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tiennewrites · 4 years

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only bought this dress so you could take it off (Part 1a) | hq! headcanons

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Summary: The boys get dresses as gifts for their s/o (reader) and their subsequent reactions when their s/o wears it (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Genre: fluff

Characters: Azumane Asahi, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsuma

Pairings: AsahixReader, KiyoomixReader, AtsumaxReader

Warnings: None, this is just pure fluff (⁄˘⁄ ⁄ ω⁄ ⁄ ˘⁄)♡

Author’s Note: Wrote these as a way to take a break from an original piece I’m working on for my exophilia blog and like all my work, things just spiraled out of control ¯\_(ಥ‿ಥ)_/¯ I’ll likely add more boys and NSFW sequels if this gets a good response because this was a fun exercise. Hope you enjoy!

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Asahi would have been mortified if you or any of his friends knew, but he found the dress while he was scrolling through Pinterest.

He happened to be looking through summer fashion trends when a picture of a long, yellow sundress scrolled it’s way up his computer screen.

When he clicked through the pin to the brand’s website, he enlarged the image on the model to admire some of the smaller details: delicate spaghetti straps, white heart-shaped buttons down the middle of the long skirt, and his favorite part they way the top could be tied into a bunny-eared knot

Needless to say, he saved that pin so that he could find it later.

That night, you found him rifling through your side of the closet to figure out what size you wore.

How could somebody be two different dress sizes?!

When you tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped so high you thought he was gonna go right through the ceiling.

His face was beet red and he told you he was looking for a shirt that he had lost.

Your poor boyfriend agonized for a week about which size he should get you- he didn’t want the surprise gift to be ruined just because he got a size that was too big or too small.

In the end, he decided to buy it in the larger size. He figured he’d pay for it to be tailored if it was too big and he just wanted to see you in the damn thing already.

When it finally arrived, he laid out the dress on your bed with a bouquet of sunflowers

Asahi tried to stay casual and cool on the couch while he waited to for you to walk into the bedroom to find your surprise, but his stomach clenched in anticipation while he played with the stray threads of a throw pillow.

He smiled excitedly when he heard you squeal in delight, and turned around to see you already running towards him to throw your arms around his neck and pepper his face with kisses.

To his relief, when you tried on the dress, it fit perfectly.

He liked the way the yellow color made your skin absolutely glow and he loved the way the bunny-ear knot complemented the swell of your chest.

The gift prompted an impromptu trip to the beach. You just wanted a good reason to wear out the amazing gift your amazing boyfriend got you.

Even though the day was sunny, the wind whipped around the two of you as you took turns chasing each other barefoot on the beach.

Asahi didn’t mind though. He liked the way your hair looked, wind blown, and the way the dress wrapped itself around your beautiful legs in the gusty breeze.

As the sun went down and the day got colder, he wrapped you up in his denim jacket to pull you close into his giant chest. The two of you fell into a sandy heap smiling and giggling at each other.

»»——⍟——««

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The dress was displayed in the window of a hole-in-the-wall boutique and it didn’t really catch Kiyoomi’s attention at first.

One day on his way home, he got a good look at it and admired it’s clean and simple silhouette. The fabric was white and well-pressed while still looking soft and light.

There are details, like the puffy sleeves and structured bodice, that aren’t usually to his taste, but there was just something so lovely and… pristine about how the garment was designed.

He decided that the tone of white would look lovely against your skin and bought one in your size.

Kiyoomi asks for it to be gift wrapped and rushes to hide it under the bed before you come home.

When he finally gives it to you to unwrap, he’s pleased by how your eyes light up when you lift it out of the tissue paper and see it for the first time. He thinks it’s absolutely adorable when you hold it up against your body and twirl in front of the mirror, laughing.

You wear it for the first time on a date and he’s pleased to find it fits almost perfectly. The bodice hugs the curve of your waist just right and the skirt dances against your mid thigh in the most delightful way.

If he thought the dress looked amazing on you by itself, he absolutely loves the way you dress it up. You tied a soft beige scarf in your hair and wore your favorite nude heels- the strappy kind that took some practice for you to walk in properly.

Kiyoomi already thought you were cute, but today you were just lovely. So lovely he almost reconsidered letting you leave the house.

Almost.

This date had been planned for weeks and he knew you would be upset if you didn’t get to show off your new dress.

The two of you walked down the street arm in arm, and while you enjoyed looking at all the neat items in the shop windows, Kiyoomi sent hard stares to all the wandering eyes that followed you.

At one point, you passed by a pet shop and you bent over to coo at the floppy-eared bunnies playing in the window and to his dismay, the dress tightened at your hips, causing the fabric to sinfully hug the curve of your ass.

He planted himself right behind you to hide what was *his and his alone* you from perverts.

After dinner, you guys took a walk in an empty garden park to enjoy the sunset and take pictures.

You posed for some but Kiyoomi loved taking candids of you looking like an outright angel the way your hair glowed like a halo against the sun.

He swallowed hard when he caught of a glimpse of how the warm light filtered through the fabric of your skirt and he could make out shadows of the soft lines of your inner thighs. You were distracted by something in the distance, completely unaware of how enticing you looked in the fading light.

He quickly snapped a picture on his phone and shoved it in his pocket before you could demand to see how it looked.

Later that night he set that picture of you as his phone wallpaper.

»»——⍟——««

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Atsumu honestly doesn’t even remember buying you a dress.

But apparently last Valentine’s Day you wouldn’t stop bothering him about getting you a gift so he sent you a picture of his credit card with a text that said “go crazy 😘”

So here he is, getting hungry, waiting for you at the bar of the high-end restaurant you both love.

Atsumu is nursing a drink and shoots you a quick text, asking you where you are and that he’s hangry now

Much to his exasperation, you text back that you’ll be there in another 10 minutes and that “It’ll be worth the wait 😜”.

Fifteen minutes later, he nearly spills his drink all over himself when he spots you waltzing in with a smile, wearing a little red satin number.

Even though you’re in heels, you still have to tippy-toe to press a kiss to your stunned boyfriend’s cheek.

Once the initial shock wears off, he smiles and grabs your hand to spin you so he could enjoy every little detail. To say that the dress accentuated the curve of your figure was a dire understatement.

The sweetheart cowl neckline cradled your tits gorgeously and the open back made Atsumu’s mouth water.

And your ass. The ass that launched a thousand boners. If Atsumu didn’t believe in a higher power before, he certainly believed in it now.

With the matching shoes and purse, you looked like walking wet dream.

He was suddenly very okay with having to make three huge credit card payments.

As delicious as dinner was, Atsumu couldn’t help but be distracted by how the candle-light made your dress shimmer against your body, creating highlights and shadows that danced and teased him with every flicker of the flame.

You didn’t notice that one of the spaghetti straps slipped off your shoulder in the middle of some story you were telling, but he certainly did.

Atsumu let his eyes linger for a moment on the bare curve of your shoulder before reaching across the table to ghost his hand up your arm and place the strap back in its place. Before pulling back he let his knuckle idle at the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Atsumu loved that you wore this gorgeous number just for him, but if he were being truthful he couldn’t wait to see it on the floor his bedroom.

»»——⍟——««

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Like, comment, and reblog!　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

If you feel so inclined, buy me a ko-fi (ko-fi.com/tienne). Love in any form is deeply appreciated!

Thank you for your support!（˶′◡‵˶）

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!#haikyu #haikyu!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #asahi x reader #sakusa x reader #atsumu x reader #mywriting

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like-that-one-weird-dog-thing · 3 years

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carrion bones and sorrow

warnings for major character deaths(already happened, Schlatt and Wilbur), graphic mentions of violence/murder, and friends turning on each other

Schlatt should leave.

His eyes linger on the boy with sharp, filed down teeth, with floppy pointed ears and sharp sharp claws, on the boy with grey hands and nothing eyes and…

Schlatt doesn’t leave.

or: ghosts, and Schlatt wrestling with the fact that he's dead

Hell, Schlatt has long learned, is nothing like what the living have believed it to be.

There is no fire and brimstone, no devils and demons with pitchforks waiting to torture them for eternity.

Instead, there is the all oppressing, all consuming void.

Hell, real, honest to god Hell, is much worse than anything any living soul can conjure, Schlatt decides.

