#the way he’s kissing and gnawing on her jawline

[admirxation]

彡 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐈𝐜𝐞 - 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨

ʚ 𝐟𝐭. 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝟐.𝟓𝐤 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — you’ve always been curious about Gojo’s blindfold, and he shares with you an experience you go crazy for.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 — 18+ heavy smut mdni, established relationship (f/m), dirty talk, teasing, edging, blindfolding, temperature play (ice), tit play, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), and creampie.

taglist (if you want to be tagged in future posts, see Taglist in pinned): @dollita-fawn @bratbby333

It began as a mere innocent musing, a casual remark sparked by curiosity. Before your relationship with Satoru became official, you often questioned his ever-present blindfold; however, as your bond grew more substantial, it became the subject of numerous playful and affectionate jests, even leading you to frequently tug at the edges of the fabric, delighting in testing his patience. After all, isn’t it one of the joys of a relationship to engage in lighthearted teasing?

However, this playful dynamic eventually led Satoru to propose an intriguing idea—something neither of you had previously explored but were excited about when you got the offer. The very suggestion of it filled you with elation and eager anticipation. He suggested giving you a taste of what it is like to wear a blindfold. Still, unlike him, you would be at a distinct disadvantage—or maybe an advantage if you looked with a different perspective—due to your lack of familiarity he had grown to be used to. You felt a sudden cluster of warmth in your core when you thought about the idea, thinking about being in complete obligation and giving every ounce of trust to him, letting him take control and take advantage of your absence of one of the most important senses. 

Right now, your bodies were pressed closely together, enveloped in a soft, toasty embrace as Satoru pressed his lips and left a warm trail of kisses on your jawline, trickling down to your neck; you heard the bed sheets ruffle as your head wriggled around, closing your eyes to the touch you craved so often, a touch that left a gnawing ache within you that begged for more. He started pulling your top off, you following suit before sliding each other’s pants off, straight after melding back into that same kiss you craved; your hands roamed through his soft hair as you closed your eyes to the sensation, your breath forming a unique pitched pattern as he left tender kisses to be moved down from your neck, along your chest, before lifting himself to reach for the cloth that would bound around your pretty eyes. 

He let out a low, breathy laugh as he watched your body language, anticipating the plan. You were more than eager to comply with whatever he asked: “Someone’s excited,” he teased as he watched your eyes follow his movement before he covered your vision. A mischievous smirk formed on his lips as he witnessed your total blindness, watching you bite your glossy lip as you tried to anticipate his next movement. 

He watched the way you continued to bite your bottom lip, the way your fingers twitched as you waited for him to make the first move; only these array of movements were becoming a catalyst to a grin that stretched along his face before securing his fingertips around the fabric of your underwear, his hardened length already growing and pressing against his boxers at the sight of pulling down the laced fabric down the plush of your soft thighs, then throwing them to the side. Your body twitched as you felt the air bathe your naked form, feeling you be exposed as your last layer of clothing was dragged down; before being able to gather another thought, you felt his hand member nestle along your inner thigh—you couldn’t help but jolt up as arousal pooled along the senses you had to work with, feeling a tingling and warm sensation as his fingers trailed along your heated core. 

“Does my girl want me to make her feel good?” oh, how he loved teasing you; that was all a part of his cocky personality, your vulnerable and oblivious state only fueled those characteristics within him as he watched how time and his slow movements were eating away at your patience, making you frustrated and beg for him to touch you already, to give you what you always craved. 

“Yes, I want it, I want you, please,” you whined as you felt your thighs tighten the moment his fingertips dragged and slid down your slit; he smirked to himself at how warm and wet you already were from just a few kisses and touches. 

“Such a desperate girl,” he playfully cooed as he heard your quiet moans hum with your lips pressed together. You held onto fistfuls of the blanket as you awaited him in his successive movements. 

He loved those sounds; seeing your pretty, squirming body underneath him and how you itched and ached for his touch just made his arousal for you so much deeper. 

“Hm, do you deserve to feel good?” he questioned as you felt his fingers hover just by your entrance, delaying his time in entering you with some final teasings. 

“Yes… Please… I’ve been so patient,” you quickly begged, leaving him to give a low chuckle to himself as he watched how desperate you were for him; that desperation only made his cock harden, and you felt it press against your thigh. 

“As you say,” he quietly complied as he slowly pushed his digits inside of you, feeling your tight walls surround them, hearing your soft and sensual moans fill the atmosphere with erotic sounds that he adored. 

He continued to pump his fingers inside you, letting you whimper and whine like the mess you were for him, your cunt getting wetter as he continued to journey his fingers inside of you, using his thumb to give your clit a cursory swirl to send you over the edge; you felt your back arch as you released a low groan that begged him to provide you with more. Filling the air with more of your neediness.

“Fuck,” you pant as you picture Satoru’s face; you feel a sense of frustration that you couldn’t see him, but also frisson pass through your body as your covered senses allowed the intermingling of imagination and feeling, allowing it to intertwine into an ached feeling of your core tightening. 

“How cute… So desperate for me,” a low tone was laced within those words as he watched your thighs shake and tremble at his touch, quickening the way he swirled his thumb around your sensitive bundle of nerves, continuing to intrude his fingers inside of your wet aching hole. It was so easy to make you gasp, to make you scream his name like an ever-fixed prayer on your tongue. 

Every fuck, Satoru, oh god, just made his need for you grow even more, the way you could only release short curses and pants out with your inability to intertwine words into formulaic language as he continued to finger fuck you in the right spot, curling his fingers along your walls, making sure you couldn’t see anything he was doing as he used his spare hand to tug down your blindfold that you were already squirming out of place. 

Afterwards, he decided to treat your desperation, making you release a high-pitched pornographic moan as you felt him lick a strip of your pussy before he circled his tongue along your sensitive spot, sucking hungrily on your clit as he continued to fill your hole with his fingers, adding a third digit, stretching your tight pussy out to accommodate for his later activity with you. 

“Be a good girl and hold still… You want to feel good, right?” he quickly uttered as his fingertips pressed into your thighs. You continued to move and wriggle in reaction to your overwhelming feelings as he touched you in all the right places—as he always did. 

Your heartbeat quickened, feeling it pound and bang within the chamber of your chest, a pit in your stomach forming as you thought yourself about to let go, feeling a sensation of orgasm and release about to erupt the more he played with you; feeling his actions, hearing those words, letting your imagination fill in the gaps were only helping to carry you into the motions and let you chase your high.

He could catch onto this; you two had been dating for a while, and he knew your body language well, almost too well; he latched onto your quickened breathing patterns, knowing your moans became more frequent and craved when you were close to your limit, with that knowledge, he taunted you by moving his fingers and tongue away, a low toned laugh erupting from him as he watched your disappointment, watching you move your head around as you scrunched your nose up from him leaving you without your high. 

“Satoru… Why did you stop? Please… I wanna… I want to…” 

“Come on, get the words out,” he teased you gently. “You don’t need me to finish your sentence, sweetheart; you can do that yourself…” He knew how good he was at making you melt with just a few words. 

“I want to feel you again… Don’t stop,” you muttered. 

You heard the sound of fabric drop to the floor, feeling his hardened cock press against your folds, feeling his warm tip already spilling in precum from just touching and tasting you; he was ready to feel you but loved to indulge in hearing your pleas as his eyes continued to fawn over your body, leaving your form under scrutiny and his control. 

He pressed his fingers at the base of his shaft as he pushed the head to smooth alongside your wet folds. 

“Please, please, please… I need it so much,” you continued to beg as you felt him press himself in only a little. Having absolutely no self-respect as you continued to rely on his touch to make it all right. You felt his heat against your entrance as you bit your lip in waiting, a vision of darkness making your core continue to tighten as you were in a perpetual state of oblivion and imagination; he glanced up at you before pushing himself inside of you, his body shuddering as he felt your tight, needy, walls envelop him, drawing out a low and sensual groan that made his head kick back momentarily. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, “You feel… so… so good,” he growled as he continued to push himself inside of you; he could feel you grab onto his forearms and cry out for him as he filled that needy slot that ached for him, his thick length stretching you out and bashing against your bruised cervix, his hard and quick movements hitting all the right spots. 

You whimper under his touch as your hands continue to squeeze and press tightly around his arms. 

“You’re doing so well; you can take it, all of it,” you felt his warm breath lay on the shell of your ear as you heard him whisper as he continued to pound into you, “Take it for me like you always do, like you always want to,” he continued to buck his hips deeper and deeper, the sound of his skin slapping against yours as his movements continued to pull whines and whimpers from both of your mouths, the atmosphere’s sound full of desperation and neediness for one another. 

Your legs winded around Satoru’s waist, your body bouncing against his cock, kicking your head back and looking into the darkened vision as you felt his large erection thrust against your tightened walls to your limit, his hand smoothing over your breasts and torso as he watched your vulnerable frame take everything he gave to you. 

He groaned as his hands instantly jumped to reach and fondle your breasts, using his knees underneath your thighs to arch your back even further to fuck you deeper, flicking your nipple simultaneously with his thumb and index finger rolling the hardened bud as he rhythmically made you his with his moving hips. 

You inhaled sharply, feeling the heavy presence of countless orgasms course through you as your mind continued to race, squeezing onto the bedsheets and squeezing your eyes under the cloth, feeling him bend over for something and making your brows furrow as your imaginations couldn’t keep up with his actions… Taken by surprise at the sudden feeling of a cold spiking sensation glide along your skin. 

Oh, how he loved your sharp inhale, the way your pants became broken from your continuous stream of erotic sounds, the enigmatic feel that pressed along your torso and made your core tighten at the feeling.

He loved how you were restless underneath him. 

He had looked over, previously, at the glass of water at the bedside table, the icecubes inside of it becoming a catalyst for Satoru’s thoughts to think about what it would be like to make you shake not just from him, but have you shocked from your oblivious state, putting all your trust in him and not being able to conceive the thought, but like the cube of ice, you melted as you felt the mix of sensations all along you. 

You loved it. Well, that word was an understatement for how you squeezed your legs around him tighter and begged for him more and more like the needy girl you were for him and only him. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine that dived straight to your shaking thighs. You couldn’t see it, but Satoru played a smirk at the corner of his lips as he watched your body shudder, growing accustomed to feeling the cold sensation smooth over your hardened bud and torso, mixed with the pool of warmth in your inner thighs as he was continued to fuck your wet cunt. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me,” he praised. 

The cube was pressed against your already hardened nipple, making your back arch, as well as your core and thighs, squeeze tight around Satoru, this unusual sensation getting you all worked up and making you release rapid, laboured breaths as your body continued to be bounced on his cock. He didn’t give you a second to adjust as he rolled it down to drip its remains on your stomach, after letting it drip along your throbbing and puffy clit; your toes curling through the fluctuation of temperature and stimulation all over your body—he loved to spoil his special girl. You felt yourself release all over his length, making such a pretty mess. 

“Feels… fuck… feel’s so good,” you could honestly feel that taunting smirk go through your body with his cold, piercing stare, accompanied by his spare hand drilling his fingertips into your waist as his thrusts were becoming lazily sloppy, getting to his limit. 

He got his final movements out before he felt his muscles tighten and let a deep guttural moan escape into the room’s atmosphere, filling you up with a pool of warmth that spilled all along your walls, trickling down to your shaking thighs. 

He panted as he caught his breath, recovering from his chased release, removing your blindfold with a quick motion and watching you all blushy and flustered: “Fuck… I love you,” he said as he looked into your recovering eyes. 

Please note that the best way to support writers is by liking and reblogging. All interaction is greatly appreciated, and I am thankful you took the time out of your day to read my content. Thank you.

a/n: This is my first jjk oneshot that I have been putting off for some time while I did my exams and papers but I am glad I can finally post it. I have posted loads of fanfic, but I always get so nervous when I post new material for a new fandom I have entered. Love you all, having a lovely day/night *kiss kiss*

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

[nebulaafterdark]

Lavender Haze

Summary: Y/N and Haymitch take a pill in the Capitol. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe but can be read as a one shot.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI alcohol/drug use, p in v, praise kink.

“My feet are killing me.” Y/N rushes to the plush chair, in their guest suite.

They were ‘invited’ to a huge party, in the Capitol, all to celebrate him. That’s what they say anyway, truthfully it was just an excuse to bring their favorite lovers out of hiding. It’s been months since the wedding, people are starving for more.

“Here,” Haymitch pulls up a seat, holding out a hand.

“Here what?”

“Gimme your feet.”

“No, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t be giving me a foot rub on your birthday.” Y/N argues.

“Just give me the damn things.” He pats his lap, as her stilettos go flying.

She brings both feet into his lap, allowing his skilled fingers to work over the throbbing arches. “Mmm.”

Haymitch arches a brow, “that’s the spot?”

“Yeah, don’t stop.” She turns her gaze to the table. There’s a folded note card, beside two lavender pills.

-For a good time.

Y/N scoffs, picking up the offering. “You wanna try it with me?” Not that they need any kind of ‘assistance’ in that department, but it might be fun.

Haymitch shrugs, “what the hell, cheers.”

“Cheers,” she pops the purple capsule into his mouth, before swallowing down her own, with a mouthful of champagne straight from the bottle.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink with it.” Not alcohol anyway.

“You’re drinking.”

“I’m an alcoholic.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, flopping down onto the bed in her little dress. “How long does it take to kick in?”

“You’re asking me like I’ve done this before.” Haymitch chuckles, coming in hot beside her, glass still in hand.

“Haven’t you?”

“No.”

Her cheeks heat up, realizing her mistake. “Oh.”

“Never had anyone to do it with.”

“I’m sure people wanted to.”

“Yeah, they were all lining up.”

“You’re like hot, hot, Haymitch.”

“That’s Panem’s most powerful aphrodisiac talking.”

“No, that’s me talking.” Y/N counters. “Because this stupid pill is still not doing anything.”

He looks over at her, “there was nobody I trusted enough.”

“But you trust me?”

“I do.”

She gasps, startled by that electric feeling. “Did you feel that?”

“What?” His brow furrows.

“My nipples like… started tingling.”

“Let me see.” He insists, licking his lips as her tits spring free from her dress. “Fuck, angel.”

“Please be gentle.” Y/N gnaws the inside of her cheek, as she moves to straddle his hips.

In a frenzy, Haymitch kisses her once on the mouth and then down the valley between her breasts. Carefully taking her right peak into his mouth, her hips buck against him. “You’re so sensitive.” He blows, over the puckered skin.

“Haymitch,” it is a plea and a warning.

“I’ve got you.” I’ve always got you, I love you.

She keens, gliding her wetness over his erection through their clothes.

“So eager.” His lips trace her jawline.

She moves off him, quickly tossing away her dress and undergarments. His cock is hard, freed from the confines of his clothing and aching for her return. Y/N remounts him with nervous desire.

“I need to be inside you.” I want to live inside you.

She obeys, taking him deep, all the way to the hilt. “I don’t know how-” she’s never been in this position.

“I’ll help you.” He encourages, “find what feels good.”

Y/N lifts her hips, fucking herself experimentally on his cock. Angling herself until he brushes over that spot within her. So fucking deep, it takes her breath away. “Is this ok?”

“It’s perfect,” Haymitch thrusts up to meet her, “you’re perfect.”

She squeals as he slides against her g-spot, a second time.

“So pretty,” Haymitch watches Y/N lose herself in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing in time with her movements.

Y/N leans forward, sealing her lips over his and fucking him in earnest. Like she means it and can’t get enough.

The noises she makes drive him insane, nipping at her plush lips as they part.

“It feels so good.” You feel so good.

“Good girl, make yourself cum.”

“Haymitch,” her cheeks heat up. Still not caring enough to be embarrassed.

“Look at me.” He cups her face, thumbing over the delicate skin.

She forces her eyes open.

Haymitch holds her gaze, the lids of her eyes heavy with lust. Her brow furrowed, she is close. He can feel it.

“Fuck,” she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Look at me.” He whispers again, tracing his knuckles over her jawline.

Y/N blinks at him. His eyes set on hers, stay with me. So intense, so intimate that she wants to close her eyes. But she stays with him, even as she falls apart.

Haymitch groans at the feel of her clenching around him. The heat of her drives him over the edge, milking him for all he’s worth.

She keeps moving, but slower now. Wanting more, needing it, ignoring the bite of overstimulation.

“Y/N,” Haymitch warns, exhaling through his nose. God, he’s still so hard it hurts.

“Please,” she breathes, “please.”

His fingertips dig into the skin of her hips, holding her steady.

She sobs in protest.

