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premiumuniformals · 8 days

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tutorialcrafter · 3 months

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#fingerless gloves pattern #handcrafted #easy crochet pattern #wedding gloves #wrist cuffs #gloves pattern #unique desing gloves pattern #white cotton crochet gloves #dıy project #bride gloves #hand trim #handmade #pdf pattern #instant download #easy crafts #easy crochet

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srisakthitex · 3 months

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ghost-toe · 1 year

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my favorite thing in the world is when a task requires me to wear gloves

#🫀#LOVE the white cotton gloves i had 2 wear at the museum #to operate all the 19th century music boxes and player organs and stuff #and the nitrile gloves i had to wear when inventorying music rolls in the vault.#and i love the demolition gloves i wear when im handling heavy splintery wood #ill probably get driving gloves for my car eventually for the summer steering wheel #or the winter steering wheel also #the more tasks i can do with gloves. the better.

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neckland · 1 year

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Make Every Tie Your Tie Xinlineckwear Personalized Masonic OES Logo Hand Embroidered White Cotton Glove Custom Unisex Freemason Official Eastern Star Gloves . . . . #neckland #xinlineckwear #gloves #glove #masonic #freemason #cotton #regalia #easternstar #oes #white # #customized #custom #personalized #embroidered #embroidery #unisex #decoration #fashion #fashionable #factory #supplier #besboke #official #quality #oem #manufacture #office #wholesale （在 Neckland Industrial Limited） https://www.instagram.com/p/Cod2nj_LgpO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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yawnderu · 7 months

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Living Dead Man - Zombie!Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

What is a husband but a man with a rotting body you can barely recognize?

CW: body horror, gore, tongue kiss with a dead man(?), is she wrong? morally, angst with a happy ending.

You examine the man as if he was under a microscope, milky white eyes staring back at you with the same intensity they always did. His balaclava was ripped off halfway, revealing a dislocated jaw, the bits of skin you could see while he was wearing his uniform were now all mangled up and pale, a contrast to the surprisingly soft skin Simon had before.

''Don't bite me.'' You warn and the zombie simply lets out a grunt in response. It has been a week since he turned, and it took hours of convincing the rest of the 141 to let you keep him— with the pretext that you could use him to try and find a cure, and maybe that was true. There was nothing you wanted more than to find a cure and turn your husband back to who he used to be. So far, nothing was working.

''I'm going to draw some blood, okay? It might sting a little bit.'' Your tone is gentle and so are your hands, carefully lifting off his uniform sleeve to reveal his forearm, needle penetrating one of his protruding veins until the blood collection tube was full of his dark, purple blood. You removed the needle, grabbing a cotton ball and taping it with medical adhesive tape. You sigh as you put down the materials, sitting down in front of your former husband... does it count as former if he's not completely dead?

''I miss you a lot...'' You start, speaking to him the same way you have been doing ever since he went nonverbal, unable to speak due to the zombification and broken jaw. Based on the grunts and the way he looks at you, you convinced yourself he can understand and knows who you are.

''I'm trying hard to find a cure. I mean, I like to believe I'm sort of close... but I don't know if it'll do much since the necessary organs are already decomposing. I'm sorry, I feel like I failed you.'' Your voice is strained as your gloved hands hold his, tears rolling down your cheeks as you silently sob, bringing his hands to your face and giving his knuckles soft kisses, the same way you did back when he was alive.

''I don't think I can go on without you, Si... I don't want a life without you.'' Your heart breaks more when you hear a soft grunt, a noise you became familiar with, the same sound he made before, comforting you when he knew you were down. Your head snaps up and you can see a small tear roll down his pale cheek, your eyes open wide as you bask in on the discovering.

''So you are sentient to some degree.'' Fuck Element 115 and fuck the zombie who bit your husband, the bastard is sentient! A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips as you smile up at him. You may not have a cure yet, but at the very least, he's not fully gone. Your hands gently caress his decomposing cheeks, testing the waters as you slowly lean closer.

Closer...

Closer, until your lips are touching his bloodied, decomposing mouth, the broken jaw forcing you to have an awkward angle to make it work. His mouth parts slightly and you take the chance to slip your tongue inside, holding in your breath to not throw up at the smell of his rot. Surprisingly, you feel his cold tongue wrap around yours weakly, his poor attempt to kiss you with the little control he has of his motor skills. You break away for a second to take a deep breath, hands cupping his cheeks while you look deep into his eyes.

''I love you. I wish... things were different. I heard they'll bomb the entire country to get rid of the evidence of the virus.'' A small chuckle escapes your lips as he simply stares at you, tears blurring your sight while you lean your head on his shoulder, tears rolling down your cheeks while you try to stay quiet.

''I don't know what to do, Si... There's really no hope. Even if I found a cure for you, we don't have access to any planes to get out of here, and any neighboring country would kill you if they see you.'' You feel cold hands attempting to hold your waist and you look up just to find he was already looking down at you. Perhaps you're that delusional, but you could swear his milky white eyes softened. You try your best to put on a small smile, even if it doesn't reach your eyes.

''At the very least... we're together. I'll see you in the next life, my love.'' He grunts softly in response and you let out a soft laugh. You ignore the panicked screams ringing through the base, closing your eyes as your forehead rests against Ghost's, one last display of love before the bomb hits, wiping out of everything you ever loved.

''Hey.'' You call out softly to your colleague, holding a skull glove that slipped out of his uniform. He turns to look at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable even when he remains unmasked.

''Earth to Simon?'' You tease, waving the glove around for a few seconds before he gently takes it from you.

''Thank you... Stray, was it?'' He asks, one of his thin blond eyebrows raising slightly as he looks down at you. You nod your head, offering him a warm smile. You were just introduced by Captain Price, yet it feels like...

''Do I know you? You look familiar.'' A small smile is seen on his lips before he looks away, trying to keep his emotions in check. He thinks about his answer for a few seconds before it all hits you. He's...

''Ghost?'' You ask, tears rimming your eyes as soon as he nods, his arms wrapping around you tightly while he holds a hand on the back of your head, not wanting to let you see the tears escaping his eyes as well.

''Found you, love.'' A second chance at life with him.

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cattolino · 11 days

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sweet angel

pairing: lee felix x f reader. warnings: exhibitionism, skirt kink, fingering (f receiving), thigh grinding, teasing, dirty talks, profanities. genre: established relationship, smut. rating: explicit. word count: 2.7k.

