#cadence thirsts

[thesweetnessofspring]

TBOSAS audiobook came off hold at my library. So if in a few days I become a Snow sympathizer, the blame is on Santino Fontana.

#tbosas #santino fontana #i joke #thirsting for snow because of tom blythe is so basic #thirst after him because of santino's beautiful voice #watch i'm still going to be disappointed because i usually cringe listening to audiobooks #hoping santino has a better cadence than your standard audiobook narrator

[cannibalismyuri]

hehehe..... mrrow:)

well. BARK BARK BARK WOOF BARK WOOF WOOF

#meant to be read in the cadence of kit young reading that one tweet in the buzzfeed thirst tweets vid. btw. #sara's asks #anon :)

[unearthed-legacies]

@fatumservis Cadence vc: "Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mo -

Not sure if she should be flattered or concerned.

#fatumservis #judge of the dead / osiris #At least TRY to control your thirst Cadence.

[ervotica]

MDNI pairing; simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader warnings; smut (18+ ONLY), rough rough sex, heavy choking, breathplay & asphyxiation in a controlled environment, loss of consciousness, multiple orgasms, simon is mean but in a sweet way, pre-established consent, subspace (may write a part two of the aftercare if that's something you lot would be interested in!) a/n; this is my first cod fic so go easy on me please!! my cod requests and thirst discussions are wide open (like me for simon ngl) so if you have anything you want to talk about or request PLEASE don't hesitate to pop it in my inbox!

Really, you did this to yourself.

You're the one who asked Simon to be rough, to manhandle you, to fuck you hard and deep until you forget your own name.

He does just that.

He's got your back anchored to his firm chest by means of a thick bicep curled around your throat, restricting your airways just enough until the world tunes out around you, everything a little fuzzy as he pistons his hips into your soft cunt; all you can feel is him, the way the fat head of his cock nestles deep against your cervix, the drag of it against your walls as he pulls out only to force you wide open again for him.

You're far past forming coherent words, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering when he hikes you further up by the soft column of your throat until you arch against his chest, limp and pliable like putty under the control of those experienced hands. Your cunt drools with each rocking movement, excreting more of the milky fluid as the vein that runs against the underside of his cock- purple and angry with his arousal- creates a delicious friction against your pulsing insides.

You garble something entirely unintelligible when that corded arm tightens around your neck, your mouth hanging open as you drool like a leaky tap, kiss-bitten lips gaping when you halfheartedly attempt to form something that isn't completely inarticulate.

You can't even warn him before you're cumming on the length of him with a silent cry, your muscles pulling tight like a bowstring as you quiver under his expert touch before you're falling limp, dead weight in his arms. His spare hand reaches up and over to deliver a firm slap to your cheek in an effort to rouse you from your haze, but you only sink further into that blissful headspace where nothing matters except the way that he's fucking you.

You're not sure you could beg him for more if you tried despite so desperately wanting it. Your sticky cunt weeps over his cock, running in a stream downward until his heavy balls are saturated in your sweet juices, your body twitching weakly when the pleasure washes over you once again.

"There you go, baby," he murmurs, fisting your hair into a ponytail at the back of your head until he's snapping your head up, those eyes hungrily surveying your wrecked expression– eyes blackened with mascara from crying on his cock, lids barely open in your daze, lips swollen and flushed dark with colour. If he were to release his bruising grip on you, you'd crumple, entirely unable to hold yourself up. "My good, good girl. You gonna let me give you one more?"

You whine something that neither one of you understand, but the nod of your head and the way your eyes light up as you drag yourself from bliss just enough to affirm has him resuming his movements, hiking his knee up and over your hip to give him deeper access to fuck you; his pace quickens and you're damn near wailing by the time he grabs your bobbing throat, all hulking six foot four of him tipping forward until your airway is near completely cut off and your noises are silenced by the flexing muscles.

"Easy, love, take it easy," he murmurs, demands really, cadence gravelly but saccharine sweet, a stark juxtaposition to his cruel touch; you're barrelling towards another orgasm, entire body alight and burning with a pleasure that's damn near unbearable; your arse is slick and bruised, branded by his touch as his hips slap lewdly against you.

It hits you like a freight train, every muscle pulling tight and then suddenly liquifying all at once– and as the pleasure ebbs away, you're hit with the frightening realisation that you truly can't breathe. You force a limp hand up to claw at the tense muscles clamped around your neck, a pained, gasping little noise breaking free of the confines of your chest. But still, he doesn't let up. The room spins and shrinks around you, darkness creeping in at the corners until it's consumed you. His voice is dark and unyielding against the shell of your ear.

"Let it happen," he says. "'ve got you. Don't fight it."

It's not like you have much of a choice anyway as your head drops, hair hanging loosely around your face when you fall headfirst into darkness.

When you come to, you're flat on your back, no longer speared on the thick length of him as he lazily pumps his cock, pressing your knees upward against your chest in order to have ample room to torture your throbbing cunt with calloused fingers.

"There she is." Simon grins when you whimper and reach up for him, gazing through sticky lashes with those teary eyes he adores. He indulges you, coming forward to smear a quick kiss to the crown of your skull before he's gathering your slick with the head of his cock, breaching your sore entrance once again.

That night, you're sure you meet God.

And he looks an awful lot like Simon Riley.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley drabble #simon ghost riley blurb #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanart #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley smut #simon riley drabble #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost smut #ghost simon riley #ghost drabble #ghost fanfiction

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — albedo

relationship health diagnosis — 90%*

symptom one — reserved

albedo favors a reclusive lifestyle. dealing with social nuances and niceties is a draining prospect, he'd rather forgo them altogether. it's for this reason that rumors swirl around the alchemist. he's been described as cold and calculating. which, to be fair, isn't completely wrong. if he'd rather be elsewhere it isn't difficult to tell. still, that unquenchable thirst to peel back more layers of this mysterious world hasn't made him unfeeling.

this public perception never bothered him until he realized it may influence your opinion of him. this explains his uncharacteristic effort to seek you out. it starts off awkward, as you're certain the chief alchemist has more important matters to tend to. his attempts win you over slowly yet surely. it’s endearing, how his stoic visage belies frustration when he struggles to keep the conversation going, having exhausted platitudes.

you being the exception to his preference for isolation is rather flattering.

symptom two — knowledgeable

albedo is a natural educator. there's hardly a moment where his field of study isn't bouncing around in his mind. with sucrose and timaeus, he keeps his teachings succinct and formal. when he's sharing his recent findings with you, however, it's a different story. his monotonous voice takes on a lively cadence. comparatively speaking, at least. no one else is privy to his nerdy side. self-consciousness catches up, when he notes thirty minutes have gone by and he's only on his second of ten samples.

there you sit. bundled up to stave off the dragonspine's unforgiving weather, contentedly sipping hot cocoa he had ready for your arrival (a suggestion from klee). you tilt your head and ask why he's stopped. it's in that instant he realizes miracles aren't limited to physical manifestations. they can come in any form. even one as simple as you trying to resume the conversation, despite getting tongue-tied by the alchemical jargon.

future discoveries that will amuse you hold more weight to him than anything actually groundbreaking...

symptom three — conscientious

if you ever happen upon albedo's dense collection of relationship-related reading material, please keep it to yourself, lest he die of embarrassment. he wants to get this right! interpersonal relationships aren't his forte, he's not so blinded by pride to acknowledge this shortcoming. he knows he can be blunt and accidentally trample over feelings. he refuses to seek the counsel of his peers, which leaves him at the mercy of klee's tutelage.

he hypothesizes that the lack of self-awareness in children makes them conducive to offering unfiltered advice. gift-giving is her field of choice and her standards are high. almost every trinket, flower, or artwork you've received has undergone rigorous quality control. he was amazed that this klee verification system went over so well with you, hence his reoccurring patronage.

he cares a lot. expressing it might not come naturally to him, but he's willing to overthrow his nature for your benefit.

primary area of concern

...

albedo has some baggage regarding his creation. his search for unraveling the mystery behind his creator's parting challenging, while not all-consuming, influences him to some extent.

truthfully, there isn't anything that'd place major strain on your relationship. there are times he discovers a secret of the world that would've been better of remaining unknown. so long as it isn't anything that'd endanger you, he handles overwhelming information quite well.

although he's often holed up in his laboratory, you're welcome to come and observe. he doesn't allow his research to isolate him from you. he involves you whenever he can and gladly engages in your interests as well. he tends to absorb them, returning a few days later with the expertise of a scholar.

you've scored yourself a solid homunculus.

prognosis

his interest in you is a flame that'll never wane. you add warmth and color to his life, he adds stability to yours. the memories you cherish are always the small, seemingly insignificant ones, that steadily build. the sticky notes you leave on his desk reminding him to take breaks. a homemade meal he's left for you to warm up for those busy mornings. enjoying a tea party with klee where albedo gives a 'toast' to his generous host, dodoco, spoken with a straight face.

these scintillating fragments form a greater whole.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)

#albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #mini love reports #valentines 2024 event

[cixteenyne]

i nEED more izu content and you are the best of the best so i needed to come to you

personally, the thing that i think gets over looked about midoriya is that

1: he’s strong as fuck??? (gets me so weak in the knees heaven knows)

2: BLACK. WHIP.

jesus christ he’s just!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i think he’s so neat i want him to do things to me

anyways, smutfic about him coming home to reader after she’s been a brat to him all day & him being such a sweet & loving dom but also that type of menacing & powerful hero he is. he loves his s/o to no end, but will not hesitate to put her in her place!!! wow my stomach turns just thinking about it

basically, brat tamer izuku, using blackwhip. i’m so down bad for him it hurts

I remember getting this ask and salivating at it, yet I had no idea how to write and interpret it into a full blown post instead of just a thirst and I just didn’t feel like posting (I meant it when I said I’m barley consistent). SOOO in April 1, no, this isn’t an april fools joke!! I bring you, angry izuku ..

Warning(s): vulgar wording (yk how we do), restraints, mean izuku/passive aggressive, manhandling, inappropriate use of black whip, brat taming, slight intimidation if you squint, Fem reader. Halfway proofread…😒

‘Patient and Gentle’

Izuku had been so sweet to you all day, so caring and soft and understanding- he always had been, so it’s just to say he’s being himself as per usual. But, you. You.

Just so snide today, snappy little thing.

What did he do? He doesn’t know- he doesn’t care to know, he won’t listen to you if you try to explain, well- he will; just won’t let it linger. He’s past that.

You’re past that.

He sighed as he walked into the room, the door shutting softly behind him despite the off energy he had around him.

He doesn’t move from his spot, his hand still resting against the door as his head peers behind him. To you. He just gazes for a while, only a while before- clip! Another snappy remark, it was just ‘clip, clip, clip’ with you today, that’s all he could portray it as.

Something like a… like a-

“oh, that’s weird.”

Or a short ‘clip!’ Of a

“whatever.” In a certain tone a- cadence, if you will.

Why were you speaking this specific way to him. And why was it pissing him off so.. damn.. much…?

He still looking at you, yet at some point he’s turned around a tuned out whatever snide remark you’re sure to have made by now. His eyes keep traversing from one point to another, each point having something to do with you.

A short question of; ‘is there a problem?’

Is there?

“I don’t know.” A shrug from you. And a back fucking turned.

It makes his blood simmer to an 8 on a stove.

His footsteps are light yet foreboding as they advanced toward you, to you standing so.. he can’t even find the words, how does one stand in indifference? That must be it.

He’s in your personal space now, he’s smiling so sweetly at you; the way he always had, so patient and gentle. Yet his words are cracked with the tone, clashing with the way they dance out of his lips.

“Is there a problem..?” Is there? He needs to know, he had asked you a question, he wanted an answer. He didn’t ask for an ‘I don’t know.’ He asked for an explanation. Did you not understand that?- or, were you being a dumb whore on purpose?

You shook your head, not meeting his eyes. There was no problem. so, what the hell is your deal today?

“Speak up, baby..”

“No..”

you shook you head again. It was mumbled out, maybe due to his body smothering yours, but at least it was in words.

