#pull of the tides au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ceilidho · 4 months

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sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] first part >> last part

No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket.

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it.

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way.

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it.

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots.

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries.

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response.

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again.

You don’t think about how much you missed him.

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms.

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black.

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal.

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says.

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything.

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating.

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?”

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it.

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively.

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee.

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van.

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels.

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control.

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms.

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings.

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head.

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes.

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones.

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix.

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze.

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does.

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire.

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass.

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park.

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream.

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you.

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth.

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep.

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever.

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock.

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking.

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs.

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.”

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes.

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight.

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home.

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps.

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did.

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent.

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again.

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up.

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection.

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home.

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat.

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again.

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home.

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader

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vivalabunbun · 7 months

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As We Are, We Will Be

Summary: A nonsensical question is proposed in one singular moment between a stoic and stoic face in one singular universe.

Word Count: 9k (It was supposed to be short and sweet-)

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem! Reader, Smut, NSFW, Fluff, a lot of fluff, slight angst, soulmate au, slow fic, established relationship, married life, Soft! Alhaitham, attempts at comedy, mentions of aging, slightly jealous! Alhaitham, mutual pinning, soft sex, vanilla, safe sex (wrap it up), riding (cowgirl), fingering, slow sex, making love, really bad expatiations of scientific theories and math, just two nerds in love.

Authors Note: Happy belated birthday and Valentine's Day to my favorite dendro nerd. A continuation of this piece, one I hold dear. A thought experiment based on nothing more than the feverish delirium of love.

It was just for a moment.

A mere pasting instance in the contentious momentum of time when a glimmer caught your eyes in the muddled chatter of a crowd, a silver shimmer like starlight.

Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source.

A late morning on a Saturday, the markets and stalls were lively with families replenishing a week's worth of groceries. Bodies veering and easing through the bustle of the busty streets.

The wide breadth of life that moved all around you. Like a collection of small dots within the vastness of a universe.

But amid the vast collection of blurry faces were the flicker of silvery locks refracting the late morning light. Originating from a pair, an elderly lady and an elderly man, their aged hands intertwined.

Time had made her marks upon them, and gravity had pulled down on their wrinkled faces. Yet, the ends of their lips were pointed toward the sky. The corners of their eyes wrinkled as their gazes held each other's faces.

From their view, do they not see the starlight hue of their hair? Instead, do they still see the vibrancy and youth of their locks which age had stolen from them?

The image of each other reflected in their irises, was it from a time before the hands of gravity pulled on their creased skin and bowed bones? Would you ever be able to find out?

“I wasn’t aware you had a hobby of people-watching.” A baritone voice ghosts over your ear.

Jolting your head to your right, you come face to face with the interruption. Or perhaps, your mind finally registered Alhaitham’s presence just off to the side of you. His arms were weighted down with various bags.

Oh, that’s right, the markets and stalls were lively on the weekend with families restocking groceries for the upcoming week. You and Alhaitham were no different.

Glancing up at his ashen trestles and then scanning back at the starlight locks of the elderly couple, and then back to your husband.

“Hmm, not quite. Just noting the fact your hair is the same color as an old man’s, Haitham.” You catch the subtle twitch of his brow.

“Is that so? I hope you are aware you’re not immune to the inevitably of aging, wife,” Alhaitham returns your jest.

“Well, with your hair color and grumpiness, I’d say you’re already halfway there.”

“I needn’t expound on your equivalent levels of grumpiness, it won’t be long before your locks share the same ashen hue.”

“I guess that’s why we get along then, dear husband.”

“That’s one theory,” he huffs, a simple tone lacking any bite.

You pan your face back toward the crowd, partly because it’s getting harder to hold the neutral position of your lips, partly because your curiosity aches for an untold conclusion.

However, when your gaze returned to the ever-bustling sea of people, the pair of starlight hues were nowhere to be found. It was regrettable, but expected, the elderly couple were nothing more than a pair of strangers in a crowd full of unfamiliar faces.

They were just a brief scene that disappeared into the moving tides of people.

Leaving you with your unresolved musings.

“Is there anything else we need for the week?”

Alhaitham’s voice reels your consciousness back, swiftly you check the crinkled slip of parchment within your hand. Scanning down the list of written items, all with a neat little line crossed through their immaculately penned letters.

“It looks like we got everything we need.” You tuck the list into your pocket.

“Then it’s best we get home before our groceries are spoiled by the heat.” Alhaitham readjusts the bags in his hands.

A hum takes its place as your response. Pivoting your body in the direction of your shared home. From the corner of your field of view, his strides were paced to coincide with your shorter steps.

Studying the numerous bags occupying his hands, you can’t help but think it’s quite convenient to have someone as robust as your husband. Maybe it's these weekly grocery runs that are the secret behind his physique.

Discreetly, your hand slowly slips between the gap of his arm and body, linking your elbows together. So that your frame and his could withstand the push and pull of the crowd’s contentious momentum.

The neutrality of your lips had long slipped away, softened by the familiarity of his warmth. Even as your eyes were pointed on the path ahead, you had an inkling that a similar occurrence was mirrored on his lips as well.

An inquiry your curiosity didn’t need to peek to resolve.

That ache for an untold conclusion morphed into a new musing by the afternoon.

The silver shimmer from that elderly couple’s hair truly was like starlight. Perhaps that’s the correlation that steered your thoughts down this winding path of pondering.

Everyone, from those taking their first stumbling steps of youth to the slowed cane-assisted tramps in their golden years, is technically billions of years old. Or more accurately, the atoms and minerals in everyone are billions of years old.

The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood were all forged in the hearts of bygone stars. When those bright beacons burned out they exploded in one last finale, expelling those materials across interstellar space. Stardust that found its way here.

Here within you, and here within the slow breaths of the man in front of you.

After being around for billions of years, does stardust ever get exhausted?

That would be a sensible explanation for why Alhaitham had snuck away amidst hanging up freshly washed laundry.

His tall frame stretched the expanse of the couch as his starlight lashes were shut, shamelessly relishing in a nap under the streams of sunlight trickled in from the window.

Squatting down you observe the guiltless expression plastered over his resting face, still deep in the trenches of sleep, a small huff passes through your lips. Well, this morning you did have him carry all the groceries from the market back home.

Your husband does deserve this little nap.

Trailing your eyes down his neck you note the lack of a pillow, then as your gaze travels further you note the absence of a blanket as well. Internally, your mind tsks at this forgetful habit of his.

Although his body and yours still have youth coursing through your veins, it doesn’t mean they’ll remain as impervious as they are now later down the line, especially if preventative measures aren’t taken.

Like having a pillow to support one’s neck, or a blanket to prevent chills from plaguing the body.

Standing back to full height, you retrieved the missing artifacts, returning with a plush pillow and light comforter.

Even when his head was momentarily lifted to make space for the pillow, and when the spare comforter was draped over him, Alhaitham didn’t stir one bit. At times you can’t determine if he’s a light sleeper or if his stubbornness refuses to leave the plain of dreams.

It’s a true wonder of life how Alhaitham’s able to sleep so soundly at night given his extensive naps.

The vivid sunlight illuminated patterns upon his cheeks and trestles, causing the ashen strands to dazzle in their refraction of the afternoon light. A sight your eyes just couldn’t help but be enraptured by.

Maybe you could blame the warmth of the sunlight, or maybe the serenity of this quiet Saturday afternoon, or perhaps even these fickle inquiries about his naps for the yawn that left your lips. Now might be the prime time for some research.

Lifting up the comforter just enough for an opportunity to slip through, your body settles in the space right against his. It’s crowded on the couch, the cushions unprepared for two bodies to occupy its entirety, the open edge looming against your back.

Even after all the shuffling and pressing against his dozing frame, your husband didn’t budge a bit.

Leaden lashes still shut and lips set in that all too familiar line, chest rhythmically rising and falling in time with yours. The very image of unperturbedness under the blessing of sleep.

“You really are like an old man.”

At that mere jab, the corners of his lips tugged down while his eyes remained closed. A quick slip that confirmed your earlier suspicions.

“Who knew you were so talented in acting, Haitham,” you snicker.

A muscular arm soon enveloped your form, further pressing you against his chest as if to silence any more sardonic quips from entering his ears.

It was quite the challenge to stifle those giggles before they could erupt from your lips. Peeking up, there’s an ever-so-subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. An express which yours mirrored.

Studying the details of the lips just a breath away, a new musing worms its way into your thoughts:

When the hands of gravity and time start to pull down on his skin and yours the same, leaving wrinkles and creases in their wake, will the edges of his lips still curl like this?

Would yours mirror the same?

A second yawn sneaks past your lips as your lashes grow heavier with each fluttering blink. Claiming a corner of the pillow to lay your head upon, the seconds between each subsequent blink grew longer and longer until your lids were too heavy to lift.

Perhaps the stardust in your bones was exhausted, craving a short rest in his warmth.

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

There’s something against your back and your legs are tangled in something, sensations which gradually alert your dozing sense back from the fog of slumber.

At first, you only had the strength to peek open one lid, then promptly shut it. But in the nothingness behind your eyelids, something was halting your limps from stretching the weariness out from themselves.

You tried again, this time fluttering both sets of lashes apart ever so slightly. There’s a dry film coating your throat and mouth, feeling the impressions of the couch cushions and bundled comforter imprinted into your skin.

What time was it?

Blinking away the haze of sleep just enough to notice how the golden rays of a star were missing. A gray overlay was plastered over the living room despite the ticking clock hands displaying that it was late afternoon.

Peering back through the window behind, observing the congregating insipid clouds blocking out the azure sky.

A sure sign of rain despite the morning forecast. Rain… wasn’t there something left unfinished on the clotheslines outside? The groggy recollection of responsibilities creeps into the forefront of your mind.

The reign of your weary limbs slowly returns, and your legs languidly attempt to stretch out from the reveal they were caught in. However, their movements only caused a pair of longer limbs to ensnarl them further.

Alhaitham’s legs promptly caught yours, stifling any prospect of escape.

Your displeased whine was responded with a disgruntled groan by the man keeping your body locked against his.

Wasn’t your back looming just about the edge of the couch when you fell asleep? So why are you in this position now?

Your body wedged between the plush backing of the couch and his solid frame, the comforter swaddling you also didn’t aid in your immobility. Brawny arm draped over your waist, halting your feeble squirms at freedom.

“The laundry,” you mumble.

“Later.” A blunt interjection from a groggy voice.

“It’s going to rain.”

“Less than a 30% chance.”

“Haitham…”

Your husband simply burrows his head deeper into the leveled pillow, likely an attempt to leverage the cushy material to block out your grievances. His ashen lashes still stubbornly shut, much to your displeasure.

“Alhaitham.”

No fluctuations in your volume nor tone, but it was enough for one teal eye to peek out from under ashen lashes. Trailing up to a subtle frown to the furrow between your brow, then finally meeting your unamused stare.

“Laundry,” you try again.

A silent stare down, one stone face gazing upon an equally stoic face, like an immovable object pressed against an equally immovable object.

Which one will defend their title of most stubborn today?

His chest expands with a deep breath, grasp enclosing around your waist before his teal gaze shamelessly vanishes behind closed lashes. Robust frame pinning you further to the back of the couch as he continues to ignore your huffy floundering.

“Release me, don’t you dare-”

Your grievance was soon muffled by a gentle hand pressing your cheek into his palatial chest. A move that stupefies the irksomeness bubbling within until it falls defeated into placidness.

