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headspace-hotel · 4 months

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The USAmerican imagination cannot consider land that is multi-purpose.

A corn field is Corn, an endless monoculture, and all other plants must be eliminated. A residential area is Houses, and absolutely MUST NOT!!! have vegetables or fruits or native plant gardens or small livestock. A drainage ditch is only a drainage ditch, and cannot harbor Sedges and native wetland plants, A sports field is for A Sport, and let no one think of doing any other event on that field, shops and storefronts must have their own special part of town that everybody has to drive to, which requires parking lots...and God forbid we put solar panels on roofs or above parking lots or anywhere they can serve an extra purpose of providing shade, instead of using a large tract of perfectly fine land as a "solar farm."

Numerous examples. But it is the most annoying with agriculture. The people who crunch all the numbers about sustainability, have calculated that a certain percentage of Earth's land is "Used up" by agriculture, which is troubling because that leaves less "room" for "Wilderness." It is a big challenge, they say, to feed Earth's humans without destroying more ecosystems.

Fools! Agriculture is an ecosystem—if you respect the ways of the plants, instead of creating monoculture fields by killing everything that moves and almost everything that doesn't. Most humans throughout history, and many humans today, sustain themselves using a mixture of foraging and agriculture, and the two are not entirely different things, because all human lifestyles change the ecosystem, and the inhabitants of the ecosystem always change themselves in response.

Even if you are a hunter-gatherer that steps very lightly in the forest and gathers a few berries and leaves here and there, you are being an animal and affecting all other parts of the ecosystem. By walking, breathing, eating, pooping, drinking, climbing, singing, talking, all of those things affect the ecosystem. If you gather leaves to sleep on, that affects the ecosystem...if you pile up waste, that affects the ecosystem...if you break a tree branch, that affects the ecosystem...if you start a fire, if you create a small shelter, if you cut a path, that DEFINITELY affects the ecosystem.

This idea, that human activity destroys the ecosystem and replaces it with something Else, something Not an ecosystem, is so silly. "But you just said that even the earliest most technologically simple human societies altered their environment!"

Yes, I did. Because we believe that "pre-agricultural" humans could have no effect on their "wilderness" environment, we ALSO believe another false idea: That when humans affect an environment, they destroy "Wilderness" and change it to something else, like Agricultural Land, that can never have biodiversity and never benefit many life forms.

I think it is the European idea of agriculture that it always involves people settling down and relying on a few special plants that are domesticated intentionally and grown in specially dedicated fields. After all, this idea of an agricultural lifestyle, is in contrast with the "hunter-gatherer" lifestyle, which is assumed to be what humans do before they "figure out" agriculture. The European mind imagines "pre-agricultural" folks ignorantly bumbling about, thinking plants and animals conveniently pop out of nothing for their benefit.

Bullshit! I shake my head in disappointment when I see websites describing Native Americans using wild plants as if those plants just-so-happened to grow, when those same wild plants just-so-happen to thrive only in environments disturbed by humans in some way, and just-so-happen to have declined steeply since colonization, and just-so-happen to be nonexistent in unspoiled "Wilderness" locations, and (often) just-so-happen to have an incredibly wide range where they either once were or are incredibly common, making it very...fortunate that they just-so-happen to have a wide range of uses including food, medicines, and materials for clothing and technology.

Accidentally of course, without any human impact from the humans that were impacting everything. /s

"But if it wasn't an accident, how did it happen?" Here is how to understand this idea: Look at the weeds! The weeds will teach you.

Look at the plants you always see growing without being planted around human buildings and roads, and learn their history. Often you will learn that these plants have many marvelous properties, and have actually been used by humans for thousands of years.

In fact, some of the most powerful and difficult to control weeds, were once actually some of the most essential and important plants for human civilizations to depend on. The dreaded Kudzu, in its home in East Asia, was one of the main plants used for clothing for over 6,000 years, and not only that, it has been cultivated for food and medicine for millennia. You can make everything from paper to noodles out of Kudzu! And Amaranth, the most expensive agricultural weed in all the USA, produces edible and healthy grains as well as several harvests of greens per growing season, and several species of the genus have been fully domesticated and formed a staple crop of Mesoamerica.

Meanwhile...some people have come up with this neat "new" idea called Polyculture, which is where you plant a field with two crops at once and somehow get better yields from both of them. WITCHCRAFT! Unrelatedly, there are other ideas like "Cover Crops" and "Agroforestry" that for some reason have the same beneficial effect.

Wow...It turns out, sterilizing the whole environment of every plant except one crop...isn't actually a good way to do agriculture in many places in the world.

Just think about it from an energy point of view...

We have some places used for "Agriculture," where we wring the land as violently as possible to squeeze green vegetation from light energy.

And we have other places for Other uses, where we spend massive amounts of fossil fuels mowing, chopping, poisoning and trimming to STOP the land from producing its incredible bounty of green vegetation.

And in the agricultural fields, we spend even MORE resources killing the unwanted plants that grow spontaneously

This system is hemorrhaging inefficiency at both ends. It simply isn't a one-to-one conversion of land and fossil fuels to food energy. The energy expenditure of agriculture is mostly going into organizing the vegetation's energy into the shape and configuration we want, not the food itself.

In the Americas, indigenous agricultural systems involve using the plants that exist in the environment to construct an ecosystem that both functions as an ecosystem and provides humans with food, clothing, and other important things. This is the most advanced way.

Most of our successful weeds are edible and useful. A weed is simply a plant that is symbiotic with humans. My hypothesis of plant domestication is that it was initiated by the plants, which became adapted to human environments, and humans bred them to be better crops in response. Symbiosis.

Humans did not pick out a few plants special to intensively domesticate out of an array of equally wild plants, instead they just ate, selected, and bred the plants that were best adapted to live near human civilization. That is my guess about how it happened.

Just think about it. Why would you try to domesticate teosinte (Maize ancestor?) It sucks. Domesticated plants in their wild form are usually like "Why would you put hundreds of years of effort into cultivating this?" Personally I think it's because the plant grew around humans and humans ate and used it a lot because it was abundant. So we co-evolved with the plant.

Supporting this hypothesis, there are many crop plants that mutated and evolved back into weeds, like "weedy" rice, "weedy" teosinte, and "weedy" radishes. Also weeds develop similar adaptations to crop plants to survive in the agricultural environment.

Consider Kudzu. Everyone in the USA knows it as an invasive weed, but since ancient times in China, it was a crop that provided people with fabric from its bast fibers, food from its enormous starchy roots, and many medicinal and other uses. Kudzu is not evil, it simply has a symbiotic relationship with humans, and just as any other species might serve as a biological control, the main biological control of kudzu in nature is the human species.

Think of the vast fields and mountain sides of the South swallowed by thick mats of Kudzu covering lumps that used to be trees. Think of the people toiling away to clear the Kudzu, while wearing clothes made of cotton that was grown in a faraway place using insecticides and depleting fresh water, using energy from their bodies that came from crops grown in fields far away.

Now imagine people working to harvest the Kudzu, to cut the new vines and dig up the starchy roots and use the plant the way it is used by the people who know its ways. Imagine the people using the starch from the Kudzu root to make flour and noodles and sweet confections. Imagine workers processing the vines into thread which is woven into fabric. The hillsides and fields flourish with plants that used to be suffocated, and hillsides and fields in faraway places also flourish with their own plants, instead of being made to grow cotton and crops to provide for the needs the Kudzu provides for.

Imagine the future where we accept our symbiotic relationship with the plants!

#from my drafts #the ways of the plants #plants #weeds #plantarchy

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cinastre · 1 year

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me, swinging a knife wildly: WRITE COMPREHENSIVE INSTRUCTIONS!!!!!!!

#ardyx.txt #IF YOU WANT PEOPLE TO DO SOMETHING COMPLICATED AND MULTI STEP!!!!#MAKE SURE YOUR INSTRUCTIONS MAKE SENSE!!!!!!!#DONT JUST GIVE THE VAGUE STEPS AND LEAVE PEOPLE WITH NO IDEA WHAT TO DO #turns out the forms are my least loathed step in this process #i also need lunch so im extra angry

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pseudowho · 6 months

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Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part Two (Takuma Ino, Higuruma Hiromi and Itadori Yuuji)

Part Three (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji)

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: train gropers, flashers and unwanted sexual advances

Nanami Kento

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"Quick, Kento! We'll miss the train."

"This one's packed. We'll get the next one."

"Come on! We can make it!"

With a squeeze and a groan, you and Kento squash yourselves into the packed carriage, the air a humid perfume-deodorant-sweat miasma. You faced Kento's chest, his back to the door. As the doors closed, squashing you to his chest, you shoot him a playful smirk as he glowers down at you, only half-serious.

You lean up to give him a sweet peck on the lips as the train jolts to a start. Kento wraps an arm around your waist as you wobble, although barely, your movement corseted by the tight pack of people around you.

The train rattles through tunnels, dipping in and out of orange lights. As the train goes through a particularly dark tunnel, you feel a set of fingers inching between your legs to the inside of your thigh. You cringe, clamping your legs together, which doesn't dissuade the hand from climbing up the back of your thigh, lifting your skirt to rub the cleft of your bottom.

When light flashes back into the train, the hand doesn't stop. You're paralysed, eyes stinging with tears, constricted by the crowd around you and unable to move to stop your assailant even if you wanted to.

Kento is looking down at you, frowning, concerned; what's wrong? His eyes ask you.

You whisper, voice shaking, "A hand-- someone's hand-- touching me--"

Kento blinks once, and his face clouds, deep rage settling in the crinkles and lines as his narrow eyes scan the people behind you. Within moments, his eyes settle on someone behind you, his eyes narrowing further until they're snakelike. You feel Kento's hand leave your waist as both arms wrap behind you, waiting.

A minute later, your train pulls to the next platform, and Kento pulls you off. Behind you on the train, a circle has formed around a man on the floor, crying and screeching, cradling two badly broken hands, bloody, twisted and ruined.

You hiss at Kento as you're pulled away up the stairs, "What did you do?"

Kento scowled, "I've got strong hands, he had wandering hands. Had."

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Todo Aoi

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"God, it's so busy. I don't think we'll make it to our table in time," you stressed, Aoi head-and-shoulders above you as he tried to see a path through the crowd. Halloween in Shibuya was always heaving, and throngs of costumed celebrants slid past each other like eels.

Aoi looked behind him to you, breaking into what he assumed was a charming smile, and you rolled your eyes at him as he squatted down, his hands out behind him like steps.

"Get on my back, babe. You'll get lost, I'll get us to the restaurant-- win win."

"Me getting lost is...a win?" Aoi blinked, gears grinding as he reconsidered his words. Smiling (charmingly, again) and opening his mouth to talk (again), you raised a hand to stop him, exasperated.

"I can keep up. It's fine. Let's go."

"That's my girl." Aoi grabbed your hand as you weaved together through the crowds. You found it harder and harder to keep up, body buffeted from side to side by faceless monsters, vampires, sexy cats, and you felt Aoi's hand slipping in yours, holding tightly to his knuckles, now fingertip to fingertip until--

With a pluck, his hand slipped out of yours. You tripped, stumbling, unable to see above the sea of heads, and you slipped sideways into an alleyway to get out of the thronging masses. Breathing in a sigh of relief, you turned your back to the street, knowing Aoi would turn back to find you.

Your breath caught in your throat when, on turning, you come within two arms-length of a middle-aged man, in a heavy coat...completely exposed, as he stared at you, thrilled and smug. You gulped, flushed, bizarrely exposed and humiliated and trapped, as if you had your genitals flung out for the world to see, and you opened your mouth to scream for hel--

"Oh, man. Is that all you're working with? You're no brother of mine." The flasher grimaced, scowling for a moment as his eyes fixed behind you, and he took a single step backwards before--

*CLAP*

-- the crowd in the street behind you quietened for just a moment, enough to hear the sounds of a single rattling empty beer can, spinning in the flasher's place...before a cacophony of screams, laughter and appalled shouts poured into the alleyway. You gaped like a fish as Aoi pulled you gently to him.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry I lost you."

"I"m-- I'm fine-- did you just use your technique on that guy?"

You heard a ruckus at the mouth of the alleyway, watching your flasher's legs skittering as he was bodily dragged away by Police officers, arguing and bargaining.

Aoi grinned rakishly, thumb and forefinger framing his jaw, "Did you like that? Nobody flashes my girl but me."

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Geto Suguru

"Keep our table! I'll get us some drinks. You want...?"

Suguru rested a single bent finger against his temple, narrow eyes looking you up and down fondly; "You know what I like."

You skipped away through the buzzing bar, blowing Suguru a kiss as you went; most of the patrons were two or three drinks deep already, and you pushed through a hen-do, apologising loudly to get to the bar.

You stood at the bar, tapping your fingers as you waited to catch the bartender's eye, and you felt a big hand slip around your waist from behind. You turned, grinning, leaning in for a kiss--

"Oh! God, sorry," you cried as the beer-breathed stranger laughed as if he knew you, and you cringed as he leaned back into you.

"No harm done baby, thought I was gonna get lucky there," he shouted over the music, flecks of spit peppering your face and lips.

"Nope! Not tonight I'm afraid--" as you moved to pull away, his hand tightened around your waist, skimming down to cup your hip, pulling you closer, squeezing--

"-- look, can you get your hands off--"

The stranger raised his hands off you dramatically, waving them in your face, barely concealing aggression behind an easygoing facade; "Just trying to have a good night like everyone else here, sweetheart, so you could just loosen up--"

You turned your back, flushing with confrontation, almost tearful as you tried to attract the attention of the bartender. You felt hot breath on your neck, the same unfamiliar hand on the small of your back--

"So you got a boyfriend, then?" You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a moment, desperate to be left alone.

"She has," Suguru crooned, voice mercurially smooth as he slowly took the stranger's hand off your back, his eyes black, flat and cold. You had never been happier to see him in your life, and you pressed yourself against him, back still to the stranger. The stranger's lips rolled inwards, an irritated tongue dabbing out to lick them.

"Sorry bud, didn't realise she was here with anyone--"

"-- but scum like you always respect an absent boyfriend more than a girl telling you no, right?" Suguru's voice could have frozen water. The stranger excused himself without another word.

"Come on," Suguru gently urged, "I don't like this bar anymore. Let's go somewhere else."

As he slipped an arm around you, walking towards the doors, you heard frantic shrieking behind you; the stranger writhed and squirmed on the floor, frantically undoing and shoving his trousers down, kicking and shouting in alarm.

Suguru smirked; "Had that weird little snake curse in my pocket for a while now. Even better, he can't see it."

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Will do some more of these; always more Nanamin, but also the other JJK crew too!

Part Two (Higuruma, Ino and Yuuji) LINK HERE!