“Shh. I just need a minute, angel.” Haymitch hushes her. Repositioning himself to sit with his back against the headboard. Practiced fingers find her clit, just above the place they are joined. He circles it with his fingers and she jumps.

“Oh!” Y/N presses her lips to his forehead, with a startling amount of affection.

It makes him feel things he shouldn’t. He’s moving faster now, chasing her high.

“Haymitch.”

“I’m right here.” He coaxes her tongue out to play.

“Can I move, please?”

Do whatever you want to me. “Yeah. Go ahead.” I’m yours.

[k0yaz]

Drunk from your lips

Pairing(s): Mitsuri Kanroji x fem!reader

CW: SFW, but very suggestive, swearing, modern au, alcohol use, making out, afab reader, jealousy, dom Mitsuri? (kinda) she still has her sub moments tho <3.

“I’m so exhausted..” you whined as you collapsed onto the couch and slammed your head onto Mitsuri’s lap, turning your head to the side and digging your face deeper into her lower abdomen. The argument you had with Obanai had worn you out like hell, and you just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

You two were arguing about who would be “better” for Mitsuri, which Obanai had argued that he would be much better for her than you. You clenched your fists slightly, trying to forget his false claims. You dug yourself deeper into Mitsuri’s lap, still hearing his words ringing in your ears.

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about Kanroji would you, Y/N? I bet you don’t truly care about her. You just want to satisfy yourself, you perverted bitch.”

You furrowed your brows recalling that statement made from him, gnawing on your bottom lip and hiding your face to make sure that your girlfriend didn’t sense any negative emotions present in you at the moment. You squeezed your eyes shut deeper, how dare he assume such a thing? You loved Mitsuri, on your own fucking life! And he was just being a jealous piece of-!

“Y/N, are you alright-?”

You let out a sudden gasp upon hearing Mitsuri’s smooth voice, filled with a hint of concern. You turned your head slightly so you can face her, her complexion looking absolutely breathtaking as always.

She rested her hand on your cheek and ran her fingers through your messy hair, gazing at you with a loving light in her eyes. “Is it what Obanai said?” She sighed, continuing to caress your face. You nodded awkwardly, averting your eyes from her to save yourself from the embarrassment.

“I- what he said wasn’t true! I swear I really do love y-!”

“I know.”

Mitsuri cut you off and turned your head to face her, her eyes heavy lidded in an almost seductive way, and her lips curled into a slight smirk. “Don’t worry, I really love you just as much, if not more, my love. You’re an amazing girlfriend, okay?” She breathed out before cupping your face gently and whispering in your ear. “Do you want me to talk to Obanai tomorrow?”

You shrugged and dug your face deeper into Mitsuri’s neck, inhaling her sweet scent. She trailed her hand down from your face to your shoulder, grabbing onto it and pressing it gently between her fingertips as a relaxing massage. You threw your head back down into her shoulder, your breathed heavily, feeling your girlfriend’s hands massaging your shoulders.

Mitsuri pressed down, earning a yelp from you. She pulled away for a moment, apologizing profusely. Damn, you forgot how strong she was…

“Shit! I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to press that hard! Why do I always do that-!” You cut her off by bringing her hand that was situated on your shoulder to cradle the side of your face, and leaned into her palm. You smiled as you looked into her eyes, digging the side of your head deeper into her palm. “Mitsuri, it’s alright. It didn’t hurt okay? Actually, it’s comforting when you do this for me~” you whispered as you turned your head into her palm slightly, letting your lips brush along her hands and leaving a few soft kisses along the blade of her hand.

Mitsuri almost instantly blushed a deep shade of red, covering her lips with her free hand in an attempt to hide her flustered expression. You chuckled at her reaction as you pressed more kisses along her hand, trailing up to her pretty shoulders. You ultimately moved your kisses up to her jawline and further up to place a tender kiss on the corner of her cheek, looking at her with a heavy lidded, needy expression.

Mitsuri moved her hand from her mouth and rested them back onto your shoulders, crashing her lips against yours and moving them in a passionate manner. She pushed you down slightly and moved her knee to the middle of your core, keeping you caged against the couch between her defined arms.

Mitsuri jerked her head in snake like motions as she moved her lips against yours, her hands situated on your shoulders, and yours on the back of her neck, pulling her closer as her tempting lips embraced yours.

You both pulled away, breathing heavily and gasping for air, the desire to go back in crossing both of your minds as you couldn’t get enough. You exhaled deeply and turned your head toward the glass table beside the couch, a glass of wine you had poured yourself a while ago.

You wrapped your fingertips along the neck of the wine glass, bringing the edge to your lips and allowing some of the sweet beverage to trail down your lips. Mitsuri stared at the liquid trailing down the corners of your mouth slightly, your tempting lips closing to to swallow the wine.

You tipped the direction of the glass so that it was facing her, offering her a sip of the alcoholic beverage. Mitsuri removed the glass from your hand and brought her face close to yours. She pressed her lips against your ear and inched her knee closer to your core, her warm, sweet breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t I get drunk from your lips instead~?” Mitsuri whispered against your neck.

Your cheeks were dusted with a bright red color, and you opened your mouth to speak, but Mitsuri brought the rim of the glass back to your lips, allowing you to take a considerable amount of the red liquid onto your tongue. Mitsuri locked her lips against yours, allowing her tongue to slip against yours, tasting the wine from your mouth. Drops of the glistening crimson liquid spilling from the corner of both of your lips as your tongues danced against each other’s.

You both pulled away for a moment, gasping for air, your chests heaving, the remains of the dark red beverage on your tongues. Mitsuri pressed a soft kiss against the corner of your lip and pulled you down on top of her, pressing a few gentle kisses onto your face.

You buried your face deeper into your chest and felt yourself melt into her touch, a smile forming across your face as you cuddled deeper into Mitsuri’s arms, her warmth enveloping you in a sweet manner.

This was the woman of your dreams, the woman you wanted to be with for eternity, Mitsuri Kanroji.

A/N: HELP MY OLD ONE GOT DELETED SKSKDJFBFBF anywyas i love Mitsuri sm.

[busy-baker]

Another Dadstarion one shot has made itself available for your reading pleasure ☺️

Astarion is busy designing his family’s outfits for a celebration and takes on the task of putting Juniper down for her nap but his past comes back to haunt him.

f!Tav x Astarion

Word Count: 1.6k

Swatches upon swatches of varying colors and patterns surrounded Astarion as he sat sketching at his desk. He had been endlessly working to design his family’s outfits for his father’s upcoming inaugural celebration.

He wasn’t particularly jumping for joy at the thought of attending the event, possibly interacting with ghosts from his past. They would recognize his eternally youthful face, save for his altered eye color, but to him, they would be nothing but dark figures of days lost.

His hand scribbled at the parchment before holding it up to examine his progress. With an exasperated sigh, he crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it aside to land in a pile with the other failed attempts. He would be damned before his family waltzed through the doors of the High Hall with nothing but the best attire.

The spawn’s head fell to his desk with a thump and a chuckle sounded from the bedroom door. He didn’t need to lift his head to know his wife was approaching behind him. Her familiar sweet and comforting scent enveloped him when her arm reached out and her hand rubbed soothingly up and down his back.

“I’m going to lay Juniper down soon and then rest myself. I thought we should visit since you’ve holed yourself in here,” Tav teased. He could hear the smile on her lips.

Astarion sat up and grabbed two of the fabric squares he had the most difficult time deciding between. His head leaned back against his wife’s stomach, just below where their daughter was cradled in her arms, and he held up the pieces for her to see.

“Which one do you prefer, my love?” He asked, closing his eyes and relaxing.

“Oh, uh, aren’t they both dark red?” The elf squinted, trying to discern a difference between the two swatches.

The vampire shot forward and turned his head to give his naive wife an offended look. He shook his head and stood, fabric in each hand.

“Darling, this,” he said, holding out one piece, “is burgundy. And this,” His other hand wiggled at her, “is a merlot. Completely different.”

“Well, they are both lovely,” she replied, pushing up on her toes to kiss his jawline. “Please take a break. I’m going to put her in her crib now.”

“Nonsense. Go rest, darling,” Astarion told Tav, tossing the fabric aside and scooping the infant from her arms and into his. “Maybe Juniper will at least offer some opinion on the matter. Won’t you, little one?” He looked down at the dhampir whose big eyes stared at him while her fingers were slathered in drool from her constant gnawing.

The elven woman rolled her eyes at her husband and lightly kissed the forehead of her child and then the vampire’s cheek. She walked towards the bedroom door but stopped and faced him.

“Don’t wreak too much havoc,” she warned, pointing a stern finger from the doorway but only teasing.

“Us?” He asked, hand to his chest and mouth agape, “Never, my dear. Now run along.”

Tav exited the room and left Astarion in the quiet of their bedroom with their daughter. He paced back and forth along the length of the room as he hummed quietly to Juniper. Her eyes were beginning to drift closed but he dared not stop walking or crooning with the fear that she would wake whenever he did.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep the baby resting, Astarion made his way over to where his mannequin was placed in the opposite corner of the room.

Tav’s dress hung from it with a basic shape. The black velvet was sleek and smooth. Every bit of it would hug her new shape in just the right way and the slits up either side provided the right amount of sway for her glorious legs to show through.

It still needed to be hemmed along the bottom and had pins placed along the back but overall, he was proud of his work. She was going to look exquisite but whatever else could she be?

The spawn noticed one pin that stuck out of the shoulder. He must have forgotten that one or simply placed it there as a spare when working earlier. Reaching for it, he plucked it from the woven material but it somehow slipped from his fingers.

Slowly, he crouched down to not disturb Juniper. He felt the ground for the small needle, glancing at the baby as she scrunched up in his grasp from his movement. The pin pricked his pointer finger just he turned his eyes back to the floor.

“Hells,” he whispered, swiping the pin up and stabbing it back into the mannequin. He placed his wounded fingertip into his mouth. After a moment, he pulled his finger from his mouth, relieved to see the bleeding had stopped, but stilled when his gaze fell on the area where a couple droplets of his blood had spilled onto his wife’s dress.

Instantly, Astarion’s body went rigid. His mind feebly attempted to remain present but was in a losing battle against the dark tendrils of two centuries of torture.

The now free spawn was transported back to his slavery under the clutches of his demented master.

~

Astarion’s nimble fingers worked hard that day to repair the stitching of his siblings’ clothing. Cazador wanted them to appear the best when luring in victims for him to feast on later.

He was so tired, so weak but he would do anything to escape punishment again. His fingers ghosted over phantom scars where he had previously earned a lashing for returning with the least favorable victim.

The young vampire’s crimson eyes grew wide, head snapping towards the door of the room he shared with his siblings.

Cazador stormed in with his clawed fingers wrapped around the collar of Dalyria. She scrambled to keep up with his pace as he dragged her along with him.

Her body was tossed to the ground in front of Astarion’s feet and she backed up against the bed, just barely brushing against her brother’s legs. Both of Szarr’s creations waited with almost a statuesque stillness for their master to speak.

“I rely on you to make your siblings presentable,” Cazador began, stalking towards Astarion, “And you dare stain their clothing with your putrid blood, boy!”

The spawn glanced at his sister and sure enough, a speck of his essence, barely noticeably to the naked eye, marked the sleeve of her dress. He had never made that mistake before but days of being starved had made his mind hazy.

Astarion tried to sputter an apology but he was halted by Cazador’s hand.

“You will learn. Go to Godey, boy. Now,” the master commanded.

As much as he wanted to fight the compulsion, he couldn’t. Astarion’s feet carried him to his punishment in those sickening kennels.

His siblings pretended they hadn’t heard his screams echoing through the palace that night, like many nights before.

~

A soft coo made Astarion blink, ripping him from his torment. He found his daughter’s emerald eyes lazily wandering over his features.

He nuzzled his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent of lavender wash and the subtle oil in her curls. His set jaw began to relax and his tense muscles became looser.

Juniper would never endure a sliver of the pain or suffering he had been through. She deserved happiness and nothing less. He would rid the world of anyone who thought differently.

The high elf decided he would return to the dress later, removing the stain. He had to step away to prevent more memories from resurfacing.

He looked down at his daughter once again. The involuntary smile that crossed his face when he was with her provided more warmth inside him than the sun ever could.

“Not quite ready for sleep yet, little love?” He asked the dhampir. A bubble blew from her tiny pink lips in response and Astarion took that as a not yet.

“Hm, well, let us see how we occupy you.” The pale elf strolled around the room, rocking the babe side to side as his did trying to tempt her into a trance. His steps stopped at the discarded swatches from earlier.

Oh, what the hells? He thought.

He swiped the pieces up from the desk and held them in front of Juniper’s face. Her eyes went wide for a second at the closeness at which he brought them but then she just blinked.

“Now, your mother insists these are just dark red, but I know we have more refined taste,” Astarion said, tapping her nose. The babe’s face scrunched up as the swatches tickled her and she let out a small sneeze. Her father laughed and apologized.

“My dear Juniper, please put your father out of his misery. Which do you prefer, little one?”

He knew he sounded absolutely crazy. She was an infant and could barely see colors, let alone distinguish different shades. He decided this was for pure entertainment. For hers or his, he didn’t know which.

By some miracle or just coincidence, Juniper’s tiny fist swung up and smacked at the burgundy square in his hand before settling against her cheek.

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up as his eyes darted between the fabric and his daughter. He huffed out a laugh and began to place kisses all over her face.

“I knew you had it in you! What a darling girl you are!” He praised, planting one last long kiss to her forehead.

Juniper’s little hand found its way into her mouth and Astarion chose to ignore it, not thinking about how that’s initially where it had intended to go and not for the swatch.

Dark red, Astarion thought, Even Juniper knows the difference, darling.

[helloescapist]

Let's Go | Akaza + Headcanons

The Request: “I have a request, could u possibly do a Hashira Akaza x demon reader, like when he finds her scared, he takes her in? Plus reader has a bamboo muzzle like Nezuko”

I hope you see this, and it meets your expectations <3

Word Count: 3222

Setting: Akaza x fem!demon!reader

Content Warnings: mentions of gore/violence, horror, abuse, cult behaviors, rituals, bound reader, some themes may be triggering for some readers.

Summary: the lure of perfume, the temptations of a blood art that drew him to this damned place, and the circumstances behind the art had not been what he had expected, nor the responsibility that would follow.

A/N: It's giving-- the cat he didn't want, but cannot abandon either.

Aged stones crumbled beneath his feet, cracked with every step he took. The touch of wet stone beneath his callous feet, the indigo dipped toes that pressed against each step, wandered from soaked bolder to moss swept stones. Vines that had long since claimed the path and dug out the history of the mountain.

Moss, and the skitter of inferior lifeforms that danced across the ground to flee his steps. Puffs of clouds painted in hues of slate gray, and the shadows of the nights crept amongst the hills. Rolled over the edges and whispered the depths of unheard secrets. Faint figures evading his sight, drew from shapes unknown. Structures unfamiliar, faint as the ghost that wandered amongst abandoned buildings. Robbed of life and offering only glimpses of the life that had once been through the shambles of ruins. The stillness of the night lingered amongst his skin, the touch of mist that struggled amongst the loss, the empty void of purpose. Structures, abandoned baskets, and rice ponds overrun by evasive vines. Stagnant air that threatened to suffocate his lugs, crush the coos of his senses, the touch of gold kissed citrine eyes that scanned his surroundings all too aware of the distinct pull upon his senses. The nagging way he could not draw himself away, tugged closer and closer each attempt that he dared to deny its siren’s song. The warmed amber notes of vanilla that warmed his soulless body, whispered embraces despite the blood that puddled at his feet, soaked into the earth and drenched the crops around him. Devoid of the sharp metallic scent that often accompanied the evidence, replaced by something sweet, and tempting. With only the wanning moon to guide his path, the grit of his teeth drew Akaza’s fist closed and clamped over the skull of his opponent. Each step matching the growl that blossomed at the base of his throat, the snarl that greeted the night air as he advanced towards a trembling monk. Wretched in blood, soiled in his own vomit upon witnessing the decapitation of his own friend, unworthy of brandishing the title of Sohei. Rattled his teeth that met the chatter of his jaw, the widening of his pupils horrified and spewing verses that meant little to the Upper Moon. His cowardice muddled over the pad of bare feet against stone and pebbles, his footing guided by his own revolt. The beads at his ankle were a mere mirror of the prayer beads clasped between the fingers of the Third Moon’s next target. The fold of the man’s pitiful body, mulled over on bent knees uttering bullshit of mercy, the weapon at his side abandoned lacking the bravery required to yield it, let alone flee.  

