#this was a warm up for me to get back into the groove of digital art (again) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilovepedro · 30 days

Text

Over the Edge | joel miller x f!reader

Palestine - if you enjoy my work, I ask you to click on this link and help Palestine in any way you can.

Main Masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~1.2k

Summary: Joel agonizingly taunts you before pushing you over the edge.

Warnings: no outbreak, pwp, established relationship, edging, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y'all!), TW: daddy kink, oral (f!receiving), fingering, begging, soft!dom!Joel, sub!reader, dom/sub dynamic, creampie, two (2) spanks, hella pet names (angel, dollface, baby, baby girl, princess, etc), squirting, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, let me know if i missed anything! :)

A/N: hey y'all!! <3 i've been a bit down in the dumps about my writing lately so, this was just something i wrote for fun to get back into the groove :) i took some inspo from a few prompt lists such as this one and this one. this is my first ever daddy kink fic lol i'm nervous. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy! 🫶🏼 poorly self-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Heat pricks your skin, the mixture of the Texas heat and the man above you creates a sheen of sweat on your body. Glistening in the warm glow of the room, you writhe beneath Joel as he pins you down with his strong hands lazily swirling his tongue along your puffy, swollen clit.

He’s been edging you for hours. A lazy Saturday spent between your legs, Joel eager to put you in your place after he’d caught you touching yourself this morning without his permission.

Eager to unravel you.

Constantly bringing you to the brink and leaving you dangling off the cliff before reeling you back in, withholding your sweet, sweet release.

Releasing your precious pearl from his mouth, he hums as he savors the flavor of you on his tongue. He presses teasing kisses along your body as he slithers up to your mouth, whines bubbling from your chest. Tears sting the corners of your eyes, the ache in your core burning brighter with every touch.

“You gonna be good for me, dollface?” Joel hums, his thick fingers hooking under your chin, bringing your gaze to meet his. His eyes are wild, blown with pure lust. A tear rolls down your cheek as you impatiently nod.

“C’mon, princess. Use your words. Wanna hear you. Lemme hear you beg for it,” he taunts.

A whine rips from your throat. Joel teases your dripping cunt with his dexterous digits, your thighs sticky and coated with slick and saliva.

Exasperated and desperate, your eyes squeeze shut as you begin to beg.

“Yes I’ll be good, just please, Joel.”

You gasp at the dull sting of a soft smack to your thigh.

“Please who?”

Your eyes snapping open as you gulp, the dull sting of the smack heightening your need, your clit furiously throbbing as a new wave of slick seeps from your cunt.

“Daddy. Please, daddy.”

“‘S better. Now I’ll ask ya one more time – are ya gonna be good for me?”

“Yes, daddy, I promise. I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you want, just please.”

“Please, what? What do ya want, princess?”

“Y-your cock. Need your cock, daddy, please,” you mewl, squirming under his hold.

He laughs, smug and satiated with your begging as his cock twitches at the sound of your neediness, your shrill moan like music to his ears. His large, rough hands skate down your body to pin your hips down, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Beggin’s a good look on ya, dollface,” Joel taunts, his thick digits fluttering around your aching core, teasingly sliding his fingers through your folds, collecting your slick. Sharply gasping at the feel of his calloused fingertips brushing against where you need him most, more tears rolling down your cheeks as you softly whimper and writhe under his broad chest.

“Shhh, shhh, easy, baby. Relax, angel. Daddy’s got ya. Gonna give ya what ya want, don’t worry, baby,” Joel says, nipping at your chin as he lines himself up with your entrance.

Joel grabs your hips to adjust the angle and slides home in one swift move, the obscene amount of slick dripping from your cunt aiding him. He places your calves on his chest, your ankles resting on his broad shoulders.

An animalistic moan claws from your throat, shredding your vocal chords as Joel fills you up, stuffing you to the brim. His cock, thick and heavy and long.

“Fuck, look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ my cock, angel,” he groans, your heat clenching around him. “Ya like when daddy fills you up, baby?” He asks, dragging his hips agonizingly slow against yours.

“Yes, daddy. Love it when you fill me up, f-feels so good,” you squeal. His pace gradually picks up, fucking deep into you, your pornographic moans growing louder and higher with every thrust as Joel grunts above you.

Squelches fill the air, your slick dripping onto the sheets as it smears in between you and Joel.

“So fuckin’ wet, ya hear how wet you are, baby girl? Who’s this all for, hmm?”

You try to tell him it’s for him, for daddy, but he’s fucking you so good, so deep, he’s taken your ability to speak. There’s another smack to your thigh, only it stings a bit more. Another broken moan rumbles from your chest, the ache fueling the fire that’s burning in your belly.

“Use your manners, baby girl, I’m talkin’ to ya. Who’s this all for?”

“You, daddy! All for you, my pussy’s yours, I’m yours,” you babble almost incoherently.

“There we go, good girl. ‘S right, baby. All mine,” Joel smirks, placing a kiss on your calf as he hits that sweet spot.

Your hand mindlessly finds your clit, eagerly stroking yourself until Joel swats your hand away. Releasing your legs, he leans down, practically bending you in half. Pleasure ripples throughout your body as he roughly pins your hands on each side of your head, caging you in between his taut biceps.

His thrusts grow rougher, needier.

“Greedy. Girl,” Joel grunts, punctuating his words with his hips.

“You don’t fuckin’ learn, do ya? What, this cock ain’t enough for ya, baby doll?”

You ferociously shake your head, whimpering as he continuously hits that sweet spot, eyelids heavy with your orgasm nearer in sight.

“‘S enough, daddy, I swear,” you slur. Suddenly and swiftly, Joel lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, flipping over onto his back as he still sits inside you.

Hips flushed together, you sit perched atop him, straddling his strong thighs. Gasping at the newfound depth, your eyes fly open as you brace yourself on his taut chest.

“Wanna act up? Now ya gotta work for it, angel. Go on now - ride my cock, dollface. Wanna see you come all over me. Soak my fuckin’ cock, babygirl.”

He gives you a nudge, lightly bouncing you on his throbbing length. You feel him pulsing inside your warm, wet heat. A whine rips from your throat as he kisses your cervix. Mouth dry and sweat coating your body, you muster all the strength in your being as you slowly drag along his cock.

Moans ripping from each of you, the friction finally giving the two of you relief.

“Atta girl. Look so fuckin’ pretty bouncin’ on daddy’s cock.”

His filthy fucking mouth.

You toss your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you pick up the pace, fucking yourself harder onto his cock.

Joel tightens his grip on your waist, squeezing your hips. It’s so fucking hot in the room, it’s hot everywhere. His touch sets your body alight, your skin burning beneath his hands. Oversensitivity sinking in as you near the edge of your release.

“C’mon, babygirl. You’re close. Can feel it. Fuckin’ squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, Christ,” Joel grunts.

He runs the pad of his calloused thumb between your soaked folds, coating it in your slick. Your hips buck at the sensation, a small cry tears through your vocal chords.

Joel brushes his thumb against your clit, stroking you as you bounce on his cock. Wailing above him, you clutch his chest for purchase. Your orgasm is blinding – burning hot white as you squirt on his cock. Writhing and twitching as you ride out your orgasm, continuously gushing around him as your ears ring. Your eyes squeezed shut as a few stray tears cascade down your cheeks, your ears plugged from the intensity of your orgasm.

Blinded by your orgasm, you hadn’t even noticed Joel finished inside you. You fall forward, collapsing on top of him, both of your breaths ragged. A sticky mess collected in between both of you, sex and sweat permeating the hot summer air.

He gently runs a hand along your spine, bringing you back to earth as you catch your breath. Joel presses a kiss to your head, leaving his lips pressed against your hair as he hums.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ good, baby. Good job soakin’ daddy’s cock, dollface. Knew you’d be a good girl for me – always are.”

#tw daddy kink #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #daddy k!nk

770 notes · View notes

turtlecleric · 2 months

Note

do you ever think about how strong Leo's hands are? how nimble? how thick? given their size and shape; the bone structure under those finer muscles. those fingers of his would be calloused at the base of each digit, inside the creases that cut across his palms, all from wielding those swords of his.

do you ever think about what it would be like coming home from a long workday and seeing your boyfriend, leonardo, greet you with a warm smile, an even warmer embrace, making sweet lines over your back with those firm hands of his as you melt into his plastron. the way he would press firm lines over the aching muscles down the backs of your ribs as he holds you.

he guides you by the hand towards the couch, prompting you to lie face down on your belly so as to grant himself easy access to work over the shape of your body with his hands. lithe fingers grace across the back of your t-shirt, pressing lines along your nervous system like he's mapping out each and every stem. drawing firm circles, he kneads through the tension gathered around each tightly wound muscle.

you relax. going pliant under his touch.

slowly, he encourages you to move as he strip's you of your clothes. displacing garment after garment, he undresses you as if you were a carefully wrapped present, until all that's left between his hands and your body is the heat radiating off your skin and the unspoken promise left by the weight of his hands; the grooves of his scales. you shudder at the touch of them now as they find naked skin, only relaxing once more— moments later—when you feel them making those same shapes up and down your back.

you almost drift into a sleep from how good his hands feel, and that's when he finally finally ends this little charade.

moving to his knees, he kneals on the floor beside the couch, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against the soft curve of your cheek, whispering words of adoration, "mi hermosa... mi preciosa..." then, in the same gesture, you feel those lithe and tactile fingers of his, dip down under the waistband of your panties, running along the curve of your ass, and pushing between your slickening folds. probing in and out, in and out, slow as he coils into the wetness. it's frustrating; how he can't attend to your clit from this angle, but insists on moving his finger in and out, in and out. the dissatisfaction pulls you back from sleep just as quickly as those firm hands of his had pushed you into it.

eyeing him, and just a little pouty from it, you roll to your back, granting him access to dip his hands into the fabric from the front.

"that's my good girl," he churrs, "so honest. so needy." his fingers work you over so much better from this position, dragging wet circles over your clit with the slick taken from you soaking cunt. his mouth finds yours in a heated kiss, and like an obedient little thing, the sounds from your lips spill, honest and needy, ringing true to the way he'd pronounced.

"that's it," he pants into your mouth, "let it out. let me know how good it feels. how much you want it." his fingers dip down to press into your aching cunt, pushing, curling, fucking; his fingers pumping into you, nice and firm, as his thumb draws circles against your clit, and the words of praise fall from his mouth like sunlight through a canopy, easing away the negativity thoughts that had began to cloud your every though. "fuck, you sound so good. smell amazing. my pretty girl. can't get enough of my fingers..."

his name is a shameless cry on your lips, and it isn't long before you're coming from his hand, clenching around his thick and calloused fingers as his palm presses firm against the nerves in your clit. with heavy breaths, you watch when he eventually goes to remove his hand, and see his tongue come out, hungry and red to lick the slick juices from his fingers one by one, before he smiles and tells you he wants to taste more.

#HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #KEISHAAAAA I'M SCREAMING #OWSJDBDGOW HELP ME. SOMEONE. ANYONE. OH MY FUCKING GOD #RUNNING IN CIRCLES #ff #rise!leo #fav #oh my god I'm shaking I'm so unwell

120 notes · View notes

whatwooshkai · 2 months

Text

LONG ASS EXCERPT UNDER THE CUT

okay so I wrote this because I couldn't stop thinking about the "what-if's" of the first chapter of look after you, so I wrote it out. I don't think it's enough for ao3, and I don't want it to turn into more than it already is, so uh here. enjoy

“Megatron,” Optimus says again, pleading.

Megatron finds he’s reaching for Optimus before he even rationalizes his decision.

Electricity passes between the tips of their digits, and a flood of emotions pulses through the Prime’s field so strong it forces Megatron to take another step back as he gently slips their servos together. And then the world falls out from under him.

