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the-astral-clump · 11 months

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PLURALITY & PRIDE

On the first day of Pride Month we decided to write a little thing about how our plurality and our queerness affect each other.

But before that, lets get some things out of the way: This is a safe space for every system and any who identify with multiplicity. This is also a safe space for every good-faith identity. We also greatly encourage other systems/plurals to share their own experiences. <3 (mind you this post is a bit long and rambly so theres a closing message slash tldr at the end)

Alright! That being said, this is half describing our fuckyweird identities as a system and half a love letter to it all.

Labels are things that I (the host, Alex) have strugged with for very long time. Since the way we experience such things like fronting as blending, blurring, and/or passive influence I often find it difficult to differentiate my sexuality and gender from my headmates, due to this melding of sometimes contradictory identities (for example, Alex and Mae being transmasc and transfem respectively) we often experience some very.. well.. queer feelings. We all have different appearances in headspace, and due to the nature of our headspace, we can often change these at will. This however (unfortunately) cant be transated into our physical body, which is afab. You can perhaps imagine the feelings that might arise from having an alter who is and enjoys a feminine body co-front with an alter who is a lot more masc leaning, or maybe you can't. Either way you can at least imagine how confusing this can be, having two voices, two entirely separate people, share a body and wish for entirely different things for it. Having alters who experience different levels of romantic and sexual attraction as well as attraction to different genders. How it might feel to have a largely asexual alter co-front with an allosexual alter with a very high libido, how it might feel for a bisexual alter to blur with a homosexual alter unable to really percieve the presence of eachother. Often Alex and Sasha co-front, Alex is aroacespec and experiences minimal attraction though usually towards men, Sasha is m-spec and (very) allosexual. They also feel differently as to presentation, Sasha being much more feminine than Alex, this can lead to weird dysphoric feelings, feeling gay and bi feeling like a girl but also mlm, feeling so many different ranges of conflicting emotions and identities.

Although things like this have brought us great frustration and caused conflicts within the system, this pride month we want to instead celebrate these incongurences in identity. We want to celebrate having complicated identities, having feelings that perhaps conflict with eachother. Because this is real, what we experience is real and it deserves recognition and respect. This is something that can and should apply to everyone, regardless of wether they identify as plural, queer, or anything else. So here's for a lovely pride month, to my fellow queer systems, and to all the people and creatures whose identities dont fit into a solid mold.

closing message/ tldr; As a system we experience many conflicting and weird combinations of indentities and we are learning to live and love this aspect ouf our lives, and hope others can too. You deserve love, pride includes those with complex identities, be weird, be yourself, be queer unabashedly and love yourself for it. <3

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inkovert · 1 year

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Ok I decided to share a heartfelt sibling moment (thank you @leebrontide for chiming in on my last post ☺️) bc I haven't really showcased the depth of love/care/protection etc between Cami and her brother Jeremy. And I really love this scene between them and the way it turned out 🥰.

CW: discussions of self-harm, grief, loss of a parent. allusion to suicide.

The minute I reached the porch, the front door flew open, Jeremy standing in the doorway in a T-shirt and shorts.

“You good? What the hell was that cryptic ass message you sent me?”

I’d wanted to be strong, hold it together as I explained everything to him. But the minute I saw him, I broke. Rushing forward, I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, Jer. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…I wasn’t—” I sobbed, my chest heaving between each sentence.

Shutting the door, he drew me into his arms. “Sorry for what? Cami, what happened?”

“All the running. The way I took off in the middle of the night that day. You’ve been so scared and I —“ I gasped for air to finish my thought. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. If I was I didn’t know, I just…was in so much pain and I didn’t know what to do and I —“ I curled into his chest.

Chin resting against my head, he stroked my hair gently, soothingly. “It’s okay.”

I shook my head against the fabric of his shirt. “It’s not. I’m the older one. I’m supposed to be responsible. I’m supposed to look out for you, but I’m such a mess. I’m such a fucking mess, Jer, and I don’t want you to have to deal with…to think that after everything, one day, you might lose me, too.” I curled my hands into fists. “I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about how it was affecting you. I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.”

We stood there and he remained quiet as I continued gasping between sobs in his arms.

Once I’d settled down, he pulled back to look at me. “Want me to make you some tea?”

I sniffled, nodding.

He set a mug of Earl Grey tea on the counter in front of me, taking a seat in the adjacent bar stool.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, closing my hands around the cup to feel its warmth.

Elbow on the counter, he leaned his cheek against his palm and studied me. “You’re not an idiot,” he said softly. “You’re not a mess either. You’re grieving. We both are. We just do it in different ways.”

I made an irritated noise at the back of my throat. “How come your way seems a lot more graceful and put together than mine?”

He paused for a moment, then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. Pulling something up, he set it down before me. It was a list of voicemails. I shot him a confused look.

He pressed play on the first one and I gasped as my father’s deep, rich voice filled the room.

Son, I know you’re practicing hard out there on the school field but don’t stay out too late or your mother will get worried. I’m giving you another hour before I come and get you, alright? Love you. Bye.

He clicked on the next.

Son, I know the only thing that goes on in that head of yours is soccer but you’ve got to get more responsible. You left your whole science project on the counter. I’m gonna head over and drop it off for you, alright? I’m glad that you’ve found something that makes you happy but you’ve gotta make some room in that head of yours for some life skills. Pretty soon I’m gonna be old and gray and you’re gonna be the man of the house. Anyway, I’m on my way. Love you. Bye.

And the next.

Son, I’m at the clothing store in the shoe section and I see these real nice sneakers here that you might like. Just calling to find out your shoe size. You’ve been growin’ too fast and the way you be stomping around the house like Bigfoot, tells me I might be a few sizes off. Call me back, okay? Love you. Bye.

I laughed at the last message, a tear breaking free and coursing down my cheek.

“Every night before I go to sleep,” Jeremy said, “I lay in bed and listen to each one of these. Every single one. I’ve been doing it for the past three hundred seventeen days since he died and I know all forty-three by heart.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “Every week I have pillowcases soaked through with tears. Some nights I can barely bring myself to sleep and so I listen to these on repeat. Over and over again until sunrise.”

I gaped at him, bewildered. “I…I had no idea.”

A weak smile. “I know. Just because I grieve privately doesn’t mean it’s any less messy or any more graceful than you.” Feeling guilty, I stared down into my mug. “You and me. We’re all we have, Cami. You may not think I get everything you’re going through, and you’re probably right, I don’t. But I get it a hell of a lot more than anyone else will. I want you to be able to talk to me when you’re upset, angry, frustrated, feeling hopeless. All of it. All the messy, unpleasant stuff. Even if you can’t put it into words. Even if you think I won’t fully get it. I want you to lean on me.”

I bit my lower lip to stop it from trembling. I nodded, then reached over to squeeze his hand tight and whispered, “You, too,”

#for clarification/context #Cami deals with unpleasant/negative emotions by running...but she takes it a step too far #and she didn't realize that she was using running as a form of self-harm #so this scene takes place just after that realization #idk I just love how much they love each other and aren't afraid or embarrassed to show it #like yeah sibs will be sibs and get on your nerves #but they just have so much genuine unabashed care for each other that I find this scene so incredibly heartfelt #wip: MDE #MDE excerpts

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tysonfurybattlepass · 2 years

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20 for Aster?

