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💜🖤Goth punk boy coming at ya

Soft boy TF got a drawing so now we go for Sky!

I say this as someone who wears masks to work every day - masks I specifically researched to make sure they kept out things like cleaning chemicals and animal dander - but n95 masks??? These things fucking s u c k

someone learned how to balance on my shoulder

zenonia 3 & 4 Chael

Zenonia 3 & 4 Regret

Weird Pokemon Name of the Day: the All-Terrain Venomoth, aka ATV

I didn't get Horn, but I DID get Rockrock and Newest Best Boi Chestnut!

Also, I love just looking around my base when I'm in a bad mood and go "omg, kibbies!!" because I have so many cats running around

let's see, I've got...

Mint being cute reading her book while everyone else is just minding their own business

the Feline/Sankta Inquisition, led by Executor

Teahouse Time with Gnosis

everyone playing "Follow the Phidia" while Iris silently judges them

Rosmontis making Battle Records

and a wild Phantom in my Clue Office alongside a Mountain with different clothes (I don't have Phantom, btw, I WISH I did)

we got to see the room he takes his pictures in which is cool

you will never get me to 100% hate the tuscan interior design of the 2000s because i can't not associate with childhood

people acting like dick would struggle to pick up/carry jason as if he can’t easily lift a grown man with one hand

everyone talks about bruce working out so he can still pick up his kids (mainly jason bc he’s the tallest and bulkiest) but no one talks about how dick could very likely pick up and carry bruce with little to no strain. in fact, bro could probably carry bruce and jason (with some effort)

like dick is way stronger than people think, just because he’s built like a gymnast and not a body builder. bro once supported over a thousand fucking pounds of rubble in order to save people from a burning building !!

anyway just. ranting about dick grayson as always

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

How about ploy marauders going to a party and Sirius promised to do readers make up, but is late so the other two are making an attempt. Sure they might know how to do Sirius's messy style, but do they know big dramatic styles? Can James do a perfect wing?

<3 fem, 1k

“Can you stay still?” Remus asks, turning your face a half inch where it’s held in his hand. 

“Can James stop kissing me?” you ask. 

James pulls his face from the curve of your neck, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. “Sorry, are you busy?” 

“You’re supposed to be helping.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying yourself.” 

You smile. Remus rubs the softest curve under your eye with his thumb, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, concentrating instead on your face and the wetness of your makeup where it’s beginning to sink in. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he sighs. 

“You know better than I do,” James says. 

You don’t know a thing about it, that’s why you’d arranged for Sirius to do your makeup tonight before Marl’s birthday bash, but where is your awful boyfriend? Late, decidedly unavailable for makeup-ing. 

“You’ve done his mascara a thousand times,” James argues with Remus. 

“Yes, but Sirius has never asked me to do his blush.” Remus’ hand moves to the side of your face. “You are lovely, though. I think using only a little of everything is working in our favour.” 

“Sirius only lets him do mascara because he already has nice eyelashes,” you worry. It won’t matter if Remus messes up or doesn’t get close enough to the root. 

“Yes, and because he likes it when Remus holds his face like that,” James points out, eyeing Remus’ hand where it stays at your cheek. Remus has long fingers, ever-so slightly thick with two golden rings that kiss your chin as he lets his hand fall, and he’s always gentle. 

“James, I’m tapping out.” 

James pretends to roll up sleeves he isn’t wearing, your bulkiest boyfriend in a short-sleeved t-shirt that showcases the lean muscle of his forearms, the not so lean ridges of his biceps. They tense as he sits up, his knee jabbing yours, the bed creaking dangerously beneath your angled weight. “What’s there left to do? She’s gorgeous.” 

“What did you want?” Remus asks you. 

“Uh, I wanted, you know…” You sound ridiculously shy. You wish you could just do all of this faff by yourself rather than force their attention, but neither boy seems annoyed. “He does that smudgey eyeliner, it makes my eyes look bigger. And lipgloss, but I can do that myself.” 

“Are you kidding? That’s the best part,” James says. He gives you a smile confident enough to reassure you and handsome enough to make you shy from his touch all over again. “Pass me the black pencil, Remus. I’ve got this.” 

James does not got this, his expression melding from happy, adoring, to perturbed, and then annoyed. “Aw, I’ve fucked it.” 

Remus shakes his head vehemently. “You haven’t! We just need a wet wipe.” 

They search the room for Sirius’ wet wipes and come up empty-handed. A towel is wetted and taken carefully to your eyes instead, cold and rough on your eyelids. 

“Be gentler,” Remus whispers. 

James is practically atop you know, your chin tilted up to his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers in turn, then to you solely, “‘m I hurting you?” 

“No.” You’re whispering too. It feels appropriate; they’re both very close to you, and this movement might fix or ruin your makeup with the party’s start time drawing ever closer. 

“I think I’ve fixed it,” James says, taking the pencil up again, the nib soft as it rolls over the corner of your eye. “Sirius can perfect it in the car, right?” 

“I thought you were good at everything?” you ask. 

James turns your face up impossibly higher, craning his head down for a peck. “Yes,” he whispers severely, “I’m good at everything. But Sirius is usually better. Quick, let’s find your lipgloss before we’re late.” 

Remus tries to tell James that it isn’t true, a serious conversation at a bad time, and James won’t listen to a word of it. They quibble over who’s doing your lipgloss, bathe you in compliments when they’re done —aw, dove, you look so cute, and cute? she looks perfect— then suddenly an abrupt beep is sounding outside. The three of you scramble into your jackets and down the stairs, meeting Sirius where he leans against the car. He throws the keys to Remus, ushering you into the backseat with him for some last minute clean up. 

“Hey, they’ve done a good job,” he praises, another hand on your face to turn it up kindly to the light. “Did you bring your lipgloss?”  

You nod quickly and dig for it in your jacket. 

“What!” James says from the front, turning in the passenger seat to complain. “That’s the one thing we did perfectly.” 

The car starts. Remus laughs to himself behind the steering wheel. 

“Did I say otherwise?” Sirius asks, letting his fingers curve toward the back of your neck. Pale in the light, eyes lit with something funny you’ve yet to hear, he dips in close to you and talks quietly, “I’m sorry, I promised I’d do your makeup for the party. But you’ve all done well without me, you look perfect, especially your lips.” 

“Then what did you want it for?” you ask, confused, your seat belt pulling as Sirius encourages you forward. 

“To reapply.” He taps your neck with a fingertip. “Spare a kiss? I promise I’ll fix any mess.” 

Commotion from the front seat.

“James–” Remus warns. 

“What? I want to watch.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly. 

“How am I a freak? She’s my girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend, and you’re doing that voice like you’re gonna lay her down in the back seat.” 

“James.” 

—

requests r open!! pls think about reblogging if you enjoyed, I hope u did either way!!!

high strung

abby anderson x f!reader

pairing: abby anderson x personal trainer wlf f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: abby has seemed distracted in your sessions as of late. when you discover why, you help to ease some of her tension. warnings/tags: some tight little workout shorts, abby "i'm not gay" anderson has her first experience with a woman, r insert is a trainer but has zero physical descriptions, massage, gay panic, smut, fingering & oral [abby receiving], reference to masturbation [reader], brief mention of other wlf characters from tlou2, brief owen slander lol sorry. word count: 3.5k masterlist a/n: considering abby isn't explicitly queer in tlou2, i wanted to write a short n sharp little bisexual awakening for her. bit of a quick build up but idc i don't know anything about the gym and wanted to get to the gay sex lol, hope you enjoy!