“NO!” Optimus shouts, so raw and visceral that traces of static burst from his voice box. He scrambles forward and drops his chassis against the edge of the cliff, scrabbling for Megatron’s servo. His digits drag up Megatron’s forearm as they grasp at each other, leaving deep grooves and traces of his paint.

Megatron knows deep in his spark it won’t be enough- that he’ll slip from Optimus’ servos and go flying down to the ground. He’s weakened already, and they’re high enough up… the fall may kill him.

Megatron doesn’t know if he’s at peace with that reality yet.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that there isn’t wind whistling through his audials or the chinks in his armor. He isn’t moving at all.

Megatron chances a glance upwards, and meets Optimus’ wide blue optics. Coolant pools at the edges of them, and a drop splashes onto Megatron’s nose, but he doesn’t dare move. “I’ve got you,” Optimus promises, the grip on his forearm tightening. “I’ve got you, Megatron. I’ve got you.”

There has never been a sweeter, more perfect melody than Optimus’ voice in that moment.

Slowly, carefully, Megatron manages to reach up and grasp Optimus’ forearm, giving the Prime the leeway he needs to adjust his grip on Megatron so it’s secure enough to pull up. Mindful not to be dead weight, no matter the way exhaustion threatens to drag his frame back down, Megatron braces his pedes against the rock, climbing to let Optimus better support his weight as he pulls him over the edge of the cliff and onto solid ground.

No guns are pointed at him anymore. The Autobots are watching the two of them curiously, but the sight lasts barely a second before a scuffed red shoulder completely obscures his vision.

Optimus Prime is hugging him, tight enough he can feel his plating squeal in the embrace. Optimus is warm, no, hot, he’s burning Megatron’s protoform from their million points of contact, his vents brush scalding air against his faceplate, his digits threaten to melt the backplates they’re clutching like a lifeline.

Megatron doesn’t move, especially not to hug back. But he melts, just a little bit, letting Optimus support his exhausted frame.

There’s a soft shrrk, and Megatron feels Optimus’ battlemask open against his helmet.

He doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Optimus Prime’s face.

“You’re not getting out of this that easy,” Optimus whispers against his audial teasingly, but there’s a rumble in his throat, a deep threat buried under the mirth. Megatron can’t help but shiver.

After far too long and somehow still too soon, Optimus pulls away, dragging his servos down Megatron’s arms to clasp theirs together. Cold suddenly rushes Megatron’s frame, the warmth sucked from every inch of him Optimus’ frame touched. He isn’t able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

“We’ll end this war for good,” Optimus promises. His battle mask is back in place. “I can’t trust you, Megatron. But I will not leave your side. We will end this war for good.”

Something foreign yet familiar swirls in Megatron’s tanks, and he finds himself nodding.

One of Optimus’ servos trails up Megatron’s arm to where his digits left paint transfers raking down it. His touches are feather light. Megatron suppresses another shiver.

Optimus trails higher, up and over his shoulder, until he’s cupping Megatron’s jaw in his servo. “Promise me,” Optimus says.

“I promise,” Megatron says without thinking, his spark spinning far faster than should be normal. “We will end this war.”

And then Optimus smiles, the corners of his optics crinkling in a beautiful expression of pure joy.

Megatron has to suppress the urge to drop his helm onto Optimus’ shoulder. But Primus, he’s just so fucking tired.

Finally, reprieve, he thinks as Optimus clasps his servos again, the last thing he feels before his frame collapses with exhaustion.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers fic #tf look after you #megatron #optimus prime #megop #wip #fic wip #technically?#idk man

66 notes · View notes

lilbitofmac · 1 year

Note

// question for you, dear mac, if you're up for it. i've been thinking about getting back into drawing. it's been *years*, and i was curious if you had any advice for wading back in, especially as it comes to warm up exercises and just getting started? i know that there's a degree of 'you just have to do it'; it's always what i tell writers. but i've been so stuck on how to do some of this on *easy mode* so i don't overwhelm myself. if you're up for sharing your thoughts with all of us! ^_^ love you bunches!

Oh man, I honestly might not be the best to ask for advice LMAO but I can certainly try to help!

More often than not what stirs me to draw is whatever is at the forefront of my attention span. Any hyperfixation I latch onto is the driving force behind not only my ability to draw, but my motivation to do so. So, genuinely, just draw what you’re most passionate about at any given time! It’s perfectly okay if you want to do studies with different aspects of art like anatomy, color theory, etc. but if you’re just dusting off the old drawing tools, I’d recommend centering it around something that gets your hand itching to create. Probably bad advice recommending skipping the basics, but it usually discourages me from creating art, so I hate recommending that as a first step.

Creating is a lot easier said than done when jumping back into drawing, though. So, seriously, I recommend finding some of your favorite art pieces and tracing over them to get back in the groove. People always always look down on tracing, but it’s seriously so helpful as an exercise as long as you’re not posting it and claiming it as your own. That’s what I did when I was a kid, and it helped me find my own style and art process. Tracing can also be beneficial in helping you find the specific look you want for your art. Try different pens, colors, shading to find what you’re comfortable with without having to worry about WHAT you’re creating. That’s where a lot of people get hung up on.

That advice is mostly targeted at digital art, so if you’re working with traditional media, start practicing finding ✨shapes✨ in those art pieces you love. If you need a visual for what I mean, just ask and I can either make something or find some links for you— I know that’s kind of vague =w=;; Anyway, pull the art up on your phone or computer and try and copy it down onto paper. Focus on visualizing the shapes that make up a piece to make it easier to mimic. I always fall back onto traditional art when I’m trying to adjust my style since digital art has its own pressures that get in the way for me.

After you get a bit more comfortable, start finding some references for ideas that are rattling around in your head! Start simple since you don’t want to burn yourself out too much. Do you like drawing character’s faces? Expressions? Environment? Clothing? Hands? Feet??? Little sus but who am I to judge… Tackle your favorites first and slowly start branching out into more complicated pieces! If things aren’t looking right to you, watch some speedpaints or tutorials for your specific hang ups. Also, START COLLECTING ART!!! My phone storage is 99% of art that makes me go “OH WOW.” Figure out WHY a specific art piece calls to you and practice implementing it into your own pieces!

Mainly, don’t stress about your work and just have fun with it! It’s very very easy to start comparing your work to others, but if you’re wanting to create, focus on that feeling: of that joy from putting an idea onto paper and bringing it to life!! If you’re still facing hang ups, more than likely you just have to power through it until you reach a break through. That’s where the “practice makes progress” comes in, sadly 😮‍💨

#sorry if this is total nonsense #It’s difficult understanding specifically what my process is since in my current art journey I just slap shit down and be done with it LMAO #no thoughts head empty here on the Mac Train™️#response #also sorry for no read more option!!#I hate clogging up the dashboard but I’m too lazy to get off mobile 😅

13 notes · View notes

owlespresso · 2 years

Text

silk and beads of pearl. sylvain & yuri

spice beneath the cut. the prompt for this was voyeurism.

The sheets are made of silk. The low thrum of the baseline sinks through the mattress and into the back of your skull, skin sliding across the shimmering fabric. The party hasn't stopped downstairs, but you're a realm away from all that, now.

You’re slick with sweat, chandelier light illuminating every inch of your bare body. Your cheek rests up against the warm plush of the pillow, lips parted around panting breaths as you struggle to keep up with Sylvain’s relentless rhythm. His wide palm and long fingers cradle the back of your knee to lift your leg up, hot length of his cock dragging over the velvet of your walls.

You whine and gasp as he works his way inside with aborted little thrusts, swirls of his hips to get you accustomed to the sheer breadth of him. A stinging, searing pain grasps you as you helplessly clench around him, desperate for his touch despite the aches he inflicts upon you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs, hot breath brushing up against your ear. “You, hahh, I can't get enough—taking my cock so well.” You can't help it, your stretched pussy clenches around him at the praise. "Oh, she liked that?" he coos in your ear, edge of a laugh in his voice.

The pain wanes underneath his gentle loving. He kisses along your neck, over the round of your shoulders, teeth scraping gently over patches of unmarked skin. Goosebumps roll across the rounds of your shoulders. Your eyes slide shut.

Pangs of pain inevitably ripple into warm, raw pleasure. Your body was made to take his, he’d whispered to you once, hand wandering up your inner thigh under the dinner table.

“Lift her leg a little higher, Sylvain,” Yuri says. You jolt back into attention. You open your eyes, flooded with the opulent, watery light from the chandelier. It takes a few moments of clumsily blinking to clear your gaze, to spot him nestled in the finery of this palace as though he belongs here.

He’s a vision of pure beauty, lounged over the chaise and swathed in a sheer satin robe. Unbound rivulets of pale lavender frame his delicate face and fall onto his shoulders. His eyelids are painted in shades of caliginous purples and greys. You follow the path of the wine glass he’s cradled as he brings it up to his plush lips. He meets your gaze shamelessly, ardently, expression curling into a coy smirk. Slender fingers idly toy with a necklace of teardrop pearls as they rest in the groove of his lower neck. He’s the picture of refined patience.

Although, there’s a dark want reflected in those amaranthine eyes, a ravenous focus as he watched Sylvain plow you with his thick cock, your folds sopping and your cries growing in volume and desperation. Quiet little huffs of breath become desperate mewls and whines, back arching under his clever ministrations. The tension you’d felt at being spectated melts underneath the silken waves of pleasure. Yuri’s gaze, stubborn and searching remains fixated on you, a pinprick of humiliation that lingers at the back of your mind.

Does he like what he sees? Is he intending to eventually join you? Or is he just trying to make you uncomfortable for the sake of satisfying his twisted sadism?

You shove your face into the pillow to escape the prying questions, tears rolling down your cheeks as the fat tip of Sylvain’s cock brushed up somewhere deep and precious within you. Your legs jerk, thighs twitching.

“Getting shy, are we?” Yuri drawls from somewhere above you, closer than before. You steal a glimpse at him just as two slender digits draw over your clit, the sudden jolt of sensation earning a surprised shout. Yuri fingers you in tandem with Sylvain’s vicious thrusts. “Now that just won’t do. Look at me, sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to be shy about.” His voice lowers into a comforting croon, honey sweet as he coaxes your chin from its makeshift shelter. You squint against the flood of overhead light. It shatters and spreads over Yuri like warm spring rain, the sheer fabric of his robe glimmering like amethysts. “You can come for us, yeah?

The chord within you writhes and snaps, orgasm searing your nerves like tongues of a flame, wet and warm too, too much. Sylvain fucks you through it, Yuri laughing in your ear as his thumb swipes over your clit. You spin and jutter into overstimulation, muscles of your thighs twitching as your juices spill over Sylvain’s cock and Yuri’s fingers. The rest of the world blurs around Yuri’s sinuous form, body going boneless in their grasp as the pleasure ebbs into smaller ripples. Sylvain punches moans and wrecked gasps from your quivering form.

“Beautiful,” Yuri’s fingertips glide over your cheek, thumb sweeping a tear from your cheek. “You put on such a good show, sweetheart.” His lips, glossy and soft, brush over your forehead. Sylvain holds your hips in his broad hands, a line of innumerable kisses placed back and forth along your jawline. “I think it’s high time I joined the act.”