“Whether it be now or later, they’ll be clean regardless, it’s quite comfortable right here.” The resonance of his voice vibrates in his chest.

You respond with a humbled grunt. In terms of strength you’d always lose to your feeble husband, wouldn’t you?

There’s no point in peering up, for the pleased satisfaction of his resting face would bring a sour taste to your tongue. Thus, you merely adjust your limbs, coiling your arms around to his back and pulling his form closer.

It’s crowded on the couch, it’ll be troublesome if Alhaitham were to slip off the edge if his back were to stray any further.

At this distance, entangled so closely together, the soft beats of his heart in time with yours like a rhythmic lullaby beckons the heavy to return to your eyelids.

The gentle drumming of his heartbeat coaxes out a final sigh from you, lashes descending down as your vision dims back into the realm of slumber.

Slow breaths and heartbeats homogenize into a tender duet, tranquil enough to distract from the sporadic pattering against the glass and gradually increase in consistency.

A less than 30% chance of rain doesn’t mean that there’s a greater than 70% chance of no rain. It’s merely a statistical probability of 0.01 units of more precipitation at a given area in the given forecast area in the time period specified.

Known as the precipitation probability, calculated based on two factors:

The forecaster's certainty that precipitation will form or move into the area X The areal coverage of precipitation that is expected, then multiplied by 100.

Thus, if the forecaster were 90% certain that 30% of the forecast area would receive rain, then the forecast displayed on screens would read as a 27% chance of rain.

A crucial bit of information that seemed to have slipped his mind midst a quiet afternoon.

A troublesome miscalculation Alhaitham tsks at internally as he wrings out the pillowcase into a sink before tossing it back into the washing machine. Button-down shirts and blouses, wrinkled from the process of twisting out as much rainwater as possible, sat in damp piles awaiting their turn to be rewashed.

As he measures out the detergent he can hear the rattles and clanks of the pot and pans from the kitchen. A late dinner in preparation, a task which was supposed to be his this week.

When he woke up to the pattering of rain drumming against the window panes, the afternoon long gone, it stirred an ever-so-sinking pit of dread. Second only to the unamused stare of his wife as she replicated an overconfident statement:

“Less than a 30% chance, Alhaitham?”

How unfortunate it all was, that the area where this quaint house resides was part of that 30% of the forecasted area.

Teal eyes watch the bedsheets whirl and fumble as they spin in the wash, contemplating the circumstance and further action.

There is only one spare bedding set in the closet, so it’d be wise to allow you to have it for tonight as all the sheets and covers get rewashed and dried.

Your bed is about the same size as his, so two bodies wouldn’t have an issue fitting. At this rate, the two of you just slept in whichever bed was the most convenient.

However, given the current state of things, Alhaitham wonders if he should prepare himself to brave tonight on his bare mattress with a flimsy spare blanket and pillow.

He might as well return to the couch for tonight if that was the case.

The accumulation of all the years of science, mathematics, and research, Alhaitham wonders if there was ever a bright mind who came up with a formula to calculate how displeased one’s wife is.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it be?

More specifics needed to be gathered, something the man couldn’t do in the refugee of the laundry room. Thus, Alhaitham must brave a journey into the kitchen. His slipper-clad footsteps are slow and methodical as the kitchen appears from around the corner of the hallway.

Sights honed in on your back as you stood by the stove, a rich aroma wafting through the air.

Sleep still dusted your hair, evident in the few unruly strands sticking up erratically on your head, you made no attempt at fixing it. One hand is too occupied with stirring the pot on the stove, and the other set upon your hip.

Your stance wasn’t exactly tipping the scales in his favor.

Cautiously, Alhaitham made his way to you. Stopping just a few paces as your eyes peer over your shoulder, stoic gaze halting him in place just a few paces away. The faded imprint of the crumpled blankets and couch cushions on your cheek.

His hand twitches with the urge to run his thumb along the impressions, but rationally warns him of the consequences.

“The laundry?” No discernable tone in your voice.

“Everything has been collected and wrung out, I’ll rewash everything tomorrow.” It’s best to answer your questions this time.

“Hmm, they were out in the rain for quite a while now. They were dripping out onto the floor when you brought them in.”

“I’ve mopped away any rain and mud tracked between the back door and laundry room.” Teal eyes quickly checked the aforementioned area to ensure they were pristine before returning to you.

“Hmm.” You turn back towards the stove.

The soft ticks of the clock accompany the waning drums of raindrops against the glass, the kitchen hood whirring as a ladle continues to stir in a pot. A quiet lull engulfed the home. Treading on the side of caution, Alhaitham inhales deeply.

Without opening the box, one will never be able to confirm to fate of Schrödinger's cat.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Hmm? Well, it’s raining tonight, what better to eat on a rainy night than some Sabz Meat Stew, no?”

He’s careful to not sigh too audibly, lest he goes to bed with a stomach half-full of instant noodles and that miffed stare of yours.

Alhaitham decides to hold his tongue as teal eyes continue to watch you add more spices to the pot. Studying how nicely the apron is tied around your waist.

But it wouldn’t be wise of him to stand so close when the fabric of his shirt was still damp with rainwater transferred to him by the soaked laundry and sky.

His chain of thought was interrupted by the chimes of your phone on the countertop, catching your eyes as well as his to peek at the over. A certain name is displayed across the screen. It’s as if the hands of fate wanted to throw more salt into his face.

Bahram (Manager)

It’s a Saturday night, for what reason would an employer need to contact an employee so late?

Alhaitham’s focus shifts to your gaze which is still honed in on the screen. A bitter tinge crawls up the tip of his tongue, threatening to spoil his appetite. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind settling down in his bare bed with just a spare comforter without dinner tonight.

“Can you reject the call for me? He can wait until Monday to get me to resolve whatever he messed up,” you scoff before rolling your eyes back to the stove.

Swiftly he swipes to decline the call, let your voicemail remind Bahram of the concept of ‘off time’. The phone whirs again right after the first rejection, but he simply swipes decline again.

Pushing the device away with a bit too much satisfaction in his veins.

Glancing back at your frame, he lets out a sigh as he relents. Resting his head into the crook of your neck, careful to leave a bit of distance between your bodies and to not hamper your shoulder’s movement.

“Hm?” You hum expectantly.

“It was my oversight tonight.” A string of words a bit unfamiliar on his tongue, but stubbornness hasn’t been in his favor tonight.

“And?”

“I’ll be more cautious regarding naps.”

“Hmph.”

The lull returns, him resting his head on your shoulder and you continuing to watch over the stew. Teal eyes on you and your eyes on the stove. Until your shoulders raise with a deep inhale.

“Go get changed out of that wet shirt then set the table, this bastardized version of ‘soup’ will be ready in 20 minutes.” You reach for a skillet just off to the side.

He hums this time, the liberation from treading in suffocating lull tugs at the end of his lips. He surmises that laying his head against you for a few moments more won’t be so consequential.

The patter of raindrops still splattered against the glass panes of the window, drops which warped and blurred the scenery beyond the glass. Not that there’s any scenery to look at, not with the dreary clouds crowding the sky.

A heavy sigh huffs through your nose, curling onto your side as you adjust your pillow.

A filling dinner, a warm shower, and soft comforters. Factors that should contribute to a restful night’s sleep, or at the very least make your eyelids weary with the weight of lethargy.

Yes, perhaps those components should’ve granted you entry into the reprieve of a dream.

If it wasn’t for the fact you’ve intruded into the domain of slumber twice already today.

And the tempter who lured you to do so currently has his arm wrapped around your waist.

Alhaitham’s chest rises and falls against your back, soundly asleep without an ounce of guilt over the predicament he’s partly responsible for.

Lifting your head off the flattened pillow, your body twists around to fluff the stale stuffing back up before settling back to your position.

His body rested against yours just as it would any other night. But there’s a weight at the corners of your lips, one only grew heavier as your ears witnessed each content exhale resounding from the man who seemingly stole your sleep.

If you were crueler, you would’ve exiled Alhaitham to the couch or his barren mattress.

However, he’d probably sleep just fine regardless.

Canting your head up, you flip your pillow to the other side once more.

Your rolls and rhythm were abruptly interrupted by the clasp of two harsh hands pulling your hips into his, the contours of his rigor now digging into the plush of your ass. Forcing a stunned gasp up your throat.

“It seems like my wife has quite a bit of energy.” His timbre deeper from grogginess.

Ah, all the twisting and turning you did just to adjust the troublesome pillow must've disturbed him.

The softness of your ass cradled against his pelvis through the thin material of a button-down, an item borrowed from his closet that you’ve designated as sleepwear, and his sweatpants.

‘Serves him right.’

Your attempts to twist out from his iron-clad hold only ground your ass more against the stiffness, earning a grumble from his lips.

“Oh? And who’s fault is it?” You retort, still protesting in his hold.

Snaking one hand downwards Alhaitham presses against your lower stomach to arch your ass further into him. Leaning his face closer to yours.

“Do you want me to take responsibility?” His whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.

You could feel the pads of his fingertips tracing under the loose button-down.

“Shouldn’t you resolve the issues you’ve caused?” A huff leaves you.

The outline of his shape pressed along your skin, the plushness of your bottom contrasting against the rigidity.

“I can say the same to you.”

The pads of his fingers trail up your heated skin, crawling along your torso, feathering touches alighting your senses like sparks. Massaging the tired yet restless muscles. You sigh in contentment.

The billowing button-down dragged up by his vascular hand, unveiling your skin to the cool sheets. Wandering touches slow as they rest in the valley of your breasts. His fingers enclose around one mount, gently twisting the defenseless nipple.

“H-hey! Hmph-“ Barely catching a moan before it fled past sealed lips.

“Hm?” His lips are now right next to your ears. “Surely you foresaw this, I’m just helping my wife with all her excess energy.”

His forgotten hand made its presence known as it kneaded your hips, cunning touches breaching under the feeble defenses of your panties. Effortlessly brushing them to the side, long fingers encroaching closer to their destination.

Your thighs react, squeezing together to prevent him from venturing further. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, for his fingertips already dipped into an all too familiar sap.

“See, you seem quite eager,” he taunts.

Stubbornly, your body attempts to buckle away from his influence. Face firmly pointed away from his lest he peeks at your heated cheeks.

Alhaitham abandons the perch on your breast, two large hands attempting to tame the bucks and rolls of your hips. He releases a slow sigh into the crook of your neck.

“Are you not feeling it tonight?” His hands remain where they were, but the strength missing.

At the lack of resistance, your hips seem to have lost interest in their writhing, staying within his yielding hold. Internally, you chiding your body for being so straightforward. The only thing blocking an answer from exiting your throat was that fickle ego of yours.

“Won’t you allow me to make up for my blunders today, wife?” He soothes his hand along your leg.

With that stubborn ego of yours still biting down on your tongue, you simply nod your head. Feeling the heat of your cheeks reflected to you by the pillow.

Permitting your thighs to give into the tow of his grasp. Allowing the grip of one large hand to pull your bent leg open, exposing your vulnerable cunt. Shielded from the view of the raindrops by a mere blanket.

The hand snaked under your waist took swift advantage of the oppurtunity. Sliding one firm finger down to part the fold of your slit as his warm hand cups your greed.

Alhaitham continued with the caresses of his fingers. Your lashes and lips pressed tightly shut, your leg still held in his tender hold. His slow breaths brush ghosting your skin.

He spreads the slick along your slit, the tips of his fingers ever so often knocking against the bud at the very top. Teal eyes catch the sudden jolts of your body every time it happens.

