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myfictionaldreams · 7 months

Text

Day 7: Somnophilia - Winter Soldier

Summary: He had been instructed to find you after he had completed his mission for a debrief, but he has needs to be taken care of first.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dubious content!!!, consensual somnophilia, kinda freeuse, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, obsessive behaviour, multiple orgasms

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The Winter Soldier had only been to your home once more, the location of which wasn’t even included in any Hydra files, but he knew. He always seemed to know where you were, seeking to find you in the darkness. He had been your patient and priority for years. Not only were you his Doctor but carer, the person to give him his missions and report back to; you fed him, helped even to wash him on occasions, you had been ordered to look after the Soldier’s every need, by whatever was necessary.

You’d instructed him two days before report to you following the completion of his mission, and tomorrow, in the early hours of the morning, you were to go to the Hydra base and wait for him to arrive. This was why you were shocked, to say the least when he turned up at your home clearly; whatever had occurred during the mission had riled him up, making him desperate for release.

You should have anticipated this with the Winter Soldier, and to be truthful, you, too, needed some sort of a release from how on edge you’d been over the last 36 hours of watching his heartbeat on a monitor to make sure that he was surviving through the mission. Only after he had confirmed the kill and was on his journey back you finally collapsed face-first onto the bed.

Even though he was your patient, the relationship was significantly blurred as of late as human instinct and the need to find satisfaction through touch had escalated. You weren’t sure when or where, but as he became more unsettled and riled up, his trust in you increased, and he made advances of the sexual kind.

You’d used the excuse that it was to get his frustrations out, which is why you’d allowed it to continue, but in truth, you were just as lonely and in need of human contact, too. The bond the two of you had formed over the years meant that, in an odd way that was inexplainable, you trusted the assassin. There had been enough circumstances that he had lost control and on the warpath, and the only person who would never come to any harm would be you; even after his memory was wiped, he would automatically answer to you and no one else.

Therefore, now, the Soldier was more unpredictable, needing the warmth of your body but also being fascinated by how you reacted to the point that he’d become obsessed. This was how you got to the situation you were currently in.

You’d been in a deep-sated sleep that was desperately needed, but because of that, you were incredibly disorientated. The bed felt softer than usual; the thump of your heart fluttered against your eardrums, covering up the sounds produced further down the bed.

Your entire body was floating like the bed had disappeared, and you’d somehow landed on a fluffy cloud. Everywhere was warm, comfortable and yet vulnerable; you felt exposed at first but soon realised that the bed sheet must have slipped from your body, exposing your nudity.

The more that time ticked on, the more your surroundings began to unblur. You realised that the warmth of your body was actually a burning in your muscles being held in a specific position by a heavy weight pushing on it.

Taking a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with cool air, you soon came to the realisation that you were moaning deep from the back of your throat. Drowsy, dry moans that continued in a steady flow as you reacted to something even in the depths of sleep.

With a whole body shiver, you attempted to move, to understand why your core was pulsing with pleasure; however, when you tried to stretch your legs, thick leather gloved-covered hands held your thighs back so that your knees were grazing your chest.

“Wha-What’s going on?” you asked, but your throat was so dry and sleep still evident so that your voice was croaky and deeper than usual. Your only answer came in a long hard lick of a tongue from your hole to your clit.

Your back arched with an automatic response, hands moving down to deel whoever was there and was greeted with a clammy forehead and hair that felt long, unwashed and draped over your mound.

A powerful suck to your throbbing bundle of nerves forced your eyes to bolt open; back still arched, but now, you were pushing up on your elbows to half sit up and look at the man you already knew who was there, eating you out like a man wholly starved, like it was his first meal in days. You supposed he probably was hungry, besides from the fact that he’d been travelling for hours, as his high metabolism meant he usually was hungrier quicker than others.

The Winter Soldier was lying on the bed, stomach down against the mattress, his tactical gear still on and only his mask was missing. He was still coated in grim dirt from the mission, even on the gloves that held your thighs in place, but he didn’t care, and neither did you as he helped himself to your pussy. For a moment, you contemplated his night; he must have travelled non-stop to get here and then dropped to his knees and started licking your cunt, probably too hyper-fixated on your nakedness even to bother to wake you.