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discworldwitches · 6 months

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[id: screenshot of a tiktok of a woman with the text: while you’re struggling to pay your rent this month I just want you to remember that israel gets subsidized housing, subsidized groceries, free healthcare, updated infrastructure because the USA and Germany has given them multi billion dollars in citizen tax money.]

this is a dangerous narrative. the “im struggling to pay my rent because of my taxes and my taxes go to subsidize cushy lives in israel” is dangerous and a short logical leap from “jews are stealing our hard earned money. the working class and poor are oppressed by jews.”

and that’s not how the money works, much of it goes towards the military and “aid packages” represent value not liquid cash (so weapons sent are represented in $$$ form.) and the state operates the way above bc ben gurion & co were socialists. plus, as far as i know, things are relatively similar to the uk with high costs of living but subsidized housing, public healthcare etc.

money from germany often does not go whatsoever into the pockets of israeli holocaust survivours (which is what it’s desiginated for as holocaust reparations (and bc companies that significantly contribute to the german GDP collaborated with nazis/used the labour of enslaved jews) ) (NOTE: it's military aid; money to compensate holocaust victims and survivors ended in 2018, which as i mentioned, did not go into individuals pockets) let alone israelis who are not survivours. many holocaust survivours living there live in poverty. there are literally videos of some picking through refuse produce.

it’s deeply heinous that palestinian american & palestinian german taxes go in part towards the weapons used to genocide palestinians including their own families. OP's post is not about that. she is not acknowledging that or really any connection between the USA and the occupation forces. instead OP is making it sound like israelis live comfortable lives with little expenditures off of the backs of american workers which is a few steps away from protocols shit at best. the idea that jews are enslaving or profitting off on those who are not jewish, especially the working class & poor, is textbook antisemitic conspiracy.

#op is also german like #antisemitism -

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risustravelogue · 7 months

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Scandalous (pt. 1)

Summary:

You have sex with your beloved in scandalous places.

Featuring:

Wriothesley, Alhaitham (separate), fem!Reader

Tags:

Filthy smut because why the fuck not :3 Semi-public sex, sex toy, double penetration, wall sex (Wriothesley), office sex, bookshelf sex (Alhaitham)

Note:

I'm celebrating my getting Wrio by winning 50/50 with... another smut. Hahaha. /bonked Alhaitham's part has been sitting in my drafts for so long hjksdfksl Also yes, I finally made character banners! Yay!!

This will be a multi-character series! Planned: Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Zhongli, Baizhu, Neuvillette

🔗 Series @ AO3 | masterlist 🔗

For all his cunning and scheming ways, Wriothesley is ultimately a man of action. And the best part? He’s open even to the most outrageous ideas.

So when you shyly asked him if he wanted to try having sex outside of the bedroom, he pounced at the thought and planned everything the next morning—even going as far as telling the guards patrolling the room with the big window into the ocean that he will cover that area himself that night.

When you arrive at your rendezvous spot at midnight, he’s already waiting for you with a naughty smirk plastered across his lips. Humming, he closes the distance between your bodies. The way he’s kissing your lips with unbridled lust is somehow so much more sensual this time.

While his hands are busy slipping under your shirt and playing with your breasts, you unbuckle his belt and yank down his underwear to find his fat cock already hard and leaking from the thought of whatever dirty plans he has for you. After you wriggle out of your work pants, he lifts you up so easily, eliciting a delighted yelp from you as you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, his shaft rubbing against your slick entrance whenever he takes a step.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, giggling.

Your husband only chuckles in response as he walks into the moonlight. You feel your walls clench around nothing as you realize what he’s doing.

A soft thud accompanies the cold feeling of your back being pressed against the thick one-way window, the mix of pleasure and pain of his tip bullying its way into your deepest parts following shortly afterwards.

A muffled half-moan, half-protest escapes your throat as he finally enters you completely, his lips angled oh so perfectly against yours to shut you up. He moans against your mouth as he begins thrusting into your wet cunt, the dirty sounds—oh archons, all the dirty sounds—bounce against the metal walls and form echoes of his heated rutting.

“W-Wrio!” you complain, but you can feel your spongy walls clamping down on his thick length. “N-not so loud– ah– too loud–”

He laughs and smacks your butt while pinning you even harder against the window with his muscular body.

“My, my,” he tuts beside your face. The way his lips graze across the skin of your neck makes you shiver. “It’s like music to your ears, huh.”

More loud slaps of skin fills your ear as you come nearer and nearer to your climax. Alas, after a few thrusts, he stops moving.

”I almost forgot. I bought this for you,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen as he takes out a vibrator from his coat’s inner pocket.

“Aha, I see you like your present,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry… it’s nothing you can’t take. I’ve trained you so well, after all.”

“B-but–”

“Ah, ah, ah. No buts. We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

You whine as he spreads your ass and slides the toy in. You bury your face in his shoulders, embarrassed from the fact that it goes in so easily due to your leaking juices.

“Ready, darling?” he says—but not giving you a chance to answer before he flicks the switch.

Incoherent mewls of pleasure echo through the air as your climax comes crashing like a tsunami. Wriothesley laughs as he moves his free hand to spread your thighs apart, practically pinning your right knee against the window to give him even more access to your deepest parts. You shudder from the feeling of his bushy pubes rubbing against your exposed clit.

“Don’t– I’ll cum–” you protest, but his sloppy kiss shuts you up.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he growls with a playful tone against your mouth. “You can scream however you want. Nobody’s going to head this way tonight, not when I’m… ‘patrolling’ this area.”

He starts grinding while fucking your ass with the vibrator. Your pleas for him to stop—it feels too good, you’re losing control—he answers with shushes and sadistic chuckles.

“Good,” he purrs. “Let go. Let it all out for me like the good girl you are, yeah?”

His moans grows louder with each thrust, and finally, he lets the vibrator go in favor of spreading both of your thighs apart so he can fuck you in earnest. The toy slides out of you and falls with a loud clang next to your husband’s feet, and you can hear a soft hum coming from it if you try to listen hard enough. Not that you can, of course—not when your beloved is making you cum nonstop.

“Ah– ah– Fuck, you’re so tight…” he groans. “So good… taking both my cock and the toy so well…”

His pace is punishingly fast now, but his stamina, built upon years and years of boxing, keeps his knees from giving way.

“Time for your present, darling,” he breathes. ”I’m gonna breed you nice and good, mark you inside with my cum– ghh!”

With a final kiss from his blunt tip to your cervix, he shoots his hot load into your womb, his whole body shuddering from ecstasy. Your fingertips dig into the fur of his coat as you try to muffle your scream of pleasure into his shoulder. He pants while peppering kisses onto your face, making you giggle. You whimper when his length slides out of you as he sets your legs down.

“Can you stand?” he asks. You nod weakly, pushing against his chest to try to stand on your own. Your eyes land on his still-hard cock as he takes off his clothes, abandoning them on the metal floor.

“You’re still hard,” you comment.

“So I am,” he chuckles. He takes your hand into his and leads you onto the aquabus.

“The seats should be comfortable enough for you to lay down,” he says as he pushes your thighs apart once more, pressing your back against the padded seats. His cock twitches against your folds as he plants a full kiss on your lips and whispers,

“Ready for round two?”

You hate skirts.

Even so, you have to wear one today for an Akademiya event’s dress code. Your social battery has drained completely by the time lunch break comes, and you decide to hide in Alhaitham’s office. The face of the usually-stoic husband of yours visibly tenses when he looks up from his book and lays his eyes on you.

He gets up without saying a word, locks the door, and turns to you, a sigh escaping his lips.

“You look so cute wearing a skirt, you know that?” he says, a smile on his lips but a burning, carnal desire in his eyes. A predatory growl escapes his throat as he says in a low voice, “Makes me want to fuck you senseless until you’re nothing but a sweet, hot mess.”

He presses his mouth against yours, effectively pinning you against the office’s bookshelves. His fingers deftly unbutton your shirt, his left arm circling around your waist to keep your hips pressed against his. A muffled gasp and a muffled complaint escapes your throat when his hand slips under your bra and squeezes your breast.

You feel his fingers trail down under your skirt and tug on your underwear. His lips part with yours for a while as he takes the thin fabric off and throws it away, landing right on top of the stack of papers on his desk. As his lips crash onto yours again, you reach down to his belt, unbuckle it, and pull down the straining fabric of his pants, freeing his erect cock from its restraints. His hands find their way to your bare buttocks, and eventually trail downward to the back of your thighs. A yelp escapes your throat and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck when he lifts your legs and keeps them apart, exposing your folds to his hard shaft. He lets out a groan of approval as he grinds his hip against your slick-coated pussy.

“Dear me,” he chuckles, “how long have you been this wet?”

You moan as he moves his hips forward, his hot length pressing against your entrance. “Answer me,” he orders.

“I–” you gulp, “I’ve been imagining this ever since I’ve put on this skirt.” He moves his hips again, his throbbing cock now pressing against your clit.

“Mmm… such a naughty wife,” he purrs. “That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

You whimper as you feel him grind against you. “I don’t know,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his skin. “P-please…”

“Perhaps… you need some help,” he hums. “Knowing you, you must have been wet ever since that pretty mind of yours conjured an image of me fucking you against the bookshelves like this,” he thinks out loud, his voice almost a whisper in your ears. You moan as he grinds his hips again. “Bookshelves… that means House of Daena. You’ve been wet ever since you entered the library, yes?” he chuckles.

“Y-yes,” you say, voice trembling from arousal.

You whine when you feel his cock pressing against your slit more insistently. “Tsk, tsk, darling. You’re nothing but a dirty—”

He grinds, and you whimper.

“—little—”

Another grind, and his tip is now at your entrance.

“—slut!”

With a thrust, he buries his length deep into you, his hips slapping against yours. A scream involuntarily escapes your throat as you shudder in pleasure.

“Shh… people will hear if you keep that up,” he warns, a chuckle underlying his tone.

“Yes… I– I’m sorry–”

Someone knocks at the door, cutting off your words. Alhaitham groans.

“What is it?” he says to whoever is outside.

You hear a muffled voice from the other side of the door. “I heard a scream. Is everything okay?”

“See?” he whispers, planting a kiss on your neck. “Everything’s fine,” he says with a louder voice. “Falling books, that’s all.”

“... If you’re sure, sir,” the voice says with hesitation, then walks away in fading footsteps.

Alhaitham turns back to you, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

“Now… where were we? Oh, right,” he mutters. “You, my dear wife, are a slut—but you are my slut, so I’ll be light on the punishment,” he hums, planting teasing kisses all over the side of your neck and collarbone.

“Or–” he pulls back, his half-lidded verdant-vermillion eyes looking right into yours with barely-contained lust, “—would you rather I go rough on you instead, hmm?”

You feel a shiver rippling through your skin as you feel your walls clench around his cock. A smile grows on his lips at your wordless response.

“I already know your answer,” he says while gently kissing your lips. “But I’d like to hear you put it into words.”

“I– ah–“ you stammer, suddenly very aware of the feeling of your husband’s thickness filling you up. You struggle a bit, prompting him to tighten his grip on your thighs. “I… I want–”

Your words disappear into thin air with a gasp when he starts grinding against you, the squelching wet sounds filling the air.

“Come on, love. You can say what you want from me,” he teases, his lips grazing your jugular. “Say it,” he whispers.

“P-please fuck me,” you breathe. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight,” you finally say, your voice trembling and pleading.

He presses his lips against yours while humming. “My sweet, sweet heart… I love it when you’re so honest,” he says. The lust seeping through the low undertones of his voice sends shivers all over your body.

Hmm… maybe wearing a skirt more often wouldn’t hurt, after all.

the gorgeous mdni banner template by @/cafekitsune 💙

#minors dni #seriously MINORS FUCK OFF #wriothesley #alhaitham #wriothesley smut #alhaitham smut #wriothesley x reader #alhaitham x reader #wriothesley x you #alhaitham x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader smut #kurisu writes #kurisu writes series: scandalous

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sleepinghypnos · 3 months

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Female Idol/s x Named Character

(You can insert yourself as the Protag…)

Tags: Smut

Genre: Threesome (Kinda?), Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Female Idol x Named Character (Reader), Cum swallowing, Facial.

Red Velvet Joy & Wendy x Han Jin-woo (Protagonist.)

3rd Person’s POV

Han Jin-woo is a mixed, his mother was pure Korean while his father is Italian-American, His parents decided to live in Korea. He was just 12 years old when his whole world came crashing down. His parents, who were his only family, died in a tragic car accident. Suddenly, he found himself alone and without anyone to turn to.

As an orphan, Han Jin-woo was living with their family’s butler in his house. The butler gave Han Jin-woo knowledge he has to know about his parent’s inheritance. Despite the difficult circumstances, he refused to let his past define him. He was determined to become successful and create a better life for himself.

At the age of 18, Jin-woo received a large inheritance from his parents' estate. Most people would have squandered the money on material possessions and luxuries, but Jin-woo had bigger plans. He used the money to start his own business.

With his sharp business acumen and natural leadership skills, Jin-woo's company quickly became one of the most successful in South Korea. By the age of 26, he was the CEO of a powerful company.

Due to his interest in the Entertainment Industry. He had a vision to merge two of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea, JYP and SM, under one umbrella company. Many thought it was an impossible task, but Jin-woo was determined to make it happen. JYP and SM Entertainment are both facing a huge crisis due to staff negligence, improper management, and backlashes about the songs they produce for their idols. This is the key for Han Jin-woo to devour the entertainment giants.

Through months of intense negotiations and strategic planning, Jin-woo managed to bring JYP and SM together under one company called Deicide Entertainment. The newly formed company became an overnight success, dominating the entertainment industry with its wide range of talents and production capabilities. Jin-woo's name became synonymous with success and his company became a force to be reckoned with.

Not only did Han Jin-woo successfully merge the two companies, but he also revitalized the dying image of idols in JYP and SM, then turn Deicide Entertainment into a multi-faceted media conglomerate that now produces music, dramas, films, and manages some of the biggest names in the industry.

Apart from his business acumen, Han Jin-woo's towering height, chiseled features, and fit physique have also made him a heartthrob in the entertainment industry. His striking looks coupled with his success have made him a desirable figure, and it is no secret that he has had his fair share of romantic encounters. In a society where the personal lives of public figures are heavily scrutinized, Han Jin-woo's sexual activities have sparked controversy and gained him a reputation among his colleagues. However, he remains unapologetic and believes that his personal life has no bearing on his professional capabilities.

2nd Person’s POV (Named Character)

You step into the dimly lit dance practice room, the scent of sweat and determination filling your senses. As the CEO of Deicide Entertainment, you had often visited this place to check in on your artists and make sure everything was running smoothly. Today, you were specifically here to see Red Velvet and their upcoming comeback.

At 28 years old, you had already achieved great success in the entertainment industry. Your company was known for its innovative ideas and with the merging of JYP and SM Entertainment had taken the industry by storm. You were a force to be reckoned with, both in the boardroom and the bedroom.

