#it's tranquil but IS IT it's familiar but IS IT

[hookhausenschips]

Uniform {LN4}

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Summary: Lando's accident in Vegas looked worse than it actually was, that however doesn't stop his girlfriend from worrying even when he is flirting with her while she's doing her job.

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Y/N's POV

As I sat in the fire station, the steady hum of activity filled the air. The distant sound of engines revving on the track served as a constant reminder of the high-stakes race unfolding just beyond our walls. But amidst the anticipation and excitement, there was a sense of calm in the fire station, a brief respite before the inevitable chaos of the day.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of the alarm shattered the tranquility, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart leaped into my throat as I listened to the urgent voice crackling over the intercom, dispatch calling out for our ambulance.

"Attention all units, we have a medical emergency code 10-50 at the FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX," the dispatcher's voice echoed through the building, urgency dripping from every word. "Unit 26 needed immediately. Repeat, Unit 26 needed immediately. Time out 0056."

The familiar rush of adrenaline surged through me as I sprang into action, my training kicking in as I grabbed my gear and raced toward the waiting ambulance. There was no time to waste as I prepared myself for whatever lay ahead, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders.

With each step, the urgency of the situation became more apparent, the urgency of the situation becoming more apparent. My mind raced with possibilities, each more dire than the last, but I pushed the fear aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

As I climbed into the ambulance and the engine roared to life, the gravity of the situation settled over me like a heavy blanket. There was no room for hesitation or doubt, only the unwavering determination to do whatever it took to help those in need.

With a final glance at my surroundings, I braced myself for the unknown, knowing that whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it head-on.

Arriving at the paddock, I saw the aftermath of what had happened. Lando had lost control of his McLaren, spinning on the straight and slamming into the wall approaching Turn 12. My stomach churned as I took in the scene, but I pushed my emotions aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

As I rushed into the medical center in the paddock, my heart pounded in my chest. The sight of Lando lying on the bed, surrounded by medical personnel, sent a pang of worry through me. But as I approached, I was relieved to see that he was conscious, albeit a bit out of it from the pain medication.

"Hey, there," he slurred, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of me. "I love a woman in uniform."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his playful remark, despite the seriousness of the situation. His ability to flirt even in his dazed state never failed to amuse me.

"Looks like you're feeling the effects of those painkillers," I teased gently, taking his hand in mine.

Lando's grin widened as he squeezed my hand, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Can't help it," he replied with a shrug. "You always look so good in that uniform."

I shook my head, unable to suppress a smile at his antics. Even in moments of pain and uncertainty, he had a way of lightening the mood with his playful banter.

As the medical staff continued their assessments, Lando's attention remained fixed on me, his flirtatious remarks interspersed with moments of genuine concern.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” I asked one of the doctors, my voice tinged with concern.

The doctor reassured me that Lando’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, but they wanted to take him to the University Medical Center for further precautionary investigations.

I nodded, grateful for the thoroughness of the medical team. As Lando was loaded into the ambulance, I climbed in beside him, my heart heavy with worry. Despite his playful banter, I could see the pain lurking behind his eyes, masked only by the haze of medication.

The journey to the University Medical Center was tense, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional beep of the monitors. Lando drifted in and out of consciousness, his hand finding mine in moments of lucidity.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He managed a weak smile, his eyes fluttering shut once more as the medication pulled him back into oblivion. My heart ached as I watched him, wishing there was more I could do to ease his pain.

At the hospital, we were greeted by a team of doctors and nurses, all of them focused on ensuring Lando received the best possible care. I stood back, watching as they whisked him away for further tests and examinations, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

As the hours passed, I paced the waiting room, my mind awash with worry. Every minute felt like an eternity as I waited for news of Lando’s condition. Finally, a doctor emerged from the hallway, his expression grave but hopeful.

“He’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice tinged with relief. “The concussion isn’t as severe as we initially thought, and there don’t appear to be any other serious injuries.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Relief flooded through me, washing away the fear and uncertainty that had plagued me since the accident.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor continued, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Rushing to Lando’s side, I found him propped up in bed, a tired but genuine smile on his face. Despite the lingering effects of the medication, his eyes were clear and focused as he reached out to take my hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks as I leaned in to kiss him gently.

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, my voice choking with emotion. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

We stayed like that for a long time, lost in each other’s embrace as the chaos of the night faded into the background. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of us, together and safe.

As Lando was discharged from the hospital, I watched him closely, my concern still lingering despite the doctor's reassurances. But to my surprise, Lando seemed eager to get back to the paddock, his determination unwavering despite the ordeal he had just endured.

"You sure you're up for this?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern as I watched him gather his things.

Lando flashed me a reassuring smile, his eyes bright with determination. "I'll be fine," he replied confidently. "I can't just sit around and do nothing while the race is still going on."

My worry deepened at his response. "But Lando, you just got out of the hospital," I protested gently. "You need to rest and recover."

He reached out to take my hand, his touch warm and comforting. "I know, but I can't let my team down," he insisted. "They need me."

I sighed, torn between my desire to keep him safe and my understanding of his passion for racing. "Just promise me you'll take it easy," I said finally, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

Lando nodded, his expression earnest. "I promise," he replied solemnly. "I'll be careful."

As we made our way back to the paddock, I couldn't shake the lingering worry that tugged at my heart. But seeing the determination in Lando's eyes, I knew that he wasn’t going to let this setback ruin his season.

As Lando prepared to return to the paddock, a mix of determination and apprehension written across his face, he turned to face me. Our eyes met, and in that moment, the unspoken bond between us spoke volumes.

"Promise me you'll be careful," I whispered once again, terrified to let him go, my voice barely above a breath, as I reached out to touch his arm.

Lando nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I will," he assured me, his voice soft but resolute.

With a heavy heart, I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. There was a brief pause, a silent exchange of emotions passing between us, before Lando leaned in and pressed his lips gently against mine.

The kiss was tender yet filled with an underlying sense of urgency, a silent acknowledgment of the risks he was about to take. In that fleeting moment, all of our fears and worries were eclipsed by the warmth of our shared love.

As we pulled away, a bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Good luck," I whispered, my voice barely a whisper, as he turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd of the paddock.

Watching him go, a sense of unease settled over me, but it was tempered by the quiet confidence that together, we could weather any storm. And as Lando disappeared from view, I clung to that hope, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, our love would always be our guiding light.

As the days passed and Lando recovered from his injuries, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the reminder of just how precious life could be. In a world filled with uncertainty and danger, having someone to hold onto made all the difference.

And as we watched the next race together, our hands entwined and our hearts full, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, one lap at a time.

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LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @dhanihamidi

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cowboy!141 x Noble's Daughter!Reader (My Version of the AU)

(How you meet them)

Synopsis: Being the daughter of a noble is a jarring task as you must be always able to keep up appearances, so what exactly happens when your family hires 4 men? Men who seem dangerous yet you know nothing about, all happening to be part of the same group of people. What happens if they take an interest in you? Someone unattainable, forbidden yet also undoubtedly tempting..

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, apologies for the delay and inactivity, I had exams, projects and the recent release of part one of Bridgerton season 3. Speaking of the series, this was inspired by that and RDR2 (none of the elements are historically accurate, I think?), I genuinely hope this does well because this account has not been doing well as of late. With my mutuals leaving Tumblr and some friends are currently ignoring me, I genuinely don't know what to do anymore. From what I know, @ghouljams was the first one who created content in the cowboy!CoD AU but mine is a lot different? So please don't kill me 😭

This will result in headcanons for the next few posts because my brain is attached to this AU so you will be seeing more Cowboy!Outlaw!141.

(Really FEM!Reader, maybe also Plus-size!(Chubby??)Reader?? I don't even know anymore)

More content: My CoD Masterlist

Bless your noble mother's heart, although your was seen as this very respectable and intellectual man of nobility, your mother had this heart of gold having no idea that these rugged men he has newly hired were outlaws, criminals.. murderers?

Yet your father did, something about him felt sinister, well all noble money comes from not so noble cause.

Although your mother wanted you to get to know and be familiar with the newest staff members who would do all the gnarly, energy consuming and physically challenging tasks, she did not want her daughter interacting with men who would be considered improper like seemingly mysterious men who happened to be from a far town looking for a living.

Well without your father's or mother's knowledge, that rule was thrown out the window the moment you saw one of them carrying over some of the crates that contain given by some men to your father for his services and connections, particularly drawn to the one who never seemed to take off the cloth on his face.

Something about the way he stared at you, not seeing the rest of his face, depriving you of clues as to how he felt upon seeing the only lady of the house. You gave him a warm smile, for a moment you thought you saw his lips through the mask perk up, before walking off to the lounging hall for your tutoring on language.

It was odd, you observed them from afar a lot, your personal garden was your sanctuary and you can't help but do so when they talked so loudly, no sign of inside voices.

They called each other names.. Price, Gaz, Soap and Ghost. The man you encountered was named Ghost? Surely it's some alias. Well that wasn't something you should fixate on anyway so you leave for your tasks.

You find yourself feeling a little out of it after your lessons, hoping that a little stroll through the stables behind your family's estate would either help the information sink in or keep it shun out of your mind. Either way you'd find yourself in tranquil, you heard a thud behind you and turn to find so called "Ghost" behind you.

He had dropped a crate, one filled with weapons and uncharacteristically hastily picked up all of them without paying much attention. Such an action caused him to unknowingly cut his finger on one of the blades that fell out of it's sheath.

Your eyes filled with concern as you rush over to take his hand in yours before he tried to brush off the cut and get back to his duties. You knew it was dumb to be worried over something so small that the grown man doesn't even flinch and yet there you were, practically cradling his hand in yours.