The moans in the back of your throat increased in volume, the tips of your fingers moving further into his hair to hold him in that position right as his tongue curled deep inside your hole just as you liked it.

The Asset's eyes were closed. However, they always were when he pleasured you, as if he was so in the zone, only wanting to listen to your sweet melodies of moans and taste your unique sweet taste like it was the best and only thing that mattered to him.

“Soldier”, you gasped with a rush of air escaping your mouth as you collapsed back onto the mattress, feet tilting and resting onto his shoulders to help keep him in that same position.

The grip on your thighs tightened almost to the point of leaving bruises as he responded to his title, and your walls were beginning to clamp down with more urgency to suck his tongue deeper. Just a little more, a particular flick of his tongue, and you were orgasming, squishing his face by grinding your hips and holding his hair firmly in place as your cunt contracted against his tongue.

The Winter Soldier didn’t stop fucking you with his tongue until your muscles loosened and fingers relaxed, and then dropped back onto the mattress as you stared up at the ceiling in the after-orgasmic bliss.

One minute, you’re grinning like an idiot, blowing out a long, steady breath, and the next, you’re face down on the bed as the Asset twisted your hips, turning you over and rising on the bed himself.

This was usually how it happened, so you had anticipated it, especially to be moved into this position. It was his favourite position to do it from behind, whether it was bending over a desk, countertop, bed or on your knees like you were now, face down and ass up. The conclusion you’d come to that he preferred it this was it wasn’t as personal as face to face, which had happened once, and he’d gone into a complete meltdown to the point that he had needed to be frozen again and Pierce had been beyond fuming after he’d found out what had happened. It was most likely because he’d seen the euphoria on your face during sex and bought back some human emotion for him that the Soldier couldn’t understand.

So now, the fucking was exclusively from behind, but you didn’t mind, especially as it was wild, as he always fucked you so deep from this angle. The Asset only unzipped himself, not bothering to undress any further, finding it unnecessary even to remove his shoes as he wiped his cock up and down your folds to later his tip in your juices.

This was your only warning before he began to fuck you. One sharp thrust in, 5 seconds to adjust and then it was a free-for-all.

Hard, deep, fast thrusts. Your bed bounced against the wall, smacking noises of both the impact of the bed and your hips being slapped against his as he held tightly onto the flesh, using the momentum to push and pull your body against his.

The Winter Solider’s balls smacked your tender clit, swollen from his mouth. Your fingers fisted into the pillow beneath your face, teeth also having to bite the material so that your poor neighbours didn’t complain about the screaming at whatever late hour that it was.

He was rough, but the Asset needed to be. He needed to feel hard sparking touches as anything else would have been too overstimulating in the sense that he wasn’t used to soft touches, only from you, but when he was in control, he craved it to be like this. The mushroomed tip of his thick cock was fucking repeatedly into your cervix, almost making you see stars with how good and intense it felt. Your juices were making squelching noises with each thrust of his member, and it was so loud and obscene that it covered the sound of your muffled moans.

Not a single noise came from the Asset; he was always silent for the most of it. Only his heavy breathing could be heard, but at least this time, he wasn’t wearing his mask like usual.

However, he decided to mix it up slightly, doing something he hadn’t attempted before as his grip on your hip released so he could take hold of your shoulder, pulling on it until you were entirely on your knees, naked back flush against his tactical gear-clothed chest. The arm on your shoulder then scooped around your front, resting between your breasts and fingers around your neck to ensure you didn’t fall forward. You knew the metal arm was holding you up due to the firm feeling beneath the leather clothes.

His parted lips hovered next to your ear like he would whisper something to you, but no noises or words came. The rolling of his hips slowed, but the thrusts were still just as deep and methodical, the buckles of his belt digging into your bare flesh until you were clawing at his wrist to all of the stimulation.

It felt so good, so god damn good that you were already clinging to him and wanting to scream that you were about to orgasm again. Still, he already knew from how your pussy clutched to him like a lifeline, attempting to milk his cock with his hard it was squeezing his length in flutters. The Soldier continued, not phased or slowing as you shivered and then came, warm wet juices soaking down your thighs as your cunt pulsed around his cock.