Felix is the pristine epitome of joy. Radiance. A bright spirit.

One time Chan was told to describe Felix in a word on a post-it note for the younger’s birthday party and the dude ended up scribbling ‘the embodiment of warmth of the first light of day when you wake up on a Saturday morning, and the vibrance of the sundown when you walk along the shore until dusk takes over’.

Changbin and Jisung wrote ‘sunshine’.

And Hyunjin calls him ‘angel’ sometimes.

You wouldn’t argue. Because you believe that even the sweetest angel would carry the weight of their own deepest darkest secret.

And it was like a trump card when you accidentally found out the one thing that was able to coax out of another side of your angelic boyfriend you’d never seen before.

Two weeks ago when Felix had let you ride him for the first time, he’d shyly asked you to keep your mini plaid skirt on. The hem of the cotton fabric tickled your thigh every time you tried to sink yourself down onto his length that it had been uncomfortable.

But he’d begged… eyes coated with tears as they stared down at where you rolled your hips, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your thighs. You’d never heard him growl so deep. And you’d felt his gloved cock inside you twitch uncontrollably.

Oh…

Who would have ever guessed that the sweet angel turned out to be that kinky…

And for some egotistical reason that was your own satisfaction, you wanted to verify your presumption.

“You’re not coming?” Seungmin inquired as you and Jisung strode over from the rented beach house with clean beach towels and a cooler filled with chilled canned drinks in hands.

His brows arched in confusion when he saw you in a white bra top and a pleated flowy mini skirt instead of your swimsuit.

At his side, Felix was peeling off his clothes to initially join the others on the shore. He tossed his shirt and sweats on a beach chair unceremoniously that they ended up falling to the ground.

The light freckles littering across his pale skin and the chiselled abs he always took pride in were exposed to view, whilst his lower half was barely protected by black swim trunks that were providentially too tight around the crotch.

Despite the glory of his frame, you almost laughed when you noticed the burning gaze he sent in your direction.

You perched on one of the beach chairs circling around a picnic table that had warped and bleached in several spots. A canned orange juice securely wrapped around one hand.

Your eyes flitted between Seungmin and the others whose laughter roared as the waves crashed into their bodies. You would’ve been tempted if you were to contemplate longer, but you shrugged, “nope. Not in the mood anymore.”

Seungmin wanted to say something about that but Jisung dashed across the beach still fully clothed, urgently taking part in what seemed to be an attempt at drowning Changbin whose screeches echoing through the air as the rest of the guys were carrying him into the ocean.

Seungmin followed closely behind, leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

You didn’t miss how Felix was practically burning holes into your skirt with a glare so fierce that one would’ve confused it with a look of hatred if they didn’t know better.

“You’re not swimming?” you tilted your head, as if you were genuinely curious.

He tore his gaze away from you, imitating how you shrugged your shoulders just minutes before, “nope. Not in the mood anymore.”

You snorted, earning a chuckle from him.

His fingers carded through his tousled, blonde tresses as he sat down on a chair beside you. He hunched over, grabbing a drink from the cooler on the table. The pad of his thumb twiddled upon the tab of the non-alcoholic canned cocktail before he swigged the refreshing liquid down his throat in a couple gulps.

“You look impressive by the way.” He spoke, twirling the can in his hand as he was blatantly staring you up and down. Gawking was probably more fitting since you knew enough to take notice of a hint of curiosity, adoration and lust all combined in the way his deep brown irises glinted in your direction.

His gaze lingered a little longer at your skirt, and he wasn’t being subtle about it. As though he wanted you to know.

And you surely did know.

Your cheeks bunched up towards the eyes at how wide your smile was at the complement. You leaned over to the armrest of his chair, grinning as you spoke, “you like my new skirt?”

A faint pinkish tint that unfurled across his freckled cheeks spread even wider to his ears. He smiled, “I love your new skirt.”

He tipped up your chin, planting a featherlike kiss on your bottom lip. He glanced down, fingers beginning to fiddle with the soft fabric of your skirt before they trailed down along the exposed skin of your thigh.

“Come sit in my lap.”

As if you couldn’t have seen it coming.

He carelessly put his drink on the sand below his seat as you got up on your feet. The other hand remained settled on your thigh, guiding you to perch down between his legs as he spread them wider.

But you looked down at him with a frown, “not in your lap,” you sighed, putting the word out carefully to emphasize your wish, “on your lap, please?”

Chan was right about the part of Felix being the epitome of ‘...the vibrance of sundown when you walk along the shore until dusk’ because he indeed looked lovely with the radiant glow of the golden sunrays gleaming across his freckled, flushed face. Let alone when his eyes sparkled as he stared up at you like a puppy staring at their favourite treat— as though there wasn’t anything obscene currently going through his filthy little mind.

It was unfair that the universe had granted him such a taintless facade.

His perfectly plump and heart-shaped lips tilted up into a grin of anticipation. His hand gripped your thigh a little tighter, guiding you to plump yourself down on his lap. “Of course. Anything for my baby.”

Anyone expecting this to remain an innocent cuddle session is a hypocrite. Felix never intended to keep it appropriate even when you were both in public, in spite of it being a private beach house, too.

But it was the way his palms clutched tightly at each side of your waist to keep you perfectly still on his lap that you knew he wasn’t at all expecting this— there wasn’t any form-fitting clothing whose current primary role was as a barrier between your bottom and his thighs. His swim trunks were mid thigh-length that he could right away take notice of the absence of underwear beneath your skirt.

His legs tensed. His smile faltered.

Your legs relaxed. Your smile widened.

It wasn’t like you meant to tug yourself away from him anyway, but he had his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist as if to entirely nail your ass into his thighs.

His hand led you to shift backwards, allowing your back to lean flush against his chest and your head to rest on his shoulder all while making your naked ass gently graze against the soft surface of his thigh.

“You cunning little vixen.” His voice went impossibly deeper. Something darker laced in his tone, “you’ve had this all planned out, haven’t you now?”

You giggled. Your palms gripped his arms as you moved your hips painfully slowly in an attempt to grind down on him. “But don’t you like it?”

“You’ve no idea.” His voice was nigh to a growl. You had to do more to pull a deeper, sexier one out of him.