The etched emblem baring his ranking danced across his cornea, Akaza’s eyes caught on the damning markings of the would-be warrior smeared in horrendous vows. Blood draw from the outer corner of the pretend devotee cut across his cheeks, trailed down his jawline, marred by the tears of his sniveling whimpers that elicited no sense of empathy from the demon, rather the insisting bemoaning only excited his wrath. All too aware of the bubbling at the pit of his stomach, and the gnaw of his lower lip unamused of his would-be opponents. The path behind him littered with bodies of the lesser creature’s comrades that neither thrilled, nor animated his senses, each baring the telling depictions of gore upon their faces. Movements that fell into dances, prayers that felt incomprehensible to the Upper Moon despite his familiarity with Buddhism. A warped religion, strayed from its original purpose, sacrificed amongst the denied followers, and accumulated from the blood of unsuspecting travelers. The voyage had betrayed the foul practices of the temples, morbid displays of carcasses strung amongst the trees, dripping blood to the soil, and hummed of talismans that bore no translated significance. Each step led Akaza up the mountains, the gravitational pool leaving him heedless, and defiant. Unable to escape the invisible threads that guided him up the abandoned steps, coated amongst the mist. A macabre game of hide and seek born of an invisible scent that beckoned his attendance, and the pests that dared to stand in his way, unable to even offer him a bit of entertainment. An annoyance at best, he had met with little restraint, the scent warmed his senses, cooed sweet nothings that Akaza could not describe. The break of spring nights warmed against his skin with only the moonlight to immolate the markings depicted across his skin, the glint in which his eyes caught the fading moonlight, clung to the grotesque symbolism depicted in corroded rust at the flesh of his cheeks. “I will not repeat myself. Where. Is. It.”

              The depths of his voice revealed the severity that lurked beneath his surface. The amusement devoid, robbed of all satisfaction. Lack luster scuffles that could not pacify him, and the distinct fragrance of vanilla and peaches that robbed him of the distinct metallic scent of iron, and the rush of blood upon his fingertips had muddled his satisfaction. Drew his ire, a blood art had drawn him to this damned land, forgotten by buddha, and abandoned by the kami, drenched in the blood of victims, and worships of a false god. Its blood painted across worshiper’s face, masks delineate of religion. A numerous pulls of deviants dressed in monk clothes that had captivated the mountains, infested the surrounding area as termites harvest upon a fallen tree, etching away at the core of its being until there is nothing left but a carcass. Their mere presence, painted figures that loomed amongst the foliage, dripping in the blood art’s scent drawing him up this forsaken path. Lulled, and whispered begging, the horrified mumble of trembling bottom lips as the man before him trembled and wreathed. As though his tongue had suddenly been cut from his mouth, the erratic shaking of his eyelashes clenched at the tears that began to form, the pop of knuckles, guided forward in a single gesture. A path carved from foliage, broken through weeds, and trembled branches, snapped at the weight, and drawn upon the depths of the inner sanctum of the shrines. “T-There.” Quivered beneath the Upper Moon’s etched eyes, death that followed the sound of dripping as blood puddled from his superior’s severed head puddled beneath the demon’s feet. Painfully aware of the agonizing leap of his heart as the creature loomed forward. Akaza’s somber expression traced amongst the symbolism, the left-over residue of fingerprints utilized to mark the man’s skin.

              “Very well,” dry as the night air, crackled upon the silence of the man’s shivering. The tips of blueberry flesh, fingers that captivated the faithless monk’s scalp, gathered at the remainder of hairs that had begun to grow as he followed his deceitful path, te force of a thousand men bend in a moment’s notice. The sickening crack of bones, splintered fragments torn from flesh. Asunder, wrecked from the axis, just above the transverse process at the neckline. Snapped, child’s play between his fingers, the rattle of the mandible finally seizing its insufferable chattering of misplaced winter, fear forever captured upon the victim’s face, and the wrinkles that creased upon Akaza’s brow as he discarded both craniums with little remorse, nor a second thought. Useless, and lacking any fighting spirit, an unworthy snack for one of his standards. Tossed over his shoulders as his feet guided him to the inter sanctum. Each step drawn upon his own annoyance, the familiarity in which he had been toyed with, drawn to this location unsavory. Far too similar to the antics of the Second Moon, and as the revulsion began to seep into his stomach, the scent had begun to flourish into heavy notes. Suffocating tones of peach. Earthen leaves left to the wind, unwashed vanilla. Breath drawn into his lungs, seared upon his senses. Robbed him of thoughts, claimed his waking conscious. Drew out quiet memories, something sweet, and tender, yet dared to rob him of his senses. Threatened to consume him, to rob the oxygen from his longs, to clasp its nails into the taunt skin of his neck, digging into the flesh until there would be nothing more, not even a single breath, and the distinct cry of a woman.

              Help me, please.

It had not been what he expected, the blood art had surpassed his expectations, but the details had been blurred. The enticing waves of ambered vanilla touched on the desires of comfort, and security. Tender notes of peaches, sweet and alluring. Temptations that could lure any man within the radius of its reach, tempt women to wander in the dead of night at the scent of spilt blood. Tossed caution to the wind and abandon sense with heedless doubts drawn to the sweet allure of cushioned promises wrapped in sweet sentiments. Such a deceptive blood art had led Akaza to believe that the source would be nothing more than a Cretan that roamed the depths of scum along side Doma. Delighted in folly that followed the devastation of others around them, danced to a tune unheard by others as victims threw themselves at their feet. Enamored with suffering, and savoring the flesh of innocent who were heedless to the dangers they had roamed in under the guise of religious calling—unsuspecting and little mor than sheep to the slaughter. The depiction of a throne built on the bodies of worshippers, snacking on the pearls of agony. A sloth of pleasures, and unbothered by the ways of the world, nor having any shred of dignity. No, this had not been what Akaza had expected in the slightest.

              The would-be worshippers had taken a turn, embedded in chants and prayers that fell on the screams of the bound. Bowing repeatedly between fallen words, uttered in hums and the rubbing of palms. Heads bowed low to the ground with each dip of their spines. Desecrated holy robes, staunch with fresh blood, and the grotesque markings upon their cheeks. Stale eyes that neither followed the trace of the Upper Moon’s steps, unphased by his presence, sacrificed to the falling of words at the bow of their backs. Entranced with a ritual that churned his stomach and raised his eyebrow. A display worthy of the Second Moon was depicted before him, reeking of perfume and blood. Drawn out upon a fallen altar, chains coiled and wreathing in each movement. Blood staunched, spilt across aged stone. Cracks that had surmised into the boulders it had been built upon. Bodies littered to the side, varying in ages and sizes. Finest silks shredded and stripped of jewels, to the thin of bones of travelers robbed of their coin purses, left over straw hats and baskets of farmers and gathers among the mix evidence of their wares taken from corpses, the sacrificed of wanders lured by silken scents. The faint of painter, coated in blood and distinguished markings of some perverted holy talismans bound and coiled amongst the chains that withered and wreathed. Forced upon the strips of bamboo, the very altar of holy worship encased in a pit of sharpen black bamboo, with only one path to fall upon its worshipers. A monk at the center of the altar, his arms raised above his bald head, and the draping of the finest silk kimonos wrapped across his body revealing the depths of his deception. Prayer beads crafted of the precious stones caught amongst the lanterns, sparkled in each of his movements at the dagger glinted not the flame. The blade fell upon spilt blood, and the scream that followed the blooming scent of peaches and vanilla. Fresh as the blood that tarnished the ground beneath your knees. Cries of agony muffled by the bamboo forced between your lips, and the tears caught upon your hair. Lavish robes, hung upon your bones, an embellished deity, little more than a puppet of religious plight. The dip of his fingers drawing Akaza’s immediate ire, his body betraying his sense. His movements one of a possessed man, the callous of his hands the paint of indigo at his finger tips at the pull of hair in one fluid movement. Ripped the skull from the priest’s body, the tumble of its bones rolled from the altar. Popped upon the rocks with each fallen chant of worshipers, unresponsive to the gore before them.  The quiver of your eyes captivating his senses, bathed in the scents of the night, faintly aware of the acts to follow.

              Only brought back to the state of mind upon the bodies that had fallen to his feet, the quiver of your body, and the lavish scent that had been snubbed from the night, the cut upon your cheeks healed as such shallow wounds prevent little implication for any of your kind. The small jerk of your body, recoiled from his touch met at the unsure clench of his teeth. The depths of a conscious he could not connect with, reminding Akaza of his unfamiliarity and uncertainty of interacting with a woman. The clip of his brow revealing the small annoyance, small slips of a memory that he could not grasp, nor the melancholy it burrowed into his soul before crushing the chains that bound you between your feet. The fold of feline ears pinned to the base of your skull, tucked backwards and skittish with each of his movements. The tuck of a tail, no perhaps two burrowed into your kimono, as your eyes traced him warily, the small touch of a canine mirrored as you regarded him. The pulls of citrine gleamed, ambered honey shyer than he would ever admit meeting your own gaze. The shiver of your body and pull of your muscles. Frail and tender, far too much time spent as a false deity, tortured, and inappropriately cared for.  The Upper Moon’s small quip of his brow, and tug of his lips. Eyes that fell upon the bodies of the slain, faintly aware of the blood bath he had elicited, nor the way it clung to his clothes. Pondered if feeding you such spoiled products would be enough to give you the energy to flee from his sights, fully aware of the wary state in which you regarded him. He didn’t blame you. Something small, something that touched upon his memories, shy eyes that looked away from him… Women were like this, were they not? His lamenting drawing him to the conclusion, that what little strength that remained in your bones would be enough to seize you from this place, if only given the time, or resources which he had… well provided unintentionally. The spoils of such disgusting creatures at his feet nothing to appease his appetite, nor tempt his own hunger. Perhaps, you only needed the time… to regain yourself.

              Such horrors… Ah, I scared her.

              The pad of his feet, drawn upon the steps, falling in line wordlessly. Not so much as a parting word, fearful of the fragile state of your body, pondered upon if such parting of his words would shatter you. You had already been through… Ah, no he didn’t wish to think of it, nor consider the implications his own actions had had upon you. The beads of his ankles trembled with each step, and the grit of his fingers as the folded into fist. Uneasy as the moonlight that caught upon his raspberry-kissed hair. Knotted his stomach and made his skin crawl…. It had been so many years since he had felt this way, the melancholy of a life he could not remember ebbing at his conscious and drawing one step after another, unable to find the will to run from this place. Morning would come soon, the touch of coils, the shuffle of fabric across the ground. Caught at stones, and trembled with unbalanced steps. Life devoid upon your bones, malnourished and struggling to bear the weight of the lavish kimono. Embellishments, and the peek of kitten ear posed forward, no longer bound to your locks as your eyes traced him curiously. The peek of you behind his shoulder quick to dismiss as the mere need of escaping this area before any utilized your blood art for personal wealth once more.  Yet, as he descended the mountain shrine steps he became faintly aware of the phantom tracing his every movement. A delicate dance of small steps that mirrored his own, and the silhouette that ducked behind trees and boulders when he would dare to peek over his shoulder. Akaza’s own confusion, whispering reassurance that it was merely coincidence that you had opted to follow this very path. The occasional snap of a twig, and attempt to catch you peered over, still as the moonlight. Perhaps attempting to remain out of his sight with the stillness of your breath before slipping between the trees. Oblivious to the peek of your tails flickered amongst the branches. Akaza far too aware of the feline eyes that traced his movements, uncertain of what game you were playing, or if perhaps it was all circumstantial--- women were not prone to following him around after all, and he certainly did not invite such interactions.

              The final steps before the stones washed away from the path, corroded into abandoned forests, and the village he had wandered amongst, the reclamation of foliage, and the forest captivated upon the frays of abandoned houses, the small rustle of leaves, and yowl in the base of your throat, remained muffled by the bamboo placed between your canines. Your clear agitation, and duress providing him with the ample courage to finally turn back to regard you. The slip of your kimono, entwined upon the branches and revealing the touch of thighs that ignited the highs of his cheeks. The annoyed huff of air as his eyebrows drew together, met under the curses of his breath and bitter confusion. Turned his back, and dared a step forward, before letting out his own growl before turning back to you. His steps thundered across the stone and drawing the blades of your shoulders up, and arched. More catlike than predator as his fingers drew the slip from the branches, untangled the furrowed cloth and met your eyes with frustration. “You can go,” he instructed, releasing you from the foliage. Content with this being the last of your interactions, except for the draw of your ears. Once again, pinned to your hair, the lavish state of your apparel ridiculous to the environment, and any hopes of voyage. The bend of his knees bearing his weight, and the intentional scowl of a display before relinquishing his back before your eyes. The usher of his fingers at his back, ushering your weight onto his back. Neither of you would make it very fair in such wear, and with daylight approaching, he did not have the time for this.  The haughty huff of his breath that drew at the heat of his cheeks, and the small touch of a growl as he uttered, “Let’s go.”

Taking You In Headcanons | Akaza

He doesn't want to do this.

He REALLY doesn't want to do this.

Akaza has a natural aversion to women-- and if you do not know his background, there's a very valid reason as to why he's not one for harming, nor seeking out a woman's company.

However, for the very same reasons, I just can't see Akaza outright abandoning you either, but let's be clear, he really doesn't want to do this.

I really feel like you become that cat that he does not initially want, and does everything he can to send you away. He considered biwa woman to take you in.

Accepted that for whatever reason (his conscious) that he could not just leave you to her, and accepted that... it's only a matter of time before that bastard Second hears of this.

Caretaking, is not what he has spent his life focusing on, and in some ways, it could hinder his actions. He'll debate back and forth of leaving you to your own devices-- and as time goes on, and the Upper Moon Three is confident you can take care of yourself, he's going to.

I mean, he'll check in, but for the most part, he will take advantage of your new found independence to seek out scuffles.

Akaza cannot sit still, and he will NOT take you with him. If you choose to remain by his side, you will have to accept that there will be long periods in which he travels, and you will remain behind. What you do in the mean time is of little concern, as long as you remain faithful and honest. Any attempts of insincerity, or manipulation will sever all bonds.

Remember, clingy is by no means attractive to him.

Until that time comes, I think Akaza would begrudgingly under take the tasks of taking care of you, and nurturing you back to your full potential.

In fact, I think physical needs come fairly natural to him, and may even be a pain if you're seeking out a physical relationship because he will not be openly engaging in emotional wellbeing.

No really, such open vulnerability will take him quite some time to approach, and it will be done out of a bit of spite. He'll do it, but he's going to complain.

Taking care of you was not a decision, or a commitment he took likely, and Akaza does not make rash decisions. While he may be quick to seem engaged, and curious, he does not make a commitment without being sure of himself, and his capabilities. Whether it's a long term relationship, or temporarily caring for a wounded cat.

Because of this, you will have to understand he will not be quick to meeting any emotional damage you have sustained in the duration of your capture, nor will he grasp the depths of damage that PTSD can inflict on another person. He can't even face his own trauma

In fact, he can be down right insensitive.

First call to action will be that he will secure suitable clothes for you. One in part because you reek of that damned place, and he cannot cope with that. It's like being stuck with Doma, he's not doing it. There is also the realities that this outfit, is just not realistic. Let's be honest, he's not going to seek out outfits that are revealing, or offering a lot of exposure. In fact, I think he would stick with traditional, and modest clothing, but with the ability for you to work, and move across the terrain.

He doesn't like the idea of you fighting, and will do everything he can to avoid placing you in such circumstances, but he is well aware that, you need to be able to defend yourself. The world is cruel to women. He will keep this in mind in securing your clothes.

He'll seek out the opportunity to sponge out all of this perfume. yes, he understands that it is your blood art, but you reek, and because of this, I can expect he will drop you off at a waterfall/pond fairly routinely to keep the reminiscent of your blood art to more maintainable quantities.

Not to mention he's worried about you luring something big in while he's away.

in preparing you for your routine scrubbing, I imagine the moment will come that he will attempt to remove the bamboo muzzle. If you do want it to be removed, he will happily do so. Likely uttering a number of curses to the perverts who have done this to you.

But if like Nezuko, you have opted to remain this way, he will say nothing other than inquire about how you intend to eat. It's just not practical. This however, will be the end of this discussion. He has no desires to force you into anything, nor will he even attempt to dispute your choices.

No really, think about it. He asked Rengoku for CONSENT to become a demon. I just cannot imagine Akaza forcing anything on anyone.

Rather, I imagine that every little thing will need consent.

Consent to touch you.

Consent to help brush out your hair.

Consent to enter the room when you've finished changing.

Everything.

