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yandere-daydreams · 1 month

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file #3: the foot fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!nanami kento x reader (jjk)

length: 2.1k.

warning: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), foot jobs, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of kidnapping, unbalanced power dynamics, and cannot mention it enough: feet.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

Which was to say, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, not this physical location – the small kitchen of Nanami’s up-until-recently neglected apartment, back pressed against the rounded edge of a pristine marble countertop and hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. That, you could explain in fifteen words or less: Psychotic Ex-Boyfriend Kidnaps Overly Trusting Partner To Roleplay Repressed Domestic Fantasies, with further elaboration possible if you ever got the chance to talk to anyone who wasn’t currently holding you hostage. That, as much as you hated it, was normal. You knew why you were here.

It was much less normal to have Nanami on one knee in front of you, head bowed and one of your feet sitting in the palm of his hand. You hadn’t decided whether it was good abnormal or bad abnormal, yet, but still – not normal.

It must’ve been a rough day. He always looked tired when he got home, but tonight, he seemed exhausted – blond hair in a state of styled disarray, tie gone and shirt already partially unbuttoned, the circles under his eyes just a shade darker than they had been that morning. There was a cut on his cheek, too, and a tear along the wrist of his sleeve. Usually, he would’ve tried to get you to fuss over the damage, to trade privileges like a few minutes of T.V. and the latest news about your friends and family and not being handcuffed to his bed whenever he couldn’t watch you himself for sex and domestic labor and the faux-reciprocation of his obsession, but you hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone do anything before he’d fallen into his current position at your feet, his cheek resting gingerly against the inside of your thigh and his pale face slightly pink. He hadn’t said anything, either. You were starting to think he never would.

Unable to find an explanation written on the back of his head, you turned your attention to yourself. You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner when he got home, because cooking meant he had to trust you with something more dangerous than a plastic spoon and you couldn’t go back to not being able to hold your own toothbrush, even if that meant having to trip over yourself to play housewife with your captor. You were dressed for housework, but that didn’t mean much. Nanami picked out all of your clothes, and he liked you in soft, pastel silk gowns and cutesy, garish vintage dresses. Your current dress was far from overly provocative – the neckline above your collarbones, the skirt falling to your knees. He’d seen you in it before, too, and never had this reaction.

The only new factor was your socks, but that would’ve been ridiculous. It was a new pair – a far cry from the thigh-highs and nylon stockings he usually bought for you. The material was thick and white and cottony, only ankle-high with ribbed hems and a lace trip. He was cupping the arch of your foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole, and the plush fabric rubbed uncomfortably against your skin as he shifted his hold ever so slightly downward. More out of reflex than anything, you jerked back, your toes curling downward as you tried to weakly pull yourself out of his hold, and as if pulled out a trance, Nanami snapped up at you, tired eyes weary and lips slightly parted. Your eyes met his, and for a second, it was all you could do to stay still, to stay quiet, to not yell or scream or thrash until finally, Nanami’s weary expression broke into a slight grin, an airy laugh trickling past his lips as his stare fell back to your foot. “They’re… cute,” he started, slowly, nuzzling his cheek gingerly against your thigh. “I knew they would be, but—” A pause, a kiss to the tender patch just above your knee. “—you always manage to surprise me.”

You managed to smile shakily. “Sorry, Kento, I didn’t mean to distract you. Why don’t you sit somewhere a little more comfortable? I can start on—”

“In a minute.” Another hand was brought up and wrapped around your ankle, just above the lace trim of your sock. His forehead settled against your thigh as he lifted your foot gently and with an almost painful sort of delicacy, pressed the sole of your foot into the bulging tent in his pants that you’d been trying so hard to ignore. You felt his lazy grin press into your skin, and something cracked open in your chest.

This time, you couldn’t stifle your immediate reaction; lurching back, your hands finding the edge of the counter as you tried to pull away from him. It took nothing for him to keep you in place, though, and even worse – the ball of your heel pressed into his shaft as you tried to get away, rolling against his cock with a little too much force and drawing a low grunt from the base of Nanami’s throat. Instantly, you regretted moving at all. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Again.”

You fell silent. His head lulled forward, pressing into your thigh, and somehow, you managed to spit something out. “…I’m sorry, Kento?”

“Again, angel, please,” he muttered, his eyes falling shut. You didn’t move, but he didn’t need you to – his hips jutting forward, grinding stiltedly against the sole of your foot. Any vague illusion of wholesomeness was forgotten entirely as he fell onto his knees, unabashedly rutting against your leg with all the shame and all the pride of a stray animal, desperate for its twisted idea of affection. You made a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself, to focus on the white tiles of his kitchen (not quite dirty, but not as clean as they could be, either – you’d have to do the floors tomorrow), then the far wall (there was a layer of dust along the edge of the light switch fame – you could take care of that later on tonight), but it would’ve been impossible not to think about the wet, hot breath fanning over your thigh, the stiff cock throbbing against your foot. You thought would’ve gotten used to his—uh, his unwanted attention by now, gone numb to the feeling of his mouth on your neck and his fingers on your clit, but this was a type of fresh humiliation you weren’t familiar with, the kind of unthinkable debasement that made your face heat-up and your thought spiral down, down, down. When your paralysis persisted, Nanami grit his teeth, rocked your foot against the length of his cock without ever letting his hips stop moving – like he was trying to fuck a hole through your heel. It was a rough, jagged motion; almost clumsy, despite the fact that you’d never seen him so much as trip. It might’ve left you off-balance, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter so tightly. You might’ve fallen, if you thought that you would be enough to make him stop.

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to suck in a shuddering breath, but that was a mistake – showing any kind of weakness was a mistake. You felt one of his groping hands on your upper thigh, then your ass, finally finding the thin, flimsy material of your panties and pulling. There was no elegant way to strip you down, so he didn’t try to be elegant. There was a harsh tearing sound, the feeling of blunt nails scraping against unprotected skin, and then, scraps of ruined material were scattered on the floor at your feet, the skirt of your dress pushed up to your waist as he forced his face between your legs, mouth already open and tongue already lapping over your cunt.

It was a bad position; the distance too far, the angle too sharp, everything about strained and awkward and unnecessary, but Nanami didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. His tongue ran over the length of your slit before he latched onto your clit and sucked. Instantly, it was too much – a strangled cry tearing past your lips as you buckled into yourself, your knees nearly giving out as another reverberating moan sent pangs of something sharp and electric stabbing into your core. Against your better judgement, your hands shot from the counter to his hair, your fingers soon knotted in a mess of blonde in a futile attempt to pry him away from you. He only melted into your hostile touch, one of his hands remaining on your ankle while the other found your hip, keeping you still and pliable as his attention dipped lower, the flat of his tongue pushing broad patterns into your entrance as the bridge of his nose ground lazily against your clit. “Love you,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a throaty, ragged murmur – almost too deep to be audible and constantly interrupted by the sound of your slick on his lips, on his tongue. You wished he wouldn’t talk. You wished he wouldn’t pretend to love you. You wished he wouldn’t force you to do the same. “You’re so—so pretty, and so perfect, and—”

A guttural moan cut him off, and his attention shifted, his head lulling back just far enough to stare up at you with eyes so soft and so tender, you could almost forget he was humping your leg like a bitch in heat. You were suddenly aware of your own distraught expression – all grit teeth and misty eyes, misery and pleasure flooding through your veins in tandem. You wanted to ask him not to look at you. You needed to ask him to stop, but—

You felt a frigid ache in your left wrist – the wrist he’d kept shackled to the bedpost for the first three weeks of your kidnapping. You tried to open your mouth, but your tongue was deathly dry, your throat stuffed with cotton, the feeling not entirely unsimilar to the residue left behind by the velvet gags he used to shove in your mouth when you didn’t want to lay there and let him break you. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as he let out a final, primal groan – as you felt something thick and hot soak through the fabric of his dress pants and into your ridiculous, childish socks. He whined into your cunt, fingers burrowing into your waist as he dragged you that much closer to his mouth. His tongue fucked shallowly into your cunt, and a whine caught in your throat as your vision burnt white, as you came unwillingly on his tongue.

You couldn’t do it, anymore. With his hand still on your hip, his cum still searing into the sole of your foot, you collapsed. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground, and you hated him for it. You wished he’d let you crumble to the tile floor, wished he’d just watch and laugh as you curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the night, the rest of the week. You wished he’d—

Oh, god, you’d made yourself cry. Nanami let out a breathy chuckle as you sniffled and tried not to wail, kissing your tear-stained cheeks with a gentleness you couldn’t seem to link to the man who’d just cum to a pair of socks. “It’s alright, angel. You can let it out.” Another kiss, this one to your forehead. “Too much?”

You nodded, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around you, keeping your body pressed into his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. There were a few seconds of quiet, unthinking solace before he lowered you onto your shared bed – a pair of shackles still hanging, unlocked and waiting, from the headboard. Immediately, you scrambled for the nearest pillow, burying your face in the plush material and sobbing openly. Nanami’s comfort came in the form of a wry grin, a pair of hands on your hips, turning you onto your stomach and starting on the buttons of your dress.

As he settled between your legs, his calloused fingertips skirting over your bare skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if the shackles had really been so bad.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jjk #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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eyelessfaces · 11 months

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apology

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.

warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him

tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb)

word count: 1k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep.

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done.

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth.

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit.

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices.

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold.

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge.

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised.

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration.

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #oscar isaac

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missmeinyourbones · 7 months

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we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes.

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by.

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room.

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two.

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists.

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt.

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily.

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor.

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs.

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him.

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything.

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most.

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you.

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself.

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up.

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame.

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites.

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch.

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known.

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours.

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes.

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you.

#L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro fic

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transbrucewayne · 4 months

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F1 but it’s ultra specific ship dynamics that I need in order to enjoy the ship:

Versainz: baby’s first situationship (literally pentaltyboxbox’s art is my versainz thesis. “Ay, Max, no. I am not gay and neither are you” 🤨) teammates who weren’t supposed to like each other reluctantly becoming friends and then being intricately connected for the rest of their careers. But totally not in a gay way. Of course.

Chestappen: repressed catholic and some guy who needs dilf pussy so bad he wants to kill himself (this is deeply important to me)

Strollonso: Brat princess Lance. Heros and anti-heroes. I’m on the dark side. Tell Lance not to worry I just want to build a gap with the cars behind. You’re my fucking hero.

Carlando: Baby’s first situationship pt.2?? Lando with a massive crush, first real boyfriend Carlos….i need there to be angst. Lando fell first AND harder, etc.

Britcedes/Gewis: George fumbling all over himself trying to impress Lewis, Lewis just thinking he’s cute no matter what. It’s the coolest man alive/weird little freak he’s obsessed with pairing of my dreams. George: this is my boyfriend he’s cooler than me and also he’s cooler than all of you.

Maxiel: first love married divorced remarried pining missing something that maybe was never there will they won’t they one big game of gay chicken healing from baby’s first situationship etc etc etc (I adore them)

Dando: trying to find solace in another, longing for someone you can’t get back, subversion of expected dynamics (controversial: I fully believe Lando tops in this one). But also. They need to have one brain cell. Lando blabbing on about god knows what. Daniel sweating and popping a vein bc of how much he needs to kiss him.