A white handkerchief that was embroidered with your favorite flowers by your own mother, something you held dear and kept pristine.. using it on his finger to keep the blood from further gushing and wipe off whatever of the red residue was left on his hand.

As the blood stopped to your relief, you brought his finger and spontaneously pressed a feather-like kiss on the wound. You were so used to doing that for your little cousins, nieces and nephews that it was just a force of habit, your face flushed the very moment you looked up to meet his gaze, what possessed you to do that?

You placed the handkerchief in his hand and composed yourself, you told him to keep it and to bring the wound to the physician to get some antiseptics before running off to god knows where.

A few days after that incident, you meet another one of them except..

You couldn't help but rush, you were late for this supposedly short promenade your family has spontaneously planned. Your favourite gloves are no where to be found and with the three sisters you have, you checked room to room, seeing who might've borrowed the lacey white fabric with the sewn in bows.

Without looking your body slams into a wall, is it a wall? You softly groan, your delicate fingers brushing on your forehead that felt like it would bruise later on. Your eyes remained closed for a few seconds as the impact caused you to feel shaken, light headed.

You open your eyes to one of the outlaws, you blink up as your vision adjusted a bit, his dark skin against the light from the window really did something..

"Are you hurt, my lady?" He asked, his deep voice was smooth and rich, almost velvety. He held you up from falling.

"N-no.. Thank you, uhh..."

"Kyle, her ladyship can call me Kyle. Although I hope it's not too informal to your status, my lady." You smiled at his words, certainly a respectful fellow despite him and his group's reputation.

You felt warmth on your sides, his palms against the fabric that separates his skin on yours, he was only being kind for steadying you after you almost fell from the earlier impact but his touch felt addicting, too much as it continued to linger.

"Kyle, it is then" You said softly, suddenly a bit more aware of your surroundings.

Fuck. He was sure he felt something just by hearing the way his name fell from your lips. Normally he'd give people, employers only and only his last name. He was so used to having been called by "Garrick", he had no idea his name would sound different, so sweet coming from a pretty maiden's lips.

He stutters for a moment, realizing that his hands are touching a lady inappropriately, something only someone she's married to would have the privilege of doing. He swiftly removed his hands from your waist and formally excused himself from your presence with the excuse of his duties.

The next time you met one of them was through your mother's ball, she was always the first to throw one to bless the upcoming season of hopes that you, your sisters and brothers shall wed soon.

You had no taste for it after having a lord step on your feet at least 20 times and not even bother to apologize with how high of a pedestal he puts himself in, you found yourself escaping through the back of your estate to the gazebo in the center of your beloved garden.

You took your tight, restricting shoes off and felt the grass on your feet as you walked toward the gazebo, now close enough to see that you weren't alone but you still continued, your feet against the cooling marble platform. You sigh as you prop yourself to sit on the stone railing next to the stranger who was currently taking a puff of his cigar.

You turned your head away, you were thrown into a fit of coughs from the strong scent of the smoke while you swatch some of it away. You tried not to heave for actual air to breathe while the man next to you chuckles, making you feel irritable.

"M'sorry love.." his gruff voice whispers which make you turn towards him, the man offering you a comforting smile.

"Shouldn't you be in there with your family, miss?" Price asked. To which you hum, "I wanted some "fresh air" and silence" you answered. Moments of silence have passed, nothing but the sound of wind that rattled the trees a bit and each other's breaths.

You look towards the light of windows of your home, the ballroom filled with laughter and talk of celebration. You sighed, knowing you must return as your parents would come looking for you, also not wanting for them to punish you for sticking around unchaperoned with their new hires.

He knew you were about to leave, it would be rude for a gentleman to leave a lady without help, hmm? He wasn't a gentleman though, an outlaw, one of the worst titles one can ever bestow a man. He was considered to be of low honor but who cares?

He kneels down on one knee in front of you, gently taking your leg in his huge hand using his thigh as leverage so he can gently slip on you shoes. For a moment you felt his forehead on your knee before he pulls away and offers you his hand..

You took it hesitantly as he helped you off the railing, you look up at him meeting his eyes. Something about them burned, making your stomach churn but not in a manner of discomfort.

You watched his back as he walked away, his footsteps on the cold marble the only thing to be heard as the noise died down..

The morning after, you've barely had enough sleep, was it the events of the previous night? Nevermind, at least you had a day or two for yourself after conducting a proposition to your parents. Free time was worth it for the sore feet you had to endure.

Not really in the mood to change into anything tight or itchy, you remain in your night clothes. Finally, some well deserved time alone, comfortable and flipping pages of a book was your type of thing.

Sure, socializing has it's benefits however nothing beats your time alone or so you thought you were alone..

A table and a few chairs were set up by the servants to your request at the gazebo, giving you the perfect view of the greenery that you have planted the seeds of.

You had your head comfortably leaned onto lounge as you continued reading. Buts something was just so distracting, a few minutes of the constant snipping and twigs breaking, you look up wanting to see who was there tending to the garden.

Your eyes widened a bit, it was improper for a lady to stare a man who has very less clothing. Nothing but his jeans, belt and hat keeping his face shielded from the heat is toned, muscular and tanned torso and arms exposed.

A little later, you hear a grunt coming from the man, Soap was it? You can't quite remember much from the night you eavesdropped on them. You heard his footsteps on the grass nearing the gazebo but you didn't bother to look up, not until..

"Ma'am? May I stay 'ere a moment? Afraid the heat is getting to me" You look up from your book and sit up to see the same man breathless. You nodded and watched as he sat on the stairs, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Excuse me.." You said, loud enough to hear and catch his attention, he looks back from his position. You moved one of the chairs to face your lounge, "Please invite yourself here, I can only think of how uncomfortable the floor might be, especially when you are working at a weather like this one" Signaling him to take a seat on the chair you adjusted.

He gets up yet reluctantly makes himself comfortable on the seat, you pick a drinking glass on display from the silver tray and poured some of the cold lemonade into it, you place it down on the table and slide it to him, offering a warm smile. Your fingers on the base of the drinking glass slightly brushing against his as he takes it.

He thanks you for it and you both enjoyed the tranquil and peace.. yet you can't go back to your book, asking questions and being further interested by the man each minute passes.

The way he talked was something else, it was alluring, comforting and oddly lively, he's told you about his "past" and how he used to be a child.

"Was quite the troublemaker you see, though my family was poor and food was scarce, I found a way to feed the street animals I adore—"

You look at him, so invested on what he was about to say next, it was refreshing to have someone to converse with who isn't interrogating you and practically forcing their ideals of how many babies they want you to birth for them, practically wanting you to die for them.

"I used to steal bread from my neighbor, not a very nice man, selfish really. So I'd often sneak into his shack, leftovers, scraps and anything light enough for me to carry. I'd bring it to Lassie, my favorite stray dog. You remind me a lot of her Bonnie" He said.

"I remind you of a dog?" You weren't so sure if that's a compliment, then again he just called you "Bonnie", what exactly does that mean?

"Home, you remind me of home. Can't say I have felt this comfortable in years, friends and I are usually reserved yet you bring this side out of me, Bonnie. So what spell or witchcraft did you use?" He joked raising a brow at you, for a moment his attention falters as he looks down at the soft mounds of skin exposed on your chest.

"Eyes up here, Johnny."

You warned as you laugh at his question, you notice one of the servants coming out from the estate and into the garden, Johnny smiles and tips his hat to you to excuse himself so that he could get back to work.

Well this is interesting.. isn't it?

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @snowdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

[pinkflower2003]

hey!!! could you write something with danny ric? maybe a sweet morning sex with lots of praise? 😭 i've been dreaming w this!

Morning Glow - Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

a/n: thank you so much for your request my lovely!🍓 I tried with this one but i’m not too sure on the ending but i had no idea how to end it!

Danny Ric is the loml <<33

Send in your submissions<3

This is 18+ - Minors DNI

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the bedroom. Birds outside began their morning serenade, creating a symphony of nature that blended seamlessly with the tranquility of the room. You stirred slightly, feeling the warmth of the sun's rays on your face and the comforting presence beside you.

Daniel's arm was draped protectively over your waist, his breath soft and steady against your neck. You turned your head slightly to look at him, his features relaxed and serene in sleep. His dark hair was tousled, a few strands falling across his forehead, and you couldn't help but smile at how peaceful he looked.

Carefully, you shifted to face him, tracing your fingers lightly over his jawline. Daniel's eyes fluttered open, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you. "Good morning, darling," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning," you replied softly, leaning in to brush a gentle kiss against his lips. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he pulled you closer. The kiss was slow and tender, a sweet promise of the love you shared.

When you finally pulled back, Daniel's eyes were dark with desire, a smirk playing on his lips. "You look so beautiful in the morning," he whispered, his fingers trailing down your arm, sending shivers through your body. "Absolutely breathtaking."

You blushed at his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "You're just saying that," you replied giggling, but Daniel shook his head, his expression serious.

"I mean it, Y/N. You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Every single day, I wake up and I can't believe how lucky I am to have you in my life." His voice was filled with sincerity, and you felt your heart swell with love for the man beside you.

Daniel's hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "I love you so much," he said softly, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I love you too, Daniel," you whispered, leaning into his touch. The moment was intimate and perfect, a reminder of the deep bond you shared.

Daniel's lips found yours again, more insistent this time, and you responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself closer to him. His body was warm against yours, his touch igniting a fire within you that only he could quench.

He rolled over, positioning himself above you, his gaze intense as he looked down at you. "You are so incredible, Y/N," he murmured, his hands caressing your sides, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "I can't wait to get inside you, baby."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the desire in his eyes making you feel like the most cherished person in the world. "Please, Daniel," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Daniel's lips moved to your neck, kissing and nibbling at your sensitive skin, drawing soft moans from your lips. His hands continued to explore your body, every touch filled with reverence and adoration. "You deserve everything, my love," he murmured against your skin. "Every touch, every kiss...every orgasm I give you."