Realistically, his next step will be to feed you, and it's one that he takes high importance on. if you have selected a proper diet for a demon, he will be particularly choosy about what he feeds you. He's not feeding you women or children, don't get your hopes up, but I can imagine him selecting worthy food. A nice husband, perhaps a kabuki artist that has just began to take the stage. Nothing dirty, or tainted.

However, in the event that you have opted for a demon-vegan life style, I can foresee him struggling. Nothing crude or agitated, but genuinely concern that is appearing as anger. He's not going to press the issue-- but are you getting enough sleep to meet your needs?

Akaza is by nature not the sort to have plush bedding, nor anything really fussy. He's always on the go, that I imagine that more often than not he opts to rough it, but if you have selected your substance to remain from dozing, I imagine that he would go to great lengths to figure out what you would need to receive optimum beauty sleep.

If you get past his prickly ill-ease with women, you'll find that he's actually a snuggler and not one to argue with you crawling into bed with him. I dare say, he secretly enjoys it.

Akaza is upfront, and honest with all of his intentions, and because of this, he told you upon taking you in what his expectations were. for you to one day, care for yourself.

He is natural at reading people, and because of this all of your physical needs will be met with little hesitation. In fact, more often than not you will find yourself wowed by some of his gestures. such as the way he brought a hair tie charm in your favorite color despite never being told it was so.

As I've said, he's not one for emotional conversation, and things that dip far too deep into his surface will likely leave him bruised and prickly. In part because, he doesn't want to recall his life as a human, and even more so, Akaza is aware that he is one of the few unable to recall.

Is it a sore topic for him?

Yes.

But he doesn't know why, and that is enough to ensure he doesn't want to dig deeper into it, and he doesn't want you to either. To the same extent, he will assume you have no desire to dig deeper into your own needs. Akaza is also not certain he can meet them. Nightmares in the middle of the night of your captivity.

Will not be met with talks and comfort. Rather, they'll be met with uncertainty before he just folds his arms over you, and beckons you to bed. Hoping that the press of his body is more than enough to reassure you that those days are long gone.

Really, these slips of insecurity, of raw emotion leaves him anxious and uneasy. It's out of his element, and nothing that he feels secure in exploring. In fact, he's probably a terrible listener because he is imagining any scenario that will get him. out. of. here.

More so, Akaza will naturally be more protective of you than he will ever admit, or hint to. Really, aside from the Upper Moons and the Master, none will be aware of the depths of his safeguarding he has over you.

So much so that you will delight in how attentive he can truly be.

[palabraasinnecesarias]

ranma/akane 634 words maybe they're meant to be, maybe not

The way his lips pressed against hers burnt in many ways she couldn’t describe. There was a tingling sensation at her bottom lips, mimicking the pit of her stomach, as her lungs strained at the oxygen-deprived they felt. Still, she didn’t pull away.  

Ranma’s hands wrapped themselves around her back, pulling her in as she straddled his hips. Her half-lidded eyes only opened to make sure she was still kissing him, and they fully shut when he pushed himself towards her.  

Her slender fingers cupped his cheeks, pressing her fingertips into his skin to remind herself that she was with him, kissing him. His teeth nibbled gently on her skin, and she wished he was closer, welding together by the mere heat that their bodies offered.  

And then he was pecking her jawline, gnawing his way down her throat and stopping at the fold. And Akane shivered, her lips curving into a playful grin, allowing her arms to reach back over his shoulders, enfolding him in her hold.  

Just for a few more moments, she thought to herself, not bothering to find any strength to pull away. Not when he was kissing her, and touching her, and holding her the way that he was. She was in bliss, and if she pushed everything else away, she’d merrily stay a fool if it meant he’d hold her forever.  

Without a second thought she began undressing by removing her top, leaving her in just her bra. It was laced and white with detailed rosy embroidery at the elastic band. And she would have taken it off, had he not stopped her.  

Her fingers had begun unhooking the garment at its back when Ranma pulled away, instantly making her miss the heat of his breath at the crook of her neck.  

“W-wait,” he huffed, his lips red and puffy, trying to knock himself out of a daze as he took in a deep breath, “I can’t stay long.”  

“Oh.”  

“It’s just,” Ranma sighed, regretting every word he was beginning to speak but unable to stop himself, “she’s expecting me early tonight.”  

God, she was such an idiot.  

“Ya’ know, ma’s coming over for dinner, and she’s expecting me to be home before she arrives.”  

Fucking stab her chest.  

“N-no, I get it,” Akane stopped him before he said anything else that made her want to die. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, helping her stay balanced as he searched for her face. She could feel his hands now lazily holding her waist, his thumbs on each side rubbing circles against her skin, still scorching hot at the touch.  

“Hey, ‘Kane,” he called, and she made the mistake of meeting his eyes, the cobalt blue keeping her spellbound to him just as they were, as he said, “one day.”  

And she made the choice of believing him, nodding, agreeing that one day this would be every day, at every hour for every second.  

“One day,” she said back, her voice low and sounding almost hoarse, accepting the way Ranma pecked her lips once more. This time it was rushed, as she felt that he had kissed more at the corner of her lips instead of fully taking her mouth.  

“Ya’ know,” he cleared his throat, and she listened intensely, enthralled at even the simplest things he had to say, “I got a long weekend coming up for the conference I'm taking outta’ town,” he was now grinning like a child trying to contain some secret as he kissed her cheek, “why don’t ya’ come with?”  

“And I get to have you for the whole weekend?”  

“I’m all yours.”  

And that was enough at this time. She nodded enthusiastically, reaching down to kiss him fully.  

“All mine,” she repeated, even if she was lying right through her teeth.  

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

If the chapter is mostly done can we see some of it 🥺🥺

AFDHFHFD sure! I’ve been gnawing my arm off over nikolina atm so I guess here’s a slightly longer romance scene

***

Nikolai is working at his desk. He looks up at her approach sharply but his expression warms. And through her own swarm of worries, Alina thinks that he might genuinely be pleased to see her.

“Do you mind me interrupting?” she asks hesitantly. She already feels calmer here, or like she could be calm. In this room, with the lamps lit, and mundane work to be done.

“Not at all. Though I think I’m too tired right now for a continuation of our earlier debate.”

“Shall we call it a truce?”

“So you’ve realized my argument is stunningly correct and have come to praise my brilliance?”

She snorts.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks and she shakes her head. “Neither can I, or well I haven’t really tried.”

“It’s late,” she says, drifting closer. There are dark circles under his eyes and for a moment she wishes she had Genya’s ability to simply wipe them away with a touch. Instead she traces her thumb lightly over his cheek, and marvels at the tension draining from his face.

“I don’t think I could stand to be still long enough.”

“Then come to bed with me,” she says, only a little coyness to her answering smile.

This catches his attention. “Have you finally succumbed to my seductive charms?”

“Perhaps.” She leans down to brush her lips against his, resting her hand on his, taking the pen away. She feels a sudden pang of fondness for these hands, scars and all, though he might hate them. She holds his palm to her cheek, the warmth of it chasing away the Darkling’s touch.

“We’re married,” he says quietly, when they break for breath.

“I suspect we might be.”

“Just seems odd to consider.”

“Nikolai,” she says again, kissing him insistently. She twines her fingers in his hair. Takes his lower lip between her teeth and he shudders.

“I get the distinct sense I’m being taken advantage of,” he replies. “But then I could never refuse my beloved wife anything.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles as he finally rises from the chair, pulling her to him, a more urgent note to the way his mouth moves against hers.

“You always say such glib nonsense,” she breathes in between kisses, as his hands travel over her back through the silky material of her dressing gown. She can feel every line of his body against hers, solid and warm. Real.

“It’s either nonsense or terrible poetry, I’m afraid. I need an outlet for my romantic tendencies.”

“You never told me what you wrote poetry about.”

“Ah. Nothing worth mentioning.”

She angles her face away to get a better look at him, she grins. It nearly feels genuine. “What would you write about now?”

He slips the dressing gown over her shoulders, down her arms, to let it fall in a puddle around her feet. “My own heroic exploits clearly. There are so many words I could dedicate simply to my charm and handsomeness. Not to mention prowess with a sword.”

“Naturally. And your modesty?”

“Not a trait worth lauding in kings I’m afraid. Though I suppose you deserve a few poems too.”

“Oh? How generous. What would you write about me?”

“Your surly disposition. Brutal dedication to any argument. Passionate, seething hatred for mornings.” He pauses. “Perhaps an epic about how you punched me that one time.”

She smacks him on the chest lightly. “That was ages ago.”

“Hm yes. I think you did kick me too.”

“I could kick you again.”

“Fine, fine, the hypothetical terrible poetry can also include a few verses about your stunning beauty as well, is that sufficient?”

“I suppose it will have to do.”

He brushes his lips over her jawline, her throat. “That isn’t very enthusiastic. Did you want me to profess my undying love in verse? I could. What do you think of limericks?”

She arches her neck to give him better access. “Very funny.”

“Oh, that is not a joke.”

“So it’s a threat?”

“If you want to call it that.” She can feel him grin against her throat and before she has a chance to question it, he lifts her up in his arms. She squeaks in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she laughs, looping her arms around his neck for balance as he carries her away. His bedchamber is connected to the study so they do not have to brave the halls. And for that she’s grateful.

It’s freeing to be alone, to simply not care about appearances. But also disconcerting to think of how unusual it is for her now. Keramzin was never particularly private, but she wasn’t constantly scrutinized in the same way.

“Fairly evident, wouldn’t you say?” he replies, carefully setting her down.

She glances around the room. The lamps have been lit, and there is a low fire in the hearth. There are shadows in the corners, cast by the furniture, Nikolai himself, where he stands in front of the bed, back to the fire. They don’t appear to be darker than natural, but she cannot tell either. Could something be lurking there? She tears her gaze away, refusing to follow the line of thought.

[l-estappen]

Miami Heat ☀️

"Do you think she will come?" I asked, sinking into the plush cushions of our suite's sofa. 

Kelly. The mere thought of her made my heart race. I remembered the first time I saw her, all those years ago when I was just a seventeen-year-old kid. She was nine years older, way out of my league, but that didn't stop me from developing a massive crush on her. 

Charles glanced at me from where he stood by the window, the Miami sun casting golden hues across the room, painting his emerald green eyes with golden flecks. "Oui. I'm sure she will come," he declared reassuringly, sauntering closer. 

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the insecurity rising within me. Kelly had always been a fantasy, a distant desire that seemed unattainable. Yet, here we were, on the verge of something exhilarating. But beneath the excitement lurked a gnawing unease. The thought of sharing Charles with another person sent a pang of fear coursing through me, a feeling I couldn't quite shake. 

“What is bothering you, bébé?” he probed, leaning over me to brush a soft kiss against my lips. His gaze felt like a spotlight, revealing every bit of my nervousness. 

How could I explain this to him? It's like standing on a tightrope between excitement and dread. On one hand, I want to be with Kelly. Always have. But on the other hand, seeing her with Charles... “I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.  

"About what?"  

I struggled to put my feelings into words, to articulate the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me. "I want this," I began, the admission heavy on my tongue. "But you... being with her... I don't know how I'll react when I see you with her." 

"I get it, chéri," he said gently as he regarded me, his hand gentle as it caressed my cheek. "And I've already told you, I don’t have to interact with her. I will be perfectly happy just watching." 

I exhaled, feeling selfish and conflicted.  

"Max, mon amour, " Charles cooed, his voice earnest as he leaned in to kiss me again. "If you're not comfortable with this, we don't have to go through with it."  I shook my head, the thought of backing out now filling me with a sense of ridiculousness. "No, I want this. I want her. I just--"  

Charles's index finger pressed against my lips, halting my words mid-sentence. “Do you trust me?” 

"Of course I do" I replied, a hint of confusion tainting my tone. "What kind of question is that?" 

His gaze softened, as he eased himself onto me, running his fingers through my hair. "Then trust me to take the lead on this one.” 

It was a simple request, but one that carried a world of meaning. There was a level of trust that ran deep in our relationship, a trust that made me feel safe and loved enough to bare my soul, even in the face of my vulnerabilities.  "Okay," I affirmed, the word punctuating the air with a blend of determination. 

Our lips met again in a slow, sensual kiss, but then something shifted, as if a switch had been flipped and my hunger took over. My kiss became hungry, desperate, as if I couldn't get enough of him; my hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer; my nails dug into his skin, leaving marks that would linger.  

Charles groaned into my mouth, meeting my passion with his own, pressing his body against mine, feeling me harden behind him. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down my jawline, gripping my hair to tilt my head back. His tongue traced a slow, torturous path from the sensitive spot behind my ear, down the line of my neck. Finding that soft spot in the curve of my shoulder, he sank his teeth in hard.  

"Verdomme!" I choked, jerking my hips against his and digging my nails into his back, urging him on.  

With one hand tangled in my hair and the other gripping my hip, Charles ground his hips against mine, while he sucked and bit my neck, marking me as his.  

"Starting without me?"   

At the sound of her voice, we both lifted our heads to see Kelly standing by the entrance, leaning casually against the door frame. Her silver eyes pierced through the now dimly lit room, locking onto ours with a playful spark. Her dark brown hair flowed down her shoulders in waves, framing a face that could launch a thousand ships.  

"We’re just warming up," Charles replied, his voice low and husky as he drank her in. She was tall-ish, with a body that boasted curves in all the right places, cloaked in tawny skin that seemed to glow and invite sin.  

A smirk played at the corners of her lips as she swaggered further into the room, her hips swaying with purpose, and if we weren’t hard before, we sure as hell would have been now.   

"Just so you know, I did knock... and call. But I guess the two of you were... a little occupied."  

Charles shifted to a sitting position, awkwardly pulling me along with him. My heart started racing as Kelly approached the sofa where we now sat. She wasted no time, settling beside us with a sultry smile that made my pulse quicken and my hands fumble with the hem of my t-shirt.  

"Je suis désolé, linda. We got a little carried away..." Charles apologized, his warm breath tickling my ear as he slipped behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me in place as he gently pried my hands away from the t-shirt trim. “But I gave you the key card for a reason,” he added, his fingers tracing teasing patterns along the skin above the waistband of my shorts. 

Kelly's eyes flickered down to where Charles' hand was caressing me, and I could practically feel the heat emanating from her gaze. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips before she purred, "Looks like you were having fun."  

Nuzzling his lips against my neck, Charles's fingers trailed lower, inching towards the waistband of my shorts, making me shiver pathetically. “Why don’t you come closer, linda?”  

Kelly's smirk widened as she kicked off her sandals, the thud of them hitting the floor barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears. With a subtle sway of her hips, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, crawling towards us on the sofa.  

Charles's breath hitched as he saw her close the distance between us, his fingers deftly unbuttoning and unzipping my shorts. My skin tingled as Kelly's presence neared, the scent of her perfume mingling with the musky aroma of Charles's cologne.  

"What's your color, bébé?"  

I blinked, momentarily confused by his question, as Kelly’s nipples poked through the knit of her white dress, distracting me. Then, it clicked. I took a deep breath, attempting to gauge my own desires and comfort level. "Green," I finally replied. 

"Merci, bébé," he murmured, his fingers dancing along the curve of my hip. “Linda, viens ici.”  I watched as Kelly's silver eyes flickered between me and Charles like a predator assessing its prey. Without a word, she closed the distance between us, her body pressing against mine. 

"Kiss him," he commanded softly, nipping at my earlobe. 

The air crackled with electricity, thick with desire as her lips brushed against mine, teasingly light at first. But then she pressed harder, her tongue slipping past my parted lips to danced with mine, exploring every crevice of my mouth, tasting and teasing in a way that made my head spin; and when Charles's hands roamed over to start rubbing my thighs, I squirmed between them, unable to stifle a guttural moan. 

Kelly broke the kiss, her lips trailing down to my jawline, nipping and sucking; Charles's fingers danced closer to my throbbing erection; and my hips arched instinctively, seeking more contact, more friction. I found what I was looking for on the inside of Kelly’s thigh as she straddled one of my legs. Her skin was warm against mine, and I could feel the dampness between her thighs as I rutted against her. 

"Linda," Charles said, in a deep, authoritative tone. "Loose the dress."  

My pulse pounded in my ears as I shifted my gaze from Charles to Kelly. Without breaking eye contact with us, she rose to her knees, reached for the hem of her dress, and slowly pulled it up and over her head, revealing every curve that had haunted my dreams for so long.  

Her nipples were puckered and hard, begging to be touched, and the sight of her white lace thong contrasting starkly against the tawny hue of her body sent a surge of heat straight to my core. 