As you enter the room, you spot the girls of Red Velvet practicing their choreography. They were your top girls, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and excitement at the sight of them. But your focus quickly shifted to two members in particular, Son Seung-wan, or as the world knows her as Wendy and Park Sooyoung also known as Joy.

Wendy was known for her powerful vocals and graceful dancing, but in that moment, all you could see was her glistening with sweat as she moved to the music. Joy on the other hand has seductive voice and charismatic aura. They stopped dancing and took a break. And as if sensing your gaze on them, they greeted you together with the other members.

You couldn't resist any longer, your desire for her taking over. You walk towards to the two people that caught your attention, ignoring the startled looks of the other members.

“Follow me, both of you.” You said and greeted the other members of Red Velvet, the two girls followed you to your office.

“Lock the door.” You calmly said and Joy immediately locked it, you wrap your hands on Wendy.

Wendy doesn't resist, her hands instinctively finding their way to your neck, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. The smell of her sweat and the sound of her breathless moans only fueling your desire. You press her up against the glass window wall in your office, your hands roaming over her body hungrily.

With a smirk, you lean down and whisper in Wendy's ear, “Why don't you suck my cock, Wendy?”

Without any hesitation, Wendy kneels down in front of you, unzipping your pants and pulling out your throbbing shaft. Her eyes widen at the sight of it, “the rumors about you really is true.” Wendy said and she bites her lip in excitement. She wraps her soft lips around your girthy 12 inch cock, sucking and licking it with expert skill.

You groan in pleasure as Wendy's hot mouth engulfs you, her tongue swirling around your head while Joy watches from behind her. When Wendy pulls back for air, Joy takes her place, eagerly taking your cock in her mouth and deep-throating it. They take turns pleasing you, choking and gagging on your massive cock as they moan in ecstasy.

As you reach your peak, Wendy and Joy playfully fight over who gets to swallow your load. In the end, they both get a taste, as you have obscene amount of load, their faces are half-covered and mouths are full, you can't help but chuckle at their competitive nature. As they clean you up.

“Joy, lie on the couch and spread your legs.” And before she knew it, she was lying on the couch with her legs spread, while you knelt in front of her. Joy felt her face flush with embarrassment, but also a sense of excitement.

You wasted no time, as you eagerly began to perform oral pleasure on Joy. Joy couldn't help but let out a loud moan as your skilled tongue worked its magic on her. She had never experienced anything like this before, and it was driving her wild.

As Joy moaned and writhed on the couch, Wendy could only watch in arousal. She wanted to join but she couldn't deny the intense desire that was building up inside her as she watch her group member enjoys herself.

After a few minutes, you pulled away from Joy, leaving her gasping for air, she reached her peak and now quivering. You set your eyes on Wendy, she aroused and horny, since you are generous, she also get the oral pleasure she deserves. Now both of the idols were wasted just by your tongue alone.

But before Joy could even catch her breath for a little longer, you positioned Joy in all fours, she wasn’t ready to take you inside of her. Being considerate, you slowly entered her, and Joy couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy. Wendy's eyes widened in shock as she watched how your cock entered Joy’s pussy.

Your thrusts became faster and more intense, and Joy couldn't contain her pleasure any longer. She was moaning loudly, screaming your name as she reached her peak. “Yes! F-fuck! Fill me, please fill me up! Breed me until I’m bloated.” You followed soon after, both of you collapsing onto the couch in a state of pure bliss. Filling Joy’s womb with your virile seeds.

Wendy is waiting for her turn patiently, you can’t let a woman wait and you lead her to the carpeted floor and she willingly lies down. You look at her, admiring how perfect she looks. You start to undress your top.

As soon as your bodies connect, you feel a shockwave of pleasure course through your entire body. You start to penetrate her slowly, taking your time to make her adjust to your size. Wendy's moans fill the room, and you can't get enough of her. You increase your pace, and she starts to become a wreck under your touch. She loses control, and all that is left is sheer ecstasy.

You are thrusting in and out, letting her feel your weight and muscular physique against her petite body.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the air, along with Wendy's moans and gasps. You can feel her reaching her peak, and with one last powerful thrust, she squirts, making you both gasp in surprise.

“I didn't know you could squirt,” you say, while caressing her face.

“I didn't think I could do it either,” she replies, panting. “I'm filling you up just like what I did to Joy,” you say, referring to one of Red Velvet's other member lying on the couch just happily watching.

Wendy nods, surrendering to the pleasure you are giving her. You continue to pound into her, pushing her to the edge over and over again. As you feel your own release approaching, you thrust deeper and came inside of her filling her to the brim. You pull out and watch as your cum flows out of her.

Joy eagerly uses her mouth to catch it all, making you groan in satisfaction, she shared the cum she collected to Wendy by kissing one another.

“Relay my message to Irene after you met with your co-members later.” You said to the girls still kissing. But they nodded because they already knew what the massage was. It’s Irene’s turn…

A/N: I don't know what to write so here, sorry for ghosting those who wants the continuation of the Bodyguard Series.

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fic #wendy smut #joy smut #red velvet smut

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multi-lefaiye · 4 months

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puts eden in my mouth and shakes him back and forth like a rabid dog

(art by my fiance @skitzo-kero <3)

#multi makes text posts #incomprehensible tags ->#bg3 eden is a combination of the normal tav storyline and the dark urge #he was a necromancer who was killed by his own creation. then he was revived. given a second chance.#but not for his actual skills as a mage or his intelligence. but to be an experiment for the necromancers who would form the absolute #they picked his brain for knowledge (quite literally) and then cast him aside #as nothing more than a vessel to be cut into and split apart #dehumanized in a very real sense of the word #and then they decided to discard him. wiped his memories. threw him out once he'd served his purpose #he wakes up in the nautiloid. a blank slate. but with something hanging over him #blood in his mouth and cobwebs in his brain #a tattered notebook in his bag full of the ramblings of a stranger (himself)#he has no choice but to live. to take another step and find who he is #but he has a feeling he won't like the answers to his questions #<- full of thoughts

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enihk-writes · 3 months

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[someone older]

pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader

reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.

summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be

content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation

characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)

author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.

NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.

JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.

TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.

DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.

CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?

SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?

HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.

RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.

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ancuninfiles · 2 months

Text

Comfort

Screenshot by @astarionposting

5.6k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Tav - 18+

CURRENTLY IN REVISION

Summary: Nym, a wood-elf, finds herself thrust into leadership of a ragtag crew. From day one she is overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility. She seeks solace and unexpectedly finds herself drawn to the tent of a pale elf. In the intimacy of their encounter, they both ponder the potential for mutual comfort and connection amidst the chaos of their new journey.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

Oneshot turned into a multi-chaptered work. I changed her name from Tav to Nym bc I am becoming attached to her and she needs a proper name. Pronounced "Nim"

Tags: Smut and Fluff, Druid Tav, Tav has catgirl vibes, Soft Astarion, P in V sex, Oral (female receiving), Wood elf Tav, Blood drinking, Vampire bites, Choking, Light BDSM, Enthusiastic consent, Soft dom Astarion, Tav is autism-coded, Romantic Comedy, Creampie, Aftercare, Realizations of feelings, Astarion is a dork

I changed Tav's name to Nym (Nim)

Read on AO3 (recommended)

Read part 2

It was a brisk night in Faerün. She had acquired allies that had also been infected with Mind Flayer parasites today. It was day 1 of this bullshit and they already had chosen her to be their leader for some reason. It was too much pressure. She already had a hard enough time deciding what to eat for breakfast, let alone make life-or-death decisions. She started getting a headache just thinking about how overwhelming all this was, and she wasn't sure if it was maybe partially caused by the literal worm in her fucking brain.

"Silvanus, save me." She whispered a quiet prayer to herself in her tent.

Nym started to think of what she usually does when she is stressed out.

- Make tea (Shit, we have no tea, at least not the ones I am willing to drink from the woods in this region.)

- Take a warm bath (Well, there was the cold Chionthar. Getting cold and wet before bed was an idiotic idea.)

- Read a book (We have no books at camp yet, better add it to my Gods forsaken shopping list.)

Nym groaned in frustration. 'What else what else what else!? Come on, think.'

Nym remembered that when she was growing up, Wild Shaping into a cat would often provide her comfort in trying times. She was able to cozy up in tight places like baskets and tree stumps. Nobody would ask anything of her or disturb her.

If she Wild Shaped into a cat right now and hung out a bit outside of camp, she doubts her new-found "friends" would go looking for her. They just met and there is no way they are on that level. If she disappeared right now forever, they probably wouldn't even think about her ever again. Perfect. She just needed to slink away for an hour or so to decompress without the threat of the companions asking her for instruction or expecting her to have a fucking plan.

Nym stepped out about 30 meters into the woods, wearing sandals and trying to avoid getting twigs stuck between her toes. She needs to avoid having a meltdown and ripping her hair out for at least long enough to get into her cat form.

"ERRG" She fumed. Sap managed to get into her sandals and it was sending her teetering over the edge.

She transformed in a rage into a fluffy white cat with green eyes and a pink nose. Suddenly her hearing had improved. One thing she forgot about her cat form was that everything was much louder. Usually, the sounds of nature would help calm her, but right now, everything was setting her off. She could practically feel the sound of the wind bristling through the trees.

Her clothes remained in a pile on the forest floor. She stepped out of them with grace and then started making her way back to camp. Surely none of her companions would find it strange that a cat was hanging out at camp. They would probably just assume she was looking for scraps or hunting for fish down by the river.

She arrived at the tree line and saw that everyone was either at their tents or in their tents. Good. She started walking to the fire, past the pale elf's red fancy tent. She couldn't remember his name. 'Aster? Asherion? Hmm.' She pondered. He was slightly threatening but mostly cute. He seemed to have a handful of sardonic quips in his arsenal. Locked and loaded, ready to fire whenever the tension needed to be broken. She always adored people like that. Those types of people were always good to have around, especially when she found herself often being embarrassed in social situations, falling silent and not knowing what to say. Gods it helps having someone silly with a dark sense of humour to just be idiots with. She hoped that he liked her, too, and maybe they could be buddies. Maybe he would help make the horrors feel less horrible.

She was almost at the fire and heard something from behind her. It was the pale elf, Ass-er-rion or whatever the Hells his name was. Was he? No. No fucking way.

He was holding his hand out, rubbing his thumb to his fingers. "Psspsspsspsspsssss." The pale elf made the one sound that Nym couldn't resist in her cat form.

Hypnotized by his hand and his sounds, Nym's cat pupils blew as wide as can be and she brought her body tight to the ground and stalked towards The white-haired elf's tent.

'Huhuh... Shit. I want - that hand. What - is in hand? I must bite hand.' She thought, against her better judgment. She crawled closer to his hand, and then she sped up. Finally, she pounced on his hand and wrist, nibbling at his wrist and kicking his hand.

"Ah ah, we ask before we bite." He said as he started to rub her soft fluffy tummy. Nym was disarmed and quickly unlatched from The elf's arm. She slumped into a puddle and slowly closed her eyes.

'Mmm, this is so relaxing.' She thought. Nym started purring. This was exactly what she needed.

The grinning elf scooped her up and put her on his lap. "You are a very cuddly kitty." He said quietly in a baby voice. He started scratching her armpits and under her chin. Rubbing her belly when she rolled over, scratching and patting the base of her tail when she rolled back onto her tummy.

'Free massages for kitty Nym. Hmm, this is the best!' She thought. She would occasionally stand up on his lap, stretching her front paws up to his chest and rubbing her head on his chin. It felt so nice. There was not a worry in her mind.

He scratched and petted Nym's cat form thoroughly for 5 minutes before lying back while Nym rested on his chest, curled up in a ball, peacefully trancing and purring. He stroked her languidly across her side, occasionally petting her tail by gently holding it and making his way down to the tip before going back up the base and giving it a little scratch.

Nym started slowly kneading at his chest with her toes and claws. This was the definition of bliss. She lay cozily on his still chest, accepting any and all the pets the gentle pale elf could offer her.

"Oh kitty, I have had a terrible day, you wouldn't believe it." He whispered, "Your snuggles are the highlight of my evening." He said quietly in baby talk as he booped her nose and she twitched her head back but remained comfortable on his chest.

"Do- do you think people will understand if I bite like you do?" He asked in his most hushed tone. "Will people think I'm cute if I bite like you? Gods I'm starving." He says as he throws his unoccupied hand to his face, cupping his nose and then running his hand down his face, pulling his skin with it in frustration.

Nym then stopped kneading. The sound of his hand making contact with his face slightly startled her. Not only that, his words slightly pulled her out of her trance. 'If I bite like you do... okay? Odd. But then 'Gods I'm starving.' Uhmm...' she thought to herself. Still snuggled up on his chest, but now with her paws tucked under her chest and purring a quiet rumble on him.

She started thinking, hard. 'What an odd thing for one to say. Is he a cannibal? Like the Bhallspawn type?' She sniffed. 'He doesn't smell like a Bhallspawn, usually they have an undertone of rot in their scent. What other type of person likes to bite people? Zombie? No. Stupid. Not a fucking zombie. A vampire? No way. He was in the beating sun when we had met. He would have been ash before I even got there if he was a vampire. Although..' she peered up at his face, looking for the tell-tale signs of a vampire. His eyes were closed and his head was back, so she decided to stand on his hard chest and stalk up to his face, sniffing his lips.

He felt a tickle on his mouth that made him open his eyes and smile. "Oh, kitty you are so sweet!" He said in a squishy tone. He picked her up off his chest and sat up in his candlelit tent.

Nym looked him over. She peered into his eyes which were garnet red. 'Oh fuck. Well... if he doesn't have fangs, maybe he is just part drow or something.' But then he flashed her a toothy grin. 'FANGS? OH FUCK. OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK.' She started to panic. Her fur started to stick straight up off her skin... If the pale elf had been looking at her, he would probably be concerned.

"Well kitty, time for me to start getting ready to sleep." He said with a smile as he took off his night-shirt and then began to unlace his trousers.

'SHIT. THIS IS NOT OKAY. I CAN'T BE HERE.' In a panic, she let out a loud and low-pitched yowl before suddenly transforming back into a human in his tent. Naked.

They both screamed and then simultaneously went to cover one another's mouths with their hands. Then, they fell silent as they stared at each other's terrified eyes.

"What was that? Is everyone okay?" Yelled the wizard from his tent.

The pale elf ripped your hand away from his mouth. He was pissed. "Yes! Just practicing for the opera!" He looked back at you with a deep frown and rolled his eyes.

"I see. Well maybe save it for tomorrow instead of waking everyone at camp, thank you."

Nym couldn't help but giggle a bit under his palm. Shit, he was hilarious. Suddenly becoming too aware of the lack of clothes she had on, she pulled away from his palm and scrunched her knees to her chest. "Can I uh, have that blanket for a moment, please."