Nothing could ever prepare you for his libido, though. He could stay hard for hours due to his super serum, and with how needy and lonely you were, you’d fucked him enough time to get used to the long sessions, knowing by the end, you’d be overstimulated and thoroughly satisfied.

Two more orgasms later, you were a trembling mess, having moved to lie on your side as he spooned close behind, hair drenched from how warm he was, still completely dressed. You were curled around your pillow, pussy sensitive and flooded from all of your orgasms, and he finally made a noise, releasing a deep groan as his seed spilt into your pussy, coating your walls and then leaking out and dripping onto the bed.

You were already half asleep again as he pulled out, standing to clean himself. With half-lidded, heavy eyes, you forced yourself to turn onto your back to follow his movements. It was sometimes hard to remember what your job role was, that it wasn’t some kind of a fling or one-night stand, so with great difficulty, you asked, “Mission report?”

#winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier x reader #winter solder smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #marvel #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine*

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starogeorgina · 10 months

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Redemption

Warning: Swearing, smut, hints of violence

Pairing: Ivar × reader

1.01

“Ivar!”

“What?” He whines like a child before placing a soft kiss on your bare hip and pouting up at you, his lips still slightly red and swollen from kissing you so roughly. “I told you I wanted us to have a child of our own,” he states, pushing himself further down the bed so he can have a full view of your own puffy lips. Ivar had a fascination with watching his cum drip out of you. He would often try to push it back in with his fingers or clean you up with his tongue. “I want to see you around with my child, a creation of our love.”

“I know you do.” You let out a soft groan when his finger lightly brushes over your clit. “But I’m so sensitive, I just need a moment to…”

“You’ve spilled too much of my seed,” he says, ignoring what you previously said. “I’ll need to put more inside you if we wish for this to work.”

“Hmm… fuck!” You moan loudly as he places a strong hand on either side of your head before thrusting himself inside you for the third time that evening.

Fucking was one of your favourite things to do, but Ivar would push you to the point of exhaustion with how many orgasms he gave you. He always made sure you came at least once before fucking you into oblivion.

—

You nip at Ivar’s bare chest with your teeth, and he flinches slightly, causing you to giggle. Burying your face into his neck, you mumble, “How long will you be gone for?”

“I am unsure, but I will return to you,” he says, kissing the back of your knuckles, “to our family as a proud man, not as a cripple.”

Shuffling into a more comfortable position on your back, you let out a huff. You understood why Ivar needed to go to England with his father, but you still didn’t like it. Usually you remained close by his side, but being pregnant, you decided to stay behind in Kattegat, despite Ragnar asking you to join them personally. Queen Aslaug had a dream of her husband and son drowning because of a storm, but neither of them cared much for her warning, so you tried not to worry too much; you needed to believe Ivar would always find his way back to you. Letting out a deep sigh, your hand moves to cradle your ever-growing bump.

“My sweet, sweet Drifa, I can see the doubt in your eyes, but I assure you I will not die on this journey.”

“You better not; I’ll need you by my side when I deliver our child. I don’t want to do it alone.”

“You won’t be alone. If I’m not here, my brothers and mother will remain by your side.”

“I know,” you say, toying with strands of fur from the blanket covering your chest, “but they aren’t you.”

Ivar kisses the crown of your head, stroking your hair as you start to fall asleep. There was no possible way he could assure you he wouldn’t die, but he would try to comfort you the best he could. You’d grown up alongside the sons of Ragnar, with your mother and Aslaug being so close, so you’d known Ivar all your life. You had considered him your closest friend before any romantic relationship had developed between you, but the flames of desire had been burning ever since he killed a boy who tried to force himself on you.

It would absolutely break your heart if Ivar didn’t return home.

—

You opened your eyes, scanning the dimly lit room to see where the sound in the distance was coming from. You saw nothing but recognised the heavy breathing as your husband's, so you closed your eyes again. Leaning your head back, you try to enjoy the warmth surrounding your body as Ivar drags himself into the room. You had the slaves fill you with a bath as soon as you woke, scrubbing continuously to wash away the blood that stained your skin. Your thighs and groin were red and raw, but you continued to clean each time you saw the blood from your miscarriage reappear.