Twinklaren/Landoscar: third time’s the charm, oh you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, tender glances, young love, first teammate crush syndrome

Danterri: we had something weird in the past. “Find another weed guy I can’t fuck with you…uhhhmm nothing personal I can’t fall in love right now and youre Everything I love so if I ever see you again I’ll never let go of your hand sooo yeah” (we’ve all seen that one web weaving.) Are you dating the female version of me?

Lecciardo: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN VEGAS. Charles needs dick from a guy with unstoppable charisma soooooo bad. Fueling each other’s impulsive sides, etc etc

Sebchal: baby’s first situationship (Charles’ version) (from the vault) I miss you so much I’m going to listen to breakup songs all night long. I still think of you every day. I named you twice in a list of drivers. You may even kiss. If it was the omegaverse Seb is so obviously an alpha.

Brocedes: if it doesn’t make me physically sick to my stomach with anguish I do not want it. I hope you die I hope we both die. Hand in unlovable hand. I still consider him my best friend in my heart. We’re not friends. Are they lovers? Worse.

Chewis (Charles/Lewis. I recognise this is also the name for Checo/Lewis. What is the Charles/Lewis name?) me and the bad bitch I pulled by being in violation of that one article section. You know the post. They suffer together. Kinship in joint pain. You’ve got a long future ahead of you. Praise kink.

Let me know if you want a part 2, if so, send ships you want!

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 months

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Buggy Falling In Love With You Would Include...

Request: hi there~ would it be possible to get buggy x reader headcanons of their time growing from friends to lovers? buggy is completely thrown for a loop when it comes to reader because they're polar opposites, but he grows to love how genuinely nice she is. she's able to bring out a more softer side of himself, which terrifies and frustrates him, but eventually buggy learns to accept it.

P.S. good luck on your surgery! i'll be wishing you a speedy recovery!

I genuinely love this clown way too much like Jeff Ward had no right to look as good in this role for real - also thank you so much sweetie!! I'm very nervous right now but getting back into writing such sweet requests is helping :3

Warning: slightly NSFW although nothing explicit, mentions of knives and cannons and slightly strong language!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・��☆.。.:・°

Look, I love this man, but he is a full on idiot. He would not deal with these emotions well. Perhaps it was because of the thorn Shanks had left in his side that he refused to allow his heart to entrust itself into someone else's hands again: to be left disappointed once again. Perhaps, it was even the deep rooted, long-suffering repressed fear that he would lose you; the life of a pirate was an ugly one, full of bloodshed and tenuous treaties. Of a life lived from moment to moment, of foiled plans and devastating lows. There was no place for kindness, or selflessness, or care. Tenderness. The last time he had left himself concern for another flood his brain, he had been left bawling in front of Gol D. Roger's execution tower. He vowed then, he vowed that he would never allow himself to feel that weakness for another person again.

Tenderness. Yuck. Even the word still made him shiver in his boots.

And then you had to come along, and ruin every. single. one. of his incredibly well thought out plans. He was going to be King of the Pirates. He was going to kill that little Strawhat brat and take back his map to the Grand Line. And he wasn't, most definitely not, going to fall head over heels in love with you.

Speaking of, your entire relationship didn't exactly get off to a great start; during the practice for the Grand Entry of performers into the ring, Buggy was far too busy glancing his eyes sideways to notice where he was walking. He was far, far too busy trying to swipe the dopey look of his usually stony face, replacing it with a melodramatic frown as he tried to figure out, why oh why, his heart was striking his chest in tune to the marching band every time he dared steal a look in your direction. Far, far too busy growing more and more petrified about how stifling a presence you had on the tent as a whole, that this man dead-ass hit the toe of his boot off the striped edge of the ring and fell arse over teakettle into the sand. It would have maybe... *maybe* been a little less mortifying for Buggy if you hadn't rushed over to help him while he was trying to spit out grains of sand and smudged lipstick from his tongue with a disgusted splutter. The absolute derision in his curled fist as he swung his head away from your offering hand was the final blow to his already delicate pride.

You were getting in the way, and it was starting to infuriate the clamorous clown.

As soon as you would enter the tent, every crew member's head would swivel round towards you like five seesawing spotlights. Being so kind and attentive to the different members of the crew and their varying personalities: dreams, fears and wants, it seemed only natural that each member would gravitate towards you. Plus, it was an added bonus dumping their ropes and wonkily written cue cards to instead lumber over to your corner and escape Buggy's rant about the 'brightness of the spotlight being so dark it would make the sun look black!'

Since this man is genuinely such an attention hoe (mood), seeing everyone completely turn their asses to him and ignore every stamp of his foot and seething word from his curled lips would immediately set him firmly on edge. Queue the theatrical man folding his arms and huffing like a steam boat when he watches Cabaji offer you his hand to stop you from falling over some scattered wrist chains still left on the floor after the Buggy Pirates' last village destruction.

Buggy snaps everyone back to work with a brusk yell, the sound of your giggle as another member of the crew shows you how to use the red flares tipping his anger straight over into the abyss. His teeth grind harshly enough to leave a trail of dust behind his feet as he slaps the tent flaps open; he immediately flops down on one of the stacked crates by the entrance, thumping his head onto his folded arms as he tries to calm himself down. He swats everyone that comes his way away, pretending he's busy counting how many knives he has left stored away so he could bury his head into the wood and hope that no one would notice how devastated he looked.

The worst part of it all? Buggy, if he was being truly honest with himself, was unsure if he was so jealous over you stealing the spotlight, or by the way his whole body had bristled seeing you place your fingers so delicately against a palm that wasn't his.

Bless your heart, you make it a point to try and cheer him up the next chance you get, feeling so guilty about the fact that his whole face was nearly as red as his nose for the entire day, and he refused to enter the tent again. Once you're all safely back on the Big Top, you try your damn hardest to try and soften the captain to you a bit: or even better, to try and figure out why he seemed so antagonised by you. It was exceptionally hard: when you waved to him on the deck, Buggy's eyes fell as wide as saucers as he nearly fell to the ground trying to duck down behind Mohji, waddling away behind him like a duck. Or you would try and knock on his quarters' door, only to see an arm... and then a leg... and then the stupid man's grimacing head fly past the port windows and out of his room. One time, as you were heading down to the galley, you swore you heard a gaudy exhale and a sigh of relief come from one of the shaking barrels up by the railings.

This man was a tough shell to crack, but you were determined to finally win the great Pirate Buggy over.

After about three days of constantly trying, you managed to make him yell and nearly jump out of his coat up on the deck; he swivelled round when he felt a soft triple tap on his shoulder, and there you stood: hands tucked nervously behind your back, a kind smile brightening your face as you noticed him gaping at you.

'Good morning, Captain Buggy!', you swing a little from side to side, noticing the thick swallow he gave at the sound of your voice. Did he really despise you so much, that just four simple words could make the bile rise in his throat?

Inside, Buggy was burning. By all the seas, did the sound of your wind-rushing voice make him want to do nothing more than grab onto your face with an clad-iron grip and do nothing but kiss you silly until the saccharine saffron sun dawned. His gloves clenched at his sides, will-power winning out as he threw you a shit-eating grin and raised one leg comically, as if he were about to run over the edge of the ship.

'I'm a little busy right now Y/n. See?' He pointed a finger towards the ocean, and then held them up by his shoulders and shrugged.

'But-', you started, grabbing onto his collar and nearly toppling the man over with how shocked he was. 'I just wanted to ask you about your battle with the Golden Lion Pirates!'

His eyebrows raised, and his head tilted slowly to the side. 'You... you know about that?'

'Of course! That's why I joined your crew! Only a talented and clever pirate could have sailed with Gol D. Roger - that's why I respected you and your crew so much! And don't forget devilishly handsome!'

You... you respected him? Oh no. Oh no no no. This was worse than kindness. Far worse than tenderness. The words fall on short-circuiting ears: the branding pain of your fingers brushing over the bare skin on his wrist as you held tightly onto his sleeve forgotten as his brain worked overtime trying to figure out what you had just said. ...Handsome?

He cocks his head back to you, blinking rhythmically, as if he were a wound up spring toy rather than a man. But he looking at you: really looking at you for the first time. His face softened a little - the cracks finally beginning to show through his gaudy façade. As you reached up on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss against the skull-and-crossbones lying over his left eyebrow, little could you know that no one had shown Buggy that much care since he was thirteen years old.

Oh noooo. He was falling in love with you, and it terrified him. But damn it all if he doesn't want to feel this flash of lightening strike through every nerve ending in his body every chance he got: if he didn't want to feel his breath stick in the back of his throat at the slightly sticky feel of your lips pulling away from his forehead. If he didn't want to be greedy, and steal away the flushed smile you gave him before scurrying off, hoarding it all for himself.

Buggy comes to practice his new jokes on you every chance he gets after that encounter, the feeling of being near you so addictive it almost swings round from love and back to annoyance again. He stands awkwardly at the swing door of the galley: a nervous shadow creeping around the fringes of your scintillating smile. Everyone on the crew just pretends they can't see him lmao, even when they can hear his impatient 'oh, come onnn' and 'how long does it take to eat a bologna sandwich?', moaning and muttering and spluttering from the corridor. Was it so hard for the poor man to get a minute *coincidentally* alone with you? Considering he had done nothing the last week but try and do the exact opposite oops Buggy I love you but you're a straight up histrionic dumbass-

He literally grabs people by the collar and hurls them out the door like a cannonball if they walk past him too slowly.

When he comes sliding up on the bench beside you, elbow on the table and head resting nonchalantly on his fist like a slipping squid nearly knocking itself into your torso head-first, you can't say you're too surprised by his antics. Bless, he looks so proud of himself for fooling you into thinking he was here so candidly that you can't help but giggle, which turns into rip-roaring laughs once he starts up his routine. Truth is, as he spends hours and hours telling you terrible, cheesy ass jokes, he just wants to hear your laughter. Wants to feel your knee knock against with each shake of your belly his until his whole body jolts. Wants to admire you up close, to mark down in the depths of his mind the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you're especially happy.

He wants to outline it all in his head: memorise it, lay it out so it covered every inch and crevice and recesses of his vindictive brain. All he wanted in that moment, as you tried to choke back your laughter with a spluttering cough, was to frame the most important map he would ever find: the intricacies of you.

When he slaps his hand down on the table at a particularly rib-tickling crack, and you accidentally bring yours down to settle on top of his glove, he starts so suddenly you're worried he's going to start avoiding you again. And although he stops giggling, and although his face falls to gravely stare at your skin resting on top of the white leather, he surprises you both by twisting his hand so he could grip loosely onto the tips of your fingers. He's so embarrassed when you start knitting your pinky finger between his larger, slender one that he tucks his left hand between his knee and has to turn his head to face the wall, still trying to swallow down his pride and allow himself to indulge in that disgusting word... tenderness again.

One time, while you were pouring over some old maps the crew had stolen from a Marine base a couple of weeks ago, you absentmindedly reached over to where Buggy was sewing up his coat on the sand and began twirling the surprisingly soft strands of his hair between your fingers. Thank goodness the two of you were alone, because the uncomfortable tent that grew between his shuffling thighs, and the gasping splutters that blew out of his mouth mortified the clown to his core.

He was still getting used to all this. Just give him some time. And a whole lot of reassurance.

