#you deserve a storm of indulgent pleasures

[hitomisuzuya]

requests are open, WOO!!

I've got an idea for scara. Yk how he always sticks his tongue out and blows raspberries at us? Imagine him doing that over the whole day, being the sarcastic bf he is and fem!reader gets annoyed, ending with scara/wanderer (idc which one, both are hot ngl) putting that tongue to good use, showing her how good he can make her feel with it over and over again?

ALSO, my condolences for the heat wave where you're at, we're having constant thunderstorms here💀

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Cunnilingus. Multiple orgasms. Pussy drunk!Scara. Ego stroking. Slut used once.

June 7th, guys. June 7th is when they coming to put the new AC unit in. Send your storms my way, dear❤️

"Is this what you meant when you asked me to use my tongue for something else?" Scaramouche asked, prodding and swirling his tongue around your pulsing clit. You could only dignify him with shaky sighs and moans that started to rise in octave as your grinded your cunt against his tongue.

You couldn't even be annoyed or quite frankly infuriated at his chuckle. The same egotistical laugh he'd been using all day, his remarks dripping with sarcasm while he stuck his tongue out at you.

This man never cared if he was infuriating or annoying. It was a people issue, not a him issue. And you loved him for that. So much. But today, damn he was just extra relentless.

Your hand found the back of his head, pushing his mouth further down onto your puffy pussy, each lick and glide from his tongue making you wetter. Almost embarrassingly so.

This is much more preferable to his gremlin behavior. You were steadily forgetting that you had been annoyed with him. W-why was I annoyed with him again? You even stumbled over thinking those words in your head, your loudest moan of the afternoon filtering in his ears as he swept his tongue down from your clit, plunging it inside of you.

Your hips bucked into Scaramouche's mouth, his tongue taking you higher and higher. He groaned feeling your walls clench around his tongue, his hands firmly holding your thighs apart. "Go on," He purred, smirking up at you, "use your words, pretty."

He tapped his beautiful fingers in the inside of your thighs impatiently. He knew full well he could make you cum as fast as he wanted, or let you cum when he decided he could. Swirling his tongue inside of you, he took great care in making you feel every lick on your sensitive walls.

You whimpered as he withdrew his tongue, feeling his ego growing. In the dizzying pleasure he was tongue was bringing you, you felt compelled to stroke his ego like you always did. His behavior be damned, he deserves it.

Scaramouche grew more impatient despite feeling proud that he was starting to melt your poor little brain with his tongue so fast. He sucked on your clit again, encouraging you to speak.

He always got what he wanted.

"Your tongue is making me see Celestia," You cried out. Every urgent tug on his hair made his cock throb, and harden. He could get off hearing you in the throes of pleasure. He fed on it. His tongue sped up on your clit, demanding more. "It's only your tongue I want. It's all I ever want," You babbled, your body twitching as he vibrated a muffled moan on your cunt.

"What a slut," Scaramouche moaned, getting drunk on your taste. Your worshipping praise only added fuel to the fire. His tongue worked over your clit with the same relentlessness he used in sticking it out at you all day.

Archons, he loves it when you stroke his ego. He wanted to cum like the good girl you are for him.

Scaramouche rutted his aching cock into the mattress. "Go on," He growled, releasing your clit with a soft, wet pop. He flattened his tongue, giving it kitten licks.

"It's only your tongue that can make me cum," You whimpered before your orgasm suddenly hit you. He loudly slurped loudly at your cunt, indulging himself in the taste while he tongue fucked you through your orgasm.

Scaramouche promptly sucked on your clit again, making you nearly scream from pleasure. He could feel your hands trembling as you pushed his mouth down onto your cunt. "I need more," He groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Having not come down from your first orgasm, it didn't take long for you to cum again, squirting as well much to his delight.

But he did not stop, driven with the intent to make you cum again.

[ovaova]

U⃣N⃣G⃣O⃣D⃣L⃣Y⃣ H⃣O⃣U⃣R⃣

🅺🆈🅾🅹🆄🆁🅾 🆇 🅵🅴🅼 🆁🅴🅰🅳🅴🆁

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : ᴜɴɢᴏᴅʟʏ ʜᴏᴜʀ (ᴄʜʟᴏᴇxʜᴀʟʟᴇ)

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴

(Y/N) and Kyojuro had recently started on their journey as a married couple.

With their first anniversary approaching, Kyojuro, the ever-devoted husband, planned a memorable evening to celebrate their love. He wanted to create a night that would capture (Y/N)’s heart and ignite her desires.

A night where Kyojuro could make her his again as if it was the first time…

First, Kyojuro meticulously prepared a delicious dinner of (Y/N)’s favorite dishes, showcasing his culinary skills. The aroma of the sizzling food filled their cozy loft apartment, setting the stage for a romantic evening.

As they sat down at the beautifully set table, Kyojuro poured (Y/N)’s favorite wine, each sip filling them with warmth and a hint of anticipation.

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "You really went all out for tonight, Kyojuro. It's absolutely perfect."

Kyojuro returned her smile, his gaze tender as he reached over to her hand, rubbing it reassuringly. "Anything to make this night special for you, my love. You deserve nothing less."

After finishing the delicious meal and engaging in heartfelt conversations of the good, the bad, and the devious, Kyojuro guided (Y/N) to the bathroom, where he had drawn a scent filled bath adorned with rose petals and scented candles.

The dim, flickering light accentuated the silhouette of their bodies and enhanced the intimate atmosphere.

(Y/N)'s heart raced as Kyojuro's strong hands gently began to undress her, the soft fabric of her previous wear sliding off her body, revealing her vulnerable that Kyojuro had been anticipating to view.

After fully undressing, they both eased into the warm liquid. Both of their bodies becoming embraced and soothed as the water heightened their sensitivity.

Kyojuro whispered huskily, his voice laced with desire as mouth barely glazed over her skin, eyes closed hoping to stay in this moment forever.

"You're so breathtaking, (Y/N). Every time I look at you, my heart races."

(Y/N) blushed, her eyes meeting his intense gaze.

Mouth saying nothing, but eyes saying everything.

Kyojuro skillfully massaged (Y/N)'s shoulders, his strong fingers expertly kneading away the tensions of the day.

The touch of his hands awakened a primal desire within her, intensifying the connection between them. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, words were unnecessary.

Their bodies spoke the language of longing and passion.

As the steamy ambiance enveloped them, the boundaries between passion and lust blurred. Kyojuro's lips explored the curves of (Y/N)’s neck, igniting a trail of fiery kisses that left her breathless.

Their desires danced with each touch, building an irresistible tension that threatened to consume them.

(Y/N) moaned softly, her voice filled with longing. "Kyojuro, please…don't stop... I need you."

Kyojuro's voice was husky with desire as he murmured against her skin, nipping small patches exciting small hickies. "I'm here, (Y/N). I'm yours, completely."

“Then have me, please make me yours again.”

And that he did. In their ardor, their bodies became one, a symphony of pleasure and surrender.

They moved with an innate rhythm, guided by their unquenchable thirst for each other.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but whine and scratch Kyojuro’s rinsed back as he thrusted into her against the bathtubs tiles.

Every thrust was filled with so much passion and neediness.

His grunts echoed throughout the bathroom as he basked in this overwhelming pleasure.

The bathwater swayed and splashed as their love spilled over, both gentle and fierce, intertwining their souls.

Not one word was shared but Kyojuro could feel his wife clenching for dear life, she was drawing close.

Time stood still as they indulged in the raw intensity of their desires, surrendering to the tempestuous storm that brewed between them.

“Yes, yes…Kyojuro give me all of you-” (Y/N) whine as she pushed his neck down to where their eyes could meet, their lips meeting not too long afterwards.

Their lips locked in a fervent embrace, mouths melding with a hunger m.

They surrendered to the rhythmic dance of their tongues, exploring each other's depths taste, their breaths forming as one while their bodies gravitated closer.

Thrust after thrust

Hit after Hit

(Y/N) felt that forever well known feeling buzz throughout her body as she was hanging by a thread

“Cum with me, I want to finish with you-“ Kyojuro groaned as his pace increased and his thrust became more bruising.

(Y/N) could only throw her head back as she came. Her muscles straining from the intense pleasure.

Kyojuro want far behind as he started to cum as well, filling his love up with everything he had

Afterwards, as they lay tangled in each other's arms, a gentle tranquility settled upon their atmosphere.

The flames of their passion had sated their desires, leaving them basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

(Y/N) whispered, her voice filled with adoration, "I

love you, Kyojuro. This was beyond anything… I could have imagined."

Kyojuro pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his voice filled with . "And I love you, (Y/N) . You are…my everything."

With their hearts entwined and their bodies entangled, (Y/N) and Kyojuro discovered the boundless depths of their passion.

And so, as they celebrated their first anniversary, (Y/N) and Kyojuro cherished not only the memories of that passionate little night but also carried it’s replay into the morning, causing them to do it all over again.

[cerise-on-top]

This is a vent piece. My psychosis got far worse again today, and my anxiety has been peaking each day for the past two weeks now. Pretty sure no one's going to read this, but I don't care. I wrote this with Price in mind, but this could be about anyone.

TW: graphic metaphors of violence, reader is psychotic and going through an episode, I think

What a beautiful day it was. The sun, at its zenith, brought a pleasant temperature with it. Any creature, capable of feeling both pleasure and warmth, would yearn for a nap underneath its rays. The sky, such a radiant blue, glorious in its pulchritude, made for the ideal day to go outside. Wherever one were to look, a human and its companions were close by, smiling at each other, cracking jokes. Some were enjoying lovely meals, others were indulging in sports. But many agreed, such a day had to be lived. Stormy clouds would come soon enough as they were, bringing an end to this reign of cheer. However, such thoughts couldn’t have been further away from the masses.

So, why were you stuck at home, bearing the curse of a headache no one had ever understood? This echo of a pain, it had only ever brought you suffering. Gripping your hair in your hands, you fought a war with yourself to not bash your head against the wall. The urge, ever so strong, was taking a hold of you, but you dared not let it win, for the consequences were dire enough to scare you into dominance over your mental illness. It was an unbearable pain, unlike anything you could ever have experienced normally. And yet, you’ve been living like this for the past few years now. It brought you to your knees as your breathing was uneven. Sharp breaths, deep breaths, were you even breathing at all? Even the voice in your head was concerned, trying to soothe you. Why wouldn’t the pain go away? Why couldn’t you have been normal?

Promises of aid in your darkest times came to mind, but the fear of burdening your loved ones broke each and every one of them. You wanted to swing your head violently around, making sure to break your skull, the splinters in your brain drowning out the pain that currently was. You couldn’t make it through this alone, but you had to. You were scared, alone, but you were a warrior, fighting for survival. If anyone ever knew how much agony you were in, they’d point and laugh at you. Your breathing sped up as you lowered your head to the floor. The cold wood did nothing to alleviate the torture you went through. You wanted to bite away at your own skin, gnawing at your bones so the physical pain would overshadow the mental one. You clutched your head, horrid images of flesh and bone crossing your mind. What did you do? And why did you deserve this? Picking at your skin, cutting away the flesh to reveal what’s inside, tearing open your body. You didn’t want this.

But somehow, a hand was placed on your back. As warm as the sun, as meaningful as the first nice day after a storm. You didn’t dare to look up. You’ve messed up. Someone saw you in your vulnerable state, here to take no mercy on you, who suffered through the layers of hell in this ordinary world. The hand burned through your skin, ridiculing you, but you craved it.

“Love, what’s wrong? Please look at me.”

You were shaking, your stomach churning as you tasted iron in your mouth. You were not long for this world, but you had to endure.

“It hurts so bad. I’m sorry.”

The hand on your back started to move, frantically so as it attempted to soothe you. The warmth spread, but your pain has been noted by someone else. You couldn’t move. But still, as humiliating as being perceived was, you focused on the hand.

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

The voice in your head made it all up. It was so loud, almost drowning out any other sound. You needed him to speak. He needed to continue, he needed to distract you.

“I’m sorry.”

Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to another source of warmth. His heart was beating, he was breathing, he was a beacon of comfort.

A body you loved, so close to you. His scent was almost overwhelming, but it was proof he was alive. You were alive, you believed, taking it in.

“Please, continue talking. I don’t care about what.”

And so, he betrayed your one request, staying silent. Perhaps it was your fault, perhaps it showed a weakness within him that only you could bring forth. And yet, his mere presence brought to light a strength you forgot about within yourself. As you no longer held onto your head as though it was torn at the seams, you instead sought him out. Finding solace within a gentle embrace, you took a deep breath as you buried your face in his shoulder. He was a soldier, one much better fitted for the cruelty this world brought about. He only knew how to kill, his only home was within the damned souls he sent to hell. But within his gentle grasp, you focused solely on him. Begging for comfort, like a child starved of its parent’s attention.

The knife of unreality twisted in your guts, slitting your throat, leaving you unable to speak. You were dependent on him in that moment. It was him, who needed to stitch you back together, make sure you could regard yourself as anything but a human failure. If you could even consider yourself a human in the first place.

But he was oh so meticulous in taking each bloody piece, infusing it with new life before merging it into an empty hull of a body. And as he’d build his own poisoned paradise, he inhaled the fumes and saw a glimpse of a future he still desired. What you had always seen as his certain demise, he saw a dream more pleasant than the heavens themself. Exhaling into your seemingly lifeless body, he shared his very essence with you. Even when you unwillingly knock on death’s door, he would still protect you from the grief of losing yourself, tearing you away from the pain of the unknown.

The sun, at its zenith, had nothing to say to you. It gave you an environment to live in, but no reason to stay in it. Only this one man, broken from war, found it within himself to show you the joy of being. His pieces had been scattered, but he still shared what little was left of him with you, building a secure fort around your being.

And from within the view of a safe home, you could even gaze at the stars, relishing in the cold. You had a different kind of warmth to return to.

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 22: Lover

Words: 2.3k | Pairings: Severus Snape, Sirius Black x reader | Warnings: 18+, brief sex/mentions of

You had lied in bed next to your former partner, Severus Snape himself, unable to sleep. It had stormed that night and it reminded you of the times you’d escape from your Hogwarts dormitory to enjoy the earthly aroma and loud rumbling of the thunder beneath your feet near the Black Lake.

You draped his cloak over your silk nightgown and snuck out of his sleeping quarters and the castle that night. At the edge of the lake, you sat, taking in the sight of the rain rippling across the black surface outstretched in front of you.

You wished Snape could’ve been there, wished he had indulged in the pleasure of finding his animagus form, but he was against it. He often lectured you for going out at night to explore, saying it was too dangerous for you to be out alone. You had assured him that no one would bother a small basset hound from Hufflepuff, but he only scoffed in response.

The chirping of crickets grew quieter as the thunder shook the ground underneath your paws and you whined softly to the moon cascading over the surface of the lake before you lied on the cool, wet ground. It was beautiful, the lake, the storm, the peace, until thoughts that weren’t your own had filled your head and a sharp growl rippled through the forest behind you.

Well, well, well, if it isn’t Severus himself.

Severus?

You had perched up on your paws and searched for the animal that had begun to invade your peace, but found nothing, not a single soul in the darkness.

The attack following was quick and left you breathless. A single bite to the neck, not too hard, but not soft either, had caused you to shift back into your human form—naked, weak and shivering against the frigid ground. The yellow eyes of the dog on top of you turned golden as it stepped back with a whimper and a dark haired, bearded man transformed from the hairy beast.

“I’m sorry! Are you alright?”

“Y-you bit me!” You sputtered, which had turned into playful laugher.

“To be fair, I thought you were my formal nemesis. You reek of him quite frankly, like bitterness and grief.”

You gulped at the insult. Surely he hadn’t meant your Severus, but a month later, you found out he had.

After a few moments, the man had come down next to you, pulling on a pair of damp pants while tossing his jacket towards you, leaving his lanky chest exposed to the elements.

“You realize you’re naked?”

Your cheeks flushed a crimson red, but your long, curly hair had done a good job at shielding you from his view.

“I know,” you replied confidently and threw the jacket back while climbing off the ground and shaking the debris off your body. You had left your clothes near a tree and knew exactly where to find them without the help of a stranger.

“And I thought I was careless,” he chuckled behind you, as you unknowingly led the way.

“Why’re you following me?”

“Me? Following you?” He scoffed at the insult. “I’ll have you know I’m going to meet a dear friend in the castle.”

You had stopped in your tracks and spun towards him.

“In the castle? Then why are you lurking in the shadows of the lake?”

“I take pleasure in being in my animagus form. Aside from the fleas, I’m free to roam the grounds without the slightest detection of people knowing who I am.”

“And whom are you exactly?” You had asked, hands on your hips as your damp hair clung over your bare breasts.

He had chuckled manically, taking in the sight of your bare mound and the curvature of your hips.

“I’m Sirius Black, of course,” he replied with a brilliant smile that would change your life forever.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking and sharing stories after you had clothed yourself. He had turned his nose at the thought of you and Severus, saying you deserved better, and this stranger spent the entire night telling you so.

You still remember the glimmer in his steel gray eyes when you two arrived at the front doors of the castle, his hair dripping, much like yours had, and a smirk on his face.

“Even in this poor lighting, you’re breathtaking,” he commented. “Though, I think I fancy you in the nude, you’re more rigid that way.”

“And I fancy you as a dog,” you scoffed with hot cheeks.

“Funny that you fancy me as anything, seeing that you’re happily taken as you described before,” he laughed just before the doors had swung open.