20. What’s their greatest fear? How does it control them?

Aster is terrified of not living up to her potential. Even worse, she isn’t exactly sure what that potential is. Her amur leopard ancestry causes her primarily human family and community to perceive her as superhuman, which not only puts immense pressure on her to perform up to expectations but also distinctly alienates her from her more ‘normal’ human peers. The truth is, she is not a human with superpowers. She is a hybrid between two different types of animals. Her feline physicality comes alongside distinctive feline behavior and needs, which many humans find off-putting and unacceptable despite being perfectly normal in the context of leopard ecology. Thus, actually interacting with Aster shatters the illusion of supernaturality people tend to perceive her through, and they are often left frustrated and disappointed with the real Aster. This is a struggle that a lot of animal species face when integrating into human societies, but specifically hybrids like Aster whose phenotype is fairly humanoid tend to be held to very human expectations which simply aren’t feasible for non-human creatures. Aster is constantly scrambling to get a good grade in socializing, something both possible to achieve and normal to want. Because of this she has severe social anxiety, which fuels her already asocial tendencies as part solitary animal. She also feels a need to hide her feline physicality from people, often refusing to run or climb and purposely pretending to be weaker than she is (and she is by no means weak. have you ever seen a leopard carry an animal bigger than itself up a tree using only its teeth?) to avoid setting expectations or making a spectacle of herself. Because of this self-imposed restriction, she is unable to express natural behaviors in a healthy way, which only adds to her overall stress and results in maladaptive daydreaming and intrusive thoughts.

that was all pretty heavy so here’s some cute concept art of Aster with short hair

#i might utilize this haircut for later in her character arc #because i am a sucker for the symbolic act of cutting one’s hair as a means of liberating oneself from societal chains or whatever #oc aster #thanks for the ask! it gave me an opportunity to really sit with her and flesh out her character and motivations more #she and mach are bffs btw. his unabashed love for his own felid ecology helps her in her journey toward self-acceptance #the story i’m writing with these anthro-felid characters is heavily influenced by how people irl perveive nature and wild animals #how we feel the need to forcibly mold wild things to be more palatable to us #keeping big cats as pets and then being shocked and angry when they lash out and act wild despite it being our fault #only showing concern for the conservation of animals we consider cute or likable #assignig human characteristics like cruelty to carnivorous animals who really are just trying to eat like the rest of us #people for the most part fundamentally misunderstand wild things and the wild things suffer for it

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gingernutsenthusiast · 5 months

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right person, wrong time (variations on heartbreak)

@leemartenspoetry on tumblr

vita sackville-west & fegan’s 1924 café in dublin

everything everywhere all at once (2022)

@heavensghost on tumblr

i had to get out by indigo de souza

‘calling a wolf a wolf' by kaveh akbar

river by joni mitchell

‘english song’ in a little larger than the entire universe: selected poems by fernando pessoa

slumber by ron hicks

fish in exile by vi khi nao

penitent magdalene by antonio ciseri

@ojibwa on tumblr

this is what the drugs are for by gracie abrams & the awakening by angelo morbelli

as good as it gets by fizz

lonely this christmas by mud & picture of the christmas tree at trinity college dublin, taken by me in december of 2022

this is what the drugs are for by gracie abrams & picture by andrew collins via globalnews.ca

@inanotherunivrs on tumblr & a polaroid of me taken by my ex-boyfriend

‘in a dream you saw a way to survive’ by clementine von radics & a picture of my ex-boyfriend's window, taken by me

bluets by maggie nelson & the poolbeg generating station, dublin

‘unrequited’ by sasha m george & inheritance by matthew w. cornell

[unknown]

@ faraway on instagram & lavender sprigs farm cut by linda jacobus

the museum of heartbreak by meg leder

[unknown]

‘seaside improvisation’ by richard siken

@ dracarysgang on twitter

@-love-letters-i-never-sent

@fromdarzaitoleeza on tumblr

explosions by ellie goulding

‘i had a dream about you’ by richard siken

the beatrice letters by lemony snicket

la la land (2016)

‘catalog of unabashed gratitude’ by ross gay

@stuckinapril on tumblr

@deathlywounded on tumblr

some are always hungry by jihyun yun

‘speaking practice’ by franny choi

a self-portrait in letters by anna sexton & a picture of my ex-boyfriend in a lake in Orfű, Hungary

@sunsbleeding on tumblr

‘there is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying’ by p.d

#web weave #web weaving #heartbreak #this is possibly too long and not well structured enough but oh weell #everything everywhere all at once #vita sackville west #richard siken #anna sexton #the beatrice letters #la la land #clementine von radics #kaveh akbar #gracie abrams #joni mitchell #fizz

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wanderingblindly · 8 months

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When you get this respond with five things that make you happy!!! Then send to the last ten people you got notifications from (anon) :)

Ooooooooh I love this! Obviously everything f1, but also:

My little black cat, Honey

Walks with my girlfriend

Platform shoes! Bury me in my 6 inch boots

The sound my loose leaf chamomile makes when I scoop it into my infuser (somft,,,,)

My beloved cafe down by the water

Also all my new mutuals and friends on here!!!! Y’all put a big smile on my face every day!!!

#asks #I love tea I never shut up about tea #rambling.txt #fun fact: the Japanese mug quickly mentioned in Rules of Engagement was unabashed self insert #I love my mug that holds a full liter!!!!!!

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rowarn · 3 months

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afab!reader, gn!reader, intoxicated sex (keegan drank a lil hehe), loud!keegan, lots of moaning, creampie, lovesick keegan, pussydrunk keegan

Keegan who, on a normal day, would never let you hear him let loose with his moans. Its not that he's self-conscious or anything but he prefers to be able to hear you whining and whimpering.

But maybe he gets a few drinks in him, unwinds and grows complacent. His lips get loose the second he gets his cock stuffed into the tight, hot clutch of your precious cunt.

He’s got you creaming around the base of him and he just…can’t shut up. He starts whimpering, moaning, and sighing – it’s music to your ears, actually.

“So good,” he pants, fingers minutely trembling where he holds your hips down so he can pump his length into you with ease, “It’s so good. You’re so wet, fuck, do you know what you do to me? You drive me crazy…”

You whine his name, eyes lidded and staring up at him with that dazed, cockdrunk look on your face that you always seem to wear when he’s got you pinned underneath him – how could you not? He fucks you so, so well and he knows it.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, voice cracking at the end when you suddenly squeeze down around him, “Keep sayin’ my name. Love hearin’ it – keep tellin’ me who it is that’s making you feel this good, hm?”

His name falls from your lips like a heavenly plea, your eyes rolling back in your head when he moans, loud and unabashed. He tosses his head back, adams apple bobbing as he struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat.

It’s never felt this good before, he swears. Usually alcohol makes it harder for him to get off – sometimes even makes it hard for him to get hard. But something different tonight, he’s so sensitive and he can feel how full his balls are and all he can think about is pumping a dozen loads into you until they’re completely empty.

He needs it. He needs you.

“Love you so much,” he pants, body collapsing onto yours, chest to chest as his hips pitifully rabbit into you, barely even pulling out before he’s humping the length back into you, “Love you, fuck, I love you.”

You cry his name, nails scraping down his back as your entire body twitches. You can’t escape the stimulation with his weight pressed down on you the way it is. You can’t push him away for a break, you can’t get respite from the overwhelming stimulation of his cock pumping into you or his pelvic bone grinding against your clit.

It sends you hurdling over the edge terrifyingly fast. Your feet kick uselessly against the back of his thighs as your eyes roll back in your head.

Keegan moans, panting and gasping into your neck where he hides his face as he feels you cum around him. It pulls his own orgasm forth and he’s spilling into you in 3 quick pumps of his hips.

Even as his orgasm crests and fades, he doesn’t stop – keeps humping your sensitive cunt until you’re cumming again. And again. And again.

It was going to be a long night and by now, you could barely even hear yourself over the sound of Keegan’s moaning and babbled praises.<3

do not respost to a third party site, translate, or modify. reblogs OK!

#keegan p russ smut #keegan p russ x reader #keegan smut #keegan x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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silkjade · 9 months

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alhaitham x mermaid! reader (3.5)

⤀ cw: afab!reader, first time (w. him), lots of teasing, cunnilingus, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of size kink + overstim, creampie, fluff???, true love but they don't know it yet — mdni || ꒰ 6.2k wc ꒱ a/n: recommended to read the previous part first, but it can stand alone as well ! hope u enjoy my smut debut + reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡ next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

When you had taken him up on his half conscious, pseudo challenge to visit Sumeru City, Alhaitham never imagined you’d cause him so much trouble. It’s not in the sense that you’d drawn too much unwanted attention, or that you’d spent his mora on frivolous things. No, it was your lack of understanding for the human notions of shame and intimacy.

He’s never entirely sure of just how nuanced the unabashed things you say and do are. You’re shameless whenever you’d ask him for compliments point-blank, or when you’d waltz out of the bathroom only half-dressed in his clothes. Other times, you’d surprise him with words so naively honest, brush against him in ways that feel far too tender.

To his dismay, it’s becoming increasingly clear that your actions always come with a price—one that he pays, not with mora, but with his dignity. Much like the smooth caress of the waters you came from, it’s all seemingly harmless, but the depths of your intentions remain aggravatingly unknown. Especially when your very presence is enough to enfold all his senses in a lull of desire.