You arched into his touch, your body responding to him in ways that felt both familiar and electrifyingly new. Daniel's kisses trailed down your collarbone, his hands slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin. His touch was gentle, yet filled with a possessiveness that made your heart race.

When his hands moved to remove your shirt, you lifted your arms, allowing him to pull it over your head and toss it aside. His eyes roamed over your exposed skin, and the hunger in his gaze made you feel both powerful and vulnerable.

"You're perfect," Daniel breathed, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs pinching your sensitive nipples. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching as he continued to tease you. "So perfect for me."

His lips found yours again, more demanding this time, and you responded with equal fervor, your hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles flex under your touch. Daniel's kisses grew more urgent, his need for you evident in every movement.

He shifted, his hands moving to remove your remaining clothing, and you helped him, eager to feel his skin against yours. Daniel's hands went lower, giving you a spank, rubbing over the curve of your backside. "You are such a good girl," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "My good girl."

You felt a blush spread across your cheeks at his words, but the heat in his gaze made you feel incredibly desired. Daniel leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hands explored your body, memorizing every curve, every sensitive spot that made you gasp and moan his name.

"Daniel, please," you begged, your voice shaky with need. "I need you."

He smiled against your lips, his fingers brushing over your cheek. "I need you too, baby. So much." He positioned himself between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly entered you, the sensation making you both gasp.

The feeling of him inside you was indescribable, a perfect fit that made you feel complete. Daniel moved slowly at first, his thrusts gentle and measured, drawing out the pleasure with each movement. "You feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "So tight, so perfect for me."

You moaned at his words, your hands gripping his shoulders as you moved with him, matching his rhythm. "Daniel," you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure. "Harder."

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased the pleasure building within him. "Fuck, Y/N" he panted, his eyes locked onto yours. "My world, my everything"

The intensity of his gaze, the sincerity in his words, sent you spiraling towards the edge. "Daniel, I'm so close," you moaned, your nails digging into his skin.

"I've got you, love," he murmured, his movements growing more frenzied. "Come for me, Y/N. Be my good girl."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out his name as you came, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. Daniel followed soon after, his own release hitting him hard as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he came.

Coming down from his climax, Daniel held you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your head as you clung onto him. "I love you, my darling." He whispered, "my good girl."

I'm so sorry if that was a terrible ending, writing an ending to smut is hard yall

[lydiamarch]

the queens emerald

benedict bridgerto x oc

chapter six.

As the golden hues of the setting sun began to fade, casting a warm glow over the Bridgerton estate, Benedict and Arabella ascended the grand staircase of the Bridgerton house. The polished mahogany steps creaked softly under their feet, each step resonating in the spacious foyer below. Benedict led the way, his sketchbook and charcoal pencils securely in hand, while Arabella followed, her anticipation growing with each step.

The top floor, where Benedict's study was located, exuded an air of tranquility and creativity, far removed from the social whirl below. It was a retreat where imagination flourished and the distractions of the world were left behind.

Reaching the landing, Benedict glanced back at Arabella with a reassuring smile. "This way," he said, his voice a soft invitation as he guided her down a hallway adorned with portraits of Bridgerton ancestors, their stern faces seeming to watch over the house's current occupants.

Arabella's footsteps were nearly silent against the thick carpet, her presence adding a sense of calm to the space. She had eagerly anticipated this moment, knowing she was to be Benedict's muse. The promise of being part of his artistic process added a thrill of excitement.

They stopped in front of a large wooden door, slightly ajar, the familiar scent of parchment and charcoal wafting out. Benedict pushed the door open, revealing his study. The room was bathed in the soft, fading light of the afternoon, which streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the room. Shelves lined with books and art supplies covered one wall, while easels and canvases, some finished and others still in progress, filled the space.

"Welcome to my sanctuary," Benedict said with a touch of pride, gesturing for Arabella to enter.

Arabella stepped inside, her eyes widening in appreciation of the creative clutter that filled the room. "It's wonderful," she said, turning to Benedict with a smile. "I can see why you spend so much time here."

Benedict set his sketchbook and pencils down on a sturdy wooden table in the center of the room. "Shall we begin?" he asked, his eyes locking onto hers with a hint of mischief.

Arabella felt a flutter of excitement at his words. "Of course," she replied, her voice soft and sincere.

Benedict moved closer, his hand brushing lightly against hers as he guided her to a chaise lounge positioned near the window. "If you could sit here, just so," he murmured, adjusting her pose with gentle, lingering touches.

Arabella settled into the pose, her heart beating a little faster as Benedict's fingers brushed her hair away from her face, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "Is this alright?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Perfection," Benedict replied, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment longer than necessary before he turned to his sketchbook.

The room grew quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and electric tension. The soft scratch of Benedict's pencil on paper was the only sound, a rhythmic counterpoint to the beating of their hearts. As he worked, Benedict's eyes flicked frequently from his sketchbook to Arabella, studying her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

"Hold still," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I want to get this just right."

"I'm sorry," Arabella simply laughed, though her breath caught as Benedict's gaze met hers again, his eyes dark with focus and something deeper. The light from the window played across her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her neck and the soft contours of her face.

"How about a new pose?" Benedict suggested, setting his sketchbook down.

Arabella looked up at him, her curiosity piqued. "What do you have in mind?"

Benedict moved closer, resting next to her. "Let's try something different," he murmured, his hand lightly grabbing her leg. As he attempted to adjust her pose, his hand inadvertently moved her skirt up, exposing her bare leg to the cool air. His touch, warm and firm, sent a shiver through Arabella.

His hand rested on her bare skin, a sensation Arabella had never felt before. Her breath hitched, the intimate contact sending a wave of unfamiliar heat through her. She glanced at Benedict, her eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that mirrored the intensity in his gaze.

Benedict's hand lingered, his fingers tracing a gentle path along her leg. "I didn't mean to..." he began, his voice low and husky, filled with a mixture of apology and desire. "Are you comfortable?"

Arabella nodded, unable to find her voice. The heat of his touch was seeping into her skin, igniting a spark that seemed to spread through her entire being. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Benedict leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "You're a remarkable muse, Arabella," he said softly, his words a caress. "Thank you for trusting me."

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the promise of something deeper hanging in the balance. Benedict's hand rose slightly, his fingers brushing higher up her leg, causing her skirt to rise further. Arabella's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Their faces were inches apart, the heat of their mingling breaths creating a charged atmosphere. Benedict's eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes, his desire evident. He leaned in a fraction more, the world narrowing down to just the two of them in that moment.

Arabella's pulse quickened, her senses overwhelmed by his closeness, his scent, the feel of his hand on her leg. She could feel his breath on her lips, tantalizingly close yet not quite touching. Her own breath mingled with his, creating a heady mix that left her dizzy.

Benedict's free hand rose to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek in a tender gesture. "Arabella," he murmured, his voice a whisper of longing. "I..."

The words hung in the air, unfinished, as their gazes locked, each waiting for the other to close the final distance. The anticipation was electric, a heady tension that neither wanted to break. Benedict's hand on her leg tightened slightly, his thumb stroking her skin in a slow, deliberate motion.

Their lips were so close, a mere breath apart, the heat between them almost unbearable. Yet neither moved to close the gap, savoring the exquisite tension, the promise of what was to come. Arabella's eyes fluttered shut, her heart pounding in her ears, as she felt Benedict's breath against her lips, his presence overwhelming her senses.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world outside fading away until there was only Benedict and Arabella, poised on the brink of something profound, something transformative. Their breaths intertwined, a silent communication of desire and anticipation, each waiting for the other to take that final, irrevocable step.

"I must not," Benedict spoke low, with a twinge of disappointment, "I will not defile your innocence."

Arabella's eyes fluttered open, her breath catching at his words. She could feel the heat of his hand still lingering on her leg, the intensity of their shared moment still palpable in the air. His restraint only deepened her admiration for him, but a part of her wished he hadn't pulled away.

"I understand," she managed to whisper, her voice tinged with regret and sadness.

Benedict withdrew his hand slowly, his touch leaving a lingering warmth that sent a final shiver through Arabella. He straightened, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her heart race even faster.

"You are a gem, Arabella," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity and admiration. "I won't risk tarnishing that."

Arabella nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. She knew he was right, yet a part of her longed to bridge the gap between them, to explore the unspoken feelings that had blossomed between them in the quiet intimacy of his study.

Reluctantly, Benedict stepped back, breaking the charged atmosphere that had enveloped them. He retrieved his sketchbook and pencils, his movements deliberate yet tinged with a hint of regret.

"We should call it quits for the afternoon," he suggested gently, offering her a small smile. "There will be a ball later in the evening, we must begin to prepare."

Arabella nodded, grateful for the chance to compose herself. "Yes, of course," she replied, her voice steadier now. "Thank you, Benedict, for letting me be your muse."

Benedict's smile widened, his eyes softening with affection. "Thank you for trusting me," he said earnestly. "I will see you at the ball."

With a final nod, Arabella turned to leave, her heart still racing with the remnants of their shared moment. Benedict watched her go, his thoughts swirling with a mixture of longing and determination.

As the door closed behind her, the room seemed to exhale, the quiet solitude of his study returning. Benedict leaned against his desk, his mind filled with images of Arabella—her grace, her beauty, the way she had looked at him with such vulnerability and trust.

He knew he had made the right decision in holding back, in respecting her innocence. But the pull between them was undeniable, a thread that connected them in ways he had not anticipated.

With a sigh, Benedict turned back to his sketchbook, his fingers tracing the lines he had captured of Arabella's form. The memory of her beneath his touch lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the restraint he had shown.