His lips dangerously hovered over the juncture of your neck. One of his hands left your waist, shoving its way underneath the fabric of your skirt and kneading your inner thigh.

“But what’d you do if the boys decided to stay?” His mouth latched onto your neck, the hand under your skirt skimmer higher, careful not to touch where you felt hot (and undoubtedly damp) as you kept on grinding on him, “would you let me watch?”

“Maybe,” you responded through gritted teeth, having to hold back from bucking your hips up to make his fingers touch you. Your dignity wouldn’t let you give in first when the plan was to make him lose his mind for you. Speaking of dignity. “It’s good entertainment.”

A moan slipped past your parted lips when his fingertips suddenly pressed roughly against your clit. You arched your back, riding his thigh more impatient to get more friction. He grunted, “I wouldn’t tolerate that.”

“Oh, I know for certain you wouldn’t ignore me regardless,” you spoke in between ragged breaths as he planted open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, “not when I wear something you couldn’t resist.”

He huffed, but never said anything about that either. His hand on your waist ushered you to grind faster and his fingers on your clit rubbed circles in a sudden unforgiving pace that your thighs trembled. Fucking finally. “We’ll do this in front of a mirror next time… wanna see you so bad… you’ll look so beautiful grinding on my thighs like this…”

You smiled at his words. This wasn’t the only new cute skirt you’d recently bought for some special occasion. Of course there would be a next time with another brand new cute skirt. There should be a next time.

Nothing in the moment could triumph over what you were feeling. The sun was blossoming bold hues of red and gold across the skies as it was beginning to set below the horizon, representing a majestic reflection along the surface of the blue ocean. Its splendour, and the building pleasure in the pit of your stomach as he stroked his fingers on your clit, you thought of doing something similar next time. Because, fuck, was it nice to be taken care of while you watched the sunset.

He had yet to carry through what his fingers could do but you were already a mess. His thigh was soaked with slick that trickled down out of your entrance as you rode him more eagerly. You needed more to soothe the tingle in your abdomen.

“Fuck, baby, you’re always so good to me.” He grunted, very appreciative of the way you kept on just wetting his thighs.

You smiled dumbly, closing your eyes to fully relish in the pleasure, “I am. I always am.”

He pulled you back closer to his chest as if to completely mould your bodies into one. You squirmed when your naked ass landed on his clothed upper thigh as he was bucking his hips up to meet your pace.

But a whinier moan was coaxed out of your throat when you suddenly felt a protruding bulge dig right between your buttocks, slightly intruding your rim.

You weren’t the only one affected.

Felix sucked the flesh of your neck into his plump lips when his tip nudged against you, his moan muffled against your skin as he became more impatient. The hand on your waist travelled further up to grasp your clothed breast firmly in his palm, before sneakily slipping inside the bra. You gasped, mewled, almost screamed when his thumb and forefinger tugged at your perked, sensitive bud.

Before you could anticipate anything, his middle finger slid past your entrance without a word of waning, pulling a whine out of you so loud that Felix had to briefly look up at the others.

No one seemed to have noticed. But even if they had, he doubted he’d even do anything about it. There was no way he would be willing to stop his finger midway and push you off his lap just because one of them had heard your moan amongst the gentle waves. He could just pretend it was an innocent cuddle session…. Couldn’t he?

That would be fucked up.

Anyway.

He bucked his hips up again to gain more friction for his aching erection. The words coming out of your mouth was but a chain of incoherence. He could only get “please” “more” “Felix” out of it. He was proud.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Sometime amidst thrusting his finger into your entrance, his ring finger came in to assist, stretching your walls wider. You dug your nails into the flesh of his arms at your sides, seeking support as you felt your body slowly melt into the pleasure that was almost too overwhelming to bear.

Your curling toes were sinking deeper into the soft and warm sand, back arched, head thrown back, lips parted. Felix would love to see you through the mirror, what a shame.

His fingers curled inside you, looking for a certain spot that would bring you heaven. You almost jolted, if it wasn’t for his hand on your chest holding you down, when his fingertips ever so slightly prodded at that particular spot inside you. Felix smiled. Grinning, even.

Whines and moans and sighs and almost incomprehensible cries of his name were all combined as he plunged his fingers upwards at a faster pace and kept it directed at that spot.

For a moment there you couldn’t make sense of where you were. Your mind was hazy with utmost bliss, warmth was enveloping the whole of your body like a thick fluffy cloud, and electricity surging through your veins that you couldn’t help but tremble in his hold.

It was when his fingers reached incredibly deeper that the heat in the pit of your stomach suddenly exploded, its blaze proliferating within your body. You cried out his name one last time in a whiny moan as your body was quivering uncontrollably on top of him.

More slick dripping out of your entrance as you tried to grind down on his drenched thigh more. But it wasn’t the only thing that made his swim trunks damp. He, too, was releasing beads of precum as he bit down your shoulder to muffle his moans.

The raging flame in your abdomen slowly dwindled into as small as that of candle light, at the same time as when the golden rays of the spring sun were beginning to slowly dwindle into twilight.

You were sated. And Felix didn’t even have to take his shorts off.

It was completely dark when you let your body rest limp against him. The tide began to rise, and the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore helped you relax. Behind you, Felix was diligently cleaning up his fingers with his tongue whilst occasionally letting out hums of satisfaction.

But it was the sound of Chan’s squeaky giggles, Jisung’s dramatic whines, Minho’s blaring shrieks, and their inaudible chatters that made you jolt up in alarm.

Felix had his palm firmly gripped your waist keeping you still on his lap before you could get up. He pulled one of the beach towels from the table and spread it over your and his lower half.

You’d thought he was being considerate in case you were cold. But you had to grit your teeth to muffle any inappropriate sounds that were about to slip past your lips when he slid the elastic waistband of his swim trunks off his waist, not completely but low enough to release his fully erected length from restraint.

As though to torture you further, he pulled you closer by the waist until his tip nudge your swollen folds.

Inhaling a long sigh to compose yourself, you tried to sit more comfortably so as to appear normal for the others who were approaching. Though you hoped it was dark enough for them to notice nothing more than a mere disgustingly cuddly couple.

You wanted to curse at him. But whose idea was this in the first place anyway?