The pale elf scoffed, "Fine, but only because I am such a gentleman. Godsdamned druids." He gave her the blanket and she draped it over her shoulders and around her knees.

"I, uhm, I'm really sorry." Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The handsome elf pinched his brow ridge with his finger and thumb, as he closed his eyes and scrunched his face in a scowl. "Why did you let me go on for so long, believing you were a real cat."

Nym looked down in shame. "I guess it's just that when I wild shape, sometimes the instincts of whatever animal I turn into take over me. Like I'm not in control." She sighs. "You called me over and your massaging felt so good. I was really stressed before, and, well, sometimes I turn into a cat to help calm myself down... I just, uh, didn't realize that we had a major cat-lover in camp."

The pale elf covered his face with both his hands as if trying to hide how embarrassed he was. He whined "Ohoho Gods save me. For once. Please just this once."

"I um - heard, also, what you said about biting and what-not," Nym says, awkwardly. "And your eyes, and teeth... Well... Also, I forget your name. What was it again? Asherton?"

He then ran both his hands through his hair and grabbed at his scalp. His eyebrows raised and his eyes were wide and staring at the floor of the tent. "This isn't happening." He said as his voice cracked. "No, this isn't real. I must be having a nightmare or - something."

Nym stared at him with concern. He looked like he had one foot in the looney bin. "RAHH I said I'm sorry and it's okay that you're toothy and bitey." She snipped. For some reason, Nym felt too comfortable around this creature who could easily rip her throat out. He was just too silly for her to be scared of, for the most part.

He took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale. "Astarion."

"A'staring at what? I'm sorry I'll look away." Said Nym, turning her head sideways to make him feel more comfortable.

"No, you blubbering idiot. That's my name. My name's Astarion." He quipped.

"Oh - uh - haha. So can I look at you or...?" She asked him genuinely.

"If a wall were nearby, I would smash my head against it."

"Why would you do that? There are lots of trees behind your tent. And a big boulder if I remember correctly."

Astarion just stared at her, mouth agape and brows knitted together.

There was an awkward silence and it made Nym quite uncomfortable.

"I should go." She started to get up to walk out of the tent but Astarion grabbed her shoulder.

"Wait!" He realized that he may have sounded a bit too desperate. With an intentionally lower tone, he spoke to her calmly while tilting his head down and looking at her through his black eyelashes. "Look. I just need more details on what you found out about me, please."

Nym turned back around to face him, still wearing his brown blanket like a cloak. "Oh! Well, I might have concluded that you are a vampire. But it confuses me a lot that you can walk in the sun so..." She paused.

Astarion fakely smiled and exhaled "Ah, okay. Glad we've cleared that up. Is there any chance that you could keep those pretty lips of yours shut about this specific topic with the others? You see, I would much rather break the news myself if I can."

Nym looked at him as if he had accused her of doing something she didn't do. "I wasn't planning on telling anyone. I think I realized that you're not dangerous - well, not dangerous to us at least." Her voice calmed with each word in her statement.

"What?" He looked at her, shocked. "I'll have you know I am very dangerous, actually." He enunciated every syllable of the last word pointedly and smiled.

"Hmm, but you wouldn't hurt me! Right?" Nym asked with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Astarion pursed his lips to the side and held his chin with a finger as he thought about this question. "Hmm." He let go of his chin and then looked Nym up and down with a cheeky smirk. "Not unless you want me to," he leaned in close to Nym, almost brushing his lips on her ear, "darling."

Nym's face turned red as a tomato. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that," she exclaimed.

"I recall you biting me without asking, dear." He snaked his right hand to the back of her head, fingers gently running through her hair. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Nym gulped and looked at Astarion with a mixture of fear, confusion, and lust. "To ask before I bite."

"Good girl. Now it would only be right of me to follow my own rules, correct?" Astarion asked in a sultry voice. He started rubbing the back of Nym's head, massaging her scalp.

Nym's head lolled back. Her eyes closed and she let out a deep sigh of pleasure. "Mmm yeah." She practically moaned as she leaned more into his hand that was massaging her head both thoroughly and tenderly.

"So, Nym, what do you say? Can I bite you? I only need a taste, I swear."

Nym was entranced by his massaging. "You can do whatever you want, Orion - or whatever your name was."

Astarion then slowly removed his hand from Nym's scalp and rested it on her shoulder. "Whatever I want? Darling, are you sure about this? We might get carried away. We've only just met."

Nym smiled and sighed happily. She looked at Astarion with a restful gaze. "Where I'm from, stuff like that doesn't really matter. I'm a wood elf, I'm sure you've heard about our ways." She reached a hand out from under the blanket that was cloaking her and rested it on his shoulder, mirroring him. "But of course, I would only want to do things if you wanted to as well. I mean, I might still want to if you don't want to but that obviously doesn't mean you have t-" he shushed her with a finger on her mouth and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?" He asked, trying his best to not sound like a dick without beating around the bush.

She spoke through her fingered lips. "Yeah, people actually usually say that I talk too much, but I think they're jus-" Astarion silenced her with a bruising kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her in as he climbed to his knees above her.

He broke the kiss with a pop and then licked his lips as he looked down at her. He smirked.

She was looking back up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

"You know, I rather like you, my dear. A lot." He said to her in a surprisingly genuine tone. "Now how about we make ourselves comfortable." He gestured to his bedroll.

"Oh! Yes!" She answered. She threw the blanket that was covering her back sloppily and then hurried to the bedroll, her breasts swaying as she climbed on all fours towards her destination. She hesitated for a moment. "Wait, do you want me on top or do you want to be on top?"

He felt a rush in his lower abdomen that made his cock twitch. There was something about a woman who felt so comfortable and confident in her skin that stirred something in him. "My sweet, if you wouldn't mind lying beneath me, I would be delighted. It will also help when I'm tasting your life's essence. We wouldn't want you toppling over, would we?"

"Right." She scooted to the bedroll and lay on her back.

Astarion mounted her and nudged her supple thighs open with his knee. He pushed her legs up to expose her core, positioning himself fully between her legs. He sat there on his knees for a moment, taking her in. His eyebrows canted up in a frown. Gods, she was adorable. Her body was perfect. She got on his nerves a lot today but he respected her openness with him. He couldn't help but admit to himself that her silliness was extremely endearing as well. It wasn't often that he would meet someone charming in the way that Nym was. He desperately wanted her blood but he also had an urge to make her feel good, to make her whimper his name.

Nym was blushing a deep red beneath him. She glared up at him and bit her lip. Her arms were to her sides, in cactus pose. She intuitively trusted him so deeply that she exposed her most vulnerable parts to him, willingly.

They had only just met that day and now, in the night when everyone slept, they were about to become one. One of Nym's top 3 activities, to be sure.

Astarion snaked down to Nym's pelvis with his head, squeezing her thighs in his wake. Nym let out a quiet mewl and looked at him desperately.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, darling" he asserted, and hovered his mouth over her pussy, waiting for her response.

"Of course, love." She managed to say despite her eagerness to be ravished.

"Perfect." Astarion cooed. He immediately licked a thick stripe through her folds and kissed her clit, which caused Nym to throw her head back and moan. This encouraged him further to start teasing her clit with his tongue. She arched her back and started wildly bucking herself onto his tongue. He held her down to gain control and she groaned in both pleasure and frustration.

"Careful, dear, I have sharp teeth." He grinned at her for a moment and locked eyes with her. Her face was twisted with pleasure. "Be a good girl and try to hold still."

"Mmhm" she moaned out and clenched around nothing at his teasing.

He continued his ministrations on her cunt and he tasted a gush come from her hole. He groaned into her clit as he sucked on it mercilessly. He inserted a finger as he teased her nub with his tongue and she clenched around his digit.

"Hmm stuff me more, please, baby." She pleaded to him. She was experienced, and so was he. She knew how to tell him what she needed and wanted. The thought made his cock twitch and grow even larger in his unlaced pants.

Not wanting to slow his mouth, he didn't say anything and simply added a second finger to her hole. She choked out a moan and her pelvis started to become more unruly under his grasp.

He curled his fingers and pumped them into her at a consistent pace while playing with her clit with his tongue. The tips of his digits stroked her spongy wall, driving her crazy.

She gritted her teeth and groaned through them, glancing down at Astarion. She gently brushed her fingers in his hair to encourage him and he grunted into her core again.

Her legs tensed and her breath picked up to a runner's pace. "I'm gonna cum! Astarion!" She moaned loud enough for the whole camp to hear. This certainly wasn't something she was shy about, he thought.

He continued fucking her with his hand and licking her clit as she rode out her orgasm.

"Ahh! Too much! No more, please!" She sweetly hissed.

"Good girl, you are so good at following instructions." He crawled his arms to either side of her and came up to kiss her tenderly. "And I'm surprised you remembered my name, darling. I'm impressed." He jested. He pushed down his pants just enough for his large member to spring out and rest on her soaking cunt.

"Hmph" she let out a huff of air. "Well certainly don't have the will to protest you right now." She retorted. Her hands rested at the sides of her head. Her chest heaved with breathlessness.

Astarion admired her form and her face. He would’ve said that he wished he had noticed her beauty sooner, but - well, he had only met her today.

"Mmm you can stare if you want but," she wriggled her hips against his cock which caused his eyebrows to knit and his mouth to form an "O". He choked out a whine.

"Oh, you cheeky little pup." He cooed

"I remember you calling me 'kitty', actually." She teased and smirked at him.

"You're gonna pay for that." He stated as reached for his shaft and aligned himself with her core. He pushed the head of his cock into her tight hole with a grin on his face.

She let out a high-pitched moan and her face twisted into a needy expression.

She was incredibly wet and tight. He slowly entered her and she started twirling her hips sensually. He eased into her with little effort until he was fully buried to the hilt between her legs and his tip kissed her cervix snugly.

She threw her legs up above his arms and her feet dangled in the air above them.

He started thrusting into her slowly while leaning his torso closer into her. They both whined and their lips connected in a passionate and messy kiss. Their tongues danced around each other's mouths, fighting for dominance. He unhooked one of her legs from his arm and grabbed her cheeks gently to pry her mouth open further. Her pussy fluttered around his cock at his actions.

He pulled his mouth from hers. "Does the little druid like it rough?" He teased

"Uhuh," she whined. "Choke me, please!" She begged.

He groaned excitedly at her lewd suggestion. This moment made him realize how good it felt to be in control, even if it was only an illusion. Even when the other person wanted it. Especially when the other person wanted it. It was something he had deeply craved for centuries, but he never had the opportunity to have any control over any aspect of his life. Maybe things were about to get better for him, despite their condition.

He snaked his hand towards her throat. He remembered what it felt like to be strangled. He could certainly understand the appeal, under the right circumstances and if done safely of course.

"Take a deep breath, dear." He smirked as he consistently rutted into her core.

Nym took a deep breath as if she had done this before and she "knew the drill" so to speak. He then grasped the sides of her throat firmly and she tightened violently around his cock.

"What a good little druid, you are." He started thrusting into her faster and harder, using his grip on her throat to push her into his pelvis with unrelenting force. He slightly straightened the arm that was at her throat and lifted his torso from her. He placed his other hand on her clit and started rubbing.

Nym's face started to become a darker red than her typical blush, and she groaned. Her leg muscles were showing the signs of an impending orgasm. Her back arched off the bedroll and he slammed into her throbbing cunt remorselessly.

"I'm coming again, Astarion!" She choked out her cries of pleasure as she came with his hand around her throat. He continued playing with her clit as he removed his hand from her throat and the flush on her skin began to fade ever so slightly. He hooked her right leg over his left shoulder. She was still fluttering around his shaft as he bent over her, tilted her head to the side roughly with a strong grasp on either cheek and sunk his fangs into her flesh. He removed his hand from her cheeks and used it to grab the back of her head.

He groaned needily into her neck as he fucked her, his pace faltering slightly. Her blood was delectable. This was the best gift he had ever gotten, and he was sure to not forget it.

Astarion felt Nym wriggling to free her clit from his abuse, so he removed that hand from her and then propped himself up on his elbow. Nym choked out a moan and she snaked her arm around to caress his soft white curls. He was so gorgeous. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful man she had ever bedded, and that was saying a lot because she had bedded many men before, sometimes at the same time, all of whom were very attractive.

For some reason, letting him sup from her felt wholesome. As if she was helping a dear friend in need.

Astarion was taking languid gulps of her blood, savouring the divine flavour as it coated his tongue and throat. He grasped the back of her head with a strong hand to hold her steady, all while fucking her drenched hole raw.

"Can you cum inside me, baby?" Nym asked, hoping he was still with it enough to hear her request.

Astarion groaned an "Uhuh" into her throat. Wet slapping noises and moans filled the camp until Astarion did one final snap into Nym's core as he drank from her neck. He filled her with his seed to the brim. He did a few more shallow sensual thrusts until he stilled. He had yet to unlatch himself from Nym's throat.

Nym started to feel light-headed and weak, so she knew that it was time to request for him to stop; that is if he could control himself.

"Stary, baby. Please - stop." She cooed gently at him and tugged tenderly at the curls on the nape of his neck.

Astarion took one last gulp and then he found the will to tear himself from her, panting instinctively. He craned his head into her neck and made sure to not waste a drop of her blood. He cleaned her up with his tongue, and he kissed her neck lovingly.

"Mmm," Nym cooed as she rotated her hips around Astarion's still-hard cock which had yet to exit her.

He grunted, lifted his head from her neck, grabbed her hips with both hands and then thrust into her. He placed his hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her into a sloppy, exhausted kiss. Nym moaned at that, and their lips flew apart. They looked one another in the eye affectionately.

"As much as it would be nice to continue, I fear I will be too sore for tomorrow if we plan on doing this again." Nym sighed.

"It seems you are as eager as I, you sweet thing." He finally pulled himself out of Nym and they both sighed. "Now, kitty, shall I grab your blankets and tuck you in to spend the rest of your night entranced next to me? After we clean you up, of course."

Nym blushed and fought back a grin that was growing on her face. "I really fucking like you. You're my favourite." She said with a cheeky smile, beneath him.

"The feeling is quite mutual, darling. If you couldn't tell already." He exclaimed and then placed a peck on her forehead before giving her head a little scratch. "Right, then, I'll be right back."

Astarion tucked himself into his pants and laced them up. He nicked his best handkerchief and set out to find the kettle next to the fire. The water was warm, but not hot. He soaked his handkerchief and rang it out. He brought the damp fabric back to his tent. "Hello, there." He smiled.

"Hi, Astarion. Long time, no see!" She giggled at her own joke.

"You are quite the silly one. I'm becoming very fond of that laugh of yours." Astarion stated, genuinely.

"Hmm well, you make me giggle a lot, too, if you haven't noticed." She winked at him and smirked.

