#lime scratches his nose again

[musubiki]

imagine after so many years the m34th never knows about lime and mochi until they’re married with like 3 kids and all the sudden theyre like “dude wtf did you ever think about the anti seduction training”

"did you learn nothing from the monthly seminars"

[hanasnx]

not EXACTLY the same concept. but i think hayden using the reader to take body shots is so hot

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: the way i ran to this...

"I dunno, I haven't done this in a while..."

"It'll be fun, baby, don't think too hard on it. It goes lick, sugar, shot, lime. You got it?"

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN rolls his jaw as he eyes you up sitting on that table, your mid-riff exposed by your cute baby tee that you bought with his money. His tongue pokes out his lips, and gives you a single nod, signaling that you lay back. Your arm tucks under the veil of your hair, and flicks it out to fan across the surface of the counter you relax on. It doesn't take long before he's on his third shot, fourth shot, fifth.

You can see it in the way he's swaying in place, you really hadn't expected him to keep going, you had imagined he'd tap out at two. "One more, one more," he insists through a dreamy grin, as if he has to really convince you. Trained, his hand clutches your chin to crane your neck, pinching your cheeks in his grip to pout your lips. A long wet stripe is licked onto the space right under your ear, his breath washing over you, and ends it with a sweet peck, latent saliva stringing out off his pucker. His long finger taps the mouth of the packet, sprinkling sugar onto the soggy skin, catching on the moisture. A tingle travels through the pit of your stomach as he straightens, stumbling back marginally. "Forgot how much fun this was." he muses as he greedily checks out your figure waiting patiently for him. He tips the drink over, far above your belly button, all caution thrown to the wind as the liquid splashes messily over your abdomen before filling your navel.

"Careful, Hayden!" you warn, your stomach flexing from your chuckle. He disregards you, plucking a lime from the dish to shove into your mouth. It silences you, and you hum in playful disapproval as he bends over like a starving man. That eager tongue laps up the sugar on your neck, the sensation of his scruff scratching up the column causes a shiver to run down your spine. He doesn't bother getting up, pivoting down the line of your form, letting the tip of his nose graze you until he meets your torso. Lovingly, he cleans you, licking up the dew drops of alcohol he spilled over you. His hand fixes on the other side of you, hovering over you possessively, his hunch creating a most exquisite sight of his broad shoulders to behold as he drinks the shot from your belly button like a professional. Even pokes his tongue inside to make you jump out of ticklishness. Another few kitten licks to your skin, leaving your stomach wet enough to be cooled by the breeze of the A/C, he ends it with an open mouthed kiss on your upper abdomen, biting down onto the flesh.

To coordinate his attention, your hands come to his curls, tangling in them to draw him back up to your face, where he grins at the reminder of his destination. You offer the lime to him, and he takes it by enveloping it in his mouth, lips overlaying yours as he tongues you over the fruit. Sloppy and clumsy, he doesn't hold back until his teeth are ready to sink into the porous green skin to draw it out of you. You make a noise of surprise as he detaches, holding his loyal eye contact as he repositions the lime using his tongue to bite into the meat of it, taking advantage of its bitterness and tang to rewrite the traces of alcohol on his breath. An index finger and a thumb pinch the ends of the slice, and it's removed with a sodden pop. Once again you're left speechless and breathing hard by your older boyfriend using your young body for shots.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mise en Place 5

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: I'll be honest that these parts are a little more hands on because I'm full on learning cocktail recipes here lol.

Thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

Thor follows Sonny in. The coppery scent of his blood lingers in your nose. You make yourself stand up as the blur at the edge of your vision recedes.

"Are you okay?" You squeak.

"Ah, so sweet, you don't need to worry, all fixed up," he wiggles his bandages finger at you, "how about you, you alright?"

"Yeah," you shudder, "good."

You push away the memories. You're safe here. No one knows you. No one you know would ever find you here.

Sonny sighs heavily and picks up his knife, going back to his chopping. Thor pushes back the loose strands of his hair, "hate to bother again but I'm still down a partner and well…" he looks at his hand, "a bit scratched up."

"Oh, uh," you look over at Sonny, then the sink. The dishes are done for now.

"Go on, just keep him away from anything sharp," Sonny scoffs.

"Okay," you agree. 

You don't really want to be behind the bar again but you feel bad enough to do it. Thor won't be able to do everything alone. Not with his injury.

"I'll show you how to muddle," Thor offers, "I'll need you to do it for me, and I can walk you through a few simple mixes before we open."

"I… I'll try," you follow him to the door.

"You'll do just fine," he assures you, "I know it."

🍹

“Another spicy margherita,” Thor says as he nears you.

He takes a glass and a lime wedge, rubbing it over the brim before ringing it with salt. You take some jalapeno and set to muddling, focusing on your singular task. You add it to the mixer as he measures in tequila and a few other ingredients you can’t keep track of. He finishes as you set aside the mixing glass and take the next order; easy, beer.

You fill two pints from the taps. That was part of your brief lesson before opening. Along with a simple martini, a gimlet, a vodka tonic, and a few others with only a few ingredients. Thor was nice enough to give your cheat sheet on the back counter but the rush was so much, you were scrambling to keep up.

You take the money and tap the order into the till. You hand the change back and get no tip. You don’t care. You’re just trying to get through the night. The chaos makes you miss the tedium of your cleaning duties.

You knock a hose loose and spray yourself with some soda, quickly fixing the tap as you sputter and spin around, lost in the hectic furor of the thirsty patrons. Thor startles you as he presses a large hand against your back, almost flush to your side as he steadies you. 

“Take a breath,” he gristles before slipping away, once more stepping up to take an order. He’s so confident it makes you feel even more out of place.

You watch him lean over to hear the girl yelling out what she wants. As he does, she reaches over to touch his arm, a smirk as she does. He doesn’t acknowledge the gesture as he pulls back to mix cranberry juice, lime juice, and vodka.

“Triple sec,” he calls over his shoulder, “please.”

He’s certain to add the last word even amidst the rush. You search the shelf and grab the tall bottle. You set it beside his station and he thanks you quickly before finishing off the drink, shaking and pouring before trading it for the swipe of a card.

Another order. This time he asks for anise liquer. You nod and go back to the shelf. You can’t find anything like that and shrug helplessly.

“I don’t see it–”

He backs away from the counter and blows a strand of hair from his lips. You wince as the red in his cheeks gives him a slightly agitated edge. You clasp your hands together.

“Not to worry, it is on the top,” he pats your arm and squeezes by, “sugar cubes are under.” He points as he sidles along, “you’ll need one.”

You let him past, bodies brushing warmly in the cramped space. You spin and squat to look in the cupboard. You find the container of sugar cubes and put them on the counter. He comes back with the liquer and pulls out a mixing glass. 

“Muddle it with a little of this,” he taps the bottle.

You once more go about the work, it keeps you from thinking about the crowd watching and waiting just on the other side of the bar. You don’t know how he does this every night. You’re about ready to hyperventilate.

“Hey, gimme a goddamn beer!” A voice hollers, one that makes your blood run cold.

Thor ignores the shout and finishes the transaction. He growls as the boisterous demand repeats and he looks up as you cower and clap your hands together, searching for whoever it is shouting at you. You know that voice but it can’t be him. It just can’t be!

“Calm down,” Thor booms as he moves in front of you, “you can wait your turn or I can show you out.”

The impatient patron chortles but doesn’t yell again. Thor continues on as you watch his back. You don’t move, can’t as you try to shake off your fright. You come forward to help and see the man who was in dire need of a pint. No, it’s not him, just your imagination.

“Eh, you need a break, you go back in the kitchen,” Thor suggests, “I can manage a couple minutes on my own. Hell, I should drag Loki down to deal with the mess he’s made.”

“N-no, I’m okay,” you tremble as you pull your hands apart, “I can do it…”

“And you’re doing very well,” he affirms.

He reaches and squeezes your hand. His rough skin sends a shiver through you, the firm grasp frightening you, but you don’t draw away. He slowly lets you go pats your shoulder, his hand crawling over to your back and trailing down.

“I’m lucky to have you by my side, fawn.”

[ohforficsakelibrary]

The Margay: Chapter 3

The Laughter of Damned Things

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Cards are on the table now and offers have been made, but Frankie still has some apologizing to do.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Agent!OFC (no age gap)

Word Count: 4.4K

Rating: Explicit 18+ /oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, protected piv, multiple orgasms (f) / Minors DNI

A/N: And here we have what you have been waiting for, complete with use of Frankie’s unofficial but completely canon fandom nickname because it's my favorite. Thank you all so much for continuing to read and comment and reblog and for the inclusion in your fic recs. I truly did not expect such a lovely outpouring of support. It means so much. Hope you all enjoy.

Frankie finds her an hour later, at the only bar on the beach that’s still open. 

He knows because he checked five other ones before ending up here. 

Wet hair soaks the shoulders of the high-neck sleeveless dress she's changed into, curves of her face lit up by her phone.

She only looks up when she hears the ice-clink of glass on the table.

A fresh gin and soda sheepishly slid in her direction with one finger.

Frankie slips into seat across from her.

He’s just gone straight for tequila on the rocks now.

“I’m sorry.”

And she smiles from one corner of her mouth.

“It’s not the first time that’s happened, Francisco. And it won’t be the last, I’m sure.”

“Frankie.” He mumbles. “You can just call me Frankie.”

“Hi, Frankie.” She extends her hand, “Audrey.”

She shakes with more strength now.

“Hi Audrey. 'M sorry.” 

“Frankie I’m fine, I promise.” 

She sounds like a mother soothing a child.

And having said everything that he came to say, Frankie is suddenly unsure of what to do. 

So he dives nose-first into his glass.

“You’re definitely more of a Frankie than a Freddie, I have to say,” she tips her head to catch his gaze.

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, Freddie sounds like some kind of…fuckin'…hedge fund manager’s son. Named after the bank that his daddy works for.”

He smirks, but doesn’t smile. And they sit in silence, one crunching on ice, the other spinning a lime around a glass. Each occasionally catching the other staring.

“So you’re a pilot.” She steers the conversation to something he knows.

Frankie looks up at her from under skeptical brows.

She rests her fingers on her phone. “Davis sent over your files, I’m sure he’s sent you mine too.”

“Mm. Yeah. I haven’t checked.” 

He studies the fruit in his glass and she studies him in the silence that follows. The errant curls at the nape of his neck having escaped some semblance of style as they’ve dried. No hat this time.

The way his tongue fiddles with the inside of his bottom lip. The brush of grey in his patchy beard.

The heaviness in his eyes that has nothing to do with the late hour.

There’s a hair-fine scar on the bridge of his nose that’s only visible when he looks down. 

She wants to drink in the details.

And if there’s one thing that’ll get a pilot talking—obscure aircraft tend to do the trick.

“I flew an Me 262 once.” 

“A Messerschmitt? You fly?”

“Only if I have to” Audrey grins, “but that one belongs to a friend. He put a lot into restoring it and takes it out for a run every now and then.”

Brown eyes are lit up now. “What was it like?” 

“It’s like 80 years old it’s clunky as fuck, Frankie. It’s terrifying.”

Frankie throws his head back in a laugh. It rips from his throat and crinkles his eyes. Offers her his back teeth. Heaviness lifts. God, she wants to see it again.

She’s always been partial to the laughter of damned things.

“Yeah, the uh, the wings on those had a tendency to snap off because the build materials were shit.” He briefly brushes his fingers over the bridge of his nose.

She combs a hand through her hair, scratching at her scalp. “I was made aware of that after I had her back on the ground, yep.” 

They’re both laughing now.

“Damn, must still have been something, though,” it's wistful when the laughter dies down. “You need a refill?” Frankie holds up his empty glass.

No, but I want to keep talking to you.

“Please.”

“So," Frankie starts when he returns. "Two thousand eight hundred and seventy-two meters."

“Yeah.” 

“Through the jungle.”

“Wasn't that impressive. A clearer shot than you might think,” she's diminishing herself but Frankie's buzzing now and won't have it.

“'C'mon, that’s gotta be what?” He swallows another mouthful of tequila. “Like the longest shot in the world and you…you just pulled it off on a random Tuesday in February?”

“Officially, it’s the second longest. Unofficially, not even close.”

“Unofficially?”

“Frankie, babe, they only report those numbers for missions that the public is allowed to know about.”

“That’s, yeah, that’s fair enough." He idly spins his glass between his thumb and middle finger. "Okay, fine, so what’s the actual record?”

“Five thousand, two hundred and three meters.”

“Fuck, that’s like. Over three miles. And what’s your record then?”

“Five thousand, two hundred and three meters.”

“Where?” He growls it.

“The Atacama.”

Frankie clinks his glass against hers with a smirk.

He spends a moment on her face. Cheekbones glowing with humidity, bottom lip probably tasting of gin.

Frankie leans in halfway over the table and lets it fly.

“You’re The Margay.” 

It’s rumbled through registers of his voice so low that even she barely hears him.

She answers with the barest arc of an eyebrow.

“You’ve got people out here scared shitless,” he purrs again.

Audrey leans in until there’s half a foot between them. “I didn’t start that. But I’ve never stopped it either. Easier to operate when you’re a concept. Keeps people from looking for an individual person.”

Frankie hears her, but his eyes are on her mouth. 

It plucks at the strings of something dark inside his chest.