#sylvain jose gautier #yuri leclerc #fe3h writing #fe3h #featuring fe3h #sylvain/reader #yuri/reader

30 notes · View notes

bemorekleinman · 2 years

Text

day 7 of the @sincerely-us DEH closing tribute: favorite memory*

*combined with an implied bit of belonging and getting back up from the days I missed

title: A Very Lengthy Narrative of My First Visit to the Music Box Theater, or alternatively, I Wrote This For an English Assignment and I’d Like to Reuse It Because It’s Really Not That Bad, In My Opinion

Most people bustling through the streets of the Theater District in Midtown Manhattan are heavily cloaked with raincoats and worry, but I, similarly to most obnoxious tourists, am bounding down the sidewalk with a little too much skip in my step. The sun has long set, and the stars are hidden away behind the bright lights of flashing marquees as I dash from streetlamp to streetlamp. I’ve been here once before, but I can hardly remember anything outside the city smell of trash bags and exhaust; besides, my relatively newfound love for the shows on Broadway makes the experience feel completely fresh.

If you were to follow me around on this drizzly April night, you’d want to take two sharp lefts away from the fluorescent screens of Times Square and head past the warm flashing lightbulbs of old theaters. Pass under the sturdy scaffolding used for what I can only assume is a remnant of an incomplete and long-postponed project, and your destination will be on the right: the Music Box Theater. The Palladian style of the building’s exterior, with its limestone bricks and grooved pillars, is contrasted with sleek LED lettering and digital billboards. Both the light-up screens and various banners secured to the railings proudly announce in signature blue lettering: Dear Evan Hansen- The Tony Award-Winning Best Musical! This is a place I’ve only seen in photos; a place I’ve only dreamed of going to for at least four years. Now, finally, I’m about to step foot inside for the most anticipated two hours and thirty minutes of my lifetime.

The small interior of the theater matches well with its outside appearance: intricate carvings and golden designs border the walls and ceilings, contrasting well with the faded velvet of the red seats. I make my way down the aisle with a Playbill program clutched in my hands, careful not to bump any elbows or trip over stray purses. It’s only after I take my seat at the front of the mezzanine that I can truly focus on the scene in front of me. The dark abyss of the stage is nearly empty, save for a single set piece: red plaid sheets covering a wooden bedframe, accompanied by a small nightstand. A closed laptop rests on the bedspread, reflecting the bluish spotlight shining down. Soft hums and gentle strums echo from the orchestra “pit”, unconventionally placed on an elevated platform on the top left of the stage. This show saved me two years ago, and now here I am- about to experience it right in front of me.

The clock strikes 7:30, and the lights dim. An electronic humming begins- the beeps and dings rise to a crescendo as the audience falls silent with anticipation. Then, a single spotlight. Under that spotlight: a single actor. He looks out into the audience, wide-eyed, waiting, and takes a breath. And just like that, even if only for a couple of hours, the rest of the world falls away.

#scheduling this to post right about when the final show is starting #god I just still cant believe it’s the last day #so so thankful I got to see it before closing #equally thankful for the existence of west end and tour productions still going for the time being #might not be able to see either of them (well definitely not west end) but it makes me feel better lol #dear evan hansen #this qualifies as a ramble I think #rambles from katie #also hoping to god that the mobile formatting won’t suck like it does while I’m editing this

18 notes · View notes

krispyweiss · 1 year

Text

Sound Bites Presents His Favorite Live Albums of 2022

Neil Young used “Union Man” to declare: live music is better.

That can sometimes apply to albums as well. And the year almost over featured a slew of terrific in-concert recordings.

What follows are Sound Bites’ favorites, going all the way back to Son House in 1964 and coming all the way up to Aoife O’Donovan in 2022.

The Beatles - Get Back - The Rooftop Performance - The 40-minute concert - remixed in stereo by Giles Martin and Sam Okell - is finally out as the digital-only Get Back - The Rooftop Performance. And though the Beatles had spent the previous few years proving themselves masters of the studio with LPs like Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Rooftop provides a glimpse of what a force they could’ve become as a live act. Full review here.

Aoife O’Donovan and the Age of Apathy Band - Live from the Hi•Fi - When O’Donovan says “We’re on fire up here,” after she and the Age of Apathy Band finish “Elevators,” she is referring to the weather. But she might as well have been talking about the music. Review.

The Jerry Garcia Band - GarciaLive Volume 19 - To call the Oct. 31, 1992, concert that comprises GarciaLive Volume 19 life-affirming is an understatement along the lines of saying Jerry Garcia enjoyed drugs. Review.

Todd Snider - Live: Return of the Storyteller - Few live albums - including 2011’s Live: The Storyteller - capture the essence of a performer the way Return of the Storyteller captures the essence of Todd Snider. Review.

Hot Tuna - 2021-12-29, Freight & Salvage, Berkeley, CA - This album is beautiful for many reasons. Not only because of the low-key, American-blues music, but because of the deep bonds of friendship between the players and the invisible thread that runs from the stage to the seating area and back. Review.

Creedence Clearwater Revival - At the Royal Albert Hall (April 14, 1970) - Fifty years after their breakup, Creedence Clearwater Revival remain so ubiquitous they - and their music - are often taken for granted. But as At the Royal Albert Hall reminds us, the band had not only a passel of stone classics, it was an outstanding concert act. Review.

Neil Young OBS 3: Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 1971, and OBS 4: Royce Hall, 1971 - Recorded two nights apart in 1971 and released on the same day in 2022, Neil Young’s Official Bootleg Series Nos. 3 and 4 are very much the same - from setlists to warm, you-are-there sound. They’re aural time machines to the days when Young’s songbook was relatively thin and virtually no one had heard “Old Man.” Reviews.

Son House - Forever on My Mind - Only 50 or so people attended Son House’s Nov. 23, 1964, concert at Wabash College in Indiana. Although virtually one heard it at the time, everyone can hear it now. And they should. Review.

Grateful Dead - Madison Square Garden, New York, NY, 3/9/81 - Cocaine as rocket fuel. Review.

Zero - Naught Again - Despite the paucity of vocals and the long runtimes, these songs are intricately composed with tension and release where choruses and bridges would otherwise dwell. The tuned-in audience reacts accordingly and the result is an album that damn near succeeds in time travel and space-shifting. Review.

Mavis Staples and Levon Helm - Carry Me Home - Carry Me Home is at its core a religious album that doesn’t require religious ears for enjoyment. Yet, it’s so convincing, those ears may be halfway to the baptismal before the stylus hits the runout groove. Review.

Kris Kristofferson - Live at Gilley’s - Pasadena, TX: September 15, 1981 - Fans who weren’t there can now kinda be there with the release of Live at Gilley’s. The partial-show LP has just enough crowd noise to capture the excitement of the evening and the music proves Kristofferson was one of the rare artists not to fall victim to 1980s production and arrangement values. Review.

12/28/22

6 notes · View notes

audio-luddite · 1 month

Text

Listening to tunes.

Right now I have that (not inexpensive ) Super Tramp "Breakfast" album. You know the Audiophile version A&M Canada made. It sounds really damn good. I gave it a good clean. Actually I bought a jug of "Groove Washer" which is made by the heirs of the original Disc Washer product. They claim to use the original formula. Not the made in China, not sure what it is, stuff. The bottle is big enough for 4 life times I think. It works good.

I spun up the LP with no real warm up. And it had some rough edges in the high treble. Even after a couple tracks it is getting better. Gotta work that entropy out you know. Get them electrons lined up and dancing.

I have spent maybe too much $$ on LPs recently. And some of the deliveries get dinged at the border by FEDEX. Free Shipping my ass.

The weather is cool and wet today. Perfect for sitting on the couch and using the system. Everything but the phono cartridge and the speakers is 30 or 40 years old. I would put it up against any system I have ever heard, or can hear in this city.

Yes we are still using the Tube Amp. It is lovely sounding. Over the last few days I have been thinking about and discussing why it sounds as it does. Usually Tube versus Transistors discussions fall into fights. One side against the other. Screw that, I like both sides for what they bring to the party.

Back when photography was all film some people swore by different brands and types of film. AGFA, FUJI, Kodak and others I cannot think of right now. (yes I am old). The reason they did was for the subtle differences the formulas gave to the resulting prints. Was one perfect or correct? No perfection then or now. But some films and print paper made really fine images. And that was the point!

Everybody seems to need to stick a war banner in some heap of truth. Tubes versus solid state is only one. Digital versus analog is big. Oh and you get magic speaker cables and interconnects. It all plays to a particular audience.

One thing the Tube Guru said to me in our dialog is that Audio Research had to keep faithful to the "tube sound" their customer base expects. They could but will not make a more perfect amplifier. Still they make things of excellent quality and have for many decades. Think about that against the ideal of continually improving. If you approach perfection the voice goes away.

I can testify that over 50 odd years of listening to stereos my system has got better, but the state of the art has not. It is a soft mushy set of goals with each team making their own rules.

Oh this track is amazing. A piano showing why it's a percussion instrument. Last track, hmmm inner groove distortion what's that? Aint any here.

Still have the AT 7V in the phaser TT. You want depth? That sax just strode up from the back to front.

Ok now for some serious Jazz. Miles Davis. This recording is almost as old as I am. The LP is new of course. Where did this idea of limited dynamic range come from. That Trumpet is powerful. I like that the mix does not try to park everyone in the centre. One Sax is hard left the other centre right. The drum kit is to the right. Piano centre left. I suspect the reverb is added. Oh I just checked the studio was a converted church and had excellent room sound. So apologies to the engineer, its real.

Just grooving.

I am going to stop writing now.

#audiophile #high end audio #audioblr #cheap audiophile #tubes vs transistors #audio technica #phase linear 8000a #vinyl

0 notes

whatsonmedia · 2 years

Text

Music Monday- Hit Music Selection of the Week!

WhatsOn editor Adam Humphries, brings some of the top music selection of the week. Listen and groove to the beats of the music for killing the Monday blues. Here the list to make you groove to the tunes. ROWSIE - Vagabond group of misfits ROWSIE drop six minute rock n roll beauty 'Gaslight'! https://open.spotify.com/album/15hmU4WKQ48jhEfLb9vNHL?si=dkER8ionRJKPh4HbUpC5TQ&utm_source=copy-link https://youtu.be/yflq_BnMaGA An amazing song with a good message about moral beliefs hidden within. A good gem of a track which speaks more volumes in lyrics than it does in basic volumes, in other words the song may be loud but the subject matter is louder. "I ain't buying what he's selling/my freedom's not for sale" Something about it that is actually good about it is that it's fiercely unapologetic about itself. When you listen carefully the feel of the sound echoes that of Foo Fighters 'Times Like These' FLOX - drops innovative summer digital reggae tune 'In The Shade'! https://open.spotify.com/album/1HXh4TILSuRKBRNGpDwiih?si=WNfe5VUDRcizxgeRVAC1RA&utm_source=copy-link https://youtu.be/JszkE8OC9-M A heart warming number from FLOX that's about growing up with all the trials and tribulations that come with it. The lyrics are something clever in themselves as it has that 'let me give you some advice' sort of feel to it. It has that coming of age vibe to it. The reggae tune that weaves throughout gives it that upbeat feel to it whilst staying faithful to its old school sounds 'I'll lend you my bike stay tried like/you decide when the time is right" In this FLOX shows us, or at least reminds us of his musical knowhow in that he just gets straight to it and doesn't mess around. It's being unapologetic but without the aggression BOO RADLEY'S MARTIN CARR - serves up chilled SON PARAPLUIE remix https://open.spotify.com/track/7ze4vAur6Fklrdk8dfy12d?si=maMBco9eRUq1JotJ1Tj2Vg&utm_source=copy-link Remember the French song about Paris life and music in the 60's? Well here's a remixed version that takes it just that bit higher. Just sit back and listen, and enjoy Isobel Campbell's soft, soothing voice as it connects with you. Like milk and honey https://youtu.be/Ojlb-KgNHWE Read the full article

0 notes

touyaz · 3 years

Text

the sum of blessings.

pairing hawks | takami keigo x fem reader

word count 2,909

notes had +this thought right after watching squid game. could not get it out of my head (’: for @sunnyfunerals who is carrying the bnha squid game au (please read her works +here !!) && please give plenty of love to @ultimatedoodler for drawing +this stellar piece of vip keigo!