He kissed your shoulder before latching his mouth onto your neck, precisely at the sweet spot, making the hairs on the back of your neck erect.

“You started it,” he chuckled, half whispering, “you finish it.”

#skz fictions #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz felix #felix smut #lee felix smut #felix imagines

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apoemaday · 5 months

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Funeral Blues (Stop All the Clocks)

by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

#poetry #w.h. auden #funeral blues #stop all the clocks #auden

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glitter-epoch · 3 months

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Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.”

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...”

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling.

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.”

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked.

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.”

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory.

i’ve been personally invited to the office.

not like it’s the first time, though.

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too).

“lay down,” zayne commands.

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up.

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.”

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.”

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.”

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad.

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.”

“and that’s bad?”

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.”

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.”

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.”

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.”

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.”

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.”

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose.

“ouch,” you hiss.

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse.

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.”

you nod. “sure.”

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says,

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?”

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.”

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.”

your eyes blow out like glass.

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.”

“oh, how nice of you.”

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.

he inhales at the sound.

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly.

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest.

you bristle. “god, no.”

“then why are you staring?”

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say,

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.”

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think.

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.”

you nod. “sure.”

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.”

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures.

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.”

you nod. “sure.”

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.”

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.”

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?”

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.”

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.”

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine.

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill.

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.

you peel one eye open and then the other.

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.”

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.”

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident.

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.”

“okay.”

his brows lift. “okay?”

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.”

“no apologies,” zayne says.

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.”

well, i can’t now.

“got it,” you grind out.

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...”

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth.

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.”

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?”

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.”

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.”

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.”

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.

“no,” you gasp. too fast.

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?”

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.”

oh, sure.

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.”

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying.

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done.

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.”

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-”

“watch.”

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?”

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.”

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.”

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand.

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up.

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs.

“where?” you croak.

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.”

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word.

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.”

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more.

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.

“you like to watch me work,” he hums.

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over.

“shut up,” you bite.

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving.

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.

his pupils are swollen. “sure.”

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches.

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare.

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.”

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.”

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says,

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.”

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.”

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins.

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?”

you swallow. “of course.”

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds.

“oh, sure,” you tease.

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.”

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fluff #love and deep space x reader #l&ds zayne #l&ds x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #l&ds fic #l&ds smut

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coquettetoji · 5 months

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{🥊} BOXER EREN HCS

boxer bf eren hcs 🥊😁

— good lord boxer!eren is so fine

— definitely the type of boyfriend to just have the full walking mentality of “i hate everyone but you.” and an “i will kill for you” mentality

— but even though boxer!eren is pretty aggressive to other people

— he is the softest boyfriend ever with you

— the same mouth that holds his mouth guard and grunts out profanities in his matches is the same mouth that kisses you softly on every inch of your skin

— his hands literally hold you as if you’re made of glass

— speaking of hands, minus how hot they are boxer!eren always has you wrap his hands before sparring, matches, and honestly whenever he needs you to.

— it became such a routine between you two, he’d just walk up to you, towering over you. looking down at you with begging eyes saying, “baby, hands please?” while holding one hand out to you with the other holding the wrap.

— he loves to have some aspect of you on his body other than his mind when doing the hobby he loves.

— before his matches, he looks forward to you pressing a kiss on his wrap, prior to the gloves, leaving a lipstick mark on the white cotton.

— before his match, he always taps his glove softly on his head as a signal for you to kiss his forehead.

— during the match, the only thing that ever gets him super riled up to where his movements are more aggressive and impactful is when his opponent says something about you, his pretty girlfriend standing near his team off to the side.

— “pretty, isn’t she?” he smirks cockily trying to hide his anger before absolutely decking his opponent. 💀

— you’d just watch off to the side curious on why his opponent was suddenly now knocked out on the floor.

— but once you take a look at his face, staring down at you with possessive eyes, you realize exactly why.

— during the break of his match, as he sits down on the side stool and hears his coach point out his small mistakes on what else he should do, his eyes are just glued on you.

— god his eyes just looking up at you as you pour the water into his open mouth…. 🤰🧎‍♀️

— after the match, with his face and body is all bloodied and bruised, once the bell rings and he is declared winner by the ref he immediately makes his way towards you, holding his side in pain.

— forget a stupid trophy, or title. his prize is the kiss he gets from you.

— one kiss to the lips, one on his left cheek (FACE CHEEK 😁) and one to the forehead is all he needs.

— you’ll always be there waiting for him with open arms no matter win or loss with ‘jaeger’ engraved on your necklace

— outside of matches, eren brings you to his practices in the boxing gym whenever he can.

— he just wants you there so he can do what he loves, while having the person he loves experience it with him.

— whenever you’re not able to be there he always texts you before his matches or sends you some “cute” photos

EXHIBIT A: 😁😁😁😁

— has definitely tried to spar you, and though he was extremely gentle, you still managed to lose.

— you just can’t land a punch on boxer!eren.

— he’ll slightly laugh as you basically just get exhausted trying to throw punches at him but missing every single one.

—he’ll absolutely never lay a hand on you in an aggressive way. instead he literally just slightly moves out of the way of your punch of catches your fist 😭

— but in the situation in which he gets hurt

— whenever he needs to get cleaned up after practice, sparring, or a match he has you in the room with him.

— it’s just you and him in the little infirmary room tucked in the back, with his chin resting against your stomach as he sat on the inspection table and as you stood between his spread legs

— the slightly pained face he makes looking up at you as you clean the cuts and bruises on his face is just HJSSBHSJAHANAN. (he refused for anyone else to clean him up but you)

— he’d just tiredly hug on your waist, with his eyes slightly hooded as he whimpers slightly in pain and exhaustion BARK BADK BARK

— always expect boxer!eren to be clingy with you.

— his intimidating and frankly kinda terrifying boxing side is so much more different than with you.

— god he literally just melts.

— no matter win or loss QUEUE “ and i’ll be there for him. With open arms. And open legs. And an open mouth.” 😸

#aot #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren headcanons #eren fluff #eren x reader #eren smau #eren x you #eren jaeger #eren smut #eren aot #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x reader #aot headcanons #aot moodboard #aot fluff #aot x reader #aot fanfiction

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premiumuniformals · 10 days

Text

Men's white cotton gloves formal

Tailored specifically for men, these white cotton gloves epitomize classic refinement and style. Perfect for formal gatherings, weddings, and black-tie affairs, they add a touch of timeless sophistication to any ensemble.