The fact that she’s still here, all warm smiles and heated lips in the face of that much danger.

He wonders if she sleeps.

“How many?”

Kills.

“As The Margay?”

Or total? Hangs unasked.

His heady gaze finds her eyes.

“Eighty-two confirmed.”

And it doesn’t matter which she means because she’s close enough to smell the tang of tequila on a hot breath that ruffles drying ringlets. 

It shouldn’t be doing what it’s doing for him. 

But a woman who can handle herself.

The competence of it all.

“Fuck,” Frankie breathes.

“I would very much still like to, yes.”

Frankie’s tongue wets his bottom lip, left hand reaching around the back of her neck—gently—and guides her mouth to his. 

The taste of her is different now, less urgent but just as desperate. 

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous, Goddard," he whispers with his forehead tipped against hers.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that and won’t be the last, I’m sure,” she echoes with a smile. “Close your tab, Morales.”

_____

Ten minutes later he has her against the door to her hotel room, his tongue laving the shell of her ear, her fingers laced in the still-damp roots of his curls.

“Need this off,” Frankie huffs against her neck where the turtleneck of her dress is keeping him from skin. Massive palms skate up her hips under the fabric and she leans back to allow him to do away with it. Immediately his lips find her neck, tongue laving an apology over finger-shaped patches of red that have already began to blossom purple.

The scratch of his beard over bruises makes her stomach flip.

Her fingers find the hem of his t-shirt and divorce him from it, head thumping back against the door with a sigh when the broad expanse of his heated skin finally presses like a balm against her own.

“Need to taste you,” he breathes, wild against her mouth. 

“Get on the bed, Frankie,” Audrey shoves him back, reveling in the way his dark eyes burn as she steps out of her underwear, slinking towards him intending to take his face back in her hands. Palms fit to her hips and he lifts her onto the bed instead.

Hands immediately force her knees open and he skates the bridge of his nose through her folds, trailing the motion with the flat of his tongue. Audrey moans and reflexively clamps her legs shut at the sensation, but Frankie holds her firm, readjusting to splay wide over her hips, forearms and elbows keeping her spread for him.

“Is this okay?” He breathes hot against her core, huge brown eyes angled up at her.

“Don’t stop, Frankie.”

And so he doesn’t. 

He feasts like a man starved.

He sucks and laves until she’s arching off of the bed, hands buried in his hair, firmly anchored to his face by his fingers wrapped around her thighs.

She’s loud.

He loves it.

Loves noises he pulls from her throat when his tongue dips inside her. The way she keens when he sucks on her clit. The way she pleads Francisco over and over in the seconds before she finally breaks with two of his fingers inside her cunt. 

The snap of a bow string.

Loves the way she has to cover her mouth to keep the desire in when he meets her eyes and sits up after having brought her through it, nose and lips glistening, sucking her slick off of his digits.

He lives for it.

Frankie cages her in with hands on either side of her head. “See how good you taste, baby,” he purrs against her lips before dipping his tongue inside her mouth. She moans at the tang of her on his lips and arches up into his solid chest as one hand slides behind her lower back, encouraging her hips up to his own.

He’s painfully hard under a layer of denim.

“Get rid of this,” she demands, tugging on a belt loop, “now.”

He rolls over on his back and she rakes dark curls out of her face so she can fit against his side to pepper his chest with kisses as he kicks off his jeans.

When he’s finally free she props herself up on an elbow, skating fingers down the soft swell of his stomach, through the sparse tuft of curls below his navel. "May I?"

"God, yes" he echoes her plea and she takes him in hand, green eyes never leaving his face.

Frankie cries out at the same moment she moans at the size of him—thick and uncut. Weeping for attention.

He reaches a hand around the nape of her neck, guiding her lips back to his, breathy moans escaping into her mouth every time her fingers brush up against the underside of his head with a twist of her wrist.

She handles him deftly. With finesse. 

With talented sniper’s fingers.

Audrey swipes her thumb over his leaking tip and brings a bead of him to her tongue, holding his dark gaze as she hums her approval at the taste. 

Frankie’s cock twitches against his stomach and his brain short circuits. 

He catches her hand when she reaches for him again.

“Not—gonna last,” he cranes up to nip at her bottom lip, “need to be inside you.”

She hums approval again.

“We need…” he sits up and looks around on the floor for his jeans, more specifically, the condom in his wallet.

Audrey’s up and across the room rifling through a bag, flinging a small packet towards him which he snatches out of the air.

God bless a woman who's prepared.

He makes quick work of rolling the condom on and finds her mouth again.

He stops her with a hand on her hip when she makes a move to straddle him, guiding her onto her back instead.

“Let me take care of you,” he kisses down her neck, pleading, “please, baby.” He grabs a pillow from behind her head and fits it under her hips.

Honestly, she’s impressed.

And it must be written on her face because Frankie sheepishly speaks up. “I’m—a lot,” he lays a kiss on her shoulder, “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

He’s not wrong, her hand barely makes it around him.

“I’m not made of glass.” She takes his face in her hands and sucks on his bottom lip. 

He kisses a wet, lazy path up over her when she releases him, a bruise sucked into her hip bones, the scratch of his beard across her stomach, teeth scraping through the flimsy fabric of her bra as his fingers find her wet heat again.

“I have a lady,” ghosts across her collarbone, “and a baby,” confessed against her mouth as two fingers curl against that spot inside that makes her impatient.

“And I have a man more dangerous than you.”

That provokes something because he applies—pressure. Upwards. Curling. Demanding.

“But does he make you moan like this?” Frankie growls against her teeth, the heel of his palm pressing down on her clit, calling forth a cry on command.

Both of her hands tighten in his hair.

“Does he love that pretty mouth like I do, princesa?” He rumbles against her jaw, nose smashed into her cheek.

“Don’t call me that, Francisco.”

“Does he need to open you up like this,” he slips a third finger inside and catches her gasp with his teeth, “—gatita?”

And his turn of phrase makes her smile against his lips.

“No.” 

Frankie teases a bit longer until the slide of his fingers eases. When he slips them from her slick heat he reflexively stuffs them in his mouth as he shifts to fit himself between her legs. She makes a noise that’s half protest at the loss of his solid weight at her side and half wrecked at what he’s just done. 

Frankie apologizes by giving her the taste from his tongue. He sits up and reaches down to rub the head of his cock against her clit, basking in her soft gasps, before sliding it up and down over her core, gathering the slip of her across his full length. 

Fingernails ghost over her thighs as he rocks his hips, continuing to tease.

“Francisco…” she breathes in both want and warning and he hums in response, soothing one hand over her stomach, while the other lines himself up.

He pushes in slowly and they both let out a moan. Frankie starts up languid shallow strokes at first, watching her face intently.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He’s barely composed enough to gasp it.

She cants her hips for more but he flattens a palm across her stomach, dark eyes half-hooded with lust.

Frankie’s the one who has been in control all along.

But he’s beautiful now that he’s teetering on the edge of it.

Damp curls falling across his forehead. Lips swollen from her attention. Chest flushed and heaving from the exertion. From the want. He’s a man ripped apart between the urge to be gentle and needing to make her scream. 

“Frankie, I…” 

She gasps and then moans when he does the last few inches in one stroke, allowing her a moment to feel through the fullness. 

Allowing him a moment to collect himself.

She’s so tight around him and yet she takes him. Welcomes all of him in. He hates that he can’t slip bare against her here, but reasons that it may be for the best.

He’s not sure how long he’d last that way.

Hands clench to bruising where they’ve settled on her hips.

Audrey lets out the breath she was holding and reaches to run her fingers up his forearms.

“Move, Frankie,” her purr snaps him back. 

Hands reach for him and he returns his weight and his mouth to her, cock sparking against tinder, dragging slowly at first before his pace picks up to something—devastating. He curls his hips with each thrust and her eyes flutter shut.

A soft nip spared at her collarbone before he sits back a moment, catching the backs of her knees over the insides of his elbows.

Folding her when he scrapes at her chin with his teeth.

She's on borrowed time. 

Incapable of anything more than panting into his mouth because Frankie knows his angles.

Nails bite into his shoulder blades as he watches her underneath him, head tipped back, plush lips fallen open.

Bruises where the tendons of her neck stretch tight.

He can’t decide if he hates himself for putting them there. 

Or if they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Audrey rakes red over his shoulder blades and it makes him growl, the rumble of it reverberating in the hollow spaces in her chest. She angles heavy-lidded eyes up at him as the muscles in her stomach tense, bringing her hands to cup his scruffy jaw.

Inhaling his exertion.

Exhaling her pleasure.

He shifts to let her legs go and supports himself on his elbows, palms closing over the crown of her head as his hips slow to a deep grind that puts pressure against her clit.

She mumbles some manner of blasphemy and he smirks an mouths at her pulse, breathing in deep before kissing at the soft spot behind her ear.

“Frankie,” she pants, “so close.”

“Go on, baby,” he purrs. “Let me feel you.” One hand closes into a fist in her hair and he rolls his hips, “go on.”

She breaks within seconds, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other in his flesh.

Frankie moans and grits his teeth at where she’s clenched tight around his cock, trying desperately to hold out as he eases her through, the rock of his hips keeping him buried deep.

Her mouth lazes over his shoulder, fingers grabbing for his hair, sweeping damp tendrils from his forehead as his tongue sweeps against hers. He buries his nose in the crook of her neck with a growl.

“So tight…”

“Frankie,” she lets go on a cracked breath.

Pleading.

“Oh, baby. No. You’re not fucking done,” he grits out and sits up, massive hands encircling her waist, pulling as he snaps his hips against hers. “You’re not. I can feel it.” The staccato smack of skin rings through the room at a fervent, building tempo. 

She lays one hand against the headboard to brace against the force of him and moans from deep in her chest.

“Tell me what you need, gatita,” he drives home a particularly harsh thrust.

“Deeper, Frankie.”

He pulls out, slides a hand along one thigh up under her ass and shoves, the force of it flipping her over flat on her stomach. He thrusts roughly back inside, supporting his weight with both hands, nose finding the tangle of her hair at the crown of her head.

He rolls his hips against her, testing the angle and she props herself up on her forearms, fingers gripping at the sheets. He can feel that he’s completely bottomed out, the head of his cock finding a wall with every thrust. 

This is where partners usually tell him it hurts. 

He slows a fraction and cups her chin with one hand, encouraging her to bend back.

She meets his gaze upside down.

“Is this..?” he grinds out, “fu—oh…okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she answers with a throaty hum. Her jaw goes slack and her tongue darts out to taste his thumb.

“Faster, Frankie.”

Oh. 

This? He’s not coming back from this.

The pace he sets in the wake of her command is brutal.

“You’ve got one more in you, don’t you baby? So fuckin’ beautiful,” he drags his nose up her spine and bites at the base of her neck. “Take this cock so well. Go on baby…let me have it…one more,” he’s babbling and sucking breath in through clenched teeth, moans escaping his throat with each exhale.

She hikes one knee up as much as she can where she’s caged in by his legs, the angle putting pressure on her clit with every thrust, and adjusts to tip her hips forward. 

And it sends him knocking against something sacred.

A soft, precious spot deep at the core of her that makes them both sob. That grips and molds to him and spins a warm coil of fresh pleasure at the base of her spine. He lowers himself to press his chest against her back, the pace of his thrusts knocking stuttering breath from her lungs.

“So deep, Frankie,” she gasps from under the tangle of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes, tipping her head back to fit in the crook of his shoulder. She turns to him, open-mouthed, tongue finding a bead of sweat that drips just behind his ear. 

“Fuck, he growls, “feel so fucking good, baby. Look at you. Like a fucking. Glove.”

“Please, Frankie, please…”

Frankie growls, reaching up with one hand to grab the top of the mattress for leverage as he twines his other arm under hers, hand wrapping up around her shoulder.

He’s snarling directly into her ear.

“Frankie. Frankie, that’s it, baby,” she gasps, the word nearly causing him to come undone. “Don’t stop, Frankie. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t…” 

She screams this time when she clenches around his cock.

And it sends Frankie careening over the edge after her with a bark that sets her ears ringing.

His snarls are deafening as his hips stutter through each pulse before he presses deep and holds there, chest heaving against her back.

Shortly thereafter, his muscles stop obeying his brain and the broad weight of him collapses flush against her. Audrey’s head drops into the space between her forearms, her soft, breathy gasps still filling his ears.

 He finds himself enough after a moment to lay gentle kisses across the curve of her shoulder. To nuzzle at her frazzled curls and burrow his nose there, lungs desperate to fill every crevice with her scent. 

He revels a moment in this languid melting of limbs. This bonelessness that she wrought. The warmth that floods him from his scalp to his toes.

This peace.

He reaches down after a beat, holding the condom in place as he pulls out and collapses onto his back. 

He has to move. Has to take this thing off. Has to throw it away. But his chest is still heaving and he’s not sure he can stand.

Audrey turns, head pressed back against a flattened pillow, breath coming in stuttering gasps.

She’s still reeling.

Frankie fits against her side, running a wide palm over her stomach before wrapping his arm around her—anchoring her—sucking open-mouthed kisses into the skin of her shoulder. She tips her head, pressing her nose and lips to sweat-damp scalp before he shifts to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” he whispers against her lips.

“Hi,” she sighs back with a smile.

Language passes between them in half-finished, panted sentences complete with fully formed understanding.