He runs a hand through his hair before turning the knob of his bedroom door, only to find you in your human form, lounging on his bed, lazily flipping through one of his books. The robe you wear is one of his; too large on your frame, with the silky material falling off your shoulders, dangerously close to revealing too much.

Not that it isn’t a welcome sight—he is a man after all. And while he prides himself on his exceptional self control, it becomes an issue when he feels himself grow hot and the loose clothes he likes to wear at home begins to feel too tight. He can’t rub one out while you’re here, so perhaps a cold shower might ease his condition…

But you’re more perceptive than he’s given you credit for.

“It’s not as magnificent as my tail, but this body is still quite impressive isn’t it?”

“I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you.”

…

“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever met anyone like me at all.” You flash him an amused smile, but the sultry look in your eyes relay a different message entirely. He can’t lie, it excites him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbles under his breath. To his chagrin, your curious hum cuts through the room and he hears the heavy thud of a book slammed shut.

Of course you heard him. With renewed interest, you swing your legs over the edge of his bed, sauntering over until you’re close enough that he can smell the faint scent of his mint shampoo in your hair.

“Oh? What could I possibly be doing to you?” Your fingers walk up his body, slowly, from his toned stomach to his chiseled chest, leaving his skin hot through the fabric of his clothes, “Won’t you enlighten me?”

You look up, that wide-eyed gaze of feigned innocence flickering into something sharp and dangerously seductive. A hand settles on his shoulder, pulling him in until you’re close enough that your lips are only a hair’s breadth away from his sensitive ears. The other reaches down and ghosts against his obviously growing bulge, before pressing down, palming him through his pants. Alhaitham bites back a groan.

“Or rather, what would you like to do to me?” Your voice rings low and smooth as silk to his ears. It leaves a wave of desire to bubble in the pit of his stomach, one that doubles down on the dull ache at his crotch.

His mind sifts through a thousand thoughts. Lascivious thoughts, sinful, perverted thoughts that only seem to make their presence known when in your company. Just one glance down at you and he can see how ridiculously easy it would be to untie the lazy knot that’s hardly holding your—no—his robe together.

“I…”

It’s hard to think when you overwhelm all his senses, poking at the urges he has so carefully suppressed up until now. His robe, his scent. He’s no fool to the way Sumeru City ogles at you—the mysterious stranger who’s able to so casually hang onto the aloof scribe’s arm. It only makes him want to stake his claim across the empty canvas of your skin as well: his mermaid. Perhaps just this once, he’ll let himself indulge in his own selfish desires.

“Come on, Scribe Alhaitham,” you emphasize,“use your words.”

A smug smile forms on your face as you calculate the risks of your next words.

“Although…if you’ve got nothing to say, why don’t you just show me,” you press close, voice deceptively soft. “I’m more of a hands-on learner anyway.”

For once, Alhaitham lets his body override all sense of rationality, flipping your positions, and pinning you against the wall as he captures your mouth in his. It’s uncharacteristically sloppy and haphazard, with none of the craftiness he displayed on that first and only night you kissed, but it’s intoxicating all the same.

His teeth graze against your bottom lip, demanding entrance, and you’re forced to grasp onto his toned bicep to keep yourself steady as you devour each other with the intensity of all your repressed thoughts. With every second his mouth remains slotted on yours, with every inhale and exhale of breath you exchange, you think that this time, you’re the one who might drown.

He finally tosses you a lifeline once he decides to leave the vicinity of your mouth, and begin his campaign across the rest of your body, starting with the little spot right along the underside of your jaw. Alhaitham takes his time trailing down your neck, catching you off guard when he stops to suck down, hard, on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

An involuntary gasp escapes, and you can feel him smirk against you, though it quickly fades into a half strangled groan when your hips roll into his. He only continues downward from here, carving kisses into your body and leaving behind colorful little bruises that send liquid fire running through your veins. The further he goes, the more he must uncover, and the only thing standing in his way is the robe you’re hardly wearing.

“Can I…?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, fingers already toying with the sash.

“Not like you haven’t seen everything already,” you mutter, pulling his face in to kiss him again.

His free hand snakes down to squeeze your ass while the other tugs on the loose knot, the silky material now free to tumble down your body like a waterfall, hitting every curve along the way. In one fell swoop, Alhaitham takes you to his bed, picking up right where he left off: with a depraved kiss that speaks more than he ever could in relaying the underlying lust that clouds his mind.

“Beautiful.” The word slips out without a second thought. It’s the first time he's ever said it outright. Beneath the fervor, there’s a special sentiment that cushions his tone. It has you buzzing with warmth from the inside out, but whether it’s contentment or embarrassment, you don’t know. Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side, refusing to meet his gaze.

He finds it infinitely amusing that for all your openly brazen flirtations…

“You’re not getting shy on me now, are you?”

You respond by stubbornly grappling at the edge of his shirt, nails grazing against his muscled abdomen in the process. The startling sensation crackles through his nerves, sending his cockhead twitching in delight.

“It’s only fair I get to see you too,” you mumble, in what little time you have between kisses. Alhaitham pulls away, a brow quirked in mild amusement. Pausing, he takes this chance to drink in the sight of your naked figure for the second time, though tonight there’s no need to look away.

It’s exhilaratingly surreal to see your body marked by the undeniable testaments of his touch. It manifests on your skin, where you’re decorated with clusters of little bruises signed by his lips. In your chest, as it heaves for air after all the breaths he’s stolen from right out of your lungs. It persists in the way your eyes draw him in, inviting him, daring him to do more. In how your lips, though slightly swollen, wear the same coquettish grin that’s enchanted him time and again. With no other choice but to surrender to your demands, Alhaitham lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side without a care.

You’ve always thought the man to be handsome, but you’re left wonderstruck as your eyes wander across his bare skin. It’s not like his usual attire leaves much to the imagination, but Alhaitham undressed, is still a sight to see. His toned chest and sculpted stomach, well defined arms… Chiseled by the gods themselves, you think as the corner of your lips quirk just the slightest bit upwards.

“Enjoying the view?” It’s funny how much his smug smile contrasts with the mottled pink that colors his shoulders and dusts across his cheeks. His skin only flushes more when you trace a finger over the gem on his chest, tantalizingly slow as you make your way down his sternum, and only stopping to lightly flick at one of his nipples. Alhaitham’s breath hitches and you can practically see his muscles as they tense.

“Very much,” you answer, hands sinking lower. “So won’t you show me more?”

He catches you by your wrist when he feels you tugging at his waistband, and it takes everything for him to ignore the wanton desperation that’s quickly clouding his mind. It’s difficult, but out of sheer will, he manages to hold back, if only by a thread.

Gently, he pulls your chin up to face him. Want hides beneath his teal gaze, but there’s a softness that truly shines through, encapsulating the delicate balance between risk and reward.

His hands shift to caress your cheek, before he moves in to steal another kiss. This time it’s sweeter, more chaste. Alhaitham kisses you slow and passionate, interwoven with a tenderness that causes your heart to swell in your chest.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Your resounding ‘yes’ breathes a renewed ardor into his actions as he lowers you onto your back. Little by little, he makes his way down your body, leaving wet kisses everywhere except where you want him most. A kiss here, a lick there—the heat that pools in your belly only grows by the second, but a harsh suck right below your hip causes your breath to hitch and your cunt to drool more in response while you whine and attempt to rub your legs together for any sort of friction.

They are, however, aptly spread back apart when he hooks his arms beneath your thighs and pulls you closer to where he kneels at the edge of the bed.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, “and we’ve only just begun.” Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle as he presses another kiss to your inner thigh. It’s enough to have you shivering in anticipation, the reverberating tremors of his deep voice going straight to your pulsing hole, wet with the slick of your arousal. One of his hands moves to hold you down as you jolt when his teeth graze against the delicate skin.

“Will you please just hurry up,” you’re barely able to get all your words out before your voice breaks into a breathless gasp as he takes you by surprise, dipping his head down to lick a long stripe up your glistening folds and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue once he reaches the top.

Talented in more ways than just words, you find out firsthand exactly how good he is with his tongue. Like a man starved, he laps up all you have to give, while your gushing hole happily churns out more slick. But it isn’t nearly enough. Especially not with the way you’re grinding into his face and singing praises to his name.