He can leave, he knows this. The connection to the Hub is still there. His respawn star for this world may have broken, but his Hub star is still there, he can still leave.

If he were to leave, his hands would no longer be grey, his mind would no longer fuzz along the edges, his lungs would take in breath once more.

But if he were to leave, Schlatt knows that he would never come back.

Anger burns and simmers in the back of his throat, when he watches his funeral. Anger and grief and pain.

If he left, there would be no more whispers in his ears, no more memories of those thrice damned voices echoing around his office. If he were to leave, he would be free.

But here there is yellow, and it is nowhere else. And so, he stays.

“What do you remember?” The question is becoming a constant. Wilbur stares at him with his nothing-eyes and shakes.

He pretends to breath, because sometimes Wiblur even forgets he can’t anymore, and his fingers clutch at Schlatt’s blue sweater with aching force and Schlatt has to smother down the urge to yank away from black claws. Wilbur sometimes forgets his own strength, too. Schlatt still cringes at the memory of when he’d learned that even if they were dead, they could still hurt each other.

“Water,” Wilbur finally answers him, still shaking, still clutching at him. “Rising water. A flood. Rain. It was always raining.”

Claws carve through fabric, fade away into mist, reform, both perfectly untouched. Wilbur’s pretend breaths hitch.

“Leaving.”

Twisting, yanking apart blue threads over and over again.

“Being alone.”

His fake breaths quicken.

“Drowning.”

Schlatt should leave.

His eyes linger on the boy with sharp, filed down teeth, with floppy pointed ears and sharp sharp claws, on the boy with grey hands and nothing eyes and…

Schlatt doesn’t leave.

Wilbur is a stick of TNT with two fuses, lit from both ends.

Schlatt has always known this, from the moment he met black eyes all those years ago, from the moment he’d seen bloody knuckles and bruised cheeks and had decided that him, that one right there, he will be my friend, he has been able to see the ticking time bomb that is WilburSoot. He could see the way he caved in on himself overtime, a supernova, a star collapsing, and he was able to see the moment it expanded, the moment it swallowed everything whole.

He’s always known his friend was volatile.

Schlatt has always seen the way Wilbur has crumbled down, over and over and over, every single time there was a new fight or argument or simply another time that he was forgotten.

But he’d never thought that he would contribute.

They’d gotten into their fair share of fights, of course(cursed, broken, unwanted, rings in his ears, his own voice filled with a venom he’s forever torn between agreeing to, and recoiling away from), but Schlatt had never thought…

But that was before. Before Dream. Before the threats. Before hearing about the man Wilbur had grown up to be.

He’d hated him, then, when he’d first stepped into the server.

Holding the shaking, cold- oh so very cold, why is it so c ol d Schlatt?- ghost in his arms, he can’t find it in himself to feel that same hate anymore.

Maybe Dream was wrong. Maybe Dream had lied.

There is a space, a blank, in his memory. He knows this. He sees this. Wilbur went up in flames, following in his footsteps(a van, a drink, too many enemies to think and two men settle miserable and pathetic between this all, armorless and powerless for all that they have forever held the world between their claw-tipped hands) and he cannot pinpoint the moment it happened. He cannot remember that one, single point when those fuses that had been steadily burning his entire life suddenly roared up from candle lights to wildfires.

Maybe it was the moment of the man’s exile, the words forever settled so solidly on Schlatt’s tongue like the poison he’s long drank. Maybe it was later than that, when his son loosed shot after shot until some finally met their mark.

Or maybe even further, hiding among the dark and dangerous and being so at home. A clawed monster fitting itself amongst the shadows and watching Schlatt’s every move with cruel, black eyes.

But then again, maybe it was before that.

Maybe it was at their first argument(his hands ache and his claws itched, screams long cut off filling his ears, Wilbur would always respawn, what was the harm in giving in to his anger?) or maybe it was their last(there’s the burn, forever leaving his arm aching and Wilbur had said that he would never raise a hand to him, he fucking li e d ).

Maybe it was when Wilbur had stumbled into his server, into his home, with a child in his arms and had begged for help. Maybe it was when Schlatt had given this help, but had never asked what happened or why or maybe you should rest.

Maybe he could’ve stopped this.

The voices hiss and crackle in his ears, the gods demand he pay them in blood. He is helpless to fall under, drowning in liquid gold and honey.

“I was worse than you, I think,” the words hang in the air. They are in Wilbur’s little carved out home, buried blocks and blocks bellow L’manberg- New L’manberg- where no one will search for them and no one will hear them.

There are only rats and water down here, and they fit right in.

Schlatt, stares emptily at the books in his hands. He does not answer Wilbur.

“I got what was coming for me. I hope I accepted it well enough, in their eyes.”

They didn’t even give him a gravestone.

For some reason, this makes Schlatt ache.

(they gave him a funeral, and a wanted man had to bury his brother alone.)

“Your’re lying,” the words burn a line of fire up his throat. Wilbur still looks shaken from Fundy’s visit, body fuzzing along the edges worse than normal. “You’re- you fucking lied to him.”

Schlatt doesn’t know why he was surprised. Maybe he just expected better from the man, maybe he’d just expected death and hell and that horrible void to have taught Wilbur better.

You would think that having your own father kill you would teach you a fucking lesson, somewhere along the lines.

Apparently not.

“It’s better like this. Like- it’s better if they don’t know- it’s-” Wilbur’s hands curl up, claws sliding through ghostly skin as easily as tissue paper only to leave no damage behind.

“It’s better if they don’t know so- so they- they won’t be afraid of me.”

The words hand like ash in the air.

Schlatt closes his eyes. He wants to bite back the anger, wants to reel himself in, because he knows that Wilbur is fragile, right now, his memories there but weakly, the man barely grasping onto them.

But it’s lava under his skin, magma flowing up his throat, and his hands shake even though he’s dead and there should be no shaking and his breath hisses through his teeth and he’s so fucking angry.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he spits, lips curling. Wilbur flinches away from him, a line of static fuzzing along his chest, bisecting him in two, before settling. “You’re a fucking coward, hiding away from your family because you’d fucked up and you’re too afraid to admit it, too afraid to deal with the consequences of your actions. You always run away! You always do this, and I’m fucking sick of it!”

His chest heaves, but he’s dead and it’s more a long standing habit following him into death and he stares at Wilbur, stares into the ghost’s wide nothing-eyes and he hates him so fucking much.

He spins around, storming out of the tiny little room filled with water and rats and things no one wants.

When he looks into the water of the sewers, into the faint reflections he still casts, he almost expects his eyes to be red.

But they’re yellow, yellow and and cross pupiled and he bares his teeth and burns.

The lava haunts his memories.

That’s where it starts, Schlatt decides, the knowledge curling bitter on his tongue, trapping him. Waters Rising had mostly been a bit, a joke between two friends as the world threatened to tear them apart.

It’s Lava Falling that everything began collapsing, when Schlatt’s hands gripped Wilbur’s wrists before twisting him around and shoving him.

Right over the platform.

Right in the lava.

(the screams and squeals echo in his ears, shaking hands and red eyes staring into the piglin’s deep brown ones below.

Wilbur lasts ten seconds before allowing his respawn star to crack, letting go of his life in this world. Schlatt counts every single one.)

His hands clench. Lava Falling had been when he’s first given in. When he’s first listened to the voices and did as they asked.

(this is a lie, of course, because he’d painted the ground in Wilbur’s blood dozens of times in that first world, when they were ten. He’d taken that flimsy little sword he’d made and he’d fallen into the whispers’ loving embrace and had done everything they’d asked.

A joke, he’d told Wilbur later, after his dog had torn out the other boy’s throat and he’d respawned again. It was all a joke, don’t you see? No need to be upset.

Wilbur had shook, curled up in the corner. He’d sniffed, but agreed.

They didn’t talk about it, after that.)

He comes back hours later. Wilbur is nowhere in sight and the air tastes bitter even though Schlatt can’t taste anything at all, and so he sits, and he waits.

When Wilbur finally reforms, fuzzy and shaking and his grey skin looking blue, neither says anything.

Schlatt contemplates apologizing, for all of two seconds.