“Was that…?”

“Amazing. But I really have to…”

“Yeah…”

He sits up with her, knuckes stroking her back before she stands on limbs she doesn’t quite trust, a strong arm catching her around the middle when she falters a hair. 

She returns from the bathroom and he leaves for it, pausing as they pass in the hallway. 

Allowing fingers to skim over the curve of her ass.

To dance over the soft swell of his waist. 

To allow lips and tongues to meet.

He finds her in bed on her stomach when he returns, rumpled sheets slung low over her hips, arm wrapped around a pillow. She hums when his body heat returns to her. 

Frankie can’t keep his hands from her skin. 

She’s done away with her bra now and he runs his palm over the bare expanse of her back, slipping under the sheet and up again. His fingers curve over her shoulder then brush mussed curls from the nape of her neck. 

He maps every feature and commits it to memory with the hope that he will traverse it again some day.

He locks the sweat-salt taste away under his tongue in case he doesn’t.

“You sure I didn’t hurt you?” He whispers.

“Quite the opposite, Francisco.”

Her voice is already thick with sleep. 

Sated.

He cranes to lay kisses over the “m” with a devil’s tail inked at the top of her spine, noting how it sends the smallest jolt through her before she arches against him.

Fingers move feather-light to trace the antlers of a moose tattooed on her shoulder and it sends a chill racing across her skin.

“Don’t want to leave,” Frankie trails his nose across the span of her before dropping kisses down her vertebrae.

“Then don’t.”

“I have to.”

“Then go.”

He skates a hand down over the curve of her ass and squeezes before fingertips skip up into the dip of her back, idly fitting his thumb into one of the dimples there and settling against her hip, encouraging her over. Their mouths fit together again, Frankie’s lazy tongue lapping against hers.

“Thank you,” he breaks the kiss and breathes against her mouth, forehead pressed against hers.

She smiles.

“Go, Frankie.”

And he understands. 

Understands that if he stays, he can’t say he’ll ever leave.

_____

There’s a grin that he can’t wipe from his face in the time it takes to walk back to their shitty hotel.

It’s nearly five in the morning when Frankie finally slinks back into the room, first rays of morning just beginning to lend shades of grey to the palate.

He latches the deadbolt with little more than a whisper. Manages to get his boots off just as quietly. 

He doesn’t want Santi polluting what’s running through his veins.

Whatever it is that's pooling languidly in his belly. 

Doesn’t want to hear anything but the sound of her moans still echoing in his ears.

“You two kiss and make up?” Pope says from face down on the bed nearest the door.

Like nails against fucking slate.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s all good.”

Santi reaches to flip the reading light on, dark eyes tracking Fish around the room. “You fuck her?” His tone is more impishly curious than accusatory. 

“Go back to sleep, Pope.” He shucks off his jeans and t-shirt, leaving both in a pile at the foot of his bed.

But that damn smile is back. Pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Santi’s not going to let that go.

“Heeeyyy Big Dick Morales got some!”

“Oh god no, don’t bring that back,” he tosses his phone on the nightstand, turning down the bedspread, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning.

“You needed that, man. You’ve been a fuckin' live wire for months. Needed someone to zero out your brain. Look at you, can’t keep the fuckin’ smile off your face. Coming in here like the goddamn cat that got the cream.”

He’s not gonna touch that one.

“How many times?”

“Go the fuck back to sleep, Pope.” Frankie reaches to flip the light off and turns over in an attempt to block Santi out.

“Well your back looks like a fuckin’ Jackson Pollock, so. Congrats.”

And Frankie allows himself a full smile before sleep takes him.

next

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[urlocalwhumper]

here's more, sorry i'm obsessed lol

rayan belongs to @sowhumpshaped (even though he's never referred to by name here LMFAO)

nana loved everything about her new home.

it wasn't as big as her previous master's, but that hardly mattered to her at all. she wasn't allowed in most of that house anyways. but here, her new master had told her she could go wherever she wanted, just to knock first if the door was closed.

her new collar and tag jingled slightly as she wandered around, carefully exploring. their quick trip to the pet store had been scary and stressful for her - so many other pets and people, so many sounds and smells and eye-grabbing colors - but master had gently insisted on buying her a new collar, especially once he saw how raw and chafed her neck was under the too-tight leather.

her new collar was lime green and made of polyester, and sat around her neck loosely enough to not chafe, but tight enough to not come off. her new tag was shaped like a bone, with her name on the front and her master's name and phone number on the back. even something as small as that made her feel warm inside. her old master had never bothered putting any contact information on her tag, claiming that if she somehow got away, he wouldn't want her back anyways.

as both an apology for the ordeal and a reward for being such a good girl, master took her to pick out a new toy once they'd gotten her collar. she'd been a little overwhelmed at first, faced with an entire aisle of possible selections. she'd never had a toy before. but master assured her that she had all the time in the world to decide, and after a few minutes of pacing back and forth through the aisle, she returned to his side with a stuffed frog between her teeth. it was soft but firm, well-stuffed, and she liked the green.

"nana!" master called from another room, snapping her back to the present. "would you come here please?"

she obeyed, following the sound of his voice into the apartment's single bedroom. there, she found him kneeling and adjusting... something, she couldn't quite tell yet, over in the corner of the room.

"surprise!" he said happily, moving out of the way. in the corner of his bedroom, he'd rigged up a sheet to form a little canopy, and beneath the little sheet-tent was a soft, plush looking pet bed, with an equally as soft looking blanket draped over one half, and her stuffed frog sitting on the other. "it's your bed!"

she blinked, awestruck. her bed? this was all for her? she gingerly stepped forward, until she was close enough to climb into the bed, curling up with her frog in her arms and pulling the blanket over herself. peering out through the gap in the tent, her back to the wall and surrounded by a cocoon of warmth and softness, she felt her nose starting to burn and her single eye filling with tears.

she'd never felt so safe and loved before, and found herself overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotion. this is what she'd needed, all her life, this is all she'd ever wanted.

"do you like it?" master asked, peeking into the tent. he seemed saddened, but not surprised to see her crying. "oh, sweetheart," he soothed, "it's okay. no one's ever gonna hurt you again. it's only gonna be pets and treats and toys and soft beds from here on out, okay?"

his kind words only made her cry harder, but she eagerly nuzzled into his hand when he moved to pet her hair, hoping to convey the depth of the love and gratitude she already felt. she might have been weeping, but her tail was wagging so hard it had started to audibly thump against the wall behind her.

the two of them just sat there for a while while she cried, and master didn't stop petting or reassuring her for a single moment until she finally settled down, snuggling further into her soft bed as it finally hit her just how drained she was from the day's events.

"oh!" master suddenly exclaimed. "you must be hungry, it's almost dinnertime." he moved to get up and gave her one more parting scratch behind the ear. "i'm gonna go cook, you just settle in some more. or you can take a nap if you want, you look tired." he smiled. "i'll wake you up when it's time to eat, okay?"

nana simply nodded, huffing contently and burying her face into the soft fabric of her stuffed frog. she distantly registered master pulling her blanket more securely around her, before she was out like a light.

--

bonus

nana's frog:

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🤝 for Jameson?

Also: 🌸 for Jameson bb pleaseee

CW: Panic attack, PTSD, trauma recovery, references to murder and dehumanization/noncon

Through the noise in his mind and the frantic gasping inhales he manages, the pet can hear Nat outside the clouded glass of the bathroom window, singing some old song to herself as she hangs sheets on a clothesline. Sunlight cuts through in a diffused haze, and it's slightly dim thanks to the angle the house sits at. Not quite direct sunlight, a little yellow from the glass. Dust drifts in the air, the legacy of a very old house with too much dust to ever quite get clean.

"God money, I'll do anything for you," Nat sings in a strong alto. "God money, just tell me what you want me to, God money nail me up against the wall..."

The pet pushes himself into the corner of the bathroom, squeezing with effort into the space between the toilet and the outside wall, just under the window. His heart races, and the smell of shower cleaner is up his nose and pounding into his brain. The bathtub, half-scrubbed, has a ring of soap scum still staining the front half, not quite visible from here.

He dropped the scrub brush when he felt it, the brush of fingers on the back of his neck, jerking at his collar. His collar which he isn't wearing, only he can feel it.

It's there, he knows it's there.

The wall is cool against his back, the porcelain of the toilet chills the scars on his arm until he shivers, hiding behind his hands. He can't feel the collar with his fingers but he can feel it on his neck, cutting tight. The straps of the muzzle digging in to his skin, wearing hair away in patches, leaving him with spots for Robert to rub his thumb into and laugh over.

Ugly fucking mutt.

It smells like bleach and soap and underneath that, he can smell the bodies. Seeping up through the floorboards from Robert's basement, sickly-sweet decay and the tastes of all their screams layered over with endless pours of lime and whatever else was in those giant goddamn barrels Robert brought downstairs every couple months or so.

The pet digs his own fingernails into his scalp, scratching hard enough to bleed. His breaths are starting to wheeze as his throat tries to close. Robert must be just outside the door.

He's right outside. He's right outside.

Where the hell have you gotten to, dog? I got some tricks for you to do, you little shit-

There's another body to bury and he'll want the pet to help him again. He can't he can't he can't-

There's water in the tub beneath the ring of soap scum, there's water in the tub because someone's body is in there. If he looks up he'll feet their hair over the edge. He'll see painted fingernails on a hand hanging limp. He'll see a bracelet he'll see wide open eyes that can't look back, not anymore, not ever again.

Toes gone wrinkled with too much time submerged. He'll remember the taste of her voice when she begged not to die. He'll remember her, because he remembers them all, he hasn't forgotten a single bone he's seen peeking up from the loose earth in the basement.

Here, puppy... here boy, where you get to, huh? Oooh, I bet I know. I bet I know where you are.

Footsteps right outside the door, a shadow under the crack. The pet shudders and shakes his head, eyes closed as tightly as he can get them. Hot tears well up and run down his cheeks. His lips pull back into a snarl to hold back his sobs.

He has to be silent, or Robert will come in. He'll come in, he'll open the door and he'll-

He'll see-

"Jameson?"

Startled, he jerks back and whimpers, covering his head with his hands, ready for the blow. But when fingers close around his wrists, they don't feel like Robert's heavy, thick, calloused fingers smeared with oil and grease from the shop. They're... careful, and gentle.

He looks up as she pulls his hands slowly away from his own scalp.

"Hey," She says, voice low and soft. "Hey, honey. Is cleaning the bathroom a bad chore?"

He breathes, swallowing hard, staring up into her warm eyes before he manages a tight, shaky nod. "Please," He whispers. "I-... I can s-see the bodies in there, in the-... the tub."

"Gotcha." She doesn't question him, only helps him to unfold himself, to slowly stand on shaking legs. When she pulls him into a hug, he goes easily, his arms around her so tightly she gives a soft little 'oof' she can't quite hide and that he doesn't really notice. His head drops against her shoulder. "Today's a rough one, huh? I'll handle the rest of the bathroom. While don't you go and lay down for a while, hm? Or go sit outside and just... feel the breeze."

"The breeze?" His voice is muffled against her.

"Feel where you are," She says, rocking slightly back and forth with him in her arms. It's comforting in that strange way that maternal motions sometimes are - the baseline need of a child to be held, only he's a grown-ass man but-

But he still needs held, sometimes, and Dr. Berger says everyone does. Everyone. Just not all in the same ways, and not the ways they told him he needed.

"Go outside," She whispers against his hair. "And find five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. Then come back inside and we'll talk it out, once you've calmed down. I'll make you some tea, something to eat, we'll walk through what set it off so we can write it down for Dr. Berger for your next appointment. Okay?"

"Oh-okay." His voice is shaky. "I'm... I'm really fucking sorry, Nat, I know I volunteered for the bathroom but-... but all I c-could see was, Robert fucking killed people in there-"

"It's just fine." Her voice is firm. She doesn't waver. Doesn't sound scared or worried. He clings to that certainty, even if he knows sometimes she tries to sound certain even when she doesn't feel it. "Not a problem at all. I cleaned this bathtub for years on my own, I can handle it. Now we know the bathroom isn't a good place, we'll remember that. You go on outside, now. And... your puppy's out drying there, too."

"My-... my goddamn what now-" Then he realizes what she means. He pulls back, ducking his head in a kind of embarrassed annoyance with himself, flushing.

She smiles and shoos him out, and he goes. The sunlight is brighter outside and he can breathe deeply.

His bare feet prickle on the underside from the grass he walks on, switching between cool earth and the hot concrete of the patio and walkway. Big pots sit out with tomatoes and squash growing up little trellises. He can smell, that, too - something subtly sweet in the tomatoes, the verdant scent of squash vines.

With each step in the sunshine, the terror of the bathroom seems further away. He isn't there - he's here, and here there is a clothesline with sheets blowing in the breeze and-

And the little ancient stuffed dog, which he picks up and holds in his arms, dropping his head to press his face against the patchy, worn-away fur.

It smells like whatever special soap she uses to clean it, something delicate. There are new stitches along one side, and he smiles a little against it.

Five things he can see, he thinks, taking a deep, deep breath and lifting his head to look around. Houses up and down the street. Trees, bright and green. Flowers in landscaping beds and pots in front of nearly every house. The clothesline, the sheets. His own feet, pale skin against green grass.