Charles leaned in to claim my lips, his kiss was urgent, needy. I groaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His grip on me tightened, fingers digging into my thighs with an intensity that bordered on desperation.    

Breaking the kiss, he hugged me tightly, burying his face into the curve of my neck. “Linda, take off his shorts.” 

Kelly wasted no time hooking her fingers into the waistband of my shorts and tugging them down, revealing my throbbing dick. At the same time, Charles grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head, leaving me completely naked between them. 

I swallowed hard, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through my veins. This was new territory, and despite my desire, I couldn't shake off the anxiety creeping back in.  

What if Kelly kissed Charles next? What if he got naked, and she saw his beautiful cock? What if she touched him? Would I be able to handle it? 

Charles, always tuned in to my emotions, leaned in close and murmured in my ear, "Color, Max?" 

Unaware of my internal crisis, Kelly's hands roamed over my bare skin. Instead of excitement, all I felt was a surge of panic. My body tensed, a knot forming in my chest as I struggled to keep it together. 

"Intermittent yellow," I managed to rasp out in response to Charles' question. 

His hot breath tickled my skin as he commanded, "Kelly, linda, please give us a moment." 

Sensing the shift in the mood, Kelly complied immediately, rising to a kneeling position. 

Charles's hands glided over my skin, their movements slowing to a tantalizing drift. "Tout ira bien, mon amour," he breathed against my ear, "tu es en sécurité avec moi.” 

I nodded, feeling the tension ease out of my muscles as he pressed soft kisses along my neck and uttered, "Nous sommes ensemble, et c'est tout ce qui compte."   

His fingers trailed down my chest, tracing the contours of my body with a tenderness that belied the passion simmering beneath the surface. "Je t'aime plus que tout au monde,” he affirmed in a hush.   

As his lips found mine, the world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth moving against mine, his tongue seeking entrance and coaxing mine to dance in a slow, sensual rhythm. I melted into his embrace, the weight of his body behind me grounding me in the moment. 

Charles's touch was like a soothing balm as his hands continued their exploration, trailing lower, skimming over the sensitive skin of my abdomen before sliding even lower. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers grazed over my erection, teasing and testing my responsiveness. "Ça te fait du bien, chéri?" 

"So good," I managed to moan, arching into his hand. 

Charles sensed my need, his touch becoming more purposeful as he stroked me slowly, building the pleasure. "Would you like Kelly to ride you while I watch?" he wondered huskily, his lips brushing against my earlobe. 

I'm the luckiest motherfucker in the world. No matter what crazy shit I've dragged us into, this beautiful, selfish man always has my back. Charles may be as kinky as me, but he's also the most giving person I've ever known. He'd give me the fucking moon if I asked for it, without asking for anything in return. 

"Ik hou van je," I murmured to Charles, my voice tinged with love and a profound sense of gratitude for everything he brings into my life. 

He lifted his head slightly, locking those amazing eyes onto mine and causing my heart to spill out of my chest. "Et je t'aime," he replied simply. 

I glanced over at Kelly, only to see her watching us back in silence with a curious gaze. My eyes trailed over her body, taking in every curve, every inch of her skin, and the sight of her was enough to make my cock twitch in Charles's hand. 

Her tits were perky, nipples hard and begging to be sucked; her waist was slim, accentuating her hips; her skin was smooth, creamy, flawless. Damn, she was beautiful. And I wanted her. 

Charles's hands tightened around my shaft as he too drank in the sight before us. His gaze flickered between Kelly's naked form and mine, hunger burning in his now forest green eyes. 

"Bébé," Charles called, nipping at my ear and drawing my focus back to him. "What's your color?" he demanded, his voice dripping with arrogance as his hand resumed teasing my dick. 

As his grip tightened around my shaft, I let out a guttural groan, my hips instinctively thrusting forward to meet his touch. It was like he knew exactly how to touch me, how to make me squirm and moan with just one hand. "Bébé?" Charles pressed, nipping at my ear. 

"Green," I growled out, feeling every stroke of his hand like a jolt of electricity straight to my balls. 

Charles smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes as his hand moved to his pocket, fishing out a condom. He tossed it to Kelly, who caught it effortlessly. "Put it on him," he instructed. 

Kelly was quick to tear the wrapper open and roll the condom onto my throbbing erection. The sensation of her fingers brushing against my skin set my body ablaze, and when she stroked me to ensure that the condom was in place, I couldn't help but groan. 

My pulse quickened as Charles's forest-green eyes locked onto Kelly's silver ones. There was a moment of silent communication between them that I failed to catch. 

 "Linda, put that pussy on top of his cock, s'il te plaît." 

At Charles's command, Kelly's eyes widened, and all I could do was moan and whimper like some pathetic fucktoy, my hips bucking desperately. In that moment, there was only the raw, primal need burning inside me, driving me forward into the darkness. I craved it, so I switched off my brain, shutting down the part that reminded me of consequences, guilt, or shame. 

***** 

Watching Max writhe in pleasure beneath Kelly and against my chest, vulnerable and exposed, sent a surge of desire coursing through me. It was like witnessing a live, X-rated show, and putain, if it didn't get my blood pumping. 

I leaned in closer, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I asked Kelly, “Are you wet?” 

She nodded, aligning her cunt above Max's hard cock. 

"Let's see," I hummed simply, reaching for his hand. 

Max whimpered as I directed his fingers up Kelly's thigh, our joined hands skimming against his pulsating dick, making him thrust his hips in anticipation. I steered his fingers over Kelly's slick folds, relishing in the hitch of her breath and the tremble of her body as he teased her entrance. 

"How wet is she?" I demanded of Max, watching as Kelly's walls parted for him. With my free hand, I trailed lazy circles over Max's abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch under my touch. 

"Soaking," he whimpered, his hips grinding against the air, begging for more. 

I smirked at Max's eagerness, guiding his hand further and pressing his middle finger against Kelly's slick entrance. 

"Caralho," she gasped, her breath hitching as Max's finger slid into her. 

I watched intently as I maneuvered his hand, his finger slowly moving in and out.  "You like that, don't you, linda?" 

"Muito," she gasped, the wet squelching sound punctuating her words. "More... More please." 

I leaned closer to Max, my breath hot against his ear. "Can I put one of my fingers inside her too?" 

He nodded shuddering, his eyes glazed with lust. 

Without hesitation, I slipped one of my fingers alongside his, immersing myself in the slick warmth of Kelly's arousal. At the same time, the hand that had been caressing Max's abdomen eased down to begin stroking his shaft through the condom. 

Kelly's walls clenched around our fingers as she moaned, her hips rocking against our touch. Max's breath came out in ragged gasps as he thrust his hips up. I could feel the heat radiating from both of them, their desire palpable in the air. 

With practiced movements, I curled my finger inside Kelly, searching for that sweet spot that would make her unravel. She whimpered and bucked against us, her nails digging into Max's skin.   

"Godverdomme," Max groaned, and I teased his erection, applying just enough pressure to keep him on the edge but not enough to push him over. "Please..." 

I chuckled darkly, enjoying in his desperation. "You want to feel her tight cunt around your cock, don't you bébé?" 

Max's eyes widened, pupils dilated as he nodded, his hips still moving in rhythm with my hand.  

"Kelly, linda," I murmured, withdrawing my finger and Max’s from inside her, eliciting a whimper from her. "Ride him, please." 

She shifted, ready to comply, but when her hand went to remove the white lace thong she was still wearing, I commanded, "Leave it on." 

Her eyes narrowed, but she reached down and hooked her fingers into the sides of her thong, dragging it to the side and straddling Max. 

I grabbed his cock, nudging it towards her entrance and pushed him, torturously slowly, inside her. Max's eyes rolled back as Kelly sank down onto him. And I witnessed, spellbound, as his cock disappeared inside her cunt, their moans filling the room. 

"Tell me, bébé, does she feel good?" I asked, my breath hot against his ear. 

Max's jaw clenched as he struggled to form coherent words. "So... fucking... tight," he managed between gritted teeth, his hands gripping Kelly's hips desperately. Just because I could, I bathed his hands away from her hips and intertwined our fingers instead. 

“Caralho,” Kelly growled, her head falling back as she took him in deeper. I could see the strain in her muscles as she accommodated him, her walls clenching around him like a vice. Max's response was a guttural groan, his hips bucking up to meet hers's. 

"Linda, slow down," I instructed, my tone firm but gentle. "We're not in a hurry." 

Max squirm as Kelly's movements became slower... up and down... back and forth... her hips swiveling in a sinful rhythm... Each deliberate motion had Max's cock disappearing inch by agonizing inch inside her tight, wet heat. I watched, riveted, as each downward thrust, had her pussy squeezing him in a way that had him gritting his teeth and whining in ecstasy. Every subtle shift of her hips sent shivers of pleasure racing up his spine, and I could practically feel his desperation radiating off him in waves. 

"Mijn god... baaaby... alsjeblieft," Max gasped out, his words a desperate plea mingled with primal need. "Zo lekker... please... dieper..." His voice trailed off into a guttural moan as Kelly's movements continued to torment him in the most delicious way possible. 

Tightened my grip on his fingers, I leaned in closer, my own cock leaking in my sweatpants as I watched the erotic display unfold before me. "Just hang in there, Mon amour," I murmured softly, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. The sweat glistened on Max's skin, making him shine under the dim light of the room, and the smell of sex hung heavy in the air, heightening the raw sensuality of the moment. 

“Meu Deus,” Kelly sighed lost in pleasure. Her body was a goddamn masterpiece, her tits were fucking perfection, bouncing in rhythm with every grind down onto Max's cock. Her waist was slim, perfect for wrapping my hands around, and her hips, Mon Dieu, they were made for fucking.  

Max's face was a mask of pleasure, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he surrendered himself to Kelly's rhythm. Putain, watching him like this, I couldn't hold back anymore. Disengaging my fingers from his, I grabbed Kelly by the hips, setting the rhythm myself. Tower and sink, side to side, twisting her hips, all while cranking up the speed. 

Max's breath hitched, his muscles tensing against me as I felt the telltale tightening of his balls. With a subtle shift in rhythm, I slowed my movements on Kelly hips, drawing out the pleasure and denying him that release he so desperately craved. 

“Baaaby,” he cried out loudly. "Alsjeblieft. Please, I need to come." 

I smirked, relishing in his desperation. "Nog niet, bébé," I growled, my grip tightening on Kelly's hips. 

Max's whimpers grew louder, his body writhing beneath us as he begged, "Please, baby, I can't take it anymore. Ik moet komen, alsjeblieft!" 

Merde, the sight of Max on the edge, begging for release, was pure ecstasy. But his pleas only fueled my desire to test his limits. 

"Shh, bébé, shh," I cooed, my voice soothing. "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?" 

Max's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nodded frantically. 

"That's it," I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I started to bounce Kelly on his cock again. "What’s your color, chéri?" 

He whimpered, “Groen.” 

My fingers dug into Kelly's hips as I set the pace, thrusting her onto Max's cock. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mixing with Max's desperate moans and Kelly's low, guttural groans. 

Kelly's body quivered with anticipation, her nails digging into Max's chest as she rode him. I could feel the tension building in her, the way her walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. She was close, Max was closer, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the one orchestrating their pleasure. 

Kelly's breath faltered as she started to chase her own release. "Tão gostoso," she mewled, "He feels so good, Charles." 

“I know, linda,” I growled, my grip tightening on her hips, “I know.” 

I increased the pace, driving Kelly down onto Max's cock with relentless force, each thrust bringing them closer to the edge but never close enough to tip them over. 

"Please, baaaby," Max begged, his voice a hoarse plea. I eyed him, wild and desperate, a man teetering on the edge of blissful insanity. His dirty blonde hair was tousled, damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in unruly clumps. His usually piercing blue eyes, now dark with need, were half-lidded, struggling to stay open against the tidal wave of pleasure crashing over him. His porcelain skin was tinged with a rosy hue, spreading across his chest and creeping up his neck, a telltale sign of his overwhelming state. 

"Kelly, linda," I breathed out, "Keep riding him until you’re both cum." 

Her lips curled into a wicked grin as she started moving her hips with renewed vigor. I watched with a predatory gaze as she ground down onto Max's cock, each movement pushing him closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

I reached out and grabbed Max's hands again, intertwining our fingers as if to anchor him in the sea of pleasure that threatened to engulf him. With a firm grip, I squeezed his fingers, urging his focus back to me. 

Max's eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking with mine in a moment of raw, primal connection.  

And then it happened.  

“Chaaarleeees,” roared from his throat, his body convulsing against mine, as he reached the pinnacle of pleasure. I felt his release wash over him in hot, pulsating waves, his cock throbbing inside Kelly as he started to empty himself into the condom. 

“Puta que pariu,” Kelly grinded out as she started to ride her orgasm. Her body trembled with the force of it, her pussy clenching and milking every last drop of pleasure out of Max's cock. But even as she shuddered and moaned, Max just kept coming.  

I watched, half in awe and half in disbelief, as Max's continued to whimper and spasm, his hips bucking and thrusting, his cock still hard and ready despite the torrent of cum he was pumping out. And goddamn if it wasn't the hottest thing I'd ever seen. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Max's orgasm began to ebb, his body collapsing against mine in a sweaty heap. He was spent, utterly and completely drained, but a satisfied smile stretched across his face before he passed out. 

Kelly, still riding out her climax, shifted her weight onto her hands to avoid crushing Max. Breathing heavily, she looked at me, concern etched on her face. "Is he okay?" 

"Oui, he's fine," I replied, reaching over to brush a lock of hair away from Max's forehead. "He just needs a moment." 

Kelly nodded, her breathing gradually steadying as she eased herself off him, allowing Max's engorged cock to slide out of her pussy, glistening with her juices. Once she was clear, she collapsed onto the sofa beside us, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "That was intense." 

"That's one way to put it," I chuckled, running my fingers through Max's hair. 

Kelly smirked, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Mind if I freshen up a bit?" 

I shook my head. "Make yourself at home. There's a shower in the ensuite." 

“Thank you, gostoso.” 

As Kelly made her way to the bathroom, I turned my attention back to the snoozing Max. 

"Mon amour," I whispered, my lips brushing against his temple. "Are you with me?" 

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open as he gradually returned to consciousness. "Mhmm," he mumbled, his voice heavy with post-orgasmic bliss. "Just need a minute." 

Feeling Max cuddle up against me, I shifted slightly, adjusting to accommodate him more comfortably. His proximity made it impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against his back. 

"Did you... come?" Max's voice was soft, almost hesitant. 

I shook my head against his temple, my lips brushing against his skin. "No, but it's all good," I reassured him, hugging him tightly. "Today was not about me." 

Max let out a contented sigh, nuzzling closer to me. "Thank you, Schatje," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. 

"You don't need to thank me, Mon coeur," I whispered softly. "I'd do anything to make you happy." 

Max shifted slightly, craning his neck to look up at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his. "You make me happy, Charles. More than anything, or anyone."

[the1ongcon]

stands on tip toes to boop the tip of her nose with his own. ♡

the  cuteness-aggression  towards  ahri's  nose  brushing  against  his  so  intentionally  had  connor  move  to  grip  her  head  in  his  hands.  holding  it  in  place,  he  rested  his  forehead  against  hers,  gently  SHAKING  her  in  his  grip  as  he  playfully  growled  out,  ❝  you're  so  fucking  cute,  what  the  fuck.  ❞  swiftly,  he  followed  his  words  with  an  action  of  similar  violent  affection,  tilting  his  chin  up  and  pulling  his  lips  back  to  reveal  his  canines  only  to  nip  at  the  tip  of  her  nose  in  return.  

his  AFFECTIONS  didn't  stop  there,  however,  moving  to  pretend  to  gnaw  and  chew  on  her  face  with  exaggerated  sounds  before  finally  letting  his  teeth  sink  into  the  side  of  her  neck,  ❝  i  wanna  just  —  ❞  in  lieu  of  words,  he  let  out  another  couple  playful  growls,  as  if  he  were  too  overwhelmed  by  emotion  to  string  together  the  rest  of  a  sentence. 

eventually,  the  young  wolf  managed  to  reign  himself  in  enough  to  loosen  his  hold  on  her,  moving  to  cup  her  neck  as  he  drew  his  head  back  enough  to  let  their  lips  meet.  HUNGER  bled  into  the  way  he  kissed  her,  thumbs  caressing  her  jawline  in  hopes  of  displaying  what  words  couldn't.

@vulpesse | unprompted random affection | always accepting.