You were glad it was Dumbledore and not Severus himself who had caught the two of you frolicking in the rain, but surely he had overheard some of your playful banter based on his raised brows alone.

You had bathed alone that night.

The bathroom was empty and silent aside from the thoughts of Sirius that roared in your head. His charming good looks, witty jokes and effortless flirting had made your heart stir in a way you never expected from another man, especially not in just one night.

So, when you snuck back into Severus’ room that night, all you felt was guilt.

Once a week over the course of a month, you had stopped at the Black Lake in hopes that Sirius would find you where it had all begun, but you always spent those nights alone, with the cool breeze sweeping off the lake and through your fur.

On the last night of the month, you had contemplated staying in, Autumn was fading to winter. Severus had even asked you over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go. Surely he had noticed a shift in your behavior over the month, but he figured you’d been busy. He’d hated knowing that the issue was in fact that there was something lacking in your relationship that you were both too painfully scared to express.

So, you sat alone at the edge of the lake, not in your animagus form, but in your true form. The wind had whipped through your hair relentlessly and it left you breathless as you stared up at the crescent moon above.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

You smiled onto your hands which were caressing your cheeks to keep warm. Your elbows had been perched on top of your knees and drawn up for comfort for most of the night. You didn’t need to turn around to know he had finally shown, after all this time.

“I’ve waited for you,” you hummed. As painful as it was to admit, you had to say it.

“I know,” he breathes, which had gained your attention immediately.

You’d spun off the ground and stormed towards him.

“What do you mean you know?”

“I’ve watched… from the edge of the forest, just far enough so you couldn’t detect my scent, my thoughts. I had to know if this feeling was real. Surely I shouldn’t be this shaken up after only spending one night in your presence.”

You shoved him hard, tears burning in your eyes and longing in your chest.

“Why’d you make me wait so long, Sirius?” You sighed and clenched the softness of his shirt in your hands.

“I needed to know,” he breathed and clutched his hand in your hair before rushing his lips against yours.

You moaned loudly against him and pushed him off.

“I’m with Severus,” you whimpered.

“Hasn’t he realized your heart beats for another? Haven’t you realized? Every week you’ve waited for me, and for what? For another chance to tease each other and frolic around in the forest?” He scoffed and tossed his hands up. “I can’t wait any longer. If you don’t end things with him, then you and I simply cannot be. I’ll respect the both of you enough to give you the final choice.”

“Then tell me the truth, Sirius,” you panted through the chilled breeze. “Do you love me?”

The question alone was completely mad and even took you by surprise. How could one night together prove any worth of love? Yet, you find your heart only yearning for one answer.

He stopped his pacing, eyes burrowing into your soul as he closed the gap you’d placed between the two of you. His hand gripped your jaw softly and his thumb traced your bottom lip as he bit into his own.

“Do I love you?” He chuckled hoarsely, almost silently. His warm breath brushed against your mouth and the moonlight had caught in the grays his eyes. “The only question is how long will I loved you and the only answer is endlessly.”

Your lips trembled and you crawled into yourself, fighting your thoughts, fighting the urge to kiss him, to just touch him while your heart beat ten thousand times more than its normal speed in that moment. You couldn’t betray Severus, you respected him enough to end it the right way. That much he deserved.

You left Sirius in the forest that night and cleaned yourself up with your heart already broken as you approached the familiar corridor. Severus was your first love and your only love until you snuck out on one particular night just a month ago. If you could’ve taken it all back, would you at the expense of saving Severus’ heart from one more ache?

You knocked on the door with a heavy heart. Severus wouldn’t take the news well, you wouldn’t either if the roles were reversed. Your heart had ached for him the entire way here.

Severus opened the door cautiously, visibly relieved once he makes you out in the candlelit corridor.

“I thought you w—“

Your lips crashed against his. You wanted to take in the last taste of him before you couldn’t any longer.

“What’s happened, Y/n?” He whispered, closing the door behind the both of you with deeply worried eyes.

“I want you to make love to me, Sev.”

One last time, but you didn’t have the courage to let those words slip. Surely it was written in your eyes and he could always read them like his favorite passage from his favorite novel. He’d known long before you showed up outside his door.

You had tossed your robe to the floor before Severus lied you back, slowly peeling your clothes off and leaving them scattered on his black ornate rug. He repeated the action on himself before kissing over every inch of your body, drinking you in one last time before prowling back to your lips and lowering himself against you. Your hands traced his petite chest and the sharpness of his jawline, the last time you ever would, and you moaned softly into his mouth as he entered you.

“I love you,” he whispered shakily into the crook of your neck, tears burning against your flesh as you toyed with your favorite parts of his greasy hair.

“Me too,” you whimpered.

“I want you to say it,” he panted hungrily. “Like it’s the last time you’ll be able to.”

His eyes had caught yours in the dimly lit room, tears clung to both your lashes and his own as you sat up onto your elbows. Despite this, he hadn’t stopped, both your pants swirled in the sticky air like smoke from a blown out flame.

“I love you, Severus Snape, but we have to let each other go.”

He nodded as you held him tightly, wrapping your legs around him for the last time as he continued to make love to you. And in the end, he spilled inside of you with a stuttered groan, and you, with a bloodcurdling moan as you clung to each other in the fleeting night.

The next morning, you had awakened in an empty bed. Severus wasn’t selfish enough to make you bear witness to his sulking; he’d want you to be happy no matter what you chose, no matter how unbearable it’d be for him.

And the next night, it was you who’d found Sirius sitting at the edge of the lake, back turned to the forest, waiting for you.

“You’ve done it?” He asked, body not wavering.

“Yes,” you whispered and came to a stop several feet away. “I still love him, but you… Oh, Sirius, my heart yearns for you in a way I can’t deny.”

He shuffled on the ground and came up to his feet, turning immediately to you as if he were breathless.

“Do you regret it?”

“Don’t make me,” you scoffed as you both rushed towards each other like lovers lost and now found again.

“Not a day will go by that you’ll regret this,” he promised.

He pressed his lips into yours and the both of you gasped for air between the open-mouthed kiss. Your hands had found a new comfort between the strands of his luscious hair as the two of you broke apart breathlessly, only to return to each other again.

Sirius had pulled you down to the cool ground, ripping your clothes off, and you, his, before he pulled you into his lap. You’d sunken down his length, howling to the moon at the feeling of fullness inside of you. He’d made love to you roughly, tugging your hair in a way you weren’t used to, and pulling you so close that you could hardly breathe.

“I’ll love you endlessly,” he groaned, eyes staring straight into yours, never wavering. “For as long as I live and beyond.”

You nodded, mouth parted as his name clung to your lips like your new favorite melody. And he had spent the rest of the night making you his in the place where the both of you had met, knowing you’d both love each other for eternity.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[azulas-daddy-kink]

You willing to give a sneak peek into your Azulon/Ozai fic?

Yes, I am actually!

Ironically, it was something Brother had said not so long ago, after having indulged in far too much ale.

"A woman's greatest weapon is between her legs. Learn how to use it while you can, Ozai, beauty fades."

Crude as it was, he was right and thus the seed had been planted.

That idiot Zhao had been a trial run, of sorts. It didn't take much at all on her part, he was so eager, and now he was head over heels for her... which was actually starting to become annoying. At least she hadn't fully given herself to him, there was no telling how utterly obsessed he'd be right now had this gone beyond oral pleasures. How pathetic he was.

Well, if she could make Zhao love her, why not her father? The man whose love she truly wanted, the man she was prepared to give everything to.

This very night.

The anniversary.

Exactly seventeen years ago, his beloved wife, Fire Lady Ilah, had died. And born of her corpse was she, a crime her father and brother both never forgave her for. Yes, Princess Ozai had taken her mother’s life to come into this world as the storm of the century battered the Fire Isles.

It was raining now, too, though nothing like it had been that night. Or so Ozai could gather from what she’d been told over the years. It remained to be seen whether this would be a hindrance or a help to her but what she did know was where to find her father.

The same place he always was on the anniversary - his chambers.

Drowning his sorrows in wine bottles, no doubt. Father was nothing if not sentimental. He’d never remarried despite having been relatively young for a widower and being encouraged to do so by his advisors for the simple fact that he hadn’t another son besides Iroh who was now fighting in the war. 

Some even said Fire Lord Azulon had never taken another woman into his bed since his wife’s tragic death though Ozai personally knew that to be untrue.

She may be young but she wasn’t completely ignorant. Every so often, she’d see a scantily clad woman leaving his chambers in the small hours of the night. Once, she had even witnessed her father sit a girl on his lap during his nameday feast and bury his face in her generous breasts.

Back then, she hadn’t been jealous (alright, maybe a little) but now? Now she could feel herself burning with rage at the memory of a lowly peasant girl on the receiving end of the Fire Lord’s affections - especially since she herself was so much prettier!

She deserved Father’s love, no one else. Of that Ozai was certain as she examined herself in the full length mirror, satisfied but nervous enough that she almost felt sick. She looked desirable, there was no doubt about that but it was a calculated risk, wearing one of her mother’s dresses.

While it showed off the swell of her ample breasts and the curve of her ass so nicely, she could just as easily imagine her father being furious at her audacity as she could him tearing it off and fucking her in a flurry of longing and lust.

Would he find her to be a worthy replacement, or a hollow mockery?

She could only hope it was the former, and she had gone to such great lengths to sway him. As well as selecting the perfect dress from among her dead mother’s luxurious wardrobe, her hair was done up the way hers was in her official portrait, and even their make-up was the same. A dusting of black kohl around her smoldering eyes and pink lip paint, rather than Ozai’s preferred shade of deep red.

And, if Ozai did say so herself, she was much more beautiful than the woman in the portrait which was definitely a good thing. Often, such portraits exaggerated positive attributes and camouflaged negative ones. Not her own portrait though, of course, hers was her spitting image. 

Princess Ozai didn’t need any help to look more attractive.

She gave herself a final once-over, applied a few dabs of pilfered jasmine perfume behind her ears and in between her breasts, then off she went.

[harsh-epilogue]

imagine a very drunk heimdall trying to convince kratos to take him right then and there on the table in front of all those people, and kratos responds 😐 no. you're too drunk and i'm not about to let anyone see that side of you. because you see, that idea makes kratos real possessive, nobody deserves to see a begging, pleading, writhing with pleasure heimdall with flushed cheeks, hickeys, and tears in his eyes. there will be a time and place for voyeurism, but not now not yet. 'plEeAaaase 😩 i want, *hic* i want your seed in meee 🥺 youu told me i was your precious wife your princess dont i deserve this??'

This is hilarious!! Heimdall is his wife I’ll die on this hill 😂😂💪🏻 now take this unedited little blurb.

Heimdall and kratos were invited to the great hall by Thor and Sif for a fest in honor of thrud and finally becoming a valkyrie. Atreus was keen on coming to support her and mimir believed it would help with peace among them. Heimdall didn’t have much opinion on the matter but to try some of his favorite Asgardian cheese that would probably be at the feast. so kratos reluctantly agreed.

However, ever since the three (mimir makes it four?) of them step foot into the great hall heimdall has been hearing and seeing/hearing the minds of all inside. As time went on Heimdall’s couldn’t help but grind his teeth and clench his fist as he tried to keep a calm demeanor. But he felt it impossible when all he could hear from others is doubt, insults, and confusion on why the four were there and the relationship between heimdall and kratos. Though he had to admit, he himself wouldn’t have believed it either if one were to tell him long ago. But, this is now and he is committed to kratos and knows where he belongs now.

“Who would have thought that heimdall would be with him… let alone anyone?”

“How can he stand to be with heimdall for more than a second?”

“Isn’t heimdall a virgin? How can he even please that foreign god?

Heimdall can feel his lip curl and his muscles tensing in anger. As the more drinks came out the more the thoughts and whispers came from everyone in the great hall. Heimdall eventually had enough. Trying to not cause a scene in anger, he grabs a drink full of mead and begins to drink. He has been actively trying to calm on his maliciousness and sass throughout his time with kratos and the others. Though he hasn’t changed completely he isn’t as terrible as other claims he was before. Now though, he was focusing on trying not to cave, say a thin or two and storm out. Before he’s had a drink or two to mellow down after a long day of watching over all of Asgard and its wall. But now with no pressure of the all father and being around kratos who he knows he can trust, Heimdall decides to let himself indulge in some of the mead. I am not a drunkard like Thor, nor a fool like these others. How bad is it to let myself partake in drinking to get rid of all these peoples idiot thoughts? Heidmall proceeds to drink without restraint letting the mead drown out the voices and thought of everyone around him.

Kratos had notice Heimdall’s attitude getting more sour and sour by the minute since first coming to the great hall. He kept a close eye on him as he fidgeted and reached for drinks. Kratos noticed that Heimdall’s tense shoulders relaxed more and more as the night progressed and the more drinks he consumed. He hadn’t noticed this behavior before but has been keeping a close eye on him. However, after some time and a number of drinks causing heidmall to sway softly Kratos stops heimdall from grabbing another drink.

“I believe you have had enough for tonight. Let us go home soon” kratos says lowly as he moves heimdall from the area serving drinks. Heimdall then looks up at kratos. Once his fuzzy mind realizes who was stoping him he gets close.

“Kratos y-you have to take me… on the table. Innnn front of everyoneee” Heimdall demanded as he holds onto kratos large arms. Heimdall was over hearing others opinions and insults of the others. Now in an unstable state of mind he wanted to prove to all their relationship. Kratos is taken back a moment. Not only from Heimdall’s drunken state, but also his words.

“No we are going home” Kratos replied. Heimdall then begins to pout and look up and kratos with an annoyed look.

“Come on ssunshinee show everyone here how good you take me… how good I take you…” heimdall whispers as he plays with kratos buckle. Kratos grunts and grabs Heimdall’s hand.

“No. We are leaving” kratos grunts as he pulls heimdall. Heimdall stays put and pleads up to kratos as he worries his lip and comes closer.

“Kratos. Pleaseee take me here! I want them to knowww” heimdall pleads as he leans up against kratos. Kratos grunts as he then leans down. “AH!” Heimdall lets out as kratos picks him up and throws him over the shoulder.

“If you want it this badly I shall take you home. Let Atreus stay here for the night” kratos replies with a grunt as he walks towards the doors with heimdall over him squirming. Heimdall then notices everyone’s thoughts, they all realize what is happening. Heimdall’s face flushes red as he is carried out. There will be shame for this later. There will be regret for how he acted. But for now he is pleased that they all notice them and how kratos takes care of him.

[thiccpersonality]

My Sweet Cup, Why Do You Taste So Bitter?

(Warning: Emotion/psychological and physical abuse, implied/Reference R*pe/noncon, manipulation, dubious consent, self-hate, self-h*rm (though it's not too explicit), etc. Minors DNI)

XXX

Bruce truly never enjoyed alcohol. He never liked the thought of losing control in front of people, and despite what things may seem, he doesn't have that great of a tolerance for it anyway. Of course just because he doesn't like to indulge in it much, it doesn't mean he's never drank it, only on certain occasions like weddings, very specific parties (like with close friends) or when he is feeling anxious and frantic about his thoughts.

And boy has Bruce been thinking a lot lately. He has been trying to figure out what he did wrong-scratch that-what his family did wrong to deserve the lot they've gotten in life. It's only been a handful of years since Superman turned into a psychopathic, grieving, dictator…but it feels more like a millennium.

Bruce's memory feels scattered over these past few years, maybe he has tried to bury these things away? Maybe he is regretting what he has and hasn't done before and after all this hell happened…he just wants to forget it all, but it seems that wish is only a dream. He can only seem to recall one of his biggest mistakes: the day Lois Lane died.

Bruce remembers Superman's stunned look, how he couldn't believe he was the one to murder his own wife and unborn child. Bruce remembers the man fleeing after killing The Joker and not being seen for months…well, that was until the alien came storming in during almost a full year of being MIA and attacking Bruce during his family dinner. The man won't ever forget the absolute fear he felt when Super-Kal-El directed one of his laser beams at Jason's leg with the threat that if anyone moves he'll start killing them off one by one.

Bruce recalls his children wearily looking around before sitting down, his family trying to check up on Jason without pushing too many boundaries. He remembers his family watching nervously as Kal-El held him by his neck while blaming him for Lois's death, he-he remembers his family's horrified gasps when the man switched his bruising hold to the nape of his neck and pinned him down to the dining table, ripping his pants off and growling at his squirming.

Bruce remembers the shame he felt at his family having to witness the moment, at having to witness their father and son be slapped around like a doll before Kal-El manhandled him back onto the table and thrust his way inside his unwilling body-

"M-Master Bruce!?"

The man comes to with a confused blink and a couple hiccups, icy blue eyes look down to see red covering his palm and the wine glass he was holding shattered in his hand. Bruce finds an odd sense of pleasure in the pain and only digs the glass in harder, stopping when an aged hand shakily rests over his own. "I think we've had enough drinks for the day. Allow me to clean this."

Bruce frowns at the sad tone in Alfred's voice, why does the man sound so regretful? Nothing that is happening now or back then was his fault, so why?

The drunken man allows his faithful friend to clean him up, Bruce sighing and hiccuping at the same time while Alfred dutifully pulls out the glass. "T-The wine tastes bitter, Alfred. It says it's sweet but I only taste bitterness." Alfred hums softly, "Is…is that so sir?"

Bruce hums in response as well and nods, "Yes. Maybe my life is meant to be bitter…maybe that's why sweetness only tastes like pain? Maybe that's why I can't be happy, Alfie. I am destined to drink from the cup of bitterness all my life, t-that's why I fuck up so much." Alfred's breath hitches and he quickly finishes patching his son up…he doesn't know how to comfort the man, he feels like nothing he says will reach his master's ears, so the man just offers his drunken son a falsified brave smile and tugs the man up.

