#this present rapture

[briarrolfe]

Still thinking about the relevancy of rapture anxiety comics

[briar-rolfes-research-oubliette]

Reading this and shaking my head and repeating, "Not to be confused with Whore of Babylon"

[rad-roche]

i can already tell this side profile is going to be really fun to draw

[silkchiffon]

oh to give an in-depth presentation about a show

[vampirejuno]

Ok one more thing.

[peacemore-springs]

Caught Up In The Rapture

if we should all learn to live in the present moment and learn to stop clinging to a deluding past is this song entitled, Caught Up In The Rapture, the epitome of such a welcomed acknowledgement and gift?

Have a listen and love the experience of hearing such a great and compassionate song.

[nattousan]

i love people's willingness to get hype over dumb shit.

I was driving home today and pull up to a light. As i'm slowing down i 👁️👁️ lock 👁️👁️ eyes with the dude in the car next to me. I spring into action, this is the moment I've been waiting for.

Now, something you must know about me is I drive around with several small plastic 🦀crabs 🦀 on my dashboard, One: for the whimsy of it all and two: on the off chance i encounter another driver who i think could benefit from witnessing them.

This young gentleman was one such someone.

As i pull up, as previously stated, our eyes lock and I hold up one☝️ finger☝️

Perplexed by my unprompted gesticulation, the young man rolls down his window, "what the devil could this perfect stranger be about to tell me?" he might have been thinking.

I present a singular dashboard crab, green and brown, homely but not without its charm.

I study his reaction, grinning encouragingly. He's nodding, obviously intrigued by my plasticine crustacean.

I wag my finger and shake my head, removing the crab from view. Confusion again, but he leans forward, invested. I have him now.

I grab my second dashboard crab, a rotund white and brown crab, easily the most beautiful of my crabs as it sports large discernible claws of an attractive size and silhouette.

✌️ TWO ✌️ i tell him.

He's cheering now, and rightly so, as these are delightful little beasts that anyone would be happy to encounter. But now comes the clincher, time to seal the deal.

My finger wags once more. He's awestruck, I have him completely enraptured. If a car had come and smeared us both into the pavement we would not have noticed, so wrapped up in my display were we.

I bring out my showstopper: a bright pink spider crab with delicately long legs the likes of which had never before nor since been seen in mid afternoon traffic.

As emphatically as i can express, I display all three of my dashboard crabs to this man, three fingers pressed triumphantly to the glass.

the guy is losing it in his car, mouth wide in what i assume to be a primal shout of crab derived excitement. His arms are pumping so vigorously its shaking his stationary vehicle.

We sit there, sharing in a moment of mutual jubilation, and then the light changes, and we move forward in line. He drives off, honking his horn in rapturous exultation,

and we part ways, exactly the same perhaps but changed nonetheless.

🦀

[blkkizzat]

❛ IN YO PU$$Y TONGUE TWISTIN' LIKE ITS STIR FRY!❜

✰summary: don't ask toji to make you dinner if you aren't ready to be dinner ✰tw: nasty, filthy, insane pussy eating like its groceries. literal groceries cause there's lots of food/cooking sex references lmfao. ✰wc: <1k [no taglist under 1k]

Toji who you sass, telling him to be useful for once and "make you dinner." Unfortunately for you, Toji takes it quite literally as he makes you HIS dinner.

Without any warning you are manhandled down to the couch. Your brand new pink frilly panties utterly trashed, ripped off of you and discarded like a flimsy plastic wrap. Toji kneads open your doughy thighs, ordering you to hold your knees so that you are spread wide for him.

Succumbing to his more debased urges, your coochie would be his 'kitchen' for the next 2 hours. It was obvious from the perverse way his lips smacked together, sucking his teeth at the sight of your succulent cunt—he couldn't wait to serve you up on a platter.

Digging in, Toji wastes no time with prep work. 

Unabashedly feasting in your savory folds as if he were a gourmet who had just been presented with a 10-course 3-star michelin meal. Toji's filthy mouth proves to be such a needy glutton for your pretty pussy—slurping, suckling and nibbling at your sensitive lil’ clit until you’re sobbing. You clench and twitch around his tongue which seems to be on a mission to completely sear your insides, reducing your to legs to gelatinous goo. 

All the heat Toji boils in your core spreads to your entire body and your hands grow slippery with sweat. You shake as you struggle to maintain hold of your knees. Yet the scalding look Toji gives you makes you think twice before you let go of them—lest chef Toji say the dish is ruined and he needs to start all over again. 

“Chef knows best” Toji tells you, along with his specialty cuisine style of "making it nasty", so of course he must braise your swollen throbbing clit in globs of his spit. His tongue bastes over your sopping folds as he scoops the marinated mixture—crafted of his saliva and the syrupy juices of your ripened cunt—back into your steamy quivering hole. 

At the very least you were grateful that despite the embarrassment flaming on your tear-stained cheeks, the amount of carnal pleasure coursing through your body sent your mind into euphoric delirium. Your eyes spared you from the sight of Toji's shameless display of ravenous hunger by becoming lodged into the back of your skull.

Nevertheless, you didn’t need to see to tell that Toji is a messy cook. Some of your rich milky sauce is sure to dribble down to the crack of your ass as his lecherous ministrations cause you to overflow. Not to worry though—when it comes to relishing your perfect pussy, Toji ultimately keeps a tidy kitchen and he is certainly not wasteful. 

Toji will dutifully clean up any mess, unlike your actual kitchen where he never washes a dish. Likewise, although when you try to get him to eat healthier and he refuses his greens—Toji will never hesitate to toss your salad. Stirring his tongue deep into your puckered hole he savors the taste while three of his thick fingers bully into your tight lil’ pussy, blending you up until you pureed all over his fingers.

The intensity of your lustful moans rival that of the vulgar sounds sloshing from your core and echoing throughout the living room. Both sounds Toji finds himself developing an insatiable hunger for and it spurs on his near relentless teasing of you. 

Duplicitous in his positively feral pussy drunk state, he reasons with you that "a chef never reveals his secrets".

Therefore you are never certain upon reaching the peak of your next mind-mincing orgasm if he will serve you utterly delectable release—the sweet nectar of your squirt garnishing his lips resulting in Toji to nearly busting in his own pants from rutting against the sofa—

—or if he will cruelly snatch it away from you again as you teeter right on the edge of rapture. When he does this there is certainly a twinkle in his eyes as he mocks you, "but you weren't quite done simmering just yet, mamas."

Absolutely overdone and oversensitive, if the torture of him stewing your insides becomes too much—If you really whine and tell him you've had enough—to his credit Toji would stop. Stop and hover mere centimeters away from your leaky lil’ peach that is. 

You would whimper, so sore from the abuse of his tongue as his own eyes would roll back at the sugary smell of your arousal wafting off your messed up lil cunny. Toji knows at this point you are too fucked out—too thoroughly made well-done on his tongue to escape from his gluttonous depravity. 

Sloppy and glazed in your cum, the scar on Toji's lip glistens as it pulls into a devious smirk. Huffing out, Toji would softly breeze air over your puffy clit until your lil nub throbbed with enough need to beg for another course. 

Toji would oblige you of course. 

Nonetheless, as punishment for disturbing the chef while he’s cooking, you would have to wait a bit more before you felt his mouth on you again. Only blowing over your sex, your desperate pleas are only met with cruel chuckles chiding you that he needed to "let his food cool properly" before he could eat the next serving.

In the end, Toji's hard efforts in your kitchen are rewarded as he thoroughly consumes every last morsel you have to offer, cleaning up every lingering string of your arousal. With his wanton thirst for your creamy caramelized cunt finally quenched he brings himself up to admire your cute slutted out pout. 

You gasp as Toji’s lips meet yours in a fiery kiss. His tongue is just chaotic, dominating your mouth as if he were still craving the taste of your core.

You're dizzy for air when Toji finally pulls away. Still coming down from your blissed out state you fail to notice Toji had switched your positions. You are now on the floor between his legs while he sits on the couch.

His beefy thighs manspread wide as his girthy length springs from his dark sweats. The angry red tip of his cockhead sways back to hit his abs thickly coated in what must be his own fluids from at some point cumming in his pants just from eating you out.

Reaching out to grab your chin his thumb rubs over your lips in a gentle caress before bullying them open. You were going to roast his cock in that warm n’ tight throaty lil oven of yours.