He moves his fingers downwards, slowly parting the now soft folds of your core. Feeling the subtle puckers of your entrance as his touch traced closer, more wetness dribbling out from the honeypot.

The tip of his finger now encircles the fluttering hole. Your hip subtly bucked into his hand, as if to lure him in a soundless plea.

Breaths getting deeper as your eyes follow his touch, the warm pad of his index finger twirling against your clit. Stoking a burgeoning fire with each slow circle. Your placid sighs fill the lull.

His middle finger ventures past the entrance of your satin walls welcomed with a lewd squelch. Curling his finger against slick walls to test the give, he wonders if this hidden oasis is etched into his shape yet.

Diligently, his digit continues to sink in and out of your weeping hole, making your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. The squelches increased in volume as trickles of nectar began pooling on the sheets. Walls clamping around a lonely finger, it wasn’t enough to quell that mounting heat within.

A second deft finger joined in, sliding past a hungry entrance. A tangled dance amongst gummy walls as they curled and stretched the space. The lewd squelches resounding in your ear, a whimper trapped in your throat. The heel of his warm palm now pressed flat against the soft mound of your cunt, every movement of his hand resulting in a grind against your clit.

Each grind causes a hot flash to shock throughout your body, starting from your curled toes to the very top of your head. The jostling of your hips and legs gradually expels the blanket off the bed.

“Mmph!” A whine from a sudden surge of bliss when his thick fingers curled against a spongy patch deep within.

“T-there! More there!”

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being.

He gladly obliges. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls. Ensuring to grind against that spongey patch.

Your body twitches and flails in reaction. Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations.

Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

Piqued by the sweet tune, Alhaitham watches the scrunch in your trembling brows. He repeats his actions, another mewl leaves your lips as your head leans further into his shoulder.

The mellow pace of his fingers suddenly amps up, retreating out only to clap back in as his palm presses into the twitching bud.

“Ah! Haitham.”

A pressure mounting up, a sirens call beckoning you closer and closer to a hazardous cliff’s edge. The only foundation for your sanity is thousand-count fabric, thus you twist the silk fibers as tremors overtake your body.

Walls clamping down to trap his thick digits inside as it spasms. Muscles tensing and quivering as your back arches away from his chest, parted lips with nothing choking past them.

Three thick fingers sink deeper into your pussy without a hint of resistance, as a reward he makes sure to roll your overstimulated clit in firm circles with his palms. Judging from the violent tremors in your legs, it seemed you were almost there.

Just at the cusp of rapture when your hand tangles into his ashen-locks, canting your head back so that your panting lips could capture his. Alhaitham returns to gesture with just as much fervor in his kiss, swallowing down your sweet mewls for himself.

With a singular gasp, the siren’s call had beckoned your sanity to drown in the murky depths. It’s as if you lost control of your body to the possession of pleasure.

Eyes rolled back and lips broke away as breathy moans escaped the prison of your throat, a haze heavy over your thoughts, pride long lost amongst the gale of an orgasm.

The beckoning depths of euphoria welcome your descent.

Your limp frame rests against him. A light layer of sweat coating your panting chest, blurred vision merging and blending the details of the ceiling above the bed.

Alhaitham coaxes the contractions of your core, riding out the waves of their squeezes and sucks against his fingers. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Entranced by the glimmering string of nectar stretching between his fingers and your oasis.

Trailing back up to your face, he notes the return of your hazy irises from their ogle of the bedroom ceiling.

“Better?” Teal gaze watching the pants of your chest as they steady.

‘No, not at all’, a statement just at the tip of your tongue, but your lips were busy attempting to grasp deep breaths. The surplus of vigor festering into unquenchable desire. To be closer, deeper, more. You needed more.

Where words fail, action must take its place. Even before your mind finishes up the scheme brewing within, your lips catch him off guard, plush lips embracing his in a tender waltz.

Your body rolls back so that your breast can press against his chest through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.

At the tender caress of your kiss, teal eyes disappear behind ashen lashes, the clasp of his grip loosening. Allowing you the mobility to finally pull your body on top of his, lips never once parting until you were finally settled atop his broad body.

A certain stiffness makes its reintroduction against your roused clit.

Breaking the seal of the kiss as a line of salvia stretches between your tongues, arms pushing against his firm chest to prop your body up as you gaze down at him.

“Still have too much energy?” Haughty eyes peer into yours, yet you can see the ardor oh so thinly concealed behind the brilliant teal.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you the eager one?” You hum, rolling your hips against the rigidness trapped behind the prison of sweatpants.

“Hmm.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Large hands feel down along the plumpness of your ass as they drag a flimsy bit of fabric down your thighs. Daintier hands pull down the hem of sweatpants and briefs.

A fair exchange. Him helping you out of those ruined panties, and you freeing him from a compressed prison of cloth. Discarded and forgotten along the floorboards as the fog of passion obscured them from further consideration.

His vascular hands slide down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs plant themselves on either side of his body. Alhaitham coaxes the hem of his stolen button-down just above your midriff. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your clit, glistening with temptation.

Lowering your hips a breathy sigh leaves his lips and yours as the ridges of his cock drag against your slick folds. A few slow rolls starting from his leaking tip sliding down, thick veins skimming against your swollen clit. Precum mixing with arousal in a sinful concoction along his length.

Perhaps he should convince you to participate in more naps if he knew it’d make you this excitable.

“Oh,” you hum aloud, pausing your hips as you reach over to the bedside table.

Pulling open the drawer and rustling about a box followed by the crinkling of foil. Holding up the corner of the packet to your lip, tearing the foil while your gaze held his. Taking your time in dragging the condom out from its package. Easing it down his length while your fingers traced along, feeling each twitch and shudder.

“You sure do know how to test my patience.”

“Hmm?” You feign innocence.

A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Alhaitham helps position his engorged tip at your dripping entrance. Your hand guides him while raising your hips.

Other hand pressing his chest down for support as your thighs sink back down, a shameful squelch accompanying heavy breaths as your walls welcome his cock’s fat head.

Weeping pussy engulfing his girth in bit by bit until you clit kisses his pelvis. Sending jolts of searing pleasure that caused your satin walls to twitch and tighten.

Releasing a breathy sigh as you gather your senses.

Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge before dropping back down. Earning low grunts and sighs each time your satin walls swallowed his girth. The rhythm of your hips is paced and controlled despite how Alhaitham’s fingers dug into your skin.

A whine living your drooling lips with each slap of his skin against your clit. Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. The bedframe creaks with each calculated movement, back and forth, back and forth the wood sings along.

Your head was light, intoxicated by a feverish potion of lust and desire. Feeling him reach the deepest depths, fat tip grinding against those spots which made your legs falter momentarily each time.

Utilizing the strength of both your arms now to support yourself. However, the jolts of pleasure that shot up your spine with each roll of your hips were too maddening to stop.

His calloused fingers massage circles into your hips. Squeezing the plush flesh to ground his sanity, watching your lewd face as you shamelessly bounced on him for your pleasure. Observing the subtle ripples with each slap of your hips and the jumps of your perky breast.

The ghostly touches of your fingers skim across his lips, prompting his eyes to connect with yours. Lush and glossy lips parted with your deep pants as your lust-hazed eyes peer down at him, unspoken plea inscribed within them. Who is he to not fulfill your desires?

Lurching his upper body up, he answers your plea, capturing your lips with his. Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. A messy and feverish tangle as if to replace the air in your lungs with his.

Mewls and whimpers muffled by his skin, your hands moving to perch themselves on his broad shoulders. Your quivering legs grew limp as the strength of his hands took over. Barely processing the sweet nothings whispered as your core relishes in the fullness. Like an ache that’s been finally satisfied.

He wondered if tonight’s excessive vigor was fraying his control, or if your body was just this addictive.

By now any notion of decency and integrity has long left you, your hand clawing into his shoulders, marking him with the scars of rapture. A harsh thrust of his hips recoils through you, a wanton moan reverbing off the walls as it forces your tangled lips to part.

Tongue unable to produce anything other than strained moans, your head nods into his broad shoulder as your hips ground against his. The wet squelch announces the reciprocation of your walls.

The intervals of those unrelenting rams increasing between the tender thrusts, half-lidded eyes trained on the shivers of your body. Cock sliding against satin ridges of your wall. Grunts and pants reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.

“Is this not enough?” You could feel the mirth in his whisper.

Closer, deeper, more. You want more. Walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming heat within you. Hips floundering in harmony with breathy mewls.

Pressing libidinous kisses along his throat feeling the vibrations of his grunts and pants, a deep chuckle was soon felt against your lips.

“Good grief you are a greedy little thing aren’t you.”

A deafening slam of skin resounds through the heavy air, swiftly followed by another and another. A new tempo in this waltz of passion takes over like a wave sweeping both of you out to a sea of indulgence.

Possessed by the desperation of chasing a white light, your hand rakes deeper into his toned arms. Seizing anything to prevent your mind from abandoning your sinful body as his girth twitches within your velvety folds.

Sanity like a foolish sailor who’s beckoned by the lure of a siren’s voice, uncaring of the rocks which will sink them to the very bottom of the bemused tides. Keening against your husband shamelessly, a shameless wife on the cusp of her second fall into ecstasy.

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into the spark that lit your nerves alight. Toes arched into the air and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent babbles resounding through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his dick with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling against his girth eager to quell your aching greed. It was too much.

His fingers claw into your soft hips, pressing your cunt flush against his hips with a sloppy slap of skin. The bulbous tip prodding against that weakness deep within you. Bruising grip holding your body in place as his lips crash back into yours.

Swallowing down his breathless groans with your sweet mewls and praddles.

A heat is spilled into the rubber, making your greedy walls quiver amidst the aftershocks of ecstasy. Alhaitham’s hips twitch with each subsequent rip of his orgasm, thrusting his length further into your crowded cavity with each one. The filthiness of it all prolongs your sinful depravity.

Chest expanding with pants, your lopsided shirt falling further down your shoulder. Your eyes return from seeing blinding white, exhaustion drenching each fiber of your body.

Limp figure crumbling against your husband as his back lays back on the creaking headboard. Even before your worn mind could conjure a coherent thought, your hands caress his starlight tresses.

As his own breath evades him Alhaitham releases one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your smoldering skin, guiding your lips back to his.

Basking in the warmth forged between your bodies, between drumming heartbeats and breathless lungs.

Two bodies lay under silken sheets, skin freshly wiped clean of sweat as the crisp breeze brushed against the curtains gradually erasing the sinful haze. The cool air aids your rising and falling chest to pace itself.

Muscles and bones heavy with fatigue, yet your eyes couldn’t bring themselves to retire behind shut lids. Not when those dreary clouds have finally retreated.

The moon hangs high in the sky, finally free from the shroud of rain clouds, she sits among the twinkling dots. Twinkling dots were in actuality brilliant stars, some even larger and brighter than the beloved sun.

Glimmering lustrously as they traverse through the contentious vacuum of space and past other nameless stars. A scene from a late-morning market trip wanders its way back from the depths of your memory, bringing its musings with it.

“Something on your mind?” A timbre voice beckons your conscious mind back from its trek.

Teal eyes set upon yours as your heads rest on plush pillows, just a breath away from one another.

“Hm, just senseless musings.” Your gaze shifts away from the window.

In a changed world with millions of hands will your hands and his find each other to make two pairs of hands?

In a different time with a million pairs of legs, will your steps and his steps still coincide in time with each other

In a new life with a sea of new faces, will a stoic face and another stoic face spot each other in the crowd?

What is the likelihood of those odds?