"How about we head to bed, yes? You need some rest."

XXX

Bruce lies in bed alone and cold…the windows aren't open and it's not even cold outside, but he feels so hollow and alone. The man silently curses his mind for imagining Kal-El's arms wrapping around him, he really doesn't want to be thinking about the man...but years of being used has taken an effect on Bruce. He can barely do anything without thinking of Kal-El.

Bruce hiccups and wraps his arms around himself, trembling in his bed at the tears that prick his eyes and threaten to fall, his fists clenching from the anger he feels at imagining the warmth he feels being that of Kal.

I-If he closes his eyes, Bruce can imagine that his partner's hold is affectionate and loving, not painful and full of hate. The worst part for Bruce besides his family being caught up in this is the fact how much his heart hurts, he ended up having a bit of a thing for Clark and his alter ego Superman, but he never crossed that line though, the way his friend looked at Lois could not be mistaken for anything else but love. And back when things were better...Clark looked at him lovingly too...maybe not in the way he did Lois, but the man's deep blue eyes held a fond gaze for Bruce despite how difficult he's been.

Bruce gasps suddenly when that warmth he imagined only gets stronger, if he continues to focus he can actually feel those strong arms wrapping around him gently.

Bruce opens his eyes though when a warm tongue licks up his face and wipes up the tears that he didn't even realize fell. Old instincts kick in and the ex-vigilante raises his hand to swing at whoever is behind him, a chuckle escaping his intruder as large hands pin his arm to his side. "I wouldn't suggest doing that." Kal-El's voice rumbles behind Bruce calmly, and boy does the shorter man hate the way his body-despite all it's protests-sinks into the solid form behind him.

"G-Get out."

Bruce whispers pitifully and stiffens when the man moves forward. Great. Now he's gone and made Kal mad because he can never keep his mouth shut. The super surprises him however when his muscular arms wrap around his waist, the alien nuzzling his nose into Bruce's neck to smell the anger, fear, desire and want that protrudes from the man's trembling form.

"Why should I? I already know that you are thinking of me. That you are desiring to be held like this, hm? There's no one else who would even want to do it, but I do, I've come to love you so much Bruce. When you don't fight you are such a good boy."

Bruce really does hate how he shivers with pleasure at being told he's good. Though he truly wants to scream and cry that he isn't good, that he's completely messed everything up because-if nothing else-his existence is a curse on the world and his family. But...he can't say anything, all he does is sigh contentedly when Kal pulls him closer to his solid form, the man slowly releasing Bruce's pinned arm with a smile at how obedient his little bitch is, despite the inner turmoil the man obediently keeps his arm down.

Kal hums, pleased by the display of obedience, the man leaning forward to kiss Bruce's neck gently. Nipping, biting and sucking every spot he's come to know makes Bruce melt into a puddle. It's not often he treats the billionaire this gently...but the man has been so stupidly pitiful as of late and Kal-El has decided he mind as well try and soothe the man.

He knows that Bruce is fighting within himself, he can only imagine what his eyes look like right now, flickering back and forth from the abundance of troubling thoughts in his mind. But Bruce isn't the only one thinking here, Kal-El is too, he is thinking about how well he's trained the man, his little bitch, so well.

Kal hums and places a gentle bite on Bruce's shoulder, his palm reaching down to spread itself across the smaller man's stomach to pull him in closer, until Bruce's ass is meeting with Kal's pelvis. Bruce whines at the gentleness, h-he knows it's only a means to distract him...but it's working, it always works. The loving caresses, the passionate touches and loving hold always makes Bruce's skin prickle with goosebumps, it always makes him think of-"Clark..."

Kal tenses behind Bruce at the name, the shorter snapping out of his thoughts at realizing he said that out loud, his form trembles with fear again at how everything has stopped. Bruce's voice is pleading as he apologizes, "Kal-El! I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please, please, I-I won't do it again-I swear I'll be a good boy."

Bruce flinches and curls inwards when Kal sits up, his arms rise to cover his healing face (a punishment from the last time he made Kal-El mad) with trembling arms, unaware of the man's once angered look turning into something heated at seeing Bruce beg for mercy. He really has taught Bruce well, hasn't he? And the man isn't fighting as much as usual, and good behavior deserves a reward. Kal-El ignores the pleas and leans in to nip at Bruce's earlobe, "Shh. It's okay, I won't hurt you. You look so good like this, you look so right begging and not talking back to me...you look like mine."

Bruce gasps for air and makes a confused noise when large hands gently wipe his tears away, how those hands rub his head gently and lower his arms. "I want you to say that again."

Bruce slowly looks up at Kal with a fearful and confused look, "S-Say what?" Kal smiles and pulls the man closer to him, "That you'll be a good boy for me. Cause you are, you truly are. It's just that you still have that fire in you that shouldn't be there, that makes you ugly and I want you to see that so you can be beautiful. Don't you want to be beautiful for me?" Bruce just stares for a second...does he want to be beautiful for Kal-El? Something inside of him screams defiantly that this is a trick, that he's being abused, but that part of him that craves attention and is tired of this all gently whispers that he should just stop fighting it and become Kal-El's good boy forever. No arguments. Hopefully the hitting will stop and maybe he'll be allowed to see his children more once again.

Bruce blinks back to reality and slowly loosens his posture, it's okay, it's all going to be okay. He can come back from this anytime, it's alright to choose to let go this one time. Bruce leans closer to the waiting man, "I-I can be Kal-El's good boy. I am a...good boy."

Kal-El's smile can only be described as predatory and victorious, the man leaning in close to nip at Bruce's lip while his body thrums with excitement at getting the usually disobedient man right where he wants him...even if it's only for tonight. Bruce gasps at how passionate the kiss is, his body shakes with delight and nerves from how enjoyable the other is making this experience for him...is this what he'll get if he chooses to listen?

"You are such a a good boy. And good boy's deserve rewards, hm? What do you think you deserve, Bruce?"

Kal looks at Bruce expectantly, as if it's another test, and that makes the latter man nervous. To be honest, his first reply is almost nothing...he deserves nothing, but Kal-El is the one that holds his chain-he has the reigns and power here-so maybe he should say, "Whatever Kal-El thinks I deserve." Ice blue eyes watch the other's face closely to see if he has failed, but the man's pupils dilate in pleasure from the answer and Kal just releases a shaky breath.

"Exactly. Whatever I choose to give you is what you deserve-" Bruce's head is tilted up so he can look up at Kal who is now floating above him like he is a god-"I knew you weren't completely useless. Diana has been telling me there's no hope for you, but I see you Bruce, I know your potential to be good and do good." Kal holds Bruce's chin in his hand, his eyes taking in the man's body and every scar, bruise and cut placed upon it, he especially takes in all the ones he's personally placed on the other.

The more he stares the more he hardens from the thought that, despite all of Bruce's struggling before, the man never once tried sleeping with anyone else after Kal slept with him. And despite this twisted thing he has with the man, that primal part of him is soothed at knowing how Bruce stayed obedient and faithful to him in that area, he even listens in on the man and he doesn't touch himself either. Kal-El has utterly destroyed this man for anyone else and that makes him overjoyed.

Kal lowers himself back down to the bed and presses Bruce against the mattress while his hands work on undressing the compliant man. "You are mine, do you hear me!?" Bruce nods and gasps when the other rips his shirt off and bites his nipple warningly, "Say it. Say you're mine!" Bruce trembles at the fear he suddenly feals, but he quickly suppresses it and keeps his voice steady when replying. "I'm yours, Kal-El. I'm yours alone." The man sighs at Bruce's words and licks at the puckered nipple in apology for the rough treatment.

"You are mine, Bruce-" Kal growls out-"Mine to love, mine to hate, mine to cherish, mine to despise, mine to hold, mine to push away; mine to caress, mine to hit, mine to use, mine to not use." Each word is finished with a trail of kisses down Bruce's chest, the man stopping at Bruce's groin and looking up at him with a possessiveness the smaller has never seen before.

"You are mine to build up only to make you crash down again." With those words Bruce gasps as Kal-El wraps his lips around him, the pleasure drowning out the pain for this moment in time.

XXX

Bruce is still lying in bed...but this time he's not alone. The exhausted man looks over at Kal-El, the man wouldn't stop having sex for even a moment, so now Bruce feels sore and sticky...but at least he's loved.

Love. Love. Love...what is love truly? Bruce's breath hitches and he quickly glances over to make sure Kal didn't hear him, lucky him that the man seems to be in a deep sleep tonight. Bruce tries his best to stop the tears from pouring down his face, but he can't, he feels dirty on the outside as well as on the inside. He feels confused at how satisfied one part of his mind is but the other half is bitter at how all this is a lie, but mostly, mostly Bruce is tired.

He is tired of all the cycles of hate, love, confusion and hope only to be brought back to that lonely state. But what if that's just Kal-El's way of loving now? Bruce's mind suggests, and a part of him hisses that it's a shit way of showing love...but that other defensive, unbelieving side of him argued back that it's not. He truly doesn't want to believe that this man he once knew has turned into...whatever he is now-a monster-that defiant part of him shouts.

The worst thing is that despite being warmed up he still feels cold. Yes he can feel that outer warmth...but on the inside he feels cold and alone a-and a hollow shell of who he once was. Bruce wraps his arms around himself again to hopefully warm himself up, to reassure himself that if no one else, he at least still has himself...right?

But I guess it doesn't matter. His cup of sweetness is destined to overflow with bitterness instead.

(I have been really wanting to write something about an evil Superman...I don't know why or how I went this route 😭. This Superman is such a jerk, I hate him so much! But if anyone reads this, you are appreciated! Whether you like it or not-but seriously, I don't know what was wrong with me while writing this...I feel so bad for Bruce 😢.

But just in case you couldn't tell, it is implied (more like hinted I guess) at one point that Kal is keeping Bruce away from his children. He only really allows Alfred to come see Bruce only to feed him and tend to any wounds, and the Kryptonite most likely was cleared out by Diana and the others who joined Kal-El after the dining room incident.

Also, the only reason Bruce's kids haven't tried to do anything yet is in fear of their dad getting killed or one another being harmed. Plus, Bruce probably begged them not to do anything to wild (especially Jason and Damian) which also probably shook them up a lot seeing their dad so afraid. And yes they are still close in this universe...I can't write bad dad's I guess? I have a great one myself so I feel it's a crime to write a horrible father 😂.

You lovelies please stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. 💛)

[tiarakenmonk]

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[chuckbass-love]

hii! I have a request for prompt 71 with Andy or ransom ☺️

Hey lovely, thank you so much for waiting this long for me to post this and i really hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Prompt #71: "I'm gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you're spreading your legs for me"

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, unprotected sex, rough sex, ass spanking, vagina spanking, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, daddy kink, breeding kink and angst.

Word Count: 3,486

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @sergeantbuckybarnes go check them out💜

In The Mirror

Standing in the middle of the master bedroom, you start to fold the freshly washed clothes before putting them away neatly in the closet. You start off by putting shirts away, Andy’s and then yours before moving on to jeans. Sometimes you wonder how he even has the room for his own clothes since you take up the majority of the space. But you just put that down to shopping trips he's so insistent on treating you to.

As you’re just finishing up, you hear the front door open before it slams shut so hard that the anger fuelling the slam of it can be felt even upstairs where you are.

Looks like Andy is finally home...

You decide to finish up with what you’re currently doing, taking your time before approaching your husband with caution. It was probably another run in with Neil, something you’ve grown accustom to dealing with ever since you met him. Doesn’t mean you don’t run out of ways to handle it occasionally though, your best option is to just allow him to vent before you distract him. Usually distracting him requires an old movie and takeout but other times it requires rough and needy sex.

“Andy” you call out as you pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to find him practically chugging a beer way to quickly. It must be bad if he couldn’t even wait until dinner to drink alcohol.

“You know sometimes i think why do i even bother going to work. I mean, Lynn sure seems to enjoy screwing me over for that fucking prick Neil and i’ve had just about enough of it”

Okay, now he’s really angry. You have no idea what to do or even what to say to him, you’re rendered speechless by his cursing and boiling temper.

“I was just about to make dinner, uh, lasagne perhaps. Or maybe we could order takeout again and rent that movie you were telling me about. It’s up to y-“

“Did you not listen to a goddam word i said? I don’t give a shit about dinner, do whatever. I’m going to take a shower” his decibels rise, his tone scolding as he storms past you and up the stairs taking two at a time until he reaches the top. You hear his heavy footsteps stomping to the bedroom and then suddenly it all turns quiet until the shower water starts to run.

Rather than leaving him to cool off, you decide to head up to check on him.

In a way, he was right. You practically ignored his annoyed state and changed the subject, in fact you couldn’t have changed it fast enough. But that’s only because you didn’t know what to say. When he gets like that, there’s not a lot you can say.

“Andy, i’m sorry” you squeak, stepping into the master bedroom to find him stood with his back to you as he removes his dress shirt and tie. His back muscles tense as he stands still for a second before turning around and tossing his clothes to the floor before starting on his belt.

“Andy” you mumble, desperate for him to acknowledge you.

“What?” he snaps, slipping out of all clothes until he’s in nothing but his birthday suit, his impressive size dangling between his legs.

“I’m sor-“

“I heard you”

You gently step closer to him, examining his face for any tell tale signs of discomfort before you rest your hand on his right forearm, “please, just talk to me. What happened today?”

“Like you care, all you seemed to give a shit about was dinner, so how about you go focus on that like a good little house wife and leave me to deal with the tough shit... does that sound like a deal?”

“That’s not fair, Andy. I didn’t know what to say to you, that’s all. You’ve had that many run ins with Neil lately that i lose sight of how to help you. But i’m here now, just talk to me. Tell me what i can do to make it better”

Silence.

His hand pulls from your touch, but before you can even understand what’s going on you’re back is already touching his toned tatted chest. His arms rest on your shoulders, keeping you pressed against him.

“Well, there is one thing...” he starts, moving your hair to the other side of your neck, freeing up some skin for him to feast on. His mouth nears closer, his hot breath fanning you torturously as his nose nudges at you. That’s when you feel his hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt teasingly, slowly lifting it up your torso with ease. You lift your arms in the air, allowing him to remove it before he discards it behind him without a care.

“Such a beautiful body, honey. Be a shame to waste it fretting away about dinner in that kitchen” you gulp in response, feeling his lips barely grazing the nape of your neck, the action causes a shiver to dance down your spine as his beard scratches you.

“Andy” your voice is nothing but a breathless whimper as you turn to face him, his hands instantly rest on your waist at the band of your booty shorts. Of course when he tugs at them, you know what he’s after now and you also know that no matter what you do or say, he’ll take it regardless.

He drops down to his knees, surrendering to your body and dragging your shorts down your legs as he sinks to the floor. You step out of them for him, even going as far as to kick them to one side before he pushes you back to the wall.

The palm of his hand gives your calf a soft squeeze as the other lifts your leg up to drape over his shoulder, your aching sex on show for his lustful orbs to focus on. The insatiable hunger is starting to drown out his mind, body and soul, he’s incapable of thinking of anything else but you, craving anything else but you.

He’s starving, desperate to taste you.

A couple more minutes pass with him peppering kisses along your ankle at first before moving up to your calf and then your thigh. You try to push him away due to the sensitivity there but he only forces you off him, he’s so much stronger than you could ever be and you know now that you’ve lost.

He presses another chaste kiss to your bundle of nerves before pausing and feeling your body react to his touch. Your shaking body begs to be worshipped and devoured whilst he begs to drink and breathe you in like you’re his only lifeline.

“Smell so good” he coos, poking his tongue out to give your clit a kitten lick as his nose nudges at your mound, the action causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head. Whatever you did to deserve this agonising torture, you will make sure to never do it again. This is teasing at its peak.

“Please, Andy. I need you”

“Oh you’ll have me, alright” his response is quick yet snappy as he dives into you. His mouth latches onto your sex aggressively, sucking, slurping and biting. His beard scratching your inner thighs and it's sure to leave a burn there.

The tip of his tongue points all the more as he winds it around your clit rapidly and even with one hand gripping your hips roughly whilst the other strokes your leg up and down before settling on your ass, you still feel unsteady as if the smallest wave of pleasure could knock you to the floor.

His mouth right where you want him comes and goes as he takes breaks in between to come up for air, but right when you feel yourself getting lost in the feeling, it comes to a complete halt.

You glance down at him, eyelids heavy, chest rising and falling, only to find him rising to his feet.

“What the hell, Andy?” you ask, your entire body heating up.

“You sound angry” he cocks his head to the side as he grazes his hand across your hardened nipple.

“I am”

“Now, that’s exactly how i felt when i came home. Yet instead of comforting me like a good little wife should do, you made me feel worse. So therefore, you don’t deserve to cum”

What the hell is wrong with him tonight?

He shoots you a wink before padding into the bathroom, the shower water still running and steaming up all of the mirrors in your eye-line until he closes the door, locking it to prevent you from entering and leaving you standing there perplexed at his actions.

He did all of that on purpose. He built you up to the edge of ecstasy before leaving you to come crashing down all alone, all in the name of proving a point.

You reach for your robe off the hook on the bedroom door before storming out, brimming with frustration as you make a start on the dinner. Lasagne will do for tonight.

You prep it as fast as you can whilst the oven preheats to the correct temperature before putting it in and setting the timer. Now you can relax.