“Then what’s wrong, baby? Yr’ you acting like that.. hm?”

He whispered to you, talking you down as if you were a kid experiencing anger for the first time. His faux sad expression was beginning to make you feel silly. Good. That’s was good.

You look away- or you try to, yet his face follows yours, not letting you escape his eyes.

“Don’t- no, you don’t do that. You look at me. ‘K..? I don’t like that.”

He really didn’t. And you knew that. He looked a little disappointed too, shame. What a shame, yet you were shameless.

He sighed, a click of his teeth as he let silence permeate the room.

A cold solid-? A chilly.. rope.. it slid around your neck, slowly and purposefully. It’s grip tightening with no intent to let go. There was a tug on it, forcing you the look up at him.

Black whip. He activated it and was using it as a leash, he thought it was fitting. Act like a bitch, get treated like one. ‘S only fair.

“Izu’s a little mad okay..? And he’s sorry… but- he needs to teach his girl… m’kay..?”

You stood in place, slightly defiant, yet not outright. So he tugged. Hard. And you stumbled out of place.

“C’mon.. T’ the bed.. s’right there..” a slow step forward, then the rest followed suit, she was hoping for a smooth walk over to the bed, but she was pushed so meanly by him.

He didn’t say anything as he bullied her with such a sweet face. Always so patient and gentle. Even when he’s not.

He rolled the black whip in his hands, his quirk tightening around him as he tugged your neck back, getting on top of you. He had pushed you onto your tummy. He even got down low next to your ear to taunt you like a bully.

“Izu has to do this okay..? Keep his girl good. ‘Zuku doesn’t like disobeying whores. He doesn’t like mean girls.”

Being so mean to him all day. Whore. How dare you. But don’t worry, he loves you so much, he’s willing to teach you himself- just how he likes his girls.

He reached around under your hips and undid your button. And a ‘ziiiip!’ Oh, it was foreboding. Your body was heating up, it was like an oven with no limit.

Your pants were being pushed down, and you keened. A whine at being exposed to casually as he shushed you.

“Shhh.. shh, lemme take it off.. all of it.”

Your pants couldn’t hit the floor before his hands were always working off your shirt, as he let black whip go for a while to get it off.

Yet his hands were right back on it. Harsher, no bra. truly a whore.

He filled his palm with your breast, the soft supple flesh making him groan, a grind of his hips into your ass. He was going to fucking ruin you for this.

His breathing was hot and heavy against your neck, making goosebumps rise and quicker across your skin.

His hands began snaking again, from your breast, to your tummy, your hips, the inside of your panties. Your pussy. So, so.. wet already.

And then he was dragging them down your laps and kicking them away. His finger just playing with your pussy for a while, two finger sliding down the crevices, a palm cupping it whole and rubbing, and a single finger on your clit. Slowly rubbing and pinching, tapping.

His lips kissing your neck so sweetly. So patient and gentle.. a suck across your skin. And moan and a whine, it only made him harder.

He stops his playing- his rubbing and you whine again, disappointed, and it makes him smile a little more sweetly, or cruelly, he can’t tell himself at this point, he just knows he loves watching that sweet face of yours contort.

Black while fluctuates and another tendril seeps out and bind your arms, forcing them to your back. Your pussy drips at the strain in your shoulders.

He hadn’t taken anything off yet, and he didn’t plan too! He didn’t need to. He undid his belt, slowly. Letting the ‘clink!’ And the ‘dink!’ Of the metal fill your ears. Letting you anticipate.

His bulge is almost painful, the strain of it is almost good, yet it still annoys him- having it be let free was heavenly.. his green was deep yet still so sweet, a whine in his voice that never quite went away even as it deepened with age..

His cock bobbed up and as it fell back down, heavy under its own weight, the tip tapped your ass, leaving it to ripple. The sight made him keen yet it dipped into a moan as his own hand wrapped around his aching dick. It drooled precum.

Black whip flickered as his mind was muddled with pleasure, yet his control of it was impressive despite the situation. He wasn’t number one for nothing.

“He’s gonna teach you.. ‘kay..? Fuck… look so good baby… if you weren’t such a mean slut today-.. I’d be a little gentle..”

the way he spoke was as if he ran a marathon, and his voice always had the undertones of a whine.

He pushed his hand to his shirt, as if the action took everything in him- and began to unbutton it in a hurry, he felt stuffy in the article of clothing and he needed it off- or atleast open.

He tightened black whip, wrapping his hand in it further to force you into an arch, stroking his cock and lining it up with your pussy, cunt dripping with arousal.

The tip tapped against the entrance, then it pushed in, and in, and stretched, each inch was fucking delicious. Your eyes rolled and you bit your lip, and he heard it- he didn’t like it, if that angry tug of black whip was anything to go by.

He couldn’t help but slam the rest of it in, making you yelp. His grunts are uncontrollable and he doesn’t care. he whines behind you as his tip just leaks and leaks inside of you, yet he hadn’t cum yet.

Just made it more slippery and the sounds -god, the sounds- the sloppy and wet sounds of his cock driving into you cunt wasn’t drowned out by your combined moans.

He kept it tugged in your little leash as he keeps thrusting, his voice raw with pleasure and still a bit of irritation.

You still had upset him earlier, he had every right to take it out on you. You’re his girl.

He hips sped up, this thrusts got harder and your legs would have given out if his hips weren’t keeping you in place. Fucking his anger into you, and yours out of you.

He pulled your leash up and forced you to your feet, your back flush against his chest as she kept fucking you, going and going and fucking going, you couldn’t barley think- let alone stand. Fucking you like a rag doll was all he planned on doing.

His hand went to your front, and began to play with your clit, rolling it under his finger, making you dizzy, you moans increasing and you felt yourself tremble. You were about to cum, he knew it.

You always came first, that wouldn’t change, even if you were mean, and he was angry, he was going to take care of his girl, let her cum all she wants.

And you did, you came around him and squeezed his cock like it was a lifeline. Her pussy fluttering around him.

But he wouldn’t stop until he was finished too. Your body was pushed back onto the bed, the black whip disintegrating as he took his own hands and used them to restrain you instead. He pushed his hips deep into yours in slow yet aggressive thrusts. He was going to cum, fill you, he was going to teach you just what your place was and to never forget it.

“Fuck..! Fuck!”

And two deep thrusts was all he had left before he burst with thick ropes of cum into your pussy. Your tummy being filled with warmth and your eyes tilting into your head as they closed in exhaustion.

He stilled and let him empty itself before smiling so sweetly at you.

“Does my baby feel better..?”

He asked, just as sweetly as he always has. Maybe you’d learn something this time around.

“M..hm.”

He mumbled into your ear as he settled his chest against your back;

“Good.. don’t forget what ‘Zuku taught you today.. ‘Kay..?”

So patient and gentle.

(Don’t copy my stuff pookie, bitches with juicy pussy DONT copy works.. but you can still reblog… daddy appreciates those.)

#smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut #izuku midoryia smut #deku x reader smut #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku smut #deku smut #mha x reader #mha x reader smut #asks #answered asks

[ryukatters]

"Potentially in the mood to answer some thirsts and or short requests"

gojo, just gojo.

don’t make this harder on me — satoru gojo x reader

content/warnings: exes to lovers, some angst, obsession, potentially yandere, they both kith

pairing: gojo x fem! reader

summary: you need him to stop looking at you like that. you’re just friends now. gojo says otherwise.

Ex-bf! Gojo who is so miserably insufferable. You didn’t expect to see him much after you broke up with him, but if there’s one thing Satoru Gojo is, it’s persistent.

You’re not sure what you were thinking, honestly, given the fact that both of you share mutual friends. He’s unavoidable. Akin to a shadow, him. You can feel the way his strikingly blue eyes sear into your skin whenever he’s around.

He’s sweet, too sweet, even after you walked away and left him all lonesome. The break up was more one sided than anything, but when did Gojo ever say no to you?

You wanted some space? He’ll give you some. But you need to know he’ll do whatever it takes to win you back.

He’s sweet while he listens to you, subconsciously leaning in to hear you better, clinging on to every word as though he were afraid he’d miss a single step in the cadence of your voice. Even sweeter when he presses up against you, effectively pinning you in between him and the marble countertops in Suguru’s kitchen.

The party is loud, nearing its climax with everyone too intoxicated to see what’s going on where you two are at. The music drowns out and all you can see and hear is Satoru.

“I’ve missed you so much, baby,” he murmurs against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss on your plump skin.

The pet name makes you snap back to reality, with both arms trying to push your ex off. He doesn’t budge. He does pull away though, enough for you to see the unmasked disappointment and hurt in his cerulean orbs. Your heart aches, and you have to remind yourself that it’s not your place to comfort him anymore— even if you’re the source of his heartbreak.

Your hands grip at his biceps, in an attempt to both put even more distance between you two and to steady yourself. In return, he tightens the grip on your hips.

You’re trapped. With Gojo. The sensible part of you wants to run, to keep that distance between you both because you know the weaker, less rational side of you wants to curl up in his familiar and warm embrace.

“Gojo,” you begin with a sigh. “You can’t call me that. We’re not together anymore.”

“It’s Satoru to you, princess. And that’s why I’m here right now, I’m gonna change that,” he brings one hand to cup your cheek, and you have to will yourself not to melt into his warmth.

“You can’t change anything,” you whisper, though it sounds more like a plea. Don’t. I don’t think I’ll have the strength to keep refusing you.

“Shh..” he coos, his lips pressing another kiss, this time towards one corner of your mouth. You can practically feel yourself salivate from anticipation. “We did it your way the first time, but now you’ve gotta listen to me, ‘kay?”

You stare at him blankly, afraid that any word or action that comes out of you will betray what you’ve been so adamant about.

Your silence is telling, and Satoru can’t help but smile. He loves how stubborn you can be at times, because it makes the reward so much sweeter.

He kisses you, on the lips this time, with such gentleness that it makes your head spin. You stay that way for a few seconds before he pulls away. You find yourself craving his touch. He studies you for a second, azure orbs calculating before he pulls back in, this time with a more forceful kiss.

You let out a whine of surprise and he swallows it wholeheartedly. He brushes his tongue against your lower lip, urging you to let him in.

And you do.

Satoru moans the minute you part your lips for him, his tongue swiping against yours and easily overpowering it. He wedges one of his legs in between yours, muscular thigh pressing up against the slowly growing wet spot by your core.

Your mind starts to grow fuzzy at the edges because he hasn’t parted from you, and it’s only when both of you are gasping for breath does he pull away, but doesn’t let you go.

“Toru…” you whine.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want to hear, baby.”

You want to curse yourself for being so weak for him. But with the way he looks at you, how it looks like he thinks you hung the moon, you feel a little bit better.

“You know what else I wanna hear?” His lips brush against your earlobe, and it feels like your entire body is on fire. He nips at the cartilage a bit. “Come back home with me, so you can find out.”

Work belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not repost or translate my writing on any platform.

#fae 💜 #mooties 💜 #he’s a little unhinged but that’s bc love makes him a little crazy #IM ON A ROLL TONIGHT #kat’s writing #kat’s demon time #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #tw.yandere #cw.yandere #tw.obsession #cw.obsession

[kawaiiblue18]

So um all the mlp infected au have been everywhere lately and they inspired me to make my own :D

Lore below the cut

*Note that these were descriptions on separate posts from my Instagram so if it flows weird, that’s why*

I’m calling this au My Little Beast and this is the beast virus. The beast virus is an alien virus that came down to Earth inside a space rock. Daring Do went to check it out and was bitten by a worm-like creature that was residing inside the rock. The worm creature promptly died and Daring Do was made into patient zero.

The virus spreads solely through the saliva of infected and, mysteriously, it ONLY infects ponies. The infection, after getting bitten, is a harsh and sudden transformation into a beast form that will vary depending on what species of pony the infected is. Infected acquire a ravenous appetite for meat and will kill anything that moves.

