s laughing at your whining when you took him a lot of times already. “shhh, it’s okay baby, relax and let me in.” his voice gives butterflies to your stomach and so, you lay back, close your eyes and let him do the work.

“now, do it yourself. just solve it based on what you know and I’ll correct it later,” kuroo instructs while handing the notebook full of gibberish numbers to you. your disheveled hair and unbuttoned blouse don’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend as he steals a few glances here and there.

“you know I just orgasmed like minutes ago?” you sassily throw back at him, not bothering to look at your notebook. how could he act as if nothing happened before? kuroo nods as if he understands and says: “study hard and finish your degree, then I’ll wife you up.”

at that, you pick up the pen and grab the notebook closer to you. it doesn't seem so bad coming from his mouth!

Akaashi

boyfriend akaashi who fiercely takes off his glasses with one hand and grips your chin, directing your lips to his mouth for a heated kiss. your muffled moans start when his slender hands rummage under your skirt, pushing aside your panty and entering a finger to test the wetness.

“hold on tight to me, let’s go to the bed.” he huskily whispers as you moan in response when your lips once again crash into each other.

the sound of two people catching their breathing is heard throughout the room. “keiji, where are you going?” your small voice asks when you see him standing up and putting on his pants.

akaashi turns to look at you with a smile, ruffling your bed hair before putting on his glasses. “just sleep, I’ll go next room to do my work.”

you grab onto his wrist before he could take a step further away from you. your boyfriend turns back in sweet surprise at the loving gaze in your eyes. “what is it?” he asks and you reply: “hold my hand while you work.” you sulkily say, stretching your hand over to him with half-closed eyes.

akaashi chuckles and moves away to bring the table closer to the bed. “now go to sleep. I’ll work with one hand, princess.” he tangles his fingers with yours, caressing the soft skin of your palm as you slowly drift off to sleep.

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟmornings with gojo satoru were some of your favourites. warnings : f. reader, cock warming, teasing.

"so early" you grumble to yourself, picking up your phone to groggily blink at the time on the screen before finally relaxing when you realise it's your day off today. you yawn, snuggling back against your boyfriend satoru’s toned chest, involuntarily rolling your hips back against his crotch when you stretch out the fatigue from your muscles, the movement pulling a lazy groan from the white haired sorcerer behind you.

"did you wake me up just to tease me?” satoru groans, low and smooth but still laced with sleep from behind you as his arm that’s hooked around your waist tightens, pulling your back closer against his bare chest in favour of you being able to feel the way his cock is twitching and thickening against your lower back. "i hope you’re not getting up yet, so mean if you think you’re leaving me like this.”

it’d been a while since you both were able to do this considering he was always up early to be at jujutsu tech, so you giggle a little dreamily when you feel him hum against your skin before nuzzling into you from behind, snowy peaks of his hair tickling your skin lightly.

but feeling the weight of his cock on your skin has you yearning, wiggling your hips towards him and you hear him bite playfully on your shoulder before his fingertips slide underneath the fabric of his shirt over your figure, digging into the subtle skin of your hips to keep you in place when his hips twitch against yours.

"toru-" you whine, pushing yourself back harder against him and you hear satoru giggle dreamily before the warmth of his hand leaves your skin, in favour of finally pulling down his now uncomfortably tight boxers. "i know, sweetheart. gonna take good care of you, yeah? like i always do." he breathes, voice lilting to a tease while his aching cock springs free to smear beads of pre-cum along the skin of your thighs, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation as you try to grind back against him.

you feel his hands return to your skin, but to your thigh this time as he lifts it just enough for him to pull your damp panties to the side to allow his aching cock to slide along your glistening folds.

"shit, look at you, so pretty. already so wet and ready for me, baby." satoru groans, followed by a slow, languid roll of his hips as his pretty cock drags along your slick pussy, soaking him to the base as the blunt head catches on the hood of your clit—gently enough to have your thighs twitching.

your thighs spread wider when you feel him pull back enough to have him prodding at your tight hole, feeling him place a few open-mouthed kisses along the dip of your shoulder before he begins to sink into your cunt.

"relax—so needy." the white haired man hums against your skin, one of hands moving to rub soothing, messy circles into your clit as your pussy clenches harder around him the deeper he goes, but the dizzy spin in your head has you arching back against him, pushing more of his cock into your flexing walls until you feel him glide past the spot that has your whole body twitching in his hold.

you whimper when he finally bottoms out, high pitched and needy at the feeling of his heavy balls pressing against your ass and you pull another groan from the white haired sorcerer when your pussy flexes again, his jaw clenching while your back relaxes against his chest once more. feeling his large palm return to its place under your shirt as he takes a slow handful of your breast, making you melt into him as your walls quiver around him.