Tonight, at the ball, he would see her again. And perhaps then, with the music swirling around them and the air thick with anticipation, they could explore the unspoken desires that had ignited between them. Until then, he would wait, his heart heavy with longing and hope.

He opened the back of his sketchbook, revealing the drawing he had done earlier at Hyde Park. There, on the page, lay Arabella, captured in intricate detail. Benedict had skillfully portrayed her reclining on the blanket, surrounded by the serene beauty of the park. The play of sunlight on her features, the gentle curve of her smile, and the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders—it was as though he had frozen a moment of pure, natural beauty.

As Benedict studied the sketch, his admiration for Arabella's grace and elegance deepened. He traced the lines of her figure with his fingertip, marveling at how art had allowed him to capture her essence—the softness of her gaze, the curve of her lips, the delicate tilt of her head. In that drawing, she was more than just a subject; she was a muse, inspiring him in ways he hadn't known possible.

He closed the sketchbook with a sense of quiet satisfaction, knowing that he had captured a fleeting moment of Arabella's beauty. Yet, even as he admired his own work, his thoughts turned to the evening ahead—the ball where he would see Arabella again. The memory of their intimate moment in his study lingered, a promise of what could be.

[chronokinesis-blades]

Peach Blossom Solace

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

Clutching the crisp, white sheet handed down by the venerable professor of the academy, Y/n's eyes were immediately drawn to the examination score emblazoned starkly at the top in bold, unforgiving ink. She stared at it, her gaze growing increasingly despondent with each passing second.

"...Dammit," she muttered under her breath, the word escaping in a whisper that trembled with frustration. Seeing the disappointingly low result, her fingers tightened around the paper, nearly crumpling it in her grip as she fought to contain her disappointment.

It wasn't merely about the grade. It was about the countless hours she had invested, the sleepless nights spent hunched over textbooks, the meticulous preparation that had consumed her every waking moment. She had poured her heart and soul into her studies, believing that sheer effort would be enough. But it wasn't, and that was the most heartbreaking realization.

'It almost feels like no matter how hard I try, the stars on my side seem to fade,' she thought, the weight of her discouragement pressing heavily on her chest like an iron vice.

She sighed softly, the sound laden with defeat, the burden of failure pressing heavily on her shoulders. She wasn't typically grade-conscious, but this result struck her deeply—too deeply, if she were honest with herself.

Desperate to clear her mind, she stepped out of the bustling, chattering classroom. Her steps were faint and soft, her body moving on autopilot as her mind wrestled with her emotions. She let her legs carry her aimlessly, not knowing where she was heading, only that she needed to escape.

Before she realized it, she found herself beneath the ancient peach blossom tree, its delicate petals drifting gracefully in the soft spring breeze. The tranquil, empty scene offered a small measure of solace, a momentary reprieve from her turmoil.

"You look gloomy," a familiar voice suddenly spoke, prompting her to turn. There stood Xavier, his gaze gentle as always and his tone soft, a quiet presence in the midst of her storm.

"...Ah. I was just... thinking," Y/n replied, sitting down on the weathered stone steps and hugging her legs to her chest. Xavier sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the falling petals from the peach blossom tree.

He didn't reply immediately, but the silence felt oddly comforting to Y/n. His presence, quiet and steady, provided a solace that words couldn't offer.

"...Seems like the peach blossoms are in season," he said finally, his gaze still fixed on the drifting petals, prompting Y/n to look as well.

"...Yeah," she murmured, finding a small comfort in the delicate beauty around them, the world seemingly momentarily suspended in a perfect, fleeting moment.

Another silence settled between them, a shared space of understanding and unspoken words.

Y/n stared at the sky, its soft orange hues painting the horizon above. "... It must be nice to be a star, twinkling above and knowing everyone looks up to you," she mused aloud, her voice tinged with wistfulness.

"...Not really," Xavier replied after a few seconds, his voice thoughtful and reflective, breaking the silence gently.

Y/n turned to Xavier with a puzzled look, but his gaze remained fixed on the sky. He continued, "No one would look at the stars if they didn't shine. No one would even notice them."

Y/n internally scoffed, relating his words to herself, knowing she had failed today. "Yeah. You're right—"

Xavier cut her off before she could continue. "Not even the stars always shine brightly," he said, turning to her, his gaze understanding and soft.

"They have their moments of dimness, their times of uncertainty. Yet, despite that, they remain constant, ever-present in the vast expanse above."

"Just like the stars, you don't need to be at your brightest all the time," he added, his gaze gentle yet unwavering. "Even in your moments of darkness, know that you still shine in your own unique way. And no matter what, I'll always be here, looking up at you."

·❆　　　❆　❅　　　　•　　　　.　　　　　❆❆• 　·　.　　　❅

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝑀𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛, ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 (𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑏𝑖𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑) 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠/ 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑋𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑟.

[tranquilitybasehotelcasino]

super niche british band

[meredithbeckham]

don't you dare cry.

a softer world, the 100.

[tranquilpetrichor]

and if i write for boys planet trainees, then what..

[hoshigray]

Hey 🫶🏻 Can I request having sex with Sukuna when he is extremely jealous? Like reader is kinda popular and other guys always tryna flirt with her and shit (she is not interested ofc) So when Sukuna saw another man shooting his shot he needs to blow off steam by fucking you dumb 🤕 and he saying shit like “what a good little cocksucker, maybe I should record you and send this video to all those bastards, so they would know who’s dick you’re gagging on” 😭 I’m so sorry if this is too specific, feel free to ignore 😭

Love your works 🥰

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ofc ofccc !! and ty for loving my stuff~

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; you and Sukuna are college seniors - rough sex - fingering (f! receiving) - impact play (spanking + pussy slaps) - oral (m! receiving) - dumbification - choking - backshots + legs-up positions - degradation (cocksucker, dumb bitch, slut, whore) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - pet names (dove, little girl, princess, woman) - possessive behavior (it's sukuna, duh) - use of a phone; sexual photography and videography - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of tears and spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

“—Khaahh, oohhh!! Sukuna, pleasee, it hurts—Ahhhnn...!”

“Who said you’re in any position to tell me how to handle you, woman?… Fucking shit, you’re tight as hell…”

Everyone knows that you are off-limits. Knowledge of this fact is the bare minimum when dealing with the one known as “Sukuna’s girl” — no one should dare lay a finger or bat an eye on his woman. And yet, somehow, Sukuna continues to find strays that think this rule doesn’t apply to all. 

He saw it not too long ago today when a guy came your direction at the hall, concealing himself in the shadows to eavesdrop. The junior was dumb enough to invite you to some get-together, foolish enough to think he should even be speaking to the partner of the cold and intimidating Ryōmen Sukuna. 

You were the most popular girl in the class year — expected as Sukuna wouldn’t deal with someone who wasn’t [barely] on equal footing as him. However, unlike him, you carried a much kinder cadence. You greet others with sweet words, converse with professors in a mutual light, and engage with everyone with a compassionate and tranquil soul. — the complete opposite compared to your boyfriend. So, of course, it would be hard for you to turn away people when they come to you for guidance or opinions. 

In this case, you had expressed to the junior that you weren’t interested and had plans to study at your boyfriend’s apartment later. It wasn’t a complete lie, yet a respectful diversion that was expected of you and pleased Sukuna observing.

However, the dull-witted brat put his hand on your shoulder and continued to press on, emphasizing that you’d miss out on people wanting to have a good time with you. A ballsy thing to remark as if saying your boyfriend holds no priority over some boring party. Besides, the man had to stop the itch of coming out of the shadows to strangle the kid for laying his hands on you.

Nonetheless, you gracefully pushed his hand aside and apologized again for declining his offer before heading on your way. The situation was disentangled, both parties carrying on with their days. But that wasn’t enough to calm the salmon-haired man. 

Especially when you were in his apartment, protected under his gaze the entire time; you were sitting across from him at the coffee table while sorting through your coursework, unaware of the fixed look of his red eyes on your frame. Because all he could do was look at you, replaying the interaction from earlier today. 

It all angered him deeply — how the junior said your name so casually, the laughs you shared with him, and the touch on your shoulder. Everything from that moment added fuel to the fire scorching in his gut. He couldn’t relax, knowing there were still imbeciles who had the gall to act so familiar with you, his princess. 

The twitch of his brow couldn’t cease, same with the bounce of his knee – his nerves having an inner battle of maintaining a low profile. And being the caring piece in this relationship, you noticed. You blinked up to where he sat, “Is everything okay?” 

Of course not, woman. As much as he wants to put all the blame on the guy, Sukuna felt that you also played a part in this charade. To him, you were just as worse as that fucker. How could you, his precious dove, allow such trash to be so close to you? Allowing that thing to touch you was such an insult to him, downright disrespectful to the man you call your boyfriend. And the fact that you didn’t think of telling him — believing that you could keep this as a small matter insignificant to his awareness — left a sour taste in his mouth.

In his philosophy, Sukuna knew you were in the wrong as well. And for that, you would also have to be dealt with by him, to be reminded of your place in all this.

“Ohoooo! Ooof!! ‘kunaaaa, your fingersss…! Too fast, please slow—Daaahhh!!”

He’d smack your wet cunt, forcing you to grip his satin sheets. You’d instantly try to close your legs, but Sukuna wasn’t having any of that, quick to pinch the skin of your inner thigh to correct you. 

“Dumb bitch,” he throws insults, void of caring that you were on the brink of tears. He brings a hand to your throat, resulting in you gagging from your circulation being cut off. “I told you to keep those legs open. First, you let some fucker touch you, and now you can’t obey me when necessary? Do you enjoy disrespecting me like this?”

“Ahck! I–hic–I’m sorryyy,” he could feel you clench on his fingers, gripping them as if you refused to let them go.