Infected ponies can no longer use their magic after being infected, hence the missing cutie marks (infected pegasi wings are big enough to fly without magic). Even though uninfected ponies can still use their magic after the outbreak, magic of any kind does not directly work on the infected. So survivors cannot use magic spells to fight infected.

I mentioned previously that the infection only infects ponies. This means animals, dragons, and any other non-pony creatures are practically immune if they are ever bitten. However, they are still at risk of getting mauled and eaten by infected ponies. Stabber venom will take effect on non-pony creatures.

You’re probably wondering why none of the infected forms I’ve drawn so far is wearing their typical clothing or accessories. Well, simple answer is they tear it off during transformation. Infected ponies hate the feeling of anything clinging on their bodies due to the rapid and drastic transformations occurring to their bodies.

I know Cadence typically gets infected in these infection aus, but I needed an alicorn sacrifice for the ref sheet (and Twilight is the one making these infected guides hint hint)😔

Shining Armor and Flurryheart do manage to escape infected Cadence but that’s a story for another post ;)

They absolutely hate fire! So long as it is not magical fire as anything magical in origin has no effect on infected ponies. If a survivor is looking for an easy distraction to get away from infected, it can be done two ways: always have a torch on hand or throw already dead corpses at infected. The infected ‘s blood thirst will have distracted by any kind of dead body, including the bodies of dead infected.

#art #digital art #my art #procreate #procreate art #mlp infection au #mlp infected au #the beast virus #my little beast au #reference sheets #blood warning #horror #my little pony #mlp #reupload from instagram

[ephedrathirsts]

Sire Bonds

Synopsis: You are sire-bonded to the bloodthirsty, coldhearted, no humanity trybrid Hope Mikaelson. As your love for her increases so does her destain for you.

Contains: mentions of blood, assault, sexual content, dom!Hope x sub!reader, semi MasterxSlave relationship, fingering (reader receiving), afab reader, degradation, feeding, aged up characters

Pairings: No Humanity!Hope Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Author's note- This is the first time I am posting any of my works so please be kind! Also if you have any feedback on what could be improved I would very much appreciate it!

Word count- 980

  The breeze was swishing fallen cherry blossoms playfully in cadence with an Elvis Presley song, whining out into the automobile. The sun was adorning your reflection in the rearview mirror. Primroses, crocuses and pulmonarias mixed with almonds, amber, and musk tickled the senses. A bare path uncovered, secured away between country cottages. Days of damp grass, lounging under the sun’s caress and fingers laced with the promise of forever danced before your eyes.

 You soaked up her silhouette, marveling at her beauty. She was all leather and rips, edges and nicks. Although at first glance she appeared the same, she had morphed into a cruel, ruthless beast. Hope, the one that drew out your blood and feasted on your flesh, leaving you to wilt and wither, had captured your mind, chained your heart to hers.  

 She had never meant to have you and neither to keep you. You were to be a convenience, a warm artery for her to pierce and suck dry, but yet you had more to supply. You rose up again with a sudden thirst set deep within and her name on your lips. Unbeknownst to her, she had turned you. You were now a knight walker, cursed to roam the Earth beside her until the dawn of time.

 You were engrossed by her, obeying all of her commands, without wishing for anything in return. You lived to serve her- a slave of blood and amour.

 As you were passing by specks of houses on the road, you smiled to yourself, looking out at the life awaiting you. Hope let go of the steering wheel and dragged you by the jaw, extracting pained gasps out of you.

"I can hear you thinking. Stop being so joyful or I’ll throw you out onto the pavement. " She spat through gritted teeth, discarded you, and took hold of the wheel again. "You haven’t made any progress with controlling your powers. A useless pet is of no need to me! " She eyed her passenger with detest.  

   Your back hit the seat with a thud. You had disappointed her; you were unworthy of her care and love. No matter how much you tried, you would never be deserving of her affection. You turned away ashamedly and peered at your wrist- the Mikaelson crest marked onto it and circled your skin with your thumb in a soothing manner.

    The day peeled off lazily from the sky, making way for constellations to glisten down on you. You had arrived home, a slender province chalet. Fireflies were buzzing busily around the patio, flickering over grapevine leaves. The air was ripe with whiffs of rain and weeds. The stone-clothed trail illuminated the moon’s indolent glow. You followed your mistress through the mahogany door.

"I want my dinner and a glass of red." Hope declared yawnfully. She made her way to the ottoman in the middle of the rustic room and put her feet up. You poured her a glass of Tempranillo and put it down on the iron tray next to her. You crawled to her on the cushioned seat, pulled your hair back and offered her your neck.

  She scoffed at you. "You want me to feed off of you again, feed off of my own blood! Do you take me for a mere narcissist? " You glanced up at her apologetically, tears weighing your eyes at her vicious rejection. You laid your head atop her knees. She stroked it softly and sipped on her drink. "You are so pathetic, aren’t you?" You nodded in agreement.

  "Stand up! Face me!" she pulled onto a strand of your hair and whispered stringently into your ear. You followed her command with anticipation of what's to come.

The trybid caressed your cheek and pulled you in close to her. She brushed your bottom lip with the pad of her thumb and kissed you gently. Her tongue slithered into your mouth, forming patterns with yours. She bit on your swollen lip, making you whimper. Pushing your hair back, she planted wet open-mouth kisses from your jaw, down your neck and collarbone. She sucked on your skin, feeling you shiver in pleasure under her touch.

 Hope’s hands landed on your hips, one creeping up your breasts. She undressed you from the waist up and pushed you down on your back, leaving lines of saliva over your stomach as she was gliding her tongue up and down your body. You moaned when you felt her nibbling on your nipple and pinching the other.

  "You enjoying yourself, gorgeous?" she chuckled arrogantly.

  "Mhm… I want you so bad…" is all you could muster.

   "Good." Hope reached down to your zipper and found her way to your dripping cunt. "God, you are so wet already."

She kissed you again, passionately, while inserting three of her fingers inside your core. You gasped in ecstasy. The girl thrusted her hand in and out of you, stretching you out, and played with your clit.

You bit down on your lips to stifle your moans. You were a mess- body shaking and twitching as your mistress toyed with you. You tightened around her digits, your cunt pulsing feverishly with each and every pump.

   "It would make me very happy if you were to coat my fingers with your cum." Hope purred seductively. You looked up into her eyes as you started to feel your release wash over you. You screamed and groaned, colliding rapidly with Hopes’s hand.

The trybrid flashed her fangs and bit your neck, treating herself to a well-deserved diner. You whined in pain and pleasure, closing your eyes and gripping the sides of the ottoman hard. Fireworks flashed before you as you squirted all over her fingers.

 Hope detached her mouth from your bleeding neck and grabbed your throat forcefully. "This didn’t mean anything to me and neither do you." She squeezed hard, let go of you unamusedly, stood up, and made her way out of the room.

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[cohldhands]

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 | 𝘬𝘪𝘣𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘢

pairing: bff!kiba x afab!reader word count: 7.9k warnings: nsfw! 18+! minors DNI! | just two best friends helpin' each other out, virgin!reader wants experience and kiba has it, pussydrunk!kiba, praise kink, oral (f! and m!recieving), primal play (kinda? like a sprinkle?), unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), he's down for you and its bad, other characters mentioned, all characters in their early/mid 20s, not thoroughly proofread, no use of y/n author's note: this is 100% based on some thirsting that @tired-biscuit and i did for this man and... well, here we are. i listened to "nayhoo" by chon while writing the first bit of this. i also didn't anticipate it to be this long... 😅 it's my first time in a long ass time writing second-person as well, so just be gentle. there will absolutely be (at least) a part two where shit devolves at ino's new apt. i hope yall enjoy!

you can also read this on AO3 here.

KIBA’s fingers twitch as he watches you place a piece of strawberry into your mouth, your lips encasing your delicate fingertips in a way he knows should be innocent, should be just friends having lunch together, but it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time. 

Dappled sunlight filters in through the full, vibrant trees towering above you, and the incessant hum of cicadas fills the air, mixing with the cadence of rustling leaves in the summer breeze. Loose, thin clothes, skin glazed in a thin layer of humidity and sweat, clammy hands from thrumming heartbeats.

Summer has always been a favorite time for the both of you, ever since the summer you moved to Konoha during your childhood. The summer that changed everything. Sticky sweetness, endless days, sunburnt cheeks. Ever since, you and Kiba have been attached at the hip, having lived in the house just down the street and your mothers working together. Hours of fetch with Akamaru, rock skipping competitions with Shino as referee, hushed conversations with Hinata about Naruto. He accepted you with open arms; they all did. 

“Just another one of the pack.”

Kiba hated when you and Hinata would sneak off, however. He’d bribe Shino—or attempt to—just to spy and listen. When Shino would call him out on his reddened ears, his anticipation in finding out the girl talk, his picking at his nails until you would return, he’d tug his hoodie up and change the subject.

“You like her.” Shino would tell him, plainly, a fact of life. 

“No!” the brunette would huff. “She’s just a friend.”

Kiba takes a swig from his canteen, a drip of water fumbling from his lip to his chin when he pulls it away. He blinks away the memories of summers, of lifetimes spent under the same blazing sun. Sunburnt chests, laying on Akamaru with bare arms pressed to each other while looking for aliens, small, small clothes.

“That’s what friends are for, Kiba!” You say through the small bite. 

“It’s going to be so hot though,” he whines, throwing his head back with his forehead scrunched in irritation. “Who the fuck moves in the middle of July? You know who? Crazy people, that’s who.”

“Whether you like it or not, Ino is moving,” you shake your head at him, a hint of playful irritation on your drawl as you watch his head tilt back, the expanse of his neck exposed. A dare, a first kiss, a summer night. “And we both agreed to help her. Besides, it’ll go by quick with all of us helping. You’ll be okay. ”

“So annoying.” He croaks, but then he lets his head fall forward. His intense, dark eyes settle on yours once more, and he fights the urge to drink you in the way he does when you’re not looking. When you’re fidgeting while you’re trying to beat him at Mario Kart, when your face is scrunched in concentration when you’re aiming a kunai. 

He sends a sideways glance at Akamaru—a lifeline, a phone-a-friend— and the white-haired dog lets out the equivalent of a mumble and a shrug. 

Kiba throws his hands in the air, exhaling a “Fine! Fine.”

“You’re such a baby.” You laugh, a teasing yet light sound.

A sound that causes a flutter to rampage through his chest, and a restrained tug of a smile spreads across his features in response. But he’s practiced this, practiced suppressing the itch in his hands to reach out, to kiss you, to breathe in that laugh as if it was the air itself he needs.

He already does that with your scent alone.

“Whatever.” He grabs a clump of rice in his chopsticks and eats it. 

You can tell there’s a hint of something underneath the surface with Kiba, something that’s hard to pinpoint. Of course, during your girl talks with Hinata, you’d open your heart to her. About how Kiba didn’t scare you, despite his animalistic side, how he just wanted attention, that’s why he acts that way, about how much you had to refrain from squirming when he looked at you as you both got older.

She’d gasp when you would talk that way, but she’d always add her own tidbit of girlish tension in a hushed voice.

“So, uh… w-while we’re talking about favors…” you start, your eyes falling to the bento box in your lap. 

“If you’re moving, too, the whole ride-or-die thing goes out of the window.”

“No, fuck no!” Another light laugh, another shake of your head, but this time more at yourself than anything. If only it was just moving...

You’ve been mulling on asking him about this for weeks now. You’d recently met a boy, because you, too, have practiced the art of burying the want to grab him, to feel the ripple of muscles that dance underneath the fishnet material of his shirt, to tangle your fingers in his hair and find out if he likes his hair tugged the way you do, if he doesn’t, moving yourself against him until his desires tumble out of him on their own. 

But you’ve met a boy, Jun, who is sweet. Kind. A responsible, gentle Ninja. You’re in no way committed, no title. Your mother adores him, your father respects him. He’s yet to make you uncomfortable, opens doors for you, brings you flowers every time he sees you. You’ve gone on a few dates with him, and you like him—enough to want more than the heavy petting and stale kisses. But then there is a small part of you, small yet persistent enough—

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im,” Ino had told you once during a ‘girl’s night’ at Sakura’s. 