“If you keep letting your thoughts fester, it’ll only bring trouble upon yourself in the morning from sleep deprivation.” He shifts his position, supporting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at your face.

You sigh because he spoke exactly what those whispers of rationale were urging you, but the scoffs of pride had deemed these rampant inquiries ‘childish’. However, it’s a bit hard to avoid his eyes now.

“I was just musing about the soulmates concept again,” you confess.

Alhaitham hums in curiosity.

“Do you…” You take a deep breath, forcing the hard-to-vocalize question from your tongue. “Do you think we’ll only be together in this life?”

He’s silent. Just the muted chorus of Summer crickets rejoicing over the conclusion of a rainstorm resounding through the space.

“In a different time, a different universe, or the next life, do you think we’ll be soulmates again?” You muster together the courage to peer up at his face.

“I don’t recall ever reading an article or paper related to this topic, so it’ll be convoluted to get an answer.” He brings his other hand to his face, signifying his musings.

Right, there isn’t even a definitive answer for what happens after life passes, an afterlife, a cycle, or nothing, no one knows. Was this the only universe where life exists or are there infinitely many far out there in the stars? Does anyone know?

Your hand pulls your blanket up to your face, partially to cover the growing shame creeping up your face. That haughty voice within was right, these baseless questions are silly and childish. Perhaps even too morbid to bring up so unprompted on this weekend night.

What were you expecting Alhaitham to even do? Did you want him to give you an answer? What can he even do? A question you can’t even begin to understand, why would you even expect him to have some solution prepared?

What to do now? Can you just take back your previous words from his memory, so he’ll just forget what you said? Maybe just ask him to quell any more mindless musings from plaguing you tonight by placing his lips on your forehead? So that you could finally drift into the realm of slumber.

However, is that temporary solution enough? Enough to stifle the contentions and riddles clattering together into a clamorous ruckus in your head? Could sleep even spare you from their tumult?

“The Membrane Multiverse Theory or reincarnation, hm, do you have any personal theories you’d like to share?” The sensation of his fingers grasping yours brings you back to reality.

Glancing at him with a quirk in your brow, you wait for him to continue.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll be the first to publish something for this topic.” His thumb runs along your knuckles.

“So, is there a speculation or possible rationale you feel particular to?” Teal eyes reconnect with yours.

“Well…” You sigh, relishing in the warmth of his hand as you concoct a half-baked theory.

“There’s stardust from stars that had burst billions of years ago, that have somehow ended up on this planet. Subsequently, every being on earth has the atoms of stars in them. So, naturally by the law of conservation, the earth is where the atoms of the human body will return.”

“Based on the law that atoms cannot be created or destroyed?” He drones.

“Yes, they all had to come from something before them. The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood. The atoms that make up you and I might become part of something else, or even of different people too.”

“Hm, that sounds probable.”

“But, then this brings up a whole new host of questions, such as, if the new people our atoms become a part of are even ‘us’? Will they ever meet? What if you become a tree and I a rock? What if the atoms of you end up on one side of Teyvat and I on the other end?”

You peer into his irises, but you were just searching for an answer that isn’t there.

For his beryl irises were impassive. But it was the impassive foundation you needed to ground your rambling thoughts and nonsensical musings into the desolate truth of it all.

The warmth of his hand slips away.

“Never mind, I suppose it’s the most logical to conclude that we’re just soulmates in this instance of time, in this universe, and only here.” Your hand closes over the empty space he left.

Maybe it’s wise to dismiss it as silly rambling and then withdraw from his indecipherable eyes. Is it too late to put this plan into motion now?

The weight of a muscular arm is draped over your waist, hand pulling you closer unlike your ploy to escape.

“But I have a few theories I haven’t shared yet.” He glances out toward the bedroom window.

“While the theory of reincarnation currently doesn’t have any solid scientific backing, in some way, the law of conservation of mass does give a bit of merit to that notion.” Alhaitham draws circles into the small of your back.

You hum in response.

“The atoms that created us will return to the earth after us and become a part of something or someone else’s molecular structure. A tree or a rock, a human or a beast, it’s all probable. However…” Beryl eyes return to meet yours.

“What’s stopping them from repeating the same molecular structures as right now?” He asks.

Maybe it was his turn to peer into your eyes to search for an answer, an answer currently brewing and forging between your united gazes.

“What’s stopping these atoms from returning to these exact molecular structures in the future? In a different time, the atoms of us now could one day in the far future come together again and make ‘us’ once more. Maybe just you, maybe just me, or maybe both at the same time.”

He frees his other hand from the duty of supporting his head, broad body settling down into the bed and blankets, allowing his face to move closer to your level upon his pillow.

“What’s the likelihood of those odds? Me and you again?” You ask.

Alhaitham pauses. All the bright minds of science, mathematics, and physics, have yet to come up with a formula to calculate such a thing.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it even be?

The ashen-haired man wasn’t sure, but there was at least a statistical observation that would provide some basis.

“A true 0% chance is an absolute impossibility, just as nothing can be proven absolutely 100%. Since we don't know the absolutes of time, existence, or physics. So, there’ll always be a non-zero chance.” Feeling the drums of your heartbeat against his chest.

“Then, when they do, I think I’ll spend my life pondering what could fit into the spaces between my fingers like this.” He slips his hand into the gaps of yours, intertwining them.

Then finally, he saw the smile he’d been yearning for rising on your lush lips. The ends of your eyes crinkle as it make its way to your irises as well. Your grip mirrors his as you nestle your face closer to his.

“You won’t get tired of this stoic face?” You taunt.

“Will you get tired of mine?” He counters.

Your shoulders quiver with stifled giggles.

“No, no I won’t,” you promise him.

“Then I won’t,” he promises back.

His larger hand brings yours closer to himself, all the while your attentive eyes watch failing to keep the curl of your lips under control.

“Any thoughts on the Membrane Multiverse Theory? How will your astute mind surmise the possibility of us laying like this somewhere else in the stars?” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe as your face inches closer.

“I believe I’ve shared enough, I’d much rather hear what your brilliant postulate is.” His tone casted with mirth, but the bite missing from teal eyes.

Letting a soft hum, your mind rifling through all the paragraphs and journals your hands had ever thumbed through.

The soft rhythm of his breaths kept time. Stringing the words together on your tongue, you hope this monologue of yours will provide some amusement for him.

“If universes are randomly put into 2 boxes of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, then on average the number of universes in each box would be the same. For every universe I’m not with you, there’ll be equally as many where I am with you.”

A coin toss, perhaps it was all just a coin toss after all. Whether or not the Akasha paired a stoic face with another stoic face, for the gaps of your fingers to fit his so perfectly.

It could have all been a coin toss, for one half to stumble upon the other half cruelly parted from them by the hands of unseen gods.

“Something akin to a bijection existing between both sets of universes?” He cross-examines.

“Maybe… If we were to assign one type ‘yes’ to a positive integer, and the other type ‘no’ to a negative integer, then perhaps we can construct a bijection from the positive and negative integers.” Your brow furrows in contemplation.

“If we submit this theory do you think the Akademiya would publish it?”

“Not likely, bijections are usually made between sets of elements like numbers, not sure if bijections can be applied to something like whole universes. I’m just hypothesising nonsense,” you sigh.

“But they did publish the nonsense known as The Lifespan of Love,” he interjects.

“Hm, then maybe there’s a non-zero chance they’ll publish our nonsense too.” You stifle a scoff.

“Hm,” Alhaitham hums in amused agreement.

His free hand pulls the covers further up over your frame then smoothing out the wrinkles. Observing the growing delays between your slowing blinks.

“Only you and I would turn pillow talk into an academic deliberation.” You couldn’t hold back the giggle any longer.

He sighs in agreement, nestling his head closer to yours on the plush pillows, teal gaze never once leaving yours.

“It’ll make any romantic keel over and die from how dry it is, wouldn’t it, Haitham?”

“I say let them.”

Scoffing and shaking your head at his crude declaration as a yawn slips past your lips, a conclusion to this nonsensical academic deliberation.

With one hand still intertwined in the tender grasp of another you pull Alhaitham closer. So that the spaces of your body could lay against the spaces of his.

The warmth of his skin mingling with the warmth of yours, pressed against one another. You drawing mindless shapes into his back, his hand tracing senseless ruins into yours.

Perhaps, an illogical attempt to echt memories into the stardust in your bodies.

So he and you could imprint the memory of each other into the very fibers of your beings. Then maybe someday when these atoms return to these exact molecular structures, they’ll remember this too.

The law of conservation of mass, the probabilities upon probabilities, and bijections used in an inconsequential pseudo-academic ramblings to no one but an audience of silent stars.

Alhaitham’s certain no academic publisher would spare a glance at them.

But this nonsensical instance in the continuum of time, feeling the rhythm of your heart on the other side of his chest next to his own, is his most precious epiphany.

Fin~

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1800titz · 4 months

Text

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.”

Tiger has perfected the art of edging.

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action.

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.”

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious.

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.”

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty.

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind.

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets.

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over.

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth.

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up.

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.”

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely. A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her.

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed.

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in.

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap.

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole.

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper.

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins.

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets.

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off.

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons.

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that.

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears.

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums.

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out.

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars.

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam.

“…We’ll make it fit.”

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat.

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit.

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand.

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge.

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?”

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs.

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch.

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure.

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?”

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states.

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood.

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises.

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.”

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth.

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him.

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.”

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas.

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her.

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.”

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog.

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face.

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.”

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail.

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?”

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid.

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits.

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds.

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.”

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud.

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage.

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile.

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable.

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous.

“Hello.”

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind.

“…Hello.”

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting.

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis.

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine.

He ducks his chin and laughs.

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering.

“I’m all sticky.”

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further.

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders.

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether.

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest.

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.”

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper.

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?”

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long-lost-mcguffin · 6 months

Note

So I forgot my main fandom blog is a side one so this will have to do.

Can we go a bit in-depth with Morro's relationship with Kai, Nya and Lloyd in the Pirate AU?

-Pandemonium Kidz

YEEEEEEES THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION TY

like i said in my intro post to the au, Kai and Nya are like younger siblings to Morro because he found them without their parents and he was sympathetic. he also saw that instead running away like most children, they stood up to him and defended their home which was a good sign of maturity and bravery.

once they’re a bit older, Nya becomes Morro’s right hand because of her ability to control water which is INSANELY useful when encountering other ships. they steer the ship together using water and wind. her water powers are incredibly powerful but a lot less refined as result of her training, and she’s a lot scrappier with fighting. as a result, they’re very close combat-wise,

Kai is Morro’s lead strategist and cannon-master, but Morro’s ship, the Black Drake doesn’t have any cannons. instead, Kai uses his fire powers to burn enemy sails and ships, propelled further by Morro’s wind. Morro trusts him more with combat advice than Nya(no shade but she gets very excited about fighting people in this LOL). Kai doesn’t always agree with Morro’s choices or morals, but he’s captain.