He agrees with what he said. Maybe in a better state of mind he would’ve been softer, but Wilbur…

Wilbur was dead. There was no soft for the dead.

#my writing #pillars of bone #mcyt #dream smp #dream smp au #dream smp concept #jschlatt #wilbur soot #fundy #ghostly friends doing ghostly things #wilbur's minecraft challenges are part of the au #the sky gods #spoilers for dream smp nov 16 and after #ghostbur #character study #ghostbur's memory isn't as bad in this than it is in canon #cross-posted on ao3

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thelancemanly · 3 years

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Meal by Firelight

So a while back on Twitter, I put up some polls to help design a pair of shortstack characters. A goblin and kobold respectively, we ended up making a hung dancer and cute chef. Naturally, I decided they were girlfriends and wrote a fic about them. It’s almost entirely pussy-eating. Enjoy!

Sora and Umbris were not in their usual element. Under normal circumstances the goblin fancied herself a dancer, and her kobold friend a fine cook. They’d met about two years ago at the tavern they worked at, each doing their respective jobs quite well for a while. Normally, Sora would be spending her days dancing and cleaning, sometimes taking care of other chores for the tavernkeeper, and her nights relaxing or earning tips by letting customers fondle her fat cock when the boss wasn’t looking.

Right now- and all this week- however, the goblin and her friend were spending their days hiking a mountain range and their nights keeping watch to make sure nobody was trying to claim their (admittedly small) bounty. Tonight was no different, although it would be easier than usual: The pair had hunkered down on a lovely summer night in a nice clearing by the road, from where they could easily see anybody coming or going. So, for the first time since she had been caught balls-deep inside the tavernkeeper’s cute son, the goblin was looking forward to some good rest.

Sora let out a loud sigh as she stretched, feeling her sore body release some of the tension she’d been carrying around all day. It was a long trip over the mountains and she was used to sleeping in an inn room or on the back of a wagon, not so much in a sleeping bag. She didn’t even have a change of clothes, she lamented quietly, now stuck wearing her performing outfit 24/7. Not that she disliked the clothes themselves, but the sheer fabric of a sultry dancer’s outfit was a poor match for the wilderness.

The scent of spiced meat teased her nose, and the goblin opened her eyes to glance over at the campfire. Umbris was working hard at getting their dinner, and rations for tomorrow, ready. A sappy grin spread across Sora’s face as the goblin silently thanked the gods for such a lovely travel companion. The kobold’s scales glimmered in the firelight with a poetic beauty, and the sound of her off-key humming was music to the dancer’s long, floppy ears.

Then, Umbris bent down low to adjust the sticks near the fire, and gave Sora a full view of her round ass silhouetted by the flame.

There were times of danger and excitement during the goblin’s life where time seemed to slow down, like every muscle in her body came into focus to give her the edge she needed to dodge an airborne knife or nail a particularly dangerous trick.

Tonight, that ability came into play as she watched Umbris’s thick ass come into plain view as the kobold stepped on her own dress, causing it to catch and tug away to the side and reveal every inch of her lack of underwear. Sora could see the exact moment where obsidian-black scales faded away into vibrant pink underbelly, the soft skin of which ran between her legs to her plump pussy and cute asshole. Right above it, sticking straight up into the air, was the base of the kobold’s cute, short tail.

Blissfully unaware of the sudden change in mood she’d inflicted on her companion, the chef kept humming away as she fiddled with the fire. Sora, however, was trying to figure out the optimal way to adjust her sash so that her rapidly growing cock wouldn’t tear the fabric. It was admittedly harder to mess with your clothes when you couldn’t tear your eyes away from an incredibly thick kobold ass.

By the time Sora figured out the optimal way of sitting, it was too late: Her cock was standing at full mast, thick and of a darker shade of blue than the rest of her, its girth and weight causing it to hang in the air rather than stick straight out. There was just no way she was going to hide this. But maybe…

“Hey Umbris,” Sora asked, her voice shaky, “how long until dinner is ready?”

“Oh, maybe twenty minutes? I’m using a low heat,” the kobold replied, a musical lilt in her voice.

Twenty minutes was enough time, Sora thought.

“Great,” the goblin chuckled with relief as she stood up from her makeshift bed, “I’m starving.”

Sora walked briskly over to the crackling campfire where her companion stood. She glanced ‘round her friend and saw that the cooking spit she’d constructed had a stump right next to it, where most of the food prep was being done. The goblin put a hand gently on her friend’s shoulder and pointed to the stump.

“Hey, can you put your hands on that for me?” she uttered. Umbris glanced over her shoulder at her friend with a comically-innocent expression.

“Right here?” she asked, leaning over to place her clawed hands next to a pouch of spices and a pair of wooden plates.

“Thanks,” Sora chirped, “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to fall into the fire when I did this.”

And with that, she knelt down behind Umbris, clapped her hands on the kobold’s fat ass, and shoved her face right into her soft pink pussy. The chef yelped in surprise and tightened her grip on the stump, her claws digging into the wood with a creaking groan. She tried to look back over her shoulder at her friend, but her own round butt was thoroughly in the way. Her squirming around only served to make her ass jiggle right in Sora’s face, which at this point was practically a gift from the divines.

The goblin, meanwhile, was happily suffocating. The taste of pussy flooded across her tongue as she opened wide and pushed it against her friend’s glistening lips. The kobold’s voice came out in a shuddering moan, rising and falling like waves on the beach as she adjusted to the sudden electric pleasure. It made for a lovely soundtrack for Sora as she hungrily ate her pussy, her cute nose shoved right up against the other girl’s butt. Umbris’s taste and scent were delightful and heady, slightly sharp with the sweat of the day’s walk and heavy with the musk of a kobold who must have been looking forward to something like this. Sora would ask later if that was the case.

“God,” the goblin’s voice spilled out, dripping with lust as she pulled back just enough to breathe, “I love ass.” Then, she went right back in for more.

She could feel the warm heat rolling off Umbris’s skin, could feel her butt wiggle around, could feel her legs tense up every time she ran her tongue across her clit on the way back up. Sora pushed her tongue as deep inside of her friend as it could go, only a couple inches this time, before lovingly brushing it along her lips and trying again. She’d get further each time as Umbris’s sex rapidly adjusted to the newfound attention, getting wetter and looser by the minute.

Sora adjusted on her knees, getting more relaxed as she slid one of her hands down between her own legs. Her cock was painfully hard and, as she wrapped her fingers around the girthy shaft and began to stroke, leaking precum that had been building up for days. Her other hand gave Umbris’s ass one last satisfying squeeze before sliding down her thigh, where Sora wrapped that arm around the kobold’s legs for support. The goblin’s voice began to spill out in hot, shaky moans as she eagerly stroked herself, face buried in twenty pounds of sweaty kobold pussy and ass.

Umbris’s moans and yelps rang out into the night as the kobold dug her claws in and held on tight. She kept trying to adjust her footing, but her long paws had caught on her dress and she was stuck with her legs mostly closed. As she reached back to grab a hand full of Sora’s messy black hair, the kobold found her clothes superfluous and, with a quick tug on a clasp on the back of her dress, dropped the entire bottom half of her outfit to the ground. A mixture between a moan of ecstasy and a sigh of relief spilled out of her drooling maw as the kobold spread her legs, digging her digitigrade paws into the dirt and pushing her ass back against Sora’s face.

“I’m cumming!” she barked, more of a warning than anything.

But Sora already knew how her friend worked. The goblin pulled back with a gasp, her face an absolute mess of sweat and pussy juices, and tugged her hand away from her own cock. She placed her fingertips right up against Umbris’s hole, an absolute mess of pearly-white cum shimmering on pink skin and black scales, and pushed them inside. The noise the kobold made was like fireworks in Sora’s heart. She curled her fingers downward as she slid them inside, working them right up against her friend’s g-spot before pulling them back, letting her get used to their presence before the real fun began.

Relentlessly and with gusto, Sora began hammering away at Umbris’s quivering pussy. The sound of messy, loud schlicking rose up into the air to join the kobold’s helpless cries of pleasure, and Sora braced for impact. She watched with glee as her friend dug her feet in and, unable to help herself, leaned forward and began placing little kisses and bites across her soft-scaled butt. Normally such a thing would draw the cutest little eeps from the kobold, but her voice was busy. With her lips firmly planted on Umbris’s ass, Sora could feel the trembling prelude to what was about to happen.