[sweettodo]

we're your best friends.

jean kirstein x freader x eren jaeger.

includes : smut, threesome, swearing, innocent / naive y/n, taking virginity.

word count : 3,4k

a / n , thank you for 400 ( 450 as of 3 / 8 / 21 ) , i love you all <3 you're all so special to me and i’m grateful for you. i hope we can grow together as a big ole’ happy family !

"Do you guys ever stop?!" you bellow, your bedroom filled with the shouting amongst the two men in front of you, their rough voices which completely washed away any interjections you gave.

Sighing, you grab one of your notebooks from your desk, winding up your shoulder, and throwing it at Eren. The book slaps him in the face and he shouts, his hand rubbing his face.

"The fuck y/n!" He screeches, Jean, shutting up right after Eren, hair messy from tugging at it out of frustration. You wondered why a simple conversation about who would be the better gentleman; the better man. We had commenced in the formal meeting area- your room- hours ago, to study; hence the notebook used to bonk Eren's pitiful face, "you don't get it." He huffs.

"You two better stop acting childish before I kick you out." Walking between them and plopping down on your bed, pleased to see that the battle had now dwindled from your -very- empty threat. You couldn't kick them out even if you wanted to.

Everyone at school was very well acquainted with the fact that Jean and Eren both had a persistent problem of rivalry, they fought about everything; from who had the better penmanship, better wardrobes, better walk, to who was prettier.... yes, prettier.

Eren stubbornly sits on one corner of the bed, traversing his legs with his back pressed against the wall, Kerstein made himself relaxed in your desk chair, "as I was saying, before I was so impolitely interrupted-" you snort, glancing at the two men, "you both are gentleman, but it's more than just how you talk to a girl."

"Yeah don't be ridiculous, I'm good at more than you think y/n." Jean boasts, smirking and tauntingly glaring at Eren who returns the glare, hair seeping down his shoulders as he rolls his eyes at the cocky Kerstein.

"I'm a sex god, I can sex anyone up, anytime- anywhere." Jean lunging to his feet and stupidly rocking his hips side to side like the fuck-boy he knows he is, virtually wearing it like a badge. Eren and you snickered at him.

Jean grunts, finger in the air tauntingly, "alright! It's not that funny anymore! Quit laughing!" tears brimming your eyes, chest aching from laughing, the blonde now taking into account that you two were more laughing at him, rather than with him.

Defensively, he shouts, "Keep laughing, virgin." Jean grins, squatting back down in the chair dramatically.

"I can name plenty of girls who want to get with me." Eren retorts. Laying your back against the headboard, listening as Eren spews stories about the 'countless sexcapades' he has with girls every week and the 'countless' girls who plead to fuck him on the daily.

"So childish, especially for a couple of university students."

You're dismissed again, "Y/n, who do you think would be better in bed, be honest!" you evaluate the question as much as you could, not to mention how hard it was to even imagine.

Simply putting it, you were a prude.

They wait hastily for your reply, curious to what you had to say, the silence provoking them to shuffle in their seats.

"I think... hm, Jean." Eren groans out in defeat, Jean cackling and throwing his head back, Eren pouts and crosses his arms, huffing out.

"You know what, how the fuck would you know anyway, huh?" rolling your eyes, Jean who is taking his sweatshirt off and hanging it off your chair, heeding to Eren, who is still weeping, "Jean, that doesn't count, she's never gotten with either of us, to begin with, her judgment doesn't count." Declaring matter-of-factly, Jean rubs his chin with his thumb and index, looking into the distance like he was contemplating to speak.

You watched as Eren stands in annoyance, his arms still crossed, "I mean, we could show her, but-"

"-We should, then it'll be fair."

Left in utter shock, were they insinuating you do something so delusional and sinful with your two closest friends? wouldn't that ruin years of friendship? Have they no morals? And to think Eren would have a little more decency.

"No, no way, don't be ridiculous."

Jean sucks his teeth, leaning in his chair so his elbows sat on his knees, the energy in the room had drastically changed, they were now watching you, making your hands anxiously tremble, their eyes scanning yours, while you tried to look at anything but them, heart out of your chest and now in your throat, they sat so relaxed, so casual like the proposition of sex didn't even phase them.

"C'mon, I want you to tell us who's better, you're our best friend, you're the best one to determine who's best." Jean pouts, this was a very clear-detectable manipulation, and you were not inept.

"Are you trying to manipulate me, Kirstein?" he shakes his head, leisurely stretching back into the chair, "because if you are it won't work on me." Jean peeks over to Eren, looking to be affirmed.

Eren plays with the hem of his shirt, a smug look on his lips, looking down to attempt to hide it.

Both men have talked about getting you to become their little toy, countless times at dinner with all the other cadets to embarrass you- or during the summer when you wore shorts to practice with your gear, sparring with a tank top, they both imagined unholy things, things you would believe to be appalling. "How about- better kisser?" tilting your head, that wasn't so much worse.

"Yeah, we've nearly kissed before too," Jean interjects, he saw your eyebrows scrunch, looking mindless, eyes so naive, his head full of vile thoughts, ways he and Eren could corrupt you, tear you open, and leave you begging for more. But they clearly couldn't let you know what they talked about.

So innocent.

"Sharing drinks," nodding slowly, the boys internally prayed you would loosen up only just a little, just a foot in the door so they could kick the fucking door down and break you in- they both figured it was about time anyways; you were a college student and hadn't done anything?

But you had not even a clue, that dumb little head of yours, how could you not comprehend their tactics. This was their way to get your legs open? This was laughable to them; too easy.

Dragging your ass across the bed, not leaning on the wall anymore; you sat criss-cross in the middle of the mattress, center of their attention, "I guess you're right." Mind racing, Jean would never talk to you again if you had said no to at least kissing, and Eren would probably get upset with you, not eager in being your friend, most likely following in his friend's lead.

Jean rolls closer to the side of the bed in your chair, not even a foot away from you.

"I can go first, Eren?" Eren nods, he was beyond delighted, this was fucking crazy. Truth was, Eren, who was seldom nervous over this type of thing; yet he was envious that Jean could be so... persistent; wishing he could be the same. With Jean grabbing your chin, such a pretty face you had, especially when you were anxious.

Easy to mold, easy to manipulate you; to do whatever he wanted with a bat of his eyelashes and a polite smile.

And here he was- in the back of his head - telling himself that he needed to teach you not to be so susceptible from now on.

He squanders no time, capturing your lips with his own, moving in a swift and low action, you kiss him back. He was incredible, it was at the perfect pace, the residing taste of mint gum that filled your mouth.

No wonder the girls loved Jean so much.

His thumb caressing your cheek which sent little cringes of anxiety throughout your body- realizing you had to kiss Eren after this, this was going to make you so dirty, but how could you kiss Jean and leave your other friend out? How unreasonable that would be.

Eren's abrupt words make you jump, "alright horse face, stop hogging and share." Jean pulls back, lips light rosy pink, even a little swollen, he rolls backward in the chair, the other young man sits up in front of you while still comfortable on the bed.

Instead of Jean's approach, Eren tilts your head, kissing your jawline first, tensing up from the ticklish feeling, soft lips establishing morale towards your choice in agreeing to do what they asserted; it wasn't that terrible after all.

He kisses up to the corner of your mouth and then slowly kisses you on the lips, eyes fluttering closed, drunk off his smell, stomach doing backflips.

Gradually pulling back, he's smiling like a fool before scooching backward back to his spot.

"Who do you think was better?" Jean rushes, blushing and looking to your lap, thumbs playing with each other, subconsciously hoping they would do a little more.  You didn't know who was better, they both were so good, too good.

"I don't know, you both are really good,"

Jean was going mad, you tasted so fucking good, and he didn't know how much longer he could contain himself, trying to remain relaxed.

Eren's dick twitching in his pants when he heard you finally say his name instead of Kerstein's, he was ecstatic...

Jean stands and scoffs, "alright I'll give him that, but I'm good at everything else. Eren s' a fucking virgin boy." biting your tongue, you felt guilty, Jean was really good, telling yourself 'maybe I should stop being so uptight, they would never actually hurt me.' Eren sees you ponder, looking into space while you stewed on your sentiments, Jean with no awareness as he rambles on and on about how experienced he is.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, anxious, you needed to make the first move- you needed to make this right.

Slowly, making sure they're both watching, you begin to unbutton your blouse, bottom-up.

"What are you doing?"

"You two wanted to show me who was better?"

Jean's eyes bug out of his head, smile growing across his face, Eren stands, embarrassed from your suggestion, they were nearly jumping for joy, "but I don't know ho-"

Jean jerked your shoulders, "relax," He whispers, out comes a shaky breath when his hands waste no time to finish unbuttoning your top. "You trust us, you wanna' feel good, right?"

The room was silent besides the pounding of your heart; could it have been any louder?

Blouse wide open for both of them to see your chest. Eren, who sat inches from you tugged at the fabric on your right shoulder, "so pretty- look at these Eren," Jean's large hands cupping your tits, sitting pretty in your bra, your throat grows increasingly dry, the feeling in between your legs tingling, though, you had no idea how to interpret it.

Eren stands back up, standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend, his hand caressing down your back and gripping at the flesh of your skin.

Looking at them as they stare at your chest, their hands all over you. "Do you know how to do anything at all?" Eren asks, shaking his head, he looks at Jean and pulls his hand back, "Jean and I are gonna ake care of you."

"Yeah, okay." Jean pushing you on your back, legs barely open, unbuttoned your pants, tugging them off hungrily. Both looking at you with lust-filled eyes, they had never seen you like this; so bare. Your legs are propped up so Jean and Eren can both stand before them. Their hands trailing up your jittery thighs.

"I'll get you ready, yeah? I don't want to hurt you." Responding with a simple nod, Jean is crouching down so his head is leveled to your clothed cunt, Eren sits back on the bed and slides his hand under your back; with one hand, he's unclasping your bra and peeling it off your body, his soft hands massaging your tits, nipples sensitive when his thumbs spend extra time on them.

Nerves doubling over when Jean's hands now pulling down your matching panties, head snapping up, legs shutting to deter them, Eren pushing you back down. "Calm down, you'll be fine." He reassures.

Eren feeling the soft skin, under his hands, rolling your nipple in between his fingers, Jean dragging his large hands in between your thighs, "have you ever fingered yourself y/n? Made yourself cum?" beyond embarrassed, the way they were taking their time on you, slowly feeling you up, you were almost becoming frustrated. Shaking your head, Jean clicks his tongue, "this might feel weird, but you trust us, right?" An audible gasp is shot out of your mouth when his middle finger is raking up between your folds.

Hissing out as he adds another finger, both of them running up and down your slick pussy, pressing down on a bundle of nerves, "feels- weird!" the more he played around with your sensitive clit, the more your leg twitched, the ticking feeling filling up your stomach, core flexing as he repeated his offense, the same sensitive rubs as his two fingers curled and fucked into you.

"Jean-” He was going so slow, making sure he didn't stretch you out too much, he needed to save that for later.

"Here, come taste."

Eren's grabbing Jean's hand, your tongue lolling out, his coated fingers dragging down your tongue, lips wrapping around his digits, tasting the juices from your cunt.

"Tastes good, right?" fingers still deep in your mouth, you're nodding like a fool, Jean smiling at the sight of the reaction bestowed on your face, the taste of your cum tainting your tastebuds; "of course she likes it, look at her, she wants more."

Eren nods in return, he leans down over you, soft hair falling on your chest as he leaves wet little kisses down your chest, peppering you with his lips down to your belly button.

Watching Jean, who is getting on the bed beside you, his knees next to your head, Eren jumping into action to take his best friends place, his sweats falling low just blow his v- line, he pushes them down, craning your neck to look up at Jean who his also pulling down his pants.

Your throat squeezes shut, lifting your head, "I don't you think that I-" Jean's hand grabbing your hair to silence you, jerking your neck up.

"Don't worry, I told you we'll help you."

"Jean, chill out a little." Eren mumbles, your head getting dropped back onto the bed, eyes fixated on Eren's wide torso, the tent in his boxers which made your mouth water, "I'll go slow, okay?" Palming his cock through his boxers, he holds your legs from under your knees, his boxers just under his cock, sliding his hand down and removes the little bit of coverage he had left. Your eyes widening, he spits in his hand, stroking his throbbing tip a few times with his thumb before adjusting forward and rubbing his raw cock up against your slicked pussy.

The feeling of Eren's thick tip squeezing inside of you makes you cry out in pain, the stinging pain of Eren taking his time to slide into you, fitting into you as much as he can.

Jean pinning your arms up above your head, tears spilling from your eyes, "h-hurts!" you whine, Jean beside you pumping his cock in his fist.

"So fuckin' tight, no wonder it hurts so bad." His hands pinning your legs open and up, he pulls out.

Without warning, he picks up speed, your body curling up from the pressure.

“I forgot what virgin pussy feels like, so tight-” he mumbled, his eyes rolling to the back of his head from the way he could feel his heartbeat in his cock, he needed this so bad.

The pressure soon becomes desirable, wanting to feel it everything he thrusts into you, your complaints soon turn to moans, looking at jean through your eyelashes while he's fixated on the way your boobs bounce while Eren dives deeper into you.

"Don't forget to help Jean out, remember?"

You're situating yourself up on your elbows, turning your body so your head is between Jean's thighs, he's pushing your hair back and holding it in a loose but sufficient grip, "let me guide you."

His thumb swipes down your bottom lip, opening your jaw, tongue sliding past your lips to wrap around his cock like it's instinct.

"Good, just like that," he groans, his hand on the back of your head guiding you further down the base of his cock, Eren fucking you slowly, savoring the feeling of your walls clench around him, sucking him in, he could stay like this forever.

Your neck uncomfortably stretched to pleasure Jean made it all the more painful when he started pushing down the back of your throat; harder to catch your breath, harder to swallow the saliva that was seeping up the back of your throat, trying not to cough around his length.

"Been waitin’ too long for this,” Eren grunts, the lewd noises of his hits snapping against yours on one end while your nose is barely brushing against Jean’s hair around his stomach.

Jean slowly pulls out of your throat, drool following, giving you the chance to speak, “Eren, h-hot!” you cried, your stomach twisting, pussy squelching around his wide cock, head dizzy as you begin to feel like your floating.

Jean sees your body shake from beside him, while he pumps his cock in his free hand, his other hand is kneading your tit in his hand. “Oi, I think she's gonna cum- c’mon it's gonna feel so good, you're so close, pretty girl.” Eren drilling into you with your legs pinned open, moaning and gasping for air as you feel your hole spasm, body tingling as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“C- I'm cumming!” your hand on Eren’s pec, pushing against him to ease the pressure of his cock buried fully inside of you, “f-fuck! Fuck, Eren!” his body sticky on top of yours, thighs uncomfortably stuck to his waist.

“God, can stay like this all day.” You panted like a dog, blinking the blurred vision out of your eyes from the blinding orgasm.

Jean’s getting off the bed, slapping your thigh to sign for Eren to get off of you, “I hope you can take it, pretty girl.” The brunette pulling up his boxers and sitting on the bed where Jean was just seated.

A panting mess, Jeans tearing you from your spot and pushing you on your hands and knees, Jean presses against the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch, abused pussy mere inches away from another cock.

Eren picks your head up by your hair, an evil smile growing on his face as he sees your face twist with pleasure, Jean pushing into your cunt, a mixture of his best friends’ cum already leaking out of your cunt, “gonna fill you some more, just stay still for me, okay?”

He holds your hips in place, the further his cock sunk into you, the more it hurt, the more he stretched you out, the more you were split open by the intimidating of him.

“If you keep squeezin’ me like that, ” he spits, unable to finish his sentence.

He thrusts into you from behind, held grounded in place as Jean ruts into your pussy mercilessly, Eren watching you cry and beg for stupid little nothings.

Cream covering his cock, feeling your walls tighten around him, he snakes his hand over your thigh, and to your clit, rubbing lose and light circles around the bud, your legs quivering, back jolting up from the overstimulation, “hm, what did I say about stating still?” ripping away from your clit, you whine and your back is pushed back down.

Jean mere inches away from climax, hips sputtering against your backside as you feel your juices drip down your thigh, sticking to his stomach.

Your head drops into the mattress.

“Pretty girl, we're far from done with you,” Eren’s purring into your ear, “dont give up now, we haven't gotten to the best part.”

The pad of Jean’s thumb is pressing against the rim of your tight, pretty virgin ass, “you can trust us, we haven't hurt you yet, have we?”

Nodding, this was only the beginning of a very- very long night. One of many, actually.

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[imaginesupply]

You have my permission - Tom Hiddleston smut (sub!Tom)

Summary : Tom throws a tantrum and his mistress gives him more than he bargained for. 