As soon as you throw yourself down onto the couch and flick the tv on, you hear the bathroom door open. You’re almost certain that he expected you to wait for him like a lost puppy dog but you refuse to play into his petty games of revenge. All because you didn’t comfort him. It was silly and unnecessary.

So for now, you’ll indulge in some reality television whilst you wait for dinner to cook and if there’s one thing that’s for certain, it’s that you are most definitely not putting out for him tonight. No matter what he says or how much he sweet talks you. It’s not good enough for him to treat you like that.

Whatever Neil did or said, that’s a work problem.

Andy can’t believe his eyes when he comes back into the bedroom only to find it empty. He wraps his white towel around his waist, covering up his modesty before heading out into the hallway and down the stairs. As he reaches the bottom of them, he spots you watching tv in the lounge, giggling away at whatever The Kardashian family are doing now, but whatever it is, he doesn’t care.

Instead of leaving you be, he stomps over “what do you think you’re doing?” he inquires, voice bellowing more than he intended “i’m waiting for the lasagne to cook, it’s in the oven. Enjoy your shower, honey?” you probe sarcastically, a rhetorical question. However your sarcasm infuriates him further as he picks you up with ease.

“Andy, put me down. NOW” you shout, kicking your legs and slapping his upper back as he drapes you over like you weigh nothing.

“Dinner is in the oven” you remind him, desperate to avoid burning it. But that’s when he puts you down before walking over to the kitchen and turning the oven off.

Your eyes widen as he approaches you once again, picking you up and carrying you up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he always does.

“Andy” you groan until he places you back onto your own two feet, his hands practically rip your robe off to expose your naked body before he does the same to the towel covering his manhood up.

“I’ll tell you what’s about to happen, honey and you’re going to listen” he informs you, stepping closer and moving you to stand in front of the mirror. You correct your abysmal posture as you look back at him in the mirror. A sinister glint in his eyes becomes crystal clear as a wicked grin graces his handsome face. His beard full, his hair still wet from the shower as droplets of water drip down his chest.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me” the pure filth has you holding your breath in shock before exhaling dramatically.

He’s always been kinky but sometimes he still manages to leave you shocked. Although it’s times like these that you love him the most, the whines and whimpers he draws from you so effortlessly, the way he causes your body to tremble raggedly and most of all the way your entire world stops turning as he brings you to that cliff edge, pushing you off of it with his two large menacing hands.

He kicks your legs apart further before pulling your arms to the back of you. He hooks his arm inside of them to prevent you from moving away from him whilst his other hand massages your puffy petal like folds before circling your dripping entrance.

Once his tip is resting directly at the tight hole, he proceeds to move forward, the skin around your entrance catching onto him as your walls welcome him inside.

“Oh, fuckkk” he draws out the word, groaning and gasping for air as he drives home, the feeling overwhelming you to the limit.

How can one man have such a firm and tight grip on you like this?

How did you end up here, unable to utter out a single word as his pace picks up before he’s fucking into you so violently, snapping his hips with no signs of slowing down.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, honey, do as i say” he warns, and the moment you look up at him, you see the darkness and it causes you to look away, focusing back on yourself just like he instructed you to do.

The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls so fast is enough to cause the knot in your stomach to tighten painfully. The pleasure is almost too intense to bare, too much for your fragile body to handle. Yet you continue to take it, allowing him to fuck away his anger, channeling it into this moment.

His arm and hand tightens around your arms, holding you in place as he keeps his sights on you, watching as your mouth hangs open in the perfect O shape. Fuck, you look perfect like this with him bending you to his will, using you for the sole purpose of his pleasure and his pleasure only.

How did he get so lucky to be graced with you’re beauty?

The harder he snaps his hips into you, the more the coil tightens and the all too familiar feeling builds all the more inside of you. An ongoing reminder of your impending orgasm.

“Andy, i-i’m gonna c-cum” you tell him, begging for him to allow you the privilege of releasing, the privilege of creaming all over his rock hard cock.

A dark chuckle erupts from his throat, mocking your pleas for a release before tutting at you, the torment continuing.

“Please” you beg once again, only to be reprimanded with the harsh sting of his hand landing on your ass cheek “keep your eyes on the mirror, honey. You’ll come when i tell you to, quit being a brat”

The need to release is almost unbearable, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes and drowning out your vision before you blink, allowing them to stream down your innocent looking face for him to see. It only spurs him on more as he moves his free hand in from of you, kicking your legs further apart before smacking down on your sex brutally. Your body jerks in response before somewhat relaxing at the feel of him rubbing briskly at your pulsating clit.

“That’s it, honey. Taking that cock so fucking well”

“I need to c-cum, A-Andy” your voice trembles frantically in hopes of him taking pity upon you.

“Shhh, baby. Just let daddy fuck the frustration away, gotta fuck it all away” his words are pure filth but his tone is gentle and needy. He just wants to take his anger out on your body, channel it into something.

You can imagine that with the field of work he’s in that he finds it hard to keep his cool with Neil every day. Which is a shame because they used to be close.

Granted that was back when Neil first started and Andy mentored him, whipped him into shape and taught him everything he knows. And Neil is a better lawyer because of it. However, it also means that he’s just rude, obnoxious and cocky towards Andy, pushing him to the edge and taunting him a little more every day.

“Hold yourself back for daddy, you’ll cum when i give you permission to. Is that clear, honey?”

“Yes” you mumble, barely audible.

“What was that?”

“I mean, yes daddy” you correct, watching his eyes intently, searching for any sign of him letting up his tight hold and hard thrusts.

“Good girl, being so perfect for daddy and taking this fucking like a pro, huh?”

“Yes daddy”

Your eyes glaze over as you struggle to keep yourself in tact, the hold you have on your orgasm is slipping from your control slowly but surely and you know that if he doesn’t give you the go ahead soon then you’ll end up breaking the rules.

Something that will surely earn you a painful punishment.

“God, fuck. I’m gonna cum, you gonna cum with me, honey?” he asks, gasping. You throw your head back onto his chest, arching your back into him further. You nod your head as quickly as you can as you feel your knees turning weak.

“Count down with me”

“10’ you say in unison, his fingers rubbing furiously at your sex.

“9” the sound of your skin slapping together bounces off of the walls.

“8” the feel of his mouth latching onto the sweet spot on your neck, pearly white teeth sinking in to mark you up.

“7” the moans he’s eliciting are now flowing out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“6” deep grunts escape him as he pushes you against the mirror, causing your cheek to push up against it.

“5” the feel of him fucking into you tightens the coil for the final time, the feeling agonising.

“4” you scrunch your eyes closed, seeing stars as you arrive at the cliff edge.

“3” you say in unison as his thrusts turn from fast and rough to slow and hard.

“2” his cock twitches inside of you, your walls flutter around him over and over.

“1”

“That’s it, baby, cream all over that cock for me”

You let go, body shuttering as you stand up onto your tip toes. His grip on your arms lets up, causing you to fall forward, hands resting on the wall either side of the mirror.

“Oh god” he growls, hands splaying across the soft globes of your ass before he fills you with hot ropes of cum, breeding you unofficially.

He remains seated deep inside of you for a minute or two whilst the two of you struggle to regain control of your breathing, both of your hearts beating so fast that it feels as though they are on the cusp of exploding out of your chest.

“How are you feeling now?” you ask as he pulls out, turning to face him.

“Hungry for Chinese takeout and a night filled with fucking that tight cunt”

“Was that not enough?”

“I’ll never get my fill of you” he says, pulling your naked body flush against his “i want you all of the time and besides, that was just to channel my anger into something. The next time will be to make a baby”

“W-what?” your voice shaky as you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You heard me, i’m gonna spend all night breeding you, honey. Gonna make you all nice and round with my child. Gives me a chance to take my mind of that cunt Neil”

You nod your head, humming your agreement before pressing your lips to his.

Sure, you’ve had chats about kids before but this is the first time he’s openly suggested trying and even after his outburst, your love for him remains.

You can’t wait to spend the night tangled up in the crisp white sheets of your bed, filled with his cum.

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

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[lantsovsupremacist]

i don’t know how to forget you: nikolai lantsov

warning for some spice but nothing insane ! i imagine this takes place during seige and storm but nikolai looks like himself because we all deserve that. 😌 pretty short but i like it!

“and we’re just having sex no i would never call it love, but, love. oh no i think i’m catching feelings.”

the door slammed shut behind the weight of a limb. you’re not sure which one or who it even belonged to. you could blame it on the lack of light, the room only illuminated by a sliver of moonlight dripping in through a crack in the wall. but, you are more than sure that the hands gripping your waist, igniting the hot rush of blood through your veins, are more to blame.

eager to escape the exposition of tonight’s story and rush to the climax, you both trip out of your boots and onto the nearest surface. your back arches over a dresser, hips lifted up and thighs quickly pressed on top. his fingers dance their well practiced routine under the hem of your shirt, skirting along the sides of your rib cage to briefly tease before removing the now useless article of clothing.

he curses under his breath, breath catching in his throat as it always does when your shirt first comes off. his eyes trail along the expanse of your collarbone, lips quickly falling to suck on the ridges of your freshly exposed skin. his knee pressed into the inside of your legs, feet finding purchase directly beneath you.

you always allow him to take control in the beginning, secretly appreciating his attitude. your hands find his belt with ease, a secret memorized in the dark. he trails down until he reaches your bra, starting on his next obstacle as you finish with yours.

“bed,” you direct, nearly choking on the moan building in the base of your throat, “i thought you’d know by now i expect some class, lantsov.” your hands search in the darkness, fighting to grab onto any part of his body you can find.

you find his biceps first, pleased with the feeling as they tense under your touch. you do not mind the search. you never do. it is all easier in the dark, anyway. less you can commit to memory.

the laugh that follows is electric.

“tell that to my broken end table.”

you elect to ignore his comment, instead pushing him back by the shoulders in the direction of what you believe is his bed. he whines at the momentary loss of contact. and, saints, does it stir something in the pit of your stomach.

“always so fucking,” you pause to run you hands down his shoulders, “needy.”

“only for you, babe.” his smirk melts into the fire of your lips.

it is not the first time he has used a pet name, and you highly doubt it will be the last. he deliberately chooses to ignore any that are too sincere or loving. the unspoken understanding of boundaries between the two of you was how you survived the midnight encounters.

with greedy eyes, you help him strip off his shirt while his tongue finds its way into your mouth. your cheeks feel warm, a mixture of the warm night at sea and the shot you took before leaving your room. you brush your thumb across the golden pendant falling against his neck, a mast of a boat dangling from the chain.

you only have a second to regain the breath you lose from toppling onto the mattress before it is taken from you again. from underneath you, he reaches up to work a hand around the column of your throat. your head rolls back against your shoulders, a sigh of pleasure escaping your throat with your remaining air.

his hand drops to your chest and you take the opportunity to reattach your lips to his, only releasing your hold as you transfer them to his neck. his flesh burns underneath you, alive with indulgence. you push his curls back from his eyes, momentarily losing yourself in the hazel as your hips rock into his.

it is him this time who loses control of any solid pattern of breathing. his hands stray to grip your waist, anchoring himself with your body. you almost smile to yourself—a prince at your mercy.

it had not started out this way. the blonde was too full of foolish pride to release himself to you. now, he held onto everything single thing you made him feel in the night. the drunken accident fueled by empathy for a less than desirable situation—harboring two of the most powerful summoners at considerable odds—turned into another and after a while, alcohol was not involved any longer. maybe you were using him. maybe he was using you. all you knew was that in this moment, you certainly did not care enough to stop.

watching the muscles on his stomach tighten, you anticipate him flipping you onto your back. one arm goes to steady himself over you while the other falls to bring one of your hands above your head. you bring a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing he was not going to do it. the less of your face there was to see, the less chance he would sink too deep.

you grip his shoulder, lips returning to his neck as he starts what you both came there to do. no matter the rush between the two of you, he always watches you carefully here, making sure you were ready. you had no indecision when he was involved. no fear.

you gasp together, eyes closed and lost in the feeling of one another. the rush of desire to your core causes you to bite your lip. you trail your hand to the nape of his neck, tugging gently on his curls.

you rarely let his name leave your lips until you finish, greedy for the way only he seems to be able to make you feel. it is a pity, really, knowing it will all be over soon enough. for now, you would hold on to the trips to his room once the sun dipped behind the clouds.

settling beside him for a minute, you lick your lips and taste the last remnants of nikolai lantsov. saltwater. always saltwater.

you kiss the corner of his mouth as you leave, never leaving him with the feelings of your lips on his lest he get too attached. rolling off his chest, you drop your feet to the cold floor. biting the inside of your cheek, you suppress the urge to turn around and get one last look. all tousled hair, muscles gleaming with the slightest sheen of sweat, and swollen lips, you made the mistake of an indulgence once and nearly fell back into his bed and his arms. he could make you tear the heart from your sleeve and patch it on to his without a single word, only a look.

it was wartime. things were stressful. one of the most evil men alive was likely sleeping next door—if he even slept. everyone had to relieve the tension somehow and if tumbling around with the prince of ravka was an option, who were you to pass it up? it was just sex. nothing more. certainly nothing less.

the problem was that you did not how to forget him. when the feeling of desire and helplessness stopped, what then? you are not sure if you wanted the before back. you feared what would happen in the after.

[emmys-writing]

Dominant in Training

Chapter two

<-Chapter one • chapter three ->

warnings: cumming in pants, sir kink kinda, grinding, fuckin in the office

pairing: Hotch x Reid

This morning was the last straw though. When he made his way into work that morning he went straight to the mini kitchen, poured himself a coffee before turning around and watching hotch's eyes go wide when he realized Spencer was also in there. It didn’t take him long before he ran out of there like a coward. Spencer went back to his desk and pouted, sipping at his unbelievably sugared coffee and letting a small whimper out after burning his tongue. He stuck it out slightly to cool it off and huffed. It was one thing after another and it only fueled the anger bubbling inside him. Before Spencer could take a moment to even consider what he was doing he got up and stormed his way through the bullpen as much as he could without causing suspicion and worry from his friends and coworkers before throwing open Hotch's office door. Hotch looked up from his paperwork at the loud intrusion and immediately straightened up.

“Dr. Reid, get back to wor-“

“Oh i’m Dr. Reid now? pretty formal title for someone who had their dick in your mouth” Spencer shot back. He was furious that Aaron wouldn’t even let him talk. Aaron sighed and rubbed his jaw a little.

“Fine. What do you want, Spencer?” He said, defeated. He was trapped, no way to avoid the uncomfortable conversation he knew was ahead.

“Why are you avoiding me? I get if you don’t wanna talk about it but can we at least go back to how it was before? I-I don’t want to lose anyone else..” He said getting quieter at the end and sniffling.

Too many people have left Spencer and the last thing he needs right now is another person abandoning him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing that he pushed him away. Hotch took a deep breath and stood up and although they were close in height, it still made Spencer feel small and vulnerable the way the older man looked at him. He looked at him like he was naive, innocent, oblivious even...but he wasn’t! Spencer knew what he was getting into. He was a fully grown adult but Hotch made him feel like he wasn’t, like he was some naive little kid with a silly little crush on their history teacher. Aaron took a few steps further towards him and backed him into a corner. The look in the man's eyes was desperate, for what? he wasn’t sure but he wanted something.

“Spencer.. you’re so much younger than me and deserve better, I also am your superior. What we did the other night was unbelievably inappropriate!” Hotch explained with anger evident in his tone.

“So are you telling me you didn’t like it?”

“That’s not what i’m saying and you know it”

“Then why stop? Why should your age and status have anything to do with us just indulging in pleasure?” Spencer knew just from Aaron’s actions that he wanted it but the slightly growing bulge in his pants wasn’t helping Aaron’s argument either.

They stared at each other for a moment, Spencer's mouth agape slightly and Hotch's lips pressed in a thin line. Although, it didn’t take long before Aaron grabbed Spencers face in his large hands and slammed his lips against the young man. It took spencer by surprise and his response was delayed by shock but it didn’t take long for the actions to be reciprocated. Aaron moved from his mouth to the pale, soft neck and left sloppy wet kisses everywhere he could.

“A-Aaron, fuck mmmm the w-window” Spencer struggled to get out the words because the sensation was so pleasurable. He hadn’t been touched this way since he last saw Ethan. Ethan taught him things… how to behave, how to be a good boy, and how to please others. Now Spencer hoped to do it for his boss as well… only how to be a dominant, not a submissive. Aaron pulled away and walked to the window, shutting the blinds with an annoyed sigh and locking the door. If someone came to knock on the door he would deal with it later, the problem in his pants was much more important at this very moment. Aaron swiftly walked back over to Spencer and went to press his lips against his again before Spencer took some of the little control he had left and pushed hotch on the small couch in the office. He sat on top and straddled his waist before leaning in again to resume the heated makeout session. Aaron reached his hand up and tangled it in Spencer's hair, tugging at it softly but to his surprise Spencer let out a loud moan.

“Fuck- do that again please!” He pleaded and leaned his head into the other man's grip some more. Aaron repeated his previous actions only a tad bit harder this time which caused Spencer to become louder than before.

“Shit you like that?” Hotch rasped and felt his own cock twitch in his pants. Spencer nodded, whining and ground his cock against the other, the fabric between them providing friction and making both men moan. Aaron thrusted up and rolled his hips to try and elicit another moan from the boy. It was like music to his ears. Spencer's moans were high pitched but not ear piercing, insanely desperate and even a little raspy. It was perfectly Spencer. With their groins pressed together it was causing both of them to become closer to their own releases.