The kobold’s voice came out in a long, wailing moan as she began cumming all over Sora’s fingers. Thick cream glistened in the firelight along the goblin’s blue digits each time she pulled them out, and each time she plunged them back in she could feel her friend’s pussy getting hotter and squeezing tighter. Finally, she tugged them free, and pressed her index and middle fingers against the kobold’s cute clit, which was usually hiding between her fat pussy lips. With a mischievous glee, Sora ran her cum-slick fingers in rough circles against Umbris’s button, and moved her face out of the way.

A hot jet of girl-cum squirted out of the kobold’s pussy, soaking Sora’s right shoulder in warm liquids. The goblin cackled and kept hammering away at Umbris’s clit, urging another stream and another as she wondered whether or not her friend could put out a fire with enough time. Sora watched, giggling the whole time, as the hot jets came with less frequency and intensity until, finally, she pulled her fingers away and gave Umbris a rest. The kobold nearly collapsed, gasping for breath with a hoarse voice, until Sora gingerly helped her down onto her knees where she could drape herself against the tree stump.

The dancer reached up and brushed the back of her hand against her mouth and chin, trying (and mostly succeeding) to wipe off the profound amount of sweat and girl-cum before leaning up against her friend. Her cock, still hard and drooling precum, pushed up against Umbris’s thigh as they moved in close together. The kobold was still trying to catch her breath as they kissed, hot and passionate by the fire.

The fire.

Umbris leapt to her feet and rushed back to the fire, fussing over the half-burnt food as Sora leaned up against the stump with an embarrassed grin. The throbbing in her loins drew her attention down to her dick, still hard and begging for attention. Reaching down, the goblin gave it a few pats.

“She’ll get to you later, buddy.”

#goblin #kobold #monster girls #lesbians #intersex #trans girl #my works

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 5 years

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Time and Acceptance

Title: Time and Acceptance

Pairing: erasermic

WC: 4k+

Summary:

“There is nothing you could have done to save him and…” her voice waivers here, gets softer. It’s she who breaks eye contact, looking off to the side as she says, “There’s nothing you can do to bring him back.”

Silence comes crashing down.

Something vital shifts inside Hizashi.

When Nemuri leaves, he feels these new pieces locking into place.

Notes: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

This is a continuation of my short ficlet, Time, which is the first part of this chapter, told in Shouta's POV. It explores Hizashi’s perspective and experiences as he grieves and tries to come to terms with Shouta's death.

Read it on ao3 here

Time and Acceptance

There’s not much time left.

Shouta watches as the concrete pressed against his cheek begins to vanish under a slowly growing veil of blood. He can’t feel the streams trickling down his cheeks any longer, doesn’t really notice the way he has lost all sensation in his limbs.

He just watches the river keep flowing out, away, reaching further and further from him.

Some foggy part of his brain feels a pull towards it, wants to go too, but he can’t focus on much beyond breathing.

He’d never thought dying would be like this.

He thought it would be violent and brutal, quick, as a villain’s sharp claws dug into his chest, or slow and painful, as he was tortured or starved for information he promised to never give.

He didn’t think it would be like this.

It was almost peaceful, almost easy. There was no part of him that hurt, physically.

His mind keeps going back home, to the safe tucked away in the back of his closet, where he’d written a Will the day he graduated U.A., and amended it the day after he’d said, “I do.”

Shouta always thought the whole concept of a Will was a little odd.

Then he’d walked out into the living room just a few weeks before his wedding to see Hizashi marking up his own. That night, the blond had said, “It’s just about the most selfless thing you’ll ever do,” when Shouta asked his fiancé for his opinions on the matter.

“A Will isn’t for you. It’s for the people you leave behind.”

Shouta lets out a ragged breath, closing his eyes.

Suddenly, all the things he’d written in that document don’t feel like enough.

He’d given it all to Hizashi, and still, in his last moments, he felt like he needed more.

He always knew he’d die alone, most underground heroes did.

He wanted to die alone, had planned to die alone, had always promised it, not wanting Hizashi to be there for this. His worst fear was to be lying in a hospital, unconscious to the world, and force his husband to make the call.

How could he put him through something like that?

Now, though, with a startling stinging in his chest, he realizes he doesn’t want that.

He wants Hizashi.

He wants to feel his lover’s fingers brushing back his hair. He wants to feel those shaking lips upon his cheek. He wants to lay there, empty, drifting into darkness as Hizashi’s tears drip onto his skin, whispering things Shouta knows he’d never be able to comprehend, not now, not so close to death.

Despite all that, he’d understand the one thing that meant the most to both of them, the one thing he’d always known, since the first time Hizashi nervously wrung his hands in his lap when they sat on the bench in the park after their classes let out and he confessed the only thing Shouta ever needed to hear.

“I love you.”

Shouta’s eyes snap open.

For a second, he stops breathing, and he thinks this must be it. He is hallucinating his husband’s voice and his lungs have stopped working.

Then he sees Hizashi’s boot disrupt the puddle of blood, splashing the red liquid as he kneels down in front of Shouta.

He opens his mouth, wants to tell Hizashi, “I love you too,” but all that comes out are coughs and a wet feeling in his throat that keeps his voice silent.

Hizashi shakes his head, lips shaking as he tries to smile around the tears flowing down his cheeks.

“I know, Sho, I know.”

Shouta feels his body moving, realizes Hizashi is picking him up, pulling Shouta into his lap. He cradles Shouta’s head against his chest and begins gently rocking him. Just like his final wish, Hizashi’s lips press against his forehead.

“It’s okay. You can go,” he says. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

The words come out around hiccups and sobs and Shouta knows they’re all a lie, but they bring him comfort nonetheless. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding on so tight until Hizashi had said the words.

It takes all he has left to bring his hand to Hizashi’s shirt, to tighten his fingers in the fabric, to tilt his head back just enough to see his husband’s agonized face.

Hizashi does his best to give him one last smile.

As Shouta’s vision fades away, he tries to do the same.

With an odd clarity, as everything else around him disappears, he feels satisfied.

He thinks, I couldn’t have asked for a better life than this.

---

Stage 1: Denial

The legal copy of Shouta’s Last Will and Testament arrives in a manila envelope only one day after his death. The hand written, slightly crinkled copy, covered in scratched out words and rewrites as Shouta made adjustments to the document, sits tucked away behind the heavy door of their bedroom safe.

Hizashi ignores both.

He places the envelope on the kitchen island and dumps his jacket over top of it.

Sleep is a special kind of mercy.

Once safely shrouded in his fantasies, he never wants to leave. In his dreams, nothing has happened. In his dreams, the heavy weight over his shoulders is not from the comforter, but instead his husband’s arms. The warmth that comes with the morning’s sunlight streaming through the curtains and onto his face is from Shouta’s soft breaths behind him.

Waking is a special kind of hell.

Rolling over and being met with an empty space, looking over Shouta’s pillow and finding long strands of dark, wavy hair, seem to viciously juxtapose one another. The little pieces of his husband still lingering around the house tell Hizashi that Shouta isn’t gone.

The lack of grumbled good mornings, the slowly fading smell of pine wood and espresso, the padding of socked feet attached to legs too exhausted to lift them properly off the ground, all tell him that he’s wrong.

He just can’t accept it.

Over the first few days, his phone never stops going off. He silences it, but still the screen flashes bright each time he misses another call, another text. Family and friends asking if he’s okay, their lawyer asking if he’s read over the Will, the mortician asking if he’s made funeral arrangements yet, how would he like the body to appear, will it be open casket?

They don’t recommend that.

Most disgustingly, there are voicemails from media services asking for a statement.

Hizashi sends only one message to Nemuri, asking her to keep everyone away. The lack of knocks at his door say his friend is doing what he’d asked, even if he can’t bring himself to answer her inquiries into his mental and physical well being.

At some point, the phone battery dies. He doesn’t plug it in.

If Shouta were here, he’d chastise him. He’d tell Hizashi he was a hero and people might need him, what if there’s an emergency? What if something happens to one of their friends? What if a villain attack goes wrong and they need help?