WARNINGS vip hawks, squid game spoilers, dark hawks, noncon/ dubcon, fingering, public sex/ exhibitionism, power imbalance, the whole concept revolves around dehumanisation, face slapping, choking, slight degradation, praise. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

"Don't you look… delectable?"

His voice is deep, raspy enough to send your heart aflutter, deafening as he leans in millimetres closer, teasing the distance between his teeth and the ticklish skin of your neck. His hand skirts around your back, settling on your waist and dragging you towards him. He's flushed against you, thigh to thigh, turned so your shoulder knocks into his chest when he leans to tug on your earlobe.

"Mm, you won't mind if I help myself to a little taste, will you?" He doesn't wait for an answer. He already knows the rules. You're not there to converse with him, you're there to serve — be it the untouched wine that sits on a platter on your lap, or your body, the law doesn't specify — and so you offer yourself up as your job entails. Think of the reels of cash you'll be handed when this is over, focus on the warm shower you'll indulge in when the day is finally done; don't squirm away when he licks a broad stripe up your neck, don't look into those daring amber eyes when he turns your face his way. "You're just so… tempting."

You swallow, and he tracks the movement with his eyes, smirking faintly. His thumb slides up from your chin to the swell of your bottom lip. You should be worried about how he's smudging the goldenrod paint into the carmine — you should be trembling at the prospect of a bullet in your head for ruining your makeup, even if it's not exactly your fault (that never seems to matter to those higher ups, to those storing your rights away) — but all you can focus on is the tip of his thumb smoothing over your tongue. It's sweet at first, the taste of chemicals in your mouth. Then it dulls to something akin to cardboard. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you can't swallow. Not when he's still pressing down on your tastebuds, not when he's pushing even further.

The jewels in his mask blur together into a sea of gold, flecked with dusted diamonds, rich with the promise of something dangerous. His thumb scrapes against the grooves in your tongue on his way out, and when he swipes the wet digit beneath your eye, all you manage is a shaky gulp.

"Why are you crying, hm?" he asks. His voice reeks of faux sympathy, each syllable laced with a burning desire to see your downpour. "What's the matter, pretty bird?"

He tilts his head like he's waiting for your response. It reminds you of a pigeon, of the way they angle their heads this way and that as they inspect crumbs on the floor before they dig in. You wonder what his fascination is with birds, and why, out of all the animals in the kingdom, that was what you had to dress as. Hawks, you recall one of the VIPs calling him. It’s fitting — a bird of prey; a king on his throne. You'd rather be his long-forgotten tiger footstool than stare back into those beady eyes of his.

A moment passes, then another, and he raises his brow.

"Answer me," he says. You don't move and he frowns a little at your silence. You almost don't recognise his face when it's not lined with mirth. He taps on your cheek with the hand still holding your face. "Answer me."

As subtly as you can, you shake your head.

"Are you scared?"

You nod.

"Of me?"

You don't move.

"You shouldn't be," he continues, and that awful pout of his has turned up once more. "I've not done anything wrong, have I? You're here to keep me company, I'm simply… enjoying it, aren't I?"

You wish he would leave you alone. You wish he would take a look at the other VIPs that have yet to bat an eye at the other animals in the room. You wish he would stop slapping your cheek to keep your attention all on him.

His mouth drops with a little gasp suddenly. "Ah, I know what it is." He pinches your cheek, as one would to a baby, but the gesture isn't at all cute. The biting pain lingers long after he's stopped squeezing. "You're scared of the big guy up there, aren't you?"

He nods his head, but you don't need to look to know who he's referring to.

"Mm, he is pretty terrifying, isn't he, birdie?" He wets his lip before continuing. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, he won't get in the way."

You wonder how this man could stop a bullet from the gun that glints in the Front Man's pocket. You wonder why he's so confident that he's irreplaceable. This place goes through dozens of bodies a day, no matter what mask the wearer adorns. A crime is a crime is a crime.

You aren't left pondering for too long.

His hands leave your body and he sits back, clearing his throat before speaking to the room.

"None of you will mind me playing about with this sweet thing, will you?" You're looking at Hawks until he turns you to face the front of the room. You think the Front Man is staring at you — glaring, probably, plotting your timely demise, mentally dividing up your paycheck already — but you focus on the glass behind him. A fall from that height would be a blessing.

To the left, a voice asks, "You're missing the games already?"

Hawks chuckles. "No, of course not. Call it dinner and a show, my good man."

The voice replies, "Have at it."

Others join in, either shrugging or telling him to enjoy his meal. He tilts his head at the Front Man. "Is that alright with you?"

You wonder how the Front Man remains so steady. You wonder if he's internally seething at the disorder, or if he truly doesn't care.

"You may do as you please. Enjoy."

"See, darling," Hawks calls, turning your face back to his. "There's nothing to worry about."

His hand falls to the wine glass on your lap, lifting it till the rim creases your lip.

"Have a sip," he encourages, holding it there. You don't dare move. The first person falls. Laughter ensues. "No? Suit yourself."

You flinch for the briefest second as the drink trickles down your face. It may warrant your death, but you close your eyes, cringing at the sticky residue that will be left behind, quivering when you hear the muted thud of the glass. A fingertip traces the red streams, smearing the wine into your skin.

He makes you face him again.

"Now, don't you look even more enticing?" he murmurs, pushing the tray off of your lap. "Come closer."

You obey. It's all you can do. He keeps his eyes open as he follows the rivers with his tongue, uncaring of the paint that decorates your face, unbothered by the clench of your jaw beneath his mouth. You hear him hum when he crosses the apple of your cheek, feel his smirk when he licks at the corner of your lips. You don't know if the sticky wine or his dirty spit soils you more. Maybe it's the paint — the reason you're here, the reminder that there are others desperate enough to stoop as low as you have.

You want to wipe his saliva off. You don't get the chance to when he pulls you up and seats you on his lap.

Another player falls. You watch them flail while they can.

Hawks plays with the wings on your back in the meantime. "These look so pretty," he comments, tugging on the feathered tip, letting out a quiet oops when the plume falls free. It doesn't squirm before it hits the ground. "You're my pretty bird, aren't you?"

He pulls another one out, and drags it across your bare back. It tickles, the feather-light touch, the gentle grazes across your shoulder blades. When he trails down to your hip with it, you shift in your seat only for his other hand to wrap around your throat, holding you still.

"Oh?" he says, the single word intoned with enough amusement to make your fists clench. He repeats the action and you bite your lip to keep yourself together. "Is something wrong?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know, as if he isn't the cause of your discomfort.

With the hand on your neck, he moves you until your back is pressed against his chest, parting his thighs so your own legs spread, too. He rests his chin on your shoulder and the jewels scratch along your cheek when he tips his head down, watching himself move the feather along your stomach.

He must feel your breath hitch in your throat when he teases the plume down and then up because he snickers quietly. "Excited, are we? I know I am." He finishes his sentence with a roll of his hips and ice runs through your veins when you feel his hardness.

You don't know how you missed it, but now you can't keep your mind off of it. It pokes at your lower back, and no matter how much you arch away, he follows your movements, delighting in your unease, rejoicing much to your chagrin.

"Where do you think you're going, birdie?" Hawks chimes, tightening his hold on your neck. It's not enough to cut your air supply, but you don't think that was the point anyway. It's a display of power. Your life hangs in his blood-stained, golden hands — a show of dominance, of control, you realise; he could just as easily cut the thread loose and end you (the thought crosses your mind, another player free falls), and no one in the room would jump to step in. "I'm not done with you yet."

The feather trails further down. You can almost hear the corners of his lip turn up when he brushes the plume over your sex. "This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

"Stop."

It comes out as a whimper, barely audible over the raucous laughter that explodes when two people fall instead of just the one, so timid and fitting for a frail little bird such as yourself. He stops, but you don't think it's because you asked him to. Maybe he's thinking of the ways he should kill you for defying him.

Your life isn't yours to govern; your demise isn't yours to decide.

There's nothing more you could lose by continuing.

"Please stop."

"I was beginning to think you were mute. That would've been a shame."

His voice is light and airy. Nothing like the spiteful, irate tone you imagined he would have.

"Is that really what you want? For me to stop?"

You nod, but he clicks his teeth at your reply. "Answer me properly now, darling. Do you really want me to stop? Because I don't think you do."

The feather brushes against you gently as it falls. His hand replaces it, cupping over your sex so you can feel the outline of each finger press into you. He's warm, smooth like he's never worked a day in his life, surprisingly gentle like he actually cares for you.

"I think you're enjoying this," he continues, toying with your body, sliding two fingers up and down your folds, following the line of your entrance teasingly. "Someone of your background can only dream of all this. Of course you're enjoying it, no need to save face. No need to lie to me. Tell me what you like, dove. Go on."

"I don't— please, just, please stop."

"Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another." He dips his finger, just the very tip, into you, but it's enough for both of you to feel the wetness. You writhe in his hold, but he squeezes your neck once in warning. "It's alright to have fun, you know? This can't be new to you — whoring yourself out like this, I'm just another notch on your belt, aren't I? Or… Or is my pretty bird innocent? Hm? Is that it, darling? Too busy trying to make ends meet that you've never been touched properly? Oh, don’t worry. Don't worry, sweetheart," he says, and your body tenses when a single finger finally breaches past, pushing down to the knuckle and staying still. "I'll be gentle. I'll take care of you."

With that, he pulls his finger out, only to repeat the motion. In, out, in, out. You're shaking your head, quietly pleading for him to stop, but all he does is shush you, telling you to stop drawing attention to yourself. "Do you want them all to see? I won't stop them if they want a piece of you, you know — I can't blame them, either."

You shake your head, biting your lip to hold back a sob. You try to focus on the game, but it's all hazy.

"Good. I don't really feel like sharing." A second finger joins, and your head falls back on his shoulder at the stretch. The beaked nose of his mask skims across the thrumming flesh of your neck, but you don't move away when his lips latch on, teeth sinking into your skin without remorse. "You're all mine now, aren't you?"

"No," you cry, and he all but snickers at the way you try to fight his hand away from your cunt. His hold on your neck tightens, breath cutting short, and he hums when your hands fly to your neck, trying to pry him away.

"What was that?" he asks, digging his nails into your neck, scoring the line of his rings into your body. "Think I misheard you, dove. You're all mine, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes," you wheeze, mouth tripping and spluttering over the words as your vision darkens around the edges. "Yours— Yours, please—!"

Air rushes into your lungs like a burst dam when he lets go, settling back into his loose grip. You clench the sofa on either side of your legs, channeling your frustration into the leather.

"That's it. That's a good bird," he praises, granting you a kiss over the crescents he left behind. "This isn't so bad, is it?" His hand ventures down from your neck in search of your clit. You can't tell what the others in the room are saying, too focused on the lewd squelch that accompanies a third finger slipping in. "Mm, sound so pretty— so fucking pretty for me. Can you hear that? Can you hear how much you're enjoying it? Fuck, I bet the players can, too, you're so fucking wet. Look at you."

He pulls out to raise his hand, spreading his fingers to show off the arousal that hangs between them. The sight disgusts you. You want to lunge forward and snap them apart, but that won't wipe away the slick dripping out of your hole, dampening his slacks, wetting your thighs.

Your fingers twitch at your side as he carries on rolling your clit. You want this to be over already. You want him to have his way and be done with you, to leave you alone and let you stew in your misery for as long as possible. That won't be long, you think, this game is nearly over.

He groans around his own fingers, tasting your arousal before shoving those same fingers into your own mouth. "I knew you'd taste amazing — fuck, I just knew it. Cum for me."

"I can't—"

"I'm not asking," he growls, using the replacing the fingers on your clit with the spit-soaked ones. "Fucking cum for me."