“I- I ah! Fuck! are you close?” Aaron panted out, looking up at the beautiful boy above him.

“Yes sir” And that’s all it took for Aaron’s hips to stutter and him to finish in his pants with Spencer climaxing not long after. He collapsed on top of Aaron, trying to slow his heavy breathing down. The two rode out their aftershocks before Spencer let out a small chuckle.

“What are you laughing about?” Hotch chuckled, his chest heaving and rubbing the younger boys back gently.

“You have a sir kink” He giggled and sat up a bit, looking down at the confused expression on his boss’ face.

“A sir kink?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I guess I do…”

_______

taglist - @brillianthijinx @reiding-recs @luvofyourlifeliv (ask to be added)

[deaththesyd]

More Than Enough

Ah! Finally, I have managed to finish something! I hope this one doesn't disappoint. I really do feel proud of this one.

Summary: Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

"Kisame!" Startled by his sudden presence behind her, the feeling of his large hands on her waist caused her to jump back into him, only to be met with the firm muscle of his chest, and his amused chuckles. "You could have said something! I could have dropped my damn mug!" She chastised him, still clutching the ceramic of freshly brewed tea so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She had been standing in their living room, watching as the grey clouds moved swiftly with the wind, threatening to unload the rain they carried down upon the land. He must have snuck up on her, mischievous as always, or maybe her thoughts had her so occupied she hadn't been able to notice his approach. Did it matter which it was? Not really, not when his chin rested on her head, and his large form engulfed her from behind, wrapping her somewhat chilled body in his comforting presence. Sipping her tea sweetened with honey, the warmth of the liquid was just enough to hurt going down, but the taste of faint spices was worth it. And if she didn't drink it now, it would surely be too cold later.

Outside, the clouds made well on their threat, and the first teasing droplets of rain fell. It started so gradually, but she seemed to blink and then the sheets of water were replacing the cute drops that had run down their window. The steam from her tea tickled her chin, as the man behind her moved to press sweet kisses starting from her scalp and down the back of her neck, sweeping the hair that blocked his access out of the way.

Smiling pleased to herself, she indulged in another long sip from her mug, as the rain pounded against their shelter, and Kisame's hand returned to her waist, his thumb teasing at the bottom of her shirt, tracing circles onto her skin. The heat from the tea wasn't the only thing that had her feeling warm, as his gentle trail of kisses turned more sensual against the side of her throat, and his heated breath accentuated the lingering buzz for each new mark he gave.

"I'm glad you're home with me, and not out there," she said, leaning her head to the side to give him better access, relaxing as his lips drew closer with each press to what they both knew was her sweet spot.

Another low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the movement shaking her along with him. "Hm, me too," he agreed, his voice low and gravelly below her ear. Despite how warm she felt now, his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Just when his mouth circled around a spot that had been bruised by hickeys so many times prior, a flash outside startled her, making her flinch, and causing his sharp teeth to scrape at the sensitive skin. Hissing at the unexpected pain, she stood tense, allowing him to pull away to survey the damage. A loud rumble of thunder nearly drowned out the low apology he whispered into her ear. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to move there, Squirt,” he uttered gently, before he lapped at the small scrape along her collar bone, easing a sigh from her lips in response. Now that she was expecting it, the next flash before her eyes didn’t catch her so off guard, and by the time the next clash of thunder bellowed out, his apologetic kisses and the rough calluses of his hand finally reaching up to her bare chest had drawn more than a few whimpering sighs. Apology more than accepted.

He was taking his time, making sure to find everywhere he could get a reaction, whether it was a hitch of her breath, or her simply adjusting to better allow his mouth to work. It had only been a short while since he had returned to his village and reclaimed his house, only a couple of months since the war, since the Akatsuki were officially disbanded. It didn’t feel real yet, that she didn’t have to worry about him being an outlaw anymore, that he didn’t have to slink around in the shadows completing illegal missions just to support a group whose goals had never truly made sense to her. Though he was often run ragged by the tasks given to him by the Mizukage, and his mood was often soured by the lack of freedom he had now, this was stable, and they could adjust. Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

This was nice, but she wanted to put her mug down so she could return some of his affections. Looking towards the shelf just beside the window, she was calculating if she could reach it without having to move, when she noticed a problem. “Hun,” she gasped out, just as he pinched at her sensitive nipple, her urgency misunderstood as lust.

“You like that?” He teased, before nipping at another hickey, causing her to jolt at the stimulation.

“No! No, yes I mean, just-ah!”

“No? How about this?” His rumbling laugh blending with the almost constant thunder, while he teased at the delicate flesh, his rough fingers always so good against her skin.

“You feel good, but the roof is leaking!” She managed to get out, even as she could feel every bit of friction against her bud sending pulses of pleasure down to her clit. Abruptly, he stopped and released his hold of her to inspect where she motioned.

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath before leaving the room to search for a fix. Sighing, she followed suit, placing her mug on the shelf and heading towards the bathroom for a towel to soak up the growing puddle. On her way, she passed a bucket that had been placed the day before as a short-term fix for another weak spot in the roof. For now, that was handling its job well enough. Returning, she found Kisame knelt down, placing a large pot under the steady drops of water that had managed to sneak its way in. “Looks like next I’m gonna have to do some roofing repair,” he grumbled, fed up with the neverending list of home maintenance they had to take care of.

Stooping down to join him, she lifted the pot and replaced it after laying the towel down, watching as the puddle of water seeped into the cloth. ”Ah, the joys of homeownership,” she sighed, standing up and placing a soothing hand on his broad shoulder. “We can tackle that task together tomorrow, no need to stress about it until then,” she said reassuringly, “I’m very much fine having to deal with a leaky roof if that means we officially have a place of our own,” she said sweetly.

Sighing, his large hand engulfed hers and took a hold of it, he stood, winding around to face her. The lack of frustration she had with the situation seemed to help him shake off the bad mood he had been put in, as he smiled lovingly down at her, bowing his head enough to kiss the back of her hand, before grabbing her by the waist with his other hand to pull her to his chest. Turning her head, she looked at their clasped hands, smiling contentedly. “I Don’t have a clue what I’ve done to deserve ya, but I sure am glad you’re here with me, Sweetheart,” Kisame said, the smile she couldn’t see audible in his words. Giggling, she gave his hand a squeeze as her free hand traveled to his ass.

“Since I make you so happy, you should probably get back to what you were doing before,” she suggested playfully. Laughing at that, he let go of her hand, and grasped her ass in return, picking her up without warning, forcing her to frantically clasp her hands behind his neck and lock her legs around him with a surprised squeak.

“If that’s what my woman wants, that’s what she’ll get,” he said with a devilish smirk, Normally, she would be upset at being picked up like that, but his hungry lips were upon hers before she could think up anything to say, and the feel of his tongue gliding upon her bottom lip was enough to melt any anger she had felt. Clinging onto his lips and his body, her eyes were closed, but she felt each step he made blindly towards their bedroom, and it wasn’t until her back hit the mattress that her eyes shot open.

Shoving him away frantically, Kisame was confused, but only for a second, as a cold droplet of water landed on his neck and trailed down his neck under his collar. The wet spot on the bed was small, but that didn’t matter, they had a leak directly above their bed!

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” He growled in frustration, the mood thoroughly spoiled now. His hand went to the back of his neck, and she rolled off of the damp spot, both for her comfort, and to give her enraged partner his space. The pelting rain was as loud as the thunder, but the sound of a single splat on his skin once again was deafening. He was up off the bed in a flash of lightning, and by the time the thunder roared again, he was coming back into the room with another pot. Without warning, he shoved the bed with her still on it, scraping wood against wood paired with a surprised shriek. Harshly, he placed the pot down and turned again to leave the room. Scurrying off the bed, she removed the dampened bedding while he thundered around the house, just finishing collecting the material in a bundle when he returned and threw the fresh replacements on top of the mattress. They landed with a less than satisfying ‘fwump’. Leaving the room with the soiled laundry, she took her time putting it into the washing machine, and when she was finished she returned to the living room, remembering her abandoned tea. The mug was cold now, and the liquid inside was surely the same, so she took it to the kitchen. After dumping the contents of the mug and placing it by the sink for later, the lights above shuddered and suddenly, they went out. She groaned as a loud yell of frustration sounded from the direction of their room.

Standing in the pitch black, she waited a moment, hoping the lights would come back on the same way someone would say ‘sike!’ but the longer she stood there, the clearer it was that the power was out. Sighing in resignation, she stumbled around, using the wall, and Kisame’s mutterings as guides back to the bedroom. As much as she hated his bad mood, it certainly was helpful in giving her direction in a place she hadn’t yet memorized. Feeling her way into their shared room, she lingered at the doorway, just able to make out the outline of a shadowed man rummaging around, most likely searching for a light source. Kisame had the better eyesight between the two, especially in the dark, but her memory wasn’t clouded with frustration and rage, and she could remember exactly where they had put away the lighter last time it was used and managed to walk over to where it had been placed without tripping or stubbing a toe. Flicking it on, she caught the attention of the helplessly searching giant, and let the flame go out with the slightest smell of burning oil, as she tossed it to him, knowing that he could catch it with ease.

With a grumbled “thanks,” he lit the wick of a sweetly fragrant candle that was settled upon the nightstand that hadn’t been moved in his little temper tantrum before, bringing a soft flickering glow to the room, and making the location of another candle of the same scent easier to locate. Still standing where she had retrieved the lighter, arms crossed, hip jutted out, she watched as the man tiredly flopped down upon the half-made bed with a defeated sigh. The storm outside wasn’t letting up, but the flared energy he once had was quickly doused as there was nothing left to do anymore. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, as she waited from across the room. “Minnow,” he called the pet name quietly, her signal that his temperament had truly settled and that he no longer required space. Without hesitation, she joined him, sitting beside his head and bringing a soothing hand to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, quieter than normal, “this is all such a mess and I owe you so much better than a leaky roof and a damp bed and a disappointing lead-up.” A large hand reached for the one stroking his head and brought her palm to his lips. He didn’t speak aloud, but the movement felt like he was making vows to himself and to her, she could easily guess what they were. Since the beginning of their relationship he had been making promises, ones that she knew he would always keep to the best of his power, and yet he never seemed to feel what he did was enough for her. He was so wrong.

Gently tugging her hand away, she felt for just the lightest moment his grip tighten anxiously, before releasing her. In moments like this, it was always so evident just how fragile his belief could be. Their trust in one another was strong, but he never seemed to be able to let go of the doubts that her love for him was only dependent on what he could provide. Part of her couldn’t stand it, how a man like him could cling to someone like her, that even after all of the fighting, the Akatsuki, the war, he didn’t believe he was enough as he was. That part of her was the one that brought her fingers to flick his forehead. She was gentle and soft, and of course, that was a surprise to him, so when he looked up at her confused and hurt only to find her stern gaze, he didn’t seem to know how to react.

The other part, the one that knew just how he felt, that knew that the hurt she felt watching him like that wasn’t something she could lash out with, returned her hand to his head. “You’re enough for me, and I’ll remind you of that for as long as we’re together,” she promised, allowing her gaze to soften only when the look of defiance on his face gave out. Kisame lay there for a moment, before shifting awkwardly, and crawling his way into her lap, burying his face in the softness of her stomach and wrapping his arms around her. Reaching for a pillow, she propped it behind her, settling into a more supported position, before tangling her fingers into his hair and rubbing his shoulders, giggling at the hum of content she felt buzz into her tummy.

“Remind me,” she heard his muffled plea come, and she couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across her lips.

“You’re more than enough for me, Kisame,” she said with a slight giggle, but the words were not a joke. “You always give me everything you can, and even right now I”m spoiled.” He gripped the fabric of her shirt, and she knew he wanted to protest, so she kept going. “You’ve been so busy dealing with the aftermath of everything, that you haven’t had the time for anything else, but still you make sure I have my favourite tea, and you treat me with a candlelit bedroom, and even though you’re tired and stressed you always make time for me,” she said, dragging her nails against his neck gently, earning a pleased shiver from him. “Yes, the house is leaking, and yes, I was very much looking forward to a bit more than a few kisses, but both of those can be fixed. We can figure out roof repair, and maybe not tonight, but hopefully for the rest of our lives we can have plenty more ‘fun’,” she reasoned, shaking along with the laugh he made at that last bit. When his short laugh ended, she continued. “You’re not a failure of a partner simply because we didn’t get our way tonight and you threw a bit of a fit, and you never will be because all you do is care for me and make sure I know just how loved I am. You’re so good to me, Love, you’re enough.”

It was then that she noticed how much quieter it was. No longer was there thunder, and whistling wind and the pounding rain had turned into a gentle pattering. The smell of pears and honey wafted from the melting wax, and the cold of the house seemed unable to penetrate the space around them for the meantime. Kisame’s breathing was steady and gentle, and despite the way the night had turned out to be, she felt quite content. This was their home. And it was more than enough.

[yanderenightmare]

BNHA HEADCANNONS

WHAT TYPE OF DARLING?

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon/dubcon hinting, stalking, kidnapping, abduction, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, drugging, ableism

FOREWORD:

People fall in love with contrasts. We fall in love with qualities that somehow survive what seeks to destroy them. We fall in love with small creatures who somehow seem colossal in the measurements of confidence. We fall in love with hope in places where there shouldn’t be any strength left for it to be held onto. We fall in love with those who dare spare compassion for even those that might not deserve it anymore. We fall in love with those who’s curiosity seeks adventure even when the outcome might be fatal. We fall in love with those who stand their ground, refusing to budge, break or bow, despite the terror they face. We fall in love with those that stick to their ideals, morals, ethics even though the world constantly tells them to join the corruption. We fall in love with humble creatures facing worlds that have shown them nothing but cruelty. We fall in love with the survival of passion overcoming pure torture. We fall in love with contrasts. We fall in love with constant wars.

BAKUGO KATSUKI CONFIDENCE DESPITE INFERIORITY

It might sound shallow and materialistic, but what Katsuki attracts to first and foremost is femininity. He enjoys the esthetic contrast between his tall masculine rough self and someone dainty, delicate, defenseless. Something in dire need of protection. Something in dire need of him. However, that’s far away from ever being enough for the hero to fall in love. What Katsuki needs is a good challenge. He doesn’t feel fit, content with or deserving of his prize if he hasn’t worked hard to achieve them. It’s about stimulation; that feral desire to hunt and catch prey. Which means, he much rather prefers chasing above being chased. Because of this, Katsuki carries no interest in quirkless individuals. He doesn’t view them as equals, much less rivals. They are unworthy of him, in some sense. But… quirkless individuals who still have the audacity to pretend to be his equal… now that, that intrigues him.

When it comes to his darling: her quirk, or lack of one thereof, plays a large factor in why Katsuki first pays notice to her. It’s something between endearing and maddening: how she, without a quirk, can still go about with the confidence to act as though she’s unbothered by it and somehow live her life while still portraying as the sun itself. It’s infuriating to some degree: how she can make him feel like Icarus when she smiles his way. How she makes him feel inferior but somehow blessed at the same time.

As explained: despite it acting as a brief relief to satiate his ego, inferiority usually disgusts Katsuki. But, there’s something about her and her ambition, that just makes the whole display so mouthwatering to perceive. He admires her tenacity and aspiration, even though it’s futile. It’s inspirational just as much as it’s adorable. Somewhere inside him he feels the need to protect that light, meanwhile he also feels the sadistic urge to squash it, or, at the very least, prove that he has the power to. That’s were his sadistic narcissism comes to play. He has always had an odd lust for putting people in their place, their rightful place. To him: it portrays as a constant reminder that he himself is superior. This sickness only grows deeper, festering in Katsuki’s heart. Where her dependence of him, even though it’s mostly unfounded, could only be described as pure rapture. Katsuki just loves and craves feeling needed, not caring if it’s unwanted or not. In his eyes she was made to be ruled, made to be taken care of, made for him and only him. He adores how little power she possesses in the world, and the idea that he is the only person who can properly protect her from it all has become absolutely riveting.

Katsuki’s usually indifferent towards people’s attitudes, only ever judging people by their strengths and weaknesses. But, this girl, in all her inferiority has managed to create contradictions upon paradoxes within his mind. And, because of this, she poses as the ultimate challenge. Though he would never admit it, mostly chalking it down to her being whimsical and naïve, he quite admires her perseverance. How her spirit survives what her body cannot, as though she was built to break, only to come back even stronger than before; like a phoenix from the ashes and rubble of what his quirk left behind. If anything, her endurance only proves how much they truly belong together. Who, if not her, could ever handle him in his darkest hours?

KEYWORDS: feminine, vulnerable, delicate, confident, aspiring, perseverant

DABI HOPE AMONGST DEPRAVITY

Small, plump and grabbable females is what attracts Dabi, but it’s never enough to make him linger for too long. Dabi enjoys his females shy, because he knows that those are the ones that are the most sensitive; emotional, loud. Alike Katsuki, Dabi enjoys contrast. He’s scarred, he wants someone untouched. He’s the devil incarnate, he craves the embodiment of innocence. He much delights in seeing that timid type of lust in those otherwise chaste eyes. But, whence he’s destroyed that chastity, there’s not much that beckons him to stay. It takes a lot more for him to fall in real love.

What intrigued Dabi even further than her physique and innocence was his darling’s act of charity. Her need to help, her belief in the goodness in humanity as opposed to his obvious abandoned hope for the world. She looked at people with a mission, seeking the tragedy behind the wrath, the beauty behind the madness, refusing to let go of her hope as opposed to seeing the truth. Oh, how adorably naïve she was.