“What do you mean?” 

“If he truly wants you,” the blonde continued, jabbing her finger in your direction. “He can’t fake that while buried inside.”

“I’m convinced love has its own chakra,” Sakura had added. “It moves between you and the other person. Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Or a burning fire.”

The small part of you that craves to see if he’d do it, and if you’d be able to tell which natural disaster would rage between you—if one at all. 

“What’s with the serious-ass face? You’re scaring me…” Kiba continues, his voice pulling you back to the here and now. He leans forward to catch your eyes again, then continues in a whisper. “Do we need to hide a body?”

“Kiba—”

“Oh, wait, it is serious.” He clears his throat and sits up, a different demeanor taking him over. His gaze fixates on you, his position stiffening as he studies you in a fraction of a moment. “‘Kay, sorry. What’s up?”

“It’s about Jun.”

His muscles tighten, and he places his bento box on the blanket you’re both sitting on. The guy who takes you on dates, the guy he can tell you’re not head over heel for. Jun, who fills the time, because Kiba can tell sweet Jun bores you. At least, that’s what Kiba tells himself. “Okay.”

“Uh… I don’t really know how to ask this, so I’m just going to.” You shift in your seat, mustering the gumption to speak clearly, forward, just ask your best friend for a favor. A dare, the childhood magic in special first kisses, adult magic in special first times. Not wanting to look like a dunce to the boy your mother adores, your father respects.

“I want to sleep with Jun, but I’ve never… ya know. And you have, so—”

Ba-dum. A heavy heartbeat, thick in his ears, piercing his palms.

His eyes widen, dark and yet darker, darker still. Heat floods his cheeks, bubbling under his skin and filling his abdomen. The swelling of a storm.

Ba-dum.

“I know it’s weird, a-and you can absolutely say no. You’re my best friend, though, and it’s not like I can just ask anyone. This isn’t like a new development either, I wanted to wait to ask you—n-not that I’ve just been, ya know, thinking about this and you. I just have zero experience, you know that, but I want to be a bit more confident in—”

Ba-dum.

“Do you like him?” Kiba’s voice falls flat, more flat than he anticipates, but the words hang there. Screaming cicadas, colliding tree branches. “Really, truly like him?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re convincing yourself and lying to him all at the same time. But maybe, just maybe trusting Kiba with this moment, with your first time, with breaking the barrier between fantasy and reality—maybe it won’t be so bad. “I do.”

“Then I’ll do it.” He swallows the solid lump in his throat, convincing himself and lying to you all at the same time. “Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

—

Kiba told you he’d come over later that evening, to do whatever it is that made you most comfortable. Shower, don’t shower. Shave, don’t shave. Wear whatever it is you wanted, to pretend like he was just coming over like he always did, to hang out like you always did.

You couldn’t sit still the moment you got home. You cleaned and showered. Tried to read, tried to scroll through your phone, tried to do any- and everything you could to not get caught up in the motions of it all, fought yourself for ten minutes on if you should even light a candle or not because it’s not like that but damn it—

Yes it is.

But this wouldn’t mean anything, right? Regardless of a candle lit, which made the whole space smell of honeysuckle and lemon, it’s just your best friend, doing you a favor: teaching you how to work a cock by using his. 

Oh, god, his cock. What would it look like? Feel like? Would it curve, or would it be veiny? The thought alone causes you to fidget in your seat on the couch, your eyes darting between the clock on your phone and the front door to your apartment. You feel your heartbeat in your ears and in your core, pulsing. Arousal pools in your underwear at the mere thought of him—how did you expect to function?—and you pinch your thighs together.

You still couldn’t believe he had agreed. And Kiba couldn’t either, even as he meandered his way to your door, his eyes steadfast in the direction of your apartment building. What made either of you think this was a good idea? Was his practice paying off? Did he want it to? He had finally, finally been offered the invitation, the “come over” call that he dreamed of. He had hoped, however, that the circumstances would be different, that it would be for him.

Two heavy knocks on the door alert you to his presence, though somehow you’re sure you catch the scent of his body wash before his knuckles meet the wood. You pull the door open. Musk, earth, hazelnut, bergamot. Messy kitchens, ugly, delicious cookies, using his shower and wearing his clothes. 

He’s bathed as well, his hair still slightly damp as it hangs above his shoulders. A wide grin flashes over his face, his eyes disappearing into the image, his teeth catching the overhead light. Your face fills with a weighty heat, and your abdomen flutters at the sight of his broad shoulders and his toned arms under the fabric of his shirt. 

He’s opted for his usual lounge attire: a t-shirt, joggers, and sneakers. In his hands are takeout—he’s always eating—and drinks for you to share. You felt underdressed somehow in your own home, donning a thin-fabriced, comfortable yet cute t-shirt and shorts combination���something you’d worn around him countless times. Yet, he’d shown up like this countless times, food and a smile in tow, and he somehow seems more prepared than you’d ever seen him. The way he’s standing tall, his chest open to you… had he prepared?

Despite the vanilla-scented body-wash and the floral candle, the moment the door opens, revealing you in your post-shower, pre-coitus flush, he takes in the intoxicating scent of your arousal, of your skin, of you, and he presses his intent further into his smile. Not here, not now, not just past the threshold.

“Brought food. I doubt you ate.” 

This motherfu—

“Thanks. I… actually haven’t eaten, now that I think about it.”

The tension is palpable. He’s trying a little too hard not to look at you, to not brush by you and linger. Though, he doesn’t understand why. You’d asked him to come over and help you, to quell the curiosity of experience, to be good for Jun. 

The swelling of a violent storm.

You step aside and allow him in, and he does what he always does: makes himself at home, rummages through your cabinets for plates, a fork, two cups. You watch his hands maneuver whatever he’s holding, the muscles in his forearms. He keeps his nose buried in the food, trying to find something, anything to focus on other than you, in all of your totality. 

Kiba jokes with you, carries on conversation while he divides out the food, move to the couch, sit just far enough to not touch, yet close enough to still feel each other’s body warmth. He’s talking and talking, rambling about the day you had already heard about, about a new bug Shino had shown him, about the hot springs he wants to go to in the town over. Maybe, just maybe, he’s nervous, too. 

He jokes with you, as if he’s not already imagining your velvety throat wrapped around his aching girth, your face contorted in pleasure as he laps his tongue over your sensitive clit, his name tumbling out of your mouth, hitched and squeaked: “Kiba, Kiba—!”

“Ki-ba~!” You wave a hand over his glazed-over eyes as you call his name, sing-song and light, an attempt to bring him back from wherever he disappeared to as he’s stuck, freeze-frame, a cup halfway lifted to his mouth. You lean against the back of the couch toward him, only slightly, with an eyebrow cocked and a grin peeling back the corners of our mouth. “Where did you go, bud?”

There’s a split second, less than a blink of an eye where his hand is holding his drink; the next, it’s wrapped around your wrist, the cup on the table. How did he…?

His grip is tight, steadying, but then it eases by a fraction, and he finds himself studying the palm of your hand, imagining it wrapped around his throbbing, swollen girth, before his eyes flick up to yours, his jaw clenched, tight, teeth grinding as the wheels he’d frozen over long ago begin to turn, churning, yearning— 

“Why did you ask me to do this?” His voice is low, hoarse, carried by a held breath, a tight chest. 

There’s an underlying shift happening, and you can feel it in the soles of your feet, the palms of your hands. He somehow seems larger, taller, more devious. A full moon, an autumn night, finding out the ride the full moon sent him on before he disappears, unable to show you the animal that wanted to come out and ravage you, the side of Kiba he saves for the girls he will never see again because he can’t ruin you, you’re his best friend, his confidant.

Ba-dum.

He’s close, so close to you that you can see the pulse of his heartbeat in his neck. So close that the burning heat radiating off of him causes your own skin to surge, your heart to lurch, the damned fluttering in your abdomen. His eyes are zeroed in on you, black irises inflamed with dilated pupils. Hungry, restrained. Electricity ignites within your veins under his touch. He’s touched you, many times. A hug, a helping hand, a comforting shoulder. Why does this feel different?

“Because I trust you.”

Ba-dum.

His heart swells, clawing at his ribcage, screaming to be set free. You trust him. With your secrets, with your life, with your body. His gaze flicks on your lips, only for a moment, before his devilish eyes find yours once more. 

Ba-dum.

“Have you ever even touched a cock before?” He murmurs, his tone taking on something silken and starved. He pivots his body to turn, his eyebrow cocked, a whisper of a coy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and he closes the space between you, the space that’s always between you. 

You blink as a prickling heat travels up your spine, his question as well as his shift in energy catching you off-guard. Kiba’s never spoken to you, let alone around you this way, even when joking. Though he told you whenever he brought a girl home, or made out with another, you’re sure the gruesome details of his sexual escapades were dumped on Shino, or maybe even Naruto, if anyone. But you’re familiar with the wild look in Kiba’s eyes, the way he’s looking at you: a predator searching for his prey. The other side of Kiba.

“You’d know if I—” You start, but your words catch in your throat as you attempt to let them spill all over your kitchen counter. Even if it had happened, would you tell him? Would it have been in confidence, to share a story time, or would it have been to get even a chance to see a flicker of jealousy, of rage, of something? “No, I haven’t. N-not, ya know… skin to skin, anyway.”

The sting of embarrassment bubbles in our throat, your voice smaller than you wanted it, and whispers nothing good into your ears, but you maintain your eye contact. You made the first pitch, and now it’s game time. 

“And you’re sure you want me to be the first?” He asks before he brings your palm to lips and presses a wet yet tender kiss to it. The notion surprises him, that he allowed himself more than anything, but he knows what it’s doing to you—he can smell it. “I do also have your first kiss, so I’d be two-for-two, bud.” 

The feeling of his mouth on you sends coursing fire to your cunt, and you can almost, almost feel his lips against your now-soaked folds. And he’s patronizing you, a playful lilt clinging to the nickname, but you don’t hate it. It’s Kiba, in totality. Him making sure, despite his coy grin and thirsty eyes, only makes you want him more.

“I don’t know if that really counts…” You mutter. It does count, and it’s always counted, but he doesn’t need to know that. A stupid game of truth or dare one adolescent summer, the summer you knew you’d never rid your thoughts of Kiba. A summer initiating the biggest game of make-believe.

“How rude.” He smiles against your hand, and his hot breath and pointed canines brush against your palm. He shrugs, his grip falling from your arm, and then he exhales a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll have to make up for it, then. Can’t have meaningless kisses out there.”

Ba-dum.

Lighting cracks inside of you as his large hands splay across your hips and pull you into his lap. Your hands scramble, only for a moment, before one lands on the back of the couch, and the other finds purchase on his shoulder.

The battle within him is raging, a savage and destructive thing. He wants to take you, now, now, but he can’t, he won’t. You’re not the girls he’s given meaningless kisses to. You’re his best friend, and he’s waited this long. 

He can wait just a little bit longer.

Ba-dum.

Draping your thighs around his hips, he looks up at you with earnest eyes, a moment of hesitation between you two as he waits for a no, a wait, a maybe we shouldn’t. The pulsing heat of his cock strains against his joggers, pressed firmly against your core as he holds you against him. Though muffled by the thick denim, you feel the aching throb beneath you, the pulsing twitch, the size. 

Ba-dum.

When the blockade doesn’t come, and you meet his gaze with an equally intrigued look, his grip on your shirt tightens. He cranes his neck up, and he whispers against your lips, “I have a rule.”

Your heart stutters at the husk in his voice, the low demand for attention. “Okay…”

“If you have questions, ask. And—eh, I guess two rules.” Kiba murmurs against your lips, his face flushed in the dim lighting. “If you want something, tell me.”

Your ears burn, the flush causing your skin to prickle. Your hair hangs at the side of your face, closing you and Kiba into a world of your own, the world you both have always played in. Just the two of you. 

“Okay.” You nod, your body ignited in a burning flame. “I will.”