It was your turn to make him dinner.

✰ ©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✰a/n: y'all idk im hungry, on my period and i clearly got demons. that's all the defense i got so y'all can lock me away for this now. *runs away* p.s.plug!choso lovers this is not a fic, its a drabble i promise i literally wrote this in tumblr drafts don't kill me LOL

✰reblog & comments are my life's blood. ty!

[ninibeingdelulu]

Years later ✧

Plot: It makes you and your husband so happy to see your daughter and Emi playing together.

The mouthwatering aromas of sizzling stir fry and rice wafted through the cozy kitchen where you busied yourself over those steaming pans. Every so often, peals of high-pitched giggles and rumblings filtered in from the rear patio - beckoning you to steal a glimpse beyond those wide glass panels.

Your heart swelled at the sight unfolding just outside.

There was Emi in all her towering, dragon-esque glory - currently stretched out across the manicured lawn with those massive clawed paws tucked beneath her chin. Giant saurian pupils blown wide while watching your five-year-old daughter scamper about with unrestrained glee, that tiny cherubic figure weaving between the kaiju's sinewy limbs in a game of cat and mouse.

Whenever that feisty little rapscallion dashed near enough, one of Emi's enormous talons would playfully swipe in her wake - always mindful of her miniature stature as mother and child erupted in breathless, rapturous laughter again.

Matching expressions of wonderstruck glee etched across both their beamings despite the stark juxtaposition in scale.

In that moment, the years simply melted away for you too. Transporting you right back to those surreal early days of first welcoming their strange yet irrevocable sisterly bond into the fold alongside Ken - both females linked through his patient, doting paternity in diametric yet equally vital ways.

A tender brush across your forearm caused you to startle back to the present, finding Ken's openly affectionate gaze trained in from the nearby breakfast nook.

Your husband watched that heartwarming scene unfurl with those chiseled features rendered utterly tranquil and unguarded - an idyllic vision of harmony you'd once yearned for him to experience.

"Just like real siblings playing together, don't you think?" Ken rumbled in that low timbre tinted with wonderment while you smoothed the backs of your fingers over his stubbled jawline.

He eagerly captured those roaming digits before you could retreat them - calloused lips ghosting reverently across each calloused knuckle while drinking you in with the same unshakable adoration.

"They are real siblings, sweetheart. Raised under the same steadfast love of their equally devoted parents..."

At his declaration, you released a tiny, breathy puff against Ken's forehead before leaning in to steal a lingering brush of your mouths - ignoring the stinging prick of joyous tears blurring your vision.

Because you recognized the profound truth embedded within those tender syllables.

This sprawling, unconventional household of yours was irrevocably bound together through far more than mere blood alone.

An unbreakable tether of insurmountable love and acceptance Ken nurtured so steadfastly and without exception - through you, through Emi, and now your spectacular daughter too.

Another rowdy outburst of giggles caused you to break that reverie, following the sound outside once more.

There was your baby perched precariously atop Emi's flank, little feet swinging merrily while the mighty kaiju craned her saurian neck around to gaze upon that cherished bundle with endless devotion too.

Just as her adoring 'father' continued watching with that soft, doting light dancing behind those cinnamon depths.

Basking in the resonant completion of his mismatched, boisterous brood playing together as one perfect unit without constraint...

[ganond1lf]

Sorry I’m annoying.

I swear I’m not mentioning trauma lightly, okay?

I have reached a conclusion.

I legitimately believe I have trauma from opossums.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Musical Masterpost🎵❤

How it started :)

Some time before 2013: Vicki Larnach, the australian composer and lyricist, read the Good Omens book, imagined figures dancing on stage with brilliant music and thought, ‘Ah, I’m gonna ask Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman if I can turn it into a musical.’ and sent an email to the publishers. The next day she got an email saying, ‘We don’t want a musical but Terry’s coming to Australia, so come and say hello and tell us what you got.’

Rob Wilkins came down to meet Vicki and Jim Hare - Vicki's husband and writer - and took them to meet Terry. They spent an hour and a half with them where Terry asked ‘piercing questions’, had tea with them and they showed Terry a song that Vicki wrote (about the Chattering Nuns). Terry said to Rob, ‘Rob, write and email to Neil, “Dear Neil, this is Terry. I’m sitting in front of two hippies from Sydney and they want to make a musical out of Good Omens and I’m tempted to let them do it.”’ which was the best email they ever heard and then Terry said, ‘Okay, you have me curious.’ - it was because of the Nuns song which sounded like the book. ‘I’m gonna give you six months, come back with a first draft libretto and five songs.’

They then sent it to Terry who sent it to Gaiman. Terry said, ‘I really like it, you’re moving story, you’re doing all the right things, but where’s showstopper, where’s the toe-tapper, you know I need people to go to intermission just snapping their fingers with the song they just can’t get out of their head, and I haven’t heard that.’ - and they realized that they were so busy serving the story they forgot to do the wow-factor, but found it very encouraging from Terry that he wanted to make it better.

They went through the whole book again to find a centrepiece - and they found it  when Warlock is growing up and Aziraphale and Crowley are with him, and spent months working just on that one thing and called ‘All Living Things’ [the song at the start of this post :)] which is a line from the book.*’ Terry gave that song to a person he knew and asked him to play it to his wife with no context and when the next day the person said that his wife woke up still singing the song Terry said to Vicki and Jim: ‘Well, that’s what I asked you to do.’ 

* [“This here’s Brother Slug,” the gardener would tell him, “and this tiny little critter is Sister Potato Weevil. Remember, Warlock, as you walk your way through the highways and byways of life’s rich and fulsome path, to have love and reverence for all living things.” “Nanny says that wivving fings is fit onwy to be gwound under my heels, Mr. Fwancis,” said little Warlock, stroking Brother Slug, and then wiping his hand conscientiously on his Kermit the Frog overall.]

Vicki and Jim got the permission to being adapting it as a musical in 2013.

Vicki and Jim on it a couple of years ‘fumbling about’, took it as far as they could and decided to bring another person into it: Jay-James Moody

In 2015, Jay James-Moody joined the collaboration initially as a dramaturge and directorial eye, eventually evolving into co-book writer. Vicki, James and Jay have continued to evolve through countless more revisions and a number of private development readings with the support, time and talent of numerous wonderful Australian performers testing the material.

In November 2017, the musical was presented in its then-current form and entirety for the first time before an audience of over 500 eager attendees. The cast included Luke Joslin, Lachlan O’Brien, Nancye Hayes, Barry Quin, Brett O’Neill, Lauren McKenna, Nicholas Craddock, Paul Capsis, Rob Johnson, Amy Lehpamer, Debora Krizak, Blake Erickson, Nat Jobe, Ana Maria Belo, Jordan Hare, Bella Thomas, Anthony Abrakmanov and Samson Hyland.

Following a rapturous response to this reading it continued to be refined and developed.

In 2019, ten days before the show came out they did their last presentation, since then they’ve been to London and shown a videotape of that workshop to Gaiman and Rob Wilkins which was ‘a pretty heartstopping experience’.

Differences between the musical and the book

The ending of the musical is a bit different.

It opens with the burning of Agnes Nutter and Aziraphale and Crowley are introduced there. 

Act One ends with them ‘essentially breaking up’ because of a huge argument and they dissolve their friendship, Act Two starts with the first time they meet.

The Future?

What is the future for the musical: in 2021 they said that they need to work on some things and then they hope to do another run, initially in Australia.

There will be a CD of the soundtrack available when the show is produced in it’s full version.

In 2024 on insta they said that it is in "complicated process of rights to stage Good Omens" and "We appreciate your support and patience of the progress or seeming lack therof, of Good Omens the musical but we assure you, we will bring you the show in the next few years."

Videos

Vicki, Jim and Jay talking 46min about the musical (this video was shown at the Ineffable Con 3 in 2021 :))

Sizzle Reel 6min

Anathema singing The Perfect Place

Crowley calling Dagon to check on the hellhound

Shadwell and Newt

Aziraphale vanishing Hastur 👀

Links

Webpage

Instagram - a lot of more bts videos and pics :)

How to support?

Subsribe to the instagram page and like and comment that you want the musical on posts :)❤. If you want to be a sponsor or donor, there is contact on their webpage.

[lovely--lover]

"I am here, My Sweet"

I haven't written fanfiction in almost 3 years! So I hope this is good 😊 Enjoy!