Alhaitham doesn’t consider himself an arrogant man, but he’s never loved hearing the sound of his own name more. It falls through your lips in a trail of whimpers, your pretty little cries music to his ears, delicate and lyrical. His tongue prods at your entrance, occasionally dipping into your warmth, and as he closes in, his nose bumps against your puffy clit. It has you keening, and your hands come flying to tangle in his ashen hair as your voice splits into a sharp gasp.

He takes a mental note of your reaction before moving to suckle on the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out another beautifully broken sob. With every exhale, and every swipe of his tongue, Alhaitham breathes life into your cunt—leaving it to drip with arousal and clench around nothing. Your fingers curl in his tresses and you tug hard. The low groan he emits reverberates through your body; the rumbling vibrations of his own pleasure sends you crawling to your high.

But he soon pulls away and you’re quick to let out a pitched cry in protest. He peers up from between your parted thighs, sharp eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you squirming at the loss of contact.

“Haitham,” you whine pitifully, hips blindly stuttering in search of his touch, “don’t stop.”

Oh how the tables have turned. Before him, your tiny hole clamps around nothing and a sly grin creeps onto his face, devilishly handsome and glistening with your essence that so freely drips down his chin. You’ve teased him relentlessly during the span of your partnership, and as per your logic, it’s only fair he gets to do the same.

“Beg for it,” he purrs. His warm breath fans across your folds, sending you into a frenzied fluster from the bottom up, and you feel as if you’re going to melt.

“P-please…” It’s difficult to come up with any words, much less the right words, to say when the overwhelmingly wanton desire for him to just touch you again, has your brain enveloped in a thick haze. “Need you…Haitham please…”

His name, entangled within the sweet pleas that fall from your lips, has his cock twitching again, eager to be freed from the constraints of his pants. But if he can ignore the wet spot forming from his own precum, then he can do the same to the way his hips seem to move on their own, slowly rutting against the bed. He’s a patient man, he can wait. You on the other hand…

You’re so needy for him, so lost trying to chase your own pleasure, that it doesn’t even register when he wets two fingers in his mouth, unable to process anything until you feel the faint stretch in your cunt that has you trembling in anticipation. His fingers slide easily into your creamy insides, and he only watches in amusement at the way your hips buck, silently begging him for something more than the painfully slow, lazy way he’s pumping in and out of you.

“You’re already so tight...” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he scissors you open, resisting the way your velvety walls come down, hugging every inch of the digits inside you. “How are you even going to take me, hm?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing ever comes out, save for the faint breath of a moan that manages to escape. If you were in the right state of mind, you would’ve been sure to fire back something smart, however, your thoughts have been reduced to fixate on Alhaitham, who’s rather keen on keeping it that way.

He moves his wrist, twisting and turning, relentlessly searching until the pads of his fingers press against a spot just right, that it has your toes curling and back arching off the bed in a loud cry. He curls his fingers, bullying the spongy spot until echoes of your melodic mewls are undeniably present amongst the lewd squelching of your wetness. It sends him reeling and growing impossibly harder—oh how he so adores the way you unravel before him.

Your body runs hotter than ever and you feel the coil in your belly tighten, ready to snap. You’re going to cum. You’re so close. Just a little more. It repeats like a mantra in your head, but your impending climax dissipates as he draws both fingers back out, leaving you dangling at the precipice with a distressed wail, frustration pathetically painted across your face.

Why did he just do that? Your eyes are large and laced with tears that quiver and threaten to spill down your face. Ignoring your futile attempt at garnering pity, Alhaitham only continues to taunt you.

“Will you look at that?” he says, toying with the messy slick that glosses over his middle and index fingers like webbing, stretching and breaking along to the movements of his hand. It’s such damning evidence of how much you need him, but it’s also somehow mesmerizing, so much so that you’re unable to look away. It doesn’t help that your sopping cunt only weeps more at the sight, absentmindedly fluttering around nothing.

He drags you out of your thoughts as he unexpectedly takes your clit back into his mouth. His hot tongue swirls around your bud, effectively setting your veins on fire, then takes the chance to throw your earlier words back at you.

“Tell me what you’d like me to do,” he says, mouth never leaving the little nub.

You want him to make you cum, is what you want to say—or rather, you want him to let you cum, considering how he so cruelly ruined your earlier orgasm. But it all only translates into a litany of unintelligible whimpers, and Alhaitham smiles, the mischief twinkling in his eyes now glaringly apparent. He can’t help how endearing it is, that you, who always has so much to say, is now struggling to answer even the simplest of questions.

“Use your words. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”

“I want… I need…” you’re only able to make out a few words in between your ragged breaths before you’re interrupted by your own broken sob as he sucks down hard on your abused clit.

“Hm? What was that?”

“Want to cum… ” you choke out, eyes sliding shut as you try again with your best efforts.

The latter half of your sentence warps until it rises an octave and melts into a shaky moan. Alhaitham barely gives you just enough time to finish before three lithe fingers find their way into your cunt without warning, slipping past your wet folds with ease. The dull pain of an added finger stuffed into your tiny hole, has you keening, your own knuckles turning white from your steel grip on the bed sheets.

With a sweep of his tongue, he laves over your swollen clit again, sending shivers through to your core as you feel the tension return in your abdomen, this time wound even tighter from the way he continues to fuck your already sensitive cunt.

“ ‘m so close… please,” your breath catches in your throat as you whimper and squirm. “Please Haitham, please-”

It’s beyond his own belief how he managed to wrangle you into his bed; the beautiful mermaid who had first tried to drown him, who was always so outspoken and bold— now reduced to a begging, whimpering mess on his sheets. For that, he mentally pats himself on the back and decides to take pity on you.

“Come on, mermaid. Let me hear you sing.”

Immediately, you feel his fingers curl, right up against the very spot that has you seeing stars, exactly as he had intended. He drags his teeth carefully, lightly grazing your swollen clit, effectively ripping out a loud, visceral scream as you finally tip over the edge in an earth shattering orgasm.

Waves of pleasure continue to wash over you as Alhaitham finger fucks you through your high, vigilantly hitting that sweet, spongy spot over and over again without mercy. You’re left quivering, fingers desperately grasping at the bed sheets, trying to find something, anything to hold on to. His hand, the one that isn’t three knuckles deep inside you, moves to hold your hips down as they twitch in the settling overstimulation.

A satisfied hum rumbles in the back of his throat as he finishes off with an easy kiss to your inner thigh. He finally slows down his movements as you ride out your high, though the shallow, wet noises as he rocks his fingers in and out of you, seem all the more erotic against the backdrop of your dissipating cries.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he coos. “Such a pretty thing—so gorgeous when you cum for me.” Alhaitham continues to whisper sweet flatteries that have you preening until he feels you clench weakly around his fingers once more. He raises a brow, the beginnings of a small smirk forming on his face.

“Of course you like to be praised.” Despite the lilt in his voice, he draws his soiled digits out with care, though you still shudder as he passes through your sensitive folds.

“Shut up.”

Even as you sit up to catch your breath, your eyes wander over to the man’s bare upper body, before they drift down to the impressive tent bulging from his pants. Suddenly, you’re made painfully aware of how utterly empty you are. Arousal pulses through you, once again dripping out of your cunt at the thought of being stuffed full.

Your obvious staring doesn’t go unnoticed; and neither does the way you shift as you’re rubbing your thighs together for more friction. Your shamelessly perverse act only reinforces the thrum in his already rock hard cock.

“Open up.” You do as you’re told, intuitively wrapping your lips around his long fingers, cheeks hollowing as you clean off the mess you had left. It spurs him on, the way you hold his gaze with those large doe eyes, blinking so lasciviously when he draws them back out, leaving behind a trail of saliva that snaps like gossamer on your lips.

“What, haven’t had enough of me yet?” He teases you, yet the slight waver in his voice as he struggles to mask just how much he’d like to cum right then and there, says otherwise.

“Not nearly enough.”

Your playful wit is nothing new to him. And while Alhaitham considers himself to be quite well versed in how you love to play coy, an expert in navigating around your flirtations—he’s far from immune to your coquettish displays. He’s only human after all…

So it’s no fault of his own that you drive him absolutely insane.

Pupils blown wide and dilated with lust, he dips down until you can feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, “I hope you don’t regret that.” His smooth baritone sends a shiver down your spine until it pools between your already sticky thighs, a vague promise of what’s to come.