Kiba’s lips collide with yours, rough and excited, then soften, pull back, relax, as his hands tangle the fabric of your shirt in their grasp, and his hips tilt up into yours. A slight movement, one he barely notices himself, but the weight of you on him alone sends a shiver through his body. Another subconscious jerk of his pelvis, reacting to the warmth, the weight, you you you. 

The air in your lungs vanishes as his lips bring a reprieve, a cold drink on a hot summer day, lifting the lid before it all boils over, and your grip on his shoulder tightens. Head spinning, a drunken buzz just from his kiss. There’s a small moment that wonders if this is actually a fantasy, something you’ve conjured up in your head, a fever dream. 

Your own hips move as you run your tongue along his bottom lip, adding intent as you roll against him, slow, methodical, feeling his entirety through the mere layers of fabric separating the two of you. Always something in the way.

A heavy breath against your lips, he opens his mouth and allows the dance to commence, a slow dance that soon turns into a tango, fervent, impassioned, both of your bodies submitting to what they’ve desired. He tastes of takeout and impulse decisions, sunburnt cheeks, swollen lips, a stupid crush that isn’t a crush but a fact of life. Your hold on the couch releases, and your fingers tangle in his head of dark, thick hair. A grounding grip, a slight tautness against the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck…” He huffs before he nips at your bottom lip, his fingers dip underneath your shirt, grazing the flesh of your hips. He takes handfuls of your hips and brings you down against him further, closer, closing more of the space, more of that damned thing always in the fucking way. His lips trail from yours to your neck, the space below your ear, and he runs a flattened tongue along your skin, tasting it, breathing you in before sloppy kisses decorate your neck.

Your eyes fall hooded, and a light pant tumbles out of you at the contact. He sucks at a particular spot, bringing blood to the surface, his canines barred against your flesh.

“Kiba!” You gasp, the hint of a nervousness in your tone, and you detach yourself, only slightly, slightly. “You can’t leave any marks.”

“Sorry, sorry!” He chuckles, and then it hits him, crashes into him that you’re there, he’s here, and he’s supposed to be teaching you and yet, yet, he’s caught in the tidal wave of learning you. His cheeks and ears tinge with a beet red glaze, and he swallows thickly as he stares up at you. “I’ll try to remember.”

“But I want you to.” is what you want to say, but you don’t. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure with another light laugh. “I’ll be sure to remind you.”

“I’m happy you did. Don’t ever feel like you can’t speak up with someone, especially if you’re, ya know… If a guy doesn’t listen to you, he—wait, what are you—” 

He had started to ramble, stumbling in the moment of stillness. You, however, found the moment to be just when the courage hit to reach a delicate hand down and trace the edge of his joggers. 

“I want to see it.” Your eyes flick to his lap, to the strained outline of his still throbbing, stiff cock before finding his gaze again. 

Stunned, he stares up at you with wide eyes. Your words echo in his head, over and over, his ears ringing at the sound of your inquiry. When the blockade, the no, the maybe we shouldn't, doesn't come, you peel yourself away from him and lower yourself between his spread knees. 

The swelling storm brews inside of him, the savage and violent force of nature. Wait, wait, relax. 

“Thank you for telling me.” His eyes don’t leave you as you swallow another weighty lump in your throat, and you pull at the combined bands of his joggers and underwear. He lifts himself up, just enough to help slide the two layers of fabric off of him, watching your reaction.

When his erect member springs up at the sudden relief and twitches, your eyes widen. It’s nothing like the ones you had seen on a screen, but it's like the ones people write about. Thick is an understatement, and two prominent veins run along his length. A pink head, the color of his lips, donned with a dribble of clear slick and wrapped in taut skin. The image of his aching cock sends heat pooling at your core, and you shift in your spot—though it only makes things worse, and your heartbeat thrums in your clit.

He sucks in a breath at your innocent gape, the sight causing his mind to go to dark places where you’re screaming his name, head buried against the mattress, it’s too deep, I’m gonna break, his hand tangled in your mess of hair.

You glance up at him in his flustered state, before you turn your eyes downward and wrap a unsure but willing hand around the base. His hips jerk into your touch, and one of his hands finds purchase on the couch cushion, his knuckles whitening as he keeps himself grounded by his grip. His mind is reeling, a flipbook of the thousand positions he’d kill to see you in, put you in.

“Shit…” He spits through clenched teeth. 

“Did I—” You freeze.

“N-no, you’re fine, you can—” He starts, but your slow, fisted movement up and then down his shaft cuts him off. “Yeah, like that…”

“That’s okay?” You ask as you slowly pump your hand around him, your eyes flicking between his length in your hand and his eyes on you. 

“Y-Yeah.” Kiba nods, saliva pooling in his mouth as he watches you, dinner and dessert in front of him on a silver platter. He clears his throat, the anticipation making him fidgety. The longer he had to wait, the more the pulsing desperation in his length called to him, begging him for release. 

He has to wait a little bit longer. 

You nod, and then you sit up on your knees and tighten your grip, just slightly, and increase your pace. His eyebrows pull together as he continues to observe, a face of pleasure, and you feel another wave of heat rush under your skin. Your hand reaches the tip, and the precum allows the smallest bit of lubrication as you twist your hand, up and down. 

“You’re doing a good job,” he groans, his voice deeper than before, hoarse, restrained. Hearing him like this, praising you, you’re sure you’ll go insane by the end of the night—if you weren’t already.  “You can use your mouth, too.”

“I know!” You quip, embarrassment tingling your cheeks. “I was getting there. Though I don’t know if it’ll fit…” The last bit is more for yourself than anything, said under your breath, but he hears you, and he can’t help but imagine you choking on his fat cock, tears streaming down your face. 

Ba-dum.

You lean forward, your eyes crossing as you near your target, and your hand settles at the base. You can do this, you tell yourself, before an unsure yet more than willing tongue licks at his cockhead. He tastes of salt and velvet, and your waiting eyes flick up at him. 

“Like that,” he purrs, his deep eyes, dark and yet darkening, narrowed on you by the time you’re looking at him. So intent on watching you, committing the scene to memory.

The encouragement leads you to flatten your tongue and run it along the length of one of the veins. His girth twitches in reaction, accompanied by a breathy curse and a jerk upwards of his hips, though this time intentional.

“Around the tip,” he instructs, his voice trapped somewhere between a groan and a whine. It’s the best he can do to keep himself from fucking into your throat. 

You do as he says, swirling your hot tongue around the pink head, collecting his slick in your mouth and finding yourself relishing in the taste. 

“Good girl. You’re doing so good.” He pants as his hand, purposefully slow, pushes your hair out of your face and collects it into a loose bunch at the back of your head. His head feels light, like if he doesn’t hold onto you someway, somehow, he’s going to float away. 

The two syllables bring your thighs together, a thrum of pressure building in your cunt. You’re soaked already, you can feel it gathering in your underwear, but something about his tone, his dilated eyes downcast, his heedless praise that urges you further, to slowly and messily run glaze his skin with your tongue, circling, up, down. You wanted to hear it more, hear his sounds of pleasure, hear his words of adoration. For him to touch you, everywhere.

And he knows. He senses the shift in your energy, the way you tense up when he encourages you, and he smells it, the collection of wetness just one, two layers away. His grip on your hair tightens, tension gathered at the nape of your neck.  

You swirl your tongue once, twice, three times around the tip before you wrap your pretty lips around his cock, sucking at it.

A popsicle, a strawberry at lunchtime, brewing electricity.

“Oh, fuck—” Kiba growls, and his hips buck into the warmth of your mouth as you bob your head, taking small, increasing portions of him each time, little moans vibrating his skin. “Shit, yes, like that. So fucking good.”

A slippery tongue, fingers tangling in hair, flashing lightning.

“Such a good girl. Move your hand while you—yes.” He pants as he watches his cock disappear into your throat, your hand pumping whatever you don’t take in your mouth. 

Two gazes met. 

Ba-dum. 

The crackling roll of thunder.

Within a moment, he scoops you up with a huff of impatience—so fucking fast, how does he do that—and you let out a yelp of surprise.

“Kiba!” You squirm as you’re placed over his shoulder and carried into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t answer you verbally; instead, he shrugs you onto the bed, and you land on your back. His erect member is still out, fully exposed, but he doesn't pay any mind to it as he takes fistfuls of your shorts and tugs them off, unwrapping you, a little present, just for him. 

“Kiba, what are you—” You start, but your words tangle in your throat when he rids you of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. Unwrapped, a present, just for him. 

“Oh!” You exclaim when he hooks his arms under your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the bed. 

He falls to his knees, his intense eyes falling to your glistening folds. You smell even sweeter this way, and his head buzzes, dizzied, intoxicated as he drinks you in. His composure is slipping, and he wastes no time lapping his tongue along your slit, from entrance to clit. 

“Oh…!” You purr, and then you muffle yourself with your hand as schlurp sound comes from him kissing your cunt, sloppy and hasty. His tongue is rough against your sensitive skin, and when it catches your swollen bud, your hips jerk under him, moaning against your palm. 

“No,” he huffs against you in that hoarse, demanding voice. He laps his tongue along your entirety, and then he suckles at your throbbing clit, his eyes watching, always watching. “I wanna hear you.”

“But what if—ahh, fuck—!” You tremble under his touch, your voice hushed, and you grip the blanket. You, too, feel the weightlessness, the risk of drifting away if you don’t. Your face contorts into bliss as your back arches, pushing yourself against his mouth. It’s like you’re vibrating, hanging in a space between fantasy and reality. This isn’t real, it can’t be, his mouth can’t feel that good, not Kiba’s mouth, not—

His nails press into your skin as he holds on to you, pulling you closer, closer to him as he eats you, his fervent and messy movements building a tension in your abdomen more intense than anything you’ve accomplished by yourself. His tongue teases your entrance, your nectar driving him further. He delves it into you, holding you against him as he fucks his appendage into your sopping cunt.

“Kiba—” You moan into the air, your other hand finally finding purchase on his arm, clinging to him. 

His name tumbles from your lips, and for a moment, he swears the world goes silent, a deafening ringing filling his ears as you call out. He feels you tightening around him, a bewildered aura taking him over. He’s now desperate for your release, to feel you squirm and writhe underneath him, to keep calling his name. He trails his tongue back to your clit, flicking, circling as a slender finger finds your entrance. It slips inside, your arousal coating his skin, and it pumps in and out of you, restrained, slow.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, your eyes widening as he adds another finger, his digits curling inside of you. “Oh, that feels so good, fuck.”

“Mmmhh.” He watches you arch off the bed, his nose pressed to your mound, his tongue making quick and heavy work of your pulsing clit, stretching you as he adds another finger, slow, waiting for the blockade, the maybe we shouldn’t.

His pulsing length twitches, a violent motion that calls his attention, but he forces it out of his mind. This is about you, about stretching you and pushing you over the edge, your sweet release. The tightness of your walls tells him it's soon, your body tense. 

Instead, his pumping of his slender digits is met with another cry of his name. Three fingers stuffed, his fingertips massaging the sweet spot inside of you. The burn of the stretch pulls your eyebrows together, and yet you roll your hips against him, wanting the friction, craving the release, another explosion of deafening thunder, the swelling thunderstorm that is Kiba.

“Ki-Kiba, I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence. It hits you, almost out of nowhere. You’re unraveling, your legs shaking, your skin on fire and the swelling storm raging, ravaging your entire body as it caves in. Your juices pour out of you, trickling down his chin, and he drinks you up with another loud schlurp.

“Fuck.” He groans against you, and his lips envelop your clit as he pumps his fingers into back you, his tongue resuming its assault. His fingers move in you with a faster pace, a hardened pressure against the spongy flesh inside of you. “I need you to cum again. To be ready for my cock.”

“Oh, shit!” You sob. “Right there, right there, right there—”

You’re so sensitive, so intoxicated by the way he handles you, the way he looks at you, the way even he smells, tastes, feels. 

“That’s it.” He eggs you on, the itch to palm himself, to rut into you, to lose it just out of reach. 

You claw at his arm, at the sheets, at anything you can. You’re going to explode, his slippery tongue and fervent fingers bringing you again, closer to ecstasy. 