What if something happens to him?

Something already did.

It’s with this thought that Hizashi finally rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, opens his mouth and says, “He’s not coming back.”

---

Stage 2: Anger

Abruptly, everything is too much.

The neighbor’s dog, who they’ve had for five years, who Hizashi had dogsat when they’d gone on vacation, walked at least a few times a month, and who had never once done anything but brought him joy each time he saw its floppy little ears, barks a few times while he is trying to distract himself with a book and his jaw locks tight. He begins grinding his teeth in time to each little yip.

Principal Nezu had told him to take as much time as he needed, said it wouldn’t even be docked from his vacation days.

When Hizashi finds himself glaring at his neighbor as they both check their mailboxes, his stuffed with condolence letters and sympathy cards to add to the growing pile in his trash, he decides he should get out of the house.

Perhaps being away from Shouta’s things will help.

Perhaps some distance will allow him the strength he needs to pick up the half drunk coffee mug sitting by the kitchen sink, left there by his husband the evening before Shouta’s last patrol.

He’s halfway through a lecture when one student raises their hand to answer a question and gets one too many simple answers wrong. His nails dig into the lectern’s sides, his shoulders slump forward. The shouted words come out as if they belong to someone else, he’s barely aware he’s saying anything at all.

Another teacher, Cementoss, he thinks, takes him by the arm and drags him out of the classroom.

He is sent home.

Nemuri tries to stop him on his way out, as he stomps his way through the halls and toward his car. She says something he can’t hear. He shrugs off her outstretched hands.

When he gets home, his eyes land on the island, on his jacket still lying over that weighty packet of paper. Within an instant, he’s across the room, throwing the garment to the floor, ripping the envelope off the counter, and stepping in front of the garbage can. He places his foot onto the pedal and the lid lifts as, simultaneously, his arm raises above his head.

He holds Shouta’s Will in the air, fist tight around it.

His shoulder tenses.

He can’t bring it down.

Tears begin to fill the trash instead.

---

Stage 3: Bargaining

It begins with one simple thought: If I had gotten there sooner, this never would have happened.

He never recovers.

Every other string of words running through his mind starts with an “if.”

If only I hadn’t let him go out that night.

If only I had gone with him.

If only I had said I love you more.

The last one is the hardest to swallow.

He can’t avoid it any longer. Responsibilities are literally knocking at his door, coming in the form of friends left unanswered for too long and his manager asking just how long he thinks he’ll be off air.

He gives half-assed lies and flips the deadbolt into place.

Nemuri, however, refuses to be kept away.

She pushes her way into the house while his mind is pushing out more “ifs.”

If only I had appreciated him more.

If only I had kissed him harder.

If only I were stronger.

She pulls him to the couch, makes him sit down. It doesn’t take much effort for anyone to drag him around these days. She only takes a small glance at the envelope, now with a ring of coffee stained into the corner and slightly crinkled around where he’d gripped it tight the other night.

“Hizashi…”

He shakes his head. Her hand comes to his knee, squeezes.

“You need to talk about this with someone. You can’t keep shutting us all out. You’re kind of scaring us, you know?”

He folds his hands together in his lap, stares down at them.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is soft and weak. In the back of his mind he recognizes how out of place it is, how empty it sounds.

“Anything...tell me how you’re feeling...just let it out,” she says. Her voice is steady, supportive, and some part of him takes the bait.

He couldn’t keep up with the thoughts spiraling around in his mind.

“I…” he tries to start, but ends up with his teeth digging into his lower lip. Nemuri’s thumb rubs his leg in little circles.

“I just...keep thinking...I could have done more...I could have…” he trails off.

“What, Hizashi?” His mouth snaps shut at her stern tone. She sounds irritated. He hears a heavy sigh to his left, before she takes in another breath and continues, “What are you trying to say? That you could have stopped it? That if...what? You’d done something different, he...he wouldn’t be dead?”

Hizashi’s shoulders tremble as he lets out a shaky exhale.

“Listen to me,” she says, and now her hand is moving up to his face, cupping his cheek, turning him toward her.

It’s the first time he’s really looked at someone like this, one on one, straight in the eye, in what must have been weeks. It feels odd now, out of place. He feels like he can’t hold her gaze, and yet he’s too afraid to turn away.

Silence comes crashing down.

Something vital shifts inside Hizashi.

When Nemuri leaves, he feels these new pieces locking into place.

---

Stage 4: Depression

When Hizashi looks back on this time, he’ll remember it as both the hardest and easiest part of his grieving.

He feels nearly nothing.

Even his limbs are numb and heavy, as exhaustion settles in and never seems to leave. It’s a struggle to convince him to get up for water when his throat takes on a sandpaper-like consistency. His bones and blood and muscle and mind all have a palpable ache that only sleep seems to dampen.

In the brief moments where he’s awake, it’s difficult to put his feelings to words.

Everything has a stifling, too much quality too it.

The sound of his sheets shifting against his clothes is too much.

The small trickles of light coming in through his drawn curtains is too much.

The now nearly completely vanished scent of Shouta, barely there despite his reluctance to wash the sheets, is too much.

It’s on the third or fourth day, he’s lost count really, that he feels something different, that he feels anything at all.

His mind shifts gears, goes wandering back to Nemuri’s words.

There’s nothing you can do to bring him back.

He feels helpless.

He is a hero without a purpose, unable to save the only person who ever mattered.

His eyelids slide down. He descends into slumber once again.

Each time he awakens, he hears her voice in his head. Over and over, tinged with a lonely sadness that penetrates every part of him, and mixing with the static.

At some point, among all of these chaotic thoughts, the image of Shouta’s Will, still sitting on the kitchen island, interrupts, brings the whole chorus to a halt.

There’s nothing you can do to bring him back.

For the first time since nearly throwing that envelope into the trash, tears begin falling down his cheeks and soaking into the pillow case below him.

There’s nothing you can do, Hizashi thinks. There’s nothing you can do for him.

So do something for yourself.

---

Stage 5: Acceptance

It starts with opening the curtains all the way, something he hadn’t done in weeks. His hands shake when he grips the fabric and pulls, but when the light finally touches the bed, bounces off the mirror propped against the corner wall, he finds his feet moving.

He grabs the black, silk robe off the back of the bedroom door and slips his arms in, tying the belt loosely around his waist. This too feels like progress, something small, but something more than he’d had the energy to do lately.

Stepping out into the hallway takes a bit more out of him, but he doesn’t let the momentum fade. He knows if he pauses, he’ll never make it to his goal. So he continues on, refusing to look away from the end of the hall, forcing his feet to slide across the carpet until they meet the smooth tile of the kitchen.

He pushes himself toward the island.

Here, though, he has no choice but to stop.

With the loss of movement, he begins to waiver.

Staring down at the envelope that had plagued every corner of his mind that Shouta’s death wasn’t already occupying, he fights back the urge to begin biting at his lip again. It’s already raw from the previous night spent crying into his sheets.

He takes a deep sigh, like air could somehow help bring his hand up from where it is tucked against his chest, arms crossed over him protectively. He holds it in, closes his eyes.

He sees Shouta, sitting on the living room floor, hunched over the kotatsu, pencil in hand, as he scribbles onto a pad of paper. He remembers watching his husband’s reading glasses sliding down his nose, how his hand rose lazily up to push them back into their place. He’d plopped down on the floor behind Shouta and lay across his back, peeked over his shoulder, and asked, “Giving me anything good?”

It had been a joke.

All heroes die, but he hadn’t really considered it, not in that moment, anyway, not for Shouta.

His husband had nudged him away and told him if he kept trying to find out, he wouldn’t leave Hizashi anything but the piece of paper the Will was written on.

He’d laughed, they both had.

Now, he exhales.

He opens his eyes.

He reaches out and picks up the envelope, sliding his finger under the seal and tearing it open. He pulls out the small packet, letting the envelope fall to the counter as his hands begin to shake.

The first page is a neatly typed note from their lawyer. It says that the packet contains a letter from Shouta, and that the rest was his Last Will and Testament. She gives her condolences. She gives her contact information. She says she’ll be in touch to help him settle his new finances, and to help him update his own Will.

Ah, yes, he’d forgotten about that.