Summary: Aegon needs an heir but his cock was left worthless after Rooks Rest. Aemond will have to do...only for duty. Aegon allows it and stays to support his sweet wife.

warnings: smut, talk of scars, the word cripple, sad Aegon

Aegon rested his head back attempting to keep the lids of his eyes open. The weight of them heavy, as was his gaze, which peered down at his sweet wife. The warm cherub cheek rested on his thigh as she lay in a pleasured haze. Soft moans falling from plush petal lips, a testament to her pleasure as they parted more and more, with each thrust.

That pretty wide open mouth, glistening with spit, was so welcoming and so close to his cock. That was left lying limp against his scarred flesh despite all the desire and yearning. There was nothing more Aegon wanted than to take his wife. Feel the warm, wet, love of her cunt squeezing around him. There would be no position, no place, he would not have her. But Aegon could only imagine that it was him fucking into her providing her pleasure.

Aegon kept his violet eyes on hers wanting to take in every moment of her rapture. If they were to drift up any further they would land on Aemond. Who was currently on his knees fucking into her from behind. One hand grasping a plush hip until the flesh seeped between fingers, the other hand pressing down on her spine, keeping her low and arched. The plump of her ass on display to Aemond as he slid deeper and deeper. The sound of flesh echoing off the walls, in Aegons skull, every time Aemond thrust forward. 

Aegon's eyes betrayed him as they stole a glance at Aemond they widened before finding their way back to her. Insecurity clawed its way through his chest, his heart, it ached deeper than any wound. There was not much to Aegon before the war. Before he was made King, an accomplishment that was placed upon him, not earned.  If he was the second son he would have been cast aside, worthless. Maybe even hidden away by his mother and grandsire never to be seen again, their disgrace.

But he was not. Most days he wishes he was hidden away never to be seen again. By the prying, pitying eyes that watched him struggle and heave himself throughout the halls. All eyes lingering on the scars that danced across half his body. Their crippled King. 

Aemond was scarred but not in the same way. The scars covered his body in the same way stars scattered the sky, shining, telling a story.  A fighter who commands men in battles, wins wars, and always comes out stronger. A true warrior. 

Aegon wanted him gone.

It was on the tip of his tongue “Fuck off Aemond! By order of your King” he would smirk. But he did not. Would not. They needed an heir that he could not provide.

The foul whispers of the keep had made their way to her precious ears. Aegon had wanted their tongues when he was met with his tear-stained wife, her dress, cheeks, and lashes all held the evidence of her sadness. Her voice had spoken to him so tenderly “ Aegon…it is my duty everyone says so...I know so” a weak smile presented on your lips “I want to give you a child, please, and not just for duty.” How could Aegon say no?

The day of their wedding had the same day as his coronation. Aegon could not become King without a Queen. So he was wed to her before they placed the crown atop his head. The following days meant to be spent together as newlyweds was stripped away. The war was pending and the following weeks were hectic, preparing for war, protecting the realm, fighting for a crown Aegon did not want. There was no oppurtunity  to put a sweet babe in his wife. And before given the chance Aegon had flown to battle as a drunkard. Gotten burned by Dragon-fire, destroying his cock, stealing away his ultimate pleasure. Left now as a voyeur to his own wife and brother.

When he returned near death it was her who stayed by his side day and night. Proving her unconditional love and devotion to him. Sweet wife, how he grew to adore you. The milk of the poppy daze could not keep him from finding her. Always a bright silhouette on the settee next to the bed, embroidering another intricate work for him to adorn. A gentle and warm smile always welcomed her face as their eyes met. “My love! You are awake..I am so happy.” 

“Aegon?” his thoughts were broken by the call of a breathless and sweet voice. He blinked away the memory and imminent tears. As his sight came back into focus, he was met with furrowed brows and doe eyes peering at him, examining him,  “Are you here my love?” The squeeze of your fingers on his good thigh caused a jolt of heat to go to his cock which remained soft.

His hand found the soft warmth of her cheek,  “I am here my sweet.” Both faces adorned with sweet smiles as she nuzzled into his palm. Eyes never leaving his as she allowed her lips to meet the skin. A tender moment between lovers. 

“As am I”  Aemond spoke for the first time that night. Ruining the precious moment while throwing a smirk towards Aegon “I hope you did not forget My Queen” Fingers delved deeper into your hip bordering on painful “The duty we must accomplish for Our King. ” 

The furrow of her brows asked a silent permission from Aegon, to respond. A slight nod was all she needed. He hoped the side of his thumb was comforting as her shaking voice spoke out “I have not forgotten my duty, good brother, I promise.”

Long white strands of hair fell over her face as Aemond caged in her body with his. The weight was crushing, breath hot against her ear “Good my Queen, I am close and I will breed you well…I promise” His thrust grew rabid the sound of flesh against flesh echoing off the walls. Aemond leered up at Aegon as he held her hips against his and let out a grunt. The duty was done.

A warmth filled her deep within, settling in her belly as tears started to form, it was over. There is nothing she wants more than for Aegon to be the one placing his seed in her womb. Wanting to fulfill her duty as his wife and Queen she took a breath and wiped away the stray tears. Pressing her face further into his thigh wanting to feel him against her and hide the shame.

“You are dismissed, brother.” A heavy breath left Aegon as he forced out the words “Thank you for your service to the Crown.”

Aemond’s lone eye remained focused on your nude body licking the smirk of his lips. “Of course, My King, It was a pleasure.” 

Aegon refused to look anywhere besides Aemond until he left the room. There was a tension hanging over the room and it was only broken when the door slammed shut. The sign that they were officially alone and Aemond was gone. 

“Wife…come to me.” Aegon strained to open his arms wide making room for her. A groan of pain escaped as she climbed into his arms putting pressure on his healing wounds. He would manage if it allowed her to be close. “I hope it takes…I do not wish to bed your brother again”

“You did not enjoy bedding Aemond the Fierce?....The sounds you made say otherwise dear wife.” He forced himself to smirk, a way of communicating, I am not upset although he was a little hurt. Her brows furrowed and nose scrunced the look eliciting a genuine laugh from him as he pulled her closer. 

 “I wish it was you ” spoken so gently and quietly “I only want you”

 “As do I but unfortunately my cock no longer works,” there was an empty humor to the words, he did not want to upset her. 

“It would still be better than Aemonds, I’d bet on it” 

Aegon could barely get out a laugh before it was replaced with a gasp. The soft feel of her fingers were on his cock stroking along the rough flesh. The pleasure was dull blocked by the thick layer of scar tissue. A ghost of a touch was all he felt. What he would give to feel it fully. “How does it feel?”

There was a brief pause as Aegon thought over all the different things he could say “Like nothing..”

The soft-touch was gone in an instant. Her hand tucked against her bare chest as if just burned. “I’m sorry I -”

“Do not be” Aegon’s hands came to rest on either side of her face using the pad of his thumb to stroke gently against her warm cheeks. There was a moment of silence as they gazed into each other's eyes waiting for the other to make a move. 

“My sweet wife, you love me, I know this. That is something…something I have never had but have always wanted. I love you” his hands dropped from her cheeks to rest on her belly “and I will love our child. As long as you continue to love me, do not feel sorry, this is all I need.” Aegons lips were soft and salty as his tears fell between their shared lips.

Please let me know your thoughts and comments ❤️ It is much appreciated!!

[lokisgoodgirl]

Be Mine [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A morning meeting has an unexpected twist. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Smutty. Avenger!Loki x Female Reader. Questionable flirting techniques. (w/c 2.8k)

The muscle at the side of Loki’s jaw flexed. He swallowed; an achingly glacial bob of his Adam’s apple making you want to claw your eyes out.

For some inexplicable reason he had opted to wear full leathers to today’s briefing.

It was seven nineteen in the AM. Thor was sporting a muscle vest boasting not one but three stains of varying complexity and a pair of shorts which left little to the imagination. Scott was wearing his dressing gown.

The rest of the team hung off chairs and flopped on the table in various states of undress. Steve stood at the head of the room as usual; prim and fresh in a crisp button-down and perfectly creased chinos.

“So what we’re seeing here,” Steve said, turning to the group from the Powerpoint, “is an up-tick in biological experiments-”

His eyes narrowed while they roamed over the doodling, distracted and hungover band sprawled around the table. “Lang.” he snapped. “Close your legs; there are ladies present.’