“Cum for me,” he demands, and as if you’d been born to listen, you do on his gruff command, crying out curses as a mind-stopping orgasm bursts through you. You see stars, the entire night sky on your bedroom ceiling. 

“Good girl.” He swipes his tongue along your clit before he removes his fingers from you, slow, gentle, and he sucks his fingers clean of your slick, his girth throbbing harder, harder at your taste. Honey glaze, a spark of lightning, crashing branches in the wind. 

He steps out of his joggers and tugs off his shirt, his shoes having been left at the door long ago, his blood coursing through his veins, liquid metal, at the sight of your shivering, half naked body beneath him. With another fast motion, he’s hovering over you, his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you back further onto the bed, your head hitting pillows this time. His hands graze from your thighs and up your shirt, his palms brushing the hardened peaks of your nipples before he lifts your shirt off of you. And then he stares down at you, starved yet adoring eyes. Skinny dipping, a lakeside fire, burnt marshmallows.

You meet his gaze as your chest heaves, coming down slowly from your high, studying the angle of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, the dim light highlighting the flesh that you never dared to touch, to learn—until now. You place your hands on his arms, feeling the ripple of muscle as you feel his shoulders, his chest.

A moment, suspended in time between the both of you. Your heavy breathing fills the otherwise quiet room and the low, rhythmic hum of cicadas just outside your window. Your heart is a drum inside of your chest, beating, beating, bursting as he looks down at you, and your heart skips as you feel his cockhead tease your entrance, rubbing against your slick folds and causing a hitched gasp to fall when it grazes over your sensitive clit. 

“Are you ready for me?” Kiba inquires in a husky voice, gravely and controlled. 

Ba-dum.

“Yes,” you whisper in return, your hands settling on his biceps as you keep your eyes on his. 

“Okay,” he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat, and he presses himself into you, slow, achingly slow.

Ba-dum.

Another gasp wracks your chest, and your eyes widen again as you watch his face scrunch in concentration. And then he whines, a short and quiet sound that makes your ears ring. He wants to jerk into you, bottom out, and the self-restraint is slipping out of his grasp like grains of sand. 

Ba-dum.

“Relax for me,” he urges you through clenched teeth as your walls remain tight around him. 

“S-Sorry. Oh, fuck, Kiba. I-it’s huge.” You stammer as you glance down at his girth disappearing into you, stretching you past anything your fingers, even his, could offer. You feel every inch of him as he spreads you, opening his present, celebrating his own holiday.

“I know, I’m sorry. You’re taking me so well.” He pants, working hard not to split you in two.

Ba-dum.

The pinch of his stretching you is different, much different than his fingers. He pulls himself back before pushing into you again, your slick aiding in his movements. It’s nothing like how you imagined, the awful and bloodied thing that’s rumored to be losing your virginity, but as he loads himself fully into you, pushing past the subtle barrier within, your body tenses up again, and a tinge of pain replaces the pleasure. 

“S-sorry, sorry.” He stumbles over his words. For years, he’s wondered what his girth would look like with you donning it, and now it’s here, right here. And it’s beautiful, heavenly. He doesn’t have the words to describe the way you look wrapped around him—the way you look in general, let alone eyebrows upturned, sweat collecting along your hairline, a heaving chest—but worth every fucking minute of waiting.

“Just—gimme a sec, okay?”

Ba-dum.

“Yeah, yes, sure.”

You take in deep breaths, wetness pooling at your entrance, and you ease the tension in your muscles, allowing yourself to acclimate. Relax, relax, but fuck you’re at capacity, at your wits end, wanting to unravel all over again—and he’s barely even moved.

“Okay… we’re good.”

“You sure?”

Ba-dum.

“Yes.” You answer, a strong syllable on your tongue. You’ve never been so sure in your life.

Ba-dum.

And he hears the certainty, feels it reverberate through his bones. He pulls himself back, then into you again, another restrained roll of his hips. You can tell he’s holding back with the way his face is pulled together, with the vein in his neck jutted out. 

“Shit.” Kiba mutters, one hand finding purchase on your hip while the other supports him on the bed. 

“Fuck, Kiba…” You sigh, your body slowly making room for him. 

“My name sounds nice when you moan it,” he purrs, leaning down, his skin desperate for contact with yours. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you whisper, a near-plea, your nails digging into his skin as your eyes fall half-hooded. And then he hits that spot, the spot, deep within you, and your back lifts off the bed, pressing your chest to his, another moaned swear falling out of you.

“Why?” He grins, a coy look that almost makes his depraved gaze seem sweet. “It’s true.”

“Idiot…” You respond, your voice hitched. 

“Hm?” He cocks his head to the side, a wild look filling his features. He jerks his hips, once, hard, bucking into you before returning to his agonizingly slow pace. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck!” You cry out, dragging your nails along his skin. It hurts, his abrasiveness, but it hurts in a way you don’t hate, that you almost want again. “Fucking asshole.”

“Asshole?” He chuckles, a guttural sound that isn’t impressed. He ruts into you again, wanting to hear that squeaky little voice, that pitched moan that he’s creating. “Baby girl, that’s not you really mean, is it?”

“Goddamn it, fuck, Kiba!” Your voice carries through the room, sending a prickling heat up his spine at the sound. You’re full, so full, and his resolve is slipping, slipping, gone altogether when you sob out his name again. 

“Look at you, taking all of me,” he praises, and he glances down at his work before a growled moan leaves his own lips. “Fuck, you’re doing so good.”

Pleasured tears burn your eyes, and you look up at him before reaching up, without thinking, and tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him fully against you. Another sound of pleasure vibrates his chest, muffled as he presses his lips to yours, another messy, impassioned, needy dance. 

Another whine escapes him as the restraint fades away into nothing. Your hips open for him, your legs wrapping around his waist as his movements become heavier, more momentum behind them. He envelops you with his arms, one hooked on your shoulder and the other holding your hip. You’re so close, so close; there is no longer anything in the fucking way.

“The way a man feels about you is crystal clear when you bed ‘im.” Ino’s words weigh on your mind, and you wonder if friends are supposed to cling to each other like this.

Of course they don’t, but you don’t allow the thought to cross your mind. Not here, not now. 

“Kiba, Kiba—” You pant against his lips between struggling breaths and fervent kisses. 

“You’re fucking heaven,” he huffs in return. He moves again, peeling away from you only to push your legs to your chest before leaning down again.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking deep.”

“That’s it,” he coos, his balls slapping against you as he fucks into you, his mercy and patience wearing thin. “Take it all. Good girl.”

The earth-splitting strike of lightning, the house-shaking rumble of thunder.

You’re spinning, free-falling as his length is buried inside of you, his cockhead brushing against your cervix. It’s deep, too deep, not deep enough. Your nails rake across his shoulder blades. His lips find the curve of your neck, and he sucks at the skin, biting down, keeping you in place. 

“Shit, shit—” The bubbling of heat collects in your abdomen, and you grip his hair once more, tight, a grounding grip.

He growls against your flesh as he brings the blood to the surface, but this time he doesn’t stop. He’s marking you, his, his, his. 

“Kiba!” You call out, your voice echoing, laced with a warning and pure nirvana.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, licking the skin, before landing on another spot on the other side and repeating himself. “I can’t fucking help it. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t mean it, and you can tell. The unfortunate part is: neither do you.

He mutters another half-apology as his thrusts become relentless, fucking into you as he did with the girls he gave meaningless kisses to. But you’re not them, you’re you, it’s not meaningless, it never will be.

You sob his name as you cling to him, the wet sounds accompanying the slap of skin. You’re floating away, gone, a fever dream within a fever dream, trembling legs hugging his waist.

“G-Gonna—” 

“Fuck, yes, cum for me. Cum all over this fucking cock.”

And you do, hard. A violent, shattering burst of heat and your essence that sends you into orbit, lightheaded, tears of bliss rolling down your cheeks. Your walls clench around him, milking him for everything he has.

He thrusts into you, enough force behind them to rock the bed, to scoot you further into the pillows as his own climax swells. He bottoms out once, twice, each jerk making you cry out before he pulls away from you, a hasty and frantic movement, steadying his member in his hand as ropes of white hot cum land across your stomach in spurts.

You pant for air, chest heaving, your head still reeling by the time he’s wiped you clean of his essence, your body twitching as it works to come down from its nirvana. You hear him in the kitchen before he emerges at the bedside, a glass of water handed to you as he sits next to you. 

“Here.” He says gently, his tone now opposite of what it was mere moments ago.

“Thanks.” You sigh, and you sit yourself up, slowly, before taking the glass. After a few sips, you hand it back to him, and he follows your lead, one, two gulps of ice-cold heaven in a glass. Water has never tasted so sweet before.

“You okay?” He asks, looking over your sprawled-out body, a whisper of a laugh in his voice.

“Yeah…” you nod, though you can already tell you’ll be sore, so fucking sore tomorrow. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Never better.” He grins, and then his eyes widen as he catches his practice, his art of suppressing his feelings for you also slipping from his grasp. He clears his throat and looks down at the drink in his hand. You can tell the wheels in his mind are turning, grinding, but you don’t ask.

You don’t have to. That’s what friends are for.

#my writing #kiba inuzuka #kiba inuzuka x reader #x reader fic #kiba smut #kiba inuzuka smut #kiba fanfic #goddamn why cant i write a DRABBLE #inuzuka kiba #inuzuka kiba x reader

[freeuselandonorris]

Top 5 horny LandOscar moments or Alternatively top 5 Heart Eyes LandOscar moments 🥵🥰

anon!! sorry it’s taken me ages to get to this but it took me FOREVER to edit this list down to just five 😭

1. obviously finish the lyrics has to be top. i’ve watched it so many times and yet i’m still bewildered every time i watch again because it’s somehow always more like a romcom than i remembered. oscar’s reaction to lando is just So Much all the way through???

2. “you’ve grown!” makes me laugh every time i watch it because lando is so incredibly unsubtle holy shit. the first (?) of many Ooh I’m So Tiny Look At Big Strong You moments from lando. lovely stuff.

3. when oscar took a break from having a meltdown over card tricks so they could stare at each other like this. madness. especially when he followed it with that knowing, pleased-with-himself little desk tap and “concentrate, mate”. so much of their dynamic is lando being pleased that his lunatic flirting is having the desired effect, it’s appalling.

4. “look at YOU!” ah the infamous BTS video!! obviously lando’s borderline-pornographic table edge stimming was a LOT, but actually my favourite bit of this is just how familiar and fond they are with each other and in particular how much they mirror each other’s vocal cadences?? like, oscar says “little smoothie, man” in the exact same cadence as lando says “sipping on” before hand, and then lando repeats it back to him. and then the mouthed “fun!”/“this is what we LIVE for” that is obviously a practised routine/in-joke…gah! they’re so soft!

5. this tiny little moment, which i adore so much i wrote it into monday. lando looks SO genuinely pleased to be name-checked?? and that little heart gesture, like idk if it’s a Thing (it feels like it could be a tiktok thing? idk my fyp is just lando thirst edits and people reorganising their fridges) but it’s just so endearing coupled with the delighted smile/wiggle combo when he gets a compliment from oscar. AWFUL!!

honorary mentions: when lando rubbed the cards in oscar’s face, oscar patiently explaining how to pronounce chrysanthemum, when lando said he’d do onlyfans and oscar corpsed and then shook his head at lando in apparent disbelief, all of red flag green flag, the silverstone fanzone…oh god there’s loads more i must stop.