Four things he can touch. The grass - prickling and itchy. The earth, cool with a give beneath his toes. The soft fur of the worn-out animal in his arms. The warm concrete of the walkway.

Two things he can smell - the lilac on the breeze, the soap Nat uses to wash the dog. The scent of mowed grass mixed with sunlight, subtle but everywhere around him.

That's three things, but he lets that one go.

And finally...

One thing he can taste.

He takes a breath, and looks over towards the bathroom window. He can hear Nat singing again.

"Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die than give you control-"

Nat's voice.

He can taste Nat's voice.

He's right here.

[mordenheim]

The Big Pickup: Coffee Break

A sequel to The Big Pickup for @ask-twizilla !!

=============================================

Coffee Bean sighed happily as he snuggled down into a comfortable chair in the big, open laboratory of Dr. Mordenheim. He was holding a warm mug of his fresh brewed coffee in his hooves, making a bit of a face since the doctor had turned down his offer of a cup, stating that he preferred tea. Honestly, some ponies have no taste, he thought to himself, preferring boiled lawn trimmings to his delicious brew. Coffee couldn't bring himself to argue too much, though. After all, the doctor had rescued him from one of the rampaging giant ponies a few weeks prior when they destroyed his shop and had even let Coffee stay in his lab until it was rebuilt.

Speaking of which, the good zebra doctor had returned from a trip to the post office and gave Coffee a smile, hoofing over a small stack of letters that he'd picked up for the tan pony. Thanking him for the mail, Coffee went through the mail, frowning at a few bills, grumbling about not getting anything from the insurance company yet, then found a letter from his friend Applesauce!

Coffee scratched behind his ear with a hoof, a puzzled expression on his face as he read the letter. Applesauce went on and one about having been kidnapped by a giant pony, how tender it had been with him, treating him like a little treasure or cherished toy. Coffee's friend went on at length about how they felt drawn to each other, almost compelled to seek one another out if they're separated.

Coffee had just resolved to share this unusual information with Victor when he froze, his breath catching in his throat for a moment. He felt a warm tingle deep in the pit of his stomach. His heart started to race with excitement, almost as though something he'd been awaiting for quite some time was about to occur. He glanced over at his cup of coffee and saw subtle ripples form on the dark surface and settle, then form again. Slowly, rhythmically they appeared again and again, becoming more pronounced each time until the cup itself was rattling against the saucer it was sitting on. It was as if something huge were coming closer.

“Uh, Victor?! I think you might need to g...”

There was a sudden crash and a rending of wood and metal as a section of the laboratory's rooftop was smashed in by a gigantic lime green hoof. There's more rending and tearing as a second hoof starts ripping away as well, the giant mare tearing into the top of the lab like a dog trying to find a buried bone. Victor was racing from place to place in the lab, trying to shut down or protect various delicate experiments in progress!

The towering mare pushed her massive head through the hole in the ceiling, sniffing around. Her mane was a bright yellow and standing on end, almost looking like flickering flames as her eyes locked on the zebra for a moment. She snarled at him, looking like she's about to lunge when a scent hit her nose. A familiar scent that almost seems to set the titan's heart a-flutter. Swinging her huge head around, her bright green eyes locked on the form of Coffee Bean, who was squeezing himself so far back in his recliner at the moment it looked like it might tip over.

She smiled down at the little stallion, who felt his heart racing in his chest. Not from fear, but excitement. This was the same mare that Victor had rescued him from before, sneaking him out from the coffee shop before she totally destroyed it. Has she come searching for him specifically.

The titan pony leaned down, sniffing at him again, tilting her head a little. Coffee looked back and forth between the warm mug of coffee on the table nearby and the mare before lifting the mug in offering. She sniffed at it again, lapping it off of his hoof with her huge, wet tongue and leaving a trail of slobber up his foreleg. Coffee made a face, shaking off the slime as she happily crunched the cup into bits between her huge teeth.

Carefully, the stallion slipped out of the chair and got a little closer. Coffee bean looked up at the giant pony to see her kind of smirking down at him. Building up the courage to step closer still, he rubbed her hoof in acceptance.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad.” He smiled up at her before getting pressed flat into the floor by a pair of warm, soft lips, kissed by the giant pony who then snatched Coffee Bean up in a single hoof.

Meanwhile Victor, unsure of what to do and obviously no match for the giant currently, decided to try a two in one ploy. He would try to get some kind of sample from the giant and distract her from Coffee in the process! She had one foreleg on the floor inside of the lab while she was holding the tiny stallion in the other, nuzzling and cooing at him. Darting forward with his great speed, the zebra grabbed one strand of the thick, soft fur growing from her leg.

Rearing up in a rage, the titan stomped down again and again, bouncing her one free leg like a destructive pogo stick through the laboratory over and over again until it was reduced to little more than a smoking pile of rubble. Coffee looked on in shock for a moment until he saw Victor racing away from the ruins. He heard her breath heaving as a growl bubbled up from her chest, building into an earsplitting roar before he reached out a hoof to touch her chest where she was holding him, safe and sound. She lifted him up to her cheek, cuddling him soft and making a deep cooing noise before she started stomping her way out of Ponyville, pressing her little prize against her soft cheek.

[aparticularbandit]

agatha x reader 22 and 23 for jealous prompts?

jealousy prompts 22) "Why would I ever be jealous of someone like them?" 23) “He’s so obvious. It’s embarrassing.”

“What about him?”

Your head tilts back, tousled hair further tousled when your girl pushes her hand through it, nails scratching along your scalp.  “What about who?” you ask around the smacking of your cherry-flavored bubblegum.  It’s not even cherry-flavored; they say it is, but it’s as bad as banana and grape stuff – it doesn’t actually taste like cherries, it tastes like cherry-flavored.  Doesn’t even taste like that anymore because you’ve been chewing this wad for a good three hours or something like that.  Still flexible enough for you to blow a pretty impressive bubble, though.

Be more impressive if your girl didn’t lean over and pop the bubble with her lips.  Now there’s gum all over her mouth.  You could lick it off, probably, but that just.  Defeats the purpose.

“Him,” she repeats, tilting her frizzy mane at some dude.

You squint in that direction.  Skater dude.  Those big black pants with the fake chains dangling a little too far.  His bright purple hair spikes upward, and around the spikes, nothing but skin.  Three piercings line his lower lips, another in the center of his nose like he’s some sort of bull, and too many for you to count along his ears.

“I mean,” you shrug, “looks like he’s trying to compensate for something, you know?  He’s so obvious.  It’s embarrassing.”

Your girl runs a violet fingernail along the shell of your ear.  “Think you could use some jewelry, hon.  Right here.  Maybe one of those chains, yeah?”

“Yeah?” you echo, looking up until your eyes meet her blue bright ones.  There’s a twinkle there.  You reach up and boop the tip of her nose.  “You gonna get one?”

The corners of her lips curve into a disgusted scowl.  “That’s not my style, babe.”  She stretches her arms out, showing off her bright lime green and hot pink windbreaker, the lavender tube top underneath.  “Nose ring’s not me.”

“You’re just jealous, Ags,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around her waist, where her skin pokes bare beneath her tube top.

Agatha purrs at your touch, leans her head down to hover above yours.  “Jealous?  Of them?”  She raises one eyebrow.  “Why would I ever be jealous of someone like them?”

You tap the tip of her nose again.  “He’s pulling it off, and you just said you can’t,” you tease.  “You want your girl all decked out, and you won’t do it yourself.  Weak sauce, babe.  You’re weak sauce.”

“Maybe I just don’t need to compensate for something.”

“And I do?”  Now your eyebrows shoot up.

But Agatha just presses a kiss to your lips.  “Nah, honey bear.  You don’t need to compensate for anything.”  She takes one of your hands and lifts it higher along her skin.  “Remind me?”

You try to smack on your gum, but it’s not there anymore, and you look up to find Agatha smacking it between her lips, grinning with mischief.  “Babe,” you groan, “that was mine.”

“So take it back, then, hon.  It’s not like it’s hard.”

[ilikemicrowaves]

Finally felt comfortable to post this. I dont think anyone will really pay attention to this.

—————————————

Roadkill Love

Chaptor 1, School Fight

Deathworm loved making Fog explode. He loved to watch the once calm mudwing bash objects against the stone wall of Jade Mountain.

The crumbles would scatter and hit his talons as Fog babbled on of how idiotic he is

But when ever Fog made his mind blister, it wasn't quite enjoyable, but still entertaining.

When ever they fought, Fog usually had several scratches and a bloody nose.

But Deathworm? Deathworm always has bloody knuckles and talons. He never lost a fight.

Except for one time, when Fog had enough of Deathworms tricks

All the dragons crowded around as Deathworm gave a punch or two and the mudwing fell to the ground.

He turn his back to celebrate the victory.

Only Fog wasn't done yet. He wobbled up and in position.

The steps got Deathworms attention. But he wasn't quick enough.

Fog pinned him onto the ruff surface outside the prey center.

"YOU PRICK!" He shouted as he punched the sandwings nose. Drip, blood trickled out.

He swung again, and again, until finally, a horn was thrown across the stone pavement.

Blood flung behind as the horn claddered across the ground.

Fog backed off of Deathworm, and spit blood in his face. "Get up." He said in his low booming voice.

Deathworm reached for his head.

The blood slowly slipped around his eye and dropped to the ground.

He won. He thought. He actually won.

Shocked, Deathworm reached for his horn, wipping the blood streaks off but instead smearing it onto its smooth white surface.

He searched for Fog in the crowd. Just to watch him as he slipped into the cave entrance.

Everyone was still around. Waiting for the sandwings response.

"What?" He shouted. "Shows over, go back to hunting!" He tried to seem unphased, but wasn't doing it very well.

"Holy cow!" A lime green rainwing with a hood and scarf jumped toward him.

"He totally tore that horn right off!"

It was Cactus, he was very shy but when he got to know you, he was the most Obnoxious dragonet you'll meet.

"Go play with Avalanche, kid." Deathworm was easily annoyed.

"I'm not a kid" he said looking down in disappointment. "Not until your 7, like me, your just a clumsy 5 and a half year old."

Deathworm walked off, leaving him behind.

They are so annoying He thought to himself. Of course he has to follow me around. He left a trail of blood behind, staining the stone.

He headed for the healing center, feeling a little dizzy.

The horn in his hand was heavy, but his head was light. He was loosing blood quickly. And was about to faint.

He tried getting to the healing center as fast as he could, only to see Fog waiting at the entrance.

Camel spit. He thought Fog is a healer in training.

"Holy rams! What happened to you?" He said sarcastically.

Deathworm rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

He sat on the couchens, hand made by the rainwings. It's soft fluff from the sheep rubbed Deathworms scales as he lay down.

Fog was rubbishing through the drawers, looking for the aid.

Deathworm started seeing stars. Am I going to faint? He worried. The fires seemed to be getting dimer, but not Fog.

Fog found the bandages, and sat them next him. "This may hurt." Fog warned him

Fog started to press on his nose, But he couldn't stay still. "Ow!" He jerked back, holding his nose. "That hurts you fat hog!"

Fog hoped onto the bed, trying to reach his nose. "I broke your nose, let me fix it." He lunged onto him, pinning him to the bed.

"Why do you care!?" He demanded. Fog hesitated for a moment , did he care? "I'm only doing this to make me look less of a bad guy, figured since your so smart you knew that."

He tried reaching for his nose again, and Deathworm was getting weaker. "Your losing blood, your gonna faint, give up."

He scrambled some more, sitting on his legs to try and stop the movement.

Suddenly the leaf door opened and stood a rainwing. She was hoping to get a band-aid but from her point of view, Fog was on top of Deathworm while he shouted "ow, that hurts!" And a few moans from the pain of the pressure put on his nose.

Leaving, traumatized, she covered the entrance and left a "busy, please do not disturb" sign.

"Stay still! You're only making this worse for the both of us!"

Deathworm tried to fight but it no use. He started to settle a little, but only to make Fog more gentle for a few moments.

"Rraaaagh!" He bit his arm, leaving a bite mark. "You frog eater!" He lunged at Deathworm almost breaking the bed.

They huffed a little and stared for a bit. His eyes, he thought for a moment, They're like, rubies.

They where face to face, scales to scales. His scales were so warm, they gave of the heat like a natural spring.

Deathworm thought about stabbing him with his tail, but that would only get him in more trouble.

"Let me fix your nose, you goat sucker." His voice was as deep as a frog, but smooth.

Deathworm was hesitant. He felt intimidated. His chest began to thump, like a bird was trying to escape it.

Fog finally got off him, but still pinning down his legs so he couldn't escape.

Deathworm leaned up towards him. Stubborn, I like that. He caught himself in his thoughts. What do I mean I like that? Did I just compliment him to myself?

He truly was in a panic, his blood pressure was high, his head was as light as a feather, and-

Oh, he passed out. He fell into Fogs chest, laying safely in his arms.

"Really." Fog said in disappointment.

—————————————

I wanna thank you if you made it to the end, as I am very proud of this and would appreciate it if you reblogged this and showed it to your friends.

[grace122]

Hello hello!

So I was skimming twt for a specific vid I wanted to send to my friend and I came across This and it put me in the perfect mood to write a little blip about Prison! Dream x c!RoseWitch2008 that I wrote while I was chronically brainrotting for the green fucker. I would post this in Anon but I'm like way too proud of it to hide.