Scott shuffled up his seat, drawing the dressing gown down over his knees while mumbling apologies. A low rumble of mirth circled the room, but Loki’s gaze never left the Captain’s.

The curve of his dark lashes swept upward, features set in performative rapture. Loki's facial expression hadn’t changed as the scene unfolded, but for a miniscule twitch of his lip. Usually the two of you would exchange a few eye rolls; a few knowing smiles during a particularly turgid monologue about shoe storage post-mission...but not today. Today he hadn't even looked at you.

Steve sighed. He extended a finger and pushed his retractable pointer down to a stub. Pacing to the table, he dropped his head, laying his palms flat. When he looked up, disappointed-dad energy was thick in his eyes. “Folks, this just won’t do.” he said.

Natasha’s sunglasses slid down her nose. Scott crossed his legs making the swivel chair knock into Wilson and waking him up. The Falcon’s arms flew wide on instinct, whacking Tony in the chest. “Jesus Christmas-” Tony snorted, blinking wildly. “It was a party.” Natasha drawled, pushing the sunglasses back in place with disdain. “Maybe if you’d stayed after the cake you’d have those tight panties of yours in less of a spick, Rogers.”

“That’s Captain Rogers.” he snapped. “We’re on the clock.” “Calm down, Rogers.” Tony said, cresting his fingers. He was remarkably chipper for a man with whipped cream crusted in his hairline. “You’re all sitting on my clock. Remember that.”

Steve flushed scarlet. His eyes narrowed as Tony’s smirk grew.

“All I’m saying is it’s a sorry day when Laufeyson is the star pupil. Look at him!” Steve said, gesturing incredulously at Loki who remained in position; back straight, chin up. But now, one eyebrow arched. “All of you lot in your skivvies and Laufeyson’s in full dress?” Steve shook his head. “I fail to see the humour, Rogers.” Loki said. “Why is it so surprising that I come to our daily summons dressed thus? Certainly I have never presented myself in a tragic towelling monstrosity like Lang here.” “There was that one time with the silk nightie.” Sam whispered to Scott. Scott covered his mouth.

“A silk robe.” Loki snapped.

“Usually you only bring out the Asgardian shit when you’re brown-nosing. Or when you’ve done something shifty.” Natasha said, propping her chin up with a fist. You bet her eyes are closed. Wanda nodded behind her Starbucks.

“Or trying to impress someone,” the witch said. Natasha waved a finger in agreement. “Sexually.” Wanda added.

Loki released a scandalised snort. “How dare you.” he said. Leather creaked against his biceps as he folded his arms.

Beneath the table, your thighs squeezed together. The only thing hotter than Loki in leather, was an indignant Loki in leather. You suddenly became very aware of your quickened breaths making the buttons of your blouse strain. The god’s eyes darted to the side, meeting yours. “What?” he snarled. “Nothing.” you squeaked, swallowing. An awkward silence hung in the room. The scent of stale vodka suddenly seemed very strong. Steve sighed.

“Let’s call it for this morning-” he said, immediately met with muted hisses of celebration around the table. He patted down the air. “Rescheduled for this afternoon. Thirteen-hundred sharp. Wear clothes.” Approval turned to whines and hushed curses as chairs were swivelled and aching bodies shifted. “Unbelievable.” Loki snarled under his breath.

You watched out the corner of your eye as he stood; the flat of his iron stomach inches from your face. The scent of rich leather filled your nostrils while Loki’s fingers nipped beneath the hem of his tunic, tugging it down. He flipped the length of his cape with a sniff. You saw it swirl around his boots briefly as he stepped towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back.

Taking your time, you picked up each piece of carefully laid stationary at your seat. One by one, the rest of the team left the room. Steve was last, his hand hovering on the door handle while he shot you a wary look. As a parting gift, he opened the door wider. “You didn’t stay late?” Loki’s voice was a thick hum in the growing silence. His tone, inscrutable. “Huh?” “At the party.” he said. “You didn’t stay late.”

This time it wasn’t a question. “I usually head off when Thor starts making passes at everyone. I didn’t see you. Were you there?” “He did that?” Loki bristled. “To you?” There was a pause. “To everyone.” you repeated quietly. Loki’s shoulders stiffened. His fingers twitched, thumb digging into one exposed palm behind his back. He was still staring out the window.

“I’ll see you later.” you said, nerves fluttering in your belly. The god’s hair shortened as his chin dipped. You wondered how it would feel to wind those dark strands through your fingers as you rode him. Wondered how the grunts and signs and pretty curses from his lips would sound wet in your ear.

“No.” Loki said. “Excuse me?” “No,” he repeated.

You steadied against the table-top with the pads of your fingertips. Small stars began to burst in your field of vision. “I think the leather looks goo-good,” you stammered. And you didn’t know why.

The thought of him barring the exit of enemies in far flung realms using only that voice barged through the doors of your imagination with the force of a horny caveman. If that was the last sarcastic quip they heard, by god, you imagined they may just have died happy. And hard.

“It looks good.” you repeated, no more than a whisper. Loki turned his head. The sharp profile came into view at a glacial pace. First the peaked tip of his chin, then the slant of his regal nose, then the harsh peak of his cheekbone, then his eyes. Your ass met the table-top with a stumble. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. “Bold of you to make another jest without your compatriots around you, Agent.” he said. Across the short distance between you, venom dripped from his tongue; his hackles raised. “I wasn’t joking,” you said quietly as his gaze fell to your feet with a sneer. The quick breaths that made your buttons strain were back. Loki’s rising stare lingered on your breasts, a small smile tweaking at the corner of his mouth. Words tripped from your lips, forcing their way from behind your teeth. “I like it.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. He turned fully with a ceremonial flourish, the hands clasped behind his back moving to the front and rippling his leather and silken cloak. It fluttered.

“Is that so?” he purred darkly. He didn’t believe you.

You imagined how this is how a rabbit felt in the eyeline of a fox. To look away was to admit weakness, vulnerability. It meant death. And yet – it was the only chance to escape. But did you want to escape? Not really. You wanted to feel the sharp of his teeth fasten to your neck as he sucked and bit and made violent love to every inch of you.

You nodded, not breaking eye-contact. Loki inhaled sharply, chin tilting up as he did so.

His eyes wandered over grim foam tiles as though an enemy lurked beyond the suspended ceiling. They narrowed, darting back and forth. With a thundering heart, you noted one of his heavy boots rise from the floor. He paced forwards slowly, ceremonially, stopping inches from you. Your fingers curled tight around the table’s edge, the messy in your panties beneath the skirt becoming intolerable. Loki cleared his throat. “Am I to understand, contrary to common rhetoric, that you find my Asgardian leathers enticing; Agent?” “I think ‘enticing’ is a little grandiose, is it not?” you laughed, cringing at the way you so easily mirrored his speech. Loki noticed it too. He tilted his head. “I am nothing if not grandiose, Agent.” Loki said. “Am I not impressive? Am I not imposing?”

He trailed a long finger down your bicep, his touch light as a feather. “So often, you mortals use such words as insult.” he mused.

“It is merely a reflection on your own feelings of inferiority. This morning is a perfect example. An attempt at ridicule to deflect from their own pathetic presentation. Each one more bedraggled and an abject embarrassment to their purpose than the last.” Heat began to rise in your cheeks as his finger drifted along your collarbone. There was a pause, his eyes dropping to your lips before the finger brushed the skin at the hollow of your neck. It graced upwards, tracing the curve and stopping beneath the tip of your chin. “But not you.” he said.

The god’s eyes snapped to yours. His cheekbones hollowed under fluorescent lights, mischief glowing from the depths of his irises and painted in every light wrinkle on his brow.

“What else do you like, Agent?” he goaded softly. “Do you like the idea of what lies beneath these leathers?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Loki-” you said, glancing towards the open door. He followed your eyes, rolling his own. With a flick of his hand the door slammed shut. “I want you,” he breathed, leaning closer so that the heat of his cheek warmed your own, “to tell me what else you like.”

You bit your lip, watching his beautiful face come back into view. With a prang, the thought occurred that perhaps you were not the rabbit after all. Perhaps you were the fox. Loki’s gaze lingered on your face, searching it.

Emboldened, you found the words. “Why should I?”