You don't want to, but there's no stopping the heat that stokes inside you as he circles your bud, rolling the nerves around, setting them alight with each flick of his wrist. There's no helping the way your back arches off of him, and you'd be thankful he raises a hand to muffle your cries if you weren't already so delirious because of his touches.

You curse behind his hand, clenching your eyes shut as your release finally washes over you. White hot flashes behind your eyelids. Stars dot your vision. A ringing strums through your ears until it tapers into soft cooing.

You blink your eyes open slowly, wincing at the overhead lights.

"There you are," he grins, gradually bringing you down from your high. "There's my pretty dove."

A chuckle sounds in the room, but it's not the low, teasing one you've grown familiar with. You tense in his hold, and the shh, it's alright he murmurs does little to quell your nerves.

"You call that a show, Hawks?" the man with the fox mask asks. "Missed the whole game for a bit of fingering, and you've still got your pants on."

"What can I say, Fox, I'm an easy man to please," he replies. "You'd be the same if you felt this tight cunt."

"Is that an offer?"

"In your dreams."

You can't focus on their banter. If you squint, you can make out the shape of the gun in the Front Man's pocket. It grounds you. This will be over soon.

"Front Man," Hawks calls, letting his fingers mindlessly drum along your slick sex. He pushes his bulge against your back. You pray the gun makes an appearance soon. "How much for this pretty bird?"

898 notes · View notes

lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

Text

Beel Wants a Baby

Beelzebub x Fem!reader

Warnings: cunnilingus, breeding, semi-rough sex, pretty vanilla, unprotected sex, a hint of voyeurism bc ofc Belphie’s there, hints of MC being intimate with multiple brothers (that’s just how you play the game baybeee!), very slight, and i mean minuscule, daddy kink

A/N: This is the first time I’ve written for Obey Me! and I honestly needed to get this out of my head so I could focus on other projects lmao. Please be gentle. I’m new to the fandom. (Minors DNI)

It’s not the fanning of his warm breath against your skin that stirs you away from your slumber, nor is it the press of his soft lips against the hollow of your neck. You’re used to it by now - Beelzebub getting a little more cuddly after you’ve fallen asleep. It’s probably something he’s picked up from his twin. You like it. His presence is comforting, and his affections are never unwelcomed.

However, when air-light fingers slowly, sensually glide down your chest to your navel and his hand begins moving in soothing circles, tiny knots crowd your stomach, causing a pulse to begin between your legs. When you’re finally lucid, your toes curl and your thighs squeeze together. Your eyes flutter open, and you’re greeted with his appraising purple irises that gleam with adoration.

You lift a hand to his flushed cheek, cupping his face. He leans into your touch with a soft hum.

“What time is it, Beel?” You’re not too sure if it’s morning yet. Belphegor is still snoozing away in the bed next to Beelzebub’s, but that’s a given. Belphie would sleep until noon unless somebody did something about it. Despite being a little more alert, you can tell by the sleep under Beel’s eyes that he’s only been awake for a little longer than you have.

Beelzebub mumbles back a short, “dunno,” and that’s how you know it’s not exactly morning. He’d already be talking about breakfast if it were. You faintly wonder when his stomach will begin to growl, and if he’ll ask you to come to the kitchen with him. Before things can escalate to that, you lean up and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

What you think would be a simple peck—a light kiss before you fall back into bed, and turn away before he tries to tow you with him to get a pre-breakfast snack—turns into something much more. His kiss is deep—hungry in a way that only Beelzebub can manage while keeping it arousing. He parts your lips with a flick of his tongue and is quick to to gain as much from the exchange as he can manage. He groans lowly as his tongue grooves over yours, riffing up to stroke the roof of your mouth. All the while, his hands roam your body, moving over your sides to tighten on your hips. He pulls you against him, and you feel his erection press against your pelvis, which sends another excited flutter to your stomach.

You’re only able to breathe when Beelzebub breaks the kiss to move his lips back to your neck. What once was little lip nuzzles turns into sudden nips and harsh sucking. His tongue laves over you, trailing long, wet stripes over the most sensitive parts of your skin. He bites down when your body shudders underneath him. You moan, and despite knowing you’ll be reprimanded by Lucifer (and possibly even Mammon), for having dark spots around your neck, you weave your fingers through Beel’s ginger hair, and tug, asking him for more. He’s quick to oblige, making sure that both sides of your neck get an equal amount of sucking treatment.

When your hips buck, Beelzebub takes advantage of your position and begins grinding against you—the thin material of both of your pajama bottoms proves to be a useful form of friction. You can feel your arousal begin to pool as his cock slides against your entrance, teasing you, giving you a sample of what’s to come. But you’re far too impatient for that, and you find yourself cupping him, rubbing him through his smooth pants.

There’s a grunt, and suddenly Beelzebub is shifting his kisses lower, raising your shirt over your head so he can wrap his mouth around your right nipple while his hand tweaks and pinches your left. He bites down softly, eliciting a sweet mewl from you, only to have him chuckle and do the same to your left. Then he’s lowering himself, kissing your stomach over and over, petting you. It’s odd, but he’s giving quite a bit of attention to your stomach. You don’t mind too much, except your hips are more than a little sensitive, so when he kisses you there, he gets you squirming. But he doesn’t travel lower. He just keeps kissing your stomach...until he sighs.

“Beel? Baby?” You cast a glance down on him to see him eyeing your stomach almost solemnly. When his eyes meet yours, you see it: his sadness. His brows are knitted together, and he looks so hurt that it’s almost enough to make you cry. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he dips down to kiss your stomach again.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, reaching down to brush some hair out of his eyes.

He pauses. “Yeah.”

You lean up, still keeping your hand in his hair. Your fingers move down to tip his chin up at you so he’s looking at you again. “Want me to come with you to get something to eat?”

You definitely don’t want to stop here, and going to the kitchen would be a bit of a pain, but you can’t stand to see Beel looking this sad. You’d even walk with him all the way to Hell’s Kitchen if it meant seeing him smile again. But all he does is shake his head.

“I’m not hungry for food.” He drops another kiss, and you think you’re back on track, until his head touches your stomach again. He grimaces.

“Talk to me, Beel. What’s going on?” You’re more tentative now. Awake. You cradle his head in your hands and kiss his nose. “Why are you sad?”

“I had a dream.”

Oh…

Beelzebub has told you about his dreams. Memories from the Celestial War—memories about Lilith, shot down right in front of him. You hadn’t truly been there, so you don’t share his trauma, but you know it haunts him, and you want to be there for him, especially during bad nights.

“I’m sorry, Bee. I know how those bad dreams make you feel. We can talk about it, if you’d like. Or...I could distract you.”

Again, he shakes his head. “I’m not sad because it was a bad dream. I’m sad because it was a good dream.” His eyes fall down to your stomach. “It was such a good dream. And it wasn’t real.”

You begin to move your hand away from him, but he catches you, and kisses the carpal side of your palm. “I want it to be real,” he says, “so badly.”

“Yeah?” You ask as Beel’s lips slowly travel up your arms. He pulls you against him, crowding you in what would be a loving embrace if it weren’t for his tongue sliding against your neck again. When you speak, it’s broken—breathy and needy. “H-how can I help? Can...we make it real?”

He lets out a low sort of hum as his hand slips down your body and into your pajamas shorts. Fingers find your center, and you gasp when he begins to pet you through your already damp panties.

“Lay back,” he commands in a whisper, decidedly dropping the subject. You’re suddenly struck with Beelzebub’s change in expression. He no longer looks sad. Instead, there’s a determined shine in his eye. You can feel the heat of his ravenous intensity as you lay your head back on the pillow, shuffling out of your shorts. He moves south and spreads your legs apart so you’re open and ready. He plants an open-mouthed kiss over your clothed slit before his tongue slips up the length of you. He hums in appreciation, always loving the taste of you, even through your panties.

Tugging the thin barrier between you and his mouth to the side, Beel’s demon tongue slues out, hungrily lapping up your arousal. He’s a little sloppy and relentless as he runs long, languid strokes between your lips, but there’s method to his madness as far as your clit is concerned. The tip of his tongue barely teases it, but it’s enough to get your rocking against his mouth. As hungry as Beel usually is, when it comes to you, he’s much more likely to play with his food before his meal.

He hooks his arms around your legs to hold you in place before his long tongue dives deep into your cunt.

“O-oh!” You choke out a moan, surprised by how full you feel with just his tongue. “Beel, god, that’s—nnnh!”

“Shhh.” He slides out of you, offering your throbbing pussy little kitten licks before saying, “don’t want to wake Belphie.”

He wraps his mouth around your clit and begins to suck. His fingers prods your entrance, and he doesn’t spare another second before his large digits are halfway in. He pumps himself in and out of you, curling his fingers to the press against that spongey button that drives you crazy. You have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from growing louder, but still you’re whining through it, stirring Beelzebub on.

Soon you find your thighs clamping down on his head. Your heart pounds and blood rushes down to your center. You moan, halfway whining your way through climax as Beelzebub continues to devour you. He doesn’t stop until you’re done shaking and practically yanking on his hair to pry him off of you. He has a smug look on his face—a rare sight for Beel—as he licks residual slick off of his fingers.

“Was that good?” He asks, though you know that he knows it was.

“Incredible,” you pant, still trembling a bit.

He chuckles and sits up right, pulling his pajama bottoms down to reveal his thick, throbbing member. The tip glistens with a thick hint of precum, and he uses it as lubrication to begin pumping himself.

While you slip out of your panties, you ask, “do you have something? For...protection?”

His eyes fall over your naked body and he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to use any,” he says, looming over you. He presses his cockhead against your still-sensitive clit and begins rubbing himself against you.

“But, Beel-!” You’re silenced by his mouth slamming into yours. He pulses against you, sliding his cock against your waiting, plush entrance. He groans into the kiss before pulling away, a string of saliva connected his lips to yours.

“I want a baby,” he whispers gruffly.

“A-? A baby?!”

“You were so happy in my dream,” he continues, one hand traveling back to your stomach as he continues to grind against you. “You had this cute little bump and you were so excited for her.”

“A girl?” You ask, eyes widening in disbelief. Beelzebub hums a conformation and kisses your cheek softly.

“We were gonna have a little baby girl and we were going to name her Lilith,” he explains, mouth raking over your ear. “I want to make you that happy in real life. Let me inside. Let me put a baby in you.”

This is definitely a subject that warrants a longer discussion, but you’re unable to say that when Beelzebub once again bites into your neck. You cry out, hips bucking up, allowing him direct access into your cunt. He slides in with a groan, and you are absolutely lost to him.

He pushes in deep, the feeling of his unwrapped cock filling you up in one delicious thrust. Your mouth falls open on a broken moan, and that’s when his muscular arms wrap around you, caging you against him as he begins to groove into you.

Beelzebub is strong, but he’s a gentle giant. He’s always been so careful to not hurt you when he fucks you, but this is different. He starts off at his usually benevolent pace, moving his hips so he hits just the right spot, but when his hand moves over your stomach to feel his cock pressing up against you, something in him switches. His thrusts become more relentless and he even bares his teeth when you reach out to stroke his muscular chest.

He lifts legs over his shoulders, folding you against yourself, and slams into with so much force, you find yourself yipping. He kisses you with bruising intensity, tongue greedily twining with yours before he’s pulling away, growling I love you’s and I’m gonna make you so happy.

“Happy,” you echo in a half-dazed state. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this roughly. Lucifer sure likes using toys to make you scream, but when he’s inside you, he’s more charitable than anything else. Beelzebub is being greedy, and you would have half a mind to say that he’s using you, if it didn’t feel so good.

“Bee,” you whimper as you feel a tightening in your center. “Feels so good, baby! Please don’t stop!”