She’s wearing these tight little shorts. Pale blue. So thin they’re almost sheer where they wrap around the bulkiest points of her thighs.  

You don’t look, don’t let your eyes roam over the reedy material, don’t glance down when she bends her knees and drops into a squat. Don’t don’t don’t. Don’t even look when she lays out on the bench, flat on her back, and those shorts bunch and pinch in the crevice where her legs meet her hips. No, you’re well-versed in this now. Adept at not looking.

“Show me ten,” you tap the bar once.

Abby grips the barbell. The skin of her knuckles turns a piercing white as her fingers flex and tighten around the metal. Ninety pounds on either end, and yet she lifts it off the rack with a practiced sort of ease. You feel a familiar rush of pride as she moves effortlessly through the first few reps, her breathing calm—relaxed. Your hands hover, useless, in the air over the bar. Ready to step in if you’re needed, but knowing that you won’t be.

The gym at the base is usually crowded. Sweat covered surfaces, muscle tanks in every conceivable direction, and plenty of shirtless assholes that think they own the place. But this morning you hit the jackpot, arriving early in the morning when there’s only a few others milling around.

“That’s it,” you mutter. “Good, good, give me another one.”

You notice it slowly. The same way it happened last week, and the week before that. The gradual progression; a tilting, wavering, descent into mistakes, into heavy breathing, into distraction. From behind her head, you watch her knees raise a little, feet arched until she’s balanced on her tip-toes, the muscles in her thighs straining.

Her fingers loosen a little around the bar. Grip faltering, failing. A muscle in her forearm flexes and spasms beneath the skin.

“Hey,” you warn, hands darting forward to rest on the metal. “Come on, we’re not even halfway done.”  

Abby doesn’t offer up a response. Doesn’t meet your eyes. She simply huffs out a breath of exertion and presses the bar upward again. Beads of sweat glisten along her forehead, snatching at wisps of loose blonde hair and pinning them to pale skin.

“Good,” you commend, fingers hovering featherlight. But then it happens again. Her face twitches, lips pursing, and she grunts. A low, frustrated sound.

“Abby,” you sigh. She allows you to grip the bar, and together you lift it back into the groove on the rack. “Are you hungover again?”

“No,” she scowls. She sits up and wipes a reddened hand across her face. There’s a patch of sweat on the back of her shirt, and the darkened material clings to her spine.

“Then what’s the problem?” you arch an eyebrow. When she doesn’t turn to look at you, you walk around to stand directly in front of her. “Manny keeping you up at night? Burnt out? What?”  

“No,” she repeats, and this time you think you catch a flash of irritation. Something angry, something heated, rolling beneath the surface of her skin, begging to be expelled.

And you’ve seen the way she can lash out. Seen how people cower and shrink beneath her steely gaze when she’s mad. Quickly, easily, you decide you’d rather not spend your morning getting chewed out for being nosy.

“Listen,” you say. “Why don’t we call it for the day? We ca—”

“I’m fine,” Abby asserts firmly. But the hard set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders hints otherwise.

You watch her snatch a water bottle off the ground and tilt it against her mouth. Watch the way she drinks in long, hurried gulps. Watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows. Watch a dribble of water snake down her chin, her neck. Don’t.

You look away.

“You’re distracted,” you retort with an eyeroll. “If you hurt yourself in here Isaac will have my ass.”

She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. A broad hand pushes the hair back off her face, mussing it behind her ears, and then she meets your eye.

“I’m just…” she trails off and glances away. Clears her throat a little. “I’m feeling a little tense, okay? Everyday I’m either in here, or Isaac has me out scouting some fucking Scar hot spot, and I’m exhausted, and my legs are fucking killing me.”

You feel your face soften, mouth tilting down into a sympathetic frown.

“I get it,” you nod. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know I push you pretty hard in here—”

“It’s not—” Abby shakes her head again. “You’re not the problem.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment the two of you rest in a wary silence. Listen to the sounds of people working out around you; muted grunts of exertion, the spouted praise from spotters standing close by. You notice the way she flinches when someone racks a weight a little too aggressively – a little too loud.

“Let’s go in the back,” you suggest easily, already turning away. “We’ll do some physio; I’ll help with the knots in your legs.”

It’s a simple routine once you get her onto the massage table. Tucked away in a back room, door closed, her shoes off, you can set to work without so much distraction.

You start with her calves. Using the palms of your hands, the pads of your thumbs, you rub against the tightly coiled muscles there. Working out any knots that you find, any hidden strains. Moving slowly, purposefully, working your way up until you hit her thighs. And that’s where the tension becomes evident.

It seems like Abby is in pain as you dig your thumbs into her outer thigh. Her face is all screwed up, eyes closed as soft little grunts slip from her mouth. When you find a particularly tight knot and press she spits a low curse, eyes clamping shut and face turning to the side.

“You doin’ okay?” you check in, eyebrows furrowed as you watch the way she squirms and wriggles around on the table – as if she’s shying away from your touch. As if it’s too much for her. “I’m really not pressing that hard, Abby.”

“It’s good,” she chokes out. “Keep going.”

You continue with a sigh, crackling your knuckles before using both hands to work at the muscle in her upper thigh.

“Jesus,” you sigh. Your palm rolls over her quadricep, working to release the built-up rigidity there. “You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” Abby grits out, voice hoarse and stilted as it sneaks its way out past her teeth. It’s like she’s holding her breath, the way sharp exhales rush from her nose every few seconds.

“It’s fine,” you assure her. Your fingers press against her knee, and you push it up towards her chest until her thigh is pressed against her stomach. Stretch out the muscles there, let her feel the pull, the burn as her knots loosen. “Do you need—oh.”

Because you look down and the words get caught in your throat. Musing caught like a mouse in a trap, your mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. And you were always so good at not looking, never looking. But now… you’re almost glad you looked. Because there’s a damp splotch on the front of her shorts, shades darker than the rest of the fabric. Right in the crevice between her thighs, where the inseam of those tight fucking shorts rests against her mound.

It must be sweat, you think. It has to be. But when you look at her face you notice how flushed she is. See the blotches of deep red that stain the skin on her neck, her cheeks, and you know it’s not sweat. She’s wet.

Your hands freeze in place, keeping her leg pinned to her chest.

Abby says your name quietly, and there’s something urgent in it – a panicked tone to her voice that makes your stomach tighten.

“Is this why you’ve been so distracted?” you ask. Your mouth is dry, lips chapped as you look between her face and that spot between her thighs. Back and forth, over and over. Your fingers tense against her thigh, and the skin there is so soft. “You’re…”

“I’m not,” she rushes, face almost entirely pink now.

“It’s okay,” you soothe quietly, thumb starting up a slow movement against her flesh. Soft, small circles. And you know you must look calm – but on the inside there’s a hot, wet feeling lashing out against the inside of your stomach. “Is that because of me? S’that why you’ve been so distracted in our sessions lately?”