Lloyd is…odd. Morro finds him hanging from that roof post from s1 and is like “how’s revenge sound? >:)” and then brings him back to the ship with food. Nya immediately loves Lloyd like they’ve been siblings forever and Kai is hesitant because. this is a child. why is a child playing with the swords. But Morro eventually realizes that this is in fact a child and the skill that comes with child wrangling. and then finds out about the green ninja prophecy……….. that’s gonna be messy

#ninjago #pull of the tides au #kai smith #nya smith #morro wu #lloyd garmadon #biff gets an ask #thank you for the ask :33

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bumblesimagines · 1 month

Text

His Love to Keep

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Prince (Y/N) Targaryen and his cousin-wife, Princess Rhaenyra, have never truly seen eye to eye after she replaced his father as heir and removed him from line of succession. They both find lovers to keep their beds warm but with age and time comes the desire to redo things.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions of marital SA, affairs/cheating on all sides rlly, moon tea usage, mentions of religious guilt?, implied rhaenicent, love triangle trope, canon divergent/AU, sexual/suggestive content, Targcest (Cousins), Rhaenyra is described with her book accurate appearance/body type

About fucking time I did one of these. fuck team black and team green I'm team milf 💪

~~~

"Must you truly go?"

"It is my duty, Alicent."

"Those boys are bastards," Alicent spoke softly, the cup in hand warming her palms as the subtle smell of tansy and mint drifted from the steam brushing along her skin. She watched ripples form in the tea with the slightest of movements, unable to swallow down the nerves beginning to bubble up underneath her skin. "You are not bound to them. They are not your sons."

"I scarcely see them and they still burst with excitement when I visit." (Y/N) strode forward to close the distance between them, his fingers reaching out to brush aside a curled strand of her auburn hair. Alicent lifted her head toward him, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips when his palm pressed against her cheek and she leaned into it. "They may not be my sons by blood but they are by marriage. They must at least feel cared for, even if once every few moons."

Alicent pursed her lips, her big brown eyes peering up at him. "Would you travel to Dragonstone more often if they were yours?" She asked tentatively, gingerly setting the moon tea on the table and rising from her chair. He watched her, his arm encircling her waist when she grew closer, the soft fabric of her thin nightgown rubbing along his arm. "Or would you return to me as you so often do?"

(Y/N) chuckled breathily, his (E/C) eyes crinkling with amusement and his free hand rising to cup her cheek once more. He leaned in and kissed her gently, their eyes fluttering shut as they exchanged breaths. Alicent's arms slipped around his shoulders and pressed her body close to his, eager to soak up whatever she could before they'd be forced apart again by duty. The back of her hips met the side of the table and she leaned back against it, her leg lifting off the ground as her heel dug its way up his calf and thigh until she hooked her leg around his waist.

"Do not go." She asked pleadingly when they pulled apart for air, her hold on his shoulders tightening briefly when he lifted her up and set her at the edge of the table. Her fingers tugged at the laces in the front of her dress and the sleeves went slack, slipping off her shoulders and threatening to go past her elbows. "You can correspond through ravens." She told him, the pout that'd formed on her lips being kissed away.

His hand slipped beneath her nightgown, forcing it upwards until it rested around her hips. He squeezed the flesh of her thigh where fading marks resided, his lips ghosting over her throat and collarbone. "I have visited Dragonstone plenty of times, Alicent. You have never been against it before." He reminded her, his lips pressing against the valley between her chest as the dress slipped further down until it fully pooled around her hips.

Alicent's head tilted backward, her soft curls tumbling past her shoulders and grazing along the table. She braced her elbows against the smooth wood, unable to find any excuse apart from worry and a hint of jealousy but her inexplicable mind hardly allowed her to comprehend who exactly she was jealous of if tides shifted between the couple; Rhaenyra or her lover. Ser Harwin had passed some years prior and she'd heard little of Rhaenyra growing close to anyone else since then. It both filled her with dread and intrigue.

"I have been against you allowing yourself to be seen playing father to those boys. She makes a mockery of you." Alicent said breathily, her legs parting and revealing herself as bare as the previous night when she'd gone to him in hopes of convincing him to remain in Dragonstone. It'd been a fruitless yet enjoyable attempt.

"She makes a mockery of herself and her father." (Y/N) rebutted swiftly, his hands briefly leaving her thighs to unbutton his loose pants.

A shuddering breath escaped Alicent when she felt him push inside, the act so familiar yet it still felt unknown to her. Viserys had never cared for her comfort or pleasure during acts of 'passion', only chasing his own pleasure whilst her mind drifted elsewhere. But in the arms of a lover who truly desired her, everything felt different. Every touch felt electrifying, every kiss left butterflies behind, and every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure up her spin. She remained mindful of the early hour in the morrow; many courtiers and servants had the habit of rising with the sun and traveling through the halls of the castle.

Her arm curled around his neck when he buried his face into the nape of hers, her other hand digging into the fabric of his shoulder and crinkling it as her nails pressed through to his skin. Quiet and soft pants, sighs, and moans escaped her parted lips, her teeth digging into her lip whenever her voice edged toward a louder volume that would alert those passing by the doors to her bedchambers. She'd already instructed her trusted handmaiden to send away those who wished an audience but she'd hardly be a match for anyone alerted by the noise.

Alicent's hand slapped down on the table, curling her fingers around the edge to stabilize herself and the creaking furniture. Part of her felt guilty for engaging in the sinful act of laying with another while bound by the vows of marriage; guilty for betraying the lingering love she held for Rhaenyra and the trust the kingdom had put upon her shoulders when she wed Viserys. She'd pray in the sept later in the day, asking to be absolved of her sins but the prince was too addicting to give up for Gods she found herself straying further and further away from.

Her back arched with her abrupt high and he claimed her lips before she could cry out, muffling the noise and the ones that followed when he continued. She clung onto him, and perhaps clung to the idea he'd be tempted to remain at her side as well, the air escaping her lungs and legs caging around him in a tight hold. Her mind grew clouded from the pleasure and near overstimulation, filling her head with thoughts of carrying his child and finally giving him a proper heir to Runestone, but she would not sully him with another bastard as Rhaenyra had. Perhaps in another time, her children would've been his and they would've been happier far from the suffocating walls of the Keep.

She thought of that life often, and it plagued her when she watched his dragon disappear over the vast sea while the horrid taste of the moon tea danced on her tongue.

Despite having her darling sons to keep her company and the occasional visits from her uncle and young cousins.. nothing ever changed the heart-aching loneliness that'd clawed its way into Rhaenyra's chest following the Year of the Red Spring. She'd lost the three people closest to her, the few who knew her secrets and worries. It pained her to know she'd never feel Harwin's warm embrace or hear Laena's mischievous laughter or watch the way Laenor's eyes sparkled when he spoke of his lover. She had few friends in the Keep and even fewer on the isolated island of Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around herself, the sleeves of her dress providing little warmth against the natural chill of Dragonstone from the sea breeze. She strode down the halls in contemplation, although she likely appeared more like a lost ghost forever forced to wander. The letter that'd arrived the previous day had been short and with little details but it'd been from her husband informing her of his arrival to visit 'the boys'.

Her lips quirked and she sighed through her nose. 'The boys', always 'the boys' or 'your sons but never 'our sons' despite the fact he was the only father they'd ever known. Harwin had been forced to play the part of a friendly uncle figure, forced to watch his children scurry to the feet of a man who treated them with polite affection over genuine love. Rhaenyra hardly found blame within herself. He'd left her alone in the Keep after their wedding, and it'd only been through a letter begging him to return that he'd begrudgingly flown back to see her. The irritation on his face when she explained her newfound predicament- the possibility of being pregnant- had nearly enraged her but he agreed to pretend as if the boys had inherited their brown hair and softer features from his late mother.

Her attention tugged away from her thoughts and onto the long shadow along the floor peeking out from the balcony, her step quickening slightly to have a peek at the person standing there. She smiled immediately upon seeing Luke with his arms braced against the stone railing and his head tilted toward the clouds in the direction of King's Landing, a bright sparkle in his vibrant eyes. She approached him, settling her hands over his shoulders as she pecked the back of his head.

"Will you ask him, Mother?" Luke questioned, pressing himself further against the railing as he combed the clouds for any sign of (Y/N) or his dragon.

"If you can travel with him to Runestone?" Rhaenyra chuckled at the barely contained excitement in his voice despite the ache and tug at her heartstrings. The mere thought of parting with her sweet boy filled her with longing, and they'd yet to even ask (Y/N) if it'd be alright. "I will ask him, Luke. I am certain he'll be more than pleased to show you Runestone and its many ports. You must pay close attention. You will rule it someday."

Luke grimaced at that. "Wouldn't that mean Father has died?" His head turned to peer up at her with those big striking eyes of his; eyes she'd never be able to deny, now more than ever when they reminded her of the shade of Harwin's.

"Oh, my darling," Rhaenyra cooed, running her fingers through his soft curls. "Ruling does not always entail someone has died. Does Princess Rhaenys not rule Driftmark as her husband's regent while he recovers from his injury? If your... father were to fall ill or sustain an injury that confines him to his bed and you are of age, you would rule in his steed with the help of your great-uncle. You would rule if I were to fall ill and your father had to rule as regent in King's Landing."

Her words seemed to ease Luke, his hair flopping lightly against his forehead when he nodded and his lips tugging into that smile of his that could brighten the dullest of days. They both turned toward the skies when a deepened screech echoed through the quiet afternoon air and they watched a large figure descend from the clouds and skim the water with its wings. Suvion released another cry when he drew closer, one that seemingly roused his mother and son. In the distance, Rhaenyra faintly made out Silverwing and Arrax's cries in response.

"Father!" Luke leaped away and hurried into the hallway, his feet slapping against the stone floor as he raced toward the entrance leading into Dragonmont.

Taking a deep inhale, Rhaenyra released it in a sigh and followed after her son, hands clutching the deep red of her skirts and lifting the ends to quicken her pace. She couldn't help but chuckle at Luke's excitement despite the way her heart twisted at the knowledge he'd never have a chance to be excited over his real father. She caught Luke taking Joffery's small hand in his and tugging him further into the entrance of the cave system where (Y/N) would dismount, and found Jace lingering with twisted lips and sullen eyes.

"Jace," She called softly, releasing her skirts to place her hand on his arm. "Are you not excited to greet your father?"

"Is he excited to see us?" Jace asked glumly and Rhaenyra winced. "He has resided in King's Landing for days and has not spared us a single visit in moons. Must he make it any more obvious that we are of little importance to him?"

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Jace stalked inside, ever the polite one even in his disappointment and anger. She sighed once more and followed him inside, squinting through the light pouring into the cave from the opening on the side and blinking until her eyes adjusted. (Y/N) climbed off Suvion and cooed quietly to his dragon as he slipped his gloves off, handing them to the nearby servant. Suvion chirped softly and dipped down, disappearing into one of the many tunnels within Dragonmont.

Luke stopped a few feet away from him and dipped his head in respect before releasing Joffery's hand and lunging himself forward. He swung his arms around (Y/N)'s waist and pressed his cheek into his chest, a gleeful smile on his face. Little Joffery clumsily bowed as well and shuffled forward to cling onto (Y/N)'s leg. (Y/N) chuckled at their affection and patted Luke's head, murmuring some words Rhaenyra couldn't hear and leaning down to take Joffery into his arms.

"Husband," Rhaenyra greeted when he approached, the word still foreign on her tongue despite the many years since their wedding. She hoped to remedy that for the sake of her sons and before loneliness could consume her whole.