His response is to hiss through his teeth and move his fingers in ceaseless circles around your clit. “You’re gonna come for me, baby girl?” He kisses you. “You’re gonna make me a daddy?”

“Ahhh! Yes!”

Beelzebub drops one of your legs and holds the other spread farther out. “Use your words, little one,” he commands, panting. “Say, I wanna have your baby, daddy.”

You repeat his words, albeit breathlessly, right before incurring the crackling of sparks of an oncoming orgasm. You clench around him, chanting your pleas, locking your arms around his neck. He kisses you deeply, silencing your warbling cries, and as you lose yourself, spasming around him, he releases a long groan, jetting out white hot seed into your throbbing cunt.

The two of you stay like that, connected, breathing together, kissing each other, and loving every second of it. He whispers to you, apologizing for getting a little out of control, and you smile and kiss his nose, making sure he knows it’s okay. He tells you that he’s excited, that you’re going to be a beautiful mother, and that he can’t wait to be your baby’s daddy. All you can do is smile and let him tuck you against him after he pulls out.

You’re not sure what to think about having a kid with Beelzebub—with any of the demon brothers, for that matter. But you’ll be sure to talk to him more about later in the morning. He’ll be sure to want a repeat of what just happened—Beelzebub is as gluttonous as they come—but for now, you’ll be happy being held in his embrace.

Until, of course, his stomach begins to growl.

“Hmph!” He’s quick to complain.

“Do you want me to come with you to the kitchen?” You offer.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He kisses the back of your neck before sliding out of bed. “I woke you up, after all. You rest.”

You hum back to him, thanking him as he walks out of his shared room, then snuggle up to Beelzebub’s pillow, already missing his warmth. It’s not long before you’re dozing back to sleep, and a new presence dips into Beel’s bed.

You feel his hands roam over your bare back before he speaks.

“Now, that’s no fair…” Belphegor's voice is crackly with sleep as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot with envy and need while his arms wrap around your torso. “What if I want you to have my baby?”

#obey me x reader #obey me x you #beelzebub x reader #beel x reader #obey me imagines #obey me reader insert #reader insert #obey me

2K notes · View notes

sugar-sweets-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Zemo x Wife!Reader

Word count - 1,694

Warning! - (NO MINORS ALLOWED) 18+ content, some daddy kink, dom!fem, no protection, rough sex, light hand job, praises

Author's note - Sorry I didn't proof read so if there is any typos I apologize!

Prompt - You have been married to Zemo before he was locked up. His butler informed you he was out of prison. So you find out where he is and come knocking on his window. Wanting to spend your minimal time importantly. 🤣

Knock Knock Knock

Zemo had just got out of the shower. Tying his robe as he heard the peculiar noise. Wondering over to his window and quickly noticed you peeking through. His eyes widen and his lips curl to a smile. Swiftly, he unlocked the window and pulled it open.

"My darling..!" You happily cry out. Jumping into his arms. Hugging him tightly, never wanting to let go. It hurt to not see him for years. You miss him, especially his wonderful scent.

Zemo chuckled, "shhh, you must be quiet, my love." His hands slide up your back. His lips connect to the top of your head. Giving you a nice squeeze before letting go of you. Pulling back to take you all in. He hadn't seen you in years. Though all the memories of you flooded back. You looked angelic to him.

Your cheeks fill with pink pigment. Looking away shyly, you brush some hair behind your ear. "What? Do I look different? Is it bad?" You ask in an insecure manner. Hoping to not displease him. Suddenly you are pushed to look back at him. Catching his random outburst of chuckles.

"You look stunning, sweetheart." Zemo uttered out. Soon shutting the window and closing the curtains. He strolls over to the door and locks it. "I've been very lonesome. I'm afraid I may not be free much longer, my kitten."

You give him a worrisome look. That's definitely what you didn't want to hear. Instantly, you grab a hold of one of his hands. Bringing it up to your lips. Giving a tender Peck to the back of his hand. Soon holding it up to your cheek. Caressing his hand against the side of your face. "Don't say that. We will think of something to do. I promise, I won't let them separate us again." Your tone had a subtle shaky-ness to it.

Zemo sighed softly at your affections. They felt so warm and just reminded him of better times. "No, you mustn't stress over the inevitable. I know these moments will end with me behind bars again. It's too good to be true." He explains in a gentle tone. More gentle than he usually ever sounds. Which makes what he says all too real.

You feel his thumb rub your cheek. Closing your eyes in a relaxed fashion. "Then let me make these moments unforgettable, my world." You, in a way, beg. Wanting desperately to make it all last while. At least he would have these hours to think about. So he wouldn't just have so much pain to think about in a cold prison.

Zemo shifted his hand over. His thumb, catching your bottom lip. Swiping it across your plump lip. "Give me your body tonight..and make it last me a lifetime." He smiled softly. Demanding such a thing in a very soft way. Which wasn't normal for Zemo. He usually is so aggressive and forceful. Though it was a very nice change.

Not even giving a vocal answer. You begin to kiss against his thumb. Taking it in with your tongue. Giving light sucks against half of his digit. Your eyes focus on one another. His thumb pushed deeper into your mouth. Letting out a heavy hum of desire. Sucking harder as you felt his gaze grow more and more hunger for intimacy. Slowly, pulling his thumb from your mouth. He drug his down your bottom lip to your chin.

"Please, my love. I want you to have a night you won't forget. Lemme be in charge." You asked in a delicate tone. Taking his hand that just was touching you. Stroking the back of it with your thumb. His eyes flutter as he gives you a stare. A stare he hasn't given you in a long time. Not since the first you met. A lustful, longing gaze. All he mustered was a nod as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Okay, you can be in charge. Give me a night I can fantasize about in my cell." He smirked.

You giggle as you gently pull away from him. Reaching forwards to the tie on his robe. Opening it up to see his body. Making you melt on the inside. Geez, you really needed to compose yourself. Before you could do anything else. Zemo pulled it off completely. As he leaned in to get some sweet affections. But you stop him and gesture for him to lay down on the bed. Even though you did want to take him right there badly.

"Don't let this power get to your head."

"I just want you to relax baby. So I can strip down for you and hump your brains out." You wink.

"Oooh.. Say no more." Zemo chripped. As he fluffed some pillows. Getting on the bed, laying on his back. His head propped up by the piled pillows. As he stares over at you. His gaze still remains very heated.

You felt a touch shy, due to the attention you had. Turning your back to him as you slowly pull off your top. Swaying your hips playfully as you tossed the shirt to the side. Looking over your shoulder at him. As he chuckled softly and smiled at you. Before long you slid off your bottoms. Stepping out of them and kicking them away.

Soon enough Zemo was starting to touch himself. His hand stroked his full shaft. As he watched you eagerly, unable to hide his excitement for you. Which gave you more confidence and aroused. You walk over to his side. Removing your panties next to him. Before you gently pull his hand away.

"No more, baby.. I don't want you to have too much fun without me."

"Then ride m—"

"Beg.. Or I won't let you be inside me."

"Ugh..you little tease." He sighed in annoyance. Having a playful smirk worn on his face. "Please.. Fuck me til I'm dry and can't cum anymore." He begged like you wanted.

"Heh, fine. I'll do it Zemo, just for you daddy." You get on top of him and straddle him. Spitting into the palm of your hand. Soon stroking it all on his cock. Giving him a few heavy strokes. Hearing him softly hum in pleasure. Once he felt hard enough you let go. Seeing it stand up nicely, pulsing with needs. Needs to be buried deep inside your core. Which got you throbbing and a bit damp.

"Baby, help me keep my balance."

"Of course.. Here. You can hold my hands or lean over and put your hands on my chest." He said in a hushed tone.

You gave a nod as you reached to take his hands. Holding them firmly as you begin to shift your hips just right. You felt his tip up against your entrance. Biting your bottom lip as you keep eye contact with him. Slowly you sink down until you're filled. Your mouth agape as your grip tightens.

"Nnn.. So tight.." Zemo groaned in his gruff tone.

Soon you'd be hearing more of his groans. As you begin to carefully bounce on his erection. Letting soft steady moans leave your lips. Steadily you began to rock up and down. "Ahhh… fuck baby. You have such a fat cock." You whimper. Soon hearing a chuckle of amusement from your lover. You look at him with Redden cheeks.

"You're so cute when you say such perverted things." He teased you. Still letting some groans slip. Especially when you fell quicker against his hard on.

"Oh h-..mm.. H-Hush."

You really start to get into the groove of things. Bouncing and rolling your hips at a faster pace. Earning you repeated praises and moans from your lover. As this pattern of bounces grew boring to you. You wanted to spice things up. Letting go of his hands. Which made him give you a curious look. You lean over and hold onto his shoulders.

I'm seconds you begin to hump him hard. Making the bed creak loudly. Zemo gasped, his hands clinging to your hips. "Nnn! Fuck!" He growled in a heated fashion. Under his breath he began to chant praises to you. Which made you fuck him harder. Focusing on using kegels at the right moments.

"Ahhh nnn.. Baby please." Zemo uttered in a whine. As he didn't expect such naughty things from you.

"Please what? Tell me Zemo. Want me to fuck you harder? You poor horny thing." You murmur in a toying baby voice. Some sharp grunts mixed within your words.

All he can conjure is a quick nod as he stares deep into your eyes. Biting his bottom lip hard. His body tensing up here and there. While you make your skins slap violently together. Your moans grow louder and louder together. At this point Zemo didn't care if they were heard. He was only focused on you.

"You're going to make me cum.. Mmm."

"Fill me please daddy. I wanna be stuffed.!" You cry out, unable to hold back anymore. The walls of your core clamp against his girth. Coating his shaft in your juices.

Zemo gasps deeply as he yanks your hips down. Holding you firmly down against his pelvis. To be deep inside of you, filling you up. Your eyes widen as you feel his warm cream shoot up in your cervix. "Ahhh! Oh Z-Zemo.. Baby!" You cry deeply.

He forcefully holds you down for a few moments. As his orgasm soon comes to an end. His grip loosens and he lets go of you. His hands rub your outer thighs gently. Both of you pant in sinc. Bodies glisten with passionate sweat. You don't want to move, loving the feel of his softening member stuffed in you. Laying against him, you give him weak kisses.

"Mmm, I love you my sweet kitten." Zemo said between kisses.

"I love you too.." You mumbled back in a tired tone.

Zemo rubs your back gently and as he hushes you. "Get some rest. You did good. I'll definitely remember this forever." He chuckled lightly. Letting you rest against his chest as you two enjoyed every second of this.

#daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel bruhl smut #daniel brühl #helmut zemo #zemo x you #zemo #zemo smut #zemo x reader

125 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Sugary Sweet Tears

Warnings: Tentacles (i feel like this shouldnt be warning but more of a grace but some dont like tents so), Somno, Reader is a soft dom Word Count: 4.1K A/N: Tentacles amirite ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

Tamaki huffs, face red and a painful strain tenting against his lower half, he leans against the wall outside the apartment, fingers curling and scratching against the eggshell paint. He holds the key with a firm grip, hand shaking as he struggles to insert the key into the lock, keening with sharp gasps as he presses his forehead against the cool door while he muffles a low moan with the back of his hand, breathing a sigh of relief as the key finally manages to insert itself into the lock. His toes curl and he stumbles into the room, slamming the door shut behind him with his back, head and back arched as he curls his hand, the teeth of the key pressing into his palm, while he takes slow steps towards the bathroom.

His body burns, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, and as he stumbles, hands pressing flat against the wall to keep him steady and the key falls to the floor with a loud clink. His tongue feels swollen, mouth salivating as the grooves of the wall brush against his bare palms and eyes are clouded in lust, mind filled with nothing but anguish and the need to press himself against something- against someone and just move his hips until the quirk wears off.