Abby turns her face, tucking her chin into her shoulder in attempt to hide her blush. You lower her leg back onto the massage bed. “I don—I don’t know why I’m…”

“Abby,” you laugh softly. Your palm is flat against her thigh now, fingers twitching – itching to explore. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not…” she grimaces.

“Not what?” you hum, and you’re playing with the hem of her shorts now. Curling around the thin fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. “Do you… will you let me help?”  

Her eyes widen at the suggestion, and you feel the way her thighs tense beneath your touch. Pressing together, almost squirming at the thought of it. When she doesn’t respond, doesn’t say no, your fingers creep higher. They tuck around the waistband of her shorts and tug once, testing the waters. Again, she says nothing. Those heady blue eyes stare at your face, pink lips parting as her breathing grows heavier.

“Abby?” you urge.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and it sounds almost like a question.

Her eyes turn glassy as she watches you, and then her hips cant ever so slightly upward on the bed. An invitation.

Smiling, you peel the material of her shorts down slowly, but you don’t look. Not yet, not even as you drop the material onto the ground. Don’t look even when there’s so much white in your vision. A field of creamy skin, begging to be seen. Your thighs press together, skin hot, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you notice that she’s sweating again.

“I’m not gay,” Abby says then. So quiet, so cautious.

Your smile only grows, and you nod. Kind. Understanding. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it.” And you do.

You’ve been in her shoes before; confused, unsure. Young and always wondering why you felt so on edge around the pretty girls in those tight uniforms they liked to wear around the base. Always pretending you didn’t think about the way their clothes moulded against their chests, their thighs, as you lay in bed at night, hand stuffed inside your underwear. Never admitting to yourself that you wanted to see underneath – to see their skin; touch it, taste it.

“I get it,” you repeat, hand stilling at her hip. “But I need to hear you say you want it.”

You ruck up her shirt. Just a little, just so it rests above the dip of her belly button, and you can see the rolling hills of her abdomen. You admire the muscles there, the way they rise and fall with each laboured breath. Abs that lead to a hardened v-shape which only encourages wandering eyes to look down down down.

Her skin is pale, and you can see the elaborate network of blue veins that spread out beneath it like spiderwebs. Lifelines, pulsing with desire. For you.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you offer, and she nods slowly, seemingly grateful for the assurance. “I’ll help you out… just have a little taste, okay?”

“Fuck,” she mutters, head tilting back against the bed. “Fuck, I didn’t realise you were—I want you to—yes.”

Finally, you look down at her underwear—heather grey with a tiny hole near the band and a dark wet patch on the front—and ask breathlessly, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t know,” she exhales. “A few months maybe.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” you tsk under your breathe, shaking your head a little. You can see a soft thatch of curls peeking out the side of her underwear. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“When did you?” she asks.

“Last week.”

“With who?”

“Lyla,” you admit. Your hand is on her stomach now, tracing the indents of her muscles. Fingering every freckle painted across her skin, feeling the way her belly expands with every shuddering breath. “We’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t the first time.”

“Lyla?” Abby scoffs, eyes darting down to watch your fingers. “From the infirmary? Lyla’s not gay.”

“Sure,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “And neither are you, right?”

That shuts her up quick.

You climb onto the table slowly, careful not to jostle her legs too much. But they splay easily, spreading open for you to fit between. Murmuring gratefully, you look up to see her watching you.

“You do this with everyone you train?” she asks, voice breaking when your index finger snags against the band of her underwear. “Work them to the bone and then…”

“And then?” you smirk, eyebrows raised.

“And then fuck them?” she gasps. Her hands are tense by her sides, fingers curled around the edge of the table.

You bare your teeth at her and shake your head, slowly lowering until your lips meet the skin at her hip.

“Not all of them,” you breathe against her skin, marvelling at the way her frame trembles beneath you.

Unwilling to waste another second, you lick a stripe up the front of her underwear. Taste cotton and sweat and slick. Your touch is painfully light. So gentle that you wonder if she even felt it. But then she gasps – a sharp, breathy sound that has molten heat pooling between your own thighs, and you smile. Gotcha. Her legs lock up on either side of you.

“Relax,” you whisper, and settle a hand on her thigh. Rub slowly there, pressing your fingers in gently to release the strain in her muscles. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop if you don’t want this.” 

“Please,” Abby says quietly. More desperate than you’ve ever heard her sound. “Do it, please.”

“I will,” you tell her. Smile reassuringly and squeeze her thigh.

When you finally get your mouth on her, no more barriers between your tongue and the wet cut of her cunt, you’re a little mean about it. You tease her clit. Tickle your tongue around it, underneath it, never quite touching, just showing that you know exactly where it is, exactly where she wants to be touched. You use your fingers to spread her open, pressing back her folds until you can see the full spread of her; pink and glistening for you.

The taste of her is salty and heady and soon enough you can’t help swiping the flat of your tongue against her clit, and revelling in the stuttered moan that swells out of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs. “Keep doing that.”

You roll your tongue against it in circles, side-to-side, changing up the rhythm whenever you fear she might have gotten used to the feeling. Spell out your name with the tip of your tongue, and then hers. Spell out words in your own language, one that you’re fluent in and want so desperately to teach her. Like this, your tongue on her clit, is a religion, and you’re a modest missionary sent to spread the gospel.

She makes the most gorgeous sounds. High pitched, breathy moans that burst out of her and have you wishing you could touch yourself. Just slip your fingers past the band of your panties, to where you know you'd be dripping-- No. Not yet, not now. This is about her, you remind yourself.

When you take her between your lips and suck, she cries out. A hoarse, rasping shout of your name that only makes you suck harder.

“Oh my god,” Abby mumbles, voice awed, surprised. “Oh—oh fuck, oh my god.”

Lowering your tongue, you press it against her weeping hole. Taste the slick that pools there, waiting for you to drink it down, and feel a moment of sympathy for her. You wonder if Owen ever touched her like this. If he ever made her feel this good. And as the muscles in her thighs tighten and one of her hands falls against the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair, you know he didn’t. 

“I think I’m gonna—” she gasps, hips bucking against your face. You can feel her slick on your chin, your cheeks, your nose. You lick her clit again in slow, firm circles. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

You press a finger inside of her, slowly stretching out her tight hole. Give her something to bear down on when she comes. And when she does come, it’s intense. Her fingers tighten in your hair, winding around the strands and tugging as she presses your face harder against her pussy. Your nose presses into the light curls on her mound and you groan, inhaling her sweet, musky scent.

“Fuuuck,” she gasps, the word catching in her throat. You open your eyes and watch the way her abdomen tightens, every muscle in her body going taut. Watch the way her eyes clamp shut, mouth hanging open as she gasps and moans and mumbles beneath her breath. “Fuck, don’t stop. Your tongue, oh my god don’t—please don’t stop.”

So you don’t stop. Abby’s still riding out the final ebbs of her orgasm when you push another finger inside of her. Her body jolts against the table, shaking and trembling beneath your hands and mouth. And then, tongue still moving gently, you curl your fingers inside of her. Press the tips of your middle and ring finger against that soft, spongy part deep inside and grin when she moans your name. You think it might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard – your name on her lips.