He’d have to give his possessions to someone else now.

He’d never thought about a world where Shouta died first.

Setting the lawyer’s note down onto the counter is perhaps the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

He takes the rest of the packet into the living room, sitting down on the couch, right in front of the spot where Shouta had written it all those years ago.

Finally, Hizashi looks down. He begins to read.

The greeting is crossed out several times, finally starting with just:

Hizashi,

Like most intimate things, I’m off to a bad start here. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to begin a letter to my husband, knowing you’ll read it after I’ve died. It’s hard to think about that. Not so much dying, I know it will happen, but picturing you...alone in our house...shit, you’d hate it. I know you must hate it. I’m…

The word “sorry” is crossed out. Hizashi’s hands increase their tremble.

I don’t think I’ll have died doing anything I regret. I hope it’s during hero work, or I hope it’s when I’m old, retired, lying in a bed with you.

You know, I never used to think about that. I never thought about dying in my sleep. I never thought about making it passed my 40s, really. I hadn’t even made a Will until I fell in love with you. Now, nothing I have seems like it could ever be enough. If you get this when I’m old, I hope I’ve acquired more than just some money, a cat, and a sleeping bag. I hope I saved something good for you. I hope it makes you happy.

I hope you’re alright.

I know you’re a mess. I know you’ve probably been crying for days. I know you’ve probably locked out all our friends and family. I hope you’ve remembered to feed the cats...and yourself...at least.

It’s okay if you didn’t, though. It’s okay to take time. Take as much as you need. I sure as hell took my time telling you I loved you, confessing to you, and I hope I took my time leaving you.

If I didn’t, please know that you were in my last thoughts, I’m sure. Please know that you were the best thing to ever happen to me.

You see, Hizashi, the funny thing about writing this will is that you’re suppose to give up the most important things in your life to someone you love, but…

You’re the most important thing in my life.

The paper crinkles in Hizashi’s hands, as his grip tightens around the page. His teeth are digging into his lip. He sniffles, tears gathering along his bottom lid.

You once told me that writing a Will is one of the most selfless things we ever do. You told me that we don’t write them for ourselves, we write them for other people.

I wish that I could be there to help you. I wish that I could give you so much more than this stupid letter.

I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to get rid of my things. It’s okay to wash my clothes, to throw out the sleeping bag, to take down our pictures for a while, whatever you need to heal, it’s okay. I understand.

I also understand if you move on.

You were the love of my life, Hizashi. After that is over, it’s okay if you have more people to love. I want you to surround yourself with people and things that make you happy. I want you to fill what remains of your life with happiness and warm memories, because that’s all you’ve ever filled mine with. If I’m not there to share in them, I hope you will experience them for both of us.

I know you won’t forget me.

I know you loved me.

I know you’ve probably got an equally as sappy letter sitting in that safe beside mine.

I’m not a religious man, Hizashi, but I pray to God I never get the chance to read it.

It’s so hard to wrap this up...you know...the end of the page is coming up here and I still feel like I have so much more to say. I can’t possibly find a way to end this. How could I? I’m still alive. How am I supposed to know what I want to say to you when I’m dead? I hope I’ll have said everything to you already when I’m still there with you.

I’m rambling now, something I must have picked up from you, no doubt.

I guess that’s a good place to end...thank you, Hizashi. You changed me so much. You made me softer, kinder. You made me more honest. You made me take risks, talk about how I feel, and more importantly, made me care about myself more.

Hizashi, I knew the day I became an underground hero that I would die young.

You made me want to live.

I love you. I love you more than I could ever write here. You were everything that ever mattered.

I know this is hard. I know you’re upset. I know. I know.

But you are strong. You’ll be okay.

Goodbye, Hizashi.

Keep going, for me.

Love, your husband,

Aizawa Shouta

It takes a long time to put the letter down. It takes a long time for the sobs to cease. Briefly, he feels like he’s back at square one. Curled up on his side, face pressed into the couch cushion, he feels like he’s made no progress at all.

When his eyes have finally dried, he looks to where he’d placed the Will and letter on the ground. He stares at Shouta’s handwriting, stares at those few words:

Keep going, for me.

“Okay,” he whispers.

Hizashi pushes himself into a sitting position, picking up the packet which will outline all the physical things Shouta has left behind.

He knows this won’t hurt as bad, that he’s gotten through the hard part.

He can do this.

For him.

For Shouta.

He can do this.

#erasermic #maizawa #erasermic fanfiction #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #present mic #eraserhead #bnha #mha

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dolphinsapphire28 · 6 years

Text

Camouflage

I love the idea behind Pennywise’s costume design to make it look doll-like and monochrome, “almost like a shadow”, as costume designer Jaine Bryant expressed (see full article below). You see how he easily can stand out with his tall frame AND YET blend in with his surroundings with that dull grey silk.

Imagine if the costume comprised bright colours like the 1990 series: I would find him silly rather than menacing.

Photo: Marco Grob/Warner Bros.

Article by Anthony Breznican - August 16, 2016 AT 12:00 PM EDT:

Imagine this staring at you from inside the concrete chamber of a storm drain.

We’ve already gotten a close-up of Pennywise the Clown from the new film version of Stephen King’s It (out Sept. 8, 2017), but here we step back for a fuller view of the creature that likes to take the form of a leering, sinister clown.

Bill Skarsgård is playing the ageless, supernatural beast who feeds on the fears of children, and it’s clear director Andy Muschietti (Mama) is steering away from the modern, baggy-suited, rainbow-hued clown for something a bit more… archaic.

For that, the filmmaker relied on Emmy-winning costume designer Janie Bryant (Deadwood, Mad Men) who crafted a form-fitting suit that draws upon a number of bygone times – among them Medieval, Renaissance, Elizabethan, and Victorian eras.

Pennywise, after all, is infinite.

“The costume definitely incorporates all these otherworldly past lives, if you will,” Bryant says. “He is definitely a clown from a different time.”

There’s a classic Harlequin quality to the elegant red lines, drawing up his cheeks like fangs to bisect his eyes. In this new image, we can more clearly see the fissures in the caked-on makeup atop his domed brow, resembling the sutures in the plates of a skull.

We even get a hint of his yellow, buck-toothed smile — or might those be something sharper?

His neck is frilled by a thick, puffy collar, like a ruff from the late 16th century, and here’s where we zoom in and venture into geek-out territory for costume enthusiasts. Every part of the costume is meant to suggest something both ancient and disturbed.

“That pleating is actually Fortuny pleating, which gives it almost a crepe-like effect,” Bryant says. “It’s a different technique than what the Elizabethans would do. It’s more organic, it’s more sheer. It has a whimsical, floppy quality to it. It’s not a direct translation of a ruff or a whisk, which were two of the collars popular during the Elizabethan period.”

For Pennywise, there’s no need to stay faithful to any era’s fashions. He is a manifestation of what an immortal, supernatural being thinks of as a clown, amalgamating various styles it finds appealing. …Or maybe he’s just thinking of a toy that once belonged to a child he devoured.

“There is almost a doll-like quality to the costume,” Bryant says. “The pants being short, the high waistline of the jacket, and the fit of the costume is a very important element. It gives the character a child-like quality.” Even the gloves are so tight and seamless they make his hands look like porcelain.

At 26, Skarsgård is a much younger Pennywise than Tim Curry, who was in his mid-40s when he played the role in the 1990 TV movie. The costume accentuates his youth, making it look like The Blue Boy outgrew his dandy outfit.

“If you look at the sleeves, there are the two puffs off the shoulder and biceps and again on the bloomers, I wanted it to have an organic, gourd or pumpkin kind of effect,” Bryant says. That includes the peplum at his waist, the flared, skirt-like fabric blossoming from below his doublet.

“It helps exaggerate certain parts of the body,” Bryant says. “The costume is very nipped in the waist and with the peplum and bloomers it has an expansive silhouette.”

It’s all aimed at creating a subliminal suggestion of a creature with long, lanky limbs, a head and neck like a cephalothorax, and a bulbous, arachnoid abdomen. But this creature is walking upright, and calling to you with a fistful of balloons.

The main color of his costume is a dusky gray, but with a few splashes of color.