#cotton gloves #white cotton gloves #men's white cotton gloves formal #formal cotton gloves #white marching gloves #ladies white cotton gloves #white cotton serving gloves #formal white cotton gloves #white military gloves #parade gloves white

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notyetneedcoffee · 7 months

Text

May I?

Kinktober - Consent NSFW - Adults Only

Summary: You are careful to get Bucky's permission.

Bucky Barnes normally did not allow people into his apartment. It’s not like there was anything to see. A chair. A TV. A bed he never slept in. The light above the stove in the little kitchen was the only thing to illuminate the emptiness of his space.

“So, you’re a hoarder.” You said, deadpanned, as you stepped into the living room.

Bucky huffed a laugh as he turned on the small side table lamp. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, ah, I wasn’t really planning on bringing you back here tonight.”

“It’s okay.” You dropped your purse and jacket on the floor by the little counter separating the kitchen and living room. As you toed off your shoes, you made sure to gauge his reaction. Bucky’s shoulders lowered just a little.

“Do you want a drink or something? I think I have a few beers left.”

“Naw. I’m good.” You came closer to him, taking his gloved hand in yours. “I’d really like to kiss you again.”

His eyes brightened as he leaned forward. You rose on your toes to meet him halfway. For such a hard man, his lips were impossibly soft. His tongue touched your lips and you eagerly opened for him, matching his enthusiasm.

Pulling away a bit you tugged at his jacket. “Are you going to get comfortable?” He stilled. You smiled. “Bucky, you can be comfortable with me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

His eyes closed and he tipped his head forward. “I want to.”

You slowly removed his gloves, tossing them beside your coat. You ran your fingers over his metallic palm, entwined your fingers with his. “I know you have complete control, but can you really feel my touch.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s different, but yeah.”

You brought his hand to your mouth and kissed his palm. Bucky stared, transfixed. You kissed the tip of his fingers. His breath increased. You lightly sucked on his forefinger. Bucky’s eyes closed and nearly imperceptible whine escaped his throat.

Bucky cupped your face with both of his hands and kissed you again. You slid your hands under his jacket, along his t-shirt. He let go of you just long enough to shed his jacket. The gleaming metal of his arm didn’t bother you. Neither did the solid pressure of it as he wrapped his arms around your waist to kiss you more.

“Doll,” He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s been a while.”

“I know.” You toyed with the bottom of his shirt where it was tucked into his jeans. “Bucky. May I take this off?” He nodded. You pulled it up, grazing your fingertips along his flat stomach, over his powerful chest, until he lifted his arms and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way himself. Your fingers lingered on his chest. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.”

You reached behind you and unclipped your bra before drawing it along with your shirt over your head. Bucky panted, mouth slightly open. You took a half a step closer. “Will you touch me?”

He nodded. His right hand slid up your side to cup your breast. You drew his left hand to your skin, showing him you wanted him to touch you every way he could. Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you. His kiss became more demanding. His hands explored your back.

“Doll,” Bucky sighed. “Damn, you feel so good.”

“Can I feel more of you?” You nipped at his jaw. He breathed a quiet ‘yes’ as you unfasted his belt.

He stared as you slipped from your pants, standing before him in just tiny white cotton underwear.

When you lowered yourself to your knees, Bucky face expressed so many emotions at once. Excitement, fear, adoration, nervousness. It went decidedly soft when you took your time unlacing his boots and removing them one at a time.

He went still as you unzip his jeans. His erection twitched as you barely brushed against it as you pushed his jeans over his hips. Jeans tossed aside, looking up at him, your hands ran up his thighs. Bucky’s eyes were wide, he chewed on his lower lip.

“Bucky,” You moved closer, so close you could smell his skin. “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” He breathed.

You lowered his boxer briefs and wrapped your hand around his cock. He let go of a shuttered breath. Thick and long. You stroked the silky skin covering the steel of his cock.

“May I,” You ran your nose along the underside of him. “taste you?”

“Oh god,” He groaned. “Yes.”

As your wet mouth wrapped around him, your felt his body twitch. His fingers stroked through your hair. You could feel his tight control beginning to wane. His hips rocked. His thighs locked.

“Fuck, Doll.” He clutched at you. “Stop. Stop. I can’t. . . Stop or this is over too soon.” You stood. Bucky’s thumb slid along your wet, swollen lower lip. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

“Can we go to bed?”

He nodded, leading you to the other room. It was as sparse as the living room. You kissed him again before crawling to the middle of the mattress. Bucky leaned over you, looping his fingers in your underwear and pulled them down. Your legs fell open. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Please, Bucky.”

He slid his hands along your thighs, stroking slowly, moving slowly closer to your core. Long fingers stroked through your folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your clit. Bucky leaned forward with his weight on his free hand to kiss your breasts. His mouth sucked on your hard nipples, making your back arch.

Warmth pooled in your core. Still, you wanted this to be about him.

“Bucky.” You pulled him up and kissed him deeply. Giving a light shove, you pushed him over onto his back. Straddling his hips, you kissed his jaw. Nibbled at his neck. You whispered in his ear. “I want to make you feel good.”

Strong emotion swirled in his eyes. You stroked his chest, sitting back more. His hands came up to cup your breasts. You took his right hand in yours and sucked upon his finger, kissed his palm. “May I do that, Bucky?”

He nodded, visibly shaking at your words.

You reached down, stroking him, rubbing him along your wetness. His hands moved up and down your thighs. As you lowered yourself onto him, impaling yourself, Bucky moaned loudly. You rocked, loving his reaction, lost in the intensity.

“Oh god, Bucky.” You panted. “You feel so good.”

His fingers dug into the cheeks of your ass, rocking you as his hip pushed up. You braced your weight on your hands. You kissed his chest, his neck, his full beautiful mouth. Tension grew, swirling in your belly. Your eyes locked.

“Doll, ah, I’m gonna…”

“Yes,” You breathed. “Me too.”

“God, you’re amazing. Make me feel…wanted.” His gaze held you captive. “Feel so good.”

You moved faster. The coil tightened. You wanted to say things, confess things. The emotion nearly bringing tears to your eyes. His breath grew harsher, hips snapped faster. You began to quiver.