“You like that?” you mumble against her, the corners of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” she moans, hips bucking against your face. “God, yes.”

“Taste so fucking good,” you sigh, flattening your tongue to lick a broad stripe up her cunt. You can taste her come everywhere. Coating your chin, your lips, the inside of your nostrils. You groan, tongue moving faster against her clit now, desperate to see it happen again. She twitches into the table, and one of her hands falls to your shoulder. Blunt nails dig into the skin there, hot and piercing as she grinds against your mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck,” she cries out when you add a third finger. You moan, eyes rolling back at the way her walls stretch around you. So fucking tight.

Your fingers dig into her thigh. Silently pleading with her; tell me, tell me, tell me.

“So good,” Abby mumbles. “So—shit—so full, m’so full. Ohhh.”  

There’s something hot pooling at the base of your spine. Want – curling against your insides, begging to be satiated.

You murmur that desire into her cunt. Inaudible; the words lost in the mess of her, in the quick glide of your tongue between her folds.

“What?” she gasps.

“Say my name,” you repeat, louder, pleading.

And she does – she’s perfect when she comes for you again. Strong back arching off the table, thighs tensing around your body as she chants your name. Her hands are strong, fingers no doubt leaving bruises where she grips your skin tight, holding your mouth against her pussy as she convulses.

She doesn’t let you pull away for a minute, maybe two. Holding your head between her legs as she grounds herself, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You swear you even feel her stroke the skin at the nape of your neck. Twist the hair there around her finger and tug gently. But then she’s letting you go – strong hands falling back to clasp against her lower stomach, and you’re stumbling off the table.

You hand her those shorts—those tiny fucking shorts—and smile. Can see the way uneasiness flits across her features as she drags them back up her legs, sparing a wary glance towards the door. Probably wondering if anyone heard her; if they heard the way she cried and moaned and gasped your name as she came undone against your face.

“It’s fine,” you reassure, only half-lying. “We weren’t that loud.”

But you can tell by the way she nods that she doesn’t quite believe you. That she’s still confused, still unsure, still wondering what this all means.

So you squeeze her shoulder, thumb pressing into the dip below her collarbone, and promise – “No one has to know.”

thank you for reading! x

maybe ill write another part to this where abby realises she wants to return the favour... idk we'll see

To celebrate the upcoming release of the FNAF movie, I’ve been drawing my versions of the sillies, starting with the OG cast! Lore notes under Keep Reading!

- The FNAF1 animatronics are the heaviest/bulkiest of all the generations. Before this, William and Henry designed the springlock suits to fit both bulky endoskeletons and fully grown adults inside. Therefore, although they were downsized somewhat, this aspect continued into the new generation.

- Due to their size and heaviness, they are slow moving. Foxy however is small and has a lighter endoskeleton, as he was originally designed to play with the kids. Therefore, he is the fastest by default.

- The FNAF1 animatronics use cloth and other material for the fur, with some parts like the stomach and arm areas sagging. Such material is prone to getting stuck in the moving endoskeleton parts, resulting in rips and damages. To combat this, the group was somewhat themed around cuddly toys, and in later iterations received clothing to cover up any damages.

- Foxy’s wear and tear was never covered up, as management was able to use the excuse of him being a pirate to their advantage. In the early days, he was also most prone to causing accidents. Combining these two factors, in the last few years of the restaurant's life, Foxy remained stationary in Pirate’s Cove performing on stage rather than moving around the restaurant as he used to do.

- Chica is based on Henry’s wife. The original unveiling of her design was a present to her from Henry and William. Surprisingly, she was flattered! Chica is prone to causing internal damages, as she was originally programmed to ‘pretend’ to eat food. Of course, this would backfire when said food would get stuck and start to rot. There have been more than a few instances in which cockroaches have crawled out of her at kids birthday parties.

- Freddy and Bonnie are essentially redesigns of SB and FB. Originally, they were made as substitutes for when the springlock suits would need maintenance, but following the Bite of 83 their place in the main cast was cemented, with Freddy becoming the new face of the restaurant.

A Royal Pain In The Ass

Yandere Male Alpha x Male Omega Reader (CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, INCEST, non-con, male reader, a/b/o, ass eaten like it is groceries, blowjob, marking, biting, knotting, musk, general yandere behavior, necromancy, assassination, minor character death, angst, pain, violent sex, breeding, forced feminization, size difference) Word Count: 2.9k (This is probably the worst thing I have ever written, but I think I covered all the appropriate warnings. Sorry for any mistakes I did proofread, but I did not have this beta read.)