“The pompoms are orange, and then with the trim around the cuffs and the ankles, it’s basically a ball fringe that’s a combination of orange, red, and cinnamon. It’s almost like Pennywise fades into his environment. But there are accents to pull out the definition of the gray silk.”

While studying those pustule-like ball fringe around his shins, you’ll also note the red and white boots with a pompom at the tip aren’t actually standing on anything. They’re floating.

While this isn’t the bright and cheery Pennywise, Bryant’s version of the character prefers to camouflage himself and strike rather than lure children with lively plumage.

“It makes him almost like a shadow,” she says.

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warriorqueen1991 · 7 years

Text

Win Win

Characters: Negan X Reader

Warnings: SMUT!!, fluff, language

Notes: This is a request from the amazing @neganswinchesters it’s also the sequel to my fic Autumn Heat ;)

Summary: Negan and his wife make a bet, whoever breaks first must do whatever the other wants ;)

————————————————————–

Flopping back on the messy bed Negan panted with a heavy groan, his gunmetal gray suit and suite vest were open exposing his matted chest hair and sweat soaked skin. His black tie wrapped securely around his eyes, his belt strapped around his wrist holding him to the rungs of the headboard.

“Jesus fucking christ darlin…ahh…damn you fucking tired yet” he chuckled his head leaning up as you crawled back up his body. You giggled releasing his arm “I told you not to wear it”.

He laughed “it’s a nice fucking suit”, sliding his tie from his beautiful eyes you caressed his face, pressing your lips against his.

“That it is” you gave him a flirty wink, dipping your head down to suck on his exposed nipple. He groaned fisting your hair with a breathy laugh “fuck…baby I gotta work tomorrow, and we’ve been at it for…” he looked at the bedside table “it’s fucking 3am?”.

You smiled biting your lip “awww is daddy tired?” he growled “no but I’m fucking gonna be, when I drag my ass from your clutches in the morning cuz you can’t live without my dick”. You furrowed your brow smacking his shoulder “hey don’t be nasty ya grumpy fuck”. He chuckled scratching his scruff gently “fuck sorry baby…” you smiled “I forgive you, but you know you’ve got your facts wrong right?”

He cocked his head in confusion “how so?” you ran your tongue up his chest “we both know you couldn’t last a day without sinking between my thighs”. He let out a deep laugh “is that fucking right?” you nodded nipping at his heated skin.

“That a fucking challenge? cuz believe me gorgeous I could use the fucking break”.

Your smile instantly faded making his eyes widen “that’s not what I meant” he shook his head sitting up to pull you into a tight hug. “Fuck baby you know I talk to fucking much…I love you, you know that right?” you frowned but let a small smile pull at your lips as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Of course I do ya big idiot” you breathed against his scruffy cheek, your hands ran up through his hair “I’m sorry I’ve been so clingy lately”.

“Nope, no no noo” He growled rolling over so you were pinned beneath him, he kissed you deeply before trailing kisses down your neck “don’t you dare fucking apologize for rocking my fucking world baby”.

You giggled cupping his face as he nibbled at your ear “you gonna shower before you have go to work or ya gonna get one now?” he growled “well I gotta get up in three hours…so I’m gonna fucking wait”. You smiled helping him out of his disheveled suite before crawling into bed next to him.

Closing your eyes you felt him kiss the back of your neck “challenge accepted”. You giggled rolling over “I have some rules…” he smirked “of course darlin”.

“The first one to break and initiate sex loses, and…” you smirked “no waring that damn suit cuz that’s fucking cheating”. He laughed “deal…now about the good part, what do I get if I win?”

You purred “well handsome if you win I have to do whatever you want…” he groaned with a lascivious smirk, running his tongue across his lip. You pressed in close to him “hmm but if I win you have do something I want”.

He chuckled “sounds like a win win to me baby but you have a fucking deal”.

****

The first few days of you and Negan’s challenge went by pretty smoothly, sweet kisses and light touches. But on the fourth day you were highly frustrated, Negan was at work and you were home. Lucy was sitting on the couch with you, her floppy ears perking up at your sigh.

Pulling his scarf from the back of the couch you hugged it close to your chest, pulling out your phone you smiled taking a picture of you with his scarf. Sending him the pic you quickly sent him a text saying you missed him, it didn’t take long for him to respond.

You knew he was probably teaching right now so his quick smiley face emoji made you smile.

N: MISS YOU 2

You smiled, you hadn’t had sex in four days. For a couple who practically had sex everyday of your married life and then some…this was fucking torture. Why the hell had you even thought for a second that this would be fun. Getting to your feet you glanced at that clock, Negan would be home in an hour or so.

A hot shower sounded perfect.

****

At the sound of Negan’s keys in the door you smiled, you had slipped one of his white tee shirts on with nothing underneath.

You were tired of this game, but like hell you were losing.

Jumping up from the couch you sprinted to the door just as he placed his keys on the table, he barely had a moment to take in your appearance before you leapt in his arms. Stumbling backwards he groaned as his back hit the door “mmh fuck”, you giggled biting his lip as his large hands gripped your ass.

Rolling your barely clothed hips against him you let out a breathy moan “ya gonna take me to bed handsome?” he chuckled working your legs from around his waist “nice fucking try baby”. You bit your lip running your hand down his chest “ohhh come on…” he shook his head “you give?”

You furrowed your brow as you folded your arms “you wish”. He advanced on you, his large hands gripping your hips as his fingers slid beneath his shirt draped over your heated skin.

“you sure…ya seem awful desperate darlin?”

You frowned “well you’re wrong…” he chuckled leaning in close to your face “is that right?” you let out a shaky breath, your skin was burning up at his close proximity.

Smirking you pushed him back slightly “it is…i’m gonna work on dinner” spinning on your heel you moved to the kitchen, swaying your hips so that his shirt barely covered your ass.

****

Dinner went pretty well, your husband’s eyes drifting over your body like you were the main course. Scooting your chair back you crossed your legs, he growled softly at the long expanse of smooth skin the movement reviled.

You gasped as he suddenly got to his feet, pulling his chair across the floor noisily. Giving him a heated stare you turned to face him as he sat down, his large hands slowly running up your bare thighs so he could spread them.

His shirt rode up so he could see your dripping folds, his eyes drifting to your face as he bit his lip with a pleased hum.

Fuck if he touched you, you were gonna be in serious…

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan as his long fingers moved to your heat, his calloused palm rubbing against your clit as he stared at you. Your face twisted in pleasure as your hand snapped around his slowly thrusting wrist, the wet noises mixing with your heavy breathing sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Ughh…god…don’t…don’t start something… you can’t…ahhhh….finish”

He chuckled at your desperate gasps and tiny whines “oh I can fucking finish it baby…” he leaned forward pressing his lips to your ear with a small grunt.

“I’m just not going to”

You felt your walls clench at his deep husky purr, groaning softly he pulled his fingers from your sopping heat “ah ah ah” he tsked with a smirk. Running his tongue over his teeth he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking each long glistening finger as he watched your desperate eyes with satisfaction.

“hmmm like fucking honey” he growled licking his lips as he leaned back with a heated grin.

Jesus fucking christ, you wanted to rip his fucking clothes off.

Taking a deep shaky breath you instantly dropped your fingers down to finish what he started. Negan chuckled leaning back to watch the show, the hand that had just been on your pussy slid to his waistband as he lifted his shirt slightly to expose the hairs peeking from beneath the denim.

Your eyes widened, fuck this wasn’t helping at all…it was making it fucking worse.

Not finding release you quickly stumbled to your feet as you sprinted to the bathroom, his loud booming laughter making your growl.

Fucking game on fucker.

****

“Those fucking kids I swear to god, if they played half as good as they fucking back talk we’d fucking own this season”.

You sighed with a sad smile, it had been a rough day. The Sluggers had lost and Negan was taking it hard, you knew he had worked his ass off to try and get the kids ready but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. He gripped the steering wheel in a vice grip as he slammed his other against the side “Fuck!”

You flinched, glancing over at you he closed his eyes with a deep sigh. Staring back out at the road he scratched his brow “sorry…”

You scooted closer to him, snuggling into his side with a soft smile “you did your best baby that’s all you can do”. He growled “well my best isn’t fucking good enough”, you frowned “hun you’re an amazing couch everyone knows that…” your fingers had worked there way between his shirt and waistband to gently scratch his soft skin.