It seemed like the right decision at the time to remain in Kattegat, but you were there when the village came under attack and witnessed Lagertha killing Aslaug while her back was turned. Moments later, you fell to the ground, screaming as a pain ripped through your lower abdomen as you lost your unborn child.

Lagertha had spared your life after you attempted to kill her by throwing an ax at her head. She thought that by letting you live, the sons of Ragnar wouldn’t seek revenge for their mother. Oh, how wrong she was.

“They say being in water so warm isn’t good for you, my love.” Your husband says he's propping himself up by his arms, leaning them on the side of the tub so he’s level with you.

You shrug.

“I can have one of the slaves help you get out and dressed if you’re in too much pain.”

Shaking your head, you press your forehead against Ivar’s. To most, he was a sadist and bloodthirsty man, nothing more than a man who craved violence to fill the void in his heart, but he had never treated you with anything but kindness and respect. Ivar found the love he always craved from you in spite of others thinking your relationship would fail. Since Margarethe spread rumors claiming Ivar couldn’t please a woman sexually, the other sons of Ragner enjoyed teasing Ivar, saying it wouldn’t be long until you left him for someone else, not that you ever would.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Besides, I want to stay in here until the water cools down.”

Ivar brushes damp hair behind your ear as tears start to roll down your cheeks. “Perhaps the gods took our child early so that my mother wouldn’t be alone.”

“Perhaps,” you sob. Ivar had been furious upon learning of his mother's death and had sworn to kill Lagertha one day, but he was trying his best to contain his rage around you. “Queen Aslaug deserved better. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop what happened to her, but her death will be avenged.”

“We will have our revenge on Lagertha, but for now we will bid our time. First you will regain your strength, then we will have revenge on those who are responsible for my father's death, and then we will have retribution for what happened to my mother.”

—

A mixture of dampness and thick smoke hung heavily in the air as you stepped outside for the first time in days. Hiding away wasn’t going to change what happened, and you wanted to at least appear strong on the outside. The first person to greet you is Ubbe, who pulls you into a hug. “I’m sorry, Drifa; I know how happy you and Ivar were to finally start a family of your own.”

Hvitserk hugs you next but says nothing. Behind you, Sigurd makes a crude comment about Ivar losing his mommy and then his surrogate mommy right after. You keep your composure, not wanting to give him satisfaction. Sigurd had attempted to seduce you several times since you married his brother, but each time you rejected him, making him bitter towards you.

“That’s enough,” Ubbe snaps.

Irritated, your fingers tap against one of the tables loudly, gaining all of the brothers attention. You narrow your eyes at Sigurd as your fingers slide over the selection of weapons already laid out on the table for the purpose of gutting fish.

“Just ignore him,” Hvitserk says, attempting to calm you down. “My brother is just jealous; he doesn’t even have a woman to stick his cock in.”

“Is that right, Sigurd? You are making jokes at the expense of my dead child because your dick is lonely? I’m sure we could find a nice pig for you.”

His face reddens with embarrassment when his brothers all laugh at him. “You’re nothing but a whore; we all know Ivar couldn’t possibly be the father of that thing that was growing inside you. He isn’t man enough.”

“Do not insult Ivar in front of me!”

“Why? Nobody cares. Nobody gives a shit about a cripple.”

You grab hold of the knife next to you and aim it at Sigurd. The edge of the knife scrapes across the side of his face, cutting it in the process. When Sigurd goes to take a step towards you, Ubbe steps in between you and says, “No more; you’ve upset our sister enough for one day.”

Another reason Sigurd hates you is because his family accepts you as one of their own. Aslaug treated you like a daughter, and his brothers were very protective of you. They admired your loyalty to Ivar.

“I am counting down the days until my husband finally kills you!” You hiss.

Hearing a laugh, you turn your head back to see Ivar observing the scene with a smile on his face. He had managed to crawl so quietly that nobody noticed him sitting on the opposite side of the table from where you stood. He claps his hands in amusement and says, “Isn’t she fantastic? Beautiful and violent.” Ivar licks his lips before sitting back in the chair. “Now, let us begin to plan our next move.”