Your father, King Esmer, had been among the wisest and most powerful kings in all the world. He had led decisive victories in war, chosen brilliant advisors, and knew when to rule kindness and when to rule with a bit of a sterner hand. Overall he had been much loved by all the classes and had truly united his kingdom, alphas, betas, and omegas alike. But as he grew older many in the royal court began to fear that your brother, Prince Vairthold, would become a tyrant of a monarch. He had always been a bit of a demanding brat, but as he grew so too did his arrogance and entitlement, and when he presented as an alpha he became an accomplished warrior, his powerful muscles and keen instinct allowing him to become a terror on the field. It did nothing to staunch the growth of his ego. Your father could not see it, as blinded as he was by denial and love for his first born, so he would not hear of it when his advisors wanted him to choose another heir. Perhaps one more malleable and temperate such as you, his younger son, an omega. “He will grow into the role,” he would always say, “I had to learn and change a lot too when I first started. Besides, most lords just would not accept an omega ruler.” And that would be the end of the discussion. But once Esmer had passed his successor wasted no time in changing how things were to be done. They were, in the grand scheme of things, very minor changes at first. Statues built, mundane orders carried out, nothing too unusual or threatening. But within months your older sibling allowed a dark sorcerer in the court in a high advisory position. Dark magic was not something that had been allowed in any capacity previously, but your brother had searched long to create someone to place in this position. When he finally had the magic user that he so desired he became not just arrogant and demanding, but colder and crueler as well. He did not go out slaughtering people, though laws did become more draconian, with several inmates disappearing in the dead quiet of night. He also revoked many of the laws and rights that omegas had previously enjoyed under his predecessors, making them basically under the ownership of their alpha or beta relatives unless they were single and had no family. You, being an omega yourself, were almost never allowed out of your brother’s sight, even being forced to stay in his bedroom. The only time you were not with him was when he was off in the darkness of night consorting with his dark advisor, and even then he left the bulkiest beta knights he could find to guard the door and make sure you had zero chance of escape. Your older sibling had always been far too possessive over you, some people, including your late father, might have mistaken his behavior as merely how a protective alpha is supposed to act around their smaller omega family members. But you knew better, you could tell there was something impure about the way you caught him leering at you, something off about how he had kept away any and all courters, something wicked in the way his expression changed when you were in heat and he caught a whiff of your scent. He had never been particularly mean to you, perhaps a bit of bullying here and there, but ever since he had changed the laws and the status of omegas he had been a lot more gruff with you. Not tolerating any dissent. If you resisted he would not hesitate to slap you across the face, but if you cooperated and did not complain he would often reward you with little gifts for your good behavior. Over time you learned never to complain, and so far nothing terrible had happened, but you did not trust his intentions at all. You dreaded to think what would happen if you had your heat now when he was always so close. He had not just forced you to sleep in his bedroom but to make a nest for yourself there too. You knew what it implied and you did not like it one bit. But a few months into his rule, as he started ignoring his court less and less, right as your heat was starting, he died. He was assassinated in his sleep. You were not involved at all in his murder, how could you be when you were constantly under the watch of him or his guards, but you did not raise a huge fuss over it either. You had been freed. Just in time. But it was only a delay of the inevitable. Soon after you had been crowned all those who had been involved with the assassination died, one by one. It was as if there had been some curse on the act of killing your brother and there was fear and dismay among the court and kingdom as a whole. You had never really been raised to rule, you mostly went by the advice of your council, they may have been using you as a puppet king to talk through, but they were good honest people who had wanted the best for the kingdom. With so few of them left you were buckling under the weight of your responsibility. But it would not be yours for long. After the last traitor of your sibling had been done away with, a few months into your reign and right as your heat was starting again, your brother and his wizard, who had gone missing after your brother’s murder, came sauntering into the castle, right in front of the throne as you were holding publicly addressing the problems of your lower-born subjects. There were whispers and murmurs among the guard and the present nobles. He looked different, blueish grey skin, dark rings around his now violet eyes, and his bright blonde hair had faded a bit, but he was still unmistakable as anyone but Vairthold. The deceased king. You, and everyone else present, were shocked and speechless. Had he faked his death? Why did he look so odd? Terror and hopelessness filled your heart as you knew immediately he had been responsible for the deaths of those involved in the plot against him and you were sure you would be next. He ordered the guards to remove everyone from the room except you. They hesitated briefly but decided that if your brother was not dead, and he seemingly had the ability to kill anyone who had tried to stand against him, then he was still their rightful king and they better be quick about following his orders. Vairthold smirked at you as they did his bidding while slowly approaching you, causing you to slink back against the throne with your arms in front of you protectively. The guards had left along with his magic using companion, so you were alone with him and he could do whatever he wanted with you. He wordlessly plucked the crown from your trembling form and placed it atop his head instead. “Awe, don’t be scared, little prince. I was mad at you for not avenging me, but I know you are just a weakling little omega doing what you were told. I am sorry I left you like I did, you must have been so terrified, but I wanted to become a lich, and I had to get rid of all those who would have stopped me.” You could not bear to meet his gaze, your lip trembled in fear, and your eyes were beginning to fill with tears. A lich was an immortal abomination made of magic that few believed in. If he truly was one then this couldn’t get any worse. Except it could, because under all the fear and anxiety there was another scent that had just graced your brother’s nostrils. Your heat. He began nuzzling his nose at your neck and underarms. In a rare act of defiance, perhaps forgetting exactly what he was for a moment, you tried to push away his head with all your might but he just chuckled and pinned your hands to the side. He had never been this brazen before. “It’s good that you’re feisty sometimes, shows that you’re strong, bet you’ll make us lots of strong heirs. I’ll forgive you for being uncooperative this time, putting you in front of subjects today when you’re in heat is bound to make your head a bit off. I should kill them all.” At his mention of heirs you redoubled your efforts to push him off, to somehow wiggle out of his grip, there was no way you could let this monster put anything inside of you. “N-no, this is my throne n-now! Y-y-you have to stop!” It was a pathetic display really, but a bit surprising coming from you. He smacked you with enough force to sting, but you knew he was not really trying to hurt you, just trying to remind you of your place. “Awe, that’s too cute, if you wanted the throne all you had to do was ask~ I will let you use it later.” He quickly disrobed and ripped off all of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath his hungry gaze. All your squirming and panicked pleas did nothing to stop him bending down and assaulting your neck with sloppy licks and kisses. You could smell the musk practically radiating off of him, it was making you dizzy, his smell had never interested you in the slightest and it still didn’t You could tell by his pheromones that he was a virile and fertile alpha, in any other alpha it may be attractive, but it only made your brother more terrifying. He did not have the same opinion of your scent, it had been driving him wild for years, but now was the first time he could freely indulge himself. He alternated between sniffing and licking your underarms and neck, he had longed for this for years and no one could stop him now. After making sure that you both utterly reeked of one another, he got between your legs on the ground in front of the throne and put your legs over his shoulder. Your mind felt distressed to the core, but your body had different plans, you could not control how it reacted. Especially when under the direct affections of such a powerful alpha during heat. You felt disgusted with yourself when you realized your cock was rock hard and felt slick start to leak out onto the throne beneath you, but your brother was thrilled. The smell emanating from your desperate little virgin hole was divine and he wasted no time at all in pulling your ass close to his face and sliding his tongue right in. The flavor was even better, so full of your pheromones, the taste was so intimately yours and he knew he was the only one that ever had or ever would get the chance to savor it. It was a royal treasure that only he and he alone was worthy enough for. A small involuntary moan escaped your attempt at stifling it and encouraged him to keep going. You really couldn’t help it, you were so grossed out, scared, and overstimulated that you were crying even as you instinctively spread your legs wider for him to get better access. You could feel his warm tongue sliding all around your entrance, stretching and warming it up. He pulled his face away from your ass and sniffed and licked at your precious little nuts, they were so tiny and delicate, unlike his big alpha balls. The scent you had there drove him wild. He started sucking on them before licking up your relatively small shaft and sucking your cock until he felt you buck into his mouth and cum all over his tongue. He moaned softly as he swallowed it all down. “I’m disgusting. That was wrong,” you muttered under your breath as you stared blankly at nothing in particular. “How could someone so sweet and perfect be disgusting? How could you think something that felt so good could possibly be wrong? Don’t worry princess, I know something that will feel so good you won’t even be able to form thoughts like that~” That was enough to jolt you from your post-orgasmic daze and revulsion, as your brother leaned over you, greedy hands busy groping and caressing up and down your sides. “I’m not a princess!!” You shrieked as you rocketed upwards from the throne and headbutt your lustful sibling as hard as you could. The unexpected impact caused even a large alpha such as himself to stumble backwards. You did not waste a fraction of a second to exploit the opening and started to get up past him. But he was no stranger to physical combat and knew how to recover quickly. He grabbed your arm and pulled you over to himself with great force. He sat on the cushioned throne and lifted you easily, forcing you to face him as you straddled his lap. When you felt the force with which he was grabbing you and saw the violence in his eyes as a small trickle of blood flowed from his nose you immediately regret assaulting him. “Let me be VERY clear, I am the king. And you ARE my princess. And when we are married you WILL be my queen. And there is nothing you can do about it.” You instinctively whimpered softly at the anger of the bristling alpha. He ignored it and focused on putting you in your place, submitting to him and impaled on his cock. Vairthold lifted you up and slammed you down on his cock. You screamed loud as it stretched and hurt in ways you had not conceived of. You knew he had stretched you. You knew there would certainly be blood. Even your slick couldn’t make this painless when he was driving into you so forcefully while you were so tense. “This could have been a lot easier on you, but you wanted to play rough!” With his hands gripping your sides painfully he lifted you up and slammed you back down on his dick repeatedly, thrusting upwards into you each time for added force. With each thrust you whimpered and yelped out in pain, your mind breaking a bit by bit. It felt like you were being stabbed. His nails began digging in, bruising your sensitive flesh as he only escalated the force he was using, you thought you were going to pass out, you even began to welcome it. “Puh-plea-ease, p-please. I’m s-s-sorry. I’ s-sorry. I-I’m sorry.” You sniffled and stammered, tears and snot running unattractively down your face, though your “partner” didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Say... You’re... My... Princess…” He spat each word through gritted teeth, emphasizing each by painfully pulling you down on his cock. “I-i’m your p-pr-prin-ce-cessss.” You struggled to form the words but once you had the change was immediate. He began slowing down to a much more merciful pace before pulling your trembling form close to him. It was still extremely painful, given the abuse your hole had just endured, but you tried to not focus on it. You could not bear to look at him so you just buried your crying face into his chest instead. Vairthold took this as a sign that you were willingly seeking comfort from him as your alpha so he slowed down a bit more. As he slowly slid his cock in and out of you, a mixture of slick with a bit of blood leaking down his shaft, he licked, kissed, and nuzzled the sensitive scent gland on your neck to try to comfort you. You had hurt him, but you had submitted to your king, so you didn’t deserve anymore pain. “You’re being such a good girl for me, I am gonna put so many babies in that belly.” You sobbed a bit louder but made no movements against him. He stroked your back soothingly as his knot swelled up inside you, tying the both of you together right before his cock spasmed and began filling you up with seed. As he came he bit down on your neck hard, officially marking you as his mate. By the mercy of the gods you finally passed out, sparing you the pain of being conscious while tied to your alpha. King Vairthold licked your neck clean of the blood he had just drawn and cuddled you protectively, his instincts telling him to keep his mate safe at all costs. When his knot finally allowed him to, he slid out of your ass before bundling you up and carrying upstairs to your private chambers. He cleaned you off carefully and laid you in your bed, before sliding in beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. As he lay there with his princess in his arms he could scarcely wait for the preparations to turn you into a lich to be completed. He was going to keep you with him for all eternity.