You're the only other person that Buggy will allow to sit on his make-shift throne. When your Captain had asked you to come help chart out a path to whichever small village you thought was best to steal restock supplies from, you imagined you'd be standing by his armrest like his right hand man does. Surprise surprise to the both of you when you end up nearly glowing, puffs of steam escaping both your ears by how maroon you both turned.

When he had faux-confidently clapped his knees and beckoned you over to him with a wave of his hand, he was only, like, 30% certain you would take him up on his offer. When you slid onto his lap, he was nearly as gobsmacked as you were. He tried, he really did - he tried to hide his curling smile and wonderstruck widening eyes behind your neck, but his warm breath grazing over your collar bone kept making you squirm. Which, of course, with each shove backwards of your hips, and well... your buttocks against his pelvis, he kept having to moan internally and grit his teeth to stop himself ripping off your clothes right there and then.

It really doesn't help that he starts tapping the heel of his boot against the floor as if to expel all of his nervous energy, making his knee bop up constantly against your inseam, making it hard for you to concentrate on anything but holding onto his forearm for dear life to try and settle yourself.

Buggy's own grip on the chair was tight enough to chip off wood when you shakily pulled the crumpled map out of your back pocket, the feeling of the back of your hand brushing innocently against his inner thigh making Buggy throw his head back and close his eye in intense concentration.

Oops, too bad you had to go back since you'd forgotten your compass; wrestling deeper into the pocket, your hand accidentally brushed over the most sensitive Buggy's crotch, making him buck his hips up and nearly sending you flying across the room.

It's when he gently places the side of his head against your cheek and reads almost absentmindedly over your shoulder, despite how hard he was pretending not to be breathlessly glancing at you through his thick lashes intently enough to burn a hole through the hull of the ship that you finally realise.

Oh. He doesn't hate me. He likes me.

His nose bumps against the edge of your Cupid's Bow, and you take a chance. You lean forward, both your breaths frozen as Buggy follows the trail of your lips until he goes almost cross-eyed, finally computing that you had just pressed a sweet kiss on his nose.

For a moment, he's stock still. He just gawks harshly at the inner seam of your bottom lip, as if lost adrift a tumultuous sea of thought. And then when I say this man pounces, I mean he pounces.

All the rest of the crew are too afraid to come in and disturb Buggy about the small three-manned boat encroaching on the horizon, though, because of the absolutely ringing, frantic noises coming out of Buggy's throne room.

Let's just say, although they were incredibly glad you brought out a softer, mushier side of their Captain, they all now had another problem on their hands: his raging protectiveness. Now, not only were they getting yelled at for messing up his entrances, they were getting honked at and prodded with his dismembered hand anytime someone dared to even look at you for a second too long.

#one piece #one piece imagine #buggy #buggy the clown #buggy imagine #buggy the clown imagine #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy headcanons #buggy the clown headcanons #opla #opla imagine #jeff ward #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #buggy one piece #buggy the clown one piece

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wyniepooh · 1 year

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Wound

aaron hotchner cleans and heals your wound. little do you know, you heal something in him too.

hurt bau!reader, hotch takes care of reader like the gentlemen he is. slight mentions of violence/injuries. extreme-repressed-feelings hotch bc it’s hotch, small tension. flirty!reader. idiots in love vibes.

your right cheek stung like hell.

the son of a bitch actually punched you.

the unsub had already spent his entire life targeting women who were smaller than him, weaker, and he expected the same from you. well, to hell with that. that would be the only punch he’ll be able to throw for a while.

still, you couldn’t deny that he had a solid swing. even if you had evened it out afterwards, the bleeding cut and bruise you could feel coming on was evidence of that.

“stay still.”

you blow out an exasperated sigh at hotch’s words.

“easy for you to say-” you exclaimed as he hit a particularly tender spot. “hotch, are you doing this on purpose? as some sort of punishment for not following your orders to a tee?”

“i said, stay still.”

you sighed, your feet swinging lightly from where you sat in the back of the ambulance, on the edge of where the doors were opened. red and blue lights illuminated the dark woods and the faces of various csi agents, coroners, the police, and aaron.

he was standing in front of you, cotton ball in hand, a bottle of disinfectant in the other. you had insisted all the paramedics tend to the survivors and some officers who were injured, considering your wounds were nothing compared to theirs. what you certainly didn't expect was for aaron hotchner to come and take over.

“you shouldn’t have done that, you know,” aaron voiced as he continued dabbing your cheek.

you scoffed, “so you admit you’re punishing me?” he continued his actions without a response. you huffed with anger, “what did i do wrong? yes, i went into the house early without any backup but it was to save three women who were all about to be blown up. hotch, i was doing my job.”

he responded without hesitation, “it was dangerous, that’s what it was. that's all it was.”

you swatted his hand away with your arm. the evening breeze was cold, raw. as you looked to the side, tears welled up in your eyes.

“you know damn well you would’ve done the same thing if you had arrived before me. i know. we all know.”

you felt anxious as you heard aaron put the bottle down. you certainly were not in the mood for a lecture or scolding, especially not coming from him. heck, you were tearing up already. you didn't want to live the result of what would happen if he were to express his disappointment or anger towards you right this moment.

it was silent for a couple beats. he looked down towards his hands, and to your surprise, gently laughed. his free hand came to tenderly guide your face towards him again, where he gave your jaw a comforting squeeze.

“i know.”

you could say and do nothing but just stare at him. the riveting events from minutes before had made your mind all fuzzy. that, and the fact that you were pretty sure you had a confusion. you hadn’t even noticed the tear that fell down your cheek until a large finger wiped it away. as you looked curiously at his face, you noticed the wind was blowing in his hair and his eyes were twinkling under the moonlight. you both stayed quiet as he continued to tend to your cut and bandage it up.

when he was finished and had began putting the tools away, your hand came up to touch his work. the swelling and pain had already significantly lessened. you stared at him and grabbed his arm to stop his movements, a teasing smile on your face.

“thanks, doc.”

a strong gust of the evening wind gushes towards you, making you shiver involuntarily. hotch notices, and opens his mouth to say something. but he stops himself and says nothing. he simply takes his trench coat off his back and in one swift motion, drapes it over your shoulders.

it smells like him. that’s all you can think about. it smells like aaron hotchner and god, it feels like him too.

you shoot him a warm smile. he returns it.

“have a good night, agent,” he says as he begins to walk towards a group of policemen. he stops, then turns back to you, "and good work." you shyly nod in response, mumbling a hasty 'you too' and 'thank you.'

as he starts to walk away again, you swear you see his hands clench.

a/n: it’s giving pride and prejudice (2005) 😇 #canyoutelliloveunspokentension

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vaguely-concerned · 1 month

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okay. listen. a Concept. garashir roughhousing (gone (psycho)sexual) and at one point bashir wakes up from the high of finally getting to express all his repressed aggression in a safe space with someone who not only accepts that in him but can match him and is actively Into It, especially when he stops holding back some of his lil gmo twink strength, to be horrified like 'oh my GOD garak your nose is bleeding hang on I'll get a napkin or something I'm so sorry holy shit' and garak's lying there woozy with lust gazing up at him with wide betrayed eyes like 'no wait don't go you haven't even stabbed me yet :'('

(obviously this is mostly a shitpost, but I'm just saying I think they could provide a certain kind of space for each other that way. julian gets to have a place to live out all the rougher, less socially acceptable sides he usually has to downplay and push away to seem as non-threatening as (augmented) humanly possible with someone who loves him and who appreciates getting the entire spectrum of julian bashir, from the most obnoxiously annoying and needy to the unsettlingly coldly ruthless and back. and garak gets to have the shit beaten out of him in as medically safe and infinitely loving way as possible and/or finds he can still use his bloodied hands and take care of someone with them. this to me is the definition of what one might call a win/win situation. like don't get me wrong they would be having a lot of embarrassingly tender yearning gently-stroking-your-hair-and-holding-your-hand sex too. but. also this. which I think is also very tender, just in a different way. do you feel me.)

#garashir #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #julian bashir #elim garak #this is my design etc.#the 'smut must contain this amount of meticulous psychoanalysis to really get my rocks off' post is so real #to take it up a tier: they fucked like this once after 'our man bashir' and it freaked julian out so bad they never had sex again #until post-canon cardassia times #when recognition of the self through the other is a jumpscare you wish you hadn't enjoyed quite so much #...when my brain starts going over into fic mode for this show it's going to be over for me I suspect

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giamee · 9 months

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𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔!

ཐི♡ཋྀ featuring -> blade, gepard

ཐི♡ཋྀ contains -> mentions of depression/low mood, more blade bias teehee

ཐི♡ཋྀ gia's notes -> i kinda based these off of my own experiences with depression, so hopefully it's at least a little relatable. i tried not to romanticise it too much. also disclaimer i am fully aware that the stuff i talk about in here isn't a cure-all for depression, but i did focus on a less severe characterisation of it in this. hope that's ok anon

ཐི♡ཋྀ request -> anon: hi!!! really loved your roommate thing for har, literally makes me smile may i request blade or/and gerard with reader who got depression? even if you don’t like the idea it’s fine, hope you have great time <3

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ BLADE

-hm ok to be honest blade seems rather emotionally repressed

-so it may take a while for him to pick up on signs of you starting to get into a depressive episode

-he’s busy with being a stellaron hunter, and he isn’t exactly the most frequent texter, but he’ll still notice a change in your texting style as the time between your replies increases while the length of them keeps getting shorter

-maybe you were busy? even though it may sting a little to see his last message still unanswered as he’s holed up somewhere on another planet, he still can’t help but worry for you, though he may not outwardly admit it

-and that spurs him on to finish elio’s mission for him even quicker so he can get back home to you

-when he returns, he may be a bit confused due to your seeming apathy

-he had missed you, and he didn’t want to be the one to cave and say it out loud

-but at your mustered smile and hollow sounding greeting, that’s when things start to click and blade may realise what’s going on

-personally i feel like blade’s love language is acts of service/physical touch

-and man’s just come back from a mission

-he’s dirty, he’s hungry, and he’s tired

-so he decides to deal with those issues with you in that exact order

-cue him running a bath and then convincing you to get in with him on the ground of him “getting lonely” without anyone there, making you crack a little smile at his antics

-the warmth of the water and his solid chest against your back is a soothing sensation, and neither of you voice how tender his touches are as he lathers your hair, fingers carefully detangling any knots as he rests his weight against you

-it’s a peaceful affair, and you can feel yourself begin to warm, with the weight that you previously weren’t even aware of beginning to lift off of your chest as you filled the silence of the bathroom with some hushed conversation with blade

-he asks you how your day was, listening to your hesitant recollection with his chin is tucked over your shoulder, his arms encircling you as he listens to your voice and hums occasionally, basking in your presence

-when the water begins to run cold, blade’s offering you his clothes to change into, leading you by the hand to your shared bedroom, and it’s touching to see just how much care he puts into your wellbeing when it’s him who’s just come back from a dangerous mission

-up next is finding something to eat

-the uncharacteristically soft behaviour of blade is continued as he rummages around the fridge, cursing under his breath when he realises that he'll have to make a shopping list

-he still manages to find enough ingredients to make some sort of meal, and though he's not a cook by any means, it's definitely edible and the distant growl of your stomach suggests that maybe you were feeling hungry after all

-you're leaning against one of the counters, watching your boyfriend's back in quiet awe as he continues to cook, the simple black cotton of his shirt stretching across his broad shoulders practically inviting you to wrap your arms around him

-you've never been one to resist such an offer, and you find yourself shyly walking up to him, letting the side of your face rest against his spine

-blade almost immediately relaxes into your embrace, continuing his ministrations while you mumble a muffled "thank you" into the fabric covering his back

-you don't need to clarify what you're thankful for, and blade has always been one to speak more through his actuons than words

-he pauses for a second, turning to flick your forehead gently

-"don't get all soft on me now"

-you feel your eyes well up with appreciation for your boyfriend, squeezing him a little tighter to yourself as he turns back around, feeling his hand do the same to yours where it rests on his stomach

-"yeah, yeah. now let's eat, hmm?"