Ivar motions for you to come over to him; when you do, he guides you till you’re sitting atop his thighs, his arm wrapping around your back while your legs dangle over his. He kisses your cheek and says, “Good girl, your aim is getting better.”

Admittedly, you weren’t the best at welding a weapon or firing an arrow until Ivar decided to teach you. You whisper, “I still think I’ll need a few more one-on-one lessons.”

He smirks before turning his attention to his brothers, who seem unfazed by you sitting on his lap, all aside from Sigurd, whose glare is burning into you.

#Ivar #ivar x reader #Ivar smut #vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #Ivar x you #ivar fanfic #vikings ivar #vikings smut #vikings x reader #ivar ragnarsson #redemption #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x you #Ivar the boneless smut #Ivar the boneless/reader #Ivar the boneless/you

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starlithumanity · 6 months

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I'm having a fascinating time rewatching Our Flag Means Death with the knowledge that Ed sees Izzy as a "safe" mentor/family figure ("safe" because Izzy is Ed's subordinate aboard the ship, which creates a more balanced power dynamic) upon whom Ed projects his many unresolved daddy issues. That stated interpretation from David Jenkins does work, even in season one!

Most of the fandom conceptualized season one Izzy as a power-hungry subordinate to Ed and a "co-parent" to the crew (paralleled with the Stede/Mary marriage) who has an understated masochist lust for the Blackbeard legend. All of that is true too, because Ed and Izzy's relationship is incredibly complex and fucked-up. I know from personal experience that this kind of layered toxic relationship is completely possible, though it might seem contradictory on the surface.

In season one, Ed considering Izzy as a mentor/family explains more why Ed let his first mate be so insulting to and controlling of him and still kept wanting Izzy to stay beside him. It adds more meaning to how Ed veers super hard into the violent Blackbeard role after feeling cornered and threatened by Izzy at the end of the season. (This also has further weight for those of us with family members who have disapproved quite loudly of our queer relationships.)

There is a strong parallel that I noticed previously between young Ed's reaction to his father abusing his mother and season one Ed's reaction to Izzy dueling Stede. Stede is linked to Ed's mother through the red silk and through the fact that Stede and Ed's mother--and Lucius--are the only people we see treating Ed with compassion/softness in season one. It thus makes sense for Izzy to be mirroring Ed's father.

Then there's another parallel in how Ed responded to Izzy mentioning Stede in a mocking way ("pining for his boyfriend") by choking Izzy, like how Ed had once responded to his father threatening his mother by strangling his father. In this moment, Izzy touched Ed's face with an intimate kind of familiarity and said, "There he is." Ed clearly found this unnerving, which some people read as sexually harassment, but it makes just as much sense for it to be his daddy issues getting triggered.

(GIF Sources: captain-flint and divineandmajesticinone)

I think part of why this dynamic was unclear in season one is because the writers wanted us to see that, even though Izzy is a mentor figure who taught Ed certain skills, Ed is a grown man who is fully competent on his own. He had likely started building the Blackbeard legend by the time Izzy met him, he has a clever mind that's constantly coming up with new plans, and when Izzy himself was left as captain, Izzy proved to not have the necessary charisma and compassion to lead the crew. Ed is the star power; Izzy is the manager, so to speak.

However, Izzy overestimates his importance and often talks about himself like he's a martyr to the Blackbeard legend, working so hard to keep both Ed and the crew in line. He claims that he's been "clean[ing] up [Ed's] messes... my whole life," which feels like a very parental complaint to me.

Ed fuels this martyr complex some in season two by physically harming Izzy, but notably, Ed doesn't threaten this kind of harm to the rest of the crew (though he isn't very careful with them either) until he's in the suicidal spiral of driving the ship into a storm. Before that, Ed threatens Izzy specifically, both because Izzy threatened him and Stede in season one and because Ed's trying, in his own fucked-up way, to prove to Izzy that he's following Izzy's guidance and "being Blackbeard." The toe-cutting also has some metaphorical weight: Izzy demanded that Ed "cut off" the gentler pieces of himself to be Blackbeard, so Ed starts cutting off literal pieces of Izzy in return. When it becomes clear that this isn't satisfying Izzy either, that's when Ed really goes off the deep end. ("I loved you the best I could," but I never could be enough to fit your expectations.)