“now i know you don’t want to leave me yet, you look far too comfortable, sweetheart.“

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[luveline]

steve harrington x reader drabbles

if you want to scroll through all of my steve harrington x reader fic from newest to oldest. NOTE this link works on desktop, and on IOS, but doesn't work on android mobile. It used to, but I think it's a tumblr glitch.

steve zombie!au

steve comforts you when you’re anxious to meet the kids

steve always has an arm around his shy girl

steve is worried for your sore throat

steve sticks up for you when idiots cut in line

steve comforts you when you worry the kids don’t like you

steve admires your way with the kids

steve knows exactly how to calm you down

steve holds your face when you need human contact

steve sees you’re using his shirt as a pillow case

steve helps you have a bath when you’re sick

steve listens to you ramble and paints your nails

steve accidentally wakes you up and you cuddle

steve loves that you stick up for him

steve and his golden retriever girlfriend

steve steals your first kiss in a photobooth

steve takes care of a drunk/high and affectionate you

steve gets jealous at the bowling alley

steve gets called lovebug

steve says i love you early

steve is totally soft on his best friend

steve gets a friendship bracelet

steve gives you your first hickey as a friend

steve gets a hickey (still as a friend)

steve comforts you through a migraine

steve comforts you through body insecurity

steve is sleepy and affectionate

steve takes you grocery shopping

steve traps a spider for you

steve comforts you after a nightmare

steve is great with kids

steve accidentally hits you in the face

steve gives you giggly kisses

steve gets flowers

steve is a dork in goggles

steve gets some much needed comfort

steve wants to do your chores for you

steve gets called ‘baby’ for the first time

steve protects you from too much noise

steve moves in with you

steve comforts an unhappy you at work

steve has your head in his lap while you read

steve gets soup made with love

steve takes his tired best friend’s make up off

steve buys you flowers

steve comforts you on your period

steve gets back from vacation

steve knows when his shy gf wants affection

steve knows when his shy gf needs calming down

steve knows when his shy gf needs help

steve gets spoiled (18+)

steve can’t get your daughters shoes on

steve wakes up to your loving staring

steve has a metaphorical heart attack when you faint

steve cuddles you and your son

steve wakes up to a golden retriever gf on his chest

steve goes overboard when you’re on your period

steve picks a tired you up from the airport

steve takes care of his anxious gf

steve and his caring daughter who likes you best

steve with a touch starved you

steve yells at you (impulsively) and apologises

steve makes you go pee before cuddles (18+)

steve holds your shakey hands

steve gets serenaded

steve sees your boobs for the first time (18+)

dad!steve finds you crying about being a bad mom

dad!steve supports your sons nail painting

steve reassures you when you flinch during a fight

steve kisses your hurt feelings better

steve gives you a hug when you’re too shy to ask

steve knows you’re sad when you’re too shy to tell him

dad!steve and his two clingy daughters (and you)

steve and you hide away during your wedding

steve wakes you up for 3am cuddles

steve gets lovestruck by a ditzy you

steve helps ditzy!you look for bugs

steve let’s you sit drunkenly in his lap

steve comforts you during a migraine

steve begs pregnant!you to slow down

steve ties your shoes when you’re too pregnant

dad!steve tickles your daughter and then you

steve comforts ditzy!you when you worry about godzilla

steve thinks you’re hot in anything (18+)

steve enjoys some sleepy cuddles with you

steve finds ditzy!you feeding the raccoons

[gatheringbones]

[“When I meet with butches, there is often herbal tea. Some of the butches are happy; some are not. The distinction between the two is based in their struggle between self-honesty and the fear of ostracism.

The Happy Butch is tickled to hear that I transitioned into butchhood. Happy Butch chuckles to learn that I too explain to straight friends and family, I know people mistake me for a teenage fag, and I’m okay with that. The Unhappy Butch is relieved that “my transition” referred to how I joined, rather than abandoned, her and her gender.

Both Happy and Unhappy Butches know a compatriot. He was younger and genderqueer. Now he’s on T and has a new name.

Happy Butch and I will grin, knock cups, and speculate as to just what and who will emerge from transition.

Unhappy Butch sinks into her chair: “There goes another one,” she utters, hollow like a cavern. Silent over a steaming cup, her eyes say, “At least I know you’re here for the long haul.”

In my experience, the difference in attitude runs as follows:

Unhappy Butch wants to mend the holes in her gender, but won’t. Whether it’s new pronouns, T, or surgery, she’d feel more honestly herself in some other body or identity. She denies herself this out of a sense of duty that is really just fear—the fear of losing friends who accepted her as who she tries to be but who won’t accept her as who she needs to be, because that would be accepting a man or something similar enough to a man. She tries to turn her fear of isolation into a virtue. Noble and alone, she will stick it out, the last surviving butch ambassador to the world. But she knows it’s a lie, and she mourns her lost brother because she mourns her lost self. I know this gender-martyrdom. I lived in it. And I threw it out when I transitioned into being happy and butch.

The Happy Butch? This butch doesn’t mourn our brother’s transition but celebrates it. Happy Butch is present in body and pronouns as-is, be they modified, unmodified, or under renovation. Happy Butch knows that any “friend” or “community” who rejects her/zer/him/them/it isn’t a real friend or community. Happy Butch crackles with an honest, brave joy that extends to seeing someone else come into zer own.”]

amy fox, from changed sex. grew boobs. started wearing a tie, from persistence: all ways butch and femme edited by Ivan Coyote and zena sharman