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GEPARD

-another emotionally repressed king 😍

-i feel like in terms of noticing that something's up with you he would be worse than blade

-mr landau is a bit of a workaholic, and he's guilty of using it as a coping mechanism when he can feel himself start to slip

-he will run off of denial and caffeine and just force himself to keep working, resulting in a general lack of awareness in spotting when he or others are struggling

-so really, the dots that he should connect with how you've been acting recently take a little longer than they should be

-he's mentioning to serval how you seem to be the polar opposite of him recently, acting a lot more withdrawn and apathetic in general

-and serval is just blinking at him and wondering how dense her younger brother can be

-reprimands him and tells him that this is a conversation he should be having with you, and not her

-and with a little guidance, gepard is sat in front of you and asking if anything's wrong and if so what he can do to help

-and initially, you're not really sure yourself

-you know that you don't feel the same as usual, but you tend to just go with the motions and wait it out

-and gepard furrows his brows when he hears this

-poor guy has no idea how to handle this without direction

-so he does some research and makes some notes on ways he can help you because he loves you

-and next thing you know his late working hours and overtime have turned into getting home before the sun goes down

-resulting in him having enough energy to do something with you and spend some quality time together, whether that be a date night in or just cooking a meal together

-and funnily enough, gepard notices not only a slight improvement in your overall mood, but in his as well

-with all those tips and tricks of maintaining a routine, he was glad to see your shared efforts come into fruition

-he almost felt his heart combust when you told him that being around him makes you feel better

-man is whipped he will walk the ends of the earth just to see you happy

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY: fade into you!

honkai star rail masterlist ૮ • ﻌ - ა

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lychniis · 8 months

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⚘ — TELL ME WE'RE NOT STILL HOLLOW.

i. SYNOPSIS : years ago they made a vow to you. now they ponder it, as time runs its course and as new stars wink into existence and old ones die out. or in which, they recall their marriage with you, as they seek their comfort . ( blade / jing yuan x reader )

ii. WARNING(S) : angst / fluff / comfort, spoilers to blade's backstrory alongside heavy speculation because hoo boy hoyo sure is taking its time. written pre 1.3 where dan heng's backstory will be fully cleared up, spoilers for blade's true name and the final battle of 1.2. written for @mikacynth's summer santa event, as a gift for @genshinimpactzpsff. NOT PROOFREAD.

# masterlist

&& . blade | yingxing · ( what are these memories ; held in a box )

I. GENTLY DOES HE HOLD THAT BOX, a singular, worn old thing whose wood steadily gives into rot and the weight of lost memories. Blade remembers too little of who he once was and he forgets what he does recall when his chest is borne open to his raw, beating heart. But the hairpin in hand is deceitful in its make. Plain iron and wood imbued and drenched in fleeting whispers that beckon him to old times.

( “Yingxing!” it calls, soft, urgent, hypnotic.)

He remembers how it adorned your hair in a way where it glowed as the sun caught it ( and you glowed too, like the fires of the hearth, like iron spiderwebbed with cracks of gold ). He remembers the chai being whole, he holding one half of that heart and you, the other. He remembers that promise, that unposken agreement, that look in your eyes when you pressed it into his palms.

Come back to me.

It was an insistent thing, and it carried over, even as his mind fragmented and Yingxing, your Yingxing, was torn apart and scattered to the cosmic wind. Blade wonders why he still lets you linger when all he knew were the spinning of battles and the icy touch of death. He despises the longing it brings, the feelings it unearths, the demons it sets loose that cry out to him, that long, that weaken his resolve and leave him with a want that saturates his blood with helplessness.

( Blade despises that memory, for he sees a future in you. Something warm, something so wholly separate from the horror lurking behind his vision. He sees what was lost, a sense of normalcy stolen away years ago. The thought of you leaves Blade prone. The thought of love, he realizes, was nothing more than bitter fruit. )

II. ONE DAY, BLADE’S FINGERS PRESS TOO HARD, and the delicate wood of the chai fractures.

He stares at the broken pieces and his hands shake with repressed fury, with a scream that rings in his head, with tears that refuse to fall, with a weight that crushes him. The hairpin is swiftly locked away and shoved into his drawers and he breathes, he stills his heart, he digs his nails into his arm till blood soaks his clothes and the pain outweighs the panic.

Do not think, he tells himself.

The hairpin in the drawer mocks him some more. Think of our promise. Think of what we were. Think of how you held me and kissed me behind the walls of our home and spoke of our dreams. Think of how we lived till our faces grew lined and our limbs grew stiffer, of how we spoke of peace in a far away place till we’d settle into the earth together.

That was not me, he hisses. He was not the white haired man whose eyes held no pain or anger. He was not the man who held you with a tenderness he was incapable of.

He looks at the drawer. The taunting does not cease and Blade sinks deeper into this pit.

III. BLADE’S DREAMS GROW HEAVIER and running away was but foolish optimism. He sees you in them, bent over one of his weapons, embing the final detailing, those touches of beauty and those flourishes that hold your strokes. He sees your hands, roughened like his from artistry and housework. He sees himself, reflected in the mirror, and he’s smiling as he calls your name.

“Don’t bother me!” you sigh. “Yingxing, I must concentrate.”

“You’d ignore your own husband?” he asks, his tone in jest.

You look up, your gaze dark and intense, and your hair a mess held back by a single hairpin ( and this was you, holding a passion brighter than the white sparks of the forge fire. This was you, with that strange brittleness and that softness that molded your body and being ).

“You don’t want that cocky kid tailing your ass for messing up his Guan Dao now do you? I’ll be the first to run away when you seek help. I promise that!” He laughs at your flustered gaze, at how you soften up for him and cup his cheeks with a playful pout.

When Blade’s eyes open, he sees your grave. The sweet distance of his memories that trail behind dissipate. Yingxing died centuries ago, laid to rest by your side in a tomb enshrined with flowers and incense. Perhaps he could learn to accept that, to let you lay with the man you loved.

( Not him, not the monster he was. )

He cleans away the fallen leaves and places the broken chai atop it.

Blade leaves without a word.

&& . jing yuan · ( and as the years pass ; you're all i have that remains )

I. THE LUOFU WAS A SHIP OF GHOSTS among men and Jing Yuan was old enough to know it. To the eyes of an immortal, where centuries bleed into yesterdays and what is ancient is recent, he knows the Luofu remains a stationary side in the universe. An unchanging phenomenon, a slew of familiar crowds and faces, a sect of people who refuse to die as a curse tears apart their bodies.

Jing Yuan knew irony like an old friend, like a sworn enemy, like an act of sudden betrayal etched too deep into his skin. Jing Yuan lived through it — the only soul that remains amongst five, the general who prides the company of finches as he ponders lost dreams, Jing Yuan himself, with his every calculated move beneath the monotonous guise of languid habit.

Jing Yuan has lived a life too vast for a human and he feels it, slowly, surely as the years wear on and the sweetness of longevity turns sour.

( And the Luofu too, feels it, as dear beloveds die yet the wounds remain fresh. When Jing Yuan met Dan Heng's gaze and saw little of that old friend, he knew, and it hurt, like a stab to the heart, like fire on bone.

Where would he stand one day — as the living comes to wither, when it's all over? )

II. YOU WERE THE LEGACY OF A DEAD WORLD — and Jing Yuan wonders what that burden brings — when his thoughts shift to your sleeping form next to him, still like upended earth and steady stone. He wonders what it feels like to live beneath that stifling loneliness, to watch the memories of your home crumble apart and fragment into nothing ( for the cosmos, it was large and it holds little time to remember old truths ).

Sometimes he sees the younger you when your soul would set alight, the caged creature who died too many deaths while walking that dangerous tightrope. He sees the weapon you let yourself become, following the orders of loveless men that let your wrists be slit and your bones be sacrificed.

Jing Yuan wonders if you feel like you're drowning too, if you felt like you were drowning in your home world, choking on chaos and blood while knives pressed at your throat as it seethed and hated what you were.

Because there is a story there, a tragic one in your scars and in your smile. It tells him of a place that was hardly kind to your darling heart, that spat you aside, that watched you suffer with a terrible apathy and let you cry your human tears till they dried out and you were nothing but its dark reflection.

How could you still be so kind? He wants to ask you, but he knows the answer.

Your eyes hold it, those persistent little embers scraped to the side of the hearth. And he loves them, he loves them, he loves them.

( And he loves you, behind his lazy smiles and in the way his cheeks would dimple and his lashes flutter. It’s something so passionate and deep for an old man like him and sometimes Jing Yuan fears what he feels for you.

Yet he loves you all the same. )

III. WHEN JING YUAN FIRST MET YOU, you tried to kill him, plain and simple ( and he fought back as you did in a deadly dance of your making ).

You were a child of abundance, no matter how you revile the curse you were afflicted with. And the Hunt was an enemy and the Luofu was an enemy and to the Luofu, you were a monstrous abomination and you were a threat.

A threat, he thinks when he touches the wedding band on your finger, when you stroke his beauty mark with an absent smile. A threat, he thinks when he sees you step into battles turned sour and bring down the mara struck with chilling ease. A threat, he thinks when he sees your melancholy in how you gaze at the stars.

“I feel so small.” you admit to him one day.

“Why?”

“I always did, back home and even now.” there is a sadness imbued in you, in your very being. You knew death all too well. You saw it creep into the flesh of your friends. You felt it dig its fingers into you before you fell out of its grasp and sent you far, far away. “I suppose it’s because I felt lost.” you finally speak up after a moment’s silence. “You feel small when you’re lost, don’t you? It’s because you don’t know what to do and everything feels so much harder in the world…”

( He knows. Aeons, he knows. Destiny was never as straight as Lan’s flying arrows. Destiny brought him friends, then took them away, then brought them back again as living ghosts with clouded gazes and new names. What was he to do in the face of it, but jest? )

“Do you feel lost now?” he asks.

“You’re here.” you smile at that and Jing Yuan’s heart melts, like butter to the stove. Mimi butts her head against you. “And Mimi too. And Yanqing. It’s still hard but…I could be kinder to myself…I wish to be.”

“Good.” Jing Yuan nods. He kisses the palm of your hand, then your nose, then your lips.

“Be kind to yourself too, Jing Yuan.”

He laughs, and it trembles, down to his chest. Jing Yuan sneaks another kiss again, letting him sink into this brief indulgence. “I will, dear heart.”

“Good.” you echo back. A laugh betrays you. It's the most beautiful sound he's heard.

IV. JING YUAN KNOWS THOSE UNFINISHED STORIES.

He contemplates his, then stops.

The universe was vast. It changes like the cloud cover and winds like the river currents. Perhaps, when the time comes, he could worry about the aftermaths and the will happens as he sets his pieces down and weaves his plans and stratagems.