"Oh, I make all sorts of sounds come out of you, apparently." He teased her, "Now let me help you wash up, sweet love."

She laughed again and she let him help her get cleaned up. It was a tender moment between two strangers who had sought comfort in the form of connection. Nym believed that moments like these were just as nature intended. That was how she was raised, and those were the teachings of Silvanus.

Astarion tenderly wiped Nym clean with his soft cloth, making sure to be both thorough and gentle. Nym turned to face her bum to him and he used his free hand to briefly massage her backside. This gesture felt more sensual rather than sexual. Nym hummed into the feeling and pushed into his touch.

Astarion grinned, feeling satisfied with his efforts. He then left the tent again to rinse his cloth in the river and hang it up outside his tent in a somewhat obscured location. He stalked over to Nym's tent to gather her belongings, which there were few of. He managed to snag a couple of blankets, a pillow, and an unopened glass bottle of water.

He strode back to his tent, where Nym resided, and opened the tent flap with his hand that was holding the water bottle. "I have come with all the fixings, love. I hoped that you had had more blankets. It seems as though we will have to add it to our shopping list." He stated.

"We? Oh, it would be so pleasant to have someone's assistance with that. I've been finding this whole "leader" thing quite overwhelming." Nym awkwardly laughed and then frowned.

"Well, apologies. I should have offered to help you sooner. I may be a monster but I'm not a bum. I can't say the same for our other "companions", however." he quipped.

Nym rolled over on her back and smiled at Astarion, brightly. "You're not a monster, you're just a bit toothy. I can be toothy sometimes, and I don't think I'm a monster."

"Hmm well you are only slightly devious so I suppose they would make an exception in the Guide to Monsters." He smirked at her before undressing himself fully.

"Oh, stop. You love me." She jested.

"Maybe a little, I do have a thing for pretty morsels with claws." He attentively and tactfully placed each blanket atop one another. He kneeled beside her head. "Up." He gestured. She lifted her head slightly and he tucked her pillow under it.

He opened the blankets and crawled in next to her. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed and her hands rested on her ribcage lazily. He nudged and caressed her cheek with his knuckle and then ghosted a thumb over her lips. She turned to face him and opened her eyes. Her hand snaked up to his ear and she stroked it softly. He closed his eyes at the affection, and then he sighed.

He couldn't remember how long it had been since someone touched him with so much affection. His closed eyes started watering at the thought, but he quickly pushed the thought aside and regained his composure. Fortunately, he had been able to avoid having Nym see his sudden emotion at her touch. It was better that he have a conversation with her about that once they had become more well-acquainted. For now, he tried to just enjoy this tender moment between him and his newfound friend.

They lay entwined with one another, trancing until the sun came up.

Despite their predicament, they both almost felt it a blessing that they had found one another. The bond that had begun forming between them felt powerful, in a way that could make both of them stronger. This was a good thing.

Comfort can be a good thing.

Read part 2

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #bg3 fanfic #astarion x druid tav #astarion x original female character

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vivwritesfics · 4 months

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Can we get a nnta blurb of how would carlos react if he learned y/n was insecure

Tell me this picture doesn't scream nnta carlos

Series Masterlist

His pretty little wife had no reason to be insecure. She was gorgeous, and Carlos made sure she always knew it.

He had no idea that she was feeling insecure until after Oscar was born. He'd been selfish for months before that, not paying her any mind. Carlos out right neglected her before they started using each other, fucking each other with something close to hate.

"What do you think of this dress?" Y/N asked as she held it against her body.

Carlos let out a low whistle. She wasn't wearing it, not yet, but he couldn't wait to see her in it. "Fuck, mi corazón," he said as he sat forward, feeling the material of the dress between her fingers. "You would look amazing. Try it on and let me see," he said.

She frowned as she looked down at the dress. It was short, white, form fitting. The sleeves fit to her arms until they got half way down her forearm, where they billowed out. It was gorgeous, that was undeniable, she just didn't know how it would look on her body.

She disappeared into the walk in closet and got changed into the dress. It didn't take very long, but she stayed in there for far longer than she should have, just staring into the mirrors. She turned this way and that way. It looked gorgeous, sure, but she didn't feel gorgeous.

"Mi corazón?" Came Carlos's voice.

Smoothing down the skirts, she stepped out of the walk in closet. His eyes lit up upon seeing her. Holy fuck, she really did look beautiful. "You look amazing," he said, reaching for her hips.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and placing his chin on her stomach to look up at her. "My pretty little wife," he said. They were words she'd never get tired of hearing. She was his pretty little wife, and he was never going to let her forget it.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe2016-blog @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @hiireadstuff @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz@ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

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hellodarling1357 · 4 months

Text

Flames and Embers - Cassian x Vanserra!Reader (slow burn)

Summary: As Beron's sixth child, and only daughter, you had spent your whole life being overlooked and under utilitised. It wasn't until Amarantha's reign that your talents were truly recognised for what they were - too bad you were forced to make a bargain to keep them secret

A/N: Hi! This started out as a request I received the other week but then turned into something completely different and so far from the original request that it’s now getting it’s own multi-part story

This will eventually become a Cassian x Reader fic with a bit of angst, fluff, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, and all the other fun tropes we know and love!

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3k

Being the only daughter of the Autumn Court’s High Lord, alongside having seven brothers to compete with, you had been overlooked for most of your life which was just fine by you.

You had used the cover of being just a female in an archaic court to your advantage and took the time to observe and learn whatever you could. After being forced to witness how your brothers treated Lucien, you had always tried to have his back, which only went so far when any show of defiance from you was met with a beating. When Lucien had been forced out of your home, you had been heartbroken it had come to it but also happy that your youngest brother could finally become his own person and escape the cruelty that had followed him around his whole life.

Eris had always tried to keep an eye on you. He wouldn’t give up the façade in front of the others, however, he would find the time whenever he could to take you out riding into a long-forgotten part of the woods where he would teach you how to fight. The day you landed him on his ass had been one of his proudest moments, but that didn’t stop him from upping the pressure, forcing you to become stronger and more tactful in each step. Knowing that you could easily take on the rest of your brothers is what kept you from lashing out at their comments and actions towards you; with Lucien gone, you had become their next punching bag to which your father turned a blind eye.

Then Amarantha showed up and everything was turned on its head.

It was in no way a pleasant 50 years, however, you managed to stay out of harm’s way, no doubt at the hands of Eris' doing, and managed to avoid most of the horrors that occurred. However, once the human girl, Feyre, had arrived, you made yourself more present in the ongoings of Amarantha’s court, unable to leave the girl fully alone and fending for herself. Your need to help her was further spurred on upon realising that Lucien appeared to be her friend.

Lucien. The thought that your brother, the one who had managed to escape the past 50 years of torment, was now here as well had you feeling as though you had somehow let him down, even though it was completely out of your control. You hadn’t been present the first time Tamlin had sent Lucien to seek out Amarantha, the time when she had so viciously carved out his eye that even some of your brothers seemed somewhat affronted. However, you were there now. You had watched on in horror as Lucien defended Feyre, and then the 20 lashes Tamlin was forced to give after he helped with the first task…

Once Lucien had been allowed to retreat to his room, you had spent the next hour finding out as much as you could about Amarantha's plans for Feyre and your brother. With healing supplies in hand, you ventured into the sprawling court to where you had been told Lucien resided. With a quiet knock on his door, you entered the room and felt your heart break at the shaken, broken form of your brother. Despite the clear pain he was in, he had leapt off the bed at the sight of you and was quick to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Y/N,” He had exclaimed, carefully surveying you for any signs of injury. “Are you alright? What’s happened? Cauldron, I’ve missed you.” Then he was pulling you into another hug that left you in tears.

When was the last time you had seen him? It had been decades.

“I’m fine,” You brushed him off and made him sit so you could assess his injuries. “You look like you’ve seen better days.” He made a non-committal sound in response, taking in a deep breath at the sting of the healing balm you helped spread across his back. You pushed onto your heels, assessing the damage and your makeshift attempt of bandaging the wounds.

“What can I do?” You asked, feeling just as helpless as you did when growing up.

“Check in on Feyre. Please. I can’t…I can’t do anything, not now. And whatever game Tamlin is playing, he won’t go see her. Please. She’s all alone.” You hesitated for a moment but found yourself nodding.

“Of course. Of course I’ll go and see her.” You lowered your voice, not trusting that anywhere in this place was truly safe. “Does she truly love him?” If she did, then you all had a chance of getting out.

“She does.” Lucien answered, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Anything else, let me know, alright? I’ll go and check on her.” You gave your brother a final hug and then slipped from the room, making your way towards the dungeons.

*****

“Feyre?” You whispered into the darkness, the guards were in the middle of their rotation, so you had few valuable minutes to slip in and out undetected, the limited healing supplies and food you managed to take with you were clutched tightly into the folds of your dress.

An incoherent groan sounded from further down the dark, cage-lined corridor. You hurried over, halting in your steps when you saw her sitting against the wall still covered in blood and mud, a pained expression on her weary face.

“Feyre? I’m Y/N. I’m Lucien’s sister, he asked me to check on you, see how you were holding up.” You tried to stay optimistic but the wound on her arms was nothing that you could fix. Maybe before Amarantha stifled everyone’s magic you would stand a chance, but not now when all you could offer were some clean rags, a bit of water and a scrap of bread.

You knelt on the floor in front of her cell, unable to get in without your magic or access to the key.

“I know it hurts, but are you able to move a bit closer, I can’t help you from here.” You cringed as you watched Feyre grit her teeth, slowly moving across the floor, pain evident on her face.

“Y/N?” She asked in a strained voice, you nodded with a small smile, passing her the bread which she quickly bit into. “Lucien told me about you. Said that you were here.”

“I don’t have long, here, give me your arm I’ll do my best to clean it but there’s not much else I can do. At least not right now.” You wiped away the blood and muck that lingered from the first task, trying not to grimace as you took in the severity of the wound. The sound of movement spurred you on, quickly ushering her to drink the water and finish the bread so you could leave before getting caught.

“I’ll try to get back here soon, okay?” Feyre was already making her way back towards the rear wall where she slumped against it. You were almost out when a small voice called out.

“Y/N? Thank you.”

*****

Managing to obtain some of the healing balm that you had used on Lucien's injuries, you kept to the shadows as you made your way back down to the dungeons.

You had been keeping an ear out for what Amarantha’s plans were for the girl; if she planned on healing her before the next task or leaving her in the dark cell to fend for herself. Either way, you couldn’t be too obvious in your efforts to help, lest you get caught and wind up dead for the blatant disregard of Amarantha's orders.

The sound of voices had you slowing in your steps as you overhead the back end of a conversation. Someone was in Feyre’s cell with her.

“Oh, that’s wonderfully gruesome.” You recognised that voice, but surely it wasn’t…

Feyre swore at the male, earning her a chuckle as he taunted, “Such words from a lady.”

You edged closer to the cell, unsure what your next move would be from here but still unwilling to leave her to fend for herself against Rhysand.

“Get out,” Feyre’s voice was frail as she tried to show her strength against the High Lord.

“Don’t you want me to heal your arm? Or is that what Y/N Vanserra is here to do? I know you’re there, Y/N.” His voice called out to you now.

Shit.

You approached the cell; it was too late to turn back. Your best chance was to play along with his games, there was not point in running, not when he knew you were there and that it clearly wasn’t your first visit.

“Hmm, wiping away the grime was a valiant effort, and what’s this you have?” The healing balm disappeared from your grasp, reappearing moments later in Rhysand’s hand. “Well, that’s not going to do much against the infection and broken bones.”

Rhysand turned back to face Feyre, “But how about a trade? I’ll heal your arm in exchange for you. Two weeks every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.” You desperately shook your head, trying to tell her he couldn’t be trusted.

“No.”

“No? Really?”

“Get out.”

“You’d turn down my offer – and for what? A fool’s chance that this healing balm will work? Or are you holding out for your friend – for Lucien, correct? After all, he healed you before, didn’t he? Then convinced his dear sister Y/N to come down to tend to you after the first trial.”

Now Rhysand turned to face you, giving you a look that had you thinking he could see your every thought, which, you remembered with dread, he probably could. You had never been taught how exactly mental shields worked but you did your best to block him out. It clearly wasn’t enough judging from the chuckle and assessing look he gave you before facing Feyre again.

“The way I see things Feyre, you have two options. The first, and the smartest, would be to accept my offer.” Your eyes widened in anticipation as Feyre spat at his feet, but Rhysand continued pacing the length of the cell.

“The second option – and the one only a fool would take – would be for you to refuse my offer and place your life, and thus Tamlin’s, in the hands of chance.”

Rhysand had stopped pacing, staring hard at Feyre who had turned white as a sheet and looked as thought she may pass out at any moment.

“Let’s say I walk out of here. Perhaps this healing balm will work,” He tossed it back to you, desperate in your attempt to grab it before it could shatter to the floor. “Perhaps Lucien will come to your aid and offer his magic. Or perhaps he won’t come at all. Between you and me, he’s been keeping a low profile after his rather embarrassing outburst at your trial. Amarantha’s not exactly pleased with him. Tamlin even broke his delightful brooding to beg for him to be spared – such a noble warrior, your High Lord. She listened, of course – but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

Feyre started shaking, eyes darting up to you in confirmation and what looked like betrayal. You hadn’t told her about the lashes.

“Although, from what I heard, the punishment wasn’t overly effective seeing that the wounds somehow healed over within a few hours without the assistance of magic. You would almost think that something like that healing balm you've got there, Y/N, was used despite Amarantha’s order that there was to be no assistance provided.” Rhysand tutted as he turned to you with a smile that made your stomach coil but said no more on the matter.

“So, Feyre, it’s really a question of how much you’re willing to risk it. I don’t need to invade your thoughts to know that you’re wondering if that fever of yours is the first sign of infection. I already know that you’ve slowly been realising that you’re dying.” There was a beat of silence in which Feyre stared back at him with such hatred, you felt your pulse quicken at the thought that it may be too late to help.

“Well?”

“Go. To. Hell.”

Before you could react, Rhysand lashed out and twisted Feyre’s arm, her scream echoing throughout the cell as she thrashed against him. But he kept his grip, twisting the bone a final time before releasing her arm as she half sobbed and panted through the pain.

“This is the last time I’ll extend my assistance. Once I leave this cell, my offer is dead.” Feyre spat at him again but remained silent.

With a disappointed sigh, Rhysand began to ripple with darkness. You weren’t sure what to think; you couldn’t trust him but if Feyre really was dying and this was her only chance of survival…

“Wait.”

The darkness around the High Lord vanished, solidly appearing again with a grin as he faced Feyre.

“Yes?”

“Just two weeks?”

“Just two weeks. Two teensy, tiny weeks with me every month is all I ask.” He was kneeling in front of her now as he purred out his terms. As if suddenly aware of how much time you had already spent down here, your senses picked up, listening closely for any sounds of the returning guards, but there was nothing.