It was a strange type of strength he no longer possessed, no longer seeing the point in wasting his energy on, yet… seeing it displayed so easily in someone else, especially when her eyes were locked on him, was something gratifyingly pleasant and warm; a kindness he felt undeserving of, yet… not possessing the reserve to refuse, not when she was so intent of indulging him. It was a sanctuary that reminded him of a grace he was never blessed with having; something he could only describe as home.

That childlike hope and innocence, he just couldn’t leave well enough alone. He needed to hoard it all to himself. Besides, she needed him as much he needed her. As everybody knows: innocence is so fickle and easy to influence. She was deeply in need of guidance and so very eager to please. Dabi appreciates loyalty, he’s not one to enjoy struggling with his darling. And with someone as sweet, innocent and sensitive as his darling, it will be very easy to enforce. And now, with those large doe-eyes directed toward him, he could say it was worth it. He so adores the chaste disbelief displayed on her face each time he introduces her to some new type of sin. The swirling, spinning, drooling storm brewing in her eyes, all under the crushing weight of paradise. She’s too good for him. He knows that much. But… that’s what angels were made for, wasn’t it? To save damned souls like his, risking becoming damned themselves in the process? She was surely sent his way for a reason. She was made for him.

It only seems right in his eyes: that a sweet and innocent creature like her craves the corruption that only a sinful being like him can bestow upon her. She’s probably been waiting for someone like him all her life. She might not understand it yet, but Dabi can see it clear as day. She’s so wide-eyed and hopeless. Looking at him as though he were a God of some sorts. She kneels so easily and perfectly for him as well, you cannot tell him it isn’t what she was made for. To please him. To love him. Leaving her morals and ideals and firsts on floor all for his pleasure.

KEYWORDS: sensitive, emotional, shy, timid, innocent, naïve, sweet, caring, soft, loyal

SHIGARAKI TOMURA COMPASSION FOR THE WICKED

Tomura cares little for appearance. He destroys everything and anything he touches, no matter how ugly or how pretty. Esthetic has nothing to do with real life and therefore something idiotic for anyone to appeal to. Besides, for someone to draw his attention they have to be more than just pretty. For Tomura to truly notice someone, they have to be special… rare. For Tomura to give anyone a second glare he has to feel like he’s meant to, it has to feel like fate; unrivaled destiny. Otherwise he’s wasting his time. And along she came; his destiny. Looking at him with those large doe-eyes; gazing past the ugly and seeing the tragedy instead, not as though he were some monster, but as though he were nothing more than human. It’s a kindness he’s so very unused to; a memory forgotten and buried beneath the rubble of past hopes and wasted dreams. The feeling of hummingbirds in his heart was so extremely foreign and strange and scary in a way, but welcoming at the same time. And, when she bestowed this grace upon him, he couldn’t simply just let it go.

Finding out she’s equipped with a quirk that goes hand in hand with his quirk only solidifies his delusions even further. His past doesn’t help her case either; not when it aids his steadfast resolution on the fact that she’s always somehow belonged to him. Tomura was never spoiled as a child, which is why he truly feels like he deserves her, and cannot bring himself to feel guilty for hogging all her love for himself. She really doesn’t do herself any favors either, not when she comforts him in his fits. Her in her fatal compassion. How she sympathizes with his troubles; his deadly quirk, his callous life-view, his woeful past. He’s never had anyone understand him the way she does. He’s been neglected all his life. It feels so oddly deserved and heavenly to have someone express concern, affection… love… all for him. He feels as though he’s been refused the sun all his life, only now feeling the warm embrace of the light it grants without it seeking anything in return. It’s baffling. To the point where he might just argue he’s been dead all his existence, up until the point he saw her smile, heard her laugh, felt her warmth. He doesn’t ever want to feel like he’s dying again, not when she poses as life itself, not when she’s already caught firmly in his iron-grip.

Tomura’s never been thoroughly interested in anyone. He finds most people completely mediocre and boring and unworthy of his attention. Humans were, in his eyes, a wretched, greedy, despicable type of creature. But… she, despite being human, bares a heart of pure gold. That’s humanity, he came to conclude. That urge to help, to comfort, that feeling of kinship, that lack of bloodlust and cruelty. She’s so human it reminded him of what humanity really is. Humanity beforesin. Human; without sick ambitions, without twisted ideals, without demented morals. Unlike the world. Unlike him. She’s golden.

It’s no good being as caring as her in world such as this, especially not if she’s going to be as generous with her affection as she so is. Tomura becomes addicted, dependent, rather quickly. And why not? He has the means to make her stay and the means to murder anyone who dare defy those wishes. So, he’ll remain dependent on her golden touch and her golden words. It would be impossible to let her go now, when she feels like pure absolution against him.

KEYWORDS: affectionate, compassionate, caring, thoughtful, sympathetic, considerate, generous

SHINSO HITOSHI CURIOSITY DESPITE PERIL

Hitoshi cares little for pretty things. Mostly because he doesn’t like wasting his time. He’s never been one for believing in the soft pleasures of the world. Love, being one of those things, has always been a fairytale unworthy of his attention, unworthy of his words. But, of course, there are times where even he feels lonely. And, though he enjoys being alone, no one enjoys feeling lonely. But… Hitoshi’s ever the stubborn guy. He will not bend to the pathetic pulls of his heartstrings. No, if he’s ever going to fall in love, love better come to him. And, that’s exactly what happens. A magnitude of expressive emotions that demand his attention takes him by the nape of his neck, storming his heart into surrender. She’s obviously oblivious to her effects on him, but he rather prefers it that way. Studying her in her natural state.

She’s so very colorful; as in quirky, flamboyant, creative, artsy. A plethora of a thousand devastating, split-second passions. She’s everything he didn’t even know that he wanted, needed in fact. A woman of substance, a woman who breathes chaos. Both to balance out his grim resolution and sobriety, but also to… feed his insatiable gluttonous need for control, because… chaotic, brazen and wild minds are the easiest to exploit, when at the same time they never dull or tire or break. Bendable and therefore mendable.

What more humored Hitoshi, when first meeting his darling, was her fearlessness, or perhaps recklessness; that strange type of unrivaled curiosity that seemed to outweigh any viable threats of danger; gullibility. The fact that she just spoke to him so effortlessly, trusting him; carelessly, despite knowing of the nature behind his quirk. How she so blatantly became his friend, with no ill will or scrutiny in her personality or attitude toward him whatsoever. It’d been so long since he’d come across that same type of idealism and good nature; that childlike innocence. To say that it took him by surprise would be an understatement. He didn’t know what to make of it at first; if to believe it was downright foolishness or daringly haughty and playful. How she held herself so carelessly around him, coaxing him instead of walking on thin ice like everyone else did. Just… talking to him. Talking and talking about nothing and everything, as though she wasn’t in any type of danger whatsoever. Talking to him as though she had nothing to fear. Talking to him as though he weren’t a threat. Talking. Just talking.

Her compulsive behavior and knack for taking risks works so well with his desires. Where she´s incapable of controlling herself, he would love to do it for her. But… there’s more to it than just that. She’s so good at talking. So much so he hardly wants to take advantage of her answers. She’s like a treasure-trove that hands out their treasure willingly. Not just responsive, but talkative on her own and unreserved with her words as well. Even asking questions of her own; curious and invested. In him? How could he pass her up?

It’s true it didn’t pain him as much as he probably would have wanted it too when he betrayed her trust. But, despite Hitoshi not being delusional, he still manages to blame her for it. He argues she must have wanted him to take advantage of her. She knew every step of the way what could happen when she answered his questions time and time again, yet she never took any safety measures to avoid it. That carelessness. It was almost as though she was coaxing him, teasing him, begging him to take control. Why not oblige her wishes?

KEYWORDS: foolish, reckless, careless, compulsive, frivolous, colorful, creative, passionate, brazen, haughty, responsive, trusting, gullible, curious, playful, adventurous, expansive, unreserved, talkative

TAMAKI KEIGO DEFIANCE UNDER INTIMIDATION

Keigo’s a simple guy. A simple guy with simple desires. He likes pretty things, plural. He collects them. Pretty things upon pretty things upon new pretty things. And because Keigo’s popular with the public, he doesn’t exactly need to chaseanyone in order to get what he wants. People come to him. He will have someone one night and move on to someone else the next day. Which is why being pretty isn’t enough to make him thoroughly interested. For him to become invested, the pursuit has to pose as a challenge. A hunt, and not just for any pretty little thing, but for a pretty little monster.

As explained: Keigo’s a simple guy. A simple guy with simple goals. However, when one of his supposed simple goalsturns out to be a much harder goal than expected, causing a ripple in his otherwise perfect streak, it’s enough to drive the bird… let’s say… a little bit kooky. What Keigo hangs up on when meeting his soon-to-be-darling is her uniqueness, or… rather her reluctance. Her defiance. That wrinkle between her brows in her otherwise gorgeous face. Something so pretty, so petite, so small, but so very hostile and beastly at the same time. So very feisty and stubborn and defensive. Batting off his charm as though it were the plague. Protective of herself despite his reputation, in fact: seeming irreverent over his obvious status. Viewing all his efforts as though he were setting some type of trap; animalistic in her ways too, never feeling like polishing her brash attitude even when regarding him of all people, one of the top five highest ranking heroes. Looking through his seemingly harmless flirtatious nature and seeing something that alarmed her. He quite enjoyed it all.

She’s just so different from the rest of his pursuits. She’s a game he can’t seem to win. It’s frustrating, maddening even, yet somehow it is the only thing that makes him feel alive. The outright rejection should have been humbling, should at least have been accepted, but Keigo saw no reason to back down, he only saw reason to try harder. Which he did.

Life had become boring lately, being one of the top heroes. He has everything. Or… he had everything. Her defiance is refreshing. It acts as a reminder, his animalistic instincts kicking in. Finally feeling the odd yet pleasurable thirst for hunting simmering through his veins. He’s used to tapping into that raw impulse when catching villains, but he had yet to experience the carnal desire for finding a mate. It soon becomes a little overwhelming. A little domineering. Fending off his better judgement. It’s easy to forget how wrong it is to take pleasure in her tears, when the smell of fear has scented the air. It’s easy to forget how twisted it is for him to enjoy seeing her cower away from him, when it’s so easy to win the fight.

He’s a predator, she’s prey. In a way… it isn’t really wrong at all.

KEYWORDS: hostile, defensive, stubborn, feisty, reluctant, rebellious, irreverent, liberal

MIDORIYA IZUKU ALTRUISM IN THE FACE OF CORRUPTION

Izuku finds ways to appreciate every physique he comes across. It’s all in the details; minor, minuscule details. Both flaws and perfections alike interest him to a near clinical degree. However, because of this knack for observation, most people, in all their peculiarities and intricacies, still tend to blend into one. But, there are exceptions: heroes. Izuku’s been drawn to heroes all his life. Admiring their strength, their sense of justice and honor. Herodom is something he’s always aspired to become. Something he wished to achieve. Which he did. What Izuku seeks now is a partner with those same aspirations. Izuku can only find love in kinship. With a person similar to him. It’s a twisted type of narcissism he cannot bring himself to describe, one probably adopted from Katsuki, through many years of having a festering sick adoration and glorification of the childhood friend, one which ultimately resulted in Izuku mirroring more and more of Kachan’squalities, however in a much more demented fashion.

Unlike the others, Izuku’s been hellbent with the idea of sharing his life with a significant other. And he’s nothing if not a planner, he’s been searching for his perfect darling for years. And there wasn’t much, if anything, that would change his mind once he found her.

Just like he once was, his darling is quirkless, but still prop-full of that unrelenting ambition. Selflessness as well is another attribute as to why she was chosen. He is a bit of a sap for nostalgia, you see. She reminds him of his young self. That type altruistic generosity without expecting anything in return. She’s so innocently and hopelessly idealistic; dreamy… naïve. He finds it endearing in some sick sense: how the world chews her up and spits her back out again. He’ll want to deny it. But he can’t resist the sadistic enjoyment found in her struggle. He feels the need to save her from herself, because he knows better than anyone that her kind-heartedness will only get the best of her, like it did him in the end. He won’t let the same fate befall her. He’ll have to be a bit selfish with her though, despite it being the exact thing he’s trying to defeat. He needs to be selfish in order to protect her. It’s in both of their best interest really. The world won’t drink her dry, there’ll be more for Izuku to cherish and she’ll be safe and sound and perfect forever.

He can’t help his less appealing sides. Despite how much he loathes feeling those disgusting self-righteous desires, despite how unwelcome those thoughts are… he can’t seem to rid himself of them. It’s frustrating because he truly loves his darling, he wants to protect them, to cherish them, but on the lesser charming side of himself he feels superior, where instead of them belonging with each other, she belongs to him, for him, where she has no right to refuse his wishes. Because he’s achieved the title of God, and she’s still human… his human, his doll.

KEYWORDS: sense of justice, heroic, honorable, selfless, altruistic, ambitious, dreamy, idealistic, silly, awkward

CHISAKI KAI HUMILITY DESPITE HARDSHIP

Kai is corrupt, hypocritical, established, impatient, entitled and most of all white-gloved. Love seemed too hopeless a goal for a guy of his stature and perfectionism. But, alike with Hitoshi, chaos seemed to sweep him into a whirlwind of graceless, peaceful wilderness. A pull so vehement he couldn’t simply ignore it. At first, he dimmed his interest down to the simple fact that she was quirkless; clean. Quirkless people are a minority. Not only is she a treasure fit for the yakuza boss, but she’s also spared the ghastliness and depravity and corruption of carrying a quirk. But, her lack of quirk soon dimmed in the light of her other qualities. For the more he observed the more he unraveled about the chaotic nature of the beautiful creature he’d found.

Opposites attract. This is true for everyone, but not as literarily as for Kai. Not only is she clean in the sense of being quirkless, but also in the sense of being humble and sweet; lacking in sin. Her morality hits him as a surprise, it being refreshing in a sense he hadn’t ever felt before. He is so very used to taking what he wants with zero regard towards anyone or the possible consequences of his actions. What worse: never even once feeling content or satisfied with his reaping. Serving himself and himself alone has always been Kai’s mindset, where he never once expects anyone to act any differently than him. Humans are greedy creatures after all, yet… his darling seems overly at peace with her life, rather preoccupied with her surroundings to even so much as think about her own desires. He finds it enraging at first, but then peculiar, daunting even, and then endearing.

Their differences exceed his expectations time and time again. Where he is the epitome of modernity, hygiene and laundered health, she was the embodiment of wilderness. Where he was white-gloved, she was green-fingered. Unafraid of getting her hands dirty with soil; gardening. A pastime he was thoroughly disgusted with, yet she seemed to do it with such ease, such effortlessness, such peace, such happiness. He was astounded each time he saw how delicately, respectfully, she treated her surroundings, unlike him who trod as though he owns the very earth beneath his feet. Her life was messy, but she seemed to have no qualms with the fact. Quite the opposite actually; thriving in her chaos, appreciative of what little she had. He came to understand that it wasn’t so much her life that was messy but she herself. Her, in all her clumsy, forgetful and graceless peace, was in desperate need of correction, guidance, restraint, something he would eagerly fulfill her with in his determined and stoic reform. She’ll be the peak of humanity once he’s done with her. Though it proves difficult due to her forgetfulness and lack of heed, none of his lessons ever really sticking. But he comes to adore that quality as well, knowing full well her intention is not to anger him. If anything, her oblivious nature and childlike negligence only calls for his protection even further.

Kai isn’t usually a curious guy, especially when it comes to singular human beings, but he quickly discovered, or came to the conclusion, that his darling is far from being any regular human being. She is his opposite, his polar opposite. Humble, pure, passionate, everything he is in dire need of. She will complete him, she just needs to accept that.

KEYWORDS: humble, earthy, peaceful, disorderly, chaotic, messy, disorganized, graceless, grateful, appreciative, clumsy, forgetful

TODOROKI SHOTO PASSION TRANDSCENDING SORROW

Shoto had no thoughts containing that of love or attraction. Being a rather platonic guy in any relationship he ever ventured, never feeling any carnal desires or things similar to it. His appetite for such things rather quenched in light of the ruins that make up his parent’s marriage. However, once he met her, he knew instantly. Embers of a dying fire finding new life. She was perfection; messy, clumsy, zany perfection. She possessed everything he didn’t have. That type of lustfor life that always seemed to slip past him. It’s mesmerizing to behold someone so drunk on living, it distracted him from feeling so empty. Perhaps she could teach him? Perhaps she could share? Share some of that passion she possesses, that wild, vivid, fervent, unrelenting, brazen, wanton passion.

Shoto’s just so taken aback, as though swiftly swept off his feet, faceplanting into a rainbow-tinted world, a world so intense and so very loud. It was so perplexing, the amount of energy all cooped up into that small being. She reminded him of a storm, yet she was far from being violent or deadly. She was just so bubbly, so very livid, as though life were a constant parade.

He knew he loved her once their first encounter let up, feeling as though he’d been robbed of something, something he had no problems being robbed of.

He’s used to people having ulterior motives, but everything about her intense, unabashed, completely earnest dorkiness was so very honest. So candid and cheerful in her queries, jabs and jokes. And though he might not have understood half of the jests she came with, the sound of her laughter more or less made up for the fact, ever pleasant and euphoric as it was as she boldly cracked herself up with her own tales and even finding an immense form of amusement in the slight shift of his otherwise plain features. Question upon question leapt from her mouth, about his appearance, his past, his thoughts for the future. He’d half the mind to tell her she was his future, but he managed to contain himself. Seeming patient when she didn’t quite extract a response from him, happily helping with explaining anything he might have had questions about too, never once finding his curiosity odd, never once passing judgement. She droned on as though they’d been friends for a lifetime.