“Please, oh, fuck.” Bucky’s clutched at you. “Come for me.”

You came undone. Eyes locking closed and body shaking. Bucky wrapped his arms around you tight, pushing up into you fast and hard until the moan of his release filled your ears.

You lay atop him, limp and sated. His fingers drew lazy circles along your back. “Doll,” He sighed. “You’re too good for me.”

“No,” You kissed his chest.

He smiled. “Then may I call you my girl?”

Want more? Check out my Master List.

#Kinktober #Bucky Barnes smut #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic

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bunicate · 8 months

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⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ LOLLIPOP CANDY BAD BOY !

pairing ꒱ྀི al haitham x fem reader — warnings ꒱ dub-con. exhibitionism. cum. creampie ﾉ breeding mention. some dirty talk . oral — fem receiving ﾉ repost ﾉ 18+

tucked away in the farthest corner, nothing could be heard except for hushed whispers and soft gasps.

“not here,” you whine, prickled with budding fear as your eyes cautiously scan your surroundings. unlike you, the scribe before you remained poised.

even now, in the wake of committing something so obscene, al haitham sported a passive expression along with an aura that subdued anyone who got too close.

you find yourself tongue-tied by this juxtaposition. his steady cadence when he commands to see your ‘little cunt’ couldn’t have made you more lightheaded. the contrast is what keeps you on your tiptoes—such vulgarity uttered in a striking blankness that leaves you to fill out the rest.

there was no way you could’ve assumed that this possessive demand of an ‘inspection’ would be another attribute of his personality. al haitham’s rationale is one of his most defining traits, and you couldn’t understand why your boyfriend of such prestige would spend his afternoon peeling back layers of frill and lace in between bookshelves.

he dedicates a lot of time to fulfilling his own needs, and you suppose that’s why he’s fixated on your pussy despite your hiccuping protest.

“no, no, no. h-haithy. . what if someone sees and we get in trouble ?”

bustling scholars were on every floor, nearly in every corner, but the library was massive. the odds of someone coming by your section were unlikely, but still not impossible, and it did nothing to settle you.

his hands attach themselves to your waist before trailing them down over your ass. “don’t get worked up.”

you want to scream at him for how unconvincing he sounds, not even trying to ease your worries. he towers over you, examining the panic etched on your face. he doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to — his narrowed eyes speak for him.

squirming, you huff, “y’can’t. . just look down there, okay? it's still drippy. . . and sticky.”

your orbs gloss over, and your sugared-coated sniffles are loud enough for the scribe to hear, but he pays your wails no mind. instead, he chooses to crouch down until he’s eye level with your hips.

al haitham raises your dress by the hem until it’s more than just your legs visible.

“put it in your mouth."

he pulls it an inch above your belly button, and just as he instructed, you part your lips to tuck the dress in your mouth to keep it from obstructing his view.

you turn your head away from him in embarrassment. the chatter, the rustling of papers, and laughter echoing not so far in the distance. the more you take in your surroundings, the more anxious you become. the gravity of being potentially seen becomes more imminent. you bite down harder on the dress, trying to keep your tears from spilling over.

al haitham’s gloved and nimble fingers play with the band of your panties. the shape of your lower lips pressed closely against the material, formed a damp spot that he was pleased to see. as he licked his lips, fingers pulled at the fabric, forcing them down.

when your underwear falls to your ankles, like a gentleman, he offers you his hand to help you step out of the soiled cotton before shoving it in his pocket. he then pats your knee.

“up.”

it takes a couple of seconds before you hesitantly raise your leg, but the scribe wasn’t having any of your timidity. al haitham cups behind your thigh and forces the limb much higher— so much that your silken lips slightly separate from the stretch. he soaks up the sight, staring in complete awe at the crystalline threads that ebb across your cunt.

his thumb caresses the smoothness of your skin, and his face closes the distance between your plump and moist flesh.

your clit and outer lips are glossed with your fluids. his cockhead beads white and pushes up against his underwear the longer he stares. too many memories circle his mind—the countless times he’s pounded your pussy until you were pulling away.

al haitham’s skillful finger rests on your nub, forcing you to bite back a dragged-out mewl. he then carefully strums across your folds, and lazily separates them.

“h-haithy,” you warble.

what you’ve been shying away from was finally occurring.the tips of his fingers settle on your thick and puffy lips to pull them apart. your clit, peeking out from under the hood, is a fleshy pink—taut and shiny with slick.

“still swollen from how I fucked it earlier.” a slight smile dawns on his expression.

“remember that? remember how I sowed my seed inside of you, how you asked—no, begged me to breed you ?”

tears were freely falling, not from the shame, but from his recount of today's earlier event and how it still managed to make you even wetter.

“you begged me to make you my wife if I recall. just so you can have my cock whenever you want.” his mouth brazes your skin.

“if you want me to grant your wish, the least you do is let me see the mess you’ve made.”

you croon instinctively, watching him inspect you further. your hole is agape, and your insides are painted white from the cum he stuffed you with just hours ago. the prolonged exposure of your stretched center forces a dollop of his seed to seep out onto the tile floor with a plat.

“would you look at that."

he soothes you by rubbing your perched thigh, kissing the inside of it. just as you begin to brace yourself, his lips twist and pucker on your clit.

the sudden wave of pleasure blindsides you, and you accidentally let a loud moan escape. anxiety sticks at you, but not enough to subside the feeling of your boyfriend mouthing your cunt.

he doesn’t dare close his eyes. with his nose flushed against your mound, he drinks up your ruined expression while his tongue runs laps over your clit. his eyes dare you— provoke you, pining for your release.

drool soaks your dress, your legs cramp, and your hands grip his hair to keep your rough humping of his mouth under control. you lose yourself to the thickness of his tongue that laps at the salt of his cum mingled with your honeyed arousal, a distinctive and satisfying flavor.

“c-can’t cum here, ’haitham” you muffle out, scared that your dress wouldn’t be enough to mute your outcry.

“you can’t ?”

he doesn’t remove his mouth from your heat, choosing to speak with his lips still nursing on your clit in between breaths, neglecting your hole.

“why not? don’t you want to be my wife ?”

yesyesyesyes. iwannabeyoureverything.