(GIF Source: livelovecaliforniadreams)

Meanwhile, we see Izzy starting to question things specifically in response to Ed saying that Izzy could be replaced as first mate. Izzy thought his place, as a mentor/family and self-professed "martyr", was more secure than that, and it challenges his whole identity.

Throughout season two, the mentor/family dynamic is further emphasized via the parallel between Izzy/Ed/Stede and Auntie/Zheng Yi Sao/Oluwande. Others have discussed this more, but there's so much meaning in the similar ways these characters carry themselves, in the tension of Auntie disapproving of Zheng Yi Sao's feelings for "soft" Oluwande, and in the way Oluwande finally teaches Auntie to soften herself some for Zheng Yi Sao.

(GIF Source: bizarrelittlemew)

Additionally, in episode five of season two, we see Stede turning to Izzy for mentorship, proclaiming that Ed himself had recommended Izzy as someone who "made him into the captain he is today." People have questioned that as being a false manipulation from Stede, but I think there's a good chance that it was true! (Ed probably said this to Stede sometime during season one, when the two of them got to know each other so well.) "Taught him everything he knows" is definitely a flattering exaggeration, but hey.

(GIF Source: ofmdaily)

Throughout this and other episodes, we see Izzy continuing to take on a mentor-like role with Stede and the crew (and eventually Ed) as he tries to recenter himself after the darkness of the first three episodes. It's clear that Izzy is most comfortable playing the gruff and politically incorrect old fighter who offers guidance, but now he's letting himself branch out more and connect to the crew in new gentler ways. He even metaphorically "gives his blessing" to Ed and Stede's first time having sex by providing the musical accompaniment, which is the perfect amount of weird for this show, haha.

(GIF Source: izzyfag)

Izzy's transformative arc in season two also involves a steady pattern of reversals, corrected new versions of his treatment of Ed in season one, as Izzy start coming to terms with the harm he did to Ed. Other people have discussed this in more detail, but I think the pace of this change is realistic to what you would see in such a situation. Ed's responses to this, too, are consistent with him seeing Izzy as a mentor/family.

(GIF Source: edwards-teach)

I should further note that Izzy and Benjamin Hornigold (another abusive father figure from Ed's past) are two characters mirrored by the fact that they call Ed "Eddie" in season two. I can imagine that being the nickname Ed used when he was younger, before growing out of it. Izzy seems to start feeling the echo of that memory of younger Ed when Ed comes to him scared, asking for Izzy to "fix [his] mess" by shooting Ed like Ed "dreamed" about.

(GIF Source: blairpfaff)

Right before Izzy's death, there's a scene where Ed is triggered super hard in his daddy issues by the fisherman "Pop-Pop." I think the writers wanted to remind us of the parental trauma Ed has been through before giving us some catharsis through Izzy's deathbed confession and apology. In that moment, Izzy takes full accountability for what he did, while Ed cries and says, "You're my only family." Izzy redirects him in a final bit of mentorly guidance, telling Ed that the crew is there to be his family if Ed will let himself be loved, truly, in the way Ed has often rejected and distanced himself from being loved.

(GIF Source: izzyfag)

Now, I do think Izzy's death was the right choice for this show. I like that DJenkins went with the classic mentor death trope, and he did a similar thing with Buttons, the other old-timer first mate! I agree likewise with those who have discussed Izzy's loss as being a necessary step for the narrative to move forward both from Ed's darker self/parental trauma and from the older age of piracy that Izzy represents. Izzy was always meant to be a dark reflection of and a narrative support/conflict for Ed, and this is the natural culmination of that. His complicated legacy will continue to be something Ed has to reckon with, however, although Ed is trying to compartmentalize that right now.

I very much hope to see, in season three (🤞🏻), how Ed continues to process his past, especially now that he's trying for a domestic life that will likely lead into marriage. Marriage, from what I've seen, often acts as a staging ground for whatever parental trauma you had growing up, because you look to your parental figures as an example of how to do "adult" things. This is going to be a huge conflict for both Ed and Stede, who has his own personal negative marriage experience. I suspect Izzy will continue to represent this problem in some form or another.