Warnings: Sub!Tom, switch!Tom, oral (f receiving), PIV, body fluids and aftercare. 

Words: 4.4k 

Smut after the cut. 

She strolled inside the bedroom behind Tom, her fingers dexterously removing the heavy earrings that were weighing down her earlobes painfully. Setting them down on the dresser with a relieved sigh, she turned to Tom whose back to her as he crouched down and took off his shoes. What a nice ass, she mused with a grin.

"A bath or a movie, which do you fancy?" She asked, offering him the choice. Tom had seemed off at dinner, not his usual cheerful self and she was concerned. Yet, truth be told, she was tired and though a bath was relaxing perspective, she doubted she'd have the energy to leave the tub once the water lost its warmth, but those were two activities she knew Tom enjoyed particularly and she wanted to treat her good boy to a pleasant evening.

"I don't care."

She stopped in her tracks even as she opened the drawer for a fresh nightdress, a frown taking over her face. "What was that?"

"I don't care." Tom repeated more forcefully.

She had heard him right the first time, then. Hiding her surprise well, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'll remind you, darling, that's not how you speak to me."

Tom was barefoot now but standing up to his full height by the bed, an expression on his face that she wasn't acquainted with. "Or what?" He sneered with sarcasm, so far from the sweet boy she knew.

With an eye roll, she dropped the night dress on the bed. Tom had already broken so many rules within the past minute, but she was feeling clement. After all, unlike him, she had enjoyed herself immensely at dinner.

"What is it, Thomas? Why are you being so fussy tonight?" She sighed with resignation. As much as his attitude was grating on her nerves, she needed to know that he was alright. "Come on, sit down," she ordered gently, patting the mattress next to her.

"No!"

"No?" She was giving him one last chance.

To her surprise, Tom groaned, his hands tightening into fists for a moment before loosening again. "No, I will not sit down just because you told me to, not after..."

Her patience with him was thinning down to a hair width. This was not how she had envisioned their evening, but she would spend the night punishing him if she had to.

"Either you tell me exactly what's going on, Thomas, or you'll spend the next couple of days with a painful bottom," she promised, crossing her arms over her chest and just barely resisting tapping her foot on the floor.

His face changed at once. Tom knew those weren't idle threats. He winced, remembering the last time she had uttered those words. Still, he couldn't shake off the fury that gnawed at him from the inside.

"I did not like our waiter tonight, nor the way you behaved with him." Tom finally confessed though his voice remained petulant.

She was unable to hold back a scoff. Was her good boy acting out because he was jealous? "Really? I thought he was very efficient, and I treated him the same respect I do all other people."

Tom's eyes widened at her statement and suddenly all she could see was their light, vibrant blue.  “He spent the entire evening with his eyes glued onto your cleavage! He touched your hand when he filled your glass! And you didn't even say anything, you just let him do it!" He spat accusatorily.

A tantrum, then, she concluded, leaning back against the wall with an amused smirk as she sized him up. Thomas has misbehaved in the past - some small misdemeanours here or there that had warranted a proportionate disciplinary response from her - but this was on an entirely different level. For some reason, punishment didn't seem like the appropriate response this time around.

"Very well, Tom. You've made your case and I’ve listened." She saw it in his eyes, relief washing over the sizzling emotion that she now recognised as jealousy. "What is your solution?"

Tom didn't manage to hide his reaction at her words. He felt put on the spot, her taunting stare intimidating him more than any handcuffs or collar ever could, and without the comfort that came with them. The usually eloquent man stuttered. "I don't know, mistress," he admitted, all sudden burst of courage gone but the look on her face let him know she wasn’t satisfied with the answer. "I just need to know you're as much mine as I'm yours, mistress."

He was back to being her good boy, it appeared, puppy eyes begging to be forgiven for his previous outburst. She licked her lower lip, anticipating the fun that was to come, before nodding as she tilted her head. This was a great occasion for a lesson, she decided. "Let me be yours, then. You have my permission."

Tom blinked once, then twice. Stunned didn’t begin to cover it. Was she really...? No, it couldn't be. "I'm quite not sure I understand, mistress."

She cocked her brow at his reaction. Oh, this was going to be so much better than a movie or a soak. Lightly waving her hand at herself, she made it crystal clear to him.

"I'm yours tonight, to do as you please." Thomas gulped at her offer - no - her command, feeling his Adam's apple tightening just like his trousers. "Claim me, mark me, ravish me. Whatever you want - I can take it.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Isn't that what you wanted, darling?" She goaded him.

Tom was taken aback, so much so, he didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do. He’d never been in this position before. With other women, sure. But her? His mistress? His only mistress? He wouldn’t lie and pretend the thought had never crossed his mind, but it was never more than some delirious fantasies that taunted him when she kept him teetering on the edge for hours on end and his sanity became scarce. Tom tried to recall what he did to all the women before her, how he had his way with them before… before his mistress helped him discover who he was and what he truly needed.

He gazed upon her again, taking in the way she was waiting for him to do something, head cocked expectantly, exposing the slender column of her neck, the upward tilt op her lip never quite turning into a smirk yet not straying far from it. She was taunting him, testing him. Tom that even if he seized control now, it would be at her demand. No matter what he did, she’d still have the upper hand. She was not giving herself to him the way he gave herself to her. No, she was simply humouring him like a pet. And it made him want nothing more than to make her choke on her words.

I can take it, she’d said. He would be the judge of that, he vowed.

With two long strides, he crossed the room, stopping only he had crowded her against the navy wall. Even with the black high heels she fancied, Tom towered over her. His fingers went to her chin, tilting her face upwards and forcing her to look into his eyes before he leant down and kissed her ferociously. He let his tongue invade her mouth, the back of her head hitting the wall behind her as their teeth clicked together. And then he hesitated, a small pause in his moves as if he waited once again for her permission. Instead, she smiled against his lips, encouraging him silently and then gasped in mouth under the reprised assault, surprising both of them with the sweet sound.

Tom broke off the kiss, tracing his lips along her jawline before settling on the soft spot beneath her earlobe. She flinched against him when he started sucking on her skin, stopping only to alternate with nibbles. To his surprise, she didn’t protest. In lieu of that, she was oddly compliant under his touch even as the guilty feeling that he was doing something naughty and forbidden invaded him. Would she punish him later? Shaking off these thoughts, he thrust up his hips, pressing the outline of his throbbing erection against her lower stomach. Her shaky, shallow breaths were driving him mad.

He had perhaps expected that she would rock her hips against him, rub herself on him like a cat in heat. Tom should have known better than to predict her reactions. She slid her hand between their bodies, cupping his balls and the base of his erection, adding yet another layer between his cock and the sweet cunt he so desired. His lips went slack against her neck. She knew just how much pressure to apply, knew what drove him wild better than he himself did. After all, she was his mistress. She also knew he hadn’t been granted permission to cum for the past three days.

His hand fisted her hair tightly, pulling on it and giving her no choice but to look up at him. She was beautiful like this; he had never seen her from this angle. Like a black rose, it was beautiful to look at, but unnatural. She then had the audacity to grin, her hand never stopping its languid caress, not even when he tilted her head so back far, she was looking up at the ceiling. The position exposed all her elegant neck to him. Tom could spot the frantic pulsing of her artery just next to the hickey he had sucked onto her skin. He should cover her in hickeys, he decided; her neck, of course, but also her collarbones, her breasts, the dips on her hips and the skin on her inner thighs that was softer than velvet and silk combined.

An opportunist, she had used his short distraction to loosen up his belt just enough to slither her small hand inside his trousers and boxers. He gasped at her touch, warm breath puffing against her skin before he seized her wandering hand without a warning, pinning it on the wall above her head.

Tom glared down at her, nostrils flared and eyes dark; a silent warning. She wasn’t used to submitting, he wasn’t even sure she had done it before. He half expected her to call out their safe word, to say ‘opium’ and have him stop it all. He halted, giving her the chance do so, even as he desired nothing more than to throw her on the bed and fuck her into the mattress. He had the strength for it, he could overpower her easily anytime, but his limbs didn’t obey. It felt forbidden, even with her permission.

She chuckled devilishly as if his grip on her hair didn’t cause her any pain even when she did so. “That’s it, big boy? Where did all that fury of yours go?” She was egging him on again. And for a moment, he was able to picture it in his mind. The large, burning imprint of his hand on her ass, the smudged mascara underneath her eyes as he made her choke on his cock. “Cat got your tongue and your brain?”

That did it. “Shut up,” Tom ordered at the same time as he pulled her off the wall, steering her to the bed with his grip on her head before forcefully throwing her down on the mattress face first. Spotting the zipper running along the back of elegant silk dress, he gave the garment a chance but ended up ripping it open at the seams when it got stuck. His patience was running out. “Scoot over. I want you right in the centre.”

She did as he asked without a single word. Moving to the middle of the mattress, she left behind her torn dress and lied down on her back, showing off her lingerie. It was black and lacy, and intricate. He wanted to destroy it the same way you felt driven to pluck the prettiest flower. She propped herself up on her elbows, spreading her legs and showing him her pretty little cunt through the crotchless panties as Tom took his time taking off his clothes at the end of the bed.

“You’re such a wanton vixen,” he told her. His fear that he was perhaps taking it too far was stilled when he watched her fingers graze over her clit. “Don’t touch what’s mine.” She obeyed, though she sported a Cheshire cat grin. It would be gone soon.

Tom crawled his way over her body, his broader shoulders caging her in, a growl escaping his throat as his pulsing cock slid along the warm skin of her thigh, leaving behind a trail of precum. He brought his face to hers and she parted her lips, expecting a kiss. He bit down on her neck instead, not strongly enough to draw blood but enough for it to sting. And sting it did, her back arching up like a tense bow.

Freeing one hand, he opened the front of her bra with no struggle. The lace fell apart, revealing her ample breasts to his eyes. Tom inhaled sharply at the sight of her pebbled nipples before sliding lower and seizing one between his teeth, nibbling on the sensitive nub mercilessly. Her lips canted up against his as she moaned, head thrown back against the pillow. She was enjoying it, her hand clutching his curls firmly, but not pulling him off. In fact, he decided, she was enjoying this way too much.

Tom let go of her breast, grinning at the offended look she shot him. She wasn’t used to being denied her pleasure. A bit hypocritical, he sniggered. He was determined to make her regret all those times she had tied him to the headboard, the hours she had spent teasing him, edging him, leaving him wanting, the bloody cock cage she had made him wear for a week after disobeying her. “As much as I love your pretty face, I have other plans for you tonight.” He groaned, and then without giving her time for the words to sink in, he spun her around on her belly.

She tried raising herself up on her elbows, but Tom didn’t let her, applying enough pressure between her shoulder blades to get the message across. Still, somehow, she managed to turn her head sideways, mouth parted as she struggled for air. “You’ll pay for this, darling,” she promised all too confidently but didn’t utter the safe word. He spanked her ass.

“Let us first see if you’re still able to do anything after this,” Tom teased as he forced his knees between her legs, prying them open and putting her tempting cunt on display. She smelled ripe.

Holding himself up on one hand next to her head, he moved to cover her body with his, casting a shadow all around her frame. With his free hand, Tom gripped his cock. He was still hard. Not that it was a surprise: when was he ever not hard in her presence?

Tom stroked his iron shaft twice before moving his long fingers to her core. Her probed at her warm, delicate folds. She was wet, though not soaked the way she only got after he’d spent ages worshipping her pussy. He guided himself to her entrance, making her feel his glans pressing against her opening.

This would hurt sweetly without more foreplay – she was a small, little thing and him the opposite. And yet, she didn’t even flinch, her eyes didn’t waver, quite the contrary. She was daring him to do it, looking back at him over her shoulder with curled lips. Tom had never been allowed inside her without her explicit permission – often after pitiful begging on his part. Gauging her reaction, he pointed his cock at her tiny puckered hole instead. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, preparing herself for the painful intrusion. Still no safe word. She was tough to crack, Tom realised, not unimpressed before aligning himself with her pussy again. He didn’t dare take her last virgin hole with no preparation, desecrate his mistress like that.

His arm shook as he held up his weight. One thrust, that’s all it would take. He’d fuck her the way he had imagined himself doing countless times before, when his love for her blurred at the border between hatred and love, enmity and devotion, when she deemed his begging not sincere enough or made him plead even for an orgasm by his own hand like a dutiful puppet.

He wanted nothing more than to have his cock engulfed by her warmth. His cock begged him for it. She was waiting for him to thrust in, propping up her ass invitingly, the slope of her back acute. She was beautiful, face up or face down. She was everything Tom had ever desired in a woman. And yet, to him, she looked wrong in this position. He groaned in frustration, sweaty curls clinging to his forehead as his arm kept shaking. This was not how she was meant to be taken, to be pleasured. Just like you wouldn’t drink champagne from a dirty, plastic goblet, Tom couldn’t bring himself to fuck her like this, like an animal.

Letting out the most frustrated of growls, he seized her shoulder, turning her around without a warning before letting himself fall down on the mattress next to her. “I can’t do it,” he confessed, voice cracking.

Tom saw in the way her lips suddenly smirked and her eyes twinkled, finally understanding why she had never seemed apprehensive. His mistress had known all along he wouldn't be able to go through with it, even if he himself thought he could. She had called him on his bluff and won.

"Of course, you could not do it, darling," she cooed, sitting up next to him. "Do you want to know why?" Her fingers traced the line of his jaw almost condescendingly.

Tom swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he stared up at her. His previous boldness had left without leaving a trace. "Please, mistress."

She smiled again even as she slid a leg over his chest, enclosing him between the warmth of her thighs. And then, leaning down, she whispered into his ear as if sharing a great secret. "Because, my sweet boy, it’s not in your nature to take by force. You want to please me and earn what I give to you.” She murmured seductively. “Am I wrong?"

Tom shook his head almost at once, the need to please her surging in him at her words. She was never wrong, not when it came to him. And when she moved up to sit on his face, all he could do was mouth a breathless thank you for being allowed to touch her even after his misbehaving before his need to be her good boy drove him to her cunt.

She kept one hand wrapped tightly in his curls, the other one holding onto to the headboard to keep steady. Her sweet Tom was indeed very talented with his tongue, she barely had to guide him at all but that still didn't mean she'd let go of her tight grip anytime soon. "Such a good boy," she praised him, more breathless than she liked to admit. "Licking your mistress's cunt so well." Tom whimpered against her clit; praise always got him needy and she enjoyed his desperate sounds almost as much as she did his tongue.

Close to orgasm, she decided to reward him for his eager work. Her hand left the headboard, searching for his to place it on her breast. She moved her eyes, finding that his hand was no longer clutching the bed sheets in desperate need like it had been seconds ago.

Craning her neck backwards to look over shoulders even as the first pleasures started sparkling and erupting from her clit, she spotted his hand snaking along his side to his weeping cock which had already formed a small, sticky puddle on his navel.

She managed to seize his disobedient hand just before she came, twisting and squeezing it painfully in her fist even as she rocked against his face through the waves of her orgasm, with no regard to his breathing.

With one last deep breath even as Tom still lapped at her juices, she moved away from his mouth and went to straddle his chest, covering him in her slick. He was panting, eyes closed with a furrow between his brows even as she felt him thrust up his hips into thin air, seeking an inexistent friction. What a sweet, needy boy, too bad he couldn't control himself.

Before she could even say anything, Tom apologised the moment his eyes blinked open. "I'm sorry, mistress," he exhaled.

She rubbed his bruising knuckles with her thumb, etching a look of concern on her face and she saw the way his expression visibly relax at her soft smile. God, she loved toying with him, especially when he misbehaved. "You'll make up for your disobedience with your big cock, won't you, darling?" She cooed.

The thought of finally sinking his cock inside had him nodding eagerly at her, sweaty curls bouncing like a halo around his angelic face. "Yes, mistress. Anything you want."

Oh, she wanted this alright, she mused as she reached out her hand to gently cup his cheek, a smile ghosting on her lips. She scooted over, moving backwards to straddle his hips. His cock was the prettiest shade of pink and the hardest kind of iron.

With a finger she lightly traced the vein running along the underside of his shaft, noticing how he moaned even as he fought the urge to rock up against her touch. It was adorable, the way he was trying to be good now that she’d chastised him. She decided not to tell him it was too late for any of that now.

Instead, she slid her wet cunt along his shaft, the frown of desperate concentration on his eyes more than making up for the slight discomfort on her sensitive folds. How long since she had last let him cum, she wondered, knowing this was going to be torture for him. The loud gasp that escaped his throat when she wrapped her hand firmly around the base of his cock only served as further proof.