The small and fluffy sheepman was tossed into the cell. He tried to catch his footing as he was pushed in but failed miserably. Landing on the floor in the middle of the darkroom, Rhys shivered and looked around. "Here you go, Prisoner, a brand new plaything," Sam said before locking the gate. Once the click-clack of his boots grew to silence, Rhys tried to fight his chains. A low chuckle echoed through the room and up the halls. "Hiya, pretty boy~, Long time no see!" The voice's owner came out of the shadows. "Oh… Hi D-Dream…" The auburn-haired man shied away. "How'd you end up in my cell, of all places to be," Dream crouched down to better see the shaking sheepman's face. This only caused grassy-green eyes to well up with tears. "Quackity said I was your spy, and they tossed me in here. Mumbling nonsense about me trying to break you out…" Rhys stopped as his ears pinned down when he realized he stuck his foot in his mouth. "Oh? So you were so moved by me getting imprisoned that you ran off for a vacation in Las Nevadas? I'm so touched that you prioritized your BEST FRIEND over yourself." Dream's lime green eyes seemed to glow in the reflection of the moonlight, only making him look more terrifying than he already did. This is what drove Rhys off the edge. He started to cry and shake violently, causing Dream to roll his eyes. The blond held the auburn's chin and tilted it up, sticking the sheep's soft pink nose in the air. Rhys let out a panicked bleat before the blond scratched behind a velvety ear. "Rhysand, calm down. Contrary to everyone's belief, I'm not going to hurt you." He sighed. Grassy green eyes were locked with lime ones, and the sheep man's breathing slowed down. "We are, however, going to have to settle this. If you're not going to break me out, you better be able to provide something useful for my stay in this Gods forsaken hell hole." Dream said with a devious smile. "I don't have much to do right now, but I can offer you a release?" Rhys said, tilting his chin up just a bit more, causing Dream's hand to rest more on his throat. "That sounds good enough for now…" The blond said as he got up off the floor. "And for you," Dream said as he picked up the fluffy sheepman off the floor, causing him to bleat loudly again. Setting Rhys down on the bed with his floof of a tail out, Dream smiled. "Your cute and fluffy little ass will have to work as payment for bailing out on me." The blond gave his handcuffed plaything a smirk as he smacked the sheepman's ass, causing Rhys to let out a soft bleat.

"Just like that. Now ass up, Pretty Boy~"

awesome!!

[cherry-red-cheeks]

👠 Late hours in the office💄

Secretary! Dabi× CEO! FemReader

w/quirks

c/w: swearing, dabi, lime, man in women's clothing, underwear, foul language/ cursing/ swearing, dabi may appear ooc.

a/n: a strange au that doesn't really come from somewhere other than horny simps discussing about men in slutty secretary outfits. bon appetit<3

5 Missed calls to Dabi, halve a dozen messages sent and all seen. There's too many coffee refills that the creeping headache is settling in. Your secretary is supposed to be your right hand man. Sort out your work and ensure everything runs more smoothly; scheduling, organizing, helping, and- oh god, the headache. Leaning back into your softly worn leather chair you start to think, 'why did I even employ Dabi?' He only came in when he pleased, which was rare. Caused more scenes and commotions rather than help the various departments working under you, and in general seemed to be more trouble than he was worth.

Slouching forward you rested your heavy head in your arms, wishing that you could somehow just- lift your troubles, ease your problems, anything. Worries are piling up.

Closing your eyes to the lovely sight of a void you hear the click-clack of something approaching your office, specifically a person. Dabi. The door opens and shuts, you couldn't help but to wince at the sound.

Lifting your heavy head you start, "Dabi, we need to talk." massaging your temples, "About your attitude and performance in the company." He hums in response with part of his uncaring honesty, the rest he's unbothered to summon. "Dabi, if you refuse to do your work I have no reason to keep you employed here." Opening your eyes to glare at him.

Now, being the CEO you did not mind what one would wear to work, as long as it was smart and professional it was fine, your employees knew this. And arrived to work in style, especially Dabi.

Dabi was tall and slender, his proportions caused envy to the runway models you'd occasionly see. His skin, though in patches of withered burns and unfair soft porcelain, could not hide the defined anatomy gifted to him. And to spite all those further he dressed how he saw best, and oh how he liked to. Long thigh high boots led to a high waisted skirt with slits on both thighs, and an unbuttoned shirt so loose it was a miracle it covered him in any shape or form. Training your eyes to remain on his face rather than his most flattering form, you had to sternly remind him again, to button up.

He ignored you, strutting towards your desk. The rips on his stockings becoming much clearer to you, alongside the lace he wore beneath his shirt to work, one of his favourites even if they all were his favourite.

"Dabi, I want to talk to you. Please-" Reaching your desk he sat down on it, crossing his legs while he picked through your papers. The skirt pulled back to pridefully reveal lines of pink on him, scratches no doubt, horizontal and on the outer thighs. Huffing you try again to gain his attention, this time with something else. "Todo-"

A harsh pull on your face forced you to look up before you could finish the first word, only to be met with simmering cold eyes focused on you. Or rather, into you. He smushed your cheeks as he started mocking you with practiced indifference. "Dabi please listen to me, Dabi I need you to help me, Dabi I employ you. Dabi, Dabi, Dabi." Each time he would repeat his name he would pushed again and again, your cheeks were sore from this abuse. He dragged your face closer to him. "Don't you think you've been saying my name too much? And don't get me started on the calling and messaging, Boss~"

Pushing his hand away you stand your ground. "I've been trying to contact you all day and it is now-" looking to the clock and back. " fifteen to ten. I tried three times."

"Three times too many."

Pulling away you walk to the glass wall in the office, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I really don't get it. Are the hours too long, do we need to revise them, or should I just fire you?" You turn around to face him, only to see him in your chair, his stiletto heels on the desk as he swings a cloth around on his finger. No doubt some poor woman in the company is missing her knickers tonight. "Oh for the love of god, Dabi! My company is not here to provide your next fuck!" Looking up at you he deftly sets fire to it with his quirk, the luminescent blue of his lights the otherwise dim office you have at night. He hums again as he throws the remains of it into your awaiting bin. Growing ever more frustrated the pressure in your head builds, a constant painful thuding pulsing behind you eyes. "Get out of my office."

He only tilts his head to the side, gently swivilling the chair side to side. Your secretary never listens to you just like he is now. After a short while of staring at each other his polished high heeled boots catch his attention.

Exhasperated, exhausted, worn, through with this, angry, and bitter you walk to him. Pushing back the leather chair as far back as it goes so he would meet your glare.

"Are you deaf? Get. Out."

As if finally taking some fucking notice of you he asks oh so gently, "What's gotten you so tense, Boss?" The audacity of this bitch. The arrogance. The whole day while you were stressing for Dabi to make one single, stupid, bloody phone call and he acts like he isn't cause of your troubles.

His hands reach for you and you despise how pliant you are to his warm touch in your cold office, how you enjoy sitting on his lap more than you should. You try to push him away in an attempt to regain distance but his limbs reach you regardless. Trailing feather-light from your hips to sides, reaching to your back. "Dabi."

He looks at you. His face so close that even in the lack of light reaching his face you see the piercings lining where his two textures would meet on his skin, the smokey eye shadow that causes his bright blue eyes to appear otherworldly as his satin black lips formed a smile. "Yes Boss?"

He reaches for your shoulders and gently massages them, kneading out the wound up tension from within and eased with controlled warmth. Your anger becoming more and more of a memory, not quite.

"Did you call the Endeavour company?"

He tsks, pushing you to sit on your desk as he stands up. Causing you to tilt your head as far back as it can go. You repeat again, more forceful this time. " The call to Todoroki Enji, did you do it?" Dabi really doesn't like that, his eyes bore into you as if you committed a crime close to home as walks away from you. Why do you employ Dabi?

That night you are in your bed, twisting and turning in the sheets as Dabi looms over you, noses touching you can see his eyeliner as perfect and on style as the rest of him. And you would shout at him for having his boots on on your bed but Dabi is there to steal away your breath for himself. His teeth tugging and grazing upon your lower lip, only to go back to taking your tongue hostage with his own. Keeping your mouth occupied as you whine and moan with want.

But Dabi is feeling so terribly mean as he moves away. Your body as if belonging to his orbit tries to follow until you are pushed down by his hand, falling into your own pillows, he keeps his hand on your chest regardless. Moving from carefully pressing down on your neck to playing with your breasts. Your eyes try to find the other until it dawns upon you that he's keeping your wrists hostage above your head. Squirming you wish to touch him, hold him. Flushed from head to toe you do not expect the next sensation, warm touch from his hand holding onto a breast. Pinching the nipple oh so pleasurablly. Your thighs squeeze around his torso. He chuckles, this pierced god as he sheds of layer after of his clothes. Showing the shining piercings inlaid within his skin you beg to feel and touch. His lips stretch to that of a grin, he leans down to your to whisper-

A notification chime cuts through, and you are very much aware at the warmth in your face. Crawling across your bed and stretching towards your phone you look at the caller ID. Verifying that yes, he made the call. It's two in the morning. Gaze lost into nowhere particularly.

You dreamt of your secretary like that. Guilt and shame burns through you.

a/n: commentary is valued and appreciated.

[pirate-queen-boy]

But I'm not him anymore...

Gentle and warm, as the breeze passes by. The soft grass gently stirring in waves and the trees shifting subtly. Very few clouds of gray and gold glide across the sky, as the sun rests comfortably to the north. Crack, as an axe splits the wood in two. One of the hands holding the axe lets go to take one of the halves of wood. After adjusting it properly, the axe is brought down again. Crack, from a half to quarters. The quarters are added to the pile, and the remaining half is put in their place. Crack, as the final half is too, reduced to quarters. Those ones as well, are added to the pile.

Ethan sticks the axe head into the stump. He removes his gloves and throws them atop the stump. This is enough wood for one day. He looks off into the horizon, and catches his breath. The hills are high and mighty, standing over a small valley just below. It’s the afternoon, but it looks like the evening. The air is perfect, Ethan could enjoy it forever. But the winters become harsh. This is why he must chop wood. As the sound of the gentle breeze graces his ears, Ethan hears the wind picking up. Strange, it doesn’t feel that way. As the sound of rushing wind grows ever so subtly, yet noticeably louder, it is accompanied by another sound; a high pitched ringing, or whistling. Ethan immediately knows that sound isn’t wind. He looks to the south, it seems like that’s where the sound is coming from.

The sound draws closer, not only becoming louder, but changing. The whistling becomes an electronic buzz, before finally, the source of the sound reveals itself. A ship, fighter class, a modified V-K88 Zemaatra Interceptor model. An angular, smaller vessel designed for speed and maneuverability, outfitted with its own hyperdrive. Its paint job is bright red with yellow designs running through it, and a rounded, near dome-like windshield that one could mistake for well-polished chrome. Ethan would have been weary of a random ship entering his atmosphere… if not for the insignia painted onto the side of it. A bit faded and scratched as it was, it depicted a thin white ring around a blooming lotus flower, with a fountain of flame erupting from the center. A symbol Ethan would not soon forget.

The ship parks itself not too close to Ethan, on a nearby hill. Ethan watches as it lands, then promptly unfolds a ladder on each side near the cockpit, and finally watches as the rounded windshield rolls back into the ship. From afar, Ethan can’t clearly tell who’s getting out of the ship. This figure, whoever they are, begins walking toward Ethan promptly. Ethan can make out their clothes; a white-tan long coat, sleeveless, revealing the sleeves of the top beneath it, pale yellow, and tucked into a pair of more white-tan gloves. The stranger is a bit closer now, Ethan can see their clearly blue head. It doesn’t take long after that for Ethan to figure out who this is.

Kallick Novaghaster walks until he’s hardly more than a couple meters from Ethan. He looks up on Ethan, as he’s standing on a slope going downward from him. They both give each other a friendly grin. Ethan takes notice of his bright red eye, surrounded by skin that is glossy and dark gray, in opposition to his blue skin, and his left, clearly lime-green eye. “New prosthetic.” He comments, “I remember when that thing used to look like an eyepatch.” Kallick exhales through his nose, clearly humored by Ethan’s comment. “And I never thought I’d see you wearing a plaid flannel.” Kallick replies. The two of them share a bit of a laugh. The two of them sigh-off their laughter, and Ethan notices something else. “You look older. Than I thought you would, I mean.” - “Space-time dilation. It’s been over eighteen years for me.” Kallick looks right past Ethan, to a little wood cabin mere yards behind him. He continues, “Still, last time I saw you, you didn’t have a whole life here yet.” Ethan slowly glances back to his cabin, then looks back at Kallick, “yeah, I’m pushing a decade here.”

Kallick nods in understanding, then looks around at the environment. “You picked a really nice world. Perfect atmospheric density, stunning terrain, uncolonized…” - “Uncharted, actually.” Kallick, still marveling at the environment, makes a gesture of acknowledgement toward Ethan. After a beat of silence, Kallick finishes, “...But a green star, really?” Ethan shrugs, “I like how it makes the sky look.” to which Kallick gave an understanding hum. Another beat of silence, and then Kallick asks, “May I come inside?” Ethan nods, and waves a hand over, “yeah, I’ll make some Guierdan Mordvain tea.” The two of them begin walking up to Ethan’s cabin, Kallick picking up his pace to meet Ethan. “Guierdan? Where’d you get that?” he asked, to which Ethan replied, “I never ran out. It was a gift from Rannok, remember?” - “I don’t. My gift from them was jerky from a Pollkeg.” 