Before you know it, he catches you in another eager kiss, rough and hopelessly greedy, as you fall back onto the mattress without a care. It only heightens your sense of urgency that he can’t help but grind into you.

His normal attire barely hides his bulge, but even underneath these loose clothes, the outline of his cock stands tall and unmistakably erect against the fabric—which you desperately need removed now, as you fumble with the waistband. Alhaitham chuckles lightly into the kiss before pulling away. Message received.

He moves quickly, pants and underwear hastily thrown to the side and forgotten, because how could you possibly think of anything else when he stands before you, hands fisted around his magnificent cock, grunting at the little ounce of relief as he gives himself a few quick pumps. Precum dribbles from the flushed pink tip and your eyes follow as he spreads it along the impressive length. You can’t help but think that it’s… pretty. And oh how you adore pretty things.

He lines himself up at your entrance, cockhead just barely dipping inside as he hovers over you, and for the first time tonight, you realize just how incredibly vulnerable you are now, laid bare before him, ripe for the taking. But it’s okay if it’s him. Whether it’s the fuzziness mulling in your head, or your cunt that’s thinking for you, anything is fine as long as it’s Alhaitham.

Above you, he swallows harshly and you can see the slow bob of his throat as he does so. “Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs. The rasp in his voice makes it apparent that it’s taking every ounce of fortitude not to just slam his entire length into you.

The first hiccupped gasp that escapes your lips has him smiling smugly as he pushes in, splitting you open with ease from how wet you are. But the stretch as you struggle to accommodate his girth burns despite your previous preparation; he’s just so much bigger than his fingers. Inch by agonizing inch, he stretches you wider, whispering sweet nothings while he stuffs you full of his cock.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, though it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Every time you think he’s done, he only continues to push further inside. Your head spins at how full you already feel, unconsciously tightening around him and drawing out a choked curse that rolls tactlessly off his tongue. There’s no helping the way his self control fades when you’re squeezing him like that, your needy cunt intent on sucking him all the way in.

“Fuck,” he rasps. It’s foreign and depraved and so vulgar compared to his usually eloquent speech—not that it isn't also incredibly attractive hearing him lose his composure like that—but it’s even more so especially because you’re the one making him feel this good. Your heart flutters at the thought and the vibrations of another muffled grunt ripple against your skin when you reflexively bear down again.

Alhaitham bottoms out in one final push, sending you reeling at how the thickest end of his shaft forces your little hole to stretch even wider to accommodate the width. A hitched cry leaves your throat and your arms fly to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as he presses soothing kisses along your jaw, though it does little to quell the heat rapidly igniting throughout your body.

“Are you alright?” There isn’t an ounce of teasing in his tone when he pauses to glance down, giving you a moment to adjust while ensuring you’re okay.

Your hum of approval is all he needs to start moving in languid strokes that fill you to the brim, his shallow thrusts so lewdly squelching to the tune of your wetness. Each slow drag of his cock forces you to feel very ridge and vein as he grinds back and forth, pulling soft mewls out of you until they melt into breathless whines pleading for something more.

“Faster… f-faster please.”

Who was he to deny you, when you’ve been taking him so well? Sliding ever so slowly, Alhaitham all but pulls out, leaving only the very tip of his cock to kiss your entrance. You don’t even have time to process the jarring emptiness before he slams his entire length back in with a single thrust, powerful enough to send your entire body jostling from the impact. Your back arches in pleasure, your head thrown back in a silent scream as your mouth falls agape, the sound dying before it’s ever able to leave your throat.

Alhaitham is relentless when he starts fucking you in earnest. The gentleness from earlier is gone, replaced by the callous way he repeatedly pounds into you, burying himself to the hilt every single time. He’s hitting depths you never thought possible, with each thrust sending shockwaves that ripple through you until it scrambles your mind, shattering that last piece of lucidity stubbornly holding you together.

“That’s it. Take it, just like that,” he coos, but you're too fogged over to comprehend his words. It’s clear your mind is currently occupied by other matters; matters such as the chant of his name atop your long string of strangled cries.

He revels at how pliant you are underneath him—so stimulated and keening out in pleasure at everything he does, greedy cunt eagerly swallowing every inch he offers, pulling him in with every snap of his hips.

His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on the nub while he twirls the other between his fingers, groaning when your nails dig into his shoulders, imprinting crescents onto his skin. The added stimulation elicits another set of frantic whimpers, and the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns.

“Haitham I’m… I’m so…” Close, he deducts. He can tell by the way your walls close around him.

Half of him wants to watch you struggle with your words in between all your panting and moaning, wants to withhold your sweet release until you can speak properly while he continues to piston in and out of you. The other half, driven by his wanton throbbing, slides a hand over the curve of your ass, lifting your leg to angle himself just right before plunging deep inside you, hitting that same spot from before that had you seeing stars.

Loud, broken sobs tear through the room as his tip mercilessly drills into the spongy spot with pinpoint precision. Your nails rake down his back, and a sharp hiss manages to escape from his lips. It only fuels him more, makes his movements more erratic. Over and over, hit after hit, Alhaitham delivers an exhilarating pleasure that drives you to the edge of delirium. Warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach threatening to spill over and seep into every crevice of your being.

It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s not enough. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

“I can feel you falling apart around me.” The corners of his mouth lift in a smug grin, ignoring the fact that his voice comes out in ragged huffs, uneven from his labored breathing.

There’s no use denying how much you affect him as well— not when fire licks his body, coloring his pale skin flush. Nor when his expression is clearly strained, trying so desperately to hold on to his crumbling composure. You’d notice if you still had the capacity to process anything at all, but alas…

He lowers his head into the crook of your neck, nipping lightly at the tender skin before switching to your native tongue. “C’mon my beautiful mermaid… give it to me. Cum for me.”

The white hot bliss that sweeps across your body is maddening and it leaves you absolutely shattered. The vibrato in your voice cracks as you scream and sob, body going impossibly taut. You’re desperately gasping for air, drowning in the waves of euphoria that wash over you, but it pulls you in and drags you further down into delirium. You can’t think, you can’t speak. You can’t stop the trembling in your thighs and you can’t stop your cunt from spasming as he continues to fuck into you.

His pace slows but his strokes are longer and deeper, as if he’s trying to ingrain himself permanently within your walls. Your moans rise in pitch, turning to whimpers when his thrusts continue past your orgasm and into the settling overstimulation, his cock still taking from you where there’s no more to take.

You’ve never felt more like a paradox than you do now. Your head is the clouds, while your body feels heavier than ever. You’re painfully sensitive, squirming to get away as he chases his own release, yet your cunt still pulses and begs to milk his fat cock dry.

Weak arms reach up to cup his face, pulling him in for a lasting kiss, breathing him in like the air you so desperately need in your lungs. When you pull away, your eyes are so dazed and lidded, not yet recovered from the intensity of your orgasm, but already prickling with tears from the burn of overstimulation.

“Make me yours.”

Alhaitham buries his head in the crook of your neck; there’s no hope of keeping up his composure now. In fact, it’s a wonder he didn’t come from those words alone. You already are, he tells himself. There’s nobody else he could ever want; nobody else could ever compare to how perfect you are for him.

With a few final thrusts, he presses his weight into you and sinks his cock as deep as he can. He lets out a tattered moan and his hips stutter as he follows you over the edge, the warmth of his hot cum spilling into your insides.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind: Maybe you want to stay like this forever. So warm and tingly and speared open in all consuming pleasure.

His body slumps against yours, relaxed and utterly at peace. In the numbing midst of his high, Alhaitham’s mind is for once, a couple beats slower than his palpitating heart.

“I love you.”

He wasn’t thinking when it had slipped out of his mouth. The words came so naturally, rolled off his tongue so easily. It’s too late by the time he realizes just what he’s said; he hopes to god you didn’t hear him, but it’s the only thing you catch amongst all the white noise. He loves you. Alhaitham loves you.

It replays on a loop inside your head but your jumbled mess of a brain can only process so much right now. “Love… you…” you barely manage to scrape out. He quiets your empty babbles with another kiss, muffling your whines as he gently—though reluctantly—pulls out of your embrace. You shudder and whine at the loss.