Grooming Dilemma

Pairing: Gale x Fem!Reader/Tav Summary: Gale wants to shave his beard, and Tav decides to help him with the task. or Horny shaving with your favorite wizard. Tags: Fluff and smut. They are so cute. Word count: 4.2k Warnings: Facial Shaving, Horny shaving, Porn With Plot, but just a bit, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Frottage, PInV Sex, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected sex, fluff and smut. AO3 link

a/n: Just pure filth. I have no excuse. Not proofread, so may contain mistakes (sorry)

After your arduous journey to Baldur's Gate, you and Gale finally find a moment of respite in the Elfsong Tavern bathroom. Weary from weeks of travel, you are perched on the edge of the bathtub, with your legs inside, as Gale relaxes in the warm water. You take a moment to appreciate his appearance: his hair is damp and unkempt, falling in dark waves around his face, and the exhaustion from weeks of travel has softened his strong features, making him look more vulnerable than usual. Without thinking, you reach out and gently thread your fingers through his wet locks, placing them behind his ear. Gale's eyes flutter closed at the touch, a small contented sigh escaping his lips.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you continue to play with his hair, occasionally twirling strands around your finger.

"I want to shave" he suddenly says, breaking the peace.

Your face falls at his words, and you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment. "You can't be serious," you protest. "Your beard is your best attribute!"

Gale chuckles softly, clearly amused by your reaction. "But how could you possibly know what I look like without it? " he teases.

You pout and cross your arms over your chest. "I just know it!" you insist. "It's so soft and nice. And it makes you look more manly."

You take the chance to lower your hand to his cheek, feeling the soft hair there. Gale's beard has indeed grown significantly since your time at the Last Light Inn. You suppose he hasn't had much time for grooming during your journey to Baldur's Gate.

"Well I was under the impression that I already was manly, with or without the beard," Gale says. "You would prefer a rugged, manly husband, yes? A strong, burly protector, who would not hesitate for a moment to defend his bride from any peril that came her way."

You roll your eyes "Yes, my love, because you are so burly and very rugged indeed."

Gale laughs, shaking his head at your sarcasm.

"Well, I'll have you know that I am quite proficient in combat," he retorts. "I may not be the tallest or bulkiest, but I can certainly hold my own."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that. I fight alongside you every other day. But what does that have to do with shaving?"

Gale looks at you lovingly. "A new look couldn't hurt, right? It's important to switch things up now and then, keep people on their toes. In addition, what if I end up looking like Elminster?"

You laugh at the thought of Gale sporting a long, white beard like his mentor.

"I don't think you have to worry about that just yet," you say with a grin. "Maybe in a few years..."

He mock-pouts and runs a hand through his hair, causing droplets of water to fall onto his chest. You watch as the droplets trail down his toned chest, feeling a familiar warmth in your stomach at the sight.

"I'll keep some stubble," he concedes, running his hand along his jawline.

You smile, relieved that he won't be completely clean shaven. You've grown accustomed to his signature scruff and it would feel strange to see him without it.

"Fine, but you have to promise me one thing."

As you continue to play with his hair, Gale leans in and presses a kiss to your knee. "Anything to make you happy," he whispers.

"Promise you will let me be the one to shave you," You whisper, leaning closer.

Gale's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features.

“I strictly forbid anyone from touching my razor, especially you,” he says, his face still relaxed from his recent bath. Yet, his eyes narrow in a suspicious manner as he looks up at you. “I cannot take the chance that you might accidentally cut my delicate neck and leave an unsightly scar.”

You pout "But I am good with blades, I'm sure it can't be that different!"

Gale's expression softens and he gives you a small smile."Oh, yes, it’s that different. It transcends mere physical actions of grasping a blade and pointing towards the hair. It’s—" He pauses, trying to think of a metaphor that you would understand. "It is akin to the intricate task of chiseling a fragile masterpiece. One would not bestow such a delicate endeavor upon an amateur, would they?"

You sulk and try to think of a counter-argument. Suddenly, an idea sparks in your mind and you can't help but smirk mischievously. Without hesitation, you climb into the bathtub, fully clothed, and wrap your arms around his neck. The warm water splashes against your skin and clothes, creating a pleasant sensation. "Please, my love," you plead with a playful glint in your eye. "You can teach me, I promise I will be the best razor-shaving student."

Gale raises an eyebrow at your persistence. "Why would you want to bother with something as tedious as—" A pause. "Ugh, Fine."

A victorious grin stretches across your face as you plant a swift kiss on his lips before stepping out of the tub, leaving puddles of water in your wake. He follows suit, grabbing a towel to dry off while you eagerly gather everything you need. He takes a seat on a sturdy wooden chair and pats his lap, inviting you to join him. With a rosy blush on your cheeks and a wide smile, you perch yourself on Gale's legs, which are covered only by the towel.

The position makes you warm up, even more so with the wet clothes still clinging to your body. But as your eyes meet his, you can't hold back a burst of laughter at the sight of the fluffy shaving foam covering his face, transforming him into a comical cloud.