The inside of Ethan’s home was more wood, sanded down and polished to minimize splinters, but it was cozy and snug. A perfect place for someone who wants to sleep for the rest of their life. Not that Ethan was doing such a thing. Ethan places a coffee pot in the boiler, and makes his way to a little table where Kallick sits. “How’s the wife?” Kallick asks. Ethan takes a seat replying, “She’s wonderful. Doing well as ever.” Kallick nods, then follows up, “where is she now?” - “Out. Getting food for us. She insists on stockpiling for winters. It does get pretty harsh during winters here, to be fair.” - “Does she go offworld?” - “No, she hunts. All by herself, with nothing but a spear and her fists. But hey, at least it works.” Kallick titters, “That’s Thraegaa.” Ethan chuckles, and responds, “Yep, that’s my wife.” The two of them nod, then Kallick looks around. “And, the kids? Where are they?” Ethan too, looks around after that question. “At the moment? I don’t know. I’m guessing either their room, or the little treehouse they made.” - “They made a treehouse?” - “Yeah. It’s a little farther than I’m comfortable with, but it’s the closest tree to the house, technically. It’s actually pretty close to where you parked your ship.” Kallick nods, and makes a mental note to try and spot that treehouse later.

A small beat of silence, then Kallick opens his mouth to speak. But before he can speak his words, a ding sound from the boiler. “Oop! The water’s done boiling.” Ethan remarks, then stands up to deal with the water. Kallick presses his mouth shut, then nods. What he has to say will have to wait just a moment. Ethan takes out two little cups, and places a tiny net strainer in the bottom of each one, and they clip right into place. Then, Ethan pours the water into each cup. The water quickly, but subtly changes color from clear to a dark bluish color. Ethan grabs a couple of napkins and brings them, along with the tea, over to the table with Kallick. “I would appreciate using that napkin as a coaster, I love this table.” Ethan says, taking a seat. He places a second hand on his tea cup, swishing it around gently to make sure the flavor mixes in properly. He then takes a small sip of his tea. Kallick looks down at his tea cup, a little underwhelmed with his portion size. He takes a modest gulp, but a gulp nonetheless. The heat overwhelms his mouth. And he jerks his head away, “Oh my.” he sputters, “That’s hot!” Ethan laughs a little bit, “You haven’t had tea before, haven’t you?” Ethan asks, as Kallick briskly sets his cup down on the napkin. “Yeah, you’ve got to sip it. It’s not like the drinks we used to have together.” he finishes. Kallick shields his mouth from sight, and sticks his tongue out in hopes to cool it down.

“I’m terribly sorry for that.” Kallick says, half apologetically, half with humorous fun. Ethan waves it off, “Don’t worry about it. Rookie mistakes, and all that.” Kallick sighs, then a beat of Silence. Ethan, after another sip of his tea, asks, “So, why did you come here Kallick?” Kallick leans back, and sighs, looking down at the floor for a moment. He could finally get to his point. Still, he liked having a plain old good time with his friend, while it lasted. He looks back at Ethan, “You remember Koidlaan Vask?” Ethan narrows his eyes, “Yeah. He was one of our supporters during the War for Liberty, right?” Kallick nods, replying, “He was. And now we know why.” He pulls a holographic projector out of his coat, and presses a few buttons. He holds it out, his hand resting on the table, as multiple greenish projections of text and images sprout from the projector. 

“The destruction of the Zoxximan Empire left behind a massive power vacuum. A bunch of new factions are popping up, making new governments and orders. But we’re most worried about what our old friend Koidlaan is doing.” Kallick fiddles a bit with the projector, focusing in on a few particular images and texts. The biggest picture, placed in the middle, depicts Koidlaan Vask as he is now; PiercingYellow eyes against red skin, with equally colored tendrils running from his head and chin, giving the illusion of a beard and dreads. From his forehead, Three horns sticking straight upward, protruding from a dark blue headwrap coated in decor of diamonds and gold. On his face, golden markings embroidered onto his skin. His clothes consist of a fancy dark green vest, over a black blouse, the sleeves tucking into a pair of ornate white gloves. His pants too, are dark green, once again tucking into fancy white boots with gold detailing wherever it could fit. Over that, a long, sky blue cloak with a massive V-Shaped collar sticking up. Ethan made an exaggerated grimace, “Eugh, and I thought that guy was insufferable before.”

Kallick continued, “You used to know him as another measly crime boss. But he’s been calling in favors, and now he’s moved beyond crime. He’s a warlord now, with his own military and resource control. Ethan, he has interstellar borders.” Ethan looks at the images of Koidlaan, and thinks about the information given to him. He inhales through his nose, then exhales through the same airway. He finally replies, “And his system of governing has to do with unfair subjugation and abuse of power and control?” Kallick snaps his fingers and points at Ethan, “Nailed it.” Ethan makes a low grumble, he’s clearly annoyed, at best, with Koidlaan. Kallick continues, “With all of his acquired power and the speed of his expanse, we’re afraid he may soon become the biggest threat in the galaxy.” Kallick closes the hologram, stores it, then looks at Ethan. “But I think, if someone, more specifically an army of capable, lawless renegades, could take him on now, we may be able to stop him before he becomes too strong.”

“And that’s why you’re here?” Ethan asks, half rhetorically. Kallick nods, then clarifies, “I’m starting with the bare essentials. Some of the greatest and most accomplished members from the old Liberation Force. A minimalistic army of the best of the best.” Ethan exhales a laugh through his nose, “And you think I’m among them?” This question prompts Kallick to raise an eyebrow, confused. “You’re saying that like you don’t know yourself. Ethan, do you remember the heist on Syndrakk 13? I’m not sure any other pilot could pull off that job like you did!” Ethan smiles, but shakes his head, and Kallick continues, “And whose plan was it to use the enemy mothership’s weapons to turn the tide in the battle of Zxentör Prime? Ethan, that battle won us the war!” Ethan simply smiles, remembering those days he used to have. Then he takes a sip of his tea. Kallick keeps talking, “Point is, you are definitely one of the most accomplished members of the Liberation Force. Ethan, the new Liberation Force could really use a pilot like you. And so could the rest of the galaxy.”

Ethan sighed. It had been a while since he hung out with his friends the way he used to. The celebrations that came with the liberation of a planet. The humorous conversations they would have. The small moments that he had with each of his friends and allies. It was during those times he met his wife… Ethan finally speaks, “I get it. I really do, Kallick.” he sets his tea down on the napkin coaster. “I know you mean well, and we had great times during the War for Liberty. But…” He trailed off, looking into his tea. Kallick leaned closer, “What?” He asked, simply. Ethan sighed softly, “But those roses weren't without their thorns.” It was then that Ethan recalled all the times between the goodness; Boom, Boom, Crash, Pow, Boom, Heart pounding at 100 beats per second. Ships exploding, people dying, bullets, energy blasts, loud sounds everywhere. The constant creeping fear in the center of his brain telling him his life could end abruptly at any given moment. And from that fear, he found adrenaline rolling, blood-pumping, light-hearted, adventurous fun that a man his age always sought.

Kallick scoots closer in his seat, “Ethan, I get it. The War for Liberty was a bloodbath. Who knows how many casualties and fatalities were avoidable. I don’t want to diminish that, but that’s what we had to resort to. That’s why we have to do something about Koidlaan. If we act now, we could avoid another War for Liberty.” - “I know. But-” Ethan couldn’t look anywhere but into his tea. The steam had diminished, it was getting cooler. “I just can’t do that anymore.” Ethan continued. “I might have given you an enthusiastic yes if I was the same person I was back then. But I’m not him anymore. I have a family, I live a wonderful and peaceful life on a far off world. The Galaxy needs help, I know, but… your army can manage without me. Right?”  Kallick nodded silently, “I understand.” He replied. 

Kallick stands up, reaches into his coat, then pulls out a device, which he places on the table. It’s a long-distance messenger one could use to pre-record a message, and send it to another using covert methods that made the message hard to track or intercept. It was created by an engineer who was part of the Liberation Force, specifically so the Force could communicate without being discovered. This showed clearly, as this Messenger had the same lotus with flame symbol that Kallick had on his ship; the symbol of the Liberty Force. “In case you change your mind.” Kallick says, slowly walking away. Ethan takes a moment to look upon the device, and the symbol on it. After that, he looks back at Kallick, heading for the door, and calls, “Here, I’ll see you out.”

The two of them walk away from the Cabin, closer to Kallick’s ship. “It was nice to see you again, Ethan.” Kallick says, “I might consider coming back here more often. You know, just to talk, or enjoy your planet.” - “Right. Just as long as you aren’t pestering me to join the New Force.” Ethan replies, prompting a chuckle from Kallick. The two of them stop and look over when they hear the sound of something heavy being dragged. From over the hill, they see a massive creature tied to a sled of sorts. One can describe it as a massive wild boar-like creature, the size of an african elephant, with six green eyes, and thick, dark blue hair, save for its mohawk like-mane, consisting of gray hairs, so thick and spiky they could actually hurt someone who dared touch the tips. All of this, being dragged by a wire rope, attached to a harness being worn by none other than Ethan’s wife, Thraegaa. 

She stands over eight feet tall, completely black eyes, save for the irises of bright and swirling psychedelic yellow, cyan, pink, and green. From her head, a bony ridge separating her face from the pale, pinkish orange tendrils on her head tied in the back by a scrunchie. Whatever parts of her body are not occupied by coarse, gray shark-like skin, are instead covered with meticulously shaped, organic interlocking plates similar to an insect or a crustacean. All of this, decorated onto an eight foot tall, 3000 pound frame of pure muscle. She doesn't even use her hands as she drags the beast along, relying completely on the strength of her torso and legs as she marches along with two-toed feet. She looks over, notices Kallick with her husband, and stops. “Oh, hello Kallick, my old friend!” she calls to him, waving. “It has been many long years since last we spoke!” Kallick snorted a bit; he still found Thraegaa’s way of talking funny. “Hey Thraegaa!” he replied. “What prompted your return, Kallick?” Thraegaa asked. Kallick started, “Well, I came here because…” he trailed off a bit, looking at Ethan. Ethan shook his head, a cautioning look on his face. Kallick sighed through his nose, “I was feeling a little nostalgic.” he continued, “Just thought I’d visit. But I was just about to leave now.” - “Are you sure? We are about to harvest my kill!” Kallick chuckles nervously, then replies, “No no, I’m good! I should really be leaving now, actually.” he then gives Ethan a pat on the shoulder. “Anyways, nice seeing you.” - “You too.” Ethan replies.

Kallick walks away, and Ethan stays behind, watching him leave. Kallick makes it to his ship, but before he turns it on, he looks around from the cockpit. Ethan notices his gaze is drawn to one particular spot; It’s his children’s treehouse. Then he sits down, and the chrome-looking windshield slides over, covering him. Kallick’s ship powers up, it lifts off, and he flies away. Ethan continues to watch the ship, as it zooms further from the confines of the Atmosphere. Ethan sighs, and thinks about everything that happened. Was he being selfish? What will he tell his wife? He looks over to Thraegaa, and notices she has almost finished dragging the beast behind the cabin. He walks over to join her, it’s almost time to harvest the beast…

[dashesofink]

Swing-By

Drabble: “would you get out of the tree for fuck's sake?"

Pairings: th!Peter Parker x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

Main Taglist: @legolaslovely @t00-many-th0ughts @fizzyxcustard @c4ts4ndstuff

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this!! Also, let me know/remind me if you’d like to be put on any taglist for future fics!!

As your feet tapped against the concert path, your eyes were towards the sky. Despite the chilling winds and the possibility of snow in the area, you loved being out in the park. The few birds that weren’t nestled in their nests to keep warm were flittering around you, chasing each other as their birdsong sounded through the open area. The trees that had been plants were losing their leaves, and different hues of red, yellow and orange colored leaves decorated the ground lime confetti. You loved the fall and winter weather, plus, layering your clothes was a lot easier when the air was cold and the wind made your cheeks and nose red.

Even now, as you looked around the park at all of the people— some couples on cute little dates while others were parents hoping their children would use up their extra energy outside— you couldn’t help but smile before you looked at your feet. The tree you were now standing under provided a hint of shade from the cold sun above you. A deep exhale fell past your lips, and you watched as the air became visible in the cold outdoors before you followed its path, up into the sky. Your eyes fell shut, however, and the music you had playing from your earphones continued as you tilted your head back and your face laid open towards the sun. The music kept you from hearing the rustling of the tree branches above you, and even as more leaves fell and brushed against your skin, you remained silent and unaware of your surroundings for the next few moments. It was peaceful, and you were grateful for this moment that distracted you from your busy life, even if it was for a moment.

Finally deciding to open your eyes and enjoy the calming scenery again, you let out a small sigh and looked to your fogging breath. Your peacefulness, however, was disturbed when you realized you were face-to-face with a red and black striped mask, one which you recognized and were on the verge of killing due to how frightened you suddenly were. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” You jumped back from the masked face in front of you, your hand slamming against your chest when your heart began to race. You could hear the snickers of amusement from the infamous Spider-Man, and you quickly grabbed a stick from the ground before throwing at his perched position in the tree. “What the hell, dude!”