His brows peaked softly. He released a muted sigh, pursing his lips. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, Romanoff was right.” he said. The hand tilting your chin upwards returned to its mate, clasped against the leather tunic. “I was trying to impress someone, but not that insufferable Rogers.”

He raised his eyebrows.

Excitement blossomed deep in your belly; rising like shaken soda and fizzing around your chest. Loki bit his bottom lip.

“You see, Agent, I like you very much. And I’m afraid that now it has reached the juncture where I must know if you like anything about me...beyond my exquisite taste in battle armour.”

The change in his demeanour was so dramatic that you could only gape. But when it came to Loki, could you expect anything less? Without thinking you reached forward and grasped the belt slung over his chest, pulling him forward.

Loki’s mouth clashed with yours, the heat of his lips giving way to the thrust of his tongue. Your hands slid over his metal epaulettes, tangling in ebony waves that cascaded around his shoulders. He tasted like heaven, the scent of him deep and dangerously delicious in a way you’d never known. A scent a girl could lose herself in forever; gladly.

In seconds your back was flat against the table, its cool wood harsh against the heat of your skin through the blouse. Loki’s ravenous kiss consumed you, licking and dancing inside your mouth like a man possessed. His shallow moans ricocheted between slurps of his lips, wetness coating them.

“Tell me, you infuriating woman,” he panted as a thick forearm landed on the wood beside your head. The metal vambrace clanged against cheap wood. Saliva hung between your mouths as he stared deep into your soul; blue eyes darkening. “Tell me what you like.”

“About you?” you panted. Loki didn’t nod, only lowered his chin.

His nose nudged at your lips, dragging upwards, tongue tracing around the bottom one. He had begun to smile. One of his legs nudged your thighs wider. The god straightened and you felt a thrill run from your scalp to the tips of your dangling toes. He towered above like a monolith, leather tight to his rectangular body. Hair fell around his jaw, perfectly imperfectly wolfish curls flirting against his skin. His cape brushed against your bare calves as he shifted his stance, palms sliding up your thighs and pushing your skirt higher. “Yes; I like the idea of what’s beneath all this,” you whined as you pawed at his leather-clad stomach. It was so hard. Loki smirked, watching beneath half-lidded eyes. “I think about fucking you in the showers after training,” you whispered bashfully as your hips thrust up against your will. Loki raised an eyebrow. “More...” he rumbled. “I think about you all the time. All the awful things I want to do to you, y-you do to me- Loki, uhh-”

His hands crept higher as you spoke, fingers hooking around the hips of your panties. “If I pull these down, darling” he said with an air of reprimand, “will they be wet?” You let out a gasping moan, back arching against the table.

“Excellent.” Loki snickered, pulling the panties down the length of your legs before stepping back between them.

A hand flew to your mouth as you watched one long finger dip between your thighs, running lightly between your folds. He brought it to his lips, sucking gently. His cheekbones hollowed, finger slipping out. He swallowed with a groan of appreciation.

Loki settled himself between your legs, pushing them wider. The height of the table pressed your dripping centre against his crotch. You thought you might explode. His palms slid up your waist, exploring the curves of your body while your legs wrapped around his hips. The god’s cock pressed eagerly against the leather, strong and thick up the centre. His forearms came down at either side of your head, metal wrist-guards clinking.

“I will show you what it is to be mine,” he murmured in your ear.

Loki’s cock settled against your sex, rubbing in perfect gyration. “Oh...god,” you gasped as the weight of his body pressed against your own.

Fingers combed up from the base of his neck, tangling in his hair. The next moment, they grasped around his back, pulling him closer, catching in the folds of his cloak which draped across your bodies. The god grunted filthy praises in your ear as his bound manhood sent electric currents of pleasure deeper than you’d ever known. His searching lips found their way to your neck, your jaw. Every utterance from his throat more disgustingly sensual than the last. Hot leather filled your nostrils, the scent of him strong and intoxicating. Mounting orgasm bubbled in waves, a dream-like trance broken only with whispered groans of pleasure from your throats. Loki Laufeyson was about to make you cum. The thought was unbelievable. And yet, your pussy being tugged and massaged and owned by his leather-bound cock into the throes of heaven knew it to be true. Dry-humped like a teenager in the back of a pick-up.

“Be mine...” Loki mumbled breathlessly, a strangled choke gasping from deep in his chest. He immediately dove for a perishing kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it with a wet suck. He smouldered down.

Against the bright lights, his dark halo shone; tendrils curling against your cheek and brushing with every calculated roll of his hips. Every muscle in your body tensed. Your legs tightened against his hips.

“Be mine,” he echoed. His face was twisted, and you suddenly wondered how close he was to cumming in those beautiful leather pants. “Loki-” you gasped, clutching at his cape. Back arching, the last thing you heard as climax stormed your brain were the matching pants of the god. The last thing you saw were his peaked brows above dilated pupils so deep you could drown in them.

In the afterglow, all you could manage were garbled phrases as your forearm draped over your eyes. “That was...unexpected.” you panted when the god’s weight lifted from your chest. “Perhaps for you.” Loki winked. “It was very carefully calculated on my part,” You watched in dazed disbelief as Loki sank to his knees, leather creaking, and hoisted your hips higher. He lapped at your soaking pussy, muffled moans seeping from his throat as he buried himself in your fresh pleasure. The flat of his tongue licked a thick stripe from the base to your swollen clit, placing a gentle suck on the tip. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours.

“Immaculate, as expected.” he breathed. His chin glistened.

You groaned as he withdrew; grasping at the air as he went. That small caress of him against your sex was everything you could ever have dreamed. Loki let you reluctantly arrange yourself before offering his hand for the short hop off the table. “Not exactly how I imagined our first time,” you said with a sheepish smile. Loki scanned your face.

“Agent don’t be insulting. That was merely a sample,” he scoffed. “It barely counts.” He stepped forward, pulling you flush against him with a flat palm at the base of your spine. “We must ensure you have eaten something before more intimate activities are indulged in; lest you faint. Or worse.” “Or worse?” “You are only mortal, after all.” Loki smiled slyly. “And this,” he gestured to his cock; hard and straining against the leather, “can be rather a handful. As well can his Master.” You slapped him on the shoulder. Loki smirked. Remembering the unexpected schedule change, you frowned. “You think we have time before the meeting later?”

Loki snorted. “We’re not attending. The two of us fulfilled our obligations, unlike the more cretinous members of our party.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to get me in trouble, I can tell.” Loki’s fingers danced up your back, a light thrust of his hips making your body keen. His dirty exhale flooded your ear, the warm scent of him overloading your senses.

“Oh Agent,” he purred against the skin; his eyes darting covertly to the pair of panties discarded on the floor. “As if you expected anything less.”

Taglist (continued in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[auragasmics]

1:32 AM: A LOVE LETTER TO THE PRETTIEST GIRL!

spellbook intro! when Nanami takes a moment to study his wife after a date night, his heart pours out a soliloquy for the ages!

potion ingredients! 4.4k+, pwp(?), wife!reader x husband!nanami kento, fluff+ smut, fingering, clitslapping(1), cunnilingus, explict talk, mating press, grinding, allusions to sex (penetration), self-indulgent to the max ♥︎

note to casters! yeah, this is so indulgent. and i'm sorry i have to say this...p**** is pink :). grab a mirror and check for yourself.

Champagne. 

A drink known to be indulged during the most influential times of human history. It’s a famed tag that runs through nations upon nations, beloved by the heaven blend of Pinot, Meunier, and Chardonnay. It pulls the tongue into an envious ménage-à-trois between the rich taste and the cheeky spry bubbles seething one’s cheeks into a world of heat —all doomed to end once a swallow washes away all the bliss. 

From its days of ruling beside monarchy to its dwindled expression in the modern world, it has yet to lose its class. It still rules amongst those with exquisite, those who can handle the feverish rush of having rapture ruin all composure.  

It’s suitable for a man like Nanami to indulge in such refinement too, just a single sip from the tall slender glass seated beside his plate transports his mind into a place where the weight of a jewel-encrusted crown sits upon his head. And in this universe, he rules over a 64 square meter condo, a beloved lord sleeping in his king-sized bed, and a lawful husband to his queen. 

Another sip reminds him of the gracious air surrounding the night—a date night catered by a meal of shared efforts and a bottle of Nanami’s favorite champagne. It’s sweet like forbidden fruit, the heavenly delight soothing his woes. 