It humored Sukuna, who effortlessly removed his digits to give your slit another harsh slap that made you gasp for air. An action proved difficult with his whole right hand constricting your airways. “Are you? How can you be sorry when you’re latching onto my fingers like a slut?” His hold on your neck goes tighter; your hands claw at his forearm, a desperate plea that doesn’t sway him. “Say it like you mean it, Y/n.”

“Khh..Ahh—Please, forgive me, Sukuna…!” Your apology came through wheezes, tears now welling up to fall on your pretty face, yet you knew it wasn’t enough. “I should have…Never let that junior tou—Mmmph! …Touch me… I’m your princess, only yours.”

A pink brow is lifted, but his expression remains unchanged. With one last slap to your leaking chasm, Sukuna lets go of your throat for you to cough and gasp as much air as you can. While you do that, he removes his turtleneck and unbuttons his dark jeans, bringing his briefs down to spring his erection out before lying back onto the pillows against the bed headboard. “Prove it then,” his voice has you turn to listen. “Suck me off the way I like it.” 

You are in no position to resent him, crawling towards him on all fours and immediately going to work. Your tongue greets his reddish-pink glans with swirls, licking his frenulum and nibbling on the skin before taking the head to your mouth. You lather his cock with your spit as you bob your head, hallowing your cheeks to take in every inch while your hand glides up and down his shaft. 

“Nnmph, fuck,” Sukuna groans at the feeling of your feverish sucks of his cockhead, your hand stroking him while you tend to him with your mouth feels too good. He peers down to watch you suck hard on his tip, and you return his gaze with a hooded look while sucking on his balls, causing him to hum. You then bring the tip back into your lips, making raunchy noises as you take his girth and lick his precum. 

“Heh, what a nasty little girl,” he comments after you exude a trail of spit onto his dick before hurriedly slurping him back inside your warm mouth. “I outta take a picture of you…No, a video is better.” He’s pleased to see your watery eyes twinkle with dread when he pulls out his phone from his jean pocket. He slides to open the camera application, “Maybe I should show that fool how such a good cocksucker you are for me.”

“S–Sukuna, please, anything but—Mmmm!” Again, no one said you were in a position to speak out of turn. Hence why, your boyfriend grabs your cheeks roughly with a single hand. Crimson eyes pierce through your fragile skin, and your figure fills with fright within milliseconds. 

“What did I say about giving me orders?” His tone is enough to send shivers down your spine, his nails denting your cheeks. “Does my woman want me to expose them for the filthy whore they are? Cause I couldn’t care less if I one day start leaking these shits and have your reputation crumble in seconds as a lesson.”

A tiny bit of you wants to believe he wasn’t serious; however, the single tear shed from your unblinking eyes tells a different conscience. You reply with a shaky breath and a quivering lip. “No, Sukuna...Please forgive me.”

He releases your chin with a push of the thumb. “Then get back to it, dove.” The sweetness of that pet name wasn’t present as he smacked your cheek with his length. You listen to him, taking him back into your throat with a euphoric mewl while cupping and kneading his balls. He sneers and presses the record button, “Just like that, princess.”

And don’t think that it ends there — because it doesn’t. 

“Ahhhnn! Oooooh, my God, ‘Kuna..’kunaaaa, I can’t—Ahahnn!”

“—Nngh, that’s right, Y/n; scream for me…Fuck, this tight ass pussy…”

Sukuna now has your face down ass up, pinning you to the satin mattress by the shoulders and hammering his bare cock right into your messy cunt. Your cries are muffled by the sheets you bite into, tears streaming down hot cheeks as your boyfriend plows himself deep side your core. The commotion coming between your sexes fills his bedroom outside of the squeals that bounce against the walls.

Your figure jolts with every thrust, Sukuna’s pelvis smacking on your ass that stings with hot skin after taking onslaughts of slaps from his hands. Your clitoris, exhausted from the constant tweaks and pinches, rests with the cool air treating the sore button. Sweat is covered all over your nude body, evidence that you and your boyfriend have been going about this for a long while, and of course, you’re getting a bit fatigued and overly sensitive to his every touch. But you know he doesn’t care; this is all for your punishment.

Sukuna throws your butt another smack, having your vaginal walls instinctively contract around his girth. He hisses with a grin, “Damn, I love seein’ you like this.” His eyes trail down from your sweaty shoulders, following your spine and hips, down to your ass, where he sees the insertion of his dick being swallowed by you. Seeing the white, soapy ring shielded around his cock makes him bite his lip. “All sore and dirty for me…Mmmph, gripping on me like a slut, going dumb on my cock.”

His hips then propel erratically, having your howl with eyes shooting up. You were too far gone to think of proper thought, with your brain churned into mush and your head pounding nonstop. The heat on your face is just as unbearable as the throbbing sensation down south. Your trembling legs try so hard not to give in and slump, yet you can’t lie; you’re tired, sore, and sticky all over. 

“Nmaahh! OhhhJesussss, ‘kuna, pleaseeee, lemme cummm—Mmaahh!” Another smash to your ass, followed by a pinch to your clitoris to juxtapose with the slow strokes he uses to massage the delicate spots of your walls.

“Why do you think I should let you cum, woman?” He swipes on your clit, listening intently to the whines that climb higher with the brush of his finger. 

Your words come out in slurs, yet you must answer to him. “I’m shorryy, I didn’t mean to—oh, fuck…do you wrong. Yer the only man who can touch me, wound me,” You peer over your shoulder to see Sukuna, an action that has him release your clit and hear what you have to say. “And love me…just as I love you, and only you. No one else can have me like you…Hahhh, I’m yours, both in mind and body…” Salmon brows furrow as you continue. “I love only you and want only you to touch me, ‘Kuna..Please forgive me, I won’t do it again…”

He was already sold once you turned to look at him, you little minx. Your watery eyes suddenly struck his heart — you are the only thing in the world that could do that, his little dove. He can tell by your heaves and pants that you wish to rest, that you had enough of his lesson and want to be in his embrace. 

However, no unpleasant deed shouldn’t go unpunished. Within a second, Sukuna has you flipped on your back with your legs brought up to his left shoulder. He brings out his phone once again, swiping to put on the camera after inserting his length back inside you.  “Hey, princess,” he calls to you. “Why don’t you say hello to the camera for me? Want something to look back to.”

You gulp with a dry throat, sheepishly smiling at the camera phone. “Hello, I’m Y/n—Ooohh!!” He surprises you with more ruts to your chasm, clamping onto him as if your life depended on it. 

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He calls out to you with a steady breath, as if his pelvis wasn’t poisoning deep to grind your insides to evoke pretty moans to escape puffy lips. 

“Hahaaa!! I—Hnnph..I belong to Sukuna Ryō–hic…men…”

“Who does this pussy belong to, Y/n?” Ruts become harsher with every word.

“—Mmoohhh, fuuuhuck, it’s yours, only yoursss,” you voluntarily take up your legs and hold them from behind your knees, bringing them to your chest. “Me and this pussy belong to only Sukuna, no one else can touch me…!”

Sukuna pans the phone down to the union of his dick, moving to and fro from your slit. The white essence painting both sexes was making an erotic mess, strings of his come covering his girth with every push and pull. He chuckles to himself. “This right here is all mine, ya hear?” He looks at you to see you nod your head hurriedly. “Don’t you ever forget that, understand?” You nod again, clenching around him when he drops the phone and leans towards you to place his hands on yours.

It’s here that he finally finishes with you, pounding his hips into you as hard as he can. Your voice gets higher and higher, your headache getting intense with the ruts on your cunt. And with how he stretches and grazes your walls? Jesus, it was terrible to control yourself, your orgasm increasing by the second. “I wanna cumm, ‘kunaaa, let me cum on you, pleaseee….!!”

“Heh, desperate to tighten some more for me, huh.” He adds more weight onto you, forcing you to submit to him. You shudder under his bow, “You may now cum, dove.” 

As if on command, you let yourself loose and allow the climax to finally be free, wailing during yet another crescendo as your vagina flutters around him for the fourth time that night. And Sukuna relishes the feeling of you tightening on him, doing excruciating slow strokes to enjoy the moment. 

“Hmmm, that’s it, just like that…Remember this, princess,” He bends down to lick the tears on your cheeks before kissing them. “Know your place.” He then brings the phone back up to close this session.

“Now smile for me.”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ header edit done by me, dividers by @/benkeibear.

[pseudowho]

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

[xxsabitoxx]

Fushiguro Megumi never wanted to have children.

Yet, here he was at the ripe age of 26 waking up in the early hours of the morning to his daughter’s quiet whimpering. His eyes immediately want to close, but his body is pushing him up from the plush of your warm bed.

There, in the bassinet beside him, was your three month old little girl. Her eyes weren’t even open yet, but her tiny lips were wobbling. Small chubby face contorted as she dreamt about something she clearly didn’t enjoy.

It made Megumi’s heart ache, carefully pushing down the side of the bassinet so he could scoop her up.

“Now what’s with this fussing, hmm?” Megumi’s voice came out gravelly, thick with sleep, and yet your daughter visibly calmed at that familiarity of it.

“It’s too early and you’re too little to be having bad dreams.” He cooed softly, cradling her so her head was right above his heart. The two of you had learned over the last 3 months that your heartbeats calmed her.

“Are you hungry?” Megumi murmured softly, sleepy eyes landing on the alarm clock on his nightstand. “You probably are… if you woke up like you usually do for mama to feed you.” Which would be around 3am.

Given that it was nearly seven in the morning, your little baby was likely ready to eat again.

“Alright, baby. Let’s go get you something to eat.” Megumi hummed softy, pleased with himself as he managed to get out of bed with baby girl in his arms and not disturb anyone in the process.

He had gotten increasingly confident with his baby handling skills over the last three months.

He certainly still had a bit of worry to him when it came to walking with her, but he could move around and function with one arm easily.