A surge of magic had you turning to face the cell just as Rhysand grabbed Feyre’s arm. She let out a scream before fainting, head falling against the wall.

“What did you do?” You yelled, banging on the bars of the cell in a futile attempt to get in.

“Exactly what we bargained for. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, Vanserra.” Before you could process his words, Feyre was suddenly sitting up, with the blood and mud completely gone you could do nothing but watch as some colour finally returned to her cheeks. Letting out a sign you offered her a small smile, at least he had kept his word and healed her arm. The remainder of the bargain was something to think about later when you all got out of this mess. If you all got out of this mess.

“What have you done to me?” Only then did you notice the black swirls that covered her skin and the large eye tattooed in the centre of her palm.

“It’s custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh.”

“Make it go away.”

“You humans truly are grateful creatures, aren’t you?” Rhysand stood back up, darkness wafting around him again. “I think I’ll wait to tell Tamlin about our little bargain. I do wonder if he will be as appreciative as you are. Rest up, Feyre.” And then he was gone in a shadow of night.

“Feyre? Are you alright?” You knelt on the floor outside the cage, surveying her for any signs of potential harm caused by Rhysand, but she just looked tired, troubled.

“I’m fine. My arm is fine. I just feel stupid, he didn’t do that to help me, he did it to hurt Tamlin.”

You let out a sigh, “We’ll deal with that later, alright? At least you’re not about to die, so we will take that as a win.” Standing back up you surveyed her again; she was so young and had already faced so much more than most of the fae here. “I’ve been here too long, I need to go before the guards return. But, Feyre, I’ll be back. I promise.”

*****

You slipped out of the dungeons and hurried down the corridor, quickly ducking behind a corner at the sound of the guards returning.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You jumped at his voice, heart hammering in your chest as you turned to face Rhysand where he casually leant against the wall, picking at his jacket as he surveyed you with mild interest.

“I was starting to wonder about what you had been getting up to after all these years here. We never see you at any of our Lady’s…festivities.”

“I must have missed the invite.” You tried to step around him. You had gone this long without piquing the interest of any of Amarantha’s cronies, managing to stay relatively to yourself, and you’d be damned if you were forced to show your face now.

“Interesting,” His violet eyes continued to assess you. “You know, it doesn’t surprise me really. I remember back when we were just children, playing court whilst forced to join in on the formalities. You always managed to remain in the shadows, yet even back then, you somehow knew everything and got away with so much.”

You stared back, eyes narrowing as you waited for him to continue. He clearly had some angle he was getting at.

“Yes. Those particular skills may be useful to me one day. And while I’m in such a giving mood, how about a bargain of our own? You be my eyes and ears,” You scoffed, already shaking your head as you attempted to walk away again. “And in return, I’ll keep your role in all of this quiet. You wouldn’t want Amarantha to know that it was you who helped Lucien, and now Feyre, would you? After all, I’m sure she would be pleased to be reminded of your presence in her court.”

Glaring at him, you knew he had you cornered. The satisfied smirk that played on his face told you that he knew as well.

With a reluctant sigh you stretched out your hand which he firmly grasped.

“Fine.”

“Lovely.”

You refused to break eye contact with the High Lord as you felt his magic encase your upper arm and shoulder, no doubt leaving a similarly intricate pattern to the one now splayed across Feyre’s arm.

You looked down to see if there was any visible evidence of the bargain, but it was completely covered by your dress. Good. At least that would stop any questions from being asked.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N.” And then he was gone in another shadow of darkness.

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #Vanserra!Reader #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian acotar #acotar #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acowar #marley writes

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a-kaash-me-outside · 3 months

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₊˚⊹ ⏱︎ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴍᴇ? ⏱︎ ⊹˚₊

♡ ft. multi. (written w toji and atsumu in mind idc). ♡ wc: 1.8k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: afab reader she/her pronouns, gendered pet names, sleepy sex, could be vaguely dubcon reader is very tired, mutual masturbation kinda?, dirty talk, established relationship, "just a sadistic little game"

―୨୧⋆ ˚ (⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 two seconds ago you were fast asleep, the cutest thing in the entire world. he just really had to tell you that, that's all. 𐰁 𝗓 ᶻ (⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ˚⋆୨୧―

you know it doesn’t make any sense, but before you’ve even woken up you swear you can hear his request like a dream, hazy and light and mumbled against your skin. when you open your eyes and try to take in your surroundings, the subtle smirk on his face and the tangled blankets around you and the breeze of the fan, his voice is skipping in your head.

“baby, hey, need something.”

you bring your palm to your half-closed eyes, hoping that the soft pressure of the side of your wrist and backs of your fingers will rid you of some of this confusion. your attempts to produce a questioning hum are caught in your throat, not enough energy for the vibrations to travel completely to your tongue. you swallow, his name getting trapped right alongside them.

if you were any more awake, you could see how he’s looking at you, clock the mischief sown into every one of his features and the way that he’s dragging his nails down your side, digging them into the fat of your hips. he leans down to kiss you and it lingers longer than a typical wake-up peck does, much longer actually.

“can you do something for me?” he asks, and when you don’t answer right away, your thoughts lost to the recency of slumber, he tries again, “need you to touch yourself.”

surely you didn’t hear him right.

“what?” you croak, voice weak as you push your hair out of your face. you breathe a laugh, a smile beginning to form on your lips. the earnestness of his request isn’t registering with you, not in this state. “baby, what?” you sigh, blinking slowly up at him.

“was just laying here watchin’ you sleep, thinkin’ bout how cute you are ‘n how cute it would be if you were playing with yourself like this,” he says, kissing the corner of your smile that’s now fading into shy confusion, a soft warmth spreading through your chest and cheeks.

“i-,” you huff, “hm?” you ask, moving to sit up, but he presses a kiss into your shoulder before coaxing you to stay in this position. he grips the side of the blanket, peeling it off of your body, untangling it from your limbs and kicking it to the side. it’s cold. you open your mouth to pout, reaching for the blankets on instinct, but he shakes his head. he drags his fingertips up and down your arms, pulls the hem of your sleep shirt up over your chest, watches the bounce of your tits as they’re exposed.

“shit,” he groans, “you look so fucking good.” the cool wind from the fan is ghosting over your skin, previously warm from the blanket and newly warm from the wa y your boyfriend is talking to you this morning. “god, look at your pretty nipples getting all hard, fuck. your body’s reacting before you can even think, huh?” he asks, kissing the side of your neck.

he’s right. your brain is two steps behind, the whimper comes from your throat before the feeling of his tongue on your neck even registers. your hand is moving before you remember making the decision to succumb to the moment, to his asks. in fact, both of your hands are moving, one crawling down your stomach and the other scratching at your own throat and chest.

before you’ve even snuck your hand in your waistband, he presses a kiss to your ear. “y’know what else i was thinking about?” the hum is not lost this time. it’s high-pitched and curious and the cutest thing he’s ever heard. he laughs, low against your skin. “thought about being kinda mean to you.”

this wakes you up a little more, turning your head towards him as your hands stop roaming. “what do you mean?” you ask, your first full sentence of the morning.

“start playing with yourself, pretty, then i’ll tell you, huh?” he coos, and you almost object but you see the look on his face and it’s screaming to test him, so you don’t.

you slip your fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, using your two to spread your lips apart. fuck, when did you get this wet? while he was talking to you? as you were waking up? before that? you whimper as you press the pad of your middle finger into your clit, pushing it between your sticky folds until the tip just barely enters your fluttering hole.

you press your head back into the pillow, already coming undone just by teasing yourself. you’re so enveloped in the feeling of your own fingers that when you feel his lips on you again, on your shoulder this time, you jump a little.

“that feel good?” he asks, absolutely drinking in the sight. you answer in quick nods and panting exhales. “good enough to come in a minute?”

“minute?” you question, almost stopping, but even in your state, you clock the seriousness in his tone, or maybe you’ve just known him so well for so long. instead, you start moving quicker, not teasing yourself anymore, but rubbing small circles against your sloppy clit.

he notices the change in your pace and he smirks. “you’re so smart, aren’t you?” he kisses you again, “yknow that there’s a catch here, huh?” you nod. you’re not sure you could’ve formulated it into words like that, but yes, whatever he just said. “thought you’d look so cute like this, fumbling to make yourself come so quickly, all disoriented and needy.”

you can feel his cock straining against his boxers, pressed up against your hip, softly grinded into your side as you quietly moan around your own fingers. “thought it’d be even better if i gave you some higher stakes, really made you try.”

“what stakes?” you ask, trying to focus on the conversation as you slip two fingers inside of yourself, pushing deeper and deeper, curling against your walls, attention split between hanging onto of his every word and feeling the pleasure build in your core.

“good question, baby,” he praises, hand slipping into his boxers, sucking in air through his teeth as he wraps his fist around his length. “you make yourself come in less than a minute or i won’t touch you for a week.”

your mind flashes back to the last time he gave you this exact trade-off. you didn’t take it seriously then, rolled your eyes, laughed a little bit, called his bluff. you know better now. your movements, once lazy and teasing, are now as direct and intentional as they can be while your body is still waking, muscles still warming up.

still, you’re driving your fingers inside of you quickly, switching back and forth between fucking yourself and playing with your clit, your other hand groping at your tits, rolling your nipple between the pads of your fingers. what you thought was going to be a lazy morning has turned out to be just a sadistic little game.

“good girl,” he says, eyes moving all over your body. he doesn’t even know where to look. no matter where his gaze falls, he wins. your face, screwed in determination; your hand kneading at your tit, thumb flicking over your hard nipple; your fingers fucking in and out of yourself.

he doesn’t even need to see what’s happening beneath the fabric of your panties, he’s throbbing in his palm just watching the outline of your fingers. he can see your knuckles straining against the cloth and the dark spot growing bigger and bigger as you keep fingering your needy hole.

“time’s almost up, pretty girl,” he says. he starts counting down. in between numbers, he asks, “does my baby want some help?”

you whine at the thought of his hands taking over or just adding to the sensations. you nod, a strangled, “yes, please, fuck, please, baby.” the longest string of words you’ve said all morning.

he doesn’t touch you though, leans in closer, breath soft against your ear, “next time i think i’ll just fuck you, make you come as the first thing you get to do when you wake up.” your inhale gets caught in your throat as you nod along to his words, closing your eyes tightly to focus on every syllable. “can see how messy you are through your panties ‘n i can’t believe i’m not deep inside of you right now, feelin’ it all on my cock.”

“but next time,” he says, “10,” he interrupts himself, “i don’t think you’ll need a whole minute, not if you have my cock, right?” he asks, “9,” he interrupts again, “probably only need 45 seconds, huh? 30? you could do that, right?” he grunts, “8.”

you move your hand from your tit to his forearm, trying so hard to hold on, but you can barely form a fist. everything is so much, the pleasure and the frustration of telling your fingers to move and the delay between the actions and fuck.

“7,” he says, “god, i could come in a minute too, just from feeling your creamy pussy on my cock and seeing you like this.”

you don’t need the 6 extra seconds, he can keep em. you come around your own fingers, imagining them as his cock even though they’re nothing in comparison. your body is on fire and your core is tight and he can’t keep his hands off of you right now. you look as cute and perfect as he thought you would, as he envisioned all morning, as you come against the, now soaking wet, fabric of your panties.

the come down takes twice as long, you’re convinced. you exhale, mind finally running at what feels like a normal pace as you take note of your state, of your hand in your panties and the mess on the insides of your thighs and your boyfriend with a devilishly proud grin on his face. “fuck,” you say, voice steady once again as your eyes close in bliss. you move to roll over or sit up, but you only get as far as starting to move your hand from between your legs when your knuckles brush up against something.

when you open your eyes again, you see him towering over top of you, a slow hand being placed on your hip, the other maneuvering you onto your side as he picks up your leg and puts it on his shoulder. “told ya i could come in a minute too, right? from feelin’ your creamy come-,” he grunts as his flushed head presses inside of you, “fuck, your sloppy, fuck,” his hips stutter as he snaps them against your skin, “perfect snug fuckin’ walls around me, shit.”

“gonna time me?”

♡ think' bout: toji, atsumu, geto, tsukki, gojo, oikawa, + ur fav ♡

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

#toji x reader #toji smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #jjk x reader smut #haikyuu x reader smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto x reader #geto x reader smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #toriwritesshit

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dejwrld · 8 months

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CHOSOIST PRESENTS....LET'S PLAY W/ DEJA #KINKTOBER

of the words of berleezy, i'm a gamer...i do this. the do in question is thirst and thinking about getting bent over by your favorite video game characters. deciding to mix this year's (technically my first every kinktober) up and step away from my animanga roots. so ladies, gents, & non-binaries angels, this year's kinktober is dedicated to some of my favorite video game characters. — TAG LIST FORM

𝐋𝐄𝐓❜𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐒

OCTOBER 2ND-OCTOBER 7TH

( F*CK JOEL MILLER, LITERALLY ) 🎮 JOEL MILLER X FIREFLIES MEMBER!READER

— after a quite interesting run in with joel and ellie, you're stuck with them through the long journey to ensure ellie get to the fireflies in one piece. through bickering and nearly getting them killed, with a bottle of old whiskey and the moonlight shining down on you—joel miller shows you just how much he hate your guts.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, firefly!reader, power dynamic, mentions of reader technically being held hostage by joel, mean dom!joel, oral (m.receiving), profanity, reader literally has the smartest & dirtiest mouth, age gap between reader and joel but nothing too big, alcohol consumption, spit usage, takes place during 1st tlou game, reader & ellie banter

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

( DEMON TIME) 🎮 INCUBUS!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X READER

— game synopsis: your boyfriend has been quite neglectful when it comes to your needs. not particularly being the best book boyfriend similar to the books you've read. but the one demon that visits you in your dreams seem to give you everything you need.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, mentions of reader having a boyfriend, doggystyle, unprotected sex, dirty talk (simon calls reader a slut), mentions of wet dreams, pillow humping, monsterfucking, mentions of simon having horns

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

OCTOBER 9TH-OCTOBER 14TH

( GUARDIAN ANGEL ) 🎮 GUARDIAN ANGEL!SEPHIROTH X READER

— game synopsis: he's been your guardian angel since you were sixteen years old. protecting you from danger you didn't see coming, but now that you're slowly wanting space from him—he makes it his mission to remind you who you belong to until you take your final breath.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, slight enemies to fuckers, reader somewhat purposely put herself in danger, possessive!sephiroth, mentions of sephiroth having pretty white wings, mating press position, cream pies, mentions of soul ties,

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

( COLD AS ICE ) 🎮 SUB ZERO!KUAI LIANG X SIREN!READER

— being the handmaiden of the grandmaster of the lin kuei has its perks. although you feel like an odd one out in a winter storm, your bond with the cold grandmaster seems familiar. as if you've experienced it before.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, takes place in the mortal kombat timeline where kuai liang is the lin kuei grandmaster, clit play, ice play, temperature play, mentions of reader & kuai being multi timeline lovers, reader has siren powers, fingering, edging, slight exhibitionism,

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

OCTOBER 16TH-21ST

( BIG BAD WOLF ) 🎮 BIGBY WOLF X RED RIDING HOOD!READER

— game synopsis: bigby wolf has to juggle being the sheriff holding the fables together in the busy city of new york, but now a former prey returns to the city stirring up trouble & bigby's primal past.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, mentions of folklores, marking kink, blood kink, primal kink, mentions of infidelity (bigby is dating snow/snow white), takes place after first the wolf among us game (spoilers may be included), cunt slaps, witty nicknames being said during intercourse (reader calls bigby the big bad wolf), reader is new in town, slight established relationship between bigby & reader

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

OCTOBER 31ST

🎮 BONUS PLAYTHROUGHS

⸻ short game plays to savor your sweet tooth from your favorite halloween candy

— ellie williams x reader, trick n treat ( fem reader, oral [reader receiving], dirty talk, thigh marks )

— jin sakai x reader ( female reader, arranged marriage trope, virginity lost )

— leon kennedy x reader ( female reader, doggy style position, marijuana usage )

CLICK HERE TO WATCH

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moondirti · 11 months

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8. VICES

CHAPTER EIGHT OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter seven / chapter nine ⇀

summary: a shower, a training session, and a blowjob

explicit (18+) | 5.8k words warnings: enemies to lovers, training arcs, unhinged smut, dubious consent, it's rough guys, blowjobs, handjobs, miguel o'hara is a strict (asshole) mentor, throat-fucking, choking, mentions of infidelity, mentions of starvation, homelessness notes: well. hope y'all still respect me after reading this

The cell doesn’t last long.