“Easy now,” he soothes, distracting you with praises and soft pecks to your temples. To you, the emptiness in your cunt feels all too foreign, but he can’t help but stare at the lecherous sight of your combined fluids dripping out of your hole. He can already picture it in his head; the wet noise of your slick and his cum, all shoved back into you so that not a single drop is wasted…

Alhaitham shakes the thought from his head, forcibly tearing his eyes away before his own mind can betray him. He excuses himself before soon returning with a glass of water and a warm, wet towel in hand.

Slowly but surely, your lungs steady, and the fog dissipates, and you’re finally able to anchor yourself back to reality. A reality where your throat is dry, hoarse from all the retrospectively embarrassing sounds he had dragged out of you, and your limbs feel so heavy, as if your bones have all but dissolved into jelly.

“Gonna clean you up, okay?”

With your permission, he helps sit you up, passing you the glass of water before he begins wiping off the excess fluid between your legs. The towel is rough against the still sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you jolt. Immediately, he utters an awkward apology, looking up to gauge your reaction.

Water, split from the sudden movement, drips down your chin. Loose pieces of hair stick to your forehead; the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin makes sure of that. To look so disheveled yet so gorgeous at the same time… you’re absolutely enchanting in the afterglow. A flicker of pride rushes through him—he did that. The proof was in the bites and bruises littered across your skin. He smiles, sheer adoration present in his eyes.

Your soft giggle breaks his train of thought. “What are you—” A yawn. “What are you looking at?” The chirp in your tone peaks just the tiniest bit out of your sleep-laden voice, but you’re too worn out to wait for an answer, opting to fall back onto the mattress instead. It’s not long before you fully yield to the exhaustion.

You look so peaceful in your sleep, so human, that he almost forgets you’re not. Still, he wonders how it would feel to hold you in his arms as he sleeps. To wake up beside you and watch as the sunlight illuminates your features.

Would it be selfish of him to indulge just a little more?

Tossing the towel aside, he joins you under the safety of his covers. He wraps an arm around your frame, pulling you close, holding you right next to where his heart beats in his chest. Alhaitham presses a soft, last kiss to the top of your head before he too, drifts off to sleep.

When morning comes and the golden sun arises, everything will return as it was. Dreams and other such wishful delights are of the moon’s sovereignty, so tonight, let him hold on to this reverie for just a little while longer.

a/n2: This was my very first smut piece so I hope you enjoyed :’) Since this is an extra chapter, I tried not to include any details that would drive the plot too much, but ending it with just a tiny bit of angst to transition to the next part. thank u for reading ! ♡

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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

Text

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it. You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

“I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment. You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere kamisato ayato #yandere ayato #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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lobsterfork · 7 months

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hey not to be that guy, but for everyone looking at the Stede!Mermaid scene at the end of the Innkeeper and thinking it's cringe... do we think maybe there's some externalised shame here? as queer fans, our love, enthusiasm, skill and labour (fanfiction, fanart, etc.) has mostly been relegated to the shadows, despite it being the backbone of many shows/fandoms. to have that love & labour visually represented in an unabashed, unashamed, silly, CANONICAL and queer way? to have the very stories we devote our time to crafting for one another manifested on the screen in an unapologetically gay visual feast? that should be a fucking celebration.

it's okay. lean in with me. let's practice some radical self-love and healing in this chillis tonight. together. this is a love letter to us. lean in.

#literally writing this for myself 'cause turns out i had some shit to unpack #but it turns out i would die for the fucking mermaid sequence so jot that down #ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #edward teach #fucking mermaids #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers #FUCKING MERMAIDS MAN CAN YOU BELIEVE IT #we don't have chillis in Australia is it one L or two????

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azsazz · 5 months

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Hanging by a Thread

Kinktober Day 23: Cassian x Reader [Edging]

Summary: If it’s not already taken can I request cass x reader edging for kinktober? but like… reader edging him 👀

Warnings: Smut, sub!cassian, blow jobs, dirty talk, reader rides cass.

Word Count: 2,442

Notes: This one's for that anon the other day I busted this out because i felt bad, hopefully it's not too shitty.

_________________________________________

The great thing about the mating bond is that it tells you when your mate is about to lose control. The feeling mirrors in your bones, the golden thread tying your love together weaving through your bones shudders with delight. Your spine lengthens as a result of the feeling, heart stammering uncontrollably.

But it’s not the only thing that lets you know he’s getting near. Cassian’s strong hand is fisted in your hair, shoving you roughly down on his cock as his hips lift in a brutal face to fuck your throat. You revel in the ache, the stretch. Saliva smears down his thick length, across your face and dripping down your chest. He loves the look of you like this, a mess for him. Your thighs are shaking and your arms burn with the effort to hold yourself up, and there’s a tinge in your neck from his movements.

Unabashed sounds fall from Cassian’s lips, his voice rough and edged with his incoming orgasm. Moans and pants and filthy fucking words that have the ache between your legs becoming a full on desperate throb for any sort of friction.

Being like this, the source of his pleasure, even when he’s guiding you with a hand at your nape…it makes you feel…powerful. And you want more of that feeling; knowing that you can make Cassian like this, a puddle for your mouth, your touch, your sounds.

You want to see how much you can get away with.

Planting your hands to the cutting muscles of his hips, you work yourself free. Cassian can feel your resistance, slowing, his fingers slipping from your hair as you sit up. His brows are tight with worry, and he ignores the heaving of his chest, the pleasure wracking his bones to make sure you’re okay.

But your eyes are bright, alive and not filled with tears or discomfort. You’re wiping saliva from your face with the back of your hand, and Cassian’s confused until he’s not, when you climb on top of him and sit on his cock with a determination only his girl could have.

“I’m going to ride you, baby,” you tell him, rubbing your wet cunt across his already sopping cock. He grunts at the feeling but his words catch in his throat because you’re not waiting for a response, sinking down onto him and rolling your hips on the way down. It’s a move you’ve never done before, coming up with it only now in the confidence that’s coursing through your blood. It makes Cassian bare his throat to you a little, and fuck do you like that. “But you’re not allowed to cum.”

“Is that so?” he asks, voice filled with curiosity and nonchalance. He lifts his hands, settling them behind his head as he watches you hungrily. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m in charge,” you answer, and the self-assurance in your tone has him agreeing with pleasure.

“Alright, sweetheart. Show me what you’ve got.”

So you do. You pull out all of the stops, using every trick that you have and know he loves. You even use words, trying something new, speaking to him with the arrogance that he does you when he’s fucking you within an inch of your life.

Cassian’s cockiness turns quickly, hands falling from his head to touch, but only where you’ll allow. He grumbles, frustrated, but obeys. You flood the bond with praise in response, and Cassian nearly melts.

As much as he tries to keep himself in check, pretend that you’re not affecting him as much as you are, you know that he’s getting close.

“How are you doing down there, baby?” you ask, trying to keep the tease from your voice. You can feel the way he’s trying to hold himself back, trying to think of anything besides what your cunt is doing to his cock, your words to his mind, and your fingers to his body.

“I’m great,” Cassian answers, but it’s strained. You bite back a wolfish grin. If he wants to try and pretend, you’ll make his impending orgasm worse.

“Is that so?” You repeat his words from earlier and he nods. “You can pretend all you want, baby, but I know,” you drift off, trailing your fingers up the expanse of his massive chest. It jerks with a heavy breath as you roll your hips once more in a slow, leisurely swirl. Tapping right where his heart lies, you lean in close, fluttering your lashes just how he likes, lips a hair's breadth away from his gasping ones. “That if I bounce on your cock only a few more times,” each word is accentuated with a bob up and down his length. His hands steel themselves to your hips, but he makes no move to lift you, to fuck you like the wild beast raging inside of him wants. He knows he won’t get what he wants if he does, and you likely won’t go near him for a week. “You’ll be cumming right in my tight little cunt, whether you’re trying to or not.”

Cassian throws his head back into the pillow with a groan, his fingers tightening on your skin, eliciting a pleasured gasp. His hazel eyes are hidden behind shut eyes but it’s okay because yours have rolled into the back of your skull as you sink deeper, move faster, his cock filling you to the brim.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Cassian breathes. He can’t focus, your beautiful body is doing too much. There’s an undeniable heat coiling his gut and the tip of his cock hits your womb, dragging down your constricting, soaking wet walls. Yours is the best pussy he’s ever been in, ever seen, and he needs to mark you. “I need to cum.”