Now they’d be each-others for the rest of their lifetime. He’d make sure by mixing their natures, marveling at how she reacts to him and his quirks. He finds it quite educating, how her spirit never seems to break, but rather bends or resurfaces even stronger than before. It’s beautiful. She is so colorful, breathtaking, so much so it makes him appreciate breathing. Everything she does is executed with the outmost maximum effort, never doing anything half-way. He wishes he had the same drive, the same fire, but he remains so cold and lifeless compared to her. When she laughs, she cries. When she screams, she dances. When she moans, she sings. He wishes he could imitate the same spirit she carries.

He’s envious of her, but… at least she belongs to him now. All her passion being his to devour. Besides, if she shares her hearts secrets to unlocking passion, there’s no end to what he can teach her regarding what it’s like to suffer.

KEYWORDS: cheerful, optimistic, spirited, passionate, colorful, droll, comical, clumsy, silly, whimsical, zany, honest, candid, forgiving, helpful, patient

[ellcsgreenaway]

big congrats on 200! can’t think of anyone who deserves it more💜

💞 cyma: weather

⚜️ elle greenaway

💌 please!

thank you katie !! so much love for you lovely <3

💞 — cyma (cast your mutuals as ..) weather!

@ropoto and @hotch-girl — warm bright clear sunny days that invite happiness and fun, always good days

@temilyrights — sunny with spotted clouds and a light breeze, spring vibes that are full of promise

@deadravenclaw and @writingquillsandpainpills — relaxing grey-ish days that gently prepare you for autumn and cooler weather, the weather that delightfully reminds you to wear gloves and a scarf next time

@fightingdragonswithreid and @m-mhotchner — light rain that you want to tip your head back in and feel drops run across your skin, making you appreciate everything

@proselys — heavy showers and storms that make you stay inside and indulge in your comforts and guilty pleasures to your heart’s content

⚜️ — send any cm character/ship and i’ll reply with a song i associate them with

selecting these from my playlist made for my best girl elle greenaway 😌 (bc i also can’t pick just one when i have an entire playlist dedicated to my best girls<3)

mad woman by taylor swift

jupiter by sleeping at last

rue by girl in red

💌 — i’ll reply with what i associate most with you

i kinda answered this with what i tagged you in this post and my previous cyma but i firmly believe you are a very pretty person. with your kindness and appreciation for your mutuals and close friends here, i associate you with things like spring with blooming flowers and venus the planet of beauty and femininity. i also associate you with most wlw cm ships because i know how much you love them, especially tara and emily our loves <33

[valdomarx]

“How about we go visit April again?” Geralt asks Jaskier one morning, projecting as much casual indifference into the question as he can. “She did invite us back, and we’ll be passing by that way soon.”

Just two good friends going to visit a brothel to share a prostitute. Again. No big deal. No need to scare Jaskier off.

The road they’re travelling winds through the countryside toward the town where they’d met April and this thing between Jaskier and him had started. Geralt thinks he’s been very cunning in maneuvering them back in this direction.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s body language doesn’t change, but his heartbeat stutters then picks up into a hammering rhythm. “Sure,” he says, inspecting his nails, outwardly casual. “That could be fun.”

Jaskier doesn’t look like he’s about to run, so Geralt is going to count that as a win. He nods, once, and holds back a smile that threatens to spill out in anticipation.

.

April greets them warmly, with a hint of sparkle in her eyes, and they’re herded up to her room. It’s the same as before, the same obnoxiously red furnishings, the same musty smell of sex, and she is as appealing and lovely as ever.

Geralt can’t help but notice the difference in himself though: the weight of everything that’s happened since then, the inconvenient magnitude of his feelings, his growing understanding of just how much Jaskier means to him. It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a boy, and he stamps down the urge to fidget.

April cocks her head at him, curious, like she can see he’s different too. He gives her a lopsided half smile and she nods, understanding.

“Good to see you again, big boy,” she says as she pulls his shirt off and runs fingertips down his chest. “You been well?”

Geralt sneaks a glance at Jaskier, who is kicking off his boots in the corner. “You gave me a lot to think about. It’s been an... illuminating few months.”

“Illuminating in a good way?”

Geralt ponders that. Yeah, all in all, considering what he’s got from it. “In a very good way.”

April smiles broadly, like she's pleased by that answer. “That’s my man,” she says, patting him on the cheek, and Geralt feels a ridiculous surge of pride. She divests Geralt of the rest of his clothes in an efficient manner, and she doesn’t seem to object to the fact Geralt is staring at Jaskier the entire time.

“There we go,” she says once she has Geralt naked. “You entertain yourself for a moment while I see to your dear friend, yeah?”

That’s easily done. Jaskier seems nervous too, hopping from one foot to the other, though April sets him at ease. Geralt stares, hungry and unabashed, as she peels away Jaskier’s layers of finery to reveal supple, smooth skin beneath. Geralt is half hard already from the anticipation, and he fists his cock in his hand as he watches Jaskier’s shirt slide from his shoulder, the tantalising glimpse of firm muscle exposed beneath.

Jaskier’s eyes flick to his, then down to his hand where he’s working himself over, then back to his face, and the most charming blush spreads over his cheeks. Geralt feels the urge to look away, the old instinct of shame kicking in, but he fights it back. He’s looking at Jaskier, and he likes what he sees. He wants Jaskier to know that, even if he isn’t quite ready to put it into words.

April sets herself down on her knees in front of Jaskier, unlacing his trousers with deft fingers. Jaskier is still looking at Geralt, bottom lip caught in his teeth, eyes a little wild, and they haven’t even got started yet. It’s a good look on him, Geralt thinks as he squeezes a little firmer around his cock, slides his hand a little faster. 

April peels off Jaskier’s trousers and he’s finally, deliciously naked, his cock bouncing free and settling in a hard line against his thigh. Broad shoulders, slender waist, thick thighs, hard cock. He is a feast, and Geralt is starving.

“Lovely,” April says, cheerfully. “Get yourself settled on the bed for me, sweetheart.” 

On somewhat shaky legs, Jaskier does so, sprawling himself on the bed and propping himself up on his elbows. His cheeks are pink and his hair is mussed and he’s beautiful. Geralt wants to devour him whole.

April looks from Jaskier to Geralt over her shoulder. “You too, my man,” she orders, and Geralt feels like he’s looking down on his body from high above as he arranges himself on the bed next to Jaskier, close enough to touch but keeping his hands to himself, at least for now.

“Much better,” she says, taking in the two of them on the bed, apparently satisfied. “But oh dear! How foolish of me. I suddenly realise I have left an urgent matter unattended to downstairs. You two can keep yourself amused for a moment while I see to it, right?”

“Most certainly, dear lady,” Jaskier says, seemingly calm, but Geralt can see the blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. “Let us not detain you. We will gladly wait upon your pleasure.”

“Such considerate gentlemen,” April says, pulling on a robe and heading for the door. She gives Geralt a tiny wink as she departs. 

The door shuts and a heavy silence descends on the room. Geralt glances to his side and gets a tormenting glimpse of Jaskier, so near and yet so far away. He forces his eyes back up to the ceiling, determined not to come on too strong.

But the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when he feels Jaskier turn and look at him, the heat of his gaze running up and down the length of his body. 

“So…” Jaskier says, carefully light. “How should we amuse ourselves while we wait?”

Geralt has been thinking about this moment for weeks. He has plans. He was going to be eloquent. He was going to use his words. 

And then Jaskier looks at him, and smiles softly, and every thought he’s ever had goes flying out of his head. 

So he acts purely on instinct: he puts a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, he pulls him close, and he kisses him with everything he has.

Jaskier is hot and responsive, opening his mouth to welcome Geralt in, and the taste of him is as intoxicating as it is familiar. He tugs and Jaskier rolls onto him, their bodies pressed together from head to toe, and heat sparks from the base of Geralt’s spine to the tips of his fingers where they are entwined in Jaskier’s hair. He feels like he could drown like this, and he would die a happy man.

“Mphgh,” Jaskier says against his lips, all his usual composure apparently deserting him. 

So Geralt kisses him again, and that seems to be agreeable. Jaskier scrabbles at him, hands everywhere at once, frantic and frenzied. There’s an edge of desperation to it which makes something inside him shift uncomfortably. 

“Hey.” Geralt pulls back for a moment. “It’s okay. There’s no rush.”

A storm of emotions crosses Jaskier’s face in a matter of seconds. “There isn’t?” He visibly composes himself, rolling back onto his side. Geralt wants to chase after him, but he restrains himself, gives Jaskier the space he needs. “I thought…,” Jaskier trails off. “Well, I thought you might change your mind again. It’s not easy to tell what you want if you don’t talk about it.”

Right. Talking. Words. That had been the plan. 

Geralt takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He can do this for Jaskier.

“Last time we were here, April said something to me,” he begins. Jaskier looks over and tilts his head, curious. “She said that next time, we wouldn’t need her.” Jaskier goes a little pale, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to start making excuses. But Geralt doesn’t need to hear them. “I finally understand what she meant.”

Jaskier shuts his mouth. “Oh,” he says, tentative, like he’s not sure how this conversation is going to continue.

“It was never about the girls, was it?” Geralt says, daring to run a finger down Jaskier’s cheek. “All this time, it was always about you and me.”

Jaskier’s smile breaks through like the sun peeking between clouds. “You figured it out.” Then it morphs into a teasing grin, and he punches Geralt in the shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Geralt’s chest is so light he feels like he could float away. “It did. I’m sorry if that hurt you.” Emboldened and free, he wraps a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, and it fits like it belongs there. “I want you, Jaskier, and I think I always have.” It's so startlingly clear, he wonders how he could ever have doubted it.

Jaskier laughs, and Geralt wants to wrap himself in that sound. “You can have me;” Jaskeir says, and he can’t stop smiling. “Any way and every way you want. I’m yours, you great idiot, and I have been for years.”

And that’s…. that’s everything that Geralt wants, and more than he can possibly deserve. The nameless thing which has been furiously beating inside his chest feels like it’s about to burst free and carry him away with it. 

This time, Jaskier kisses him, and Geralt lets himself luxuriate in this, in what he wants, in his Jaskier.

“How do you want me?” Jaskier asks, voice husky, and the myriad implications of that question have Geralt’s head spinning. But he knows. He knows what he wants.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says into Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier gasps like he’s been handed a wonderful gift.

“It would be, with not the tiniest bit of exaggeration, my absolute pleasure,” Jaskier says, stroking a gentle hand down Geralt’s side.

Jaskier sits up and there’s suddenly no contact between them and Geralt makes a noise which, if he was absolutely forced to confront it, he would admit was a whine. Jaskier pets him indulgently and rummages around in the nightstand by the bed and, heaves bless April and her preparedness, finds a vial of oil there. 

When Jaskier settles between his legs, Geralt is expecting something hot and heavy, the desire that’s been building between them for months sharpened into something rough and desperate. 

He never would have imagined, not in a thousand years, the way Jaskier bends his head to kiss his down his stomach and across his thighs, lips trailing so softly, the rough grit of his stubble just coming in abrading his skin, as if he’s mapping every inch of Geralt’s body, as if this is what he has wanted all along. 

It’s heady and astounding, the sensation of being the object of Jaskier’s singular focus. His fingers and his lips trace every patch of skin he can find, and it’s almost overwhelming. Geralt feels adored. He feels cherished. 

It’s almost too much, his blood is rushing under his skin, he feels like he’s sinking, like he might simply melt apart, and all Jaskier has done is lavish attention on him.

“Come on, Jaskier,” he pleads, all thoughts of shame left far behind. “Please.”

Jaskier pauses and looks up at him, eyes shining bright. “Oh, Geralt,” he grins, “you sound so good when you beg.”

He’s going to object to that, he really is, but then he’s distracted by Jaskier bending to lick a stripe up his cock, and he nearly keens with the need for it. 

“Patience,” Jaskier chides, coating his fingers with oil. “I’ll give you what you need.”

You always do, Geralt thinks, and then Jaskier’s mouth is back on his cock and he stops thinking all together.

The first press of Jaskier’s finger at his entrance is so soft he barely notices it, there and then gone again, back and stroking him in careful circles. With Jaskier’s lips stretched around his cock his entire body is loose and pliant, and it’s easy for Jaskier’s fingers to slip inside and open him up. 

He loves this, in truth. Lying here and allowing Jaskier to lavish affection on him. For once there are no monsters to fight, no jeering villagers to block out, nothing for him to do but let himself be pleasured. And from the rapturous look on Jaskier’s face as he works him open, he’s not alone in his enjoyment.

He gives himself over to it, lets Jaskier prepare him as he sees fit, nothing in his mind but safe, comfortable trust. The burn around Jaskier’s fingers turns to a stretch, and any lingering hesitation slips away.

When Jaskier deems him ready, he withdraws his fingers and Geralt whimpers. But before he can protest, Jaskier is drawing himself up, nosing at Geralt’s neck and pressing sweet kisses to his skin.

“You ready?” Jaskier asks and fuck yes, of course he is, but he feels a bubble of warmth expand in his chest knowing that Jaskier cares enough to make sure he’s happy.

“Been ready for months,” Geralt growls, and Jaskier just laughs because they both know that isn’t true.

“My dearest witcher,” Jaskier says, soppy for a moment and so very fond, kissing Geralt with a tenderness that has that strange feeling deep in his chest squeezing more tightly. He squirms a bit at that, the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him, but Jaskier’s arms are around him and Jaskier’s weight is on top of him and he’s here, he’s grounded, and he has everything he needs is right here in this room.

When Jaskier pushes into him, slow and careful, it feels like the two of them are melding into one, like he’s being spread open but only so that he can make room inside for Jaskier. The stretching feeling increases and his breathing stutters, but Jaskier is there, a hand on his face, whispering sweet words of comfort.

Once he’s settled deep inside Geralt they take a moment to breathe, forehead to forehead, and then Jaskier starts to move and Geralt can’t contain the noise that punches out of him. Small thrusts at first, the drag of Jaskier’s cock inside him sending flares of sensation, and then building in a confident rhythm, and Jaskier’s so good at this, so good to him, like he knew he would be.

“You feel,” Jaskier gasps, “Gods, Geralt, you feel incredible.”

Geralt can’t speak, can barely comprehend the words, focused as he is on the slick slide of Jaskier inside him, the glowing hum of tension and pleasure where their bodies meet, the heat of Jaskier all around him.

“More?” Jaskier offers, and Geralt has no idea how anything could be more than this but he’s oh so very curious to find out.

He nods, and Jaskier spreads Geralt’s legs further, lifting one of his knees so he’s even more open. He thrusts again, and at this new angle his cock brushes deep inside Geralt and sends a sparkling bust of pleasure throughout his body, leaving him clawing at the sheets, at Jaskier’s sides, at his shoulders.

“So good for me,” Jaskier says, and Geralt shudders all over. “So beautiful.”

Geralt buries his face into the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation and affection in concert, but Jaskier keeps up a steady stream of praise and kind words, and Geralt lets it wash over him, lets himself be carried away in a haze of adoration.

He floats, he soars, and for a time all that matters is the grace of their bodies moving together and the bubbling, building heat between them.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Jaskier says, breathy now, and Geralt knows in his bones that it’s true, that all the times they’ve spent together have been leading them here, that he can have Jaskier now like they were always meant to be. 

Sweat is pooling at Jaskier’s temples and his thrusts are getting messy, erratic, and Geralt loves it, loves seeing Jaskier undone, loves knowing that he caused it. Jaskier reaches down and wraps a hand around Geralt’s cock, pumping him in time, and it really only takes a few strokes until the building pleasure explodes out of him in a pure, bright white light.

He comes gasping Jaskier’s name, and for once he holds nothing back.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, like a sigh. “Oh Geralt.” And Geralt feels Jaskier tense and come inside him, slick  and wet, and the thought of being filled with the evidence of Jaskier’s pleasure sends his head reeling as much as the orgasm did.

Jaskier’s arms wobble where they’re supporting him and he collapses in a heap on top of Geralt, pulling out with as much care as can be managed in this position. It’s messy and frankly it should be kind of gross, but Geralt feels nothing but elation. 

.

Some time later there’s a knock at the door, and it’s pushed open to reveal April lounging in the door frame and sipping a mug of wine. 

She takes in them both, sweaty and disheveled, covered in reddening marks and sticky with each other’s seed, and raises an eyebrow. “Glad to see you two sorted it out,” she says, taking another swig of wine. 

Maybe Geralt should feel self-conscious, but Jaskier seems to have wrung every emotion that isn’t cosy contentment out of him. He gives her a dopey smile instead. 

“The other girls will be thrilled to hear you finally got your heads out of your arses,” she says.

Jaskier rouses himself with a stretch. “Other girls?”

“Oh yes, we have quite the letter-writing network between brothels. We like to keep each other up to date on the comings and goings of our favourite customers.”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look.

“After the incident with Florence we all hoped you two would pull your heads out of your arses. Even had a little betting pool going. Shame that I didn’t win, but it seems you finally got there in the end. Congrats!”

“Delighted to hear we’ve been providing you and the other ladies of the Continent with entertainment,” Jaskier says with a grin. “Though let it never be said that we’d leave a fine woman such as yourself wanting for coin, so you’ll find your payment on the dresser.”