You don’t know what you expected; the terms of your deal weren’t exactly negotiated in full. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been discussed at all. You’d assumed Miguel agreed based on his reticence – as you’ve come to anticipate from him, a non-answer always means you have a point he’d rather not appreciate. But he’d added little else after the figurative pouring of your soul, his back turning towards you instead, fixing his hands on his waist. And it had stayed that way, up until you were escorted back to the laser enclosure, still as much a prisoner as anybody else.

So, perhaps you were wrong. You convinced yourself that it was okay, that you didn’t have any hope for your own redemption. You weren’t his problem to deal with anymore, not since you agreed to go home. He probably couldn’t see the potential in you, anyway. A string of excuses drawn upon one common line – self-degradation. Tamping yet another pipe dream destined to leave you evermore downtrodden. And that was okay.

That is, until you were roused from sleep by the scarlet spider much later. It’d been light, a rest on the verge of consciousness, contorted into the most compressed position possible to make use of limited space. In truth, you’d been thankful for it – to be granted a break from the fruitless struggle and, finally, some cue towards your fate. But he led you away from the anomaly imprisonment sector – opposite from the go-home machine you thought would be your adjudicator.

Now, you’re here.

“Was ordered to pull something together from a spare recovery room,” Reilly crosses his arms, giving an approving nod to nothing at all. “‘Course s’not the biggest – not meant to be used for extended periods of time, but I could manage if I were you.”

You don’t let yourself harbour a reaction, not before he leaves you to your own devices.

Because, well – it’s perfect.

There’s not much to compare it to, naturally. You’d grown accustomed to sharing a dormitory back at college, cramped in shoebox square footage with your roommate. Then, when your earth had gone to shit, there were no houses left to revel in. The past year since your miraculous escape have found you homeless, huddled under awnings or atop park benches, and by that point, discomfort had found a permanent friend in you.

Yet–

White asymmetric panelling hems the studio, broken up only by a triangular window that peeks out onto Nueva York’s cityscape. On your right, the wall recesses in to form a bed nook, where fitted sheets hug a thick mattress, two feather pillows stacked at one end. Opposite it hovers a multi-purpose desk, niche’s carrying reusable utensils, bowls, a lamp and a small first-aid kit.

And it’s all you could want. Gorgeous. Not conventionally so, no; it’s plain and lacklustre with an air of futuristic frigidness. But it’s clean, and comes equipped with an air conditioning system that puts you in control of the temperature you sleep in. It’s a stationary point for you to return to, no matter the day’s drag – a place to call yours if not home.

Not to mention, there’s a flat door towards the back, too plain to have caught your attention until you actively look for it. It has no handle, opened with a slight push that releases a latch, and swings outwards. Given the size of the corner, you’re forced to take a step back – which, a more ungrateful version of yourself would’ve marked as a con, but you’re too caught up in the novelty of what you’re led into.

A bathroom. A private, unrestricted bathroom – with a toilet and a sink and a fucking shower. You’re unable to repress the grin that stretches your cheeks, absolutely ecstatic with the – however temporary – development. No more sneaking into gyms to use their bath facilities, fortunes splurged on soap over dinner. You can wash yourself whenever you see fit, not have to feel guilty about deluding expensive memberships or your own hunger.

(Small blessings; that still-pious part of you succumbs to the sign. You’re being rewarded. You’re on the right track.)

Immediately, you schedule your night. A shower, first – partly for your excitement, majorly for the necessity. You doubt there are laundry machines nearby, if there’s any at all, so soaking your clothes in the sink should have to do the trick. You have no others, and to ask for more would be testing the grace you’ve been granted so far. Besides, the sheets look sterile – to lay in them bare can’t be the worst option.

Wiggling your fingers, you plug the drain to fill the basin. The garments you shuck off quickly settle there too, crumpled in a way that only exposes all their worn-down qualities. Jagged rips in your jeans, caked gore on your shirt. It’s instinct to turn away once the grime bleeds into the water, dying the once-clear pool with the unsavoury colour of your recent exploits. Harder, however, is trying to ignore the dried slick on your panties, bashfully tucking them underneath everything else.

Engrossed by the chore, you’re almost taken by surprise by the flash of your reflection in the half-body mirror. It comes suddenly, a shape in your peripheral that looks like it’s in the wrong place. An apparition in a horror flick – darkened, wrapped in bandages and dirt and set with heavy eyes from days of unrest. Your heart rate spikes, stuttering rapidly even as you realise that it is, indeed, you.

Or – you and Wraith. Both, existing simultaneously.

Because it is the image you’ve become familiar with. The slope of your cheeks, the curve at your waist. It’s off putting seeing her again after some time; you don’t think you’ve spared a glance for more than half a second since the day of the gala, when you’d sat crouched in front of yourself, swiping gloss on puckered lips. But it’s those same lips that purse back at you now, unchanged. You recognise it all so quickly.

None of it resonates.

An ugly bruise mars your temple, a yellowing one at your ribs. Your skin is littered with silver scars, or purple, depending on recency, like the two points at your neck where fangs have made their mark. Stark, white gauze circles each arm, one below your shoulder, the other above your wrist. And you’re… less, than you had been – evidence found around your cheekbones, or across your collar. Your flesh sinks into the hollow planes behind bone. When was the last time you’d eaten?

Wraith. This haunted, cursed figure.

You breathe through the discouragement. You tell yourself that it’s okay, the words quickly becoming a new mantra. You won’t go as far as to say it’s ambition – but the new sense of purpose that courses through you works to drown it out. You have something to work towards, no longer an aimless soul wandering uncharted realms. Whatever happened, whatever happens – all of it doesn’t matter now that you’re finally setting things straight.

Your enthusiasm is enough to tide you over, at least, and when you step in the shower, the final dregs of hatred drip away.

White noise accompanies the cleanse. You’re suspended, surrounded by the pitter patter of water splattering down on the tiled floor. It’s overwhelming – the system has been pre-programmed to a common preference, but you find that it’s too cold for you, turning it up to one that singes your exposed form instead. Your lungs tighten, unaccustomed to the steam that quickly replaces oxygen. Hair plasters to your ears. It’s good, though, an appreciated racket. You look for soap and can focus only on that, the buzz of guilt that constantly occupies you drowned out in favour for more menial tasks.

Of course, that really only leaves room for one train of thought.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Has he retired for the night, back to a warm home with a partner already drowsy, cushioned in their shared bed? He seems like a family man, the type to have a galley kitchen that breaks open to a dining room, four chairs tucked beneath glossy oak. One supplanted by a high chair, maybe, meant for a squealing babe; because he’s a dad, for sure. You’ve never known Miguel to be tender, but that’s towards you and your criminal disposition. There’s a sort of careful consideration he harbours – like stopping mid sentence, that moniker, Wraith, on his tongue, and opting for something less loathsome when you grimace. You imagine it honed in a gentler setting, fostered by children he adores.

And his spouse–

You squeeze a generous dollop of shampoo on your palm, working it into your scalp.

What is his type, anyway? Dedicated individuals who prioritise discipline over all else? Certainly, he wouldn’t be married to another spider-person, not when their relationship jeopardises his mission’s motto. Someone homegrown, then, a childhood sweetheart who knew him before he became all that. Who continued to love every inch of him as sinew stretched to brawn, the civilian he once was falling out like a baby tooth, fangs spouting in its stead. Unconditionally, or something along the lines.

You recognise the notion, how important it is for a hero like him. To be tasked with responsibilities beyond human ability, one has to become more. A martyr, a villain when need be. You don’t exactly blame his vendetta against you, but you’ve come to resent the man regardless. Doubtlessly, the sentiment is felt by others he’s put in their place.

So, someone who sees past all that. Miguel O’Hara, as he is behind the mask.

The provided bar of soap is small enough to wrap your hand around. You flip it a few times, lathering it until suds form. It’s unscented, so you imagine what it could be. Patchouli springs up, the most immediate smell in your memory. You have to squash it down, alongside the ache that gnaws your core.

Sulphur, pungent and sickening as it permeates your earth’s atmosphere.

Ichor and its metallic aftermath, clinging to your tongue.

The catalogue presented in the last year isn’t exactly pleasant. You push beyond it, settling on a vague cloud that accompanied your college roommate. Her lavender lotion, of which she bought in bulk. You’d smear it over your knuckles and knees prior to class, comforted by the balsamic undernotes. Light, fresh. Your peers would gravitate towards you, divinely feminine, resting their heads on your shoulder when lectures droned on for too long.

(And you’re aware of how dead they all are, blown to ash because of you.

You’ll ask for lavender products, perhaps, when you’re sent back.)

Is it a prerequisite to being a hero – to be loved by someone from before, who sees you for who you are? You have no one, and you’re afraid of what it means for your salvation. The right thing, in your case, is eternal solitude. When it comes down to it, would you be able to accept that?

Your gut sinks; the answer you come up with is selfish still. No.

There’s a long way to go until that changes.

(Your skin prickles. The water sprays right through you.

You wait until you phase back in.)

With nothing left to do, you rinse off. You can feel the rot begin to grow on the sanctuary you’ve built, and with hope to return, you can’t have it destroyed just yet.

Your room is cold when you exit, recycled air nipping your balmy skin. The towel – found folded under the sink for resident convenience – is shorter than you would like, barely enough to wrap around your bust. That is to say, it’s utterly useless at preserving heat. It occurs to you to stand in place and drip-dry, but going to bed damp is asking for a sickness that’ll knock you off course.

You’re about to check the heater when you notice something strange, lumped by the entrance.

For all intents and purposes, it looks like a trash bag. Slouched in a teardrop shape, tied off with an expert knot. The colouring is off though – not the plain charcoal you’d expect, but grungier, stroked with a varicoloured grain. It seems to shift, too, flicking between textures; red, yellow, grey with little inked words, as if cut straight from a newspaper.

It’s so distinctive that you can discern who it’s from; a spider-person expressed in much the same manner. Hobie.

It’d do well to approach it with hesitation. After all, you have no business with him. The most you’ve exchanged was a thanks, after he’d defended your plea the first time you’d been captured by the spider society. It seems so long ago now, but you recall the comfort his stance had provided, already scared out of your wits by the hoard of stylised people who claimed they were like you. He’d been the only one to see that.

Sighing, you tear through the side, nails too soft to undo the top. The contents are remarkably plain. Leggings. T-shirts. Packs of underwear and a hairbrush. Long socks, meant for the boots he’d also thrown in. The only article that reflects his personal way of dress is a cardigan, patches haphazardly attached with yarn. In one slouchy pocket, a piece of parchment sticks out.

(A housewarming gift. Figured you’d need it.

– HB.)

And it doesn’t feel like charity, as opposed to Ben’s escorting you here. Rather, his genuinity registers through the scrawled handwriting; prompting a tired, thankful smile.

You do need it. Not just the clothes, but the reminder that you’re not as alone as you might feel.

“You’re late.”

His voice cracks the silence you’d been walking in up to this point, pitched with an irritation seemingly etched into his being. It takes you off guard – not for its husky quality, that which you’ve grown relatively accustomed to, nor his sudden appearance. No. It’s how he stands when he says it; brashly centre-stage, taking up half of the gym with presence alone. His eyebrow is quirked, lips pursed in an inquisitive line, and you have to cycle over the day’s happenings to land on the invariable conclusion that he, in fact, did not set a schedule for you to follow in the first place.

“Wasn’t aware there was anything to be early to,” You hesitate, lingering at a bench near the doorway, keeping an eye on him as you lay your things down. The water bottle you’d pilfered from the cafeteria crinkles under your tense grip, condensation licking a frosty trail down your fingers.

“Would I let you prance around HQ on your own?”

“That’s being hopeful, but no.” Miguel makes no indication of where to stand, so you continue to amble awkwardly in his perimeter. “Just– A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“And were we given a heads up when The Spider showed up on Earth-15?” He pushes, maintaining the line of questioning that starts to itch at you. You shake your head, doing your best not to tip your chin downwards – with your hands wringing the fabric of your sweats, you already feel like a child, caught elbows deep in a figurative cookie jar.

Tension plucks at the strings tethered to the both of you. He waits for you to come up with a retort, then sighs when you fail to.

“Part of being a hero is adjusting. Security isn’t in the books for them.” From the lesson, you hang on to his choice of language. Them. Not us. Again, you’re excluded, but it occurs to you that he seems to exclude himself too. “You didn’t expect me today. What were you going to do had that been the case?”

To exercise sounds beyond stupid, even though your attire and location announce it as the truth. It felt the most logical place to start when you’d woken up this morning, but Miguel is verging on philosophical now, and that’s something you hadn’t planned on at all. You don’t tell him that, though, because it would be asking to be sent home.

“To strengthen my stamina.”

“What for, exactly?”

“If I’m going to go back to that wasteland of a world, then I need the power to tough it out.” You’re getting real sick of how incompetent he’s making you sound. “Transportation is entirely contingent on how far I can walk.”