“How about we make mama breakfast after you eat?” He asked her softly, placing one of the frozen bags of milk into the water he heated. It would be a lot faster to just wake you up and have her feed then and there, but Megumi prioritized your sleep.

… and baby girl was content right now so he knew she’d survive the ten minutes it took to prep the bottle.

Megumi actually cherished those ten minutes, each morning when the Sun had just peaked over the horizon. When he could lean against the counter and hold her in his arms, memorizing every inch of her perfect little face.

Making the choice to move out to the country side shortly after finding out you were pregnant a year ago has been the best choice.

Every morning was tranquil, no sound of traffic or construction or even crowds of people for that matter.

Just nature, children laughing as they walked to school, normal people getting ready for their normal lives… everything he had wished for as a child.

She began to fuss again, stopping the moment Megumi brought her face up to his and kissed her cheeks softly. “Good morning, sweet girl.” Her eyes opened slowly, large and sleepy and the same color as yours.

“Let daddy put it in the bottle and then you can eat.” She seemed to understand him, cooing softly as he kissed her little forehead before settling her in one arm again.

Megumi had become a pro at making bottles, now he barely had to think when doing so.

Before he used to be meticulous, hands shaking as he measured everything out. Now, it came naturally, turning out perfect each time. “Here we go, sweet girl.”

He sunk into the sofa, a bib around her neck to prevent spit ups and a burp cloth over his shoulder. She took the bottle happily, little hand coming up to rest on top of Megumi’s while the other played with her bib.

“Is it good?” He murmured, smiling widely as her eyes focused on him and him alone.

As if he were her entire world.

Megumi also learned to cherish these little moments, because he knew the second you were present, there was nothing on this planet that would tear her eyes away from you. Three months old and it was already clear she was going to be a mama’s girl.

“What are we going to make mama for breakfast, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be starving when she wakes up.” She only blinked at him, suckling on the bottle contently as she listened to his voice. “How about her favorite?”

Megumi tapped her backside softly, body subconsciously rocking a bit to comfort her further as she ate.

“We have everything we need to make mama’s favorite breakfast. The trick is going to be making it without her waking up to the smell of it. She has a good nose.”

She let go of the bottle, letting Megumi take it away so he could place her on his shoulder and burp her.

He had to admit, the things he thought would be so tedious were easily his favorite. Bonding with his baby had been as easy as falling in love with you.

It felt natural, as if it was what he was meant to do.

“Good mornin~” you yawned, startling Megumi slightly as he looked over at you. “What are you doing up?” He scolded softly, it was far too early for you to be awake.

“Hungry, missed the two of you.” You shuffled over to the couch, sitting down carefully as to not disturb your little girl. “I didn’t want to interrupt daddy-daughter time but I woke up missing you both terribly.”

Your cheek was pressing to Megumi’s shoulder, hand coming down to rest on top of your baby and Megumi’s hand. It was no surprise that her eyes seemed to become more alert at the sound of your voice.

“Good morning my precious girl.”

You cooed softly, leaning a little further into Megumi so you could see her face around the bottle.

“We were going to surprise you with breakfast.” Megumi pouted, head turning to kiss the crown of your head as you sighed. “We can make it together, instead.”

“No, you can relax while I make it.” Megumi corrected, making you chuckle at his need to keep you on bed rest.

“Megumi, I want to help you make it. It’s more rewarding for me to help you.” You hum, lifting your head to kiss his shoulder before moving your head back. “And since I’m up early, it means we can take a family nap later.”

That seemed to stop Megumi from retaliating, giving in easily at that point simply because of the promise of cuddles. “Alright, fine. You can help with breakfast.”

You were content with that, in the same way Megumi was content with his finally normal life.

[lovelyghst]

craving consensual somno with (slightly intoxicated) simon riley and his (extremely heavy sleeper) girl. take this as ur warnings.

just him coming home late at night as usual, the bourbon in his system keeping him loosened up and tranquil, yet ever so cognizant as he enters your shared bedroom. those familiar creepy-crawlies invading his stomach with boyish excitement to see you, and quickly turning towards his dick when he lays eyes on your pretty body.

it’s nearly a routine at this point; you purposely fall asleep in these skimpy, two-piece pajamas, usually some sort of small berries, cherries, or flowers adorning the thin, white fabric that leaves little to the imagination, knowing it’ll get him all worked up. the curtains are left pulled and the door cracked open, you kick the covers off and lay with a pillow hugged tightly in your arms beneath you to give him the best view; infinite signs telling him you want it just as bad as he does. it is routine, but it gets so him riled up, each and every time.

he trudges over, as quietly as the tipsy man can manage to the end of your bed, and with tunnel-vision on your exposed thighs. even his jaw fallen slack just a bit in hunger. desperate to get his hands on you after being apart for so long, and wanting to soothe that ache in his cock he hadn’t even realized he was palming through his jeans.

you barely stir when he kneels on the foot of the bed, and neither when he crawls above you and places a kiss right behind your ear.

he presses a cold palm to your shoulder, attempting to urge you onto your back to give him a visual of your features. to let him see your curves in the raw moonlight, how the dainty material of your pajamas becomes a tad bit see-through around your tits and incidentally rides up past your bellybutton, endless thoughts running through his dazed mind as he eventually manages to flip you over successfully.

though, your sleepy hum suddenly alerts him to a standstill, his worst nightmare being to wake you from your serene rest. not now, anyway.

“shhh, sweetheart,” he gently coaxes you, and he can’t help the grin spanning his lips when you mumble the first syllable of his name in that questioning, dreamy tone. he clears fallen hair from your face, slipping his pillow from your grasp as he mutters, “yeah, dovie, s’only me. you’re okay, you’re safe… jus’ go back to sleep for me, now.”

your unconscious mind obeys like clockwork, the smallest of smiles curling your lip corners in contentment, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s returning to his endeavors.

kissing all across your exposed collarbone, thoughtlessly slipping a finger or two beneath the strap of your little pajama shirt and carefully allowing it to glide down your shoulder as he repeats the process on the other side. peppering kisses to your soft skin, before rolling the fabric upward from the bottom so he can properly pay attention to the rest of your chest and tummy.

lips grazing your sternum with short, controlled breaths fanning your sensitive parts; aware of how easily ticklish you are and attempting not to light that fuse, equally straining himself in not turning too feverish as he takes your hardened nipple in his mouth and paws at the other in his hand.

he works his way down slowly but surely, until he’s pulling your shorts off with tender hands and unveiling your bare, soaked pussy, and he can’t even think to suppress the low groan pushed from his lungs at the sight in front of him. he inches forward with nearly crossed eyes, taking incisive ministrations in lifting your legs up and over his back.

your breathing hitches a bit in your slumber when he licks an almost reluctant yet long stripe from your hole to your clit, unable to give himself a moment to savor it before he’s diving back in for more.

“missed this pretty, little cunt on my tongue, baby… christ,” he chuckles lightly to himself, “good girl’s gonna be the death o’ me.”

he sloppily makes-out with your pussy, any and all devotions of rhythm and precision thrown far from his intentions. he only gets to be selfish when he has you like this, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity as it’s laid out on his bed. moaning at your wetness and taste, how your pussy drools for more and coats his chin with a slick he devours like a madman deprived.

the small whines you make in your sleep are nothing but precious to simon, burning them into his brain like any other occasion he’s pulled them from your lips. saving them for the later times like when he’s a thousand miles away, locked away in some office, and can’t possibly bring himself to bother you with a pestering, horny phone call.

you turn your head to the side with a hum, empty hands reaching for any semblance of comfort on your abdomen, which rather concerns him for a moment until he realizes just what you want.

he gives you one of his hands and you blindly accept it, wrapping your smaller fingers around his wrist and thumb to pull the appendage closer. resting just below your ribcage, satisfied and holding it close like you would a teddy bear.

“sweet thing… always loved this perfect pussy,” he mumbles right up against your warmth, quiet as to not disrupt your blissful obliviousness in your sleep. he’s utterly drunk on you and your taste, and the alcohol he had beforehand certainly contributes to his filthy, forward language.

“how easy y’get on my mouth, ‘nd yet how tight you are around my cock… fuckin’ hell—”

he watches intently as the tips of his fingers delve between your folds, gradually disappearing whilst your chest begins to heave a little heavier; a faint, broken noise of pleasure omitting straight from your throat. tightening around his digits as he pushes them further in, just as you do wrapped around his cock when you’re conscious.

he’s not thinking straight; he’s merely experimenting with you as he curls his fingers upward, prodding at that gummy spot in your cunt and greedily sucking on your clit to push you over. toying with you, rather, because the face you make when you’re first emerged from your slumber with a mind-shattering orgasm is truly priceless.

your eyes snap open as you come around his digits, squeezing his hands tight with your vision going blank. the high is strong but you don’t allow it to last very long when the dots in your brain are connecting, turning you all excited for the implications of it all.

erratically catching your breath with a huge grin on your face, matching his as he comes up to greet you. he’s stupid, shamelessly drunk on your taste, and it radiates from his expression as if he just witnessed a star being born right before his muddy eyes.

you haven’t a clue what just happened, but you fucking loved every sober second of it.

and before you know it, he’s coming back up to meet your lips with his own, which you graciously accept, taste of slick and alcohol and all. humming as he slips his greedy hands upward and behind your back, giggling when he impatiently flips over on his back and hauls you with him. til you’re curled up by his side, halfway on his chest whilst one leg slips between both of his bulky ones.

“i‘m glad you’re home…” nearly a pout, “really missed you, si.”

you’re the first one to speak, quietly, sincere as ever as you examine his pretty face. the faint bags beneath his lids, the wetness that sticks to his dirty-blond stubble. his rough and gruff exterior that hides behind it a boy who’s absolutely and utterly whipped for you.