“Yeah?” you taunt, moving faster. Every bounce on his cock makes you feel so incredibly full, but there’s more that you want. You want his cum, want him fucking it into your womb. You want to keep him there, hold his cock in your cunt until he’s hard once more and do it all over again. You don’t want him leaving you until there’s so much of his cum in your cunt that each thrust sends the silky white dripping between your thighs. You want to paint his skin with it, lick it up, share it with him. “You need to cum, Cass?”

“I need to cum.” It’s almost a fucking whine, for Mothers sake. His tone has pitched higher as he tries to stave away the orgasm threatening to rip his body apart. There’s nothing for him to think about that would help cease this lance of fire traveling down his dick with each of your hot motions, his head is empty of all thoughts but you. “Please.”

You smirk, slowing your hips to a gentle roll. The sound of frustration Cassian makes has you getting wetter, not often in charge during sex like this. It feels…amazing. You feel powerful, having this size of a male beneath you, trying to tear himself apart at the seams in order not to cum, to follow your direction like the good boy he’s trying to be.

“No,” you answer simply, coming to a halt. You can feel the tension of his body, muscles straining with the effort to keep still, to not spill into you and fill your greedy cunt. It’s extra greedy tonight, with the taste of control you have. “You’re not going to cum.”

Every whimper that escapes Cassian’s tongue has your cunt clenching. Never did you think that this could feel so good. Is this how he feels when he’s leading a troop? To have someone listen without question, even when they so desperately want to have it their way?

“I can’t hold it, sweetheart,” he pleads, peeling his eyes open in desperation to look up at you. You sit on his dick, spine straight, tall like a goddess. Your forehead is dotted with sweat and your cheeks are flushed pink, creeping down your throat to your chest, nipples tight. Your hands are planted on his own chest, swiping over his own nipples as if trying to calm him down. All it does is add to the erotic sensations swirling through his body.

“You can, and you will,” your voice takes on a harsher tone. You haven’t cum yet so Cassian isn’t allowed to. You are going to service yourself first, and then, if he’s been good, he’ll get to cum. “I know you can, Cass. You’re doing amazing so far.”

The praise goes straight to his cock. You can nearly feel it throb inside of you, and you clench around him just to tease a little more, see how good his control really is.

Cassian meets your eyes, his gaze sharper than it was a moment ago. Your heart falters for a moment when you see the challenge lying within. His demeanor shifts and he tugs you down, pulling you flush against his chest, his arms winding around your waist to lock you into place as he leans in close, breath hot in your ear. “When this is all over, when you’re done with this little power trip,” he starts. The threat rumbling his tone goes straight to your keening cunt. “And you’re still aching for more—” Cassian’s teeth brush the shell of your ear and you shudder. It’s hot, but neither of you are moving, chests fighting for breath. His cock is hard and hot inside of you but you don’t dare move as warmth floods your system. He’s playing dirty, using his words to try and get you off like you don’t know his games. “I’m going to return the favor. Show you exactly what you’re doing to me, sweetheart.”

Fucking fuck, does he know how to get you. The slight curve of his pink lips upwards shows you that he knows it too, felt that unmistakable flutter of your walls quivering at the thought of being pinned to the bed, Cassian ripping orgasm after orgasm from your shaking body until you’re nothing more than a puddle of tears and moondust.

But you’re in charge right now, you have to remind yourself. You steel the walls in your mind and catch Cassian noticing. His eyebrows twitch only slightly.

“Oh Cassian,” you sigh, pushing at his broad shoulders to sit yourself up. His muscles shift beneath your grip and it feels nice. While he may have accomplished calming his cock down a little with those threats of his, you can still feel that tightness in your own groin, the one drawing to be released. You brush the tendrils stuck to his face behind his ear with a savage smile that says you accept. “Threats aren’t going to help you this time.”

His throat bobs and you want to lean down and lick it.

Your thighs are burning but you pick up your pace, both you and Cassian releasing matching moans as you go from no movement to riding his cock like it will give you all the riches in life. It has, so far. You love your mate dearly, so much so that the emotion is near overwhelming. Tears prick your eyes at the thought but you bite your lip, focusing on the sting. You’re the strong one right now.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” you whine, head falling back on your shoulders. Cassian’s hands find your tits and there’s only a sliver of your brain that can focus on anything besides the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you feel like you’re going to combust. It’s making sure that his touch doesn’t turn demanding, guiding you up and down no matter how badly you want to release your power to him.

“You’d feel so much better stuffed with my cum, sweetheart,” Cassian grouses, watching you with bright eyes.

“Don’t want you to cum,” you mewl a little, grasping onto his hands with your own. Your orgasm is cresting again, but you don’t want this to end. “I like being in charge.”

Cassian’s hands slip from yours, winding down your torso to get a full grab of your ass before trailing up your skin so he can grip your chin and force your face down to meet his.

“I love you being in charge,” he admits, grunting at your movements.

“You do?” you gasp at a particularly pleasurable jab of his cock, switching the angles as you lean closer to him. The wildfire in your bones that connects the both of you is ablaze now, an inferno of passion that’s nearly burnt to the end of its rope. You prepare yourself for the explosion by clawing your fingers into Cassian’s gloriously tanned skin.

Cassian steals a kiss, and you allow him to. His mouth is hot and dominant and you’re desperate for his taste, his large hands on your body and his cock in your cunt. “Yes,” he hisses when he pulls away, barely. “I love when you take what you want from me, telling me how good my cock feels stuffed inside of you. If I never had to leave this tight, wet cunt of yours I wouldn’t. Fuck Rhys and fuck the courts. You’re mine, sweetheart, and I’ll do anything you ask, no matter how much it hurts.”

“Cass,” you cling to him, pressing your head into his collarbone as the implosion happens. “I’m cumming!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he encourages, planting his feet onto the bed and fucking into you now that you’ve stopped moving, jerking only slightly as your orgasm locks your muscles. You cry out in pleasure as he works you through it, liquid fire burning your body.

It mirrors him and he gasps, feeling the rush of your orgasm as he tries desperately to hold himself back. “Sweetheart, please, can I cum?”

You moan affirmation because you don’t think you can speak anymore. Your brain is mush, your cunt sensitive as Cassian grips you tight and fucks up into you, chasing his own orgasm. You whine at the feeling but he likes that, his body shuddering as he releases his hot cum into you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, take all of it. I’ll fill you up good,” Cassian’s breath is hot in your ear but his words have your brain clearing for only a moment.

You swat at him, huffing, before melting back into the warmth of his body. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

His chest vibrates with laughter beneath you and you can’t help but to smile, accepting the sweet kiss he presses to your lips. “Sorry, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist:@bunnymallowo@jeannineee@icey–stars@hannzoaks@harrystylesfan2686@azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

#cassian x reader #cassian smut #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cassian #azsazz kinktober 2023 #sub!cassian

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tojisun · 4 months

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"i feel so hot rn. not pretty or cute but hot"

Now I'm imagining Simon looking at him self in a full length mirror fidgeting with his outfit thinking the same thing to himself and we're just watching him on the bed in admiration and he catches us looking at him in the reflection of the mirror alskhdajdnbsdjfaehfb <3

RAHHH THIS ONE WAS FROM THIS POST (so long ago! im so sorry for the delay ahhhhkj)

god yea! absolutely!!

and the thing is, simon always feels attractive in his own skin- rolling confidence heightened by his unabashed competence- so feeling good is not really foreign to him.

but there is something different today.

simon feels a simmer buzzing underneath his skin, tickling the back of his mind as his eyes trail over himself. he is just wearing something simple for the casual dinner date you two planned- dark jeans and a black shirt that stretches over his chest and is taut over the lines of his abdomen, with a semi-loose jacket thrown on top.

he looks, well, normal.

he looks like any other man; he is not a weapon or a threat. he is just a man who's taking out his girl for a dinner.

and perhaps it is that reason that makes simon appreciate how he looks. he tamps down on a smile, ducking his head away from the mirror to fix the sleeves of his jacket.

the action is what draws simon's attention to you- he sees a flash of red (dark as wine) and shifts, meeting your eyes from the mirror. you are all ready to go, your hair coming down in a way that frames the cut of your jaw and highlights the shimmer on your cheeks. you're laying on the bed, legs propped up against the wall and head turned to watch him, and simon becomes so breathless at the thick desire he sees rolling off of you.

your lips, cherry red, are parted for a quiet gasp, your fists tight at the ends of your dress, and simon, not for the first time, wonders how much does he truly affect you?

he wants to see himself from your eyes- wants to see the man you love; the man you chose to spend your life with. he wants to see the way you love him

but for now, he teases. "y'like what you see?"