The bathroom light blinds him and he stares at his expression. Eyes filled with tears, a red tipped nose and face dusted in cherry red, and messy hair that sticks up and clings to his forehead as sweat pours to complete his appearance. His mouth parted and as he leans over the sink, a trail of drool slips past and spills onto the clean porcelain. His toes curl and he slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling the coarse moan that leaves him.

The facet runs and cold water mixes with his spittle and he cups his hands under and splashes the water onto his face, sighing as a bit of relief comes to him, but as quick as it came, it’s gone. He lets out a pitiful, pained moan, tears threatening to spill over and trace down his cheeks. He shakes his head and removes himself from his clothes, opting to take a shower, that perhaps that will provide him with a longer relief away from the way his cock leaks with pre-ejaculate, the tip blushing with red topped with growing pearls and he feels so heavy. In the bedroom, he hears you whine, sharp and quick, a dream that came too close to reality and his cock responds to you. The clothes kick and sweep across the floor as he walks away, mind clouded and his hand shuts the light off from the bathroom.

The bedroom is dark and he walks with memorized steps, movements slow and hands clawing around the door frame as he uses it as leverage, burning fingertips searing against his skin as his hand falls back to his side. He turns on the lamp, a soft, yellow glow lighting in the room and his eyes turn to meet your sleeping frame. You don’t rustle at the heavy breathing and the light does nothing to disturb you and any rational thoughts that he had left vanishes.

The bed squeaks under his weight, the blanket that was wrapped tightly around your body, is thrown to the side. You wear an old shirt of his, faded back in color and in your sleep, the shirt has risen to expose your pink panites, a soft, light color and he oozes out of his cock, tongue coming up to swipe at his lips.

Tamaki feels shameful, whimpering as he lowers his body against you, whines as your body heat compares to his, and his face is buried into your shoulder, mouth parted and darkening the shirt as his cock is pressed flat against your covered slit. If it were any other day, he’d bashfully ask if he was allowed to touch you, but with desire clouding his mind, he cares about his own want, his cock guiding him to your coveted core that rests behind a thin fabric. He gives a hesitant rut, hands fisting over the pillow and bedsheets, and the whine that leaves his mouth is sinful- full of want and shame. He pushes against you, cock staining the bedsheets and parts of your inner thigh as his hips move at a quicker pace. His shaft twitches, burning red and painfully hard, small wails mumbling past his lips as he tries to find any friction. In your sleep, you squirm, thighs coming together for a quick second, pressing and wrapping around his length and then all too soon, they part and he’s left open.

His hands twitch as they lower down your body, sliding over the faded cotton and he turns you on your side, his body immediately coming back to you, his chest against your back and hands sliding under the shirt, scratching at your soft belly and arching over your breasts. His fingers pinch at your soft nipples, tugging on them, palms going to press on them, feeling the way the hardened buds point against him. His mouth attacks your neck, leaving wet kiss marks that make your neck shine and his cock is pressed between the softness of your thighs. He's in a deep pain, his stomach constricted painfully, cock heavy and sore, as he whines and grinds. The pain is dull, pulsing around his entire body, lighting him on fire, every nerves, every joint in his body, screaming as he thrusts. His mind is foggy, clouded in a lustful haze, mouth open and drooling, tears brimming his eyes and he presses deeper into your breasts, cooing at how good it feels to have your nipples pressed into the palm of his hands.

His cock is hot against your thighs, rutting against you as sharp moans are muffled against you. His moans are shaky, nails digging into your soft flesh and his mouth waters at the thought of licking your wounds away, to nurse on your soft, plentiful breasts, to whimper and croon when you hands knit into his hair and push yourself further against his mouth as he grinds against your cunt. But for now, he paws at your breasts, wraps your thighs against his cock and moves in frantic motions, his cock swelling and he shuts his eyes close, biting down on your neck as thick ropes spill and coat you in a sticky substance, the bed sheets, a warm maroon color, stain in white and darken under and yet, the desperation doesn’t leave him, he whines pitifully and continues to move his hips. The sensitivity runs up and down his cock, more of his essence coming out in weak spurts, his mouth aches and he runs his tongue over the indents in your neck, angry and painful looking and he mumbles apologies into your skin and with sharp nails, he removes the shirt from your body, leaving soft, red scratch marks against your body.

Salvia spills from his mouth as he catches a glimpse of your perky breasts coated in red crescents with pert nipples. His tongue lolls out and the heat doesn’t die, his hands reaching upwards and pressing in the front of your neck and reaching past your lips to pinch at your tongue. Your mouth is hot and instinctively, your tongue swipes at the digits that have entered and you suckle softly before letting your mouth relax.

His breath wobbles and his voice cracks. “Sweetheart,” he croaks, “can you wake up for me?” His hips stutter and he spills on you once. “Please,” he cries, body trembling, his hands gliding over your body and hooking over the waistband of your underwear and he pulls down, wincing as he removes his cock from your sweet thighs. “Wake up,” he chants, nuzzling into your neck. It’s an odd movement to remove your underwear and with a keen sense of smell, he can smell your arousal and he brings the panties up to his face, watching with fascination as they shine with your slick, and his tongue peeks out, a distraught look on his face as bends his arm to suck in the taste that you spilled on your panties.

“Tama-chan,” you whisper and his arm freezes, tongue retracting back into his mouth. “What exactly are you doing?” You ask in an intrigued tone, bending a knee and raising it, causing your lips to spread and he groans and rests his forehead against the back of your head. “The bed’s all wet,” you murmur, your hand slipping and touching at the now drying discharge on the bed. “How many times?”

“Twice,” he croaks, cock still hard and he continues to rut against you, whimpering as your hand wraps around his cock and tugs on him harshly. “I’m still- Please,” he moans, cock twitching and he muffles a scream with a bite on his lips. “It hurts. It- Let me fuck your cunt. Please,” he croaks, hands pawing onto your body. “I promise to be good.” Tears spill over and he doesn’t know how he’s lasted without slipping his thickness into your warm cavern.

You move away and he whimpers, rolling on his back, his hand goes down to relieve himself but you catch his wrist and he lets out a strangled cry. “You’re not usually so brazen.” You stroke his hair that sticks to his forehead and he nuzzles into your hand, desperate to feel any type of affection. “What happened, dear?” You press your lips against his nose and he scrunches it, bucking his hips into the air. “Use your words, Tama-chan.”

“Qui- Quirk,” he gasps out. “Aphrodisiac,” he explains weakly. “I-” his eyes water and his mouth parts as your breasts swing gently with the movements, “I’ve been so hard- I need- Please,” he mutters, “ride me, let me fuck you. Please-” his legs pinch together and you glance down to see cum ooze and bubble out, dripping down his shaft- “take care of me.”

“Third one, huh?” You turn back to look him in the eyes and his heels dig into the mattress. “You fucked me in my sleep and now you want to be rewarded for such crass behavior? Dear, I have work tomorrow morning. I’m all slicked and wet and did you even think about my pleasure? Or did you just be a greedy, little boy and think about your own?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Oh honey,” you shake your head and click your tongue in disdain. “Bad, little boys don’t get to stuff their cock.”

“No, no,” he mewls, tears slipping past and curving over his cheeks. Your hand leaves his face and he tries to nuzzle into where your hand once rested. “Let me taste you. Let me eat you out. I’ll make you feel good. Let me suck on your tits, please. I’ll do what you want. Just- fuck!” He hisses out, eyes wide and you grasp his cock in your hand.

“Here’s the deal,” you cunt is lifted over his face and gossamer strings stick and snap apart and your legs spread, “you make me feel good and I’ll work on your pretty, pink cock, hm? Does that sound good?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, breath hot and mouth wet as your sex lowers onto his mouth. “Anything for you,” he murmurs, words quickly muffled by your weeping cunt against his wet mouth.

“Three times and you’re still so hard, Tamaki,” you coo, your hand wrapped around his length. “Must have been a strong quirk.” His tongue lashes out, sliding against your folds, the tip of it parting and teasing your slit. He breathes sharply when a nail glides against a sensitive vein. “Oh, you poor baby. You must have been hard the entire way home.” He nods against your heat and his cock twitches in your grip. “Now Tamaki, there’s no need to be shy. You’re free to eat to your heart’s content. Just no touching, okay? You still don’t get off so easily.”

He jumps and raises his head, neck craning in a dull ache, tongue circling around the rim of your entrance, small bits of arousal staining and dripping on his tongue. His tongue pushes past and enters your soft cunt, a sense of pride swelling in his chest when you curse softly under your breath. He swirls inside of your velvety walls, tongue long and thin, folding and expanding and tracing along inside, your slick spilling past and coating his face and arches his back, breathing heavily when your lips brush against his cockhead.

You’re teasingly slow, lips pressing soft, fleeting kisses against his slit, lips dragging down the mushroom head, and open mouthed kisses warming his cock, coated in a mixture of your slick, his cum and now you’re salvia. He moans when you envelop his cockhead, cheeks already hollowing and tongue alternating between flat and the tip of it, as it moves around him. He moans against you, sweet, strong vibrations against your core and it reaches a heat pooling in your lower stomach, the knot around twisting and coiling and you sit deeper against his face. One hand keeps you held at a slant while the other wraps around and holds his cock, pumping him in soft motions, mouth lowering and pressing your tongue against him.

Your tongue swirls around him, hand fisting what cannot fit and your nails tap against him, lowering your head and removing your hand to lay flat against the bed, coming to a stable position. He groans against you, your soft walls around with thick, gooey arousal dripping and coating you, mixed in with his warm spittle that pushes and leaves you, his teeth bared and slightly nipping at you. He circles your clit and suckles on it, the pink muscle shaky even as he gets his fill. You lower your mouth and his cock slides down the curve of your throat, filling and expanding and with shared pleasure, you moan against him.

You pull away for a brief moment and he lets out a loud whine, shaking his head and lapping at your cunt. You hear muffled words of pleading and you kiss his slit, pearls painting your swollen lips. “It’s okay, dear. You’re doing so good. Such a good-” you peck his slit- “pretty-” you blow cool air at his slit and watch in interest as he bobs- “boy.” You swallow him in your mouth once more. Your jaw is wide, spread as you try to open it to the fullest extent and as your orgasm washes over his face in full waves, his mouth open and suckling, clicking and eager, he takes it greedily, enjoying the sweet flavor that fills him and with a quick tap against his thigh, his leg muscles tense and his hands claw at the sheets. He’s sweet tasting, no bitter, salty aftermath, full of sweets and clean, as he spills thick cream down your throat, your eyes watering and hands curling over his thighs, scratching him as you try to not gag around him.

You pull away, cupping your mouth, not daring to waste his flavor and you watch as his ock still stands in attention, his tongue still lapping feverishly against you and when you crawl away, he protests, shaking his head and hands coming up to make grabbing motions.

“Please,” he moans, eyes half lidded and face covered in a handsome blush, “more. I’m not done, please.”

You sit on him, his cock hitting against your stomach and your hands grab his wrists. You place his palms on your breasts and he whimpers, bucking his hips, trails of discharge dirtying your stomach. “You’re going to be a good boy, okay?” You lean over and cup his face. “Right? You’re going to listen to me and behave?” He nods eagerly, eyes watering and his breaths coming out in short, heaving rasps. You smile sweetly, lips curving over your teeth and you lean into his ear, whispering in a sultry voice, “Bring out the tentacles, Tama-chan.”

His arms morph, where hands once laid upon your chest are now replaced by candy colored tentacles with soft rose colored suctions. You take in a sharp gasp. Your hand leaves his face and you hold the frim appendages under your grasp; you can feel the power they hold in them, the muscles that twitch and pulse and they wrap around your torso, suctions teasing the edge of your nipples, and he lifts you in the air, watching you with attentive eyes and when you nod your head, your legs spread and you’re filled by his cock.