Tom's eyes were bright and wide, unable to focus on a particular image as his mistress lowered herself on his desperate cock; the sight of himself disappearing inside her tight channel, the bouncing of her breasts as she moved languorously and languidly, or perhaps, those five seconds of deep intake of air during which her eyes closed and her face lost that regal composure of hers before she got used to the stretch.

"How does that feel, darling?" She asked him with the smile of someone who already knew the answer, in rhythm with her riding of him. She never moved with short, clear-cut thrusts, her hips smoothly undulating instead in a way that had him helpless and feeling the tightening in his gut surging way too soon.

"Very good, mistress," he managed to reply though it came out strangled, his muscles have begun tensing and his fingers itching to touch his mistress. Tom knew better this time.

She seemed satisfied with his response, picking up a faster pace above him. Watching Tom's face contort with bliss brought her just as much pleasure as the rutting of his cock. Tendons straining against his throat, eyes tightly shut and anguished whimpers escaping his parted lips. She anticipated his pleas the moment Tom opened his eyes like a wild animal blinded by the lights. "I need to cum. Please, mistress," he begged, knuckles turning white around the crumpled bedsheets. "Please let me cum."

Her hand moved to his throat, finger pads digging softly into his skin for balance. He loved her hand there, it was a reassurance and a threat all at once and he keened under her touch. She shook her head softly. "No."

The single word startled him as much as her increased pace. He was too close, he wouldn't be able to- "Please, mistress," Tom whined and blabbered, tears welling at the corners of his eyes before running down his sharp cheeks as he fought his release until his muscles trembled.

Still, she took no mercy, shushing him with a finger on his lips. As her orgasm crept closer at a dizzying pace, the look of focus and torment on his sweet, angelic face became almost too much to bear. He was trying so hard to be her good boy, it was beyond adorable.

So, when she tightened around him like a vice as bliss took over her mind and Tom let out the loudest strangled moan, she knew he was bound to fail her command no matter his determination and finally took pity on his anguish. "Cum for me, darling."

Tom tried to thank her for the privilege of filling her with his cum but his control burst at her permission before he was able to say anything intelligible. Instead, he cried out as he came in her, spurt after spurt.

Still coming down from her own high, she climbed off of Tom and then sat down next to him, moving his head to rest on her thigh. She decided to reserve his punishment for tomorrow, noticing his need for aftercare. She'd learned to expect his vulnerability after an orgasm, his longing to be held tightly and true enough, he moved to his side and hugged her waist. "You're okay, darling?" She asked, or rather, cooed.

Tom nuzzled into her thigh, a soft smile on his thin lips. "Yes, mistress, thank you," he mumbled against her skin and then she heard the slight shift in his voice. "I am sorry, for earlier..."

She smiled down at him, brushing his sweaty curls off of his forehead. "I know, sweetie."

It was a struggle then to get him out of bed and into the bathroom, with him holding on to her for dear life. But a small order from her and Tom complied, following her into the shower where she had him kneeling on the floor before her with his face pressed to her sternum as she washed his hair. Her sweet boy wouldn’t like what tomorrow held for him.

[sabraeal]

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

[philliamwrites]

koi no yokan

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Kazuha / Aether

Tags: boys kissing, slight angst with happy ending, simping aether, practice sparring

Words: 2k

Summary: “A healthy mind in a healthy body,” Kazuha said, crossing the little circle they used as their practice area to the maple tree where they left their stuff. He took a dark cloth from his backpack and began wiping his body. Aether looked pointedly at the clear sky as if checking if one of Baal’s bolts would spontaneously flash and smite them. “Whatever thoughts trouble you will affect your performance and slowly but steadily deteriorate your physical capabilities.”

“Did the wind tell you that?” Aether wasn’t really into the idea that the gentle breezes cooling their hot skin spilt all his troubles. Be it his mourning for his absent sister or how horny he was for Kazuha. “Maybe the wind should just mind its own business.”

Notes: Inspired by @jeruki's fanart. My twitter: @philliam, my ko-fi: philliam

koi no yokan(恋の予感) (n.) lit. "Premonition of Love"; the sense one can have upon first meeting another person that the two of them are going to fall in love. It is the feeling that future love is inevitable.

In his journey through Teyvat, Aether had seen a lot of things. Dragons, assassins, sentient flowers shooting their frozen or burning seeds at him which never made for a funny joke when he and his party sat around the campfire in the cool evenings. Catboys grown into men who paid their taxes and lived a humble life near calm Springvale. Name it and Aether had seen it.

But Kaedehara Kazuha was something else entirely. When he fought, it was hard to look away. He had a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what his opponent would do next. His sword wasn’t simply a weapon he swung to cut through enemy lines. It was part of him. Like Lumine completed Aether, Kazuha was only fully himself with a weapon in his hand. This kind of commitment Aether only knew from Xiao, but Kazuha made his devotion for battle look divine; so much purer. Almost innocent in a way that did not speak of foolishness or guilelessness or the innocence of a child that simply waited to be consumed by the world. Kazuha’s innocence was something honest, linked to the making at the heart of the world.

He looked happiest with his sword slicing through the air. He looked graceful plunging from the skies like a hawk pouncing to catch its prey. He looked deliciously fuckable with his hitatare slipping off his shoulders and revealing smooth, white skin glistening with sweat. Aether had noticed a little scar winking at him whenever the fabric slipped and wondered how it would taste like near that elegant curve where Kazuha’s chest turned to solid, firm abs. He imagined leaning over and tasting Kazuha’s skin and suck—

A harsh blow swiped his feet from under him. The world spun and for a moment Aether was flying again, soaring through the sky before golden eyes flashed in malice and his sister was taken from him. The reality of Lumine being absent would come to Aether in flashes. He knew it to be so, but he could not feel it to be true except in these sudden bursts of realisation. The light of that strange, unthinkable truth would dazzle him for a moment and then it would be gone again, a fleeting sense of terrible loss. The pain almost always felt the same, and all he could do in that moment was take it, endure the unbearable and bear it.

It ended as quickly as it stared. Aether’s back hit the hard ground, the impact punching the breath out of his lungs. He stared up at the beautiful crimson sky stretching overhead—red like so many things in Inazuma which was fitting for the country governed by a goddess with a taste for blood.

But then, Kazuha’s even more beautiful face bent over him.

“Focus, Aether,” he said, offering his hand. Aether imagined pulling Kazuha down next to him where they would roll in the dirt like two puppies, drunk on adrenaline and intoxicated with the addicting taste of defiling these sacred lands where the cries of helpless, innocent men would never be heard over the ever-present roar of thunder. Where neither of them was welcome.

Instead, he allowed Kazuha to pull him back up on his feet, slick skin against slick skin, with a swift ease that left little room for imagination how else he could manhandle Aether. He swallowed, his mouth dry.

Kazuha exhaled softly, and even in that companionable silence Aether had grown used to, it was loud enough to catch his attention. “Where are your thoughts, Aether?” Kazuha asked.

Aether kicked some pebbles. He could hardly confess how he imagined sucking Kazuha off. Somehow he didn’t think someone as versed, with a soul consumed by wanderlust like Kazuha, would like to hear that. So he simply shrugged, inspecting the hilt of his wooden practice sword as if it could be held accountable for his lack of focus.

“Oh, you know,” he said, shrugging. “Archons and Visions and the like. The usual stuff.”

Kazuha’s eyebrows rose. Aether held his stare for a long minute but ended up turning away first. Somehow he didn’t believe secrets could be kept hidden for too long from those keen scarlet eyes, and while he wouldn’t mind presenting his body to him, he wasn’t too comfortable bearing his very soul to someone he’d known for less than a month. He wondered if that even mattered. He had let Kaeya rail him in much shorter time than that.

“A healthy mind in a healthy body,” Kazuha said, crossing the little circle they used as their practice area to the maple tree where they left their stuff. He took a dark cloth from his backpack and began wiping his body. Aether looked pointedly at the clear sky as if checking if one of Baal’s bolts would spontaneously flash and smite them. “Whatever thoughts trouble you will affect your performance and slowly but steadily deteriorate your physical capabilities.”

“Did the wind tell you that?” Aether wasn’t really into the idea that the gentle breezes cooling their hot skin spilt all his troubles. Be it his mourning for his absent sister or how horny he was for Kazuha. “Maybe the wind should just mind its own business.”

The wind picked up, tossing Aether’s hair left and right so it came even more loose after their sparring. He was sure his mind played tricks on him, but somewhere in the distance it sounded like Venti’s clear, bell-like laughter. If this was his weird way of trying to set him up, Aether was not happy with it.

“No, you just did.” Kazuha finished cleaning himself, but was in no apparent hurry to tie up his hitatare. When he looked back up at Aether, his smile was a little mischievous but still gentle, and Aether wanted to kiss that stupid grin away. He flopped down next to Kazuha. Dry maple leaves rustled under his body and he took one in his fingers, turning it this and that way just so he could observe the crimson and stall time.

If he met the Raiden Shogun and she didn’t have the answers he desired, then what? How much longer would he have to journey, to tread foreign countries and dangerous lands until he found what Lumine needed him to see? Why was this arduous task better suited than simply telling him? The only logical answer was that during her own travels, Lumine had grown to not trust him in a way only she understood and couldn’t confide in him. The thought closed like a cold fist around Aether’s heart. There was nothing logical about that, for if Lumine chose to hide her heart from Aether, where would that leave him? Loneliness spread like a dark stain inside him, a horror that stole his breath and tightened his chest. Black dots danced across his vision. Aether noticed his body moving without his will, he sat up, afraid he might suffocate. His heart. His heart wasn’t in his chest anymore. It was in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Just thinking she doesn’t need me, Lumine is gone forever and all I have loved, I have loved alone—

A warm hand grasped his, squeezing his fingers painfully until his splintering mind reassembled to the present. Aether stared at Kazuha with wide eyes, filled with horror, with fear, he just couldn’t understand how anyone bore that loneliness without a twin, without another part of their soul bearing the harsh world with them and give comfort and respite.

“Aether?”

Aether flinched, only noticing then how close Kazuha hovered near his face. When he looked down, he saw how his golden strands were caught between Kazuha’s slender fingers.

“There was a maple leaf in your hair,” Kazuha said, not taking his eyes away from Aether.

“Oh.” Aether’s reeling thoughts momentarily halted at this whimsical observation, so simple and apart from his anxious feelings. He looked up at the grand tree above them, crying red leaves. “Really?”

Kazuha still looked at him. A gentle tug lowered Aether’s head back down.

“No,” he said, and then kissed him. His soft lips brushed against Aether’s once, then twice and then he pressed his mouth to his, pushing Aether to the solid, hard ground. One leg stole between Aether’s, pressing a knee against his crotch, and Oooh. Until now, Aether had thought Kazuha to be soft and restrained, a man more servant to the voice of nature than his own desires. But there was nothing soft or restrained about the way he pinned Aether to the ground now, stole his breath and swallowed all those little huffs and moans, making Aether go crazy with lust.

Swift fingers dug into his bare waist. Aether was looking forward to the bruises he’d see blossoming the next morning. Their bodies pressed together hard; Aether arched his back, hoping that if he just willed it hard enough, he would become one with Kazuha and fill that gnawing black hole inside him. Kazuha reached out and put his thumb to Aether’s jawline. The tips of his fingers brushed the hollow of his throat and pushed against the pulse point where Aether’s blood visibly thundered in exalting beats against his skin.

Kazuha’s tongue darted across Aether’s lower lip. Willingly, Aether opened his mouth, longing to savour his taste and finally quench his thirst for the exquisite being that Kaedahara Kazuha was.

But Kazuha remained still, their mouths inches away from each other, each inhaling the other’s breath. Aether opened his eyes, meeting Kazuha’s that had turned so much darker. Wilder.

“You don’t even know what you do to people, do you?” he mumbled against Aether’s lips. His nose grazed his cheek as he dove for Aether’s jawline, his neck, mapping Aether’s face with his lips and teeth. Aether remembered Kazuha saying once that he smelled like stars, and wondered how that worked.

“What—“ Aether exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “—do you mean?” He tried to buck up into Kazuha, to create some delicious friction between them, but Kazuha’s grip around his waist was like iron. Aether whined, but Kazuha made with one, sharp bite pretty clear that whatever happened would only happen on his volition.

“The way you move, the way you look and think no one notices.” Amusement stole into Kazuha’s voice. “Or might you think only I don’t notice?”

“I am anything but subtle,” Aether acknowledged, planting a kiss on Kazuha’s temple. He chuckled against Aether’s skin. “And you don’t necessarily make it easier, fighting like this.” His hands sneaked inside Kazuha’s hitatare, fingers trembling with excitement spread against his warm chest.

Kazuha inhaled sharply. His own fingers trailed a path up Aether’s waistline, nails scratching the sensitive skin and sending shivers all over his body. “Look who’s talking. It’s hard focusing on anything else with you walking around like this.”

Aether laughed, dark and rich. “It’s my pleasure.”

“No.” Kazuha tugged the fabric of Aether’s black collar down and kissed his neck. “It’s mine.”

Aether didn’t know how long they stayed like this, cradled against the maple tree’s trunk, growing drunk on kisses and lust and the taste of each other until their lips were bruised. At some point, they had dozed off under the setting sun that made way to twinkling stars that winked at them in mischief. Only they knew the secrets and confessions they shared, absolving one another from their darkest sins.

“I know you seek your sister,” Kazuha said, studying the joints and bumps on Aether’s fingers before he brought them to his lips. “We both follow steps of people dear to us, choosing to ignore we only run after shadows. I think that is why my soul refuses to leave you.”

Familiar pain throbbed in Aether’s chest, but where it once was sharp and overwhelming, it now had softened to a dull song. Bearable. “I’m sure one day we’ll catch up to them.” He intertwined his legs with Kazuha’s, felt the warmth radiate off his body. “Together.”

[spiralnin]

"Just kiss me" her whispered request was filled with pained longing, desperation permeating her movements as she pulled his face closer to hers, lips pressing against his as her hands quickly found their way under his shirt. "I just need to feel you're really here with me"

Finding themselves in their own little world, tucked into the shadows of familiar places, there was no denying the fiery excitement that burns it’s furious song within his veins. Just hearing that with her voice wound in such a fashion, how impatience blended together with their daily routine only for the privacy of one of their many rooms to be applied for the perfect use. Naruto’s eyes held a half-lidded flare as he peered into those emeralds that burned with a difference purpose. An undeniably, mind-melting need that found him just as voraciously as he intends to put that to perfect use.

By building up even these moments with the kind of teasing he’s infamous for.

That said kiss wouldn’t be drawn just yet to those beautiful tiers. Instead she’d find his hot lips immediately attacking her neck, slow, hungry kisses working their steamy trail up that pristine column pulsing vibrantly. The flavor in itself was divine, leaving him to enjoy it as much as her fingers were, while they felt like they couldn’t decide whether to hang with the relaxing touches or to outright rip his shirt apart entirely, a small price for peppering these temptations upon her. He’d  feed upon the pride it gives him while basking in each firm graze of his lips upon skin, just a tinge of that fang carefully scrapping against her jawline. “Sakura..”

Was she aware how much of a double edged sword this made? For every brand of this secret melody he elicits, having her squirm with that same loving hunger, it only made the coals of his own fire immolate with a mindless need. Those broad hands found themselves adventurous, working along her full curves, skimming across those clothed hips to her full thighs, allowing the natural high heat of his to soak against her skin through such a flimsy barrier. Greedy squeezes of his palm would playfully test those limits, burning away the tension while allowing a much more potent force immediately take it’s place.

For a moment they remain a hair’s breadth away, blonde and blossom pink remaining meshed as their bangs meet, giving him the perfect view of just how drawn into the moment she was. A potent, energetic beat of his heart storms through his being as that hunger gnawing deep within his belly held one clear, concise demand as those powerful arms kept her locked in place.

“I’ma be as greedy as I want.”

Scratch that, both of them were going to beat.

Their lips meeting was pouring pure fuel in the foolish hope of quenching this hunger that ached in their veins. He knows it, he for damn sure Sakura knows it, leading to Naruto happily basking in this addictive flavor better known as her. It draws an electrical, searing pleasure through his veins, causing that low growl to edge against her lips while keeping her selfishly close. As one of those hands sweep up in order to graze through her sweet smelling tresses, the other cupped underneath her vibe, giving it a prime squeeze as the kiss they share immediately deepens, that growing fire poorly hiding itself to the miraculous medic seated upon his lap. There would be firm, shamelessly hard proof that grazes between her legs, being one of the many reasons those hissed utterances would be all for her to drink in.

@wokasho