“you do, don’t you ? cum for me then, let me taste everything your pussy has to offer me.”

you’re drenched and sweaty, and your boyfriend doesn’t relent. forcing your eyes shut, you focus on that coil springing inside and the mouth that continues to devour your gooey cunt.

the build-up to your orgasm is maddening. you bite down hard and put your hand over your mouth as an added measure.

no one can hear you, you have to make sure of it.

the other hand pulls harder at his hair and presses him closer.

“cummin’!” you choke out. your body freezes up and shakes from the collision. his mouth doesn’t slow or fasten; it goes the same pace, savoring the saccharine sweetness of your release. he quietly groans around you so much that goosebumps erupt all over your body.

you almost forget to breathe.

it takes a few more minutes of more tender and thoughtful sucks against your cunt foral haitham reluctantly pulls away, his mouth stained with stringy fluids. the spasm of your walls pushes out the remaining cum inside like a leaky faucet. your sopping clit was sucked raw, and the apex of your thighs are damp with spit and cum.

al haitham smirks to himself, nodding in approval as he admires his work.

your future husband surely would be the death of you.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader smut #al haitam x reader #al haitham x reader smut #al haitham x you #genshin impact smut

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xas24 · 10 months

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physical touch ~ pablo gavi

summary: a few moments where gavi has shown his love through physical touch.

pablo wasn’t much of a talker; that was known to anyone who was close to him. his love language was quite clearly physical touch. this was something y/n adored about him - he liked showing his love and emotions through his physical behaviour, instead of verbally speaking them.

she felt herself falling for him more and more everyday, each and every time he would show his immense affection towards her. they were both so young, still teenagers, their emotions and attraction towards each other were heightened - yet that wasn’t something they both took advantage of.

they loved each other with maturity and passion and dedication.

•••

“¿qué te parece el vestido nuevo que me he comprado?” (what do you think of this new dress i bought?) y/n asked, holding up her new, white sundress to her body whilst looking towards her boyfriend. pablo sat comfortably on her bed, fully dressed and on his phone as he patiently waited for her to get ready.

he looked up when he heard her question and she swore she vividly saw large hearts form around his eyes. a small blush made its way onto her face as he examined the dress with a shy smile on his face.

“es muy bonito.” (its very pretty) he replied, eyes locked on hers as he imagined her wearing it.

she tilted her head, “pablo, se que es bonito pero ¿te gusta?” (i know it’s pretty but do you like it?)

“sí, es muy bonito. me gusta el color.” (yeah, it’s very nice, i like the colour) pablo replied with sending her a convincing smile as he looked back down to his phone. y/n lowly sighed to herself, walking into the bathroom to put it on and fix her hair.

a few moments later, she walked back out signalling to her boyfriend that she was ready. pablo looked back up and he immediately felt his heart start to pound in his chest. she looked breath-taking, and he was right, that colour was pretty.

the white cotton material fit her like a glove, flowing to her thighs beautifully and matching her skin tone perfectly. he stood up as she walked into her closet to get her sandals. he could barely take his eyes off her as he pocketed his phone, followed her down the stairs, said a short goodbye to her parents and followed her out to her car.

he opened the drivers door for her and walked to the passengers side. as soon as he got in, his whole body turned towards her. his hand went to her waist as he tugged her towards him in a kiss. it was short and caught her by surprise as she pulled away for a second to look at him.

her brows were furrowed in confusion but they soon relaxed when she saw the love and adoration swimming in his large, brown eyes. she leaned back in and planted her lips against his soft ones, hand cupping his cheek to keep him in place.

pablo didn’t speak much for the rest of the ride, only making small conversation and giggling at something here and there. y/n didn’t mind his lack of words, she felt his love through the hand he kept intertwined with hers.

•••

the day was in the early evening when pablo walked into y/ns apartment with his key. his lips were pulled into a small pout, his brows huddled in frustration and a slight tiredness clung to his freshly-showered body.

it’d been a tough training session back from the previous season. pablo could physically feel his muscles begging for some rest as he waddled his way through her small apartment, loving the familiar smell of her perfume all over the place.

her bedroom door was open and when she looked up from her book to see him stood there, she slightly jumped.

“pablo! ¡dios mío, no te oí entrar!” (my god, i didn’t even hear you come in!) she laughed to herself in relief whilst he dropped his bag on the floor. she noticed the solemn look on his face and her brows furrowed.

“¿estás bien?” (are you okay?) she asked but didn’t receive any sort of answer. instead, pablo shut the bedroom door and walked up to her, his hands coming up to caress her sides as he lay himself on top of her. his whole body swallowed hers up, face resting carefully against her chest.

y/n was a bit taken back by his action, but nonetheless marked her place in her book and put it aside. she knew he seemed tired so she didn’t question him any further. her fingers made their way into his hair, nails gently scratching against his scalp just as he liked.

his grip tightened around her and he was fast asleep in no time, the warmth of her body blanketing around him and her tender perfume lulling him to sleep.

•••

y/n walked down with aurora and pablos parents, with an excited smile on her face. barcelona had just won la liga and she couldnt be anymore happier for her boyfriend - he’d worked really hard and deserved this and many, many more.

aurora was telling her about the small surprise party she had planned for pablo for when he comes home, to which she was nodding along to, when her eyes landed on her campeón.

pablo saw his family walking over and couldn’t control the giddy smile that took over his features, especially when his brown eyes landed on his girlfriend. she was always there to support him, looking amazing as always in his jersey - his biggest, most beautiful supporter.

he slightly ran over to them and instantly tackled y/n in a big hug. she slightly swayed at the sudden contact but soon wrapped her arms around his shoulders with a soft laugh.

his parents chuckled at their youngest’s eager behaviour and aurora couldn’t help but take a few pictures of younger couple.

y/ns grip loosened when she realised he hadn’t even looked at his family yet. her hands went to his biceps with a chuckle. “pablo.” she murmured into his shoulder. he didn’t let go, but only tightened his grip around her waist.

“pablo, ¡primero abraza a tu familia por lo menos!” (first hug your family at least!) she exclaimed, earning some laughs from his family. she slightly tugged him away from him and watched with bright, cheery eyes as he hugged his parents, his sister, kissed their cheeks and blushed at their little proud and teasing comments about him.

as soon as he took some pictures with them all, he immediately latched back onto his girlfriend. he held her hand, asked aurora to take some photos of them with the cup, with his parents, with pedri who requested a photo with his two friends - mostly of just them two, pictures he wanted to cherish and be able to look back at one day.

his hand laced with hers once again and he didn’t let go until it was time to leave.