His gentle stare falls onto you, the infamous cinnamon fawning over how red complements your skin in that dress, over your delicate pout—no, obsessing over how your lips nurse the rim of the glass as if it were a kiss. As to how the heavens gifted a man such as he with one of their own angels, it’s a blessing he’s taken without a second thought. 

However, it’s a feeling that even after three years of marriage has yet to subdue. The riveting swell that throws his heart into turmoil whenever you giggle. The wash of goosebumps set to claim his skin when your hand simply grazes against his own. The trance your gentle coos lure him into, just like now.

“Kennnn, Baby? Are you okay?”

Flurries of mindless blinks brings Nanami back into the present, where he’s met with your own stare. Where silence settles comes the bustle of apologies and giggles, Nanami “Hm?—Oh! I’m fine, Honey. I’m so sorry—missed what you said there, can you repeat it?”

“Oh, it’s fine! I was asking what should we do about the dishes? All that cooking and I always seem to forget about cleaning.”

Nanami merely shrugs his shoulder, “I’ll wash them.”

“But aren’t you tired? We could just leave them to soak—”

The rambles of solutions come to a slamming shut as Nanami reaches over to your side of the square dining table, his fingers seamlessly knitting within your own.

“That was a really good steak. The garlic butter we made last weekend was a perfect touch. Oh, and the mashed potatoes, you always outdo yourself, Honey. All I did was peel the potatoes and help sear the steak, the least I can do is clean…right?”

A helpless sigh passes through your glossed lips, “You’re not getting me to agree, y’know. I still say we just go get ready for bed.”

Nanami calls his hand, his energy, even his presence over the table back to his side in trade for the back of his chair for asylum. He gives you a steady stare that pairs all too well with a grin and a pat on his lap. “Come here.”

There’s safety in being wrapped up in Nanami’s arms as you settle in his care, his muscle-ribbed arms thick arms lacing around your waist, his large hands draping off your hip, all while he keeps one leg bouncing to a steady rhythm. 

“Why do you worry your pretty little head off about the fine details, huh? That’s my job.” 

“I know, but…”

Weakness grows in your heart as you look down into his eyes—those tired eyes casted by an ardent glow. Exhaustion still can’t taint his heart, it can’t begin to ruin the tender nature he abides to you. You can’t help but soothe him, your hand racing to cup his cheek, the pad of your thumb skating along the curves of his bottom lip. 

“But you work so hard, Kento. You should come to bed with me, just leave all this for tomorrow.”

But you know him—he can’t leave any job with loose ends. Whether it’s at the office, small repairs around the house, or simply washing dishes, Nanami finds a sense of ease in the natural order of tasks from start to finish. And when some principle challenged his own, he had every reason set and ready to roll for an explanation.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, silence serves as Nanami’s winded explanation—and the kind pecks he pushes back against your touch. 

“Ken?”

“Mhm?”

“Aren’t you going to…say something…or anything?”

Patience gets the better of you as Nanami simply keeps himself entertained with your thumb. His kisses melt into you skin, his soft hums strike every fiber, and each pinch of his lips leaves you dangling at the end of your rope. Nanami stands from the chair, cradling you in his arms. His steps are guided by routine, up the stairs and through the first door to the right, straight into the bedroom.

Nanami drops you on the bed.

You can’t really pinpoint when the plush warmth of your bed welcomed you home, but with Nanami’s thick chest pinning you to the sheets, it’s a quick conclusion you push off rather quickly.

How could you focus on such fine details when he’s lathering the junctures of your collarbone in kisses, trailing back up to your awaiting lips. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Yes, Baby?” 

Nanami gives in to you with a kiss, his lips just barely sinking into yours before he’s hulling himself back onto his feet.

“Go get ready for bed and when you wake up, I’ll be right there next to you.”

Sleep is all Namai intended for you to have, he'd be damned if something so trivial as chores would prevent you from rest. And when Nanami did finish up with the last bowl, sleep fell heavy on his mind all the same.

It weighed heavy on his mind through a hot shower, through his nightly routine, even as he mindlessly slipped into a pair of briefs and beneath the bed sheets.

But…his tired eyes had to land on you—his precious angel.

Oh, his pretty wife who glows underneath the moon’s rays, laid on your side with the blanket tucked up to your chin. He’s eager to join you, sliding himself right beside your body—where nothing but a pair of panties hugs you. 

It certainly doesn’t help how you gravitate to Nanami, even while underneath sleep’s spell. Grinding the thick globes of your ass into his lap—and right where the head of his cock sits snug against the waistband of his briefs.

In a desperate search for a distraction, Nanami cranes his neck to greet the neon red digits bleeding through the face of his bedside clock—where the best joke known to man awaits him.

1:32 AM. 

Just an hour into the new day Nanami is met by pure mockery. Of course, his sweet wife all swept up in sleep makes for an even better punch line—-the growing bulge sinking between your ass. A quiet mind is all he wants, why he’s drowning his mind in those meditative mantras you’ve taught him when work becomes too much all at once.

But it’s a fleeting dream the moment those throbs ripple through the thick veins stretching over his cock. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon…give me a chance at least,” he’s muttering for his ears alone. 

Yet the only chance Nanami knows he has is to follow in your steed and sleep away his impending thoughts. He gently lifts the blanklet up to his shoulder, only for the chilling gush to fan across your body.

“Mmm, ‘m cold, Ken.”

“I know, I know, I’m gonna fix that right away, Sweetheart.”

Sunken beneath the heavy blanket, Nanami carves out every inch of your spine with his chest, slotting himself flush against you. His arms surge to envelop you, giving way for his hand to greedily cup the silky fat of your breast.

For a moment he’s sworn he’s beaten lust curse because well, cradling his sleeping beauty like this, allowing for his body, his warmth to sew his body to your own. 

“How’s that? Feels warmer now, Sweetheart?” His voice gently coos in your ear. 

He doesn’t expect much, a sheepish nod and a mumble thrillingly satisfies Nanami. He can’t explain it, but as he steals a glance over you, he finds his wretched mind delighted by mundane beauty.

A painting is known to capture a moment in time through the perspective of the artist—but what Nanami’s eye beholds before him is too good for any picture, any painting, for every medium of art would fail to capture the radiant glow the moon kisses upon your skin. It would fail to mimic the soft curl of your lips, free from control and lifted behind the pure rapture of your mind. It certainly couldn’t transcribe the very details consumed by Nanami. 

Maybe it’s due to the curse of the night overwhelming Nanami, but he simply can’t be alone right now, not while love has him spiraling down a self-induced hole. He can’t stop himself from taking to your shoulder, granting his lips the tactful satisfaction of littering kisses upon your skin.  

“Honey…are you really asleep?” He pouts, yet he immediately reflects on himself as he swipes yet another look at the clock. “

It’s what…1:40 now, I should be asleep too, however…” 

Breaking his trail of kisses, Nanami softly sighs as he gathers all his wayward thoughts, all for this moment only he’ll hold a record of.

“I can only say this while you sleep. It’s pathetic of me, but I haven’t gotten the confidence to face you as I should. I’m not one for many words, nor do I show all the emotion I hold inside of me. But, I hope that my love for you bleeds through every touch, every stare, every kiss, and every breath. I breathe for you. I live for you. And should it come to pass, I’d kill for you. I’ve never felt more endeared to anyone before but you…You give me all the strength I need to be a better man. I just hope to-"

“...Ken, Honey? Are you on a phone call?”

“Oh um…” His blood’s running cold through every vein in his body. Suddenly, he’s stricken dumb and frozen underneath the weight of speculation. But he is who he is—a calm man with logic on his sleeve. Pushing out a huff through his nose, Nanami finds himself at ease as he peers down at your hazy eyes.

“N-No, no…just…thinking aloud. Go back to sleep, okay?”

You muse him with a passing look over your shoulder. “Thinking aloud, hm? Tell me.”

Before Nanami can conjure up some excuse as his alibi, you’ve already to bury yourself within his chest. Your soft hands buff his nerves down to naught through lazy swipes across his taut pecs. In your care, his heart’s raging scream dwindles down to a tepid thump, his lungs spoiled with fulfilling breaths, and his mind’s calmer than the vast Pacific Ocean—all thanks to you. 

“You…really want to know?” 

“Yup,” your eyes flutter open to hang upon Nanami’s heavy lids. “Tell me anything and everything.”