#mctwinks #ln4 #op81 #answered

[intheticklecloset]

You should have gotten the dollar and if it’s not too much trouble could I get a Drabble for Bungou Stray Dogs Chuuya and Dazai tickling Atsushi

Thank you again so much for your help! I hope you enjoy this little drabble! It was a fun opportunity to write Chuuya tickling Atsushi! (And Dazai, of course. ^^)

~~~

“Chuuya, hold him still!” Dazai whined as he grappled with a squirming Atsushi, trying to roll him onto his back so he could tickle his tummy.

Chuuya cursed, reaching for Atsushi’s arms again, thwarted again when the weretiger quickly drew them away. “I’m trying!”

“Use your freaky gravity power to hold him still.”

“I can’t! You’re using your ability to stop him, and when I touch him you cancel mine, too! Idiot!”

Atsushi – for his part – continued to curl up on his side and protect both his tummy and his arms by forming a little ball on the floor, giggling from the silliness and impending tickle attack. “Guys, plehehehease! Wait!”

Dazai hummed. “Wait for what, Atsushi? Why should we wait when we can tickle you now?”

Chuuya made another grab for his arms and was once again denied. “You little—!” He snapped his eyes up to Dazai. “The kid’s got more ticklish spots than that! Just tickle him somewhere! He’ll have to unfurl eventually.”

“Nohohohoho!” Atsushi protested.

Dazai considered a moment, then squeezed his kneecap, nearly getting a foot to the face for his trouble. Despite his lower body reacting on instinct, Atsushi’s upper body remained tightly curled up and inaccessible.

“Must I do everything myself?” Chuuya muttered, reaching down to dig his fingers into Atsushi’s side, a satisfied smirk gracing his features when the weretiger shot one arm out to stop him. He grabbed his wrist and pulled it above his head before he could take it back, leaving one side entirely open. “There, Dazai!”

Dazai’s eyes lit up like a holiday tree as he wormed his fingers along Atushi’s side, gradually making his way to his tummy, at which point Atsushi’s giggles rose in pitch and he rolled onto his back. “Nohohohohohoho, wahahahahahait!”

Chuuya snatched up his other arm and sat on them both to keep him open and vulnerable, then scribbled his fingers into his armpits at the same time that Dazai went to town on his open belly.

Atsushi screeched with laughter, heels digging into the floor as he squirmed and bucked, a happy smile and pink blush showing off how much fun he was having despite his predicament. “Ahahahahaha plehehehehease, you guhuhuhuhuys! Nohohohohoho! Dohohohohon’t tihihihihickle me!”

“Whyever not?” Dazai mused, his voice in that teasing, lilting cadence that always drove Chuuya up the wall when he was the one in the weretiger’s position. The redhead shivered at the thought but kept up his own tickling, pointedly ignoring the playful wink his partner sent his way.

“It tihihihihihihihihickles!” Atsushi whined, laughter turning more frantic when Dazai finally dug a finger into his belly button. “Ehehehehehehe plehehehehehehehease!”

“I don’t know, Chuuya,” Dazai hummed, “do you think we should let him go?”

“After that little quip about ‘getting a room’ when he’s the one who walked in on us uninvited?” Chuuya snorted, leaning further forward to massage the tops of his ribs. “Not a chance.”

Atsushi whined through his laughter, babbling out apologies and pleas, but it was useless. When Dazai and Chuuya were on the warpath together, nothing could stop them. He’d just have to hope he could hold out long enough for them to feel satisfied in their thirst for vengeance…

#fanfiction #tickle drabble #coffee shots #bungo stray dogs #bsd #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #playful #fun #tickling #ticklish #tickle #ler!chuuya lee!atsushi is a combo i wanna write more of now that i've done it once #so fun #also my experiment worked thanks to help from this lovely user so #more info to come on that soon!

[sp00kymulderr]

Pairing: Ezra x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, slightly sub!Ezra, slightly soft dom!reader, begging, kissing, one swear, implications of sex but no actual sex, reader has a nickname (stardust) but no gendered language

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Ezra promises to give you everything. He begs for it.

A/N: This is technically a rework of an old deleted one. Comments and reblogs forever appreciated! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Credit to gif maker and banner maker.

“Please”

It’s a quiet gasp so unlike Ezra’s usual cadence. His voice low and his eyes darkened with desire as he kneels before you in sweet supplication.

Your starlit man is a vision; already begging for you, working himself to desperation. Worked up all because of you and your lips. Your touch. Your devious delight in toying with him.

To see him like this - so completely at your mercy - invokes some unseen power deep within you and sparks your lust until your whole body is humming with the electricity of it.

“Ask me again” you smirk as you look down upon him, letting that feeling fill you.

Ezra regards you in sudden consternation, but answers you quickly.

“Please, stardust” he starts with that beautiful voice, “Let me touch you. Let me worship at your altar. I can be your servant, and I’ll make Kevva herself jealous of you”

He looks up at you, brown eyes wide, and reaches out for you. He is a man dying of thirst. You are his saviour, but a look from you and he stops halfway. He licks his lips, his cheeks are flushed. He is gorgeous. And oh he’s good at this. How swiftly he becomes desperately pliant to you.

If you didn’t know each other inside out perhaps you would’ve laughed at his dramatic disposition. But you know he means every single word.

And Kevva knows that if you give him the chance, he’s going show you just how much he means them.

***

It had started with nothing more than an innocent kiss. As many things with Ezra started. A tender moment of quiet between the two of you as you had the sudden and simple urge to pull him to you and press your lips to his.

That’s all it was, a kiss.

But of course with Ezra a kiss is never simply a kiss. It becomes more, it means more. It means every word and need flowing through his mind. It means every small thought he has ever had of you. It can be sweet, it can be loving. Or it can drag you down in to a pit of intoxicating passion.

He had certainly dragged you down. He had grasped at you, feeling your touch so warm almost where he wanted you. Needed you.

“Don’t stop. Never” He had muttered with hot breath against your skin.

And you had had no intention of stopping...until he moaned out the most desirous, needy “Please” against your mouth. Please like he had only one hope in the world and it was you.

The word reverberated through you and set this new part of you alight. Something unexpected, sudden and strong.

You pulled away.

That please! The word was aching and hungry and as if you were an addict to it you wanted nothing more than to hear it over and over, to drag it from him a thousand times.

You had watched Ezra’s face fall in sudden confusion as you untangled yourself from his embrace. The man was left sitting on the bed slack jawed and dizzy from the swiftness of your change in temperament.

You let out a breath. He breathed it in.

“Again. Say it again” you demanded, keeping your voice steady as possible.

Your body had tingled as his eyes widened the moment he understood your intentions.

And then...such a good man to play his part so dutifully he slowly fell to his knees on the hard floor, while red hot excitement burned in you.

“Again”

***

“It’s not enough. Again” you tell him now, teasing and toying with him. You smile as he grinds his jaw in frustration, while you stand before him with fingers softly playing in his hair.

“Oh, you’re cruel” he practically whines, raising his eyebrows in surprise. But he’s never been one to turn away from a challenge. Definitely not one like this, one the glint in his eye tells you he enjoys so much.

“Stardust, let me kiss your perfect lips again...Let me feel you. I swear to make every single second worth your while. I will make you feel things you’ve never felt before” he rasps out impassioned. He’s straining, a sheen of perspiration covering him from how frantic he’s getting. You feel your fervor building with a growing warmth inside you as he continues, and you can tell from his obvious arousal he’s enjoying this as much.

You pull on his hair gently. Just enough to elicit a gasp from him. As you gaze upon him you spend a wicked moment contemplating some torture – the though of making him watch you touch yourself. The idea of his hands tied as you bring yourself off in front of him not allowing him to touch you at all. The ultimate torture for Ezra; a man who would rather forgo pleasuring himself for several cycles than spend one day not being allowed to touch you. It’s a tempting thought and you ponder on it for a moment more with a devious smile.

As if he can read your mind Ezra let’s out a helpless whimper before starting again.

“Every day...fuck…every day I ache for you. I live and breath for the softest graze of your skin on mine. I crave you...I’d be a damned, starved man without you. Let me show you” he leans forward, just a bit, “I’ll make time stand still, if you let me have even one single touch”

His pleading, his yearning, it’s enough to set the world on fire. The way he delivers it makes you quiver with desire. You can feel your resolve breaking down by the second.

“Please. Please” you hear Ezra keen out again and it ruins you. You are both so weak for him and so full of control over him at once. It is an unparalleled feeling. You lift his head, pulling on his hair with more force until he is looking at you. He looks with complete awe, his lips parted, his breath heavy.

As intoxicating as it is to make him beg and worship ultimately you will always want to share your rapture with him.

Slowly you kneel down to meet him on the floor. You lean forward, touching your forehead to his. You both close your eyes and breath each other in like it’s the first time you’ve ever been this close before.

And time stands still

You can’t spend a second longer not letting him show you his love, the way he wants to.

“Kiss me, Ezra” you beg this time with a whisper. Your lips almost touching his.

“Make me feel everything” you demand.

And he does.

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostories #gideon writes #eh i tried to make it better than it used to be but I'm not completely sold on it

[weclassybouquetfun]

What is up with some of AFC Richmond, you may ask?

Let us see.

Jason and his kids watched sportsball.

You don't have to shut up, Thierry Henry.

Phil and Toheeb played sportsball.

Wait, his thirst tweet mentioned his "juicy butt" but I didn't know his thigh game was so strong.

With Mark Strong who played on his birthday and turned the age on his jersey.

Marco Giuseppe Salussolia, still fit at 60.

More AFC Richmond under the fold.

Birthdays were had: June was Jeremy and Brendan's; July saw Hannah, Juno, Stephen, Brett and Kola's a few days ago.

Big Love to Bokinni.

I learned Hannah's nickname for Jeremy. Nothing so common as a simple Jezza. Non.

An interview with Hannah with the L.A. Times dropped.

If Phil doesn't win we will invade France!

I attended Apple+ x Deadline's craft event honouring production design teams for the limited series FIVE DAYS AT MEMORIAL, and the series SILO, FOUNDATION and TED LASSO.

Compositing supervisor Bill Parker who is nominated for his work on MOM CITY.

He was so great. He's somewhat sounds like Pete Davidson and speaks with the same cadence, but slightly looks like TJ Miller and he's self-deprecating and humourous. After the event the panelists were at the reception and someone told him how funny he was and he said it was to mask his nerves.

When asked what he would miss about the show he said he would miss watching it at 2am, as he tried to come up with the actual day of the show because was it Tuesday, or technically Wednesday? He would miss the wrap parties; and will miss the grace which was shown to everyone. He said there were no a**holes and he hopes to take that grace with him on other projects.

-No matter how much I love a show, I cannot go back and do a full rewatch of an episode. Instead I will rewatch certain scenes. I rewatched the scene in "(I Don't Want to Go To) Chelsea" where Ted asks Roy to squash his beef with Trent. I love that series 1 Ted didn't push Roy to rein in Jamie; instead he wanted him to make that decision. Series 2 Ted didn't intervene when Nate's ego got out of control. But seeing Roy turn the team against Trent was a bridge too far for Ted.

Ted's eyes when pleading with Roy to "Fix it" was just this.

-He may share his wardrobe and mug with Trent, but not the lack of bike-riding know-how.

#ted lasso cast #tv: ted lasso #jason sudeikis #hannah waddingham #phil dunster #toheeb jimoh #kola bokinni #billy harris #cristo fernández #jeremy swift #james lance #mark strong #emmy season #emmys 2023 #emmys #bants

[fortheloveofarchons]

You're In A Vampire Hunter's Ball, With Some Familiar Members...

C.W. Vampires, vampire hunters, drinking blood, biting, smut, aftercare

Characters included in this fanfic besides Pierro are Childe, Pantalone, Arlecchino, La Signora, Pantalone, Capitano, and a mention of Pulcinella

Full version in the link down below! Happy belated Valentine's Day btw!

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In the ballroom where crystal chandeliers and luxurious fabrics are adorned and draped, a palpable tension hung in the air as you concealed yourself among the elegantly attired crowd, hiding in the shadows at the corner. While the couples would waltz in the middle of the ballroom with rhythmic cadence, your eyes blink a bit rapidly as you surveyed the room. 

Dressed in an exquisite dark blue gown that shimmered like moonlight, you move carefully, trying to not draw attention to yourself. Your black eye contacts fortunately conceals your vampiric red eyes, yet it did little to mask the hunger that gnawed at your insides. The scent of blood– of pulsating life surrounded you, a tantalising aroma that sent shivers down your spine. 