"Rhaenyra," (Y/N) nodded, his brows twitching at the use of his martial title but his face smoothed over into a polite smile when he turned to Jace and offered him Joffery. Rhaenyra felt thankful, in a way, that the years he'd spent attached to her father's hip had eased him into a calmer man. She feared what would have become of him if he'd only been raised by Daemon.

Gingerly taking his little brother, Jace bowed his head, his lips pulled into a thin line. "My Prince." He greeted and Rhaenyra hoped her sharp inhale had gone unnoticed by her younger sons. "I hope your flight was well."

"It was, though I am in need of a bath and some rest." (Y/N) told them, his hand brushing over Luke's head one last time before he slipped past them and began heading toward the castle. "I'll see you at supper." He called over his shoulder.

Rhaenyra bit her inner cheek and spared her children a glance, her legs turning and catching up with her husband. She caught his arm and slipped hers around it, glancing over her shoulder at her boys. "Your belongings in the Sea Dragon Tower have been moved to my bedchambers." She told him quietly.

"And why so?"

"Because you are my husband." Rhaenyra scoffed. "Is that not reason enough? Must I get on my knees and beg for my husband to sleep in the same room as me?"

"You only wish to sleep in the same room as me when you are pregnant with another man's child, Rhaenyra. You ought to learn to ask for moon tea when you sleep with a lover. You've already doomed your two eldest." (Y/N) tugged his arm free from her hold, his lip curled slightly in irritation. "What is it now?"

"It is as I said. It is truly so absurd to desire time with the man I married or do you detest the idea so much you'd rather humiliate me by refusing?" Rhaenyra questioned, her voice rising in volume and eyes fiery as they both stalked toward her bedchambers. Servants clumsily bowed and stepped out of the way from them, their eyes wide with exchanged glances. "When will you grace us with an inch of maturity, I wonder, or will you forever act as a scorned child? It was your father whose ambition and loose tongue stripped him of his title as heir!"

"It is amusing to hear you speak of maturity, Rhaenyra; it is like a jester speaking of dignity." (Y/N) spat back.

The doors to her apartments were opened hastily by the guard and swiftly shut behind them. (Y/N)'s strides were broken when he took a moment to observe his surroundings, only moving once he noticed the pitcher full of wine and filled a cup to the brim. Rhaenyra watched him drink from it, her chest heaving from her annoyance. She took a deep breath in hopes of calming herself and felt the emotion ease down whilst he rid himself of his riding clothes.

"We recently learned of your long stay in King's Landing. They will question you as to why you have not come sooner... and I would like to know the answer, too. I know my father's health has been steadily worsening through the years but I doubt you are of any help to the maesters dedicated to ensuring he heals." Rhaenyra approached him from behind, her hands resting upon his shoulders and helping slip the undershirt off his body. She let it drop onto the pile of clothing on the floor and inched closer, the palms of her hands running along his warm skin. She felt a subtle small bump, her brows furrowing as she traced it and quickly recognized it as fading scratch marks. She stilled. "Unless there are other reasons for your visits..."

He only exhaled through his nose and remained silent. Rhaenyra staggered backward at his lack of response, her widening eyes watching him shed the last of his clothing and step into the warm water within the tub. Her mind flickered through the various courtiers she recalled resided in the Keep prior to her departure to Dragonstone.

It was hypocritical, she knew, to grow so uneasy at the thought of him with another. He'd been indifferent to the years Harwin spent at her side and while she'd always wondered if he'd taken a lover of his own, she always believed it'd be someone from one of the lesser houses in the Vale over someone just a ride away. There were many beautiful ladies residing in the Keep but as always, Rhaenyra's mind lingered on her old friend.

"I suspected the reason you never cared for Harwin was because you had your own lover waiting in Runestone... yet now I am led to believe that lover calls King's Landing home. What would Queen Alicent say, I wonder, if she grew to learn of your doings beneath her nose and watchful eyes? She's always been so righteous... I am certain even with the animosity between us, she'd ask of you to return to your wife." Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, watching him as he cleaned himself. "Who is it? You knew of mine, I wish to know of yours."

"I find it hard to understand you, Rhaenyra." He muttered. "You always pined for freedom and adventure yet accepted the title of heir; you defended your inheritance yet fled the Keep because of mere court gossip; you never longed for children yet allowed the seed of Breakbones to sprout life three times; you never desired this marriage yet now wish to keep me close after years. Who I lay with is of little interest to you when any other man would have found grounds for a divorce all those years ago."

"You never gave us a chance or have you forgotten you climbed atop Suvion the morrow after our wedding and abandoned me to be in Runestone?" A hot flash of anger jolted through her body, her fingers curling into fits. She often thought of that morning, of rising after a night of angry passion only to discover her new husband had left without a word. It'd been the only time they'd properly been with one another and she'd been left wondering if she'd disappointed him enough for him to believe the marriage was merely an inconvenience.

"Would you have rather I missed the funeral of my mother?" (Y/N) shot her a glare over his shoulder and tossed aside the sponge, satisfied with his bath and rising to dry himself.

Rhaenyra's swift anger stilled, unable to stop her eyes from wandering. It'd been long since she'd last seen him fully undressed, and even then the memories of their only time together were a whirlwind. He'd always been a fine-looking prince, especially in his youth when he still carried the air of youthful arrogance befitting of a prince. He'd certainly grown into a handsome man, one with mixtures of Targaryen and Royce features that melted together perfectly.

Rhaenyra forced herself to swallow the spiteful words ready on her tongue and she turned, retrieving a maroon-colored robe with golden designs and approaching him. He eyed her but nonetheless allowed her to help him dress. "I would have rather you spoken to me. I may have been.. reckless and rebellious in my youth but I would not have refused to accompany you. I could have been convinced into waiting for your return but you made your opinion clear. Did you truly never long for a wife all those lonely years in Runestone? Did you never long for.. what could have been?"

"We were children, Rhaenyra. I was a child forced into an abrupt marriage and then forced to deal with the passing of my mother while my family spoke of their suspicion of my father killing her. I had little time to think of a wife who disliked me when I had to learn to rule Runestone and sedate the thirst for revenge in my family. Perhaps these past few years I've thought of having true children that are mine but we've made our beds, Rhaenyra. What's done is done."

"You speak as if I am not still your wife." Rhaenyra released a huff of amusement, her hand smoothing over the front of the robe and feeling the soft fabric. Her fingers dipped beneath the robes and roamed until her thumb brushed over the trail of hair leading further down. He made a noise in the back of his throat but when he did nothing to push her away, Rhaenyra found victory. "I am still of childbearing age, (Y/N). I too have longed for a babe in recent times. I've desired a girl for much time now that Jace and Luke will soon be man-grown and beginning their own families."

(Y/N)'s eyes jumped away from her, his brows slightly dipping together and jaw subtly ticking. She wondered if he thought of his lover and how she would react to the news, and Rhaenyra felt a hint of satisfaction despite the curiosity swirling around her chest. She wanted a name and a face to put to the woman who'd likely cloud her mind for the rest of her life. It'd always been expected of ladies to tolerate the mistresses of their husbands but Rhaenyra could hardly see herself allowing such a thing

"I am certain this is the very reason my lover did not wish for me to come here." (Y/N) sighed and Rhaenyra blinked at him, unable to comprehend why then he'd flown to Dragonstone if the person he did care about asked of him otherwise. Her heart fluttered at the possibilities.

She pressed her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, bringing her lips over his and sighing in relief as their lips moved together. "She will have to understand and bring herself to forgive," Rhaenyra said, already breathless and eager. It'd been so, so long since she'd last felt the touch of another.

He grunted into her mouth when her fingers curled around him and pumped him slowly, delighting in the feeling of him fully hardening against her hand. She'd always been a lustful creature, she supposed, always hungering for the feeling of pleasure and power over someone else in such intimate acts.

(Y/N) had always been someone out of reach, both literally and figuratively, so having him shuddering against her and grazing his tongue against hers only fueled her desire. Rhaenyra savored each grunt, hiss, and needy kiss as she stroked him, running her fingers along the slit and coating her skin.

Her dress loosened when he undid the laces at the back of her gown with expertise. She relished the quiet, muffled huff that left him when she retracted her hand to peel the sleeves off her arms and allow the dress to slump down at their feet with her undergarments quickly following. He leaned back to observe her, his eyes taking in the newfound curves of her body she'd obtained from age and multiple pregnancies. Much of the weight from bearing children had remained, remolding her body into something new and far from the girl he'd consummated his marriage with.

Rhaenyra grinned at the flicker of hunger in his eyes before the grin vanished with a gasp as he latched onto her neck and pulled her closer. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around him, quiet sighs and gasps leaving her with each nip and suckle at her throat. They stumbled back toward the bed and Rhaenyra pushed at his shoulders until he sat at the edge, parting briefly with each other before she settled on his lap.

Cradling his face in her hands, she pressed another kiss to his lips. "Today and every day til I am with child, you are mine and mine alone."

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 9 months

Text

The Wind That Pulls Back the Tide

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Status: In-progress (1/?)

Tags:

Summary: Tintin as the god of the wind believes he’s finally deserving of his independence from Mother Nature. However, after a small mishap, Tintin has set in motion a series of events that could exploit another god’s plot to rule the mortal realm, and he’ll need the help of the mysterious god of the sea if he’s to save the day.

Credit for the Tintin and Haddock pic in the header goes to @dimdiamond

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

New Chapter: Chapter 2- Meeting of the Gods

The outline of land finally began to stand out against the large expanse of blue. Gods’ meetings had been held in many various so-called ‘neutral’ locations as sometimes it was impossible to be neutral to everyone. Tintin wished several times he had been alive to go to the meeting in Pompeii before it’s eruption, or even see the wonder of Atlantis before it had sank below the sea. Instead, nowadays gods’ meetings took place in an office building in Brussels, Belgium.

Dipping the current he was riding, Tintin jumped and landed on the roof allowing himself and Chang to appear in their mortal form with Snowy nipping right at their heels.

“You know I was thinking about it, Tintin. Maybe we’re not in as much trouble as we think we are. I’m sure they’ve gotten the cargo ship sorted out by this point!” Chang stated as they rode the elevator down to the right floor.

They stepped out into the large lecture-style conference hall with every large screen TV blaring the same story.

“And the Karaboudjan still remains trapped, blocking one of the largest canals in the world. To make the story even more devastating, the people of the region who have come to rely on the river’s waters, will not have access until the ship is moved and the dam holding back the river is released. With more insight into the bizarre wind storm that caused this atrocity, we have Professor Cuthbert Calculus on the phone from where he is doing data research in the area. Tell us Professor…”

As soon as they fully entered the room, Chang and Tintin became the center of attention with various stages of dismay and sneers.

“You know, or probably not.” Chang muttered to himself.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's wips #the adventures of tintin #haddotin #the wind that pulls back the tide #gods au #new chapter!#mostly worldbuilding

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princessbrunette · 2 months

Text

if i may revisit the roadtrip au with jj x reader x john b…

you feel totally content.

with a belly full of icecream, your skin warm with the glitter hibiscus temporary tattoo flaking off your arm from natures gentle exfoliation made of sand, and the sparkling blue abyss that was the ocean— you wondered why the three of you didn’t just live like this.

overheated and lethargic, you drag your boyfriends to the cool water, immersing yourself to the shoulders with a wince before squealing as john b grabs you closer with a splash, easing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

you relax against his hot body in the water, gloopy eyelashes fluttering shut as you rest your cheek to his shoulder, listening to the sound of the tide crashing against the shore and jj splashing about not too far from you, catching up to the two of you.