Giving in, Nanami’s head falls into a gentle tilt, “Do you know how beautiful are you?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“You say it like that, but I don’t know if you really do…”

“You think so highly of me.”

“I have to, you’re the woman I’ve devoted my life to.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret?” Nanami has to echo. It’s just one of the words that have escaped his vocabulary in recent years. And a regret in your presence is something he knows he’ll never, ever know again. “Never. And even if I did, I’d do it all again just to be with you.”

Gently you bite into your bottom lip “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“Of course I do. I mean it was such a—-”

“I think tonight’s going to be a repeat of that. Or better.”

As your words break through the air, you’re given the honor of watching Nanami crumble underneath the heat of your advances. Blush breaks across his cheeks, his pupils blown wide by lust’s bite, and right beneath your hand his heart’s back to roaring its spirted song.

“Real—ahem—Really? And why’s that?”

“Welllll…” The soft drag of your coo lures Nanami into hypnosis. “I just think it is, Baby. How’s that sound to you?”

“Go—Good. I can’t ever say—” 

Nanami lets your lips swallow down the last of his words in your kiss. He lets you take his last breath, his last thoughts, and all the sanity he thought he relied upon. In trade of that, he’s given the chance to relinquish all control just to drink in your soft whimpers, to sate his whims with your kiss, to scour your soft skin with his rough hands. 

Reality sets in hard and heavy for Nanami. To think, just moments ago he was too absorbed in admiring you—his wife, his lady, his precious angel tucked beside him like any other night.

His precious angel who wears sleep with a plump pout and soft snores.

His precious angel clutching at the thick pillow beneath your head.

His precious angel who has sin creeping along your curves and slipping beneath a pair of lacy red panties.

“Mmm…Ken…” your voice quietly breaks against his puffy lips. Your hips flirt with Nanami’s feathering touch, winding along to his shy caress. “Hmph…right…right there…”

“Yeah?” He allows for a lone digit to greet your dormant clit, the warmth of his touch gently thumbing circles into your bundle of nerves. “It’s riiiight here, isn’t it pretty girl?”

He plays coy, letting honey drip from his lips and into your ear. “Tell me so I can make everything better, Sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Ken please—Harder, baby, Harder!”

Dumbfounded. A dumbfounded gawk is all Nanami can muster towards you—until the ends of his mouth curl up into a grin he buries along the pulse of your throat.

“Harder?” He mocks with a hiked brow. “I don’t think you can take that, Honey. No…but…since you asked so nicely…”

SLAP!

The loud clash of Nanami's palm against your splayed cunt rings in silence over the room, serving as the perfect beat for your body to comprehend the brash course your husband's veered the night into.

“Oh–Fuck!” Tossing your head back between your shoulders, you mewl as the heavy chimes around the room. “T-that’s too much, Ken!”

Nanami hides his chuckle behind a kiss he presses to your temple. “I Promise that’s the last time tonight.” His sights slip down between your legs, watching as his fingers work to soothe your poor clit from his torture. 

He feathers down to your slit, the tight pink ring suckling to Nanami’s familiar touch. His intentions you know are pure, even amidst such lust staining the air. He’s so gentle with you, having his digits complement the perky bud of your clit with sluggish strokes, teasing your hole with the sticky circles he draws. 

All for his digits to fall victim to your pussy.

“Oh, such a greedy baby,” Nanami gasps. He’s forced to ignore the heavy stains of precum ruining his briefs, but he simply can’t let you have your way. It’s enough that he’s curling those slender fingers within your heat, strumming along the gummy walls he’s planning on staining white.  “You can’t take me just playing with you, you need so much more.”

A slight curl to your lips spites him. “I guess you know me well, Honey. Your fault for spoiling me.”

“And? You know I don’t regret a moment of it.”

He’s so sweet with you, peppering kisses along your cheeks, filling your mind with saccharine hymns. Yet he’s incessant with his reach, sending his digits to know every inch of your pussy with each strike he drills into your sweet spot.

It's just like Nanami, once he’s found a goal, he’ll work and work until the logic runs dry in his mind. He’ll work a hellish job for the trade of money, he’ll risk his life for the trade of saving others, and he’ll work his hand to the raw nerve to turn your pussy into a sputtering mess. 

“Good girl, you’re making me so proud, Baby,” Nanami coos, his eyes glued between your twitching legs. “Oh, I wish you could see what I do.”

“A-and w..wha-at’s that?” 

Your stumbling words earn an esteemed chuckle from Nanami. “Well…I could always just describe it to you…But there’s something I need to do first...”

It isn’t like him to keep you puzzled, especially with words nonetheless. But Nanami’s a man of action, letting his body move to support his cause. His cause for tonight, however, called for his body to slip away from your warmth all for him to be planked between your thighs and his hands kneading at your plushy skin. 

“That’s even better. Now, where do I even begin…”

His thumb comes to peck at your bud, lazily scrolling at the perky pearl in swipes. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, counting the minutes until I’m back at your side…back between your legs…back to having this pussy drip bliss back into my poor soul.”

It isn’t enough to have you laid out on a silver platter where his tongue can lather at your honey for hours—Nanami needs you to know just how deep his depravity lies. He slowly drags his tongue to wet his plump lips, soothing the ravenous urge that boils to the forefront of his mind with dumb babbles. 

“Just so…pretty…and pink. So sweet, so soft. Honey, I can’t go a day without you, you’re my lifeline, every beat of my heart. I just…”

His touch gets the better of his coherency. He knows better than to find focus elsewhere when speaking, but in truth, Nanami did not—he should not have caught your slicked hole fluttering at the sound of his soliloquy. 

“Oh…Fuck me…”

He wants to be kind, he wants to be sweet, and Nanami wants to embody the very traits he’s fallen in love with.

But he can’t.

Nanami can’t play the nice guy when he greedily welcomes your pussy back into his salacious mouth with a gracious sigh, his jaw hungrily working to force that poor button into a pudgy bloat.

Cunnilingus. It’s an art he’s swiftly mastered after three years of marriage, learning every inch of your body like your own. He knows where exactly his tongue should flit, where his finger curls the best, and even how long it should take for your body to shatter at his hands.

But it’s an effortless art when mastered behind love, and it steals Nanami’s breath away every time he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” his curse breaks through the air. His hands knead at the silky plush hidden underneath your thigh, leaving every curve of his fingerprint to sear into you—-to mark you as his own. He’s eager to catch your eyes, those adorable eyes that well up with the fattest tears whenever he pedals his tongue right against your clit.   

As the age-old game of cat and mouse welcomes itself onto the stage known as the bed, you unassumingly take up your role the second you jerk away from Nanami’s silent plea.

What he wants from you—time, affection, or maybe even an orgasm, every idea falls to the back burner the moment your hips mindlessly buck into his mouth. You could have sold him the story of it being an accident, but why ruin his fun where he’s so hellbent on this one night that your body’s finally taking offense?

Though, when the rare glow dots the eyes he shoots up at you, you swear you can see hearts in the distance of his blown pupils. 

“Oh, look at that,” Nanami almost humors himself as he takes another glance at your cunt.

A precarious man such as he can’t afford to miss any details. His eyes cling to the unfolding sight, how his thick digits bathe in your essence, carefully sketching his own path about your folds so rich with nerves. He’s shamelessly gawking at how the succulent hues of rose bodes well with his fair skin, each pass he bestows upon your cunt pulls him into a self-induced trance.

“Making such a mess just from me talking. What a dirty mind you’ve got, isn’t that right, Honey?” 

Right on the tip of your tongue, the words baste behind the sweetest rapport. You could let him have him, fill his ears with talk of how lechery paints his face like a mask. He is your husband, yet the side he’s letting out to roam tonight leaves your fuzzy mind combing with an answer—and fast. 

“W-Where is this co-comming f-from, Baby?” 

That’s what you say, but the moans slipping from your traitorous mouth when Nanami plants one last kiss to your folds tells him all that needs to be known.  

“What?” He chuckles to himself. The pads of his digits wade through the glassy web sewn between your delicate folds, “Can’t handle me talking about your pussy, Sweetheart? I’m sorry but you'll have to take it. And, speaking of taking it…you know what else I love about you?”

“What’s that?” Your voice trails out behind a whimper.

Just to catch your eye, Nanami allows for the single tug of his briefs to free him from hell reincarnated. With the gray waistband sitting underneath the heavy bloat of his balls, his hand hungrily grips the base of his cock. A hellish squeeze around his rippling veins has your eyes nearly crossing at the pearly tears spilling from his tip. 