“So hungry…” You mutter the words out. 

As the ball is filled with vampire hunters, your heightened senses would often pick up on conversations discussing recent vampire sightings and the latest hunting techniques. Every word sends a chill down your spine, and you clutch the edges of your gown. 

Being distracted from hunger, you didn’t realise that a man was walking towards you. Your vision, that stared aimlessly through the ballroom, is interrupted with a crystal goblet, one that contains a familiar aroma. The thirst for blood intensified with each passing moment, threatening to expose your true nature. 

Your eyes quickly flicker to find the ginger-haired man with cold blue eyes, handing you the goblet with a smile on his face. 

“Hey, didn’t you say you were hungry?” It looks like he didn't take no for an answer, pushing the goblet into your palms. “Come on, don’t tell me you were trying to hold your hunger in a room full of vampire hunters.” 

You quickly take the goblet from his hand, compose yourself, and delicately sip the deep red liquid, trying to keep your composure. Any sudden movement or slip of control could spell disaster in the presence of these vampire hunters, after all. 

“Thank you.” You hand him the goblet back, your tongue licking your upper lip to remove any traces of blood. “...Wait, you are–” 

“You can just call me Childe, or Tartaglia if that’s what you prefer.” Childe smiles at you. “Are you perhaps looking for Lord Pierro?” 

You quickly nod. After all, for a man who supposedly invited you into a hunter’s den, you’re surprised to find him gone. 

“He actually sent me to find you.” Childe explains, fiddling with the collar of his suit. “He wants you to go into the private lounge room.” 

“Are you coming with me, then?” You ask, hoping that he might accompany you even though he’s the eleventh ranking of the vampire hunters. Perhaps it's because he’s close to Pierro that made you feel a bit relieved. 

“I’m afraid not.” That made your heart sink. “I have to leave early to catch up with Pulcinella, he has some important matters to discuss with me.” 

“Does it have something to do with your fami–” Your lips became thin and firm, shutting yourself up. You have heard stories about his family from Pierro during the nights when you are in bed with him. However, instead of Childe’s eyes being icy cold and his lips pursed with suppressed fury, he lets out a hearty laugh. 

“Aha~ It’s okay,” Childe waves dismissively. “I don't really mind talking about my family to anyone! In fact, I enjoyed talking to anyone about them.”

“Oh,” You let out an awkward chuckle. “I see, that’s good then–” 

“After all, it’s a fine way to deceive my enemies to think that we’re getting along well, and much closer… until they feel a sharp spike in their hearts, and soon… they can see smoke coming out of them.” 

Childe studies you with a crazed look on his face: Icy stare boring into you, the muscles along his jaw clench, his hand holding onto what seems to be a pure silver dagger that hangs around his thigh. All you could do was stand there and freeze yourself to the ground. Were you scared? Yes, but you knew you wouldn’t get hurt considering that Lord Pierro wants you. 

Childe then releases his grip on his dagger, rubbing the back of his head with another hearty laughter. 

“Just kidding!” He pats you on the back of your shoulder, which makes you shiver from his cold gloves being in contact with your open shoulders. “I gotta go now. Oh– about the room, it’s just right down that red hall.”

Before you could even say a word, Childe runs off, but not before he turns to you and gives you a wave with a smile on his face. 

“See ya!” 

“I– See you, I guess…” 

With a reluctant sigh, you hike up your dress and make your way towards the red hallway. Stopping in front of a large door, you take a deep breath and push the door, walking your way into the room. The room was bathed in a dim, sultry ambiance, with crimson velvet drapes hanging from ornate windows, casting shadows to the lavish furnishing. 

As you stepped into the room, you sensed an unusual tension in the air. The low hum of whispered conversations ceased abruptly, replaced by an unsettling stillness as the members turned their attention towards you.

To your surprise, you found yourself surrounded by some familiar members of the Fatui Harbingers, their presence as alluring as it was threatening. 

In this room, besides you, lies Lady Signora, Lord Pantalone, and Lord Arlecchino. 

On a fancy mahogany sofa, lies Lady Signora. Her long blond hair braided into a neat bun, with some long stands of her hair cascading down to her legs. Her dress consists of a slim wine red gown made of silk organza, along with the blush prints of butterfly patterns appearing on her dress that truly made her look like the queen of crimson butterflies. Her open shoulders, one that is similar to your outfit as well, reveals her plump chest, with some strands of blond hair sitting on them.

“Is this perhaps his… ‘pet’?” She studies you with a critical squint, and that alone immediately makes you want to bury into a hole and die. 

“Now, now, Fair Lady.” The man with square-framed glasses replies to her. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be too rude to a guest, that wouldn’t look good on us, hmm?” 

La Signora argues with a puff of smoke from her cigarette holder. “The guest is a vampire.” 

“And it would ruin the party if we make a bloodshed~” His sultry voice along with the sharp gaze made your body shiver. Lord Pantalone, the man with the black and white fur coat that complements well with his sleek, tailored dark purple suit highlighted both elegance and grace, seems to look at you as a formidable adversary, but also something… magnetic. 

“Come,” He pats the sofa, gesturing to you to come over. “Sit next to me, miss.” 

Although this feels like a carefully laid trap, what choice do you have. In front of you, all of their eyes bore into you, each glance carrying a mix of suspicion and readiness. Attempting to maintain an air of regal indifference, you square your shoulders and take a measured step forward, and sit next to Lord Pantalone. 

And just right next to Lord Arlecchino, who has been silent this whole time. Her long sleeveless gown that draped gently over her lithe frame, exuding an aura of a graceful figure. The fabric of her gown flowed like liquid silk, while the absence of sleeves accentuated the graceful lines of her tainted blackened arms from the works of a delusion. You couldn’t help but take a peek at her arms, and that made Lord Arlecchino’s eyes linger on your face, memorising every detail. 

“As a guest, it is impolite to stare and not greet someone.” Lord Arlecchino folds her arms , her gaze hardened, the spark of aversion flickering within it. “Has Jester not taught you anything when it comes to manners?” 

You sit upright in your position, being too overwhelmed to move. “I– I’m sorry, Lord Arlecchino.” 

You then gently take her hand, greeting it with a gentle kiss. 

“It is an honour to meet you, and to be in your presence.” 

You turn around, doing the same for Lord Pantalone, kissing his hand that was covered with a leather glove. “Lord Pantalone, it is an honour to meet a distinguished harbinger, and to be in your presence.” 

“Ahem.” A familiar voice calls out across the room, as Lady Signora holds out her hand, slightly tilting her head. You are about to bend down, but then you remember that La Signora holds the title of a ‘Lady’, not a ‘Lord’. 

“Wait a minute…” 

Though Lady Signora was trying to hide it, the corners of her mouth were twitching upwards. “You really are… a foolish little vampire pet. I see why the Jester has chosen you in his inner circle.” 

You let out a crimson blush from embarrassment. 

Just then, the heavy door opens, revealing the silhouette of a weary figure. As Lord Il Capitano steps into the room, a hush falls over its occupants, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of blood. 

“Goodness, Captain.” Signora pinches her nose. “Were you seriously killing vampires out there while a party was taking place?” 

Killing… vampires? Your lips slightly part in silent terror, taking a glance up at him.. 

His silver armour, dented and stained with the remnants of battle, clanks softly with each step. His claymore, still gripped firmly in his hand, gleams dully in the dim light, its edge tinged crimson with the lifeblood of his fallen foes.

You couldn’t help but recoil in horror, your hands trembling in fear. 

Especially when Lord Il Capitano is coming towards you. 

With a low growl, you instinctively back away from him, your fangs baring in a silent snarl of defiance. Despite the amount of killings from the Captain, you recognize him as someone whose strength and power-hungry determination posed a grave threat to your kind. 

He takes a few steps forward, with each stride, Capitano’s expression remained stoic, his features masked by the shadow of his helmet.

But just as it seemed that Capitano would unleash a blow upon you, he abruptly halted, his hand still hovering over the hilt of his claymore. Slowly, deliberately, Capitano lowers his hand. 

"I could just end you with a single blow," He spoke, his voice low and gruff, yet tinged with a note of compassion. "But I choose not to."

You blink your eyes in surprise, your fear momentarily forgotten as you gaze up at the Captain in wonderment. 

“You are under the Jester’s hands, after all.” 

Ah… The gears in your mind click. 

Your legs become soft like jelly, slumping onto the ground. Your heart slowly gains back a rhythmic beat, as you breathe heavily from the adrenaline of fear.

A sigh escapes from Capitano’s lips, seeing a fearful vampire in front of him. After all, as one whose title is called, ‘Captain’, fighting with someone whose strength is of the same level as him is much worthier to fight than someone like you. 

He then bends down with one knee, extending a hand to you. “May I?” 

Despite the fear in your heart, your shaky hand reaches out, holding onto the cold steel of his hand. 

Even as a ruthless member, he’s still quite chivalrous... You mumble in your mind.

Capitano then pulls you up, his other hand holding onto your back, making your body shiver despite the barrier between your skin and his other hand is merely a fabric of your gown. You stand rigid with terror, being too overwhelmed to move. 

“My, my~” Lord Pantalone locks his hands together, raising an eyebrow. “Being so forward, aren’t you, dear Captain ? If Jester were to see this, surely he would–” 

Just then, you could hear heavy footsteps, and all eyes turn towards the entrance, drawn by the magnetic presence of the man with a towering figure. 

Dressed in a black and dark blue tailored suit with intricate snowflakes on the corners of his suit, it hugs his muscular frame in all the right places. The fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and chiselled physique. With a wide twilight blue pelerine cape, it infused him with a quiet strength, showing a testament to his power and poise.

Seeing Pierro in that attire ignites a flush of warmth that spreads through your cheeks...

#genshin impact fatui #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin pierro #pierro genshin impact #pierro smut #pierro x reader #arlecchino #arlechinno genshin #the knave #the jester #childe tartagalia #childe #childe genshin impact #genshin tartagalia #la signora #genshin impact signora #genshin signora #fatui signora #pantalone #genshin pantalone #fatui smut #capitano #the captain #fatui harbingers #pulcinella

[comfort-questing]

18. blindfold

when they first woke they thought it was nighttime, but they felt more than saw the sunlight on their face; it was only the heavy soft weight over their eyes that kept the light back, as their lids fluttered against it half-successfully.

their first thought was so I must have been captured, then but it wasn't exactly the usual practice to blindfold prisoners, a waste of time really. truly, from what they last remembered, they should have been dead, but that was obviously not the case.

they tried to sit up, but the stab of pain from their chest stole their breath away, bandages tightening as they gasped for air again. their head spun, blindfolded eyes trying frantically to focus on nothing, fumbling out a hand to grasp a homespun blanket and the side of a straw-filled mattress.

"shh! you're hurt, you mustn't try to move yet."

an ordinary voice, with the clipped cadences of the countryside folk, and ordinary also the callused hand that landed on their arm, easing them back down.

"keep quiet. there's a hunt out for you, or any other officers left after the battle. you're lucky the farmhand found you by the edge of the woods - you wouldn't have lasted much longer."

"why - " their voice was hoarse in their thirst-thickened throat. they lay back, struggling for a measured breath, and reached up towards their blindfold; the hand caught their wrist next, in a gentle but firm grasp that their shaky arm could not push back against.

"the less you know, the less you can tell, all right? it's to protect us all, once you're well enough to travel. we can't afford to have trouble for harboring enemies, you know."

"very - sensible." they coughed, dry and rough. "I suppose I have to - thank you for not knifing me right off - "

"don't think it would have taken that much. you've been out of your head for... oh, almost a week now, between the blood loss and the fever." the hand patting down their arm felt almost soothing, a touch more kindly than they'd expected to ever feel this side of the border. "but we want to help you, if we can. just rest now, and don't try anything."

there was an appealing sort of simplicity in the dimness, as they lay back on the thin pillow, the air from the outside window brushing their face. they were so tired, and sooner or later they'd have to ask what the outcome of the battle had been - but they couldn't imagine it was very good.

they'd ask later, after they slept again.

#whump #hurt comfort #whumptober day 18 #whumptober 2023