“Huh. That’s… dumb.” He says, arms crossing over his chest. They’re thick, built like tree trunks, with muscles bulging along their lengths instead of bark. How hypocritical, you think, repressing the shiver that crawls up your spine – it’s clear he works out himself. You’re only as dumb at the way he looks today; clad in those same grey sweats, a compression top sculpting every bit of him. Out of uniform – like he’d been using the equipment before you got here.

(Or, he’s dedicated the entire day to training you.)

“If you have a better idea–”

“Think a few jumping jacks will make you a hero?” A smirk edges his lips.

Your stomach lurches – whether in anger or a more mortifying emotion, you don’t know. “Can you stop with the questions, big guy?”

He cocks his head, countenance straightening to one more serious. It terrifies you a little, the carmine in his eye, how fast it glints, sharpened with a daring edge. “Okay, then.” Miguel’s stature slacks, an open invitation. “Show me what you’re made of.”

You regret speaking up at all.

“Like, on the treadmill, or…?”

“Pin me down.” He adds, as if it’s the most normal command in the world. Granted, his mind is probably not as far gone as yours. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.”

“That’s not–” Fair skids on your tongue. His potential reaction is simple to imagine (‘nothing is fair’), and it’s obnoxious at best. You’ve had your fill of the condescending jabs, wedged to a corner where you don’t belong, ineptitude assumed of you. If his intentions are to keep you there until you give up, then you won’t let them come to fruition.

He starts to shrug, but the dismissal is interrupted by your clumsy resolve. You collide into his abdomen, channelling all your energy into the impact, arms in an arch. It’s made to grapple him by the waist, leverage in overpowering him to the floor. The odds are stacked against you, though. Miguel – twice your size – anchors himself in half the time, hard as stone against the onslaught. And your stance isn’t wide enough, feet positioned in a way that robs you of the necessary stability.

Perhaps carelessly, you press on, pouring everything into your attempt. The sheer force behind your manoeuvre is palpable; you are a spider-person, after all, and your enhanced strength would be enough to put the average human to their grave. But your opponent is far from that – he’s the pinnacle of what you preach, the resistance he musters now an attestation to the fact.

“Torpe.”

Your ribs burn with exertion, body still recovering from the injuries you’ve accumulated as of late. In a fluid motion that belies his size, Miguel retaliates, seeing the futility in your struggle. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, warm and vaguely comforting for the second before he flips you off of him. You’re propelled backwards, his shove sending shockwaves through your frame. Your bones rattle when you smack against the wall.

“That hurt,” You hiss, scrambling to a stand.

“In case you didn’t know, grace is a prerequisite for this little spider-club.” He ribs, calling to your quip at the quarry. It would be enough to set you off on anyone else, but the humour isn’t lost on you. Not with him.

“Did you just make a joke?” You start to pace circles around him, assessing the best angle of attack. His head turns to track you, forehead marked with lines from his lifted expression. “As I live and breathe. Miguel O’Hara made a fucking joke.”

“Symptom of imminent victory.”

“Cocky bastard,”

“You gonna keep talking?”

“I recall asking you to stop the questions.” You run up behind him, hoping your footsteps are light enough to not call any attention to your advancement. It isn’t very successful – he catches on quick, pivoting to confront you head on. You’re ready for it though, ducking under his reach to slip to the other side. His back is open, the opportunity presenting itself, and you spring onto his broad back with little contemplation.

Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, securing your hold, legs thrashing to follow suit. Transformed into a glorified backpack, you stubbornly cling onto him as he attempts to shake you off.

“¡Qué mierda haces?”

With half your face buried in his hair, you don’t respond, focusing instead on using your weight to throw him off kilter. Or, you want to focus on it.

But he smells like patchouli, the robust aroma laced in every lock. It’s potent, much more than usual; without the sweat that usually dilutes it, you’re hit full force with every idiosyncrasy. Damp soil, freshly turned earth – rich, like the verdant undergrowth of a forest. You’ve never noticed the touch of leather underlying his cologne, nor its nuanced spice. Now, they worm their way through your rationale, parasitic, eating away at tissue until they find a blooming incurve to settle in.

Your gut; broiling in that specific way it does when he’s around. It sinks to your core, right where you’re pressed against him, stimulated by the frantic motions of his body. Miguel hooks onto your calves, prying them off, and it’s innocent enough to only make your sudden desire worse.

“Get. Off." He emphasises, authority compounded into every syllable. His jerks steer you in various directions, spurring nausea that blends in with your desperation. The mix courses through your bloodstream, sickening and, along with your headlessness, allows the slightest weakness to seep into your stance – a crucial opening that he seizes without hesitation.

Your vision swims as you’re capsized, thrown off course and onto the unyielding embrace of the ground. Pain shoots down your spine, the oxygen knocked out of your lungs dissipating into air. It takes you longer than necessary to realise what had happened, gasping for breath until you land on the reality that he had just used your lust against you. But of course, he doesn’t know that. To him, you’d just faltered – a rookie mistake for the rookie you are.

It’s harmless, then, when he straddles your chest upon impact, knees touching the ground on either side of your head. Pinned in place – a mounted butterfly, captured in the perennial moment of your shameful sin – you’re convinced you’ll die like this. Miguel’s crotch under your nose, rubbing your thighs together to rid yourself of the nagging pressure between them. Wanton for nothing, wanton for him.

And it’s not the first time, a bank of memories coming available at the familiar arrangement. When he’d finally detained you on 15, groyne cleaving your ass while he undid your restraints. That damned kiss, exploring the plush lips that currently curl with a complacent sneer. They’d been so soft, the impression of his fangs just barely grazing past. And how good those had felt, too; your arteries swollen, bloated with venom injected into your neck. Lethargic for hours afterward, unable to do anything to sate the response he’d triggered.

Now, you’re not as powerless. He’s on top of you, doused in some fragrance from heaven, blessed with a robustness you’re sure extends to every appendage. If he is married, how high would fucking him be on your list of transgressions? Surely, it can’t be your worst, though you hope you’re above it at this point.

(But, if he wants this too–)

You look up at him, mouth parted. It isn’t a request so much as it is an assessment, tallying every suggestive hint he gives. There is none. Instead, he does much the same, catching your scrutiny before promptly looking away to calculate his options on an adjacent wall.

(The logical part of you can already sense how dreadful this’ll turn out. You’re not thinking straight.

You hope he succumbs to your debasement.)

Your hips buck involuntarily, a rip release effect to your rising need. He takes it as a plea to get off; that which he defers to, dismounting your chest.

No.

You stop him, left hand clamping down on his thigh. Slowly, he sits back, tipping his weight forward, onto the curve where your clavicle plunges to your throat. You can hardly move, diaphragm pinching in a bid for breath, and it’s okay for as long as he stays where he is.

(Apollo, meet Dionysus.)

It’s gradual – deliberate – when your fingers meander on their trek to his waistband. You skim over his hips, pelvis protruding to border his V-line – which holds prominence, even under the layers of his sweats and boxers. Miguel does nothing; gives no shiver in encouragement, nor an order to stop. He just looks down on you, dissecting the fervour with which you touch him; a woman crazed.

His shirt is stubborn in rolling up, elastic and tight against his form. You want to feel the way his flesh heats, defined abdomen rolling in eventual pleasure, but it’s a privilege you don’t have in this setting. You’re only able to pull it out from underneath his pants, allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed to your gluttonous gaze. Bronzed, gorgeously brown in contrast to the desaturated colours he’s chosen to don. Drool pools behind your tonsils.

The cords of his waistband unlace when you tug it with your pointer, hinged at the middle. Miguel makes a sound, the beginnings of a growl rolling up his throat. It’s to tease yourself, you want to say – because the fuzz of his happy trail leads down to a darkened bush, and the brief flash will forever be seared into your mind’s eye. Goodness fuck, if your yearning were any worse, that would have been enough to tip you over the edge. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted anything this bad.

Pining wreaks a foreign mess on your systems. Toes curl within your boots. Lashes quiver with every ruminative blink. Your new panties are doubtlessly ruined, generic cotton soaked through with slick; you’d been so ashamed of it just last night, washing your previous pair in the sink. Now, all you can consider is how expertly he’d test you, calloused thumb running over your clit until he witnesses just how wet you can get.

(Is it the length for which you’ve gone without this, deprived of your favourite vice? Before you’d discovered the stars, you’d pursued your most carnal desires, jumping from one hookup to the next.

You didn’t suppose you'd missed it this much.)

Maybe that’s why you go for him, out of anyone else. Because he’s immediate, the most prominent presence in your life. A convenient outlet, for all your bad blood. He doesn’t stop you, either, his pinky instead grazing your wrist, almost pushing for you to reach in.

If you do, things’ll change. When they had just settled.

Your dynamic seemed okay to morph into what you needed it to be: mentor, and mentee. But this–

This is so fucked. You would rather be anywhere else if not seated on his lap, and that’s a level of dysfunction you should be unsure about. Would he even let this progress? Beyond a one time thing, so that it doesn’t become a fixture you’ll always regret?

(Does it matter?)

You dip into his boxers.

(So, it is your lechery that negates your need for consideration. Call it thirst, or self-sabotage.)

Shit.

He’s thick, fucking pulsing on your palm, dry and heavy enough to cause considerable trouble when fishing him out. You’re at an adverse angle, twisting your arm to grip the base. Miguel’s hiss thins to a whispered curse, a muddle of Spanish and English that loses legibility as he shifts to help you. Hand swooping next to yours, he cups his balls, hoisting them out of the suffocating fabric. His cock follows suit, slapping his tummy upon release.

It’s–

Angry. A blossoming shade of purple that grows more vibrant the lower you go, guided by two fat veins that branch along his frenulum. Huge, too – not the longest you’ve had in your mouth, but stocky enough for you to worry about it regardless. You run your nail up its length, doing the maths in your head.

“Intimidated?” He says. It doesn’t register as proud as he probably intends for it to be, voice too hoarse, broken by some unspoken lust.

“Cocky bastard,” You murmur, holding your arm above you in the meantime. He takes a second to understand what your extended hand is for, bowed in a reverent-like appeal. And, even when he does, he pauses, gathering the saliva around his teeth. “Take that as a double entendre.”

He doesn’t laugh, spitting onto your palm, watching as you smear the natural lube around his mushroomed head. It melds with his pre-spend – that which pearls at the tip – forming a pearlescent marker for where your caress travels. Above the glans, rounding to coat down the body, and running out before you reach the root.

It’s enough, though. Enough to provide momentum to your motions, jacking him off above your face. Up to this point, Miguel has eased his mass off of you, balanced on his haunches – but your ministrations have him losing that awareness, leaning further and further until he all but sits on your neck. His fingers latch onto your head, cradling your jaw in a similar fashion to how he treated your whiplash, each thumb at a cheekbone – waiting for the opportune moment to plunge into your mouth.

It comes with the hypoxia, his choking straddle clotting the oxygen meant for your brain. What you can see – him mostly, meaty thighs and a lean torso, with a face that screws up with controlled precision – spots as secondary to black vision, your eyes bulging at the edges, struck with stationary blood. It’s opposite to smoke inhalation, that scratchy condition that only grew more uncomfortable the more you coughed. This is debilitating, the last dreg of stimulants you need to embrace your drunk efforts. You’re drowned in a pool where nothing matters except what’ll pull you out – life vest, a buoy, the hefty cock tapping your bottom lip.

You unhinge your jaw the widest it can go, accounting for teeth and all. Hollow cheeks accommodate his size when he drives in, but your lips still stretch, aching at the corners where thin skin threatens to rip. Immediately, your tongue laps over the dense intrusion, mapping out the patches where he seems most sensitive. Below the head, along the ridge. Right between his veins, if you press down hard enough. Your usher more of it in, stuffing your gullet full of him.

How does he manage to smell good here, too? Muskier, still, a heady ambrosia of masculinity.

His balls slap your chin, stopping you from swallowing any more. Miguel doesn’t take too favourably to that, however, bending your head to parallel his pelvis and pushing. Your neck aches, spinal plates prodding at where it inclines – the combination of that, the choking, and the swollen head that spears your tonsils makes for a deadly combination. You’ve been doing your damnedest not to gag, clenching your thumb in a fist, but the sound erupts from you regardless. A lewd, wet gluck – tears pool upon your lashes, caught by the thumbs still guiding your face.

And Miguel groans.

“Mmmf–,” His hips withdraw, giving you an instant’s respite, before snapping back forward. “Se siente tan bien.”

“Hnmghh,” You attempt to reply.

“Filthy fucking girl. So– mierda, always so goddamn stubborn,” He continues, accent curling with a raspy quality, smouldering at its core. “Never listens, never rests.”

You’re unsurprised to hear that what he really feels for you, exposed in this crude confessional, is just more indignation.

(Does it matter? Does it really?

He’s fucking your throat like cumming down it will reaffix the spiderverse.)

The gags drop rhythm, snowballing to become a chorus of the most salacious whines you can make, punched in tandem to his thrusts. Saliva coats your lips, bubbling when he withdraws, welcoming him back with the sight of you wrecked, glazed in salty liquids from multitudinous sources.

You lose yourself to it, squeezing your eyes shut until he urges you to open them back up again, brushing the corner where your skin burns from crying. His brows are pinched, canyons of deliberation formed between them, regarding your debauched expression with something more than the base measures exchanged in the past half hour.

He pulls out with a pop. You clasp around his dick’s circumference – rubbing over the tip, where his hole leaks a steady flow of prespend – and question him with a keen. You can’t exactly manage anything else.

“Where do you want it?”

You frown, leading him back into your mouth. Where else?

It isn’t much longer until he carries out the promise.

The sequence of events is more organised than anything else that’s happened today. You’ve come to recognise it, an expert in unravelling. He jostles your head back onto the floor, stabilising you for when his rear lifts, slanting his cock ninety degrees downward to ram straight into your mouth. You wince, incisors accidentally skimming the surface, which only prompts him deeper in. Your nose squishes onto the coarse hairs of his groyne, soaked with drool, and his balls tighten under your mandible, leaden in an indication of what’s to come.

You want it, so bad you can hardly gulp in precious breath. Your pupils roll behind your lids. You want, you want.

And finally – for the first time, over the entirety of your relationship – Miguel O’Hara gives that to you. Readily.

He cums. Hard. In throbbing spurts that coat your oesophagus, your molars, the back of your tongue. It’s sweltering, viscous and thick enough to choke you again – you cough up the excess that doesn’t quite fit, sinuses screeching with the overexertion. You can’t gulp, not when he’s still buried in you, so you do your best not to suffocate as he rides through his orgasm. Rope after rope, until he releases you, excess drops splattering onto your nose.

Then, he tucks his softening dick back into his pants and moves off of you.

You swallow, left with a weeping cunt and a swift sobering up.

Miguel proffers a helping hand, meant to lift you off the floor. Swatting it away, you clamber onto your own, unsteady feet, collecting your abandoned things from the bench, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did you just do?

chapter nine

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