With the thread of sanity left in your mind, your hands race to ball the blanket within your fists, for some kind of grounding. “Fuck! Please! Please, tell me, I can’t wait anymore, Baby!”

“Let me show you then,” Nanami hums as he cup at the back of your knees. “I love when I fold you in half…juuuust like this…”

His words speak for him, Nanami’s sheer strength working pin your poor, tired body into one of his favorite positions—a mating press.

“I can see just how hard you try to take every inch of me. Making your poor pussy stretch around my cock, you must really love me, don’t you Honey?”

It’s sinfully natural the way the fat blushing crown of Nanami’s cock sits upon your clit, a detail he’s made himself keen to. His thick bulb sobbing those white tears all because of badly he needed to have you. To have his fingers work at your gushing cunny is one thing, his cock on the other hand?

He’s on course to face ruin tonight.

He’s already planning the next position, the hour, the next day, all dedicated to keeping his fat length choked within your walls for as long as he could.

Why with such knowledge, it’s no wonder his hips fall into a languid toll, leaving the thick head to trace every curve of your cunt. He’s driving up against every nerve just to watch your face quiver, to see those tears he loves so much all from a little teasing. 

His head dips along the marked tract of your neck, a cowardly move to hide his own flush face. His hands clip to your waist, baring your body between the smothering warmth of his thick chest and bed—without an inch to spare. 

His muffled voice hums against your neck, “T-That feels good right?” 

“Fuh–it’s s’ good Ken. ‘m so close, Baby please!” 

“It’s too soon to cum, Sweetheart—you know that.” Nanami faces betrayal from his warning, his hips snapping against your own. “Just take it nice ‘nd eas–shit! Oh Honey, you feel so…so…fuck, that’s so good!”

“Kennnn! Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You hysterically sob in his ear. It’s all for good reason as those ominous white stars begin to freckle your vision. The knot hasn’t even pulled taut shattered and yet you’re already a victim to its claim. The mind-altering high that rips you out of your body for nothing short of a few seconds.

“Hold it, you can’t yet, Sweetheart, not—”

Sending your grip to sink into the twitching muscle of his biceps, you whimpered out against Nanami’s wishes. “I can’t, Kento! It’s too much!” You knew all too well what was coming and as much as Nanami claims to know as well, he simply couldn’t have you reeling off something so mundane as humping. 

“Please Honey, hold it. Just a little—”

“Fuck! ‘m cumming!” 

The perilous yelp echoes around the room as the pure state of bliss paints itself white in your mind. All that pressure, the tensions, it all slips away from you through the harsh arch your spine fights beneath Nanami.

It’s futile to try and stop the inevitable, and the bliss that comes with surrender is all the more peaceful. When your body tingles with the aftershocks, your mind hazy from the stress and woes of the day, all of the negative can’t survive when a high like that comes crashing hard and heavy. 

Exhaustion houses itself in your body, accompanying weakness and the giddy smiles that you can’t hold back–until your body feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

“That…whew, that was so—Kento?”

Your spotty sights focus upon falling onto Nanami’s silhouette, his towering form resting back on his haunches. His hand’s fallen between your bodies, a loose fist drumming against your skin. He’s pummeling his cock beneath harsh strokes, forcing abstract thick ropes of white to dance along your puffy lips. 

“Ken, Baby?” You call out cautiously as his body collapses over yours. “It’s okay,”  we can call it an early night–”

“I can’t leave you unsatisfied, it was pathetic of me to let go right now,” He huffs,  We’ve got our routine—gonna fill this pretty pussy so fucking full just so I can clean you up. And I have to tell you something.”

Your eyes soften over Nanami, desperately watching as the man seeks redemption. He isn’t one to be a sore loser, but when it comes to you—he’ll work until he breaks just to know that he was behind your euphoria. 

All resolutions point to you supplying his motive with undying support, especially when your digits reach to strum at the sparse blond hairs along the nape of his neck. “Go ahead, tell me Ken.”

A wicked grin stretches onto Nanami’s features, only to hide behind a kiss within the valley of your breasts.

“Oh, I love you so much, Baby. Can’t wait to give all my love to the prettiest girl!”

[amourrs]

18+ only, implied brat ellie? absolutely no plot just smut with a vague theme and yapping…

pondering the thought of birthday sex with ellie, specifically in the morning when she’s just itching with anticipation. the sun’s ascendant, though at present shrouded, making the whole episode feel more hush-hush. you could even consider it a smidge covert, the way the moment’s kept for your eyes (and other senses) only as her silklike lips trail brazenly up the expanse of your flesh, pearlescent in the maiden light of dawn that spills liquidly through the open curtains. she’d forgotten to close them last night, but now the mishap works in her favour, illuminating your skin as she indents her teeth into it, watches it spring back whilst leaving the ridges of her molars behind. marking you up, running her thumb over the crescents like a prayer.

she continues to traverse a path, tongue abrading the spots she hits as a sorry attempt at soothing the irritation until a particularly harsh nip tugs at a cord in your brain, pulling you from that sweet dreamscape you’d been so happily enjoying just to realise that a better alternative is being offered up to you on a silver platter. you moan, an asseveration of your returned desires as your fingers wind into her hair, a tangled mane-like lattice that silks into soft order as you run your digits through it. her name passes your lips as she grins into your clavicle, mouth wandering down further as her hand reaches into her hair and she interlinks her fingers with yours. like this, she’s all sweetness, no salt, if you’ll pardon the shoddy wordplay— an event that’s not so frequent, so you savour it the more it occurs. her tongue drags over your navel, dipping into your belly button as you shriek, nails scratching at her face as if to ward her off as the auburnette snickers at you. “m’sorry, babe. couldn’t help it— fuck, happy birthday. ‘s been so hard waiting, had to wake you up. you get it, right?”

you go to make a quick riposte on the topic but it withers in your throat like a flower shredded at the stem when her teeth snag your underwear, ivory mismatched against black lace as she drags them down off your legs in irriation. a hindrance, only serving to camouflage her real object. all thoughts of anything but ellie ellie ellie are whisked from your brain with the long stripe she licks up your cunt and you display as such when you chant her name out, a mantra so soft on her ears that she chuckles into you. the vibrations only serve to make you wetter, the freckled girl’s fingers splaying your folds to reveal your slick to her; you’d presume it was ichor and not arousal with the way she looks on in starved bliss. her tongue travels from your perineum to your entrance, fingers trailing with it, eager to explore as she slides one into you. the smothered squeak from you provides only to enkindle her depravities, second finger joining the first as she hooks them, searching for gold as her mouth lays sloppy kisses over your sensitive bud. she lays it on you like it’s religion, like you’re the priest and she’s the acolyte at the altar, treating this sordid affair like something holy as she rests her head devout and innocent on your thigh as if she’s not desecrating you, devouring you with rapture.

it takes you a minute to notice it at first in your pleasure, but there’s an odd rhythm to the motions of her tongue on your clit. almost as if mapping out a preordained plan— and that’s when it hits you. she’s spelling. squinted eyes and bursts of much spasmodic focus assist you in making out the vague idea of many of the letters; you string them together in your mind and easily piece together the gaps, pushing at her head as you choke down a laugh. “are you— are you seriously spelling happy birthday right now? thought it was more traditional to like, sing that in a song alongside the cake.” your teases get to her, face strawberrying softly at your chuckles as her freckles stand out in soft definition. “okay, well. i did actually make you a cake— don’t worry, dina helped,” an interjection much needed after the look of abject horror plastered across your face, “so. i’ll sing later. right now, kinda in the middle of something. in case you hadn’t noticed.” it’s pointed, the way her mouth nestles back in between your thighs, the aforementioned muscles squeezing tightly around her skull in a way that has her groaning as her tongue flicks out across your clit again. you’re pretty sure you can discern the shape of the A and Y at the end of ‘birthday’ as her digits curl into your walls at the perfect spot, grinding until you see stars and the coil inside your stomach snaps, legs shaking as you ride out your high against your girlfriend’s face. fuckin’ goofball.

happy birthday to one of my all time favourite mutuals, the lovely @astralnymphh — couldn’t hand deliver ellie to your door as a gift, so considered this to be a consolation 🎂♡

[zorciarkrildrush]

I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

So finally:

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".