"It's not that funny," he grumbles, wiping some foam off his face with a towel.

You shake your head, unable to contain your laughter. "I'm sorry, love." You attempt to stifle your giggles before asking, "So, Mr. Dekarios, where do we begin?"

Gale's eyes meet yours, shining with mischief as he struggles to conceal his amusement. "Step one, naturally...you grasp the razor..."

You smirk, "I was hoping to use my longsword instead."

"Mocking your shaving instructor already? Not a good start for you." Gale maintains a stern expression, but the corners of his mouth betray a small smile.

"Alright, fine." You say prying the razor and gently grabbing his jaw. "Okay, instructor, what next?"

"Well, you hold the razor this way..." Slowly, he wraps his fingers around yours and places your thumb in the thumb hole so your grip is firm.

Your heart flutters as his fingers brush against yours, and you try to focus on the task at hand. "And now what?" you ask eagerly.

"Now, you want to make sure you’re holding it at a slight angle against the skin," Gale instructs. "Not too steep or else you’ll cut yourself or me. And then it’s just a matter of gentle strokes." He takes your hand and demonstrates on his cheek, showing you how to move the blade in small, precise movements. Slowly, he releases your hand and places both of his over your hips, steadying you as you practice the delicate motions with the blade. The warmth from his palms seeps into your body, sending shivers down your spine.

You try to mimic his actions on your own, but your hand feels a bit shaky and uncertain without his. "Am I doing it right?" you ask nervously.

"Not bad for a first-timer," he comments with an approving smile.

Soon enough, you start getting comfortable with the movements. You even start humming a tune under your breath as you shave away. The razor glides smoothly over his skin, leaving behind a trail of freshly groomed skin. It’s surprisingly satisfying to watch the transformation taking place before your eyes.

As you reach his jawline, your free hand starts to wander, moving from his shoulder and threading through his hair with the excuse of holding his head still. Gale's eyes flutter closed and he releases a deep, satisfied sigh. The tension in his muscles dissipates with each gentle touch, and you can't help but smile as he melts into your hand like a lovestruck puppy.

"Enjoying yourself?" you tease playfully, while carefully shaving his jaw, making sure to leave a bit of stubble.

Gale looks up at you, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I must admit, I am quite enjoying myself," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "But I'm more curious as to what you're doing with your free hand."

You chuckle, "I am taking my liberties as your best student, of course."

Gale raises an eyebrow, "Is that so? And what liberties would those be?"

You look at him, and even with the foam covering his face, he is the most handsome man you have ever seen. You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "The liberty to touch you wherever I please."

Gale's breath hitches in his throat, his eyes locking with yours as your words sink in. Desire flickers in his gaze and he rasps out, "I don't think that's part of our lesson plan."

You smirk, "Well, maybe you should change the curriculum, Professor," you suggest playfully.

Gale turns his head towards you and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his calloused hands gently cupping your ass through the wet clothes. Your own hands roam freely over his half-shaved face, tracing every rugged edge and soft curve, committing them to memory. The rough texture of his newly shaved stubble prickles against your fingertips, adding an extra layer of sensation. As the razor slips from your hand and clatters to the ground, the sound startles you both, bringing you back to reality.

You pull away from Gale, both of you breathing heavily and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I should finish my job before I get more distracted," you say with a shaky laugh, picking up the fallen instrument.

Gale beams at you with a mischievous grin.

"It appears it is your turn for a shave, my dear." You glance at his face, covered in a mess of shaving cream, and realize yours is probably just as chaotic. You blush as he playfully grabs your cheeks and cleans off the foam with a damp cloth. "There, all better," he says with a final caress to your cheek. You meet his gaze, feeling a flutter in your stomach at the tenderness in his eyes.

Trying not to break the moment, you begin to carefully shave his cheeks again.

"I have to confess, I've found shaving to be surprisingly enjoyable," Gale says with a chuckle.

You smile at him and run your fingers over his clean-shaven cheek. "Well, you do make it quite pleasurable."

You finish up carefully shaving the few remaining patches of hair on his face before leaning back to admire your work. He looks so... different. His sharp features seem more defined without the shadow of a beard, giving him a sharper look, but he still has the lingering stubble giving him that rugged charm you've grown so fond of. As you rake your fingers over his smooth jawline, Gale captures your gaze with darkened eyes full of admiration and desire.

“You don’t think I look silly without my beard, do you?” he asks, self-consciously running his hand along his stubble once again.

A small, loving smile graces your lips as your thumb lightly glides over the newfound ridges and dips on his face. He has a new youthful freshness and a clean, radiant glow about him. But still, he is just as handsome as ever, if not more so. Your heart swells with love for this man. Leaning in, you press a gentle kiss against his cheek, savoring the moment and letting out a contented sigh.

"Not at all," you assure him, your voice barely above a whisper. "I must say, you look rather... enticing." Gale's eyes widen in surprise. Before he can say anything else, you add. "Should we shave the rest?"

Your gaze travels down the expanse of his chest, the dark hair that travels down his stomach and lower...

Gale blushes fiercely, his cheeks turning a deep red as he stares at you. But he doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t protest. "Y-yes," he whispers. "You can...uh...I will...yes," he splutters, struggling to think of what else to say. He looks more nervous than you’ve seen him in a long time.

You chuckle at Gale's flustered state and lean in closer, feeling a surge of confidence. "Don't worry," you whisper, gently tracing your fingers along his jawline. "I'll be gentle."

Gale's gaze follows your every move as you pick up the razor, anticipation and excitement brewing in his dark eyes. As the sharp blade glides across his chest, his muscles tense under your delicate touch. The smooth skin revealed by each stroke of the razor is glowing, almost golden, and you can't resist tracing your fingers along it.

You feel him shaking, his breath quivering, and he groans slightly. His hands grip your thighs tightly, and you can feel his arousal growing beneath the towel that you are sitting over.

"A-apologies, I can't remain still," he apologizes, squirming slightly under your touch.

You smile softly at Gale's nervousness. "It's okay," you reassure him, continuing to carefully shave off the remaining hair. His skin is hot, but you can feel the goosebumps rising under your touch.

Gale lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I-I just...it feels peculiar," he mumbles, trying to keep still. You lower the razor from his chest to his stomach, your own breath a little shaky. You trace your fingers there, following the trail of the razor as you admire the smooth skin. Gale's muscles tense under your touch. You can feel your own arousal at the feeling of his hardness against you, and can't help moving your hips slightly over him. A low groan escapes Gale's lips as he responds eagerly to your movements.

"Everything alright, professor?" you ask breathlessly, your fingers still tracing patterns on his skin.

Gale's eyes fly open at your question, a look of confusion and desire in them. "I-It's...it's fine," he stammers, trying to compose himself. But his body betrays him, his hips moving against yours as he moans lowly.

Your own breathing quickens as you feel the heat between you intensify. Without hesitation, you lean in and claim Gale's lips as your own, savoring the hint of shaving cream and the feeling of the soft skin of his face, so different from the tickling you are used to. The kiss is intense and passionate, your tongues dancing together in a heated rhythm. You can just let out a soft moan into his mouth as his fingers trace up and down your spine, sending shivers down your body.