April picks up the purse and gives a satisfied nod. “Such gentlemen, and for such easy work. Tell you what, I’m taking myself off to the bath house for some pleasure of my own. How about I let you two keep the room while I’m gone? Seems like you might be needing it for a little while longer.”

Jaskier eyes him and licks his lips, and Geralt feels heat racing under his skin and crawling up his neck.

“That would be appreciated,” Geralt says, and he does not blush. “I’m sure we’ll find a way to pass the time.”

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

A Treasure Worthy of a King - Pirate AU - 3k words

Nicolo has been the terror of the seas for a solid decade. He’s plundered many ships, evaded many privateers. He’s feared by his crew and the world alike, an image he’s cultivated with carefully selected targets, few words, and several well-timed glares.

Only a handful of his most trusted know the truth. That Nicolo hesitates to take a life. That when he chooses their targets, he specifically picks the King’s vessels with fat payloads, not small merchant ships. That his portion of the earnings is regularly delivered to an orphanage in a small, seaside village.

His trusted few help him pick the targets most deserving of plunder.

So when Nicolo raids a King’s vessel he heard carries wealth only to find a foreign dignitary, a prince no less, with a handful of guards and a skeleton crew, Nicolo is confused. Moreso, when the prince does not look at him with fear, but with a type wide-eyed adoration, like Nicolo is his salvation and not an agent of death.

“We should take him for ransom,” says Nicolo’s first mate Keane, a man Nicolo doesn’t trust or like much, but who has been around long enough to know the job.

“Yes, yes,” says the prince, gold and jewels glittering, though none as bright as his eyes. “That sounds a good plan.”

Nicolo is rendered momentarily speechless by the beauty of this man – for he has much, from the ocean of tight curls on his head to his well-groomed beard to his wide shoulders poorly concealed with silk robes.

“You...” Nicolo pauses.

The prince points at himself. “Yusuf.”

Nicolo shakes his head. That’s not what he’s asking. “You wish to be kidnapped?”

Keane gives Nicolo a strange look. “What are you asking him for?”

Nicolo has never been questioned before. He glares at Keane until he lowers his head.

Yusuf, meanwhile, only brightens, even when Nicolo turns the same glower on him.

“I’m very impressed,” Yusuf says, smiling. “Very... afraid? Is that what you’re after? Please, let’s hurry this along. I would like not to be prematurely rescued.” Finally, Yusuf’s brightness begins to dim, and Nicolo is struck with a rush of regret so sudden that he’s startled.

“To the ship, then,” he says, when he’s recovered enough.

The crew starts for Yusuf, but Nicolo is there first, taking him under the arm and tugging him forward. He wants to be gentle, but forces some roughness for show. Even so, he is much kinder than any of the crew would have been.

“This man is our ransom,” Nicolo tells them. “Any harm that comes to him will be returned tenfold.”

The crew murmur their agreement. Those closest eye Yusuf’s many jewels.

“You will turn over any valuables,” Nicolo says. He is softer than he means to be, in front of his crew.

“A small price to pay.” Yusuf removes them. Keane is the first to take them from his hands.

Nicolo escorts Yusuf to his ship, staring down any who look too long. No one dares question him now.

He starts for the brig, but changes his mind after a single step. He cannot see a man like Yusuf behind bars. Until he is returned to where he should be, Yusuf will remain in the best comfort Nicolo can offer. So he takes him to the captain’s quarters instead.

With the door closed behind them, Nicolo lightens his touch. He guides Yusuf a few steps further, then pulls away entirely.

“Have I hurt you?” he asks.

“No.” Yusuf stretches out his arm. “I expected manhandling.” He’s smiling again. “Your touch is not so unpleasant.”

Nicolo’s mind is caught in a storm. It takes some time for it to clear. “You... ‘expected?’”

“Oh? Of course.” Yusuf turns toward the room, walks the short distance from the map table to the foot of the bed. “Andromache explained everything.”

“Andromache.”

“Yes.” Yusuf leans forward and tests the strength of the bed. The storm in Nicolo’s brain becomes a hurricane. “Though she did not mention how terribly handsome my rescuer would be.”

“Rescuer.”

Yusuf stands fully upright again, and glances over his shoulder to Nicolo. “Are you well, Captain? Your face is turning very red.”

Nicolo feels underwater, like he’s moving and thinking in slow-motion. “This is a pirate ship, your highness.”

Yusuf waves his hand. “Call me Yusuf.” He must not understand the dire nature of his present circumstances, to be so flippant.

“We are pirates,” Nicolo says slowly, so that even if Yusuf struggles with the language - which does not appear to be the case - he will understand. “I am a pirate. And you are being held for ransom.”

“Yes.” Yusuf claps his hands together. “It’s wonderful.” Before Nicolo can even begin to try again, to somehow explain that if Yusuf is not overly careful, he could very well be killed, Yusuf steps away from the bed. “Here I was in a dark hour of need. I pleaded with Andromache for help. She was not terribly eager at first, but when I explained...” He sidesteps the map table, and does not stop walking until he is very near Nicolo.

Nicolo stands still as a statue.

“I know you will not ransom me, Captain. Andromache made that clear.”

“It seems,” Nicolo licks his lips, watching with wonder as Yusuf tracks the movement, “that Andromache has revealed much.”

Yusuf blinks and looks again into Nicolo’s eyes.

“She did not tell you,” Yusuf says. He leans back and Nicolo exhales, unsure if in relief or disappointment.

Nicolo forces out, “No.”

“You are my savior, Captain, from a life of misery.” He steps back, stretches his arms out. “A life I have no desire of returning to.”

“You are a prince,” Nicolo says. Why would Yusuf risk his life to give up such luxury?

“Betrothed,” Yusuf says. He pauses. “To a very beautiful woman.” He drops his arms.

Nicolo still doesn’t understand. Yusuf must see it in his face, because he comes forward again, back into Nicolo’s space, stealing his breath away.

Yusuf says, a whisper, “It is not a woman I want.”

Oh. Oh.

Nicolo’s whole body ignites in fire. He’s suppressed it for so long, resigning himself to the sea and his duty to the crew and the orphanage. He cannot remember the last time he has allowed himself to consider carnal pleasures.

He has never before been so sorely tempted.

“Do you understand now, Captain?” Yusuf’s voice is a sultry promise.

Nicolo’s every nerve itches to reach out, to touch, to – no.

Regardless of intent, Yusuf is his captive. Until Nicolo can free him, he will not –

He won’t –

Yusuf tilts his head slightly, moving a hair closer.

Nicolo jerks backwards, knocking into the closed door.

“Captain?”

“Nicolo. My name is Nicolo.” He’s proud his voice only shakes a little. “You... You must stay here, until I can find some way to help you escape.”

Yusuf, watching him, begins to frown. “Escape?”

“I will find a way,” Nicolo promises and flees.

*

“We must make port,” Nicolo tells the crew. He lies, “So that we can send word of our ransom.”

He gives them the heading to a pirate-friendly port town where he knows Andromache will be.

She pulled him into this mess. She can help him out of it.

*

At dinnertime, Nicolo takes a full portion to the door of the Captain’s quarters. With his crew watching, he shouldn’t knock, though he desperately wants to. Instead, he fumbles with the door handle, giving Yusuf inside fair warning of his entering.

Yusuf does not get the warning.

He is asleep on the bed, but it is not restful. He thrashes out against the blankets, whimpering.

Nicolo drops the plate on the table and hurries toward his side. He catches a sleepy punch thrown his way, and eases Yusuf’s arm back to the bedding. Yusuf leans into him, curling toward where he’s placed his knees on the bed.

Not knowing what to do but wishing to comfort him, Nicolo reaches a hand and places his palm to Yusuf’s cheek.

Yusuf’s whimpers ease into softer hums. A moment’s calm, and then Yusuf’s eyes flutter open.

“Nicolo.”

Nicolo has not heard his name aloud since the last time he sat with Andromache in a run-down tavern, when she told him of a ship carrying gold that carried Yusuf instead. He has not heard his name aloud, like this, spoken with reverence, in as long a time as he can recall.

“You were having a nightmare,” Nicolo says.

“It was, yes,” Yusuf whispers. “But then you arrived.” He smiles and puts the sun to shame. “I dreamed you.” His blinks are slow. His eyelids heavy. Nicolo keeps his hand to his face and watches as sleep again pulls him under.

Nicolo stays, longer than he needs to, longer than he should, touching Yusuf’s cheek, then his shoulder, then his hand, guarding him from nightmares, both waking and asleep.

When he falls asleep himself, it is on the floor, his hand on the edge of the bed waiting, in case he is needed once more.

*

Though Nicolo had demanded that Yusuf stay in the Captain’s quarters for his own safety, he is not surprised to find him escaped and out among the crew. What does surprise him is both how the crew indulges him – although that smile of his is disarming – and the way he is dressed.

Gone are the silk robes. In their place, Yusuf has stolen a pair of Nicolo’s breeches and one of his loose linen shirts.

Nicolo’s mouth goes dry. When had he picked those out? Had he gone through all of Nicolo’s clothing until he found what he liked? How had he decided?

And what kind of prince had any right to muscles like those, now clearly defined beneath the near-transparent linen?

Nicolo thought all royalty pretty and useless, locked behind their walls, their cares tended to by others.

The crewman shows Yusuf how to tie a sailor’s knot, and Yusuf easily replicates it. He is a fast learner, and eager. So unlike Nicolo’s idea of a royal.

“We’ll be at port in two days’ time,” Keane says from the helm.

Nicolo, realizing he has been staring at Yusuf, looks towards his first mate instead. “Yes.” He hasn’t been listening, really.

Keane seems to notice, because he repeats, “Port. Two days.”

“Right.” Nicolo dares another glance at Yusuf, and finds him staring back.

When their eyes catch, Yusuf waves.

Nicolo only just stops himself from waving back.

He hopes Keane didn’t notice, though with Keane’s hawk eyes, he worries.

 The worries come to a head the next night, while Nicolo is standing on the deck, peering up at the stars from near the railing, when he suddenly, inexplicably, finds himself being shoved over it.

He reaches out and grabs the banister at the last moment, but his feet are dangling. The banister’s wet. It’s too dark to find him if he topples over.

Bathed in moonlight, Keane is there. He does not reach out a hand to help. Instead, he pulls out a knife.

“Why don’t you call for help, Captain?” Keane says. “Let the crew see the coward you are.” He crouches, bringing his face closer to Nicolo, though on the safe side of the railing. “I have watched you these years. You are weak.”

“If this is a mutiny,” Nicolo says through gritted teeth. His hands are slipping. He holds on with his fingernails. “Where are the rest of the crew? Why are you alone?”

Keane’s face twists with anger.

Pride swells in Nicolo, for his loyal crew. “They would not join you. They would not even listen to you. They believe as I do, that you are coward.”

Keane brings his knife closer. It flashes dangerously in the moonlight. “Big words from a man about to die.”

Nicolo thinks that he has always known it would eventually come to this. He knew Keane doubted not just his leadership but all that he stood for. Yet even knowing it, he has kept Keane on.

A pirate lived and died by the sea. And maybe, Nicolo has been too willing to test it.

Keane lifts up the knife, readying an attack.

A figure knocks into the side of him. Keane falls. The knife flies, skittering across the wooden planks of the deck. The figure, Nicolo’s savior, rights himself, and it’s Yusuf.

“Nicolo!”

Yusuf hurries to the railing, reaches over it. He begins to lift Nicolo, enough that he can get a better grip on the banister, but then Keane is there, yanking him back.

Yusuf twists in Keane’s hold and punches him. Keane stumbles back, but not for long, not long enough for Yusuf to do anything other than prepare for the next attack.

They grapple, equally matched.

With his new hold, Nicolo has leverage he didn’t before. He exerts all his strength and swings up his legs, finding footing on the edge of the deck. With it, he easily pulls himself up the banister to the top of the railing and over it to safety.

He steadies himself. His arms ache and his fingers burn, but he will help Yusuf no matter – oh.

Yusuf, Nicolo’s protector, his savior, and his captive, does not need help.

Keane is dead at his feet, neck broken.

And Yusuf stares down at the body in pity. “He was your first mate.” He’s out of breath, chest heaving. Nicolo moves to his side, as close as he can without touching.

“Yes.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Yes.”

Yusuf leans into Nicolo, brushing their shoulders together. “When I came looking for you, and I saw...” He breathes deeply. “I feared the worst.”

“It’s not yet my time,” Nicolo says quietly. He thinks on Yusuf’s words. “You came looking for me?”

Yusuf is slow to answer. “I cannot sleep without you.”

Nicolo frowns. “I sleep on the floor.”

“Your presence is soothing.” Yusuf runs a hand down his face. He stares down at the body. “Should we leave it for the others to find? Some kind of warning?”

“No. This was a mutiny of one. I’d rather send him to the sea and be done with it.”

Together they lift the body and cast it over the side. A moment, then a splash, and Keane is forever gone.

Yusuf and Nicolo stand at the railing. Though Nicolo could stay longer, Yusuf tugs on the back of his coat.

“I would like to see you away from the ledge for the rest of the night, if you don’t mind.”

Nicolo obliges him.

*

Later, in the captain’s quarters, Yusuf washes the blood from Nicolo’s hands and tends them.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Nicolo says. “I owe you my life.”

Yusuf waves the words away like he saves lives every day. Perhaps he does.

“You can sleep in the bed tonight,” Yusuf says instead, when he’s finished wrapping Nicolo’s raw hands.

“The floor is comfortable enough.”

“I will convince you.”

“Not in this,” Nicolo says, a whisper. “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Yusuf watches him, a spark in his eye. “Does that imply perhaps a someday?”

Nicolo gives him a small smile, but that is all he can give for now. “Ask me again when I have helped you escape.”

Confusion spreads over Yusuf’s face. “Nicolo, I do not think you understand that –”

“Yusuf, I am tired.” Too tired to argue. Too tired to think of reasons he shouldn’t lie with this man. Too tired to voice them.

Yusuf’s face holds no smile now, all dire lines and darkness. “You are trembling.”

“I am so tired.”

“Lie down,” Yusuf says. “Let me hold you. Nothing untoward, I swear to you.”

Nicolo is a miserable wretch. “You will not hate me?”

Yusuf cups Nicolo’s face with both hands. He leans forward and places a soft kiss to each of Nicolo’s eyelids. “I could never, my heart.”

Nicolo lies down on the bed, as does Yusuf behind him. Yusuf wraps him in his arms, swallows him in warmth. In comfort.

Nicolo has belonged nowhere for so long. Now he feels as if he has returned to a home he didn’t know he had.

He closes his eyes, and sleep finds him easier than it ever has before.

In the dark, as the sea rocks them like babies in a cradle, Yusuf whispers into the back of Nicolo’s neck, “Andromache told me of a lonely man, heart as big as an ocean, who stole from kings to give to children.” He presses his smile to Nicolo’s skin. “I loved you before I met you. And meeting you, I love you more.”

Nicolo hears the words, but believes them to be a dream.

*

The morning comes too quickly, and the day brings them to port.

No one mentions Keane. His duties are quietly filled by others. Only one crewman is brave enough, and mutters, “Good riddance,” to the empty bunk.

 As the crew disembarks at the port, Nicolo lingers, watching. Yusuf stands at his side. He’s still wearing Nicolo’s clothes, even though Nicolo had set out his silk robes earlier across the back of a chair.

The day grows long. Most of the crew has left. Nicolo and Yusuf linger.

Nicolo doesn’t want to say goodbye.

For Yusuf, though, he must.

“Andromache is here,” Nicolo says. “We will go to her, and... I’m certain she will find you safe passage wherever you wish to go.”

Yusuf laughs.

Nicolo, startled, looks to him.

His smile is the north star. “I think you purposefully misunderstand.”

Nicolo straightens. “What do you mean?”

“Nicolo.” Yusuf turns to him. He takes one of Nicolo’s hands in both of his. “Do you truly not know?”

Maybe he does. Or at least, suspects. But. But. “You cannot want this life, Yusuf.”

“I wanted freedom,” Yusuf says, “And I found it in your eyes.”

Those pretty words muddy Nicolo’s thoughts, and he has to think clearly. He removes his hand from Yusuf’s and backs away. “You have been on the ship a handful of days. That is not enough time to know if it suits you.”

“I came here wanting this, Nicolo. The freedom of the sea and the wind at my back.” Yusuf, following Nicolo, steps forward. “I asked Andromache to help me become a pirate. She brought me you.” Another step, closer still – dangerously close. “I thank you for trying to protect me, but I do not need protecting. Not from this ship. Not from this life. And not from you.”

“Yusuf.”

“I am more pirate than I ever was prince.” Yusuf places both hands on Nicolo’s chest. Nicolo’s heart thunders beneath them. “And if you will have me, I would also be yours.”

Nicolo swallows. “This is a terrible idea.” He’s not pulling away. Not anymore. Instead, he leans forward, brushing noses with Yusuf.

“All of the best ideas are, my heart,” Yusuf says and kisses him.

*

Nicolo sits at a table across from Andromache. Not far off, at the bar, Yusuf laughs with Quynh and Lykon, who apparently he’s met once before and already befriended. Nicolo isn’t the least surprised. He knows now, to expect the unexpected with Yusuf.

“I see you found your prize,” Andromache says, grinning into her mug.

“You said, and I’m quoting, ‘A treasure worthy of a king.’” Nicolo tries to sound accusatory but he cannot keep the smile from curling his lips. It’s so easy to smile, when he can hear Yusuf laughing. When Nicolo glances over and finds him watching.

“Was I lying?” Andromache asks.

And Nicolo knows, “He’s more.”