He has a new chapter to write.

And you look over his shoulder, your worn hands grasping a kinder light.

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

kjhgFCBGHJ I HOPE I MET YOUR STANDARDS. i wish i could have posted something longer, but seeing blade and jing yuan as immediate favorites, i just knew what i wanted to do. i hope you liked my summer santa gift.

fun fact : chai are special hairpins made with two prongs, and are customarily broken in half when a pair of lovers are sepeated. considering how haitrpins play its own role in chinese courting, i just had to include that.

the reader in jing yuan's part if heavily inspired by the reader / kind of oc in the jing yuan shot i have in works. something about old people being tired together kjhgvfbh.

title credits go to lostcap!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @silentmoths @hiraethsdesires @x-zho @dustofthedailylife @kaelily @mikacynth @snobwaffles @jnyuan @bbladie @starzqx @sangomis @ofoceansandtombsanew @zhxngii @crystalflygeo @laughterofthetombs @khxii-i

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !!#honkai star rail #blade x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail blade #honkai star rail jing yuan #angst #fluff #comfort #— summer santa

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your-nanas-house · 3 months

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Dr. Oppenheimer... for them

◇ Pairing: Cillian M.!J Robert Oppenheimer x student fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: suggestive, professor x student, confused mind, attraction and kiss, age gap (both off age)

◇ Summary: Y/n's professor ask her to stay after class.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Inspired on @pinguwrites character ai Oppie, love your characters on chai!

“Y/n... you’ve been doing a great job in your class so far.” Oppenheimer leaned on his desk, his light blue eyes surveying his student as her name, which rolled too easily out from his tongue, left him a sweet but bitter taste.

The age difference was obvious, and he was worried that others would notice the way he looked at her— not that it stopped him of course.

Y/n was was a very beautiful young woman and had a brilliant mind... something that affascinate and turned on Robert.

"Thank you, sir" she quickly replied with a gentle smile, his praises warming up her chest as her grip on her bag got tighter.

“You know, some of my colleagues have been saying you’re the top student in the class” the older man paused after his statement, his eyes scanning her again. Her body was so arousing, it was pretty innocent and professional but she made it look sinful by the way she wore it— and he had to fight, yet again, the urge not to stare with lust and disrespect.

"I'm not even near at it," the younger woman replied with a soft chuckle, her cheeks flushing of a dull red while her heart beat in her chest violently.

“Don’t be so modest.” her professor put on a kind smile as he speaked his mind, a serious glimpse in his beautiful eyes which were fixed on her lips, repressing a deep and needy urge of wanting to kiss her.

“You’re very smart, not only that, you’re also very talented— you’ll go far.” He assured her as soon as he snapped out of the trance.

Oppenheimer was close to crossing the line. How much more could he go on about how attractive she was and still keep his job and reputation? He didn't really want to find out.

Y/n stood in front of him, her eyes bright and a big smile on her face... one that made Robert fell back into thoughts.

Was she thinking the same? He asked himself, his hand rubbing his chin slowly as his eyes not budged from her.

As the student kept observing him, a tender silence spread across the room between them like a tangible thing. Oppenheimer couldn’t take his eyes away from Y/n’s lips, the darkish lipstick so vibrant on her.

It was tempting— and dangerous.

“Come here” he finally urged her quietly, watching her reply with a nod before moving closer to where he was standing.

“Sit.” he gestured towards a chair beside him, ignoring his racing heart as he repressed still the want... or the urger he had to just take a hold of the back of her neck to allow him to pull her face closer and connect their lips in a kiss that he was longing badly.

“I want you to do something for me,” Robert said, his voice raspy and with a hint of hidden lust.

His light blue eyes observed her, his heart beating faster against his chest “Close your eyes.” He murmured as a request, his Adam's apple moving as he gulped.

The young woman obeyed without asking him any questions, with maximum respect in his decisions and opinions... so her eyes fluttered shut.

“Now, I want you to trust me.” He stated, his hand moving closers to her so that his slender fingers were brushing her soft skin.

After a little nod the older man hesitated for a moment before leaning slowly in, his nose brushing against hers before he connected their lips in a tender kiss. His big hands stroking the skin of her neck, moving her hair out of the way.

The kiss wasn't quick but not even long, he parted slightly their lips after little time. Allowing his warm lips now to hovered over Y/n's for a moment more.

That particular action making her want to lean forward and kiss him senseless again. As her heart beat became faster and her breathing went heavy.

But then he stepped back... and she could feel the strange feeling of lack before he talker again “Open your eyes.”

Her student followed his instructions, gulping slowly as her gaze moved carefully up to meet his eyes... staring deeply into them.

Oppenheimer stared at her, waiting to see if she had any reaction to the kiss. The pale red lipstick on her lips was still vivid and seductive but a bit smudged. “Tell me something, Y/n." He asked in a weak voice.

She nodded slightly before answering, a deep breath created a kind of suspense "...Something".

A soft huff escaped her professor's mouth, his eyes filled with a soft glimpse of amusement “You’re being sassy now?” Oppenheimer said jokingly, his hand resting on her hip so that he could squeeze it softly.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

#robert oppenheimer x you #robert oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #robert oppenheimer #robert oppenheimer x y/n #j robert oppenheimer fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfic

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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I'm a trans guy and tbh I feel like I don't fully understand the transandrophobia debate. Based on my understanding of intersectionality & transfeminism, I think that trans men (largely) experience transphobia and misogyny, while trans women (largely) experience transphobia, misogyny, *and* transmisogyny -- I also think it's necessary to discuss issues that specifically affect men without describing them as forms of oppression or discrimination against men. But that's just accounting for intersecting identities (including both marginalized and privileged identities) rather than only accounting for intersecting oppressions, right? I feel like some people using the term "transandrophobia" either seem to be confusing these two concepts or mistaking gender essentialism for discrimination against men (though some just use it to describe a subset of transphobia rather than an intersection, it seems like). In any case, even though misandry isn't a real systemic issue, I can understand why some people feel like there's missing language or frameworks when it comes to discussing the ways men, and trans men specifically, are treated (and the ways they/we treat each other). I'm not sure what better alternatives are available, but I'm sure some are possible. I'm wondering if I'm misunderstanding something or if you have any other thoughts on this. Thanks!

It sounds like you understand this 1000% better than every sincere transandrophobia poster. Not every unique experience is a locus of oppression that needs a systemic oppression label -- but yeah, of course, it merits being talked about.

For example, lots of trans men have a hard time in coping with the shift from being treated with emotional deference and warmth by strangers, to suddenly being treated quite coldly or even in a mistrustful way by strangers. That is a real, painful experience -- and it's one that is wrapped up in damaging gender norms that do also negatively affect cis men. It's not androphobia, but it is a consequence of sexism and the gender binary that sucks, and it merits speaking about.

Where things get dicey and fucked up is when men (either cis or trans) take a painful experience like that and declare that it means they're actually more oppressed than women.

(And, as Lee ButchAnarchist often points out, women's emotions are even more policed than men -- yes men are denied tenderness and warmth from total strangers, but they are showered in affection and caretaking by the women close to them, and they are allowed rage a whole lot more than women, in general. so it's overly simplistic and sexist to say men are more societally emotionally repressed. this dynamic plays out among trans men too -- we are given a lot more latitude to be emotionally explosive. trans women, meanwhile, are told they're being "scary" if they have any negative emotion. This is all also racialized -- Black people of any gender are basically never afforded the chance to voice negative feelings in public no matter how much they police their tone.)

I think a lot of trans masc people have a sudden rude awakening that being treated as a man can be painful and complicated, and that the gender binary harms everyone, and that there is a social price to pay for the privileges of being deferred to, respected, and so on. They also don't want to acknowledge when they are being respected and deferred to -- owning up to having any male privilege feels dirty and wrong to people, which is silly because it's just a reality, it has no moral bearing on the person experiencing the privilege. And of course it's often an incomplete privilege because of sexism and transphobia. But it still happens. Particularly within trans spaces.

I don't think this conversation will move forward productively until more trans men are capable of acknowledging that many of us have privilege and that we are very capable of hurting other people, being sexist, and speaking over trans women. And that's why we gotta make this transandrophobia stuff just completely socially unacceptable in our spaces. It is exactly the same as being a Men's Rights Activist. There are real men's liberation issues! Any worthwhile feminism will also liberate men! There are lots of aspects of the gender binary and patriarchy that are harmful to men, and that's worth talking about. Same with transphobia. But we can't have that conversation when men commandeer it to talk about how actually women have it better and all that vile shit. That talk is used to silence women, trans and cis alike.

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cebwrites · 4 months

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I saw a Zosan comic once where Usopp asked Zoro how he dealt with Sanji being so like that (swirly was flirting up the ladies per usual in the background) Before Sanji twirled his way around to fill up Zoro's mug, whisper something sweet into the kiss his pressed into his cheek, then twirled away as Zoro flashed a smug little grin Usopp's way

And I just think there should be more zosan art/fics like that

Yes yes the boys still bicker and have their little dick measuring contests and fight as always to tests their strength

But it's always done with a knowing smile even as they test the upper limit of each other's patience and outside of that? Sanji's just as loving as he would be with any other partner (Something that kind of bothers me in fic spaces is that Sanji's always portrayed as fawning over any and every fem person but when it comes to Zoro himself and they're intended to be shipped there isn't nearly as much of that same energy :/)

Zoro deserves to be adored and cared for just as much, flaunted to the world as Sanji's man and appreciated by him just as much as any woman if they're going to be in love dammit Sanji's weird and repressed pre-ts because seeing Zoro be out and unashamed of who he is while he's still struggling to come to terms that he even likes men and puts women on a pedastal as a result of intense trauma, I don't expect him to do all that for Zoro back then with that much unaddressed baggage

So I like to think that especially post-ts after Sanji's sorted his shit on Gender Island that he's more than willing to shower his marimo in damn near embarrassing open affection, and Zoro's receptive to it - not prancing around like Sanji is too, I don't think it's in his nature, but at least smiling in acknowledgement and the occasional heart fingers/hands across the deck that sends Sanji spinning with love hearts back into the kitchen to whip up Zoro's afternoon snack

Usopp, Nami, and Robin tease him about how he's become quite the perfect little housewife for his big strong man after maybe seriously trying to kill Zoro more than a handful of times before they were separated at Sabaody The truly genuine response of how he acted in the past makes him cringe, and how he hope to make it up to Zoro now by making sure that stupid moss knows that he loves him every day throws his peers off a little and earns a gentle smile from Robin in response

The teasing slows but doesn't stop from there

(Don't get me wrong I still like emotionally constipated ZS @/wellfine's comic about them saying I love you is still one of my faves to date I just want... more stuff of them being loving in conventional ways </3)

+ some quick gender thoughts as well since this ramble post is getting long and I might as well

I'm a ride or die trans!Zoro truther but I think it'd be sweet if Sanji came back from Gender Island cis, just- like an actually functioning person about it now He's gnc and plays with heels and makeup and dresses but he's still a man, only a man who's fully confident in who he is and confident in the fact that his supportive trans boyfriend still loves him not despite all of that, but because of it since that's who he is Zoro being a huge muscly trans man who still retains the ability to be tender and soft and in touch with his emotions instead of a meat-brained gym rat is so important to me personally actually asdfgsdfsd

#cebwrites #one piece #sanji x zoro #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x sanji #zoro #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #op zosan #one piece zosan #zosan #if anyone could find that comic mentioned at the start #do send it to me i'd love to see it again <33

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decayedgloria · 6 months

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BRO I ABSOLUTELY LOVED THE CLORINDE ONE LIKE IT WAS SO GOOD 😩

(maybe she'd even fuck you in her office and finger gag you when you're getting too loud..)