“that right?” he taunts, eyes remaining shut. “and my tongue, i bet?”

you shy away with a laugh. he won’t remember these words in the morning, but you’ve always loved how cocky and brazen he gets with a couple of drinks running through his blood.

“i missed all of you...”

his eyes barely have to open for him to effectively, and lovingly, judge you with a mere glance. it’s one of his talents.

“some parts more than others, clearly.”

“that’s not true,” you contest, but the humorous hesitancy and sheepishness in your voice tells him otherwise.

“sure, baby, sure.” he takes a moment to breathe, overtly proud of himself. “y’missed my mouth, n’ my hands. even with how rough they are with ya sometimes, yeah?” you hide your flushed face in his neck with a groan, praying this embarrassment is short-lived though preparing for the worst as you feel his lips inch closer to your ear.

“prob’ly missed me fuckin’ my cock into that tight, little cunt—”

“okay, fine!” you finally admit and pull away defensively, slapping his chest but only earning a laugh from him. “but i definitely don’t miss that dirty brain of yours, you big dog.”

“you love me anyway,” he states, matter-of-factly.

you give a big smooch to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and then down to his lips, which he returns.

“i do. a lot,” you add and he hums, feeling fulfilled.

and, oh, he’s so fulfilled with you. you take care of him by allowing him to take care of you, and it’s a two-way street. you ground each other whilst never forcing one to tether themself to earth.

you sit up to fix your top, smoothing over the fabric and shrugging the straps back into place. shimmying back into your shorts when you catch a glimpse of the large man’s dark jeans contrasting your light sheets, belt buckle glimmering in the corner of your eye.

“simon, honey, you need to change before you—”

you look over and are suddenly forced to stifle a giggle when you discover that the poor man has fallen asleep, a droopy smile still ornamenting his slick-covered face. taking your hand and swiping the apple of his cheek with your thumb, you’re pleased when he doesn’t budge one bit. dragging it downwards past his muscled chest and abdomen, landing just beneath his leather belt.

your fingertips trace his hard-on over the jeans, knowing you can’t just leave him like this, all aching and pent up and too exhausted to do anything about it himself.

maybe you could do him a favor and return the sweet gesture? <3

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

[uzurakis]

brainrotting so hard rn thinking of megumi who absolutely refuses to admit his feelings for his best friend but okay so hear me out shikigamis are often reflections of their owner, right?

his shikigami – his demon dogs, nue, escape rabbit etc etc are ALL attached to reader, constantly begging for their attention and being so protective towards reader whenever he brings them out. and reader can't help but feel loved and safe whenever they're around.

because the affection his shikigami has for you is a reflection of megumi's feelings for you <3

n. THIS IS SOOO GOOD and i just HAD to make a drabble out of it. i also feel megs will sometimes be jealous but.. hey.. isn’t that just an extension of HIMSELF? thank you nonnie cause i had fun brainrotting this wit chu <3

under the dappled shade of a tree, you and your bestfriend sat nestled amidst nature's embrace. the gentle rustle of leaves provided a soothing soundtrack to the lazy hour after school as the cool breeze swayed in between. you leaned against the sturdy trunk, the rough bark a comforting support against your back, whilst fushiguro reclined nearby, never not a book on hand, his presence a familiar comfort in the tranquil surroundings. he looked too focused, way too focused right now.

“fushiguro,” you called out whilst biting back a smile, holding up your index finger in a playful gesture. “one favor.”

“no.” came his immediate response, closing off any opportunities as he remain engrossed in his book.

it was a usual thing for you to do, pester him for fun with many favors. you knew that despite his protests, he would always give in to your whims. it was one of the things you adore about him actually, the lengths he’d go to make you feel better.

undeterred, you continued, pouting slightly. "but fushiguroo..."

“no.” he repeated firmly. “your one favor usually turns into a two favor, and a three—“

“i promise it’s only a favor this time!”

a wind brushed his black locks as he peered up from his book, letting out a slight forced sigh as he finally locked his eyes with yours. “just one favor.” he conceded, unable to resist your asks.

the smile of yours finally burst out, and the favor rolled off of your tongue. it was simple this time; you didn't have to use your pleading looks or other tricks to get him agreeing.

“can you summon some of your shikigamis? just wanna play with them.”

fushiguro's expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his initial resistance. he closed his book gently and set it aside, his attention fully on you now.

"alright," he relented, his tone warmer now. "i can do that, only for a short while."

you nodded eagerly, grateful for his concession. fushiguro had a way of understanding your needs even when you were being particularly bothersome. so you wasted no time in joining in the play, laughing and running around with his divine dogs. fushiguro watched with a fondness in his eyes, silently grateful for moments like these.

well, he too had other ideas. he certainly seems to have a knack for stirring up trouble and was definitely intentional. while you were distracted by the dogs swarming about you, he summoned an army of his rabbits—a large number of them—and they all jumped at you at once.

“do you want me to get killed from your rabbits?!” the shout was muffled as his rabbits covered quite every inch of your body. “did you tell them to come at me?!”

no, your bestfriend never ask his shikigamis to come at you the moment he summoned them. fushiguro megumi's shikigamis, his loyal companions, had a mind of their own. he never trained the dogs to nozzle around you, the rabbits to bounce over you, or nue to sit on your shoulder. for that they didn't heed the conventional rules of summoning or obedience; instead, they acted on their instincts, driven by an unspoken directive to protect and be close at all times—fushiguro megumi’s instincts to protect you and be close at all times.

“dunno,” picking up where he left off and submerging back to his pages. “maybe.”

“you’re such a prick!” the words burst forth as you try to get the rabbits off of you.

he watched you from a distance, his heart swelling with affection as you kept playing around with his shikigamis. but he still tried to held back his own smile, a silent observer in the background, content to bask in the warmth of your presence.

yet, as if on cue, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, he could not hide it any longer.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[whois-miki]

—- ‘you left your shirt at my cabin.”

warning - like a 2 cuss words, implied make out, persassy

paring - Luke Castellan x Poseidon!fem!reader

others - does not relate to my poll at all, i was just bored

plot -

Luke leaves his shirt at the reader’s cabin

or

Percy finds a familiar shirt with a too familiar pine sent, in his sisters room.

“hello, lovely girl.”Luke mumbled as he wrapped his arm around her waist. she muttered a quick ‘hi’ and went back to what she was doing.

“what’s wrong?” he said, his voice still raspy as he must’ve just woken up.

“nothin’ just thinking.”

“about?” he trailed off hugging her closer

“gods no, Luke! you make it sound like we did something worse!” he chuckled and she could smell the faint sent of a fire place.

after a few more minutes of tranquil, Y/n turned back to the taller boys and softly said, “love, i need to go back to my cabin.”

he sighed deeply and dramatically before letting her go back to the Poseidon Cabin.

“Y/n L/n!”

Percy yelled from his older sister’s room. her head quickly snapped to where the yell came from, she mind went on and on if he found something of Luke’s.

“yes?” she said in fake innocence,

“who’s shirt is this?” her younger brother said holding up a camp half blood shirt with his index finger and thumb like it was going to give him a disease.

her heart immediately dropped at the sight of it. there was no mistake that it belonged to Luke Castellan.

“that’s- well uh, that’s mine.” she quickly muttered out trying to play it off.

Percy quickly looked her up and down and gave her a side eye. “you don’t smell like a fire place, Y/n.” he stated flatly. “you smell more like the ocean and perfume.” he continued

she just squinted at him in confusion before quickly saying, “it is mine, Percy, now stop snooping in my room.” while trying to pull the shirt out of his grip. he quickly pulls it back out of your reach and says, “This is like a size bigger than yours and smells like a fire place, like the Hermes Cabin.” he stated

Y/n’s face dropped a bit before putting on her mask of confusion, and that little break was enough for Percy to realize everything.

“your dating a Hermes boy aren’t you?” he shouted in excitement. she mumbled a quick ‘maybe’, before trying to reach for the shirt again.

“it’s Luke isn’t it?” he said jokingly, she froze in place and avoided eye contact with Percy. his eyes widened at this and ( with perfectly timed actions ) Luke walks into her room looking for her.

“N/n, we need to help the younger campers for archery.” he said looking down at a clipboard, not even paying attention to what was happening. when he heard no response he looked up and looked at Percy, then the shirt, and then at his girlfriend.

“shit,”

“you left your shirt at my cabin.”

“indeed, i did.” Luke mumbled and Percy just looked at the two with his hand on his hip like a disappointed mother.

“y’know, we need to go.” Y/n said gently shoving Luke out of her room and Percy called out to them,

“I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU HURT HER, DUMBASS.”

a/n :

yes! persassy is back, anyways this has nothing to dow it’s my poll even thought Luke Castellan x reader is in the lead. ok love you guys thank you so much for everything!!

[lovrspell]

First time

Pairing: Astarion x Gn!Reader.

Summary: a little throwback to when Astarion received aftercare for the very first time — from you.

Warnings: Fluff. Suggestive. Mentions of abuse/trauma. Inability to manage displays of affection. Vampire bite. Blood sucking. Aftercare.

Word count: 2,3k

Masterlist.

Looking back in time and examining your relationship with Astarion now and several months ago, you realize how much progress you have made together. Astarion, especially.

Now, he trusts, loves, and cherishes you effortlessly, finding comfort in the familiarity of your presence. Your intimate moments are a source of joy, marked by the tenderness of your comforting kisses and caresses. He's accustomed to it all.

But... Before, things were different.

Sometimes you recall the times when he shamelessly hit on you, and you're surprised that you deluded yourself that it was real interest, at least in the beginning — he used it as a defense mechanism, it was something rooted in him.

As for your first night together, it was... Well, it was definitely memorable.