This time, you have half the mind to put the blade aside before turning back to him. Your hands start roaming over his smooth chest and stomach before trailing lower toward the towel that covers his arousal.

Gale's breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, and he breaks the kiss to look up at you with his eyes almost black with desire.

"I need you," he whispers huskily.

"So eager, Mr. Dekarios. You have to learn about patience," you tease, starting to unbuckle your trousers.

"I apologize, Miss, I must admit, patience has never been one of my strong suits." he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You let out a soft laugh as you finish undoing your trousers and get up from his lap to let them fall to the ground. The rest of your still damp clothes follow, leaving you bare in front of him. Gale's eyes roam over your naked body, taking in every curve and detail.

"You're magnificent," he says, his voice low and husky.

"I could say the same about you, Mr. Dekarios," The words leave your lips with a teasing smirk, trying to mask the nervousness you feel under Gale's intense scrutiny.

You move to straddle Gale's hips once again, grinding against his now rock-hard cock, the contact making you both moan. His hand trails down your chest, until his fingers rest over one of your nipples. The electric sensation makes your body tremble and you can't help but whimper as he teases and toys with your sensitive flesh.

"I want to make you feel good," Gale whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

"And I want to make you feel good too," you reply, leaning down to capture his lips in another passionate kiss.

Gale's lips move from yours to trail down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses and love bites in their wake. Your head falls back in pleasure as his mouth moves to one of your nipples, sucking and nipping at it while his hand continues to fondle the other. The sensations are almost too much for you to handle and you can feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Gale is thick and throbbing against your core, and you grind yourself against him, both of you letting out low moans of pleasure. His fingers trace down your stomach until they reach your cunt, "You are dripping," he murmurs against your chest, his breath hot against your skin.

You can't help but let out a soft moan as his fingers begin to tease your folds, spreading your wetness and circling around your sensitive clit. You move against him, desperate for more contact, but he keeps teasing you with slow and deliberate movements. When his first finger finally enters you, you are so wet it almost gets sucked in. You cry out in relief, clenching around the digit as Gale's finger moves in and out of you, the slow and steady pace driving you mad with desire.

"I need more," you pant, unable to form any other words.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he adds a second finger, stretching you in the most delicious way. Your walls clench around him eagerly as he sets a faster pace, his fingers moving expertly inside of you. With each thrust of his fingers, your moans grow louder and more desperate.

Cursing the gods, he mutters to himself, "I can't believe my fortune. Here you are, a perfect mess, so desperate and eager. I am so overwhelmed by the depth of my love for you." Gale whispers against your ear as he adds a third finger, making you gasp at the slight stretch but also reveling in the fullness it brings. His thumb joins in on the action, rubbing circles over your clit and sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"Please, my love," you whisper, looking into his intense brown eyes, which now look almost black with desire.

You can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, aching for release. Your hands grip onto his shoulders as you ride his fingers with with abandon, your body trembling with each thrust. Gale's lips find yours once again and he kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans as your body tenses and convulses. You come hard against his hand, your whole body trembling and shaking as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Gale doesn't stop though, his fingers continue to move inside of you, prolonging your orgasm until it becomes almost unbearable.

"I love you," Gale whispers between kisses.

"I love you too," you reply breathlessly, lost in the sensations coursing through your body.

He finally withdraws his hand and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers while staring into your eyes with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

"Allow me to make love to you," he pleads huskily.

With the last of your energy, you eagerly nod and open the towel beneath you, revealing his cock as it springs out. Gale's eyes rake over you hungrily before he positions himself between your legs, his erection rubbing against your wet folds.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly lower yourself onto Gale, feeling him stretch and fill you in the most delicious way. A moan escapes your lips as he fills you completely, a perfect fit that always leaves you breathless. Gale's eyes never leave yours as he enters you, inch by inch. You still feel sensitive and spent at the recent orgasm, so you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck.

You whimper, "God, you're so big...filling me up so perfectly..."

He moans in response, spurred on by your filthy words as he always is.

"Only for you," Gale responds, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "Always for you."

His fingers dig into your waist as he holds himself steady, allowing you time to adjust to his size. You can feel the throbbing heat of him within you and it sends shivers of desire spiraling down your spine. After a few moments, you begin to move, rocking your hips in slow circles that have both of you gasping. Gale's gaze is on your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses it. A loud moan leaves your lips as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your nails dig into his skin as you ride him, meeting his every thrust with your own movements. The sounds of your bodies slapping against each other mix with your moans and gasps, filling the room.

Gale's lips find yours once again, kissing you deeply as he continues to pleasure you. His tongue expertly explores your mouth, before he leans back and looks into your eyes with his big brown orbs you have always loved so much.

"You're so pretty," you whisper, "even without the beard."

Gale's lips quirk up into a smile at your words.

"And you're my everything," Gale whispers against your lips, making your heart swell with love for this man.

At this point you have stilled again, just grinding against each other and whispering sweet nothing. You just can't seem to get enough, your forehead against his, lost in the sensations of his touch and warmth.

"Mhmm," you hum, your body clenching down on him again "I could do this all night."

He chuckles softly, "And I would let you, but there's one thing I want even more than this..."

"Oh?" you tease, arching an eyebrow.

"I need to feel you unravel yourself around me," his words send shivers down your spine.

"You'll have to work for that," you say with a grin, and start moving up and down his cock in slow strokes. The feeling of him sliding out of your tightness is followed by a squelching, and you are sure at this point you must be dripping all over him. The thought makes you clench again. Your breath hitches as the tip of his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot.

"Shit" Gale groans, closing his eyes in pleasure. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, but you don't care as he matches you stroke for stroke. He starts whining lowly, and it turns you on so much when he becomes whiny and desperate for you. "Please," he begs, "I need--"

You interrupt his plea with a hungry kiss, swallowing his desperate noises as you ride him harder, faster. Gale's hands wander over your body, caressing every inch of skin he can reach. His lips trail down from your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin. You let out a moan as his tongue flicks over your pulse point, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

Gale's hands then travel lower, cupping your breasts and massaging them gently. His thumbs graze over your hardened nipples, making you arch into his touch. You bring your hands to his hair, pulling at the base and eliciting a low growl from him.

You look into his eyes as you feel him getting closer to release, moaning against his lips. His hand finds your clit again and rubs it in a circular motion, adding to the pleasure coursing through your body. You meet his gaze and let out a long, drawn-out moan as you feel your walls gripping onto him.

"I love you," you moan against his lips, your voice filled with adoration and need.

Gale's movements become erratic at your words, his hand working faster on your clit. You both let out a symphony of moans and gasps as you reach your climax together.

You collapse onto Gale's chest, both of you trying to catch your breath. His arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you impossibly closer, still buried deeply inside of you.

"I love you so much," Gale says between breaths, kissing your shoulder.

You lean down and kiss him softly on the lips, your hands running soothingly over his chest. As you lay there in each other's arms, the world seems to fade away. All that matters is the feeling of being connected to Gale.

"You know, I think could get used to this," you whisper against his lips "Your skin is so soft now." Gale chuckles, "I hope you do, because you are performing my shaving duties from now on."