“you happy?” john b hums, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“love you.” it comes muffled against his toned, tanned skin— and you feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle.

“so, i take that as a yes.”

two cold hands slide around your waist and you squirm against john b— now in hindsight perhaps grinding up against him a little too much, because the feeling of being touched from both sides had somehow trained your body in a pavlovian manner to feel arousal each time.

“y’know once upon a time i would’a saw this kinda PDA at the beach and been like… ew, gross.” jj mutters with a smirk, hands massaging your ass cheeks beneath the water.

“theres like, no one here dude.” john b shrugs, raising his eyebrows when he feels you trying to grind back against jj. “oh, uh — easy tiger. might not be many people around but we’re still in public. remember that talk we had?” his deep rumbly voice reprimanding you does nothing to soothe the growing need for the two of them.

“no one can see.” you mewl in complain, the water splashing a little as you try and hump him beneath the water.

“i’on know, pooch. s’a little undignified, even for you.” jj cares less, but wants to tease you about it nonetheless as his frayed blonde hair tickles your neck, his lips brushing your ear. “got ourselves a lil sandwich action right now.”

“please…” you huff, and you feel john b crane his head around to check the perimeter.

“look— i saw a guy over there like five minutes ago. who’s to say he’s not gonna return and report us to like… the ocean… police, or something.” the brunette stresses, but with the crease between his eyebrows he only looks more and more handsome — with big brown eyes that catch in the sunlight and practically glow orange, and wet curls falling perfectly around his face.

“why you actin’ like you’re scared of the cops all of a sudden? besides didn’t you just say there’s like no one here?” jj scoffs out a laugh, hands that were groping your ass now moved more central— a middle finger rubbing somewhat soothing circles around your asshole through your bikini bottoms. you groan against john b’s shoulder, on the verge of tears.

“please johm’bee, can just pull ‘em to the side. no one has to know!” you whimper, bucking against him and he audibly sighs. how can he resist when you’re talking like that? as if reading his mind, jj speaks up with a know-it-all tick of his head.

“cant say no t’that, right?”

next, you feel a set of thick fingers yanking your bikini bottoms to the side.

“and when we’re done here, we’re gonna talk about self discipline.” john b lectures, sliding his fingers through your folds experimentally — but you can tell he doesn’t really mind.

#jj x reader x john b #puppy!reader

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satorusugurugurl · 3 months

Note

Could I request JJK men helping you masturbate? More specifically, it's late at night and reader masturbates, they wake up but are too tired to actually do anything so they just whisper in ur ear or just guide the toy with their hand 😇 Modern AU with Nanami, Gojo, Geto, and Sukuna if possible, thank you sm I love ur writing it gets me GOING everytime you post teehee!! 🩷😁‼️

Guide You

Summary: A modern!au when during a late night solo session gets spicy as JJK men help you get off. 🥴

Characters: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ryomen Sukuna, AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,492

Warning: Spicy, smutty stuff, masturbation, toy use, praising, language

A/N: Hi Nonnie! Thanks for the request! I hope you enjoyed it! I hope it wasn't too repetitive I kinda struggled for a bit in a couple of places! 🥲 but I loooove you thank you!! 💚💚💚

Nanami Kento:

Your husband was the best pediatric ortho doctor in the city, which came with its positives and negatives. He was paid well, loved what he did, and was able to spoil you. Rotten with gifts and luxurious trips. The downside was the hours and overtime he hated to put in and the fact that you rarely got to see you some nights.

This was one of those challenging weeks while he was on call because it seemed like every child in the city decided this was the week to break their bones. By the time his week was finally over, your poor husband was exhausted, mentally and physically

You lay in bed, gently stroking his snored into his pillow. His features were finally relaxed as he dreamed peacefully next to you. You loved seeing him relaxing, with a gentle look on his face as he finally got the rest he deserved. The poor guy was tuckered out, and when he got home, he promised to make up for the long week to you this weekend with his mouth and his cock

And you were desperate to have him

You both made several attempts this week to have a quickie in the morning, the kitchen, and the car ride to work, but each attempt was interrupted. It was like the worst kind of edging. When Nanami had gotten home tonight, you had the full intention of riding him until he passed out, but the moment you saw how tired he was, you decided your pleasure could wait until he was well rested.

That’s what you kept telling yourself: to not jump his bones, you could wait. You weren’t some Horndog that needed to be consistently fucked within an inch of her life. You could function as a normal human. Telling yourself that helped for a second before thoughts of pushing you against any surface and having his way with you had your short soaked and your pussy throbbing

Maybe you weren’t too strong

Squeeze your thighs together, rubbing some relief, but it was suddenly too hot, and your brain was buzzing too loudly at one in the morning. You needed to get off, but you didn’t want to wake your exhausted husband, which meant you needed the hell of your trusty wand vibrator

You pulled the blue toy out of your nightstand before slipping under the sheets. An orgasm would be enough to tide you over for the night. Tugging your shorts down your hips, pulling them around your thighs, you press the tip of the wand against your clit, turning it on the lowest setting. The buzzing vibrations had you moaning softly, tilting your head back against your pillow.

The simmering desire between your legs began to increase to a boil, fire, throbbing, making your legs twitch and tremble as your eyes tight, imagining being the one to touch you, bringing you this delicious pleasure that was burning hot. You pictured him slotted between your legs, tongue torturing the little bundle of nerves, while honey-brown eyes stared into yours, eagerly eating you out and driving you towards release. That image of your husband had you turning the speed to the toy up. The buzzing grew louder as you chewed on your bottom lip to hold back the moans, trying to

While you did your best to keep your moans silent with the sound of the vibrator muffled by the sheets, it was the squirming of your legs that caused your husband to stir next to you. Nanami hummed his eyes, opening them just in time to watch your mouth fall into an ‘O’ shape while your eyes shut tight. He blinks lazily, trailing down the curves of your trembling body, listening to the soft humming buzz of your favorite toy

His poor wife must be pent up. As much as he would like to roll over and fuck you into the mattress, he was too tired. He might not be able to fuck you, but he could still offering and helping hand.

You were in your fantasy that you didn’t realize Kento was right next to your ear. His breath flushed over your cheeks, his lips pressing against it. Feeling his warmth next to you and his lips on your skin, the smell of his body wash had you whimpering as you spread your leg

“Mm, that’s it, baby. Does that feel good?” Nanami whispers in your ear. “You’re trembling, and it must feel good.”

“It feels really good, Kento, so good.” Your leg shakes more as he buries his face in your neck, kissing it gently fuck

“Turn it up higher. Don’t tease yourself like that.” As Nanami’s hand wraps around the wand, he presses one of the buttons, increasing the speed to a higher setting. “You’ve been such a good girl. You deserve to cum.”

Your hips buck forward as your left-hand grips the sheets. You could feel the burning fire growing hotter and hotter between your legs, spreading down to the tips of your toes to your abdomen, where the kindling flames grow hotter. A coil tightened. You were so close, and Nanami was sleep-deprived, could tell. He turned the speed up higher with a moan, grinning against your skin as you inhaled sharply, legs clamping together as you gripped his forearm with your hand.

“Oh-Kento! Oooh fuck~ fuck I’m gonna cum! !”

“That’s right, let it go cum for me.”

“Nnngh!” Nails dug into his skin as waves of pleasure washed over you. “Oh my god! Oh my god, c-cumming~!.” Your husband chuckled, his breath warming the skin on your face as you both worked yourself down from the intense orgasm.

“Pent up, darling?”

You hum, nodding as you pull the toy away, turning it off before putting the wand on your nightstand with a pleased sigh. “Yeah, I’m sorry I woke you up.” Large, calloused hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his body.

“No, you’re fine. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help out more.”

“That was hot enough to tide me over until you get some well-deserved rest.”

Nanami’s lips press against yours in a kiss as he shuts his eyes. “Then you better get some sleep. I have a week to make up for, so you’ll need all the rest you can get.” The promise of him ruining almost how you want, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat had you falling asleep with him in your arms.

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo Satoru, your boyfriend, was well known for his company, Six Eyes. A game developing company that produced some of the best video games of the era, making your rich boyfriend even richer. Gojo was constantly whisking you away on spontaneous trips. If you saw some new viral dessert in Canada, you both were off to try it. If you were stressed, no worries; a weekend in Fiji would fix that.

While his job paid exceptionally well and was stable, he also went on many business trips. The Jet Lag was real, but your boyfriend made it a point to try to readjust his sleep schedule whenever he got home, which sometimes meant he’d stay up close to twenty-four hours to do just that. Some nights when he got home, like today, he had been up so long that he was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow.

You didn’t mind. Just sleeping next to Satoru, wrapped in his arms, made up for the two weeks he was away. But being wrapped in his arms like you were right now also had downsides. His breath was hot against your neck as his chin rubbed that sweet spot where your shoulder connected to your neck, and his leg was firmly pressed against your sex.

God, you were so horny you felt like your whole body was on fire. There was no way you could fall asleep like this wet and needy. It would be awesome if your boyfriend was up and able to help you with your situation. But the rumbling of his snores clued you in that there was no hope for two A.M. quickies.

Taking matters into your own hands, you crawled out of his koala grip, reaching into your nightstand and pulling out your g-spot vibrator. God, you were so wet you didn’t even need lube. All you needed to do was rub the toy up and down over your folds before dipping the tip inside of you. You hissed out in pleasure before pushing the toy deeper inside of the tip, pressed firmly against that sensitive, spongy spot inside of you, the one that made you squirm. With a whimper, you turned it on and began thrusting it in and out of your tight pussy.

It felt so good, and it made your body burn hotter. The familiar coil in your abdomen began twitching to life. You hummed, rocking your head forward as you laid on your side gently, thrusting in and out of you faster, working yourself up to release, but you ran into the same problem you always did with a toy like this.

It got too intense.

You’d feel yourself getting close; your legs would clamp down together, making it nearly impossible for you to move the toy when you were trying to rub circles around your twitching clit. You would struggle to keep the rhythm pace and ultimately end up edging yourself endlessly.

“Fuck!” A harsh whisper sounded as you felt your orgasm slipping away again, your legs clamping together tighter. “Come on.” You were so close you could almost cry. The sweet release was just within your grasp and kept slipping away.

Biting down on your bottom lip, watching your trembling legs try to clamp together for the third time, making it almost impossible for you to move the toy in and out. If your vibrator were charging, this would have been much easier to do. But alas, your toy was dead, meaning you had to use your fingers while trying to thrust your toy in and out of you, feeling your orgasm for the third time. You were about to give up when an ivory hand reached between your legs, finding your clit with ease.

“H-Haaah, Satoru!” you gasped out as the warmth of his body snuggled closer against your side.

Gojo had been dreaming when you cried out in frustration, his eyes open, finding you struggling to reach that sweet release. He lay there momentarily, eyes still heavy as he debated oncoming to sleep when your voice broke. You sounded like you were going to cry and not in the way. So, fighting against the drowsiness, he inched closer to you, deciding to give you a helping hand.

The sharp circles you loved around your click while he forced his knee between your legs, forcing them to stay open, giving you the chance to fuck the toy faster into your heat. The stress and struggle on you were lifted as Toru rubbed his chin over that sweet spot on your shoulder before he trailed kisses down your neck.

“I got you.” his voice was thick sleep. “I got you; you can relax, sweetheart; you can cum~”

“T-Toru—” you whine out your hand, moving faster. “Satoru!”

Your boyfriend is leaning over your body, watching you drive closer to release. “That a girl~ don’t it up, don't stop.”

“B-But—”