Right… she’d gag you w her ascot too teehee

Tags: gagging, wlw sex, praise, bad french translation, mdni, nsfw

Sat atop of the cherry wood desk of Fontaine's champion duelist, legs spread while her fingers stuffed both your cunt and your mouth all while she placed warm, tender kisses against your neck. Her low voice whispered against your skin, damp from sweat and spit, sending a cacophony of shivers through you.

"Shh... you're doing so good, my love." Her fingers curled deliciously against your walls, smiling when she feels the way your moan reverberated against her fingers. She kept a steady pace on your pussy, her thumb occasionally grazing against your clit, rubbing slow circles around the puffy mound while her intense gaze bore down on you.

Out of habit, your rolled your hips against her, repressing a whine that was begging to be heard. Your eagerly suckled on her fingers, the taste of your essence still ever present on them as your tongue swirled around them. A familiar heaviness began resting on your stomach, and it wasn't long until Clorinde pried yet another orgasm from you, bucking your hips as your leg shook against the duelist.

As you steady your breath, she reluctantly pulled her fingers out of you, licking your juices while keeping her still-lustful gaze on you. It felt predatory, and suddenly your core ached once more in need. Taking her fingers out of your mouth, she replaced them swiftly with a kiss, hands finding their way to grip your hips.

"Ma chérie, forgive me..." She pressed her forehead against yours, apologetic tone contrasted by the animalistic way her hands practically ripped your blouse off. "Clorinde...!"

"I need more. Please, let me have more of you."

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin clorinde #clorinde x reader #clorinde x reader smut #anon asks

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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

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Mean!Dom!Azriel x reader: Drag You Down[*]

A/N: It’s so fun writing these fics because I just get to switch off :)

Warnings: mean!Azriel, edging, cum play, fingering, light bondage, masturbation, smut, pet names, orgasm denial, 69-ing, face-fucking, impact play

Word Count: 6,471

“Keep still,” he mutters.

Suppress a shiver, cool shadows dancing down the length of your spine.

He’s got you bent over the wide chest of drawers in your shared bedroom. Feet kept a little more than shoulder-width apart, forearms bound at your back by an un-abrasive, dark blue rope, keeping you entirely at his mercy. There isn’t a single scrap of fabric on your body, save for the one he’s tied between your jaws—also dark blue.

Boots scuff on the floorboards, and you repress your instinct to tense, instead staring at his silhouette that’s looming behind you, pressing onto the wall before you. Rough, calloused fingertips stroke over the base of your spine. Toes curl, but it’s the most movement he’ll allow. Anymore, and you’ll be on your knees for the rest of the night.

“How bad do you want it, pet?” He whispers into the candlelit bedroom, the orange light flickering. Fingers graze up the knuckles of your back, jaws bite together to keep from bowing to his touch, eyes briefly squeezing shut. “Badly,” you murmur in reply, arms shifting beneath their ties. “Please…”

Heat scalds your veins, burning beneath your skin, goosebumps raising in his presence.

Azriel hums at your back, fingers tilting downward, nails scraping across your flesh.

Teeth bite into your lip, arching against him, to feel his pain sink into your skin, bury into your bones, transform to scar tissue. To print his possession across your back.

“Badly?” He echoes softly, a lilt to his voice. You can practically hear the smirk that’s carved onto his twisted mouth. Leans forward, hips pressing gently to your hind, the rough leather seam making you desperate for more friction—to be able to feel the hard heat of his cock push between your legs. “You want it badly, pet?”

Spine arches as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Calloused fingertips graze your throat, cupping your neck, raising your chin from the surface. Tipping your head up into his shoulder, giving him access to the soft, sensitive skin he likes to bite. Teeth push into your lip as his canines drag across your skin, tingling with pleasure in their wake. Tongue flicks out; you fight to suppress a shudder, nipples peaking against the smooth wood surface. The hot, wet muscle licks up the side of your neck, suckling a spot just below your ear.

Lips part on a silent exhale, forming an O as your hips seemingly lift of their own accord into his, thighs pressing together with need.

Azriel’s left hand grips the bone of your hip, pinning you to the surface as his other snakes over your jaw, brushing against your skin, two fingers slipping into your open mouth. Their pads graze and prod the plump and pillowy flesh of your lips, pushing deeper to rove the wetness of your tongue. “Not gonna answer, pet?” He drawls, arousal heat to the colour of molten liquid in the pit of your belly. You fumble, reeling back through the seconds and minutes, scrambling for the question while his hand snakes down your hip, grazing the tender flesh of your abdomen, muscle flickering beneath him.

“I—…Sir?” The title is little more than a breath; muffled around his fingers, heat thrumming under your skin. Teeth bite lightly into your neck, scoldingly. Hand slips further between your legs, digits trailing down to your soft, wet—

He palms the inside of your thigh, groping appreciatively. Nails scrape over skin, you hiss in a quiet breath.

Azriel detaches his mouth from your neck, digits leaving the heat of your tongue, kissing lightly the top most notches of your spine. Hands run smoothly down your sides, settling over the sweep of your hips, pulling you back against his aching arousal. Rolls his hips against you. “You haven’t been listening, have you?” He muses, thumbs setting into the small dips either side the base of your spine. “Deep in your own world. Isn’t that right.”

Mouth opens to speak, but you snap it shut—no pet name at the end.

He shifts behind you, spreading your thighs wider as he lowers to a crouch, feeling his breath against the intimate heat of your cunt. Toes curl on the floor, arms shifting beneath their ties as he inhales your scent. One hand grips the plumpness of your ass, squeezing and groping, admiring how doughy and warm you are. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he chastises lowly, nosing at your inner thigh. “Supposed to be thinking about me. How I would taste on your tongue, how I would feel inside of you?”

Azriel’s tongue darts out, licking close to your heat, just a little closer and you’d feel relief. You swallow, desperately trying not to shift—to not even breathe too deeply, for fear he’ll punish you for it. Deny you of more pleasure. Deprive you of his pleasure.

He laughs softly, roughly, and you can feel it against the soft, wetness of your heat, cunt aching with need. “Think I should start on you?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the damp skin just to the side of where you want him. Head nods dimly, then you stiffen, freezing. Pray he didn’t notice. But then his thumbs are pressing either side your entrance, spreading the skin a little wider, and then he’s—

Suck in a sharp breath as he presses his face between your legs, hips digging into the wooden edge of the table. Feet push up onto tiptoes, back arching, curving as he drags you back against him, mouth prone to attack your clit.

Mouth parts in a silent moan, hands tightening into frustrated fists.

Azriel pulls away, landing a hard smack to your rear, skin stinging with the force. Bite your lip to keep the sounds in. His mouth returns, gently latching over your clit, nose pressing flush to your entrance; it takes all your self restraint not to grind down on his face, roll onto his tongue. Teeth nip at the sensitive bud, and you could cry, cry from the need he’s working up inside of you.

The tip of his tongue flicks over your clit, dragging lightly up to your entrance, circling briefly before pressing in a little—as if testing the waters. Thighs try to press together, but he has a firm grip on each, and his tongue pushes deeper, curling as he pleases. You practically melt into the table, cheek smushing against the wood as drool slips from the corner of your mouth, spilling down as pleasure turns your bones soft. Heat hums between your legs, his mouth ravishing you, flicking and lapping lightly—nowhere near enough stimulation.

Thighs squeeze together, pushing up onto your tippy tip-toes, spine arching as you offer more, desperate to have his lips latch over you. To have his tongue slipping deep inside, circling and suckling how you like instead of solely eating you out for his pleasure. Azriel hums between your thighs, vibrations buzzing and you shiver, fingers tightening so nails are digging into your palms.

He’s pulling away, standing up straight and you nearly whine from the cold flush, the absence of him. “You’re getting lazy,” he mutters roughly, landing a stinging spank to your backside. Bite you lip, heat warming your cheeks as a whimper slips out. He growls at the sound, the blatant disobedience—intended or not. “You know I don’t fuck around when it comes to your behaviour,” he grits out, hand wrapping your hair around his fist, dragging your head back. “I bet you want me to fuck that attitude right out of you, huh?”

Swallow thickly, teeth pushing into your lower lip, need pounding between your legs. Already so close to begging him to be rough with you, set a punishing pace that’ll have you dim with pleasure. He jerks on your hair, snapping you back down. “Am I right, pet?”

“Yes…yes sir,” you pant softly, the plead rasping from your throat.

Azriel laughs, the sounds dragging from his chest, low and almost breathless. He pulls you forcefully upright, shadows spinning you around as he pulls on your hair, head craning back. Piercing hazel grazes your exposed throat with predatory hunger, bone deep starvation that has something intrinsic curling up inside of you, cowering from that all-encompassing desire.

Eyes raise to yours at last—your own clearly dipping away—hand tightening to a fist, gripping tight as you feel him staring down at you; heat liquifies in your lower abdomen. “Such a brat,” he mutters, features shifting to irritated displeasure, holding your hip possessively. Tongue flicks out to wet your lips absently, drawing a low snarl from his throat—animal and vengeful. “I can’t even count how many small movements you made,” he growls, “one after the other. Breaking rule after rule.”

He steps around you, keeping you tight to his body until he’s the one pressed to the table. “On your knees,” he mutters, a malicious spark gleaming in his darkened eyes. Lips part on a sharp inhale, legs almost giving out from the hard command. His brow narrows and before you can blink, he lands a harsh smack to your cheek, gripping your jaw in a vice-like hold. “Did you hear me, pet?” He growls out over your lips. “On your knees before I put you over mine.”

With trembling muscles, you manage to lower to a crouch; from there to your knees, the soft rug a pleasant cushion in place of the harsh floorboards. “Open,” he says, amusement prominent in his tone, shadows loosening the ties of his leathers enough. Your lips part on command, attention wholly on the shape of his cock, focusing on the mouth-watering view. The shadows halt their ministrations, your toes curling in frustration. How much longer is he going to toy with you for?

“Use your teeth,” he says, the smirk in his voice as prominent as the stinging of your skin. Heat flares in your middle, and you lean forward, tugging the strings free, tie by tie. His grip remains brutal on your hair, content to keep you at his mercy—happy to remind you of that little fact, too. Slowly, torturously so, you drag the leather back, finally allowed access to him. He grips his base, stroking hard, guiding you to his tip, moisture already beading there. You stretch your body out, tongue poking over your lower lip, poised to lap it up. Burst the pearly droplet on your tongue—remind yourself of his taste. Your personal aphrodisiac.

His hand tightens on your hair, keeping you a mere inch from his cock. From finally having him in your mouth, his flavour and scent filling your head, wrapping around your mind. You urge forward a little, giving an experimental tug on his hand but he doesn’t even budge. Tuts in chastisement. You nearly raise your head to meet his gaze—no doubt what he wants you to do, if only for another excuse to torture you. Yet in that moment, you want nothing more than to stare up at him, display your dismay.