"yes," you reply instantly, reverently, and simon blinks in surprise.

oh.

he feels winded at your admission. god, petal. how he loves you so.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #anon #ask #suns

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lovebugism · 6 months

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Halloween is not really a big thing in my country so our october is as lame as every other month 😭

What do you think about sunshine/ditzy!reader planning her all on pink Halloween costume and eddie trying to convince her to go as something from one of his fav horror movies, or something silly like as a gremlin.

I love everything you write so I'll be happy with anything really

ily <333

ty angel! hope you like it! — eddie and his ditzy gf have trouble deciding on matching costumes (established relationship, fluff, ditzy!reader, can be read as a modern!au, 0.8k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

“You don’t like my costume?” you wonder, all pouty in your pretty pink leotard and biker short duo.

You’ve mastered the Barbie look — at least from what Eddie can remember. You’re only missing the neon rollerblades and matching yellow kneepads. You’re the prettiest, most vibrantly colored ball of sunshine he’s ever seen in his life.

“I love your costume, babe, don’t get me wrong…” Eddie assures as he rises from the couch, flashing you a rosy grin as he shakes his head. “But I am not wearing tights.”

Your pout deepens at his refusal to match with you. He was the Ken to your Barbie, after all — even if he wears so much black he basically absorbs all the light in any given room. “But why?” you ask in an unabashed whine.

“‘Cause if I knew I’d be wearing biker shorts for Halloween, I would’ve started doing squats three months ago.”

“But you’d make such a nice Ken!”

Eddie’s chocolate eyes narrow. “Do I look like Ken to you?”

“Well… No,” you answer, faltering only slightly when your gaze darts across the pale features of your wild-haired, metalhead boyfriend. “But it’s not like I look like Elvira!”

Eddie’s face twists like he’s tasted something sour, he’s that offended by your words.

His matching costume idea was the total opposite of your bright pink and sporty one. He wanted you to be a beautiful, shadowy thing hanging on his side in all black — the Mistress of the Dark to his Prince of Darkness. He still gets a little giddy thinking about it.

“Are you serious?” Eddie scoffs, playfully insulted and loud with it. His voice booms across the trailer as he takes you in his arms, curling his calloused fingers around your elbows. “You’re a total smoke show, babe— you’re killer. That’s, like, the only prerequisite.”

You roll your eyes at his compliment, though it has you blushing something fierce.

Self-loathing was always hard with Eddie around ‘cause he thinks you’re the prettiest thing that’s ever walked the Earth. You’re not quite as certain as he is about it, but he says it with so much confidence that it’s hard to disagree.

“I do have a great set of boobs…” you lilt quietly, eyes flitted to the ceiling as you imagine yourself as the bombshell from Eddie’s favorite movie.

Your quoting of the film, along with your subtle reconsideration, has him grinning. “Yes, you do,” he affirms with a rapid and boyish nod.

His gaze falls to your breasts, squeezed tight by the spandex fabric clinging to you like it was made to do it. His face heats with embarrassment when he notices he’s all but ogling at you. Then he realizes he doesn’t have to be embarrassed because you’re his girlfriend. It’s his job to ogle at you. It’s fucking metal.

“And an incredible pair of legs…”

“Exactly.”

“…But I still wanna be Barbie.”

Eddie’s grin never wavers. “Figured.”

“But you don’t have to be Ken if you don’t want!” you affirm quickly, eyes as wide as your glittering smile. “You can still be that weird, freaky singer guy that bit the head off that bat that one time.”

“Ozzy Osbourne,” he corrects.

“Yeah! We can just compromise. Easy peasy.”

Eddie deflates with a dramatic huff. His features twist in a puppy-like pout as he pulls you closer to him. “But you know I hate not getting my way,” he whines, mostly playful.

“I know,” you hum with a sympathetic smile. You gravitate towards him without thinking twice, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press your chest to his. “But it makes sense, right? I’ve always been like Barbie, and you always liked me anyway… Right?”

He hates that you’re even asking — like he hasn’t been head over heels for you and stumbling all over himself since the day he met you. “I mean, obviously.”

“And you’ve always been a freak! And I’m, like, fucking obsessed with you—” you ramble, as bright as sunshine, until you realize the weight of your words. You grow abruptly serious. “No offense.”

He keeps on beaming like a lovesick idiot. “None taken.”

“And Halloween’s a cool way to represent that, right? Like, yeah, we’re different and we’re hot. Screw couples’ costumes!”

Eddie grows so suddenly fond. His chest warms and sparkles with it, like his dark eyes that melt for you. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“I know,” you shrug, still smiling. “I usually am.”

He grins wide before pressing a kiss to your smart mouth. It’s an innocuous peck — a meshing of plush lips and a lingering there. A quiet smack fills the tiny trailer when he parts from you just to pout, “You know I’m gonna have to walk behind you all night to keep people from staring at you, right?”

You giggle when his warm, calloused palms smooth over the outsides of your hips. “You do that anyway, Eds.”

“Well, yeah,” he responds, shrugging like it’s obvious. “‘Cause the view’s so nice.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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miguelswifey04 · 9 months

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Hiii, I love your content & idk if you’ve done this already but the idea of Reader walking in on Miguel masturbating and he doesn’t care to stop actually with reader being there made him want to do it even more 😏… just an idea tho💕

for sure hehehe <3

miguel o’hara x gn! reader

cw// masturbation, exhibitionism, nsfw 18+, smut; no plot

you walk into the room, only to be greeted by an unexpected sight. there, on the bed, miguel lies naked, his muscular body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. his hand is wrapped around his throbbing length, stroking himself with a voracious hunger. you pause for a moment, taken aback by the scene unfolding before you. but rather than feeling shocked or offended, a wave of undeniable desire washes over you. miguel’s audacity ignites a flame within you, compelling you to indulge in the sinful pleasure that beckons.

a smirk plays on your lips as you saunter closer, your eyes fixated on his unabashed display of self-pleasure. his gaze locks with yours, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “well, well, well," you purr, your voice dripping with amusement. "seems like someone couldn't wait for me, miguel." he doesn't falter, his rhythm only intensifying as he keeps his eyes locked with yours, fully embracing the exhibitionist act. his confident demeanor both intrigues and excites you, fueling the flames of your arousal.

“i couldn't help it, sweetheart," he retorts, that cocky grin still firmly in place. "the thought of you walking in on me, watching me pleasure myself...it drives me wild." you release a soft chuckle, circling the bed, eyeing his body and the way his hand moves over his engorged member. the air is thick with anticipation, and you find yourself growing increasingly eager to join him in his sinful act. without a word, you slowly strip, revealing your own enticing body. your curves enthrall him, rendering his self-control near non-existent. the sight of you only intensifies his need, his strokes quickening in pace.

as you climb onto the bed, you position yourself beside him, your eyes locked on his pulsating length. the air crackles with raw desire, both of you consumed by the primal urges that stir deep within. “watch me, miguel," you command, your voice heavy with need. "but don't stop. don’t you dare stop." he grins at your words, his grip tightening around his throbbing member. his eyes flicker between you and his own hand, his arousal reaching its peak. the room fills with the sounds of your moans mixing with his, the air thick with the scent of desire.

with each stroke, each gasp, the intensity builds, the pleasure becoming more insatiable. the unhinged, raw passion between you fuels his desires further, removing any remaining inhibitions. “ooh mmm— fuck—i," he groans, his voice laden with desperation. "i...i can't hold back anymore." you watch, captivated, as he reaches the brink of climax, his body trembling with need. the moment hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation.

and then, with a deep, guttural moan, miguel succumbs to the pleasure, his release cascading over his hand, coating his abdomen. the sight of his release pushes you over the edge as well, an electric wave of pleasure washing over your own body. breathing heavily, you collapse beside him, both of you basking in the aftermath of your shared indulgence. the room is filled with the echoes of your combined moans, a testament to the insatiable fire that burns between you.

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit @meeom

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #lin’s asks #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x gn reader

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