Leaning up to whisper in his ear you smiled sucking on his earlobe “you’re fucking amazing”.

He groaned as your fingers quickly helped him out of his belt delving beneath the fabric.

Wrapping your fist around his slick cock you moaned in his ear as you began pumping him slowly. He grunted as you shoved your hand further into his pants to gently grasp his balls, rolling your fingers around him as he jerked up in his seat.

Swinging the truck back on the road he tugged your hand from him, you whimpered slumping back against the door biting your lip as you moved your bare feet across his waist.

“You’re no fun”

He chuckled dropping his hand to rub your foot “I’d prefer you wrapped around my thighs, not a fucking tree gorgeous”.

You giggled “touche”.

****

Sitting on the toilet you stared down at the small white stick in your hand, you couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face.

Positive.

You had been getting sick in the mornings and your heightened libido had made you question if there was something else going on.

Getting to your feet you washed your hands, you had been suspicious when your period hadn’t showed up. But then again your cycle had always been on the odd side. Walking into your bedroom you stood in front of the floor length mirror, leaning back you poked your stomach out.

Grabbing a pillow you stuffed it under your shirt with a light giggle, running your hand over the makeshift bump as you smiled.

The sound of Negan clearing his throat made you jump, dropping the pillow to the floor.

His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open in shock as he stood in the doorway.

“Uh…h…hi honey”

He blinked as he finally moved in to grasp your hands “a…are we?” you smiled brightly with a nod. His face lighting up instantly, his wide smile making you giggle as he hugged you tight.

His large hands lifting you from the floor as he spun you around with a happy yell.

Letting you slide back to the floor his hands slid to your stomach, you could tell he was still in shock.

Grasping his face you kissed him passionately as he slid his hands to your hips.

He purred against you.

Whining desperately against his lips you let out a happy squeal as he gripped your ass cheeks, lifting you off the floor so he could stumble to the bed.

Not quite making it, he slid the contents off the nearby desk in one sweep of his arm sending them crashing to the floor.

You laughed as he dropped you onto its smooth surface, your hands whipping his belt from his pants as he practically ripped your pants down your legs. Kissing him with every ounce of passion in your body you shoved him back before leaping into his arms.

Growling he clawed at your ass cheeks as he spun around, dropping you onto the cool sheets of your bed.

Sitting up you tore his shirt off as your hands fought to rid him of his pants, Negan was groaning out desperately as he wrenched your shirt from your body flinging it behind him. Pulling your bra off he fisted your breast as he shoved you to the mattress, you cried out gripping his hair roughly as he sucked on your nipples.

“Baby what…what about…?”

He growled kissing you deeply as he shoved his boxers off his hips to kick them to the floor, his large hands ripped your panties from your hips with a satisfying snap.

“Fuck the challenge…I fucking give baby…you fucking win”.

You giggled reaching down to guide him to you with a loud moan. It had been way too fucking long since he had been inside you.

He grunted with a deep groan as he pulled you up onto his lap as he sat on his knees. Fisting his hair you screamed out in ecstasy as he slammed his hips up against yours.

“Arghhhh god”

Hugging his damp head close to your chest you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Gripping and pulling on your ass cheeks Negan moaned rolling his hips to drive his throbbing cock deep into your quivering channel. Clawing at his neck and chest you snapped your hips forward taking over the pace with a wanton cry.

“Ahh…oh fuck…oh fuck…shit fucking fuuuuuccckkkk”.

Negan fell to his back as you continued to ride him at a punishing pace, your legs were sore and your center was aching for release. Negan was writhing beneath you, his legs sliding against the sheets as he gripped your hips painfully.

Arching his back he cried out roughly as you lifted from him to slid back onto his member, gripping him like a vice in your clenching muscles.

“Shit I’m gonna go off like a fucking bottle rocket baby”

You let out a breathy laugh before throwing your head back with a high pitched moan as he slid his hand up your trembling flesh, gripping your breast as he let out a pained groan.

You winced as you picked up the pace making him grit his teeth as you came with an earsplitting cry. Grunting roughly he gripped your throat softly, his other hand urging you to continue.

“Jesus….fuck…don’t stop baby…ahhhrghh….god… please”

You dropped your mouth with a tight moan as you continued to clench around him, your hands scratched up his chest as you arched above him working your muscles into a frenzy as he nearly screamed.

Spurts of hot cum shooting into your clenching pussy, your greedy folds milked him with tight pulls on his pulsing shaft.

He gasped, panting out in pleasure and almost pain as he pulled you to his lips his tongue delving into your mouth as you continued to rock against him.

“Fuck, shit baby… ahhh fucking hell” he slammed his eyes shut as you both came down at a snail’s pace.

You moaned against his neck “oh my god…I …I don’t think I’m gonna be walking for a week”.

He chuckled breathlessly as you ran your fingers through his matted chest hair “so what do you want?”

You rested your elbows against his chest as you looked at him in confusion “what do you mean?” he smiled “well technically I lost…soooo what'cha want?” You shook your head “baby we both won, you don’t have to do anything”.

He ran his fingers through your hair “nah you had something in mind I’m sure…so lay it on me baby”.

Biting your lip you eyed the phone before quickly jumping off his lap making him groan loudly, but as soon as your feet hit the floor your legs turned to jelly sending you tumbling to the floor.

“Shit”

Negan sat up with a worried expression “fuck baby you ok?” you giggled grabbing the receiver “I think you paralyzed me”.

He laughed “so what’s thy pleasure mistress?”

you purred sliding in next to him before handing him the phone “you’re gonna make a phone call”.

****

Peeking out the window you smirked “She’s home”. Negan chuckled pressing a series of numbers before raising the phone to his ear, a moment passed before his face turned serious.

“Amber it’s Negan we need to talk…I think…I think you should come over”. His deep rasping voice directed at another woman had your hackles raised, even if it was your idea. Hanging up the phone you pulled on the towel wrapped around his hips “She’s gonna be showing up at our door like the fucking Road Runner”.

He purred against your lips as he adjusted your robe so it exposed a fair amount of cleavage.

You giggled as the doorbell rang out behind you “told ya” he rolled his eyes doing his best Road Runner beep as he moved to open the door.

Positioning himself so his partially nude form was all the little bitch could see. You could hear her sickeningly sweet voice as she told him how happy she was that he called. Negan hummed deeply “well this seemed pretty important and I’m tired of waiting”.

Just as she began cooing about how she felt the same way and some other shit you slid in next to him shoving the door open. Negan chuckled “hey baby, perfect timing” you smiled at Amber’s dumbstruck face as he leaned down to give you a heated kiss.

You moaned loudly running your hands up his chest.

Pulling away you smiled as he kissed your nose “love you baby”.

“Love you more”

He chuckled “fucking impossible”

Catching Amber moving away from the door you quickly ran out to grab her hand.

“Oh Amber wait you didn’t hear why we called” she frowned, unable to hide her disappointment. Instead she raised her eyebrows at you expectantly, glancing back at Negan you smiled softly “I wanted to invite you to my baby shower”. Her face instantly paled “y…you’re pregnant?” you nodded with a bright smile “yup”.

She opened her mouth before closing it clearly not sure what to say, dropping her gaze to the sidewalk she forced a smile “congratulations”. You giggled “thank you so much, we’re so excited to start a family….so will you come?”

She nodded slightly before turning back to leave before you quickly grabbed her wrist pulling her to look at you.

“By the way, if you ever try to come between me and my husband I will bash your fucking head in and bury you in the backyard for our dog”.

Her face paled even more as she stumbled away from you, quickly disappearing across the street.

You smiled as Negan wrapped his arms around you with a deep chuckle “damn baby you got me harder than a fucking diamond watching you get all possessive and shit”.

You smiled rubbing his arm, biting your lip as you grinded your ass back against him with light moan.

Gasping in shock you screamed out in laughter as he picked you up with one arm storming back to the house, kicking the door open sending Lucy into another crazed barking fit.

“Goddamnit Lucy, this no time to fucking panic!!”

Your loud laughter echoed outside as Amber slammed her blinds shut with an angry growl.

————————————————————-

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