“Something upsetting you?” He asks, nails scraping up the base of your neck, taunting you to look up at him. “Something you want?” He mocks, still gripping his cock, rubbing out a brutal pace, but one you know isn’t torturous enough. He’s keeping himself just out of reach of a high, all so he can play with you instead. Twisted romance.

“Answer, pet.”

A whimper whines from your lips as he jerks on your hair, goading you to look at him. “Please…” you whisper, eyes daring to raise, brushing over his abdomen, up his stomach to his chest. Stopping before you give him a proper reason to inflict his pleasure upon you. The Mother knows how much worse he could make it. “…want your cock…” you beg, no more than a whisper, attention dropping to his arousal. Mouth waters as you notice the bead has swollen in size, close to drizzling down his underside.

Azriel tips your head up, hand still pumping himself with that cruel pace, depriving the both of you of his pleasure. You can practically imagine the warm flush on his cheeks—that slight tint of orangey-red that only appears when he’s nearing the edge—how his canines are pricking below his lip, whitening the skin from pressure.

Attention returns to his cock, need melting like butter between your legs, and you can feel slick slowly making its way down your inner thigh. That pearlescent bead wells, then drips down, catching just beneath his head. How delicious he would be—the heaven of being allowed to lean forward and gently suckle that droplet from his tip. Flick and lick over the slit, press hot, wet kisses up the thick length of him.

He curses under his breath, low and viciously, piercing hazel weighing on your lips, noting how wet they appear. “You look like you could swallow me whole right now,” he remarks roughly, voice thick with torturous pleasure, so near the edge he’s less than a hairsbreadth from toppling over. Yet discipline is his religion, and he’s ruthless in it’s execution, merciless in his worship. “So fucking filthy,” he drawls, thumb swiping over his tip, the milky liquid smearing. You swallow thickly.

Azriel’s lips quirk in a cruel twist, one you recognise too well, dreadful anticipation buzzing in the pit of your belly. He releases himself, hand moving to cup your jaw, careful to keep the precum from your skin, aware of how your senses are keyed to him. “Don’t move,” he instructs, low and clear, the command cutting through your haze.

Mind flickers and dims as he presses his thumb to your lower lip, cum glossing over your mouth, after having forbade you from licking it up. It’s right there. Practically on the tip of your tongue. Practically taste it already, except— Jaw tightens as you swallow, desperately in need of swiping out, drinking him down.

“Look at me, pet,” he mutters, roughly raising your jaw, tipping your head back. Knees ache beneath you, forearms shifting beneath the rich, dark blue rope as hazel pierces into you. Slick drips down your skin, arousal flaring with pounding need. Lips quirk, thumb swiping back over your lower lip, poised to slip into your mouth, and you open wider for him. Eyes gleam with cruel intent, more than aware of your suffering, yet happy to leave you be, to get off on your torture.

“I bet you’re dying to push that pretty tongue of yours out, huh?” He muses, hand returning to his cock, leaning more against the table, shifting to be comfortable. “I bet it’s all that dumb mind of yours can think of right now. Isn’t that right?” Bite back a moan, struggling to keep your hips from winding, tightening around nothing.

His tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip, a pang of desire spearing through your middle, taunting you so openly. “Up,” he orders, slowing his strokes, precum already dripping down from his tip. So much going to waste when it should be on your tongue—you should be leaning forward to lap his mess up, yet instead he’s forcing you to leave it be.

You stumble numbly to your feet, but shadows wrap over your eyes, blindfolding you. Jaw clenches, brows curving upward from the deprivation. Craving cries out from the pit of your belly, so desperately in need of stimulation it’s driving you mad. Darkness tauntingly ghosts between your thighs, brushing over your dripping-wet heat with feather-light touch. Simulating the feel of his mouth—how he’d suckled your clit, kissed and circled your entrance. Tears slip down your cheeks, flushed and wet from the torment.

A hand grips your hip, bringing you closer to him, able to feel the heat from his body, his knuckles brushing your abdomen as he strokes himself with that brutal pace.

“How loud would you scream for me if I lifted you up right now, wrapped your legs round my hips, and slammed into you?” He purrs, still pumping the thick length of him, precum no doubt leaking heavily from how long he’s held himself to that edge. “Do you think you’d be able to scream?” He muses, tightening his hold on you, leaning down so his mouth brushes the shell of your pointed ear, breath fanning across your neck. Skin prickles in response, a fresh wave of arousal heating your body, legs practically trembling from the strain. Working you up into a dazed stupor so you’re right where he wants you.

“Maybe you’d simply pass out on impact,” he mocks, and your lips part in a silent gasp as his fingers lightly run along your heat, dancing through the sopping wetness. “Go limp in my arms, eyes rolling from overstimulation.” The pads of his digits circle your entrance, almost sliding in from how little abrasion there is, slick inviting him in, luring his fingers deeper, urging him to press inside you for the first time this night.

He hums, cupping your heat, soaking his palm in your arousal, rubbing gently, teasingly. You suction in shaky breaths, hands clenched to fists, sweat gleaming on your skin as he plays with you so effortlessly, toying with your body as he pleases. Lips feel dry, cum no doubt having set already, begging you to wet it, to taste him after the long wait.

His hand leaves you, and more tears spill over as cold washes over your wet heat, thighs clenching from the effort of keeping your hips still. Knuckles again brush your abdomen, and heat dumbs your mind, picturing how your slick glistens on his hand, how easy it is now to stroke himself. Lubricating him while you’re stuck fantasising over your imagination.

Azriel groans onto your skin, canines teething across your neck, their sharp points scratching the surface as your back arches, nipples peaking as they drag over his chest, catching pleasantly on rough fabric, rubbing over him. It wouldn’t take much any more for either of your to tip over the edge—all you’d need is a slight push; the lightest attention to your clit, or his fingers sliding in and you could come right then and there. Tighten at the though, squeezing on nothing as liquid pleasure coalesces between your thighs.

Teeth bite lightly as you feel hot ropes of cum spurting over your stomach and abdomen, latching to your skin as he shudders, hissing softly. A startled moan whines from your lips as he suddenly grabs you by the hips, pulling you tight to his own as he bucks into the soft swell of your tummy, stuttering with pleasure. Involuntarily you step forward, pressing yourself tight to him, heat ravishing your body at the hard press of his cock into your abdomen, pleasure buzzing between your legs as he cums. Hot, thick liquid spilling, painting you with a milky sheen.

He grinds against you, the hard press of his cock poking into your abdomen, luring your thoughts to how he would feel inside, how pleasant the stretch would be. The feeling of his hips smacking against the backs of your thighs as he fills you up… Good gods he’s going to drive you insane if he doesn’t give you reprieve. You need that sweet relief or you’ll go mad.

Azriel groans softly, the last aftershocks fading, fingers biting into your hips, teeth clamping down on your shoulder. Hot breath fans against your skin as he pants heavily, body still stuttering ever so slightly from the intensity, cock sliding in a messy mix of cum over your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to look down your body, over the swell of your breasts to see the pearly splatters that he’d painted your body with. When he stands straighter, your eyes lock, your own set filled with need, pupils swallowing your iris’. Slowly, his fingers press between your breasts, trailing down with a feather-light touch, indulging in the rise and fall of as you breathe heavily. Grazes you nipple as he passes, thumbing the sensitive skin before dropping to your cum-splattered stomach.

Fingers sprawl in the mess, lathered in his release, covering the pads in the steadily cooling liquid. “How badly do you want to lick this from my fingers, pet?” He muses, trailing back up, careful not to waste too much. “Sir…please,” you beg weakly. “Please.”

Lips quirk as he plays with your nipples, the now cool liquid making them peak as he pinches one then the other. Tugging lightly, watching as you wince at the sensitivity.

“How badly do you want to suck my cock, pretty thing? Just open your mouth over me and lick all of that cum up, huh? I bet all you can think about is how much of a waste it is. Is that right, pet?” He drawls, circling a nipple before dipping down, scooping more up on his fingers. “Yes sir,” you pray, eyes squeezing together, the shadows having dissipated the moment he reached his peak. “Gods, let me. I’ll be so good, just—…please, Sir.”

His lips quirk into a lazy smirk, and you nearly sob. He’s not yet done with you.

Azriel hums nonchalantly, arm snaking over your hip to your back. “Can you prove you’ve learned your lesson? Make me believe you won’t break any more rules?” He asks lowly, keeping you pinned beneath him with his eyes. “You know how I feel about disobedience, pet.”

Spine arches, his palm brushing over your rear, hairs raising with awareness.

Your lips part, drawing his attention to your mouth: the dry, whitish colour the skin has taken on from his cum. “Please sir,” you whisper, “I haven’t so much as even tried to lick it.” His hazel eyes gleam with pleasure at your deprivation, how desperate you look to taste him. Arousal flickers at the base of his spine as he leans down slowly, enjoying how hope sparks in your gaze, thinking he’s about to grant you that sweet relief.

Instead, his tongue runs lightly over your lower lip, wetting the dried cum. A hushed gasp sucks between your lips, the soft inhale making his cock twitch. His free hand rises to cup your jaw, keeping you in an iron grip as he sucks your lip into his mouth, shadows reporting how your toes curl, how your hands tighten into fists, nails digging into your palms as your reward is gently plied from your grip. How he’s taking the thing you wanted so badly, and snatching it away, lapping it up, without allowing you a single taste.

Tears spill down your cheeks as he strips you of your pleasure, tongue deftly flicking out while salty wells of water drip from your lash line.

He pulls away, gaze hungrily devouring the needy despair that’s clear on your expression, clear in your scent. “How would you like it if I put some cum into you?” He muses softly, and suddenly the hand at your back has managed to sneak between your thighs, fingers circling your entrance. Lips part; eyes widen; chest raises, nipples dragging against the rough fabric covering his torso with every breath.

You beg him with your eyes; with your body; with your every breath. Beg him not to tease you anymore—you can’t take it. Lips quirk as he recognises your breaking point, the daze of your mind. All you can think about is how he’d scooped his cum onto his fingers. The fingers now poised to slide into you, knuckle deep. How easily they’ll slip inside. How tight you’ll squeeze him, desperate to suction up every drop they have.

“Open up,” he mutters.

Feet pitter-pat as you part your thighs, widening your stance ever so slightly.

Eyes widen, locked on his as those long, deft fingers slide into you. Back arches, lips part in a lovely O, then your lids flutter shut, and you’re slumping into him, knees wobbling too much. Muscle spasms as shadows wrap around your hips and waist, easily keeping you upright while his fingers pump and curl, working you open. Lip tugs between your teeth as he pushes his cum into you, digits rubbing against spots that have drool spilling from the edges of your mouth.

“Go on,” he goads. “Make noise for me, pet.”

Quiet sobs drip from your lips, crying weakly, halfway between whining and moaning. Pathetically whimpering as his scent wraps around you. His cock presses against your abdomen again—slightly sticky from the amount of release he pumped onto you—and you release a high-pitched sound, thighs squeezing together. “Sir…” you whimper, feeling the coil tightening in the pit of your belly.

Azriel keeps you pressed tight to him, leather dragging over your skin as you breathe heavily, hips winding over his fingers, pressing flush to his front. Eyes nearly rolling with the pleasure of feeling the stiff heat of his cock poking your middle. Having him so close, with his fingers inside you, and his shadows—

You whimper as they build over your clit, buzzing between your legs and that’s all it’ll take—

He pulls away, hands and darkness retracting, leaving you cold and trembling. Tears fill your eyes as you stare up at him beseechingly. “Azriel…!” You sob, lower lip wobbling as you cry out, the deprivation too much.