•••

a soft chuckle left y/ns lips as she felt pablo connect his lips with hers once more. he couldn’t help it, loving the feeling of her pretty lips against his own, smiling at him, kissing him, saying his name.

she pulled back for air and pablo took the opportunity to eagerly look her over, as if he hadn’t done so a million times before. his eyes tentatively scanned her whole face, every little detail that he adored from the length of her eyelashes to the tiny freckle on her chin.

he started pressing kisses to her cheeks. his hands tightened around her sides, legs tangling with hers as the movie in the background continued playing. pablos lips went from her left cheek, to her nose, forehead, eyelids, eyebrows, other cheek, jawline and back to her lips.

she sighed against him for the tenth time that evening, hands relaxing against his arms as he encased her with his endless love and presented it to her with his tender kisses.

#gavi #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #barça #imagine #pablo gavi x reader #gavi imagine

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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✰ 𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐘 - 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “Shall we put that mouth to better use?” — A particularly crass comment over the radio almost exposes your secret situationship with Ghost.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Violence, murder, injury detail, slight jealous Simon, secret relationship, panties as a gag, size kink, p in v sex, punishment, soft!dom-sub dynamic, tied wrists.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

“Taking out the trash, Ghost?”

You shouldn’t have said it– It just slipped out. A reference to a ridiculous joke that Soap had made over the coms once. You can hear the Scotsman giggling over the radio, evidently finding your remark hilarious.

“You’re pushing it now, Delta,” Ghost’s gruff accent crackles across the coms, the thud of a body slumping to the floor punctuating his warning. It’s terrible, really. You watch him work through a wall of mercenaries, jabbing his serrated huntsman’s knife into the soft walls of their jugular veins and shooting them through the temple with a silenced gun while you observe from the relative safety of the CCTV centre. “It’s like I’ve got deja vu.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you mumble, trying to move past your obvious overstep.

“You’ve been spendin’ too much time with Soap,” Ghost cuts through your quiet apology like the throats of the men that crumple to his feet. “Gonna start assignin’ you missions with Alejandro instead.”

The spluttering disbelief of the Scotsman on the line just makes you smile, shaking your head at the jealousy Simon was attempting to disguise with authority. You watch him peek over the crate he’s hidden behind, scanning for hostiles.

“To the left, Lieutenant,” you advise him to advance. He crouches his gigantic body as low to the ground as he can, flipping the knife handle in his hand for a better grip. The blood of his victims paints his hands dark on the grainy black and white footage of the CCTV cameras. Soap ceases his wordless, bumbling protests while you both hold your breaths, waiting for Ghost to take the mercenary out.

It’s a simple dispatch. Simon plunges the crimson-laden blade into the neck of the unsuspecting target and lowers the body to the floor as he scrambles at his neck desperately. You hear the choking death rattles over the radio before he falls silent.

“She’s learnin’ from the best, L.t.,” Soap continues, finally piecing his incoherent sounds into a sentence. You hear the muted scoff on the other end of the mic and can’t help the giggle that falls past your lips.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” you smile, watching Ghost clear the courtyard. The members of Task Force 141 watch from the shadows, readying for his approval to advance and open fire on the inhabitants of the abandoned construction site that the local drug lords appropriated as a central hub.

“How ‘bout we put that mouth to better use?” Simon answers with little thought, the coquettish comment catching the attention of the others on the line.

Gaz whistles, and you hear Alejandro chuckle.

“L.t!” Soap speaks up, and you can tell that he’s grinning from the smug tone of his voice, “A little saucy, don’t ya think?”

“Careful, Sergeant.”

No one dares speak up again, the silence over the coms only broken when Ghost gives the order. Conversation is replaced with the roar of bullet spray and bodies thumping to the floor.

✰

Arousal coats your tongue as Simon’s gloved fingers shove the cotton fabric of your panties into your mouth. You whimper softly, tears welling in your eyes at the burning stretch. Ghost had thrust into you all at once, the blunt head of his cock searing up against your cervix and blooming white hot in the pit of your stomach.

“Shush,” Simon scolds you, but his gruff voice holds no malice. It’s punishment, you think, retribution for putting him in a position where your little trysts could have been found out. Of course, there’s no real blame aimed at you, but Ghost likes having a reason to penalise you, so to speak.

You choke back a sob, feeling the rippling muscles of his abdomen rear up beneath your fingertips and thrust deep inside you. He’s bruising your guts like this, settling you on top of his hips as he lies back. Wrists bound behind your back with a crystal-white zip tie, your skin blooms with a bruise as you kneel helplessly over his cock, forced to take whatever he gives.

“Got nothin’ to say, love?” The midnight black of Ghost’s mask conceals the smirk you know is tugging on his plush lips, and you can just barely make out the gleam in his eyes through the murkiness of the tears welling at your waterline. The sweet taste of your own slick soaked into the cotton of your panties gags you, and you can only manage a desperate shake of your head before Simon brutally thrusts up into you.

The ache is brutal, each savage stroke rattling your lungs and jolting your body upwards. Your nails dig into the soft skin stretched across Simon’s rock-hard abdomen, and you hear him groan beneath the balaclava fabric. His huge palms swallow your hips, digits burying into the flesh there.

“Be good for me, love,” he growls, “Nice and quiet now.”

It’s pointless, you just barely think. The cot beneath you is so rickety that you’re sure that the team will hear the squeaking of the metal frame even past the stone walls of the safehouse you all shared for the night.

A fierce snap of Ghost’s hips winds you, a squeak working past the bunched-up fabric of your panties stuffed in your mouth. Your head lolls back, eyes rolling as his cockhead punches up against something mind-numbing. It sparks white-hot plasma across your skin, tendrils spidering down your spine.

“C’mon,” he urges, the rumble in his voice almost breathy with exertion, “Stay quiet, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You can’t. As the orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach with how Simon’s cock batters something blissful inside you, needy, muffled wails of bliss worm their way up your throat despite your best efforts to swallow them down. You needn’t bother because Ghost is too far gone to care who hears, chasing his high with a strained choke of your name.

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