“Sorry, y/n,” Peter chuckled at your frazzled state, yet he only crossed his arms behind his head as he leaned against the trunk of the tree. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I wanted to see you for a minute.”

“You’re lucky you’re in the tree or else I would’ve—“

“What?”

“Don’t interrupt me, young man.” You pointed your finger at him sternly as you scolded the super hero. But Peter merely laughed you off, his fingers scratching an invisible itch behind the fabric of his suit before he switched positions. His legs were dangling in front of you now, and you had half a mind to swipe at them and try to make him fall off, but you decided against it. “Shouldn’t you be on patrol or something? What if someone sees you out here?” You questioned him, worry flashing over your face before you looked around at everyone. Thankfully it wasn’t too crowded, and those around you didn’t seem to pay attention to the figure sitting in the tree. Your eyes went back to following him as he moved and sat in different places in the tree. He didn’t answer you yet, and you couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not but you definitely knew he was smirking underneath his mask. “Are you gonna— would you get out of the tree, for fuck’s sake?!”

Your voice echoed through the nearly empty park, and it seemed now the few people in the park were paying attention, each of them shooting you mean looks at the sudden noise. You gave a small apology to those passing by, and you were a bit surprised that no one questioned the random appearance of Spider-Man in the park. Giving a small shrug, you narrowed your eyes again after turning around to scold Peter again, but upon seeing him now standing in front of you, a bit closer than you were expecting, you jumped a bit. You went to smack his shoulder for scaring you once again, but he was quick to deflect the weak attack by grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. “I’m sorry for scaring you, y/n, honest.” You had a feeling he was giving you puppy dog eyes under the mask, you could tell by his tone. You weren’t actually mad at him, but hearing the sorrowful tone in his voice made you sigh.

“Then don’t do it again, Peter.”

Peter gave you a mock salute with his free hand, and you half expected him to run off again and finish his patrolling for the day, but instead, much to your surprise, he lifted the bottom half of his mask. You were right in thinking he was wearing a smirk earlier, as he was now wearing a matching one. You gave him a look, but soon after you both met in the middle for a short kiss. He smiled gently against your cold, yet somehow soft lips, his covered fingers brushing a fallen strand of hair behind your ears before he pulled back to hold the sides of your jaw. “Be careful out here, alright?” Peter was gentle as he rested his forehead against your own, and you nodded in understanding to his comment as he pressed a soft kiss against your cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, be safe.”

“Only if you are.” You gave a small laugh while you nodded, and you gave his body a quick hug as he backed away. Peter lowered the bottom part of his mask again, and within moments he was swinging away from you and into the air on his webs to finish his job for the day. You knew you shouldn’t have, but you felt compelled to as he flew away. At the last moment you cupped your hands around your mouth, a smile gracing your lips as you called after him. “I love you, Spider-Man!”

You knew he heard you, as after you finished he seemed to slip on the stringing of his webs and almost rammed his body into the side of the building. He wasn’t expecting you to yell after him, but he definitely appreciated the affection you showered him with as he swung off. It was true though. You loved him, and you would hate yourself if you didn’t let the boy know it at any possible chance.

[2goth2moth]

Any sort of smut with a naga or feral mothman like creature please and thank you

Anon, you said "naga" and my lil scaly heart got so happy. I have no idea if this is even remotely in the realm of what you were looking for, but I just couldn't shake the idea of a human prince with a harem full of monsters. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Prince's Favour (M!Naga x M!Reader, NSFW)

For reference: Enéas is a Brazilian rainbow boa. I was 100% going to have a blowjob scene in this but rainbow boas have backwards hooked teeth (think fishhooks) that are designed to not let things back out, and having that near your dick sounds like a very bad time.

Word count: 3514

Includes: Power dynamics (prince x concubine), non-human genitalia, rough sex, double penetration, a little bit of crying

Being the youngest prince in a kingdom with a still-living king could be overwhelmingly boring. Matters of state were passed to your parents and eldest sister, matters of security to your next oldest sibling, infrastructure and agriculture to the next oldest, twin brothers. Your bloodline was long and vital, which was very good for the kingdom’s longevity. It was not so good for keeping you occupied. Your role, as well as your youngest sister’s, ended up being almost completely performative, with official duties being limited to keeping up a royal education and looking pretty beside your family during public appearances. The whole arrangement left you with a lot of free time to eat and draw and lounge about.

And have sex.

It was normal for royalty to have lovers or harems, if they wanted to and their spouses were okay with it. You yourself had several lovers, all of whom you enjoyed and cared about deeply. One of whom was currently lounging invitingly on your bed as you did your best to capture his likeness in paint.

“Enéas, beloved, can you hold still for me?”

The naga groaned, the muscular coils of his body shifting slightly as he did. “I’ve been sitting for hours now. When you called me, I didn’t think it would be for this.”

“Ten minutes, then we can do something else. I swear.”

The look that he shot you was long-suffering, but he settled back into the purposefully relaxed position you had directed him into earlier after taking a sip from the goblet beside him.The whole thing was mostly an act. You had been summoning him to your chambers to sit for this painting on a regular basis for the past month, and no matter where the sessions ended (often with you wrapped firmly in his powerful body), you never put on any airs about what those first few hours would entail.

Golden sunlight shone through gauzy curtains and spilled onto Enéas’ skin, setting the scales ablaze. The round black marks that lay over red scales the colour of baked clay were already beautiful, but under the sun’s rays he was cast in a rainbow sheen, every scale shimmering like an oil slick. The creamy scales of his underbelly flowed from his face all the way down, flashing like pale moonlight between his darker coils. Naga rarely wore clothing, they had no real need to, but Enéas had certainly developed a taste for finery during his time in the palace. Fine, sheer cotton, dyed snowy white and rich yellow, draped around him like woven light, held in place by gold clasps. Cuffs set with precious stones circled on his wrists and biceps, and a beautiful metal collar engraved with intricate patterns lay flat against his throat.

“You’re staring, little prince.”

The rasping taunt broke you out of your stupor, and you realized that your eyes had been locked on him, paintbrush unmoving on your canvas. You finished the stroke you had started with a careful flick. Stepping back a little, you surveyed what you had done so far. The hours spent on the portrait had been worth it, and even though it wasn’t done, you could stand to be finished for the day.

“I was distracted,” you said. “You were distracting me.”

A cheeky grin split Enéas’s face. It was hard-edged and full of sharp, hooked teeth, stretching far past what it would have on a human face, but managed to be as lovely and charming as it was frightening. “I have no idea what you mean. I was only sitting here, just like you asked me to.”

“Sitting there in a very distracting way.” You wiped your hands on the sturdy apron you wore before untying it and discarding it messily to the side. “We’re done for today, you can relax now.”

“Finally.” He stretched his arms above his head and groaned loudly before flopping back and letting his eyes close. The movement sent his whole body rippling in the sunlight, and the sight made your mouth go dry.

You strode towards the bed, closing the distance quickly to sit beside Enéas on your plush bedspread. He didn’t even open his eyes when the mattress dipped under your weight. With a feather-light touch, you traced the features of his face with a thumb. The transition from red to white around what would be a hairline was first, the gradient of the small scales dipping low on his forehead and contouring under his eye sockets, the way it pulled back on his temples. The flat bridge of his nose, his sharp jaw, the mouth stretching almost the entire way along the hollows of his cheeks. He just barely leaned into every touch, doing a very good job of pretending like he didn’t care about you sitting next to him and touching him like he was something precious. Each one of his breaths fanned upwards, over your face, and it smelled like the sweet lime cordial he drank moments before.

Your thumb continued its path around his face until it caught on the center on his bottom lip. One of his eyes drifted open, pupil an inky slit on yellow-green sclera, and he parted his lips just enough for his long, forked tongue to flicker out. It wound around the digit, brushing against your knuckles and the sensitive skin between your fingers. Cold spit cooled even further on your skin as Enéas licked over your hand. In a single swift movement he dipped his head forward to take your thumb fully in his mouth. You froze. His lips tightened around it and he sucked, tongue still working you over. You could feel your cock start to fill and you pressed in and down, putting the slightest amount of pressure on the floor of Enéas’ mouth. A low, raspy moan rumbled through him, eyes fluttering closed and back arching prettily.

Putting more pressure on his mouth, you hooked your thumb behind the bone of his lower jaw and forced it down, exposing hooked teeth and making his tongue loll. “Get me ready, beloved, and be thorough.” You leaned down to press a sweet kiss to the edge of his scaly jaw. “I want both of them today.”

Enéas’s eyes snapped open. His pupils were blown wide in excitement and arousal, and he flickered his tongue out over your skin again before pulling you down next to him with firm hands. Those same hands didn’t hesitate to begin roaming over your body, making quick work of the fastenings keeping your tunic and trousers closed before pulling his own scant clothing off.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Highness,” he said. The sound was already breathless, and sounded so beautiful that it hurt.

He stripped you of your clothing with an impossible combination of speed and reverence, each touch against your skin burning with affection. Pushing you fully onto your back, he slithered around you, smooth scales dragging against your increasingly bare skin until you lay cradled in his strong coils. A heavy tail coaxed your legs apart as large hands began mapping a path down your body. They skimmed over your throat and chest, pausing to tease each of your nipples to full hardness, and drifted lower, caressing your waist and stomach, scratching soft patterns onto your hips and buttocks, before landing on your thighs. His cool, clever mouth soon followed. A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss landed above your pulse, then the base of your neck, trailing cold saliva over your shoulders and down your breastbone. You moaned quietly, unbidden, and your back arched up off the bed, eyes fluttering closed. Your world narrowed to sensation: the chill on your skin, the plush mattress underneath you, the smooth rasp of scales around you. Enéas’ hands lovingly massaging your thighs.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp when you felt his mouth close around one of your nipples. You could feel his smile against your skin as he suckled on the hardened nub. A little jolt went through you as those wicked teeth grazed over the delicate skin, your cock twitching where it now lay fully erect on your belly. One of his hands wandered up to play with the flushed head, dipping into the pre-cum pooling under it before raising his hand and licking his fingers clean.

Gripping his chin, you dragged his face up to meet yours. “I believe I told you to prepare me, Enéas.” The way you said his name managed to land somewhere between sweetly teasing and bitterly displeased. “We may be lovers, but I am still a prince. This may have been my mistake, though, maybe I wasn’t clear enough for you.” You pulled him up further, tucking your mouth beside his ear so that you could whisper directly to him. “Prepare me, my love, and do it nice and thorough. After you’re done, you will fuck me, with both cocks, until I can’t speak or until you fill me with your cum. Whichever comes later. Am I understood?”

Enéas smiled, pupils completely dilated, and dipped his head down to kiss you. It was salty and bitter from your pre-cum, with the barest hint of the lime cordial underneath. “As you wish, my prince.”

He sat back and lowered himself so that he was lying on his front between your legs. The coil of his body that had been pressing one of your legs open dug in harder, pulling your thigh even further out, and he threw your other leg over his shoulder to get better access between your cheeks. His big hands dug in and pulled them apart, exposing your tight hole to the air of the room. He breathed over it, pressing wet, biting kisses onto the supple flesh of your ass before slipping his tongue out and running it all the way from your hole to your balls. The long, slender fork in the muscle wrapped around you, almost delicately, spreading cold saliva over your balls and the base of your shaft. The chill was a brief shock against your skin that sent sparks zipping through you, making you drop your head back onto the mattress and forcing your breaths out in stuttering pants.

Enéas continued alternating between licking at your rim, just barely breaching the ring of muscle with the tips of his tongue, and suckling gently at your sac, each motion drawing desperate little noises out of you. It felt wonderful, but it was nowhere near enough. Somewhere in your mind you had a brief argument with yourself about whether it would be worth it to abandon all semblance of power and control that you had in order to grind your hips back on his face. On one hand, you were royalty, even splayed naked on your bed, and you liked to hold onto that for as long as you could. On the other, the feeling of his cool scales and wet, fluttering tongue was very rapidly driving that particular thing down your list of concerns.

All of that was wiped from your mind when you felt the blunt tip of one of Enéas’ fingers, slicked with oil from a vial he must have hidden somewhere on him when he started moving. It circled your hole slowly, deliberately, pressing just inside every so often, coaxing the muscle to loosen with practiced care. You wanted to squirm, to tense up under the teasing touches, but you forced yourself to breathe through it and relax as much as possible. This earned you a raspy noise of approval and a kiss to your sensitive inner thigh from your naga lover.

Seconds later, it also earned you one of his gloriously thick fingers carefully worked all the way inside you. Your back curved off the bed, a quiet moan spilling from your lips. He pumped it in and out a few times, just starting to open you up enough for him to continue. As soon as you relaxed, unconscious fists unclenching from the bedspread, a second finger, thick and wet with oil, joined the first. He twisted the two about inside you. Each motion dragged the subtle ridges of his scales along your inner walls, and when he crooked his knuckles deep inside you, you arched up with a breathless moan.

“Ohhhh, fuck.”

Enéas’ head emerged from between your legs, and he smirked at you as he began scissoring his fingers, stretching your rim, brushing up against the spot of blinding pleasure on every thrust. “Well, Your Royal Highness? Am I pleasing you now?”