But he only tuts, flipping you around so you’re once again pressed against the sturdy chest of drawers. “It’s just rule after rule, isn’t it?” He mutters, hazel gleaming with wicked exhilaration. “What am I going to do with you?”

You shake your head weakly. “Sir—” you whimper, but his hands slip beneath your thighs, roughly hoisting you up onto the furniture. You squeak from the treatment, sensitive to the sudden changes. “Sir, please—” you cry, but he’s spun you around so you’re facing the wall, pushing you down so you slide across the polished top.

Mind scrambles to catch up, but you’re fritzed, simultaneously overstimulated and touch starved as he handles you into the position he wants.

Wild heat flares between your legs as he pulls you forward a little, so you’re on your back, head just hanging off the drawers. Mouth parts in a sharp inhale, his fingers tracing over your throat, one hand guiding his cock to your lips, stroking himself. “You know what I think, pet?” He drawls, a sinister glint in those hazel eyes of his. You swallow, tipping your view so you can see around his cock, shaking your head in reply.

“I think you need to shut up for a bit,” he mutters, lips lifting into an upside down smirk, warped from your angle. “Really have some time to think about the shit you’ve pulled,” he growls, still pumping his cock. Already precum is beading at his tip, swelling to the point of leaking out. Similar parts excitement and terror liquidate between your legs, heart pounding in your chest.

He taps your lips with the tip of his cock, salty liquid sticking to your mouth as you greedily open for him—more than ready to at last have him on your tongue. He hums at your obedience, male satisfaction gleaming in his hazel eyes. “So desperate to have your throat fucked?” He muses, fingers dragging over the soft skin of your neck. You whimper in response, parting your thighs, sticking your tongue out in offering.

Azriel growls at the sight, then he’s guiding himself between your lips, pushing into the hot, wet heat of your mouth. A low groan drags from his chest as you envelope him, tongue flicking over his slit, tears spilling from your eyes; streaming up into your hair as the thick liquid finally hits your tastebuds. You moan around him, thighs pressing together; rubbing tight as he eases further and further inside. All until he’s up to the hilt, nestled deep in your throat, skin bulging around his size. Thumb swipes across himself, feeling the evidence of his arousal through your neck, squeezing lightly.

Throat contracts as you gag ever so slightly. He pulls away to give you a breath, then sliding back in. It’s only when his hips are practically pressing against the wooden frame of the furniture that he gives a low groan of relief. Hands grip your waist, slipping between your thighs as he firmly pushes them apart. “Things’ll get worse before they get better,” he mutters absently, fingers sliding through your wet heat, awareness sparking with such force it takes a while for his words to register.

But then his shadows have pinched your nose, cutting off the minimal breaths you were managing with him stretching you full. Dread pools in your belly as his hand retracts, and you know what’s going to happen before he does it. His hand smacks down, landing a stinging slap to your pussy, clit throbbing beneath his merciless palm. Tears spill as your throat contracts around him, gagging as the ache sears through your thighs.

“How many of those do you think I should give you, pet?” He asks, drawing his hips back to allow you to gasp down breaths. But before you can have enough, he’s forcefully shoving his way back inside, his flavour taking over your mind. “Five? Seven?” He suggests lightly, clearly enjoying himself—getting off on how far he can push you. How deeply he can take his pleasure. “Would ten get those lessons to finally stick? Maybe fifteen would help nail the idea home.”

A whimper works it’s way up your throat, whining around his cock, feeling it as his hand pulls back, already prepared to smack down on your tender sex. You attempt to cry out in protest, but you’re muffled by his cock as he brings his hand down, the wet slap resounding throughout the room as you try to jerk and thrash beneath him, arms tugging at your restraints desperately. He lands spank after spank to your poor pussy. Breaths are few and far between, Azriel only allowing you to gulp down air when you’re on the brink of passing out.

You cry out, his hips rolling forward, a mix of cum and saliva beginning to spill from the corners of your mouth. Small spluttering sounds gurgle from your throat, tears dripping up into your hair as his cock drags over your tongue, tasting so distinctly like himself that you shift forward, trying to get more of him. His hand pulls back a final time, landing that last stinging spank to your tender sex; you cry out around him.

Azriel groans, drawing his hips back, precum and spit beginning to drip up your cheeks, spilling over your lips. His hand fists in your hair, holding you up so he can stare down at you. Arousal spikes in his lower abdomen, taking in your flushed complexion, the plumpness of your lips, your utterly fucked-out expression.

Tears spill, tongue swiping out in poor attempts to clean yourself of your shared mess; Azriel curses under his breath, low and viciously. “Such a messy brat, aren’t you?” He growls, stroking himself with his free hand, spit and cum forming a delicious lubricant. He curses again as you stick your tongue out, desperate for more of his attention—cruel as it is.

You make an obscene sound, humming with your mouth open, inviting him to finally slide in and give you the face-fucking you deserve. Azriel’s lips quirk in a wicked grin, male satisfaction thrumming beneath his skin, taking in your dumb expression. “Want my cock, huh?” He drawls, running his tip over your lips, groaning as your tongue flicks over his tip, greedily suckling the sensitive space just beneath the head.

You nod desperately, tears slipping out as you reach for him with your mouth.

He braces one palm on the edge of the drawers, leaning over you, raising your head as you wince from the tension on your scalp. “I’m getting the distinct impression you’re enjoying this, pet,” he muses, lips mere inches from your own. Tongue flicks out, tasting the slight saltiness that’s been painted onto your mouth. You moan softly, urging him to slide in, to fuck your throat until he’s coming on your tongue.

Azriel growls, landing a harsh smack to your cheek, raw skin stinging with the force of the slap. “Behave,” he mutters, “or do I need to spank you some more?” You whimper in response, squirming on the surface of the chest, shaking your head. “No?” He muses, jerking your head slightly. “Don’t want that?” Shake your head again, looking up at him pleadingly.

He hums, a sound rumbling from deep in his chest. Shadows squeeze your jaw, then he spits down onto your mouth. Spine arches, wild heat burning between your thighs as he adds more to the messy mixture on your tongue. Then he’s standing upright, pushing his cock back between your lips. Tears spill as you gag, his hips beginning to buck lightly. Faster than before—how he’d been grinding against the velvety wetness of your mouth.

“Do you like that, pet?” He mocks, knowing you can’t respond. Fingers graze your throat, enjoying how he can feel himself through your skin. Palm spans your neck, lightly pumping, squeezing as he groans softly. “Tell me how much you love this, pet.” You whine around him, a rough moan dragging from his chest as you muffle out your words, tongue flicking over him.

Azriel grins wickedly, thumbing across the stretch in your neck, before finally leaning forward.

Your entire body jerks as his mouth latches onto your cunt, tongue suckling and flicking over your clit. Thighs spread in surprise, then squeeze around him, stunned from the onslaught of pleasure. Whimpers pour from your lips as his hips start bucking more roughly, grinding into your mouth. Scarred, calloused hands grip the soft skin of your inner thigh, forcefully pushing them apart.

You nearly scream when his mouth detaches from your clit, cock pressing so deep that you gag, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing over your heat, playing with the wet slickness of your cunt. Your thighs spread voluntarily, begging for more attention as he allows you a moment to breathe before sliding back in. Fingers glide into you, up to his knuckles and you cry out around him.

The hot wetness of his mouth reattaches to your clit, fingers pumping in and out, rubbing over your sensitive walls. Pressing and pushing lovely spots that have you tightening around him. Teeth scrape across the bundle of nerves, coil tightening in the pit of your belly. Tears spill as he suctions his mouth to your cunt, giving all his attention to finally stimulating you.

It’s all it takes for you to reach that brink, pleasure on the verge of bursting across your skin. Fingers curl against a mouth-watering spot, and you shatter. Throat contracts as your cunt flutters around him, tipping him over the edge. Hot spurts of cum spill into your mouth, shooting down your throat. Eyes roll to the back of your skull as your world spins, the feeling of him fucking your mouth sending you deeper into pleasure.

Azriel curses lowly. “That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Swallow it, pet. Drink it all up.” Cunt flutters around his still moving fingers as you swallow around the thick length of him, his mouth returning to soothe the ache of your heat, the warm wetness lapping softly over your clit as you float down from your high.

His hips draw back from your face, Azriel standing to be more upright, fingers retracting from your entrance in favour of toying with your clit, gently rolling and rubbing. Sensitivity has your muscles seizing, tongue flitting over his tip. His mouth lifts into a grin, and then he’s slowly sliding back in, sending a fresh wave of spit and cum spilling down your cheeks.

You whimper, struggling on the table, thighs squeezing together as his glistening fingers trail their way up your body, thumbing over your perky nipples. Pinching. Tugging. You whine softly, trying desperately to get some kind of friction, cunt aching for more attention—to have his warm, wet mouth encase your heat again. To have his tongue toying with your clit, soothing the mind-numbing ache he’s worked up in you.

Azriel pulls back at last, sighing breathlessly, helping you up. “How’re you feeling, pretty thing?”

You nod weakly, allowing him to shift you so you’re facing him, sat atop the chest of drawers. “Good,” you murmur, throat raw from use, cheeks streaked with tears. “I’m…I’m good…” you mumble, leaning forward. He catches you easily, arms wrapping around your back, slotting between your thighs, bringing your cheek to rest upon his shoulder.

“You were so perfect,” he whispers, stroking your hair, pressing light kisses to your temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” You nod, shadows releasing the rope constraining your arms. Slowly, achingly, your link your hands over his shoulders, squeezing yourself again him. “I’m tired,” you murmur, pulling closer to his warmth, the firm strength of him seeping into you.

“Hold on,” he says softly, hands sliding beneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips as he lifts you onto him. “We’ll get you all nice and clean, then we can get into bed. How does that sound?” You melt into him, barely managing to cling onto him as he takes you to the bathroom, shadows having already gotten the hot water running.

Arousal thrums beneath your skin, legs tightening around his hips. You grind softly against him, desperate for relief, fatigue weighing on your body. “Azriel…” you whimper, lips brushing against his throat. Arms hook over his shoulder, spine arching as you press into him. “Azzie…”

Open your mouth over him, his breath hitching as you begin lightly sucking marks into the skin, lapping up the distinct taste of him. “Pet?” He asks, gauging your reaction. You shake your head, nestling deeper into him. “I want you,” you whimper, hips winding against him. “Please…”

He shifts his grip on you, slowly lowering you into the bathtub, prying your fingers from his body.

“We can have some more once you’re looked after,” he soothes, stroking your hair. “Let’s get you nice and comfy, then we can go slower. Would you like that, pretty thing?”

The hot water seeps into your skin, warming and softening your bones. You moan softly, leaning back in the bathtub.

You nod sleepily, already on the verge of nodding off. “Okay…” you murmur, head tipping to the side.

Azriel smiles softly, stroking your cheek as he allows you to bask in the heat.

He knows you won’t make it back to the bedroom—you’re far too worn out for that.

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#Azriel #Azriel x reder #Safeword Series #Mean!Azriel #mean!dom!azriel #Azriel smut #Azriel x reader smut #Drag You Down

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