———

“...Are you okay?" you asked, still out of breath from the passion you two just shared. The air in the tent was humid — you had quite the experience.

He turns to you, that usual smirk of his playing on his lips. “W-.. A-ha! Why wouldn't I be okay? I could finally taste you. Of course I'm okay.”

You gave a slight nod, lying down again. Astarion had already sat up, and in that position you could capture even the smallest details of that huge scar on his back you noticed earlier while you undressed him — but you didn't dare to ask about it yet.

In a brief spell of silence, you found yourself teetering between the realms of dreams and reality. The tranquility was interrupted by the sound of a forced cough. Abruptly, your eyes opened to the sight of Astarion staring down at you, fully clothed, wearing a somewhat snarky expression.

He looked anxious. Not his usual self, for sure.

In your half-asleep state, seeing him like that worried you. Were you talking in your sleep, by any chance? Were you drooling?

“What's— What's wrong?”

He raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight from hip to hip.

“It's kind of late, darling.” his tone had something almost impatient about it.

“I guess it is.”

Poor, oblivious you.

In that moment, you witnessed such confusion in him that it made you blink a few times; you couldn't wrap your head on where he was trying to go with that.

Parallelly, he couldn't understand you. Usually he offered his body, the other person took advantage of it and then… They left. But you? You were still there. And you hadn't even bothered to get dressed.

It was natural finding it a bit peculiar to see you still in his tent several moments after your climax. Was there a silent invitation for another round lingering in the air? Was he supposed to read between the lines?

A few moments of silence lingered as he gazed at you, perplexed. You returned the same gaze until a subtle shift in your expression hinted a realization –

Perhaps he sought some personal space.

Feeling a tinge of embarrassment, you blushed, not wanting to come across as intrusive.

“You want me to go?”

He's lost in his thoughts and, very unlikely of him, at a loss of words, apparently. It seems like his brain was trying to process too many informations at the same time, resulting in him going silent.

But you, at the time, as accustomed as you were and still are to gentle kissing and lingering caresses after the thrills of sex, recognized his behavior as annoyance towards your presence; therefore feeling unwanted you took it personally. Still, you didn't want to be on his tail.

“...Alright.”

You began to gather your clothes rather quickly, which were scattered here and there around the tent. As you absentmindedly buttoned your shirt, his gaze was fixed on you.

“See you tomorrow, Astarion. Thank you for... This. Good night.”

The fact that you thanked him for having sex with you baffled him enough, but never as much as the little kiss you planted on his cheek before leaving his tent. Simple and tender.

The tent flap swayed back and forth gracefully, following the lead of the gentle wind on a quiet night. His gaze lingered on the space where you had just been, right in front of him.

What was that?

He tried to think clearly.

During this shared night, he found no compulsion to wander far, to delve into the empty, dark yet strangely comforting realm he usually retreats to in moments like these — while to no one's surprise he effortlessly entered that familiar mental space without conscious effort.

He had sex with you because he knew no other way to gain your trust and protection. That looming, self-loathing sensation is still there, clawing under his skin and nibbling at his self respect with a trillion sharp teeth — but that kiss... That simple kiss on the cheek made him feel something he can't quite define. It's new and scary.

He wondered if it was really necessary to do all this to have your support in this journey.

He was too accustomed to the life he led under Cazador's command — seducing to survive. You're the first person he's willingly had sex with since escaping Cazador and he wasn't even fully into it; the thought upsets him.

Perhaps he's overthinking a simple kiss on the cheek.

But was it that simple?

The thoughts reached a deafening crescendo, and, as if emerging from a dream, he blinked several times and looked around, dazed. He needed to rest.

———

It's been a while since your sexual encounter. Astarion has not failed to make some teasing remarks about it every now and then, alluding to a second chance to indulge in each other again.

That second opportunity occurred, but several days after the first. It happened when you told him that he could feed on you that night and agreed that you would meet at your tent.

Astarion came to visit you late in the evening, when almost everyone had already retired to their tents. He found you reading a book, lying on your stomach.

“Hello, darling.” he greets you, his voice a sound that wakes you from your trance from the huge book you were absorbed into.

“Hi,” you reply distractedly, turning quickly towards him and taking the opportunity to stretch. You pushed the book aside, closing it.

It seemed that over the course of the day you had forgotten that you had proposed him to feed on you — the look of surprise on your face that dissolved rather quickly gave it away. You were visibly tired, he noticed. However, as soon as your eyes met his, you offered a gentle, sheepish smile — the kind reserved for moments when words become wearisome.

Allowing him to feed on you even when it seemed that all you wanted to do was rest stirred a semblance of life in his chest.

You sat up, adjusting comfortably. “I’m ready.” you informed him, moving the fabric of your clothing away from your neck to expose it to him.

Astarion stared at you, and for a moment he didn't say or do anything. He wanted to do something different this time, not just bite you, suck your blood, and then return to his tent. No, he wanted to try something new.

Instead of bringing his mouth to your neck, he brought it to your lips. He kissed you slowly, introducing his tongue in your mouth tentatively — but when he felt the natural tension vanish from your body, he brought his hands to your waist and deepened the kiss.

Astarion felt you melt in his arms, remembering how you had let yourself go the same way a few nights before.

Your hands came up to rest on his shoulders; Astarion leaned towards you until you were laying down. His lips separated from yours with a pop and only then did he place them on your neck. But even there, before sinking his sharp fangs into your skin, he planted a few kisses here and there.

He persisted, leaving a trail of kisses that moistened your neck. His lips traced a path to a point just under your ear, where he planted an open-mouthed kiss. Suddenly, you experienced a sharp, dull pain spreading rapidly in that spot. You hissed, clutching his shirt tightly and exhaling sharply; you heard a soft hum coming from him as he immediately began swallowing mouthfuls of your warm, succulent blood.

That little kissing ritual was to thank you, in a way. You were and have always been available to him, despite his bad temper and grumpy tendencies.

As he fed, the movement of one of your hands moving from his shoulders distracted him.

Next, he felt the touch of a gentle hand running through his hair.

He was so focused on sucking your blood that he didn't even notice for the first few seconds. Accordingly, he felt the distinct touch of your warm hand move across his cheek and cupping it.

What are you doing?

Your tender touch left him puzzled. Akin to a feather's caress, it cradled him in a way that stirred a desire more profound than any teasing or vulgar contact could evoke.

You felt him grunt against you, the guttural sound vibrating through your being.

Those touches reminded him of that kiss you had printed on his cheek after your night together; his stomach twisted in contrasting sensations.

He pulled away from you after a few seconds, but your caresses didn't stop. Your blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, his hair disheveled as a result of your fingers combing through his curls.

“What's up?” you asked, trying not to giggle at the fact that he looked like he had just woke up. You reached an hand in his hair to fix some wild curls back in their place.

He didn't answer at first, but then he shrugged slightly.

“Nothing.” he muttered softly, his body moving in your direction almost without his control. He was experiencing new things within himself, things he had never felt before.

A desire. A genuine desire, nothing that had to do with that of a few evenings prior. Despite his less-than-noble intentions previously, he openly acknowledges being drawn to you. However, unlike before when intimacy served a strategic purpose, this time things are different.

He craves you spontaneously, yielding to the impulse of the moment. While leaning in for a passionate, bloody kiss on your lips, he pledges not to flee from this moment or from you. No mental refuge exists now, just two bodies entwined and two souls merging into one another.

The tenderness of that kiss amazed you.

You feel his arms wrap around your waist to lift you up in his lap, kisses trailing down your neck to suck briefly on the holes he left in it.

One thing led to another and a few minutes later, you were both naked and nestled into each other.

Astarion was thrusting his hips into you breathlessly, continuing just to try drawing another orgasm out of your guts before you pull apart. This has been going on for a while now; he has absolutely drained you. In every way.

You had noticed a certain vigor in him, which was not given solely and exclusively by the fact that he had just made an excellent reserve of blood. He felt alive, present, current. He was there with you, made a puddle in your arms while you cradled each other through your collective ecstasy.

If the first time his gaze seemed empty and absent, often far from yours, now it was bright and lively, never too distant from your own. It was impossible not to notice the difference.

When the rush of pleasure died down, he pulled away from you slowly, almost reluctantly. He came down from above you to lie next to your body; both sweaty and out of breath, you remained silent for several minutes.

You anticipated for him to leave as soon as possible, given the discomfort he displayed that evening when you prolonged your stay just a bit, expecting to spend some time together after your sexual activity.

But he remained there, next to you, his expression thoughtful but relaxed. You assumed he didn't want to leave just yet.

However, just as that pleasant, inviting thought etched itself into your beliefs, he sat up and reached for his undergarments dispersed around the tent.

You frowned, sitting up and reaching for his arm without even thinking twice.

“Wait, wait... Why don't you stay?”

You didn't fail to catch him off guard this time, too. Your voice had such a sweet, pleading edge to it.

“We can talk, we can... We can even just be silent together. Do you want to?”

He guessed it couldn't hurt to try.

He lay down again, putting his clothes aside. He saw you smile from the corner of his eye as you did the same, this time lying on your side.

One of your hands carefully came up to caress his chest tentatively. The tips of your nails scratched his skin deliciously, sending shivers down his spine. His eyes fluttered and he looked up at you; he was confused, disorientated.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you not like it?”

“...I do.”

“Then just enjoy it.”

He followed your advice.

In that instant, he embodied a certain beauty that surpassed his usual charm. Surrendering to your soothing enfolds, he reached a blissful state, breaking down every wall and baring his soul to you. Every muscle in his body eased into relaxation. He scoots closer until he's basically all curled up in your arms, melting against your comforting heat.

That night, he shared a peaceful slumber with you, and to this day, he never ceases to express his profound gratitude for the invaluable gift of your love.

You made his dead heart start beating again.