“You would be pleasing me more if you got on with it,” you snarked at him. He grinned back at you, the tremor in your voice and the way that your whole body had begun quivering betrayed your pleasure too much for him to ever believe that you were honestly upset.

“As my prince wishes.”

He raised himself so that he was braced overtop of you, and he rubbed the head of his upper dick over your entrance. You hadn’t even noticed him teasing his cocks erect and out of the slit that usually kept them hidden, but it wouldn’t surprise you if that was what he had been doing with his other hand while prepping you. A sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth was the only warning you got before he pushed into you with near-maddening gentleness. His cocks were more slender than the average human’s, but they were longer, and were covered with nubby barbs of flexible cartilage that caught deliciously inside you whenever he pulled back. He started rocking his hips into yours, getting deeper and deeper with each stroke, dick not close to filling you up but the barbs stimulating you plenty all on their own. You moaned slightly each time he drew back, cock leaking even more pre-cum between your bodies. Waiting until he was fully seated inside you, body flush against your ass, he began gently massaging your hole, the muscle already stretched tight around him. He moved his fingers in sync with his shallow thrusts, slowly but surely opening your hole enough for him to slip his second cock inside.

You were moaning even more loudly now, shuddering noises of pleasure leaving your lips every time Enéas fucked into you or pressed in on your entrance. His finger disappeared from your skin briefly after a particularly rough thrust left you panting and teary-eyed. You whined at the loss, wriggling further back on his dick. Another rough drive of his hips sent your back arching painfully, mouth dropping open as his index finger slipped into you alongside his shaft.

“Nngg, ah-- fuck, so-oo good,” you mewled.

Enéas started fucking into you with even more ferocity, making your whole body move every single time his hips slammed into your ass. Your cock slapped up onto your stomach with an obscenely wet sound, and left wet smears of clear fluid on your skin each time it hit you. The sounds coming out of you were starting to sound desperate, morphing from regular moans of pleasure to pitiful little whimpers and gasps. You were so overwhelmed by the way that his cock reached so deep inside you and caught so gloriously coming back out that you didn’t even notice a second fingertip tease your rim. You didn’t notice it until the smoothly scaled digit thrust into you alongside his first one. The feeling of it, the stretch of your rim definitely painful now, ripped a shattered cry from you.

Your whole body was tensed up, chest heaving with panting breaths. “Oh shit. Enéas, I’m going to…”

The hand he had been using to hold himself above you darted downwards and locked in a tight ring around the base of your steadily leaking cock. The crescendo quickly building in the pit of your stomach was stopped in its tracks, and you wailed at the blocking of your orgasm. Enéas smirked wickedly at you before lowering his mouth to graze lightly over one of your nipples.

“Patience, little prince,” he chided, “Just hold on a little longer, and you can cum on both of my cocks.”

Each word he spoke was punctuated by him driving his barbed shaft into you and scissoring his fingers wider and wider. Somewhere in the haze of your almost-climax he had stuck a third finger into your hole, and all of them were now stretching you out as far as you could go. His big arms wrapped around your back and he aggressively hoisted you upwards, forcing you to wrap your legs around his body. He slipped his fingers out of you, and almost immediately his lower cock replaced it. The shaft was thicker, the head a little more bulbous, and it filled you up so wonderfully next to his other one. Once he was fully seated, he went still to let you get used to the intense stretch inside of you. You tried to wriggle about in his arm to get him even deeper inside of you, but he used both arms to grip you tight to his body, keeping you still. That mouth of his kept lovingly licking over your chest, going slack to let saliva leak out over his lips and onto your skin.

With a firm grip on your hips and an almost painful amount of care, Enéas lifted you up until only the heads of his dicks remained inside of you. Realizing what he was about to do, you stopped writhing in his grasp, relaxing as much as the position allowed. He hissed a thanks into the thin skin above your breastbone. A slight shift of his weight so that all of his coils lay firmly beneath him, and he lowered you almost all the way down onto him. He pressed sweet kisses to the base of your sternum, then each of your nipples, then to the side of your throat. Settling his face into the warm crook of your neck, he began to raise and lower your along his shafts, using your body to fuck himself to completion.

This new position made his cocks reach impossibly deeper inside of you, spines rubbing against that sweet spot with each stroke. You dropped your head forward against Enéas’ shoulder, moaning loudly. With his previous fierce grip on your tortured cock gone, you felt your orgasm begin to build again. Clear pre-cum dripped out of your slick head and smeared between your bodies. He kept bouncing you on him, breath coming out ragged against your neck as he chased after his own climax.

“Holy shit-- that’s so good…”

Your mouth hung open as heat bubbled up in your gut. You tried to warn Enéas again, but all that came out was a strangled gasp of his name before you were cumming between your bodies with a cry. His sharp mouth curved into a grin pressed into the skin of your shoulder as you went boneless in his arms. He kept driving your body down onto himself mercilessly, paying no mind to your limp form. Your eyes filled with tears and drool leaked from your slackened jaw as you were driven to complete overstimulation from him using your body.

“Mmmmhh-hngg....AH!” You moaned desperately, squirming in his arms, trying to get away from the feeling of his cocks inside you that was quickly starting to get painful. Your hole was fluttering erratically around him, and the grip that Enéas had on your hips stuttered, betraying how close he was.

“My prince, I’m…” he managed to grunt out before he pulled you all the way onto his cocks and came inside of you, clutching your body close to his.

His twin dicks twitched against your sensitive walls as thick white cum spilled inside of you. You wailed at the sensation, your own spent cock trying fruitlessly to twitch erect again. Enéas held you against him for several minutes, catching his breath, before he carefully lifted you off of him and laid you down on the now-soiled sheets. The spines on his shafts caught on your puffy rim as he pulled out, making you wince. Your belly was still sticky from your own orgasm, and gobs of Enéas’s cum leaked from your hole, making you feel even filthier. You were completely and utterly fucked-out and content as you lay there in a warm stupor. Cold lips kissed away tears that you hadn’t noticed had fallen, and a hand rubbed comforting circles into the back of your neck. He shifted his body to wrap around you in heavy coils that felt safe and warm, despite his cold blood. You stayed there, cradled against his familiar body, being covered in soft kisses and soothing caresses, until the shaky aftershocks of both of your climaxes dissipated. Once they had, you curled onto your side so that you could nuzzle your face into his scaly neck,

“So?” Enéas whispered into your ear, peppering the side of your face with affectionate pecks. “Did I please you, my prince?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nibbling on his jaw slightly. “You absolutely did, beloved.”

[inkskinned]

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of... sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

[step-on-me-khun]

Okay, last one for this round. I don't really have concrete ideas for this, I'd just really love to read about Yato getting a good thorough blowjob.

Noragami is the only anime I have listed that I haven't written a scenario for, yet.

And I'm making this as a female reader thing...

NSFW - No minors pls

Warnings: Smut/lime

Word Count: 1552

Yato had had a drink, which had worked its way into his system, making his face red. His eyes were fluttering shut as he sat at the kotatsu. The two of you were alone. No one else was seen or heard. And that was how you wanted it.

"Do you think I'm pretty, Yato?" You ask, your elbow rested on the table, chin on the palm of your hand. His weakness was your boobs. It didn't matter how big or small you were. They were always enough to catch his attention. You were leaning on the kotatsu in a way so that Yato couldn't help but notice them.

But alcohol had got to him, even if it was only one can. He tried not to stare at you, but you made it impossible for him to do so.

"Yeah, of course, I do," Yato replies quickly, his hand on another can, opening it so he could drink it as fast as he answered you.

You stop him, your hand reaching for the can, smiling as you bought the can up to your mouth and drinking some of its contents.

Everything you did, it was all intentionally to mess with him.

You drank slowly, letting some of it drip down from your mouth, eventually reaching down your neck and onto your chest.

"This isn't fair," Yato whines, tapping both his hands on the table.

"What isn't?" You ask, placing the can behind you.

It was later in the day. Yato was a little stressed from slaying phantoms and all the chaos of being a god. You wanted to help him relieve some of the pent up stress he had.

Yato doesn't answer and instead continues to tap his hands on the table. A few groans of annoyance leave Yato's mouth. It wasn't like Yato would ever fight you over a can. Well, sometimes he felt like he could. But he was far too stressed and exhausted to stand up and retrieve it from you.

You stood up and moved to sit beside Yato.

The closer you got to him, the redder his face got. He was staring at your chest. The alcohol the streamed down you left a glistening trail down your skin. His face heated up, and he turned his head away from you before he could do anything.

How you acted, the way you spoke, Yato had just realized that you were up to something.

"What're you planning to do, (Y/N)?" Yato asks.

Your eyes widen a little, surprised that he had caught on.

He turns to face you again, his eyes looking off to the side. It was like he didn't want you to catch him staring.

In the mornings, Yato would always take the opportunity to clutch at your breast, waking you up if you weren't awake. Not like it mattered to him if you were awake or not. But Yato had made it pretty clear that he didn't just love your body. He loved everything about you.

You inhaled sharply before pushing Yato down back onto the floor.

"Maybe I want to treat you. Is that so bad?" You reply, your hand resting on his chest.

"If this was all you wanted to do, you could've done it earlier," Yato teases, looking away from you again.

"Oh, shush," your hands tilted his face, so he was facing you. You planted a soft kiss on his lips before moving off of him, sitting between his legs.

Yato's blue steely eyes watched you closely as your hands pulled down on his tracksuit and boxers, exposing his erect dick to the cool air. A hiss escapes his mouth as the air got to him. He covers his eyes with an arm, his teeth biting down on his lower lip as he waited for you.

He was handsome like this, even when he let you do whatever to him. He always kind of liked when you were a little dominant or if you wanted to try something. That wasn't to say that he couldn't be that way because when he wanted you, he made sure you knew it.

A hand gripped at the base of his dick loosely, your tongue slowly licking from where your hand was to his head.

A slew of shaky breath left Yato's mouth. They weren't inaudible, but you could hear them. In the right mood, Yato would be just as vocal as you. But when he felt playful or mischievous, he would make sure that people knew that the two of you were up to something. Which you never really liked.

Quiet groans escape Yato's mouth as you continue to lick slowly, and he wanted to buck his hips so you would take him all in your mouth already. He was becoming impatient.

Yato was so cute when he was needy, but you had to be careful, or he would make sure to punish you if you pushed your luck. That was rarely ever happened. But when it did, you were left sore for a good few days.

Your tongue stopped what it was doing and went to play with his head, swirling it around while you gave him eye contact.

Yato lets out a groan and places a hand on your face, "please use your pretty little mouth already," his voice was low. Damn, it sent shivers down your spine.

You didn't listen to him. Your tongue still played with his head, occasionally licking up and down on him, letting a hand play with his tip.

His hand fell from your face. All the impatience he had inside him was enough for him to buck his hips up, letting you know what he wanted you to do.

Maybe you had played with him enough. Your mouth moved away from him. That steely look from before had still been watching you. This time he looked more dangerous. Those eyes of his were enough to make you stop whatever it was you were doing.

You slowly took his length in your mouth, with every inch you took, the more vocal Yato became. Still, he wasn't too loud, and you enjoyed the noises he made.

Now and again, his hips would try to snap up into you, but you would end up pushing him down. You were trying to help with his stress, and it didn't feel right having him thrust into your mouth like this.

You sped up, trying to give Yato more of what he wanted but not forgetting that this was something you wanted to do in the first place. Even if Yato wanted to try to take the lead, you quickly stopped him from doing it.

While you left one of your hands to push his hip down, your other travelled lower, stopping at his balls and playing with them while you continued to bob your head up and down on him.

All the noises were getting a little louder, but it wasn't enough to grab anyone else's attention. Every sound that escaped from Yato's mouth ran through you, making you more aroused the louder he got.

You move your mouth away from him, letting your tongue flick at the head of his dick and its slit.

His knuckles were clenched and pale, eyes dark and lidded. You were driving him insane.

Once again, you bob your head on him. This time, his head reached the start of your throat. Choking was the one thing you didn't like but pushed it to the back of your mind as your movements sped up, breathing through your nose.

All Yato could muster were shaky breaths and hisses. You were doing good. You would tell from the way he was eyeing you.

Your cheeks hollowed around him, teeth scratching ever so lightly on him. It made you feel a bit proud watching Yato fall apart so easily.

As you took him all in your mouth, your hands continued to play with his balls. You were happy that you were helping him in a way. He made you happy, and you just wanted him to feel the same way about you. You told each other 'I love you' nearly every day, and you were giving him that love.

"Don't stop," Yato groans, "I'm nearly there,"

And you could feel his body tensing as his climax built quickly. His hands clenched up even more, and his head fell back as the overwhelming feeling of his orgasm hit him.

You quickly move your mouth up to the tip of his leaking dick. A long hiss erupts from Yato as he releases his load inside your mouth.

The feeling of bliss shot through Yato as he recovered from your actions, his mind and vision going blank as he comes back to reality.

"Thank you, my gorgeous girl," he praises playfully, his voice still low, pulling his boxers and tracksuit bottoms back up.

You glare at him, surprised by his mood change.

"What?" He asks.

"I just didn't expect your mood to change so much," you reply.

"Hmm," he starts, sitting up to be beside you again, "you have calmed me down a lot," he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

"Are you still stressed?"

"Not anymore,"

But he still had alcohol in his system. God knows what he could end up doing.

I have no taglist for Noragami ❤️