“Shh~ relax, baby.” Gojo’s other hand reached under your body, his hand wrapping around yours that was thrusting the toy. “Keep moving like this, just like I do with my cock. You like it when I do that, right? When I that tight little cunt?” his lips brush over your shoulder as he moves the toy at a faster speed.

Your head tilts back as you feel the coil in your abdomen tightening.” C-Close—!” you whisper, eyes rolling back into your school as you beat up.

“Yeah? Does that feel good, sweetheart? You gonna cum?” His husky breathes as you nod. “Good girlfriend, that’s it. I can feel your leg shaking. You’re gonna cum so hard.”

“T-Toru!”

“Yeah, yeah, baby, good girl, such a good girl~!” Satoru causes your body to convulse as your breathing catches in your throat. “Mhmm fuck!”

Your pulse was racing, causing both you and Satoru’s hand to still as you cum. Waves of pleasure send you rocking back against him the entire time you cry and shake, littering your shoulder with kisses until you gently pull the toy out with a satisfied cry. His hand rests over your hip, gently holding you as you toss the toy to the foot of the bed. There was always time to clean it later; you were afraid if you tried to get up on wobbly legs, you would most likely collapse on the floor.

Opting out of leaving the bed, you roll over to face Satoru. His eyes are heavy as he looks at you through white, luscious lashes with a gentle smile. Grabbing Satoru’s handsome face with your hands, you kiss him deeply, making him hum happily as he lazily kisses you back before you pull away.

“Thank you, Toru.”

“Mhmm~” his eyes finally shut as he rubs his face into the pillow before squeezing you closer to his body. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Satoru. Get some rest, honey.” Before those words leave your mouth, your boyfriend snores softly against the pillow with a gentle smile.

Geto Suguru:

The problem with dating an EMT was the fluctuating hours. Some weeks, you and Suguru worked the same hours on the same days, while others had him on the night shift. This week had been nothing by the night shift. You couldn't complain, though. At least he would have the next four days off to spend with you. You could go out on dates, fuck each other, and he could rest, catching up on the sleep he had been deprived of. You both usually did that, but tonight, there was a problem.

You were currently ovulating and unbearably horny.

Suguru had worked his ass off this week, having been on calls nonstop for the entirety of his 12-hour shift. Usually, he’d be raring to go, needing to take his frustrations out on you, but today has been hard, rough call after call. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes as a kid tissues off and made it straight to the bathroom to take a hot shower, but we’re probably passing out face first in bed.

You lay down next to him, pressing your lips together as you stared at his sleeping face. His hair fell over his eyes, and he hugged his pillow tight as his sweats hung low on his hips. One leg was underneath the sheets, while the other was bent near his chest. How was it legal for him to be this fucking hot. That wasn’t even the hormones talking. That was a straight fact.

The hormones were telling you to breed you until you cried. But Suguru’s pale skin in the dark circles under his eyes prevented you from waking him. Waking him up to satisfy your needs was cruel when you were perfectly capable of satisfying yourself.

As long as you could see his handsome face and his breath, it would be to keep you in the moment. He was out so hard he wouldn’t see you staring at him like you were some pervert while you got yourself off lying on your side facing him; you bit back a moan as you rubbed your favorite flexor toy over your opening before sliding it inside of you with a shiver

The toy was pressed firmly against your g-spot and clit. When turned on, it would flex, mimicking fingers moving inside of you. It was your favorite toy, one your boyfriend had bought specifically for you, which made this even hotter. Small whimpers left your mouth as your eyes focused on Suguru, who slept soundly across from you.

Doing something like this, masturbating in front of him without him, knowing had your walls twitching in pleasure

“Haaah—” wind, one hand, gripping the pillow behind your head while the other grasped at the sheets. The curling motion and vibrations made you wetter than you already were, which seemed almost impossible. Your arousal seeped out of you, coating your folds, thighs, and your favorite pink toy buried inside you, and the pleasure of doing it in front of your handsome boyfriend without his knowledge had you squirming, resulting in the toy slipping out of you.

“H-Huh?” The feeling of the vibrations against that spongy spot inside of you vanished. “What the?” reaching down, you pushed it back in place, but your wet walls had it slipping out again. “Y-You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You repeated the same process, pushing the toy inside, but it continued slipping out, turning your very steamy solo session into a much more frustrating scenario. It was hard to get into the moment when you were constantly having to push your favorite toy back inside of you. You finally reached down, holding it firmly in place with one hand. So you could handle the situation. Before you could lose yourself in the pleasure, you glanced back up to admire your boyfriend, only to meet his dark gaze, watching you with a lazy grin.

“S-Sugu!”

“Oh~ don't stop, please~ I love watching you get off.” he hummed with a smirk, snuggling closer into his pillow. “Could wait for the morning~ had to get out your toy?”

“Y-Yes—”

He glanced down, “Need a hand?” You can only nod as he reaches down, replacing your hand with his own. “Fuuuck~ baby, you're so fuckin’ wet.” he pushes the toy deeper inside, holding it snuggling in place.

“I-I was I-imagining you, f-fingering—nngh—” Your mouth falls agape as you watch Suguru as the vibrator flexes against your clit and g-spot perfectly. Your hips buck, and your leg trembles as you cry out softly.

“Yeah~ you always get needy for my fingers.” he gently rocks the toy black and forth, making a whimper crawl up your throat. “Does that feel like me~? Rocking my fingers against that spot?”

“Ooooh fuck S-Suguru, Sugu~”

Your boyfriend’s thumb presses the button, increasing the speed to the highest setting. “Oooh baby~ you sound so pretty, moaning my name like that.” He smirked as you grip his bicep, digging your fingers into the muscle. “You’re gonna cum~ I can tell.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Sugu, please, please, I need it!”

As much as he would like to edge you, keep this going, he was still tired. So he rocks the toy back and forth, faster and harder, drawing out the loudest moans from you. It felt so good. It felt like he was touching you while guiding a toy he had purchased for you. Your nails nearly broke the skin as you clinched your hand around his bicep, the coil in your abdomen tightening harder and harder until it finally snapped.

“I'm cumming!” screamed out legs, trembling and shaking as you gushed all over the toy. “C-Cummin’ cumming!” Subaru couldn’t help but chuckle as you arrived against the mattress; you were so sensitive, so easy to please, because he knew you like the back of his hand.

As the rippling contractions of pleasure ceased, your grip on his arm loosened before gently rubbing away the crescent moon shapes you left behind. “Feel better?” Suguru asked as he gently removed the toy from inside you.

“Yeah, it's your fault—ahh—” your words cut off as you watched your boyfriend slide his tongue slowly up the toy collecting your cum off of it. “W-What are you?!”

“A midnight snack should be enough to tie me over until I fully devour you in the morning.”

Your boyfriend nonchalantly placed the toy on his side of the nightstand before hugging his pillow and shutting his eyes as if he hadn’t just done something so sinfully hot! If it weren’t for the mere intensity of your orgasm, pulling you into dreamland, you would’ve taken him right then and there and told him to relax while you did all the work. Suguru was right; you would have to wait for a proper meal in the morning, and you would beat him to it.

Ryomen Sukuna:

Ryomen Sukuna, you’re hot, tattooed, and pierced boyfriend, was snoring next to you in bed. His right arm was in a black brace courtesy of the sofa. You had begged him to wait until you got off a call to help him move it, but he insisted that he would be fine alone. And he was until the damn thing nearly crushed his little brother Yuuji when your back was turned.

It was a hairline fracture that would quickly heal in six to eight weeks. Plus, with the hairline fracture, Sukuna could still do simple things like piercings and scheduling appointments at Geto’s tattoo shop. Your boyfriend had been lucky that he had a lot of muscles to take the blunt of the hit from the massive sofa. Your boyfriend wasn’t fortunate enough to avoid your wrath when he said he could care for himself and his brothers alone.

Hearing him say that caused you to blow a fuse. It was bad enough that he had tried to move a sofa alone! Then he dares to tell you he doesn’t need help around the house. Sukuna told you he would be fine nursing a hairline fracture while working and caring for his brothers, which caused you to tell him to shut up and stop being an asshole. That’s how you found yourself with your bags packed in the corner of his room as your ass was planted firmly in his bed while he slept off his pain meds.

He could fight you all he wanted, but you wanted to be there for him.

With a heavy side, you brush back some of your hair as you glance at the clock on the wall. The adrenaline had been pumping through your veins, keeping you wired most of the evening. You were wired after taking Sukuns to the hospital, picking up his brothers, and packing a bag to bring. Seeing that it was now one in the morning, you had a couple of choices to help with your insomnia. You could pull an all-nighter and take a nap on the day, or you could relieve the tension with an orgasm and fall asleep that way.

Having to choose between sleep, deprivation, and pleasure wasn’t a hard decision. Without any other thoughts, you reached into Sukuna’s nightstand, pulling out the vibrator he kept there for you. With that bad boy, he would be able to cum in no time. You had just laid on your back and went to turn it on the highest setting for it to do absolutely nothing. You gave it another click, finding your favorite toy dead.

“No,” you whine, leaning against the pillows. “Fuck no.” as much as you hated it, you would have to go back to the ages and get off with your hand if that was even possible.

With a soft side, you pull to the side before your swollen clit with ease. You gently began rubbing it with your forefinger and slowly teasing circles. Your toes curled as you pressed down on the bundle of nerves with a whimper. It felt good, but you weren’t sure if this would be enough for you. Your boyfriend had not only been your first for almost everything, but he has successfully ruined you for anyone else

And the smug bastard knew that, too

Rubbing your clit faster, you spread your shaking legs with a shaky sigh. Touching yourself, of course, felt good. It always did, but it wasn’t enough, whether it was the lack of callouses or how your fingers were much smaller than your boyfriend's. Or it could just be the fact that your hand wasn’t his. Those thoughts only made it harder for you to focus on the pleasure,

“Kuna,” you whispered, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes~” You were trying to mimic his fingers over your swollen bud, picturing his mouth on your tits, sucking at your nipples. “Fuck.” imaging that only increased the pleasure, making you rub yourself as fast as your fingers would allow. The pleasure only seemed to intensify, urging your hands to grab the sheets instead of continuing to get you off. “Fuuck.” They were about to slow down when Sukuna swatted your hand away and replaced it with his left one. “Haaah!”

Looking up, you found your groggy boyfriend sitting on his knees, the right hand pressed close to his chest while the other rubbed furiously at your clit. “Gotta move your fingers faster than that kitten.” his voice was deep and groggy from the sleep and the medication he was on. “You’re never gonna cum like that.” Your hands dug into the sheets and snapped your fingers faster and harder. I guess that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!”

“What? You were begging me to do so. This is what you wanted, right?” Sukuna moves his hand as fast as he can as you bite down on your bottom lip when the pleasure becomes almost too much.“Then do it, cum all over my fingers like the good kitten that you are.”

“I-Im gonna—!”

“Yeah? Gonna finally cum now that your boyfriend’s helping you out?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Yeah, your fingers aren’t as rough as mine, are they?”

“No!”

Sukuna presses down on your clit harder, rubbing circles around it. “Awe, so honest~ come on, baby cum, you deserve it for telling me the truth and helping me out today. Consider this one of the many ways I plan on repaying you,” you scream, eyes going wide as your orgasm hits you with the promise of more pleasure to come.

Your body rides and arches off the mattress as you cum all over your boyfriend’s hand. You grip the sheets, eyes clamping shut as your tights clamp around her hand. Sukuna slows his fingers down, grinning as he watches your face go from scrunched up with pleasure to a more relaxed expression. His quick circles turn into lazy strokes until, finally, your legs shakily release the vice grip on his hand.

“Mmm.” he licks his fingers clean as you fix your shorts. “You taste so sweet.”

“Mhmm,” you respond almost lazily as he pulls you into his chest. Drowsiness creeps up on you, making your eyelids heavy, and Sukuna sighs heavily. “Night, Kuna; let me know if you need anything.”

Sukuna hums in response, watching as you slowly drift off to sleep on his chest. Would asking you to move in be too much to ask? Because you were everything he needed.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

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