His mouth encases around a pert nipple, cheeks hollowing as he begins to nurse, his tongue flickering against the bud, coming in short, fast licks, cheeks hollowed and his bottom lip wobbles as your hand covers over his head, fingers parting his tangle hair and he whines appreciatively, eyes closing and around your body, the tentacles slip and hold onto you. The solid mass arches and sticks your body, a suction cup wrapped around the neglected breast. It’s soft and sticky, slip and hold onto the nipple, and his arms pulse and your bud is pulled taut and you let out a soft curse broken by a moan.

“You’re doing so good, love,” you coo, eyes pinching shut as he rocks his hips. “You poor hero, you must have been needy for so long.” Your hands scratch at his scalp and he nuzzles further into your chest. “You’re doing such a good job Tama-chan. I feel so full,” you croon, mouth parted as you let out gasps of pleasure. “My precious Suneater, you’re stretching me so wide.”

The suction pulses and it makes you grit your teeth, another orgasm already trailing and forming. Your walls pulse, gooey and soft around him; his hard member thick and twitching inside and you clench around him, your entrance taut and his teeth nip at your bud, is tongue flicking slowly and flat in a silent apology. His head nudges against your hand and the suction pulls away, leaving your breast with a red rimmed circle and a swollen nipple. His head darts and your bud, drenched in his dribble has a suction wrapped around and you groan at the feeling.

He’s deep inside of you, cock twitching around your walls, sharp clicking sounds filling the room, and a thick tentacle, curls and wraps around your neck, the thickness slimming down as it reaches your mouth. Your head is craned back and the soft, thin tip swipes across your lips and you open your mouth, tongue out and flat and you greedily suck on him. Even with the thin appendage, it still fills your mouth and drool spills out from a corner and slides down your chin. It spills down and presses against the back of your throat, tears fill your eyes as it invades your throat, tongue running over the suctions that twitch and stick lightly to your own pink appendage.

Your hand fists into his hair and the other holds the back of his head as he continues to suckleon your perky tits, moaning and dripping past his chin and pressing you close to him while he bucks wildly. Your eyes grow heavy and the know in the stomach begins to burn. Tears freely spilling over while you grasp the outer part of the tentacle that is exploring your mouth. Another brushes past your clit and you jerk, eyes wide and you struggle to look down at Tamaki, whose eyes are closed while he sucks on your breasts. The tentacle is thin and brushes alongside your clit as if it has a mind of its own and it sticks alongside your slit, wetness slipping out as you pulse and twitch as a smaller suction cup encases your pearl and pulses around it.

You ull on the tentacle in your mouth and it slips out, leaving you empty and with a sore jaw. “Tamaki,” you croak out, feeling the familiar tightness in your stomach, walls clenching and pulsing, “I’m close again.” You let out a whine and your legs jerk against him, grinding your hips against him. He makes a noise of acknowledgement, eyes fluttering open and he talks around your breasts. “You’re so good, love.” You tilt your head and your breaths have started to come out in harsher gasps. “You did so good today. You listened so well. You’re such a good boy. I’m- fuck!” Your words are broken and you close your eyes shut. “Fuck Tamaki, you feel so good.” Your walls clench and you pull on him inside, the suctions around your body, squirming and leaving you covered in bright red spots, that pale around your untouched skin. “You’re so pretty,” you compliment, a lovesick smile taking over your features. “So cute with a flushed face and pretty, pink dick. You’re so good. A good little,” a groan interrupts your words, “boy. My precious little Suneater,” you say in a high pitched voice and as his mouth pops off of your breast, his lips purse and he blows cool air over the pebbled nipple.

You groan and buck against him, walls gooey and soft clenching and tightening around him, pulsating and twitching as your high rolls over in harsh waves and as if following your movements, the suctions pulse and vibrate against your body in time with your rapid breaths. You lift away from him and he calls your name, holding you painfully tight with the tentacles and warmth spreads throughout your body. His cock spasms, and you’re filled with white, hot discharge, the thick cream, filling and swelling deep in your belly, his hips still moving through both of your orgasms. He chokes out feeble attempts at your name and when you stare down at him, tears are trailing down his face, crying out as you press your palms against his chest, brushing against the pert nipple and he whines and shakes his head.

“‘S too much,” he mumbles, hips still moving and rocking the both of you. “Too much,” he moans, hiccuping slightly as his face deepens in his blush, the tip of his ears now matching.

You force yourself to still above him, locking your hips down and you bend over, taking his face in your palms and you steady yourself with your knees, his tentacles now morphing back to arms and hands.

“It’s okay, Tamaki,” you whisper softly, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. “You did so good. You feel better now, don’t you?” He nods and his face pinches in pain as his ejaculate spills over and stains the both of you. “How are the effects? Do you still feel them?” He mewls and his hips stutter against you. “Use your words,” you request, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips.

He’s quiet, breathing harshly and biting down on his lip. “Tingly,” he breathes out after a pause. “It’s too- too much.”

“Too much what?” You press, tentatively, sliding up from his cock only to still and fall back down as he lets out a pained cry, tears sliding and leaving him red in the face.

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, opening his eyes into a squint. “I’m still-”

You shush him with a kiss and he groans as you lift your hips, seed leaving your body in large amounts. It’s heavy and warm and slides out of you and leaves you hissing. “Do you want me to ride you?” He shakes his head. “Do you want help?” He nods and he lays still with short, breathy cries filling the room as you pull away and wrap your hand loosely around him.

He spurts out small ropes that coat your hands and you coo softly at him, pumping him lazily, as you mumble words of praise, pessing fleeting kisses over him, watching as the rapid twitches of his shaft come to a stop. The red in his cock has faded to a light pink, his cock going limp in your grip, and when you rest his length against his thigh, you grab at the old shirt and huff in disappointment at the thought of having to throw it away as you clean around him, dabbing at the stains. When you turn back to face Tamaki, he’s asleep, chest rising and lips parted, the harsh red faded and you smile softly, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose and moving away the strands of hair that persistently stick to his face. “Feel better, Tama-chan,” you whisper softly.

#tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki #amajiki tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #suneater x reader #bnha imagines #tamaki x reader #bnha amajiki #i hope you like it!!#i also hope that it was teary enough for you

498 notes · View notes

aingealcethlenn · 3 years

Text

Just Another Night

Characters - Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Y/N

Pairing - Bucky x Y/N

Summary/Request - A night out to unwind after a busy week, Tony decides to place a bet against Bucky. Little does he know, Bucky was prepared.

Word Count - 1,077

Warnings - Language (minimal), Fluff (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - Based on the song “Just Another” by Sammy Arriaga

Tags (Want on or off? Send a message/ask or add yourself here) - @lostinwonderland314

Story -

The bar was loud, but Tony had - of course - reserved a large corner near the door to the patio just for them. Bucky sat at the table with the rest of the Avengers team, laughing along as they all joked.

Thor had brought in alcohol for himself & the super soldiers, so they would all be able to unwind and relax just as the others can with the ‘mortal beverages’ they usually serve.

After, admittedly, one too many drinks, Tony decided to push Bucky just a little. “So, Barnes, when are you going to bring a female friend back to the tower?”

“Stark!” Natasha piped up.

“What?! It’s just a question,” he defended.

“What business is it of yours, Tony?” Steve questioned, knowing how shy and reserved his friend had become.

“I bet you’re too shy to even talk to a girl anymore, huh, big man?” Tony continued.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Stark.” Bucky quipped.

“Oh? Really? How about you prove it then?” Tony laughed in reply.

“Fine,” he shrugged.

“See that beautiful girl at the bar? The one with the whiskey glass on the end?” Tony nodded toward the bar where you sat, ignoring the commotion around you.

He looked at the girl and then back to the table. “I bet you fifty bucks you won’t walk over and get her number,” Stark pressed.

Steve just shook his head while the rest of the group chuckled and taunted Bucky.

“You don’t have to do it, Buck,” Steve offered sympathetically.

Bucky quickly finished the rest of the drink in his glass, “It’s fine. You’re on Stark.” He set the glass on the table, sliding his chair back and slowly sauntering over to the bar where she stood.

He leaned on the bar next to you, smiling softly. “Hey doll, what brings you here tonight?”

“Just enjoying an evening out,” you smile back with a cautious glance to the table he had come from. “What brings you over here?”

“Well, my friends there,” he nods toward the table where they were all sitting and watching, “bet that I wouldn’t walk over here. So, if you could play along for just a minute, maybe? Take my phone here,” Bucky pulled out his phone and set it on the bar. “Fake some digits or something; they’ll never know.”

“I suppose I can help you out, but last I checked, you already had my number,” you give him a sly wink.

“They don’t know that, though.” He chuckled, “besides, I have a plan. Let’s walk by the table as we stroll out to the patio; maybe you could let me hold your hand?”

Bucky offers his hand to you. Finishing the drink in your glass, you gladly take his hand and follow him to the patio. He holds the door open for you, and as you walk passed you reach up and plant a soft kiss on his lips. You chuckle a little to yourself as you see him glance at the table and smirk.

“You know, they are going to be pissed.” He smiled, “They wanted a number, but I got a kiss.”

You laugh, “Well, like I said. You already had my number, so it didn’t seem fair to leave you with nothing.”

Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist and pull you in close, placing a feather kiss on your forehead. All the Winter Soldier stories talked about how rough he was, how strong and fierce, but the person you knew was soft. He was the person you could turn to in the darkest of times and know that he would hold the light steady until you found your way again.

“I feel like I should have had a pick-up line to use,” he smirked. “Make this just like any other Friday night like back in the day.”

“I prefer you without the 40s suave demeanor. I love the Bucky that you are now; all the flaws, scars,” you run your hand carefully down his arms - fingers delicately dancing over the grooves of his left. With a bit of cheek, you add, “And muscles.”

He breathes a laugh, and the two of you lean into each other, his lips brushing yours softly, delicately, like butterfly wings flitting. The embrace was just long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin. The taste of your deep red lipstick still lingering even after your part.

“What do you say we go back in,” Bucky had a sudden boost of confidence, “and finally introduce you to everyone?”

With a small touched smile, you felt warmth flood your chest.

He takes your hand and leads you inside again, this time stopping at the table. He takes his seat and pulls you to sit on his lap - the smile never leaving his face as he glances at all the blank stares and dropped jaws around the table. “You owe me fifty Stark.”

“Bucky - be nice,” you laugh.

“Uh, Buck?” Steve inquired, not able to help but look you up and down as you sit on the lap of his friend.

Sam, Thor, Tony, and even Natasha couldn’t help but look you up and down, a bit surprised that Bucky would have the confidence to talk to someone like you, let alone start dating you. Instantly.

"And you are?" Sam exasperatedly finally broke the silence.

"This is Y/N," Bucky offered, "We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now and figured it was time she met all of you."

"So you knew who she was and took the bet anyway?! That's bullshit Barnes," Tony scoffed.

"I think it was genius on his part," Nat snickered. "Pay up, Stark. He won fair and square."

Tony grumbled as he tossed a fifty-dollar bill at Bucky.

"Good for you, Bucky," Steve gripped his shoulder, "It’s good to see you genuinely smile again." He looked at you sitting on the other side, offering a hand he said, "It’s nice to meet you, Y/N."

"It's nice to meet all of you too, finally.” You took his hand, reaching awkwardly over Bucky. “He speaks so highly of all of you, and it's good to put real faces to names."

"Well,” Nat snipped kindheartedly. “I, for one, am just glad to have another girl join the mix.” She grinned. “Even if it is just the feared winter soldier’s girlfriend." Nat’s grin grew into a warm and welcoming smile.

106 notes · View notes