(GIF Sources: kiwistede and yenvengerberg)

#our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #izzy hands #edward teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #benjamin hornigold #nathaniel buttons #zheng yi sao #auntie #oluwande boodhari #my stuff

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oakgreenoak · 16 days

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Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

#pokemon #reguri #pokespe #pokeani #anipoke #trainer red #rival green #blue oak #dexholder red #dexholder green #ash ketchum #gary oak #character analysis #sorry not sorry for writing an essay on a whim. it will happen again #namelessshipping #originalshipping #palletshipping #kindanotreally #but i think yall will appreciate my char analysis of them as a dynamic yknow. i am one of youse

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lululandd · 10 months

Text

rabid; (i.)

pairing: platonic simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

word count: 956

warnings: comedy, aftermath of torture, mild gore

note: heheh >:3 (also on ao3)

summary:

ghost has a love-hate relationship with his neighbour of six years. on one hand they’re quiet enough, nice enough, considerate enough and never once had bothered him in any way, but on the other hand he is a highly trained soldier with highly trained senses and the things he hears travelling through his walls are batshit insane.

part i. | part ii. | part iii. | part iv.

He guesses they are an entertainer or a comedian or some sort because on rare occasions, they—whether he wanted to or not—made him laugh. The absurdity of the questions and things that came out of their mouth really makes him feel like he has a glimpse of what a worry free civilian life could be.

On one particularly rowdy night he heard the one sided conversation about anal, which rapidly escalated to how peoples arseholes can stretch up to seven inches in diameter and therefore, theoretically could fit two smaller raccoons.

He listened in fascinated horror how that thought came into their mind, how they associated arseholes with raccoons, and why in christ fuck did they sound so cheerful about it. Maybe he’s just a battle hardened, workaholic soldier that has only seen carnage and suffering, but even if such a thought came to his mind, it would not be classified as a happy thought and he would not laugh about it.

Until eight months later where he’s interrogating an American that he really wants to just straight up murder and remembers his neighbour.

He opens the door that leads to the rest of the warehouse and calls out to his men, “I need two raccoons. Small but not pups.”

He was met with silence and a confused looks, but he saw Gaz and Soap get on it and round up several soldiers.

“Alive!” He barked at them.

—

Soap looked worriedly at Gaz, “What do you think he’s gonna do with live raccoons?”

The other man shrugged, “You think he’s gonna threaten him with rabies?” Gaz gnashed his teeth together, “Let them bite him or something?”

One of the Lance Corporals behind them chimed, “I kinda wanna see.”

In came a chime of ‘yeah’s from the other men.

—

Ghost had made sure the American in question heard his request of the live raccoons before taking a seat on the table holding all his tools and lighting up a cigarette.

He looked at the man’s surroundings, the litter of teeth and nails on the floor, three parts of his severed ring finger, and the blood splatters on the makeshift plastic floor. The cleanup crew’s gonna at least be a little happy about that.

“You like raccoons, mate?” He offers, lighting what seemed to be his third cigarette.

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“Raccoons. Trash pandas. Those chubby lil wankers with grubby hands.” He curled his palms and did mock scratching motions.

“You’re crazy.” He spat.

“I am.” For even thinking of trying this over his neighbour’s demented jokes.

Fourty five minutes later Gaz came knocking on his door.

“Got your furry friends, boss.” He gestures at a cage sitting by the door. The animals seemed calm, they couldn’t have just nicked it from some random bins and throw them in there.

“Cheers, Gaz.” He saw the man linger. “Anything else?”

“Can we observe, Sir?”

“No.” came his quick answer. If he really has to do what he thinks he’s gonna do, he’d rather his men not see it. They’ve seen so much in their line of work already, he doesn’t want to add to their nightmares.

Imagining one of them having PTSD from seeing a harmless animal makes him feel guilty.

He took the cage from Gaz’s hands and placed it nicely on the floor, a little way away from the American’s feet.

“You know that saying?” He puts on his best southern accent, mimicking Graves. “What crawled up your butt and died?”

The man’s eyes widened and he tried so hard to shift further into his seat, trying to create as much distance between them as possible. Ghost lets the moment go on for a little longer. It makes all the difference, really; whether you rush into the torture or letting them sit and wonder about the choices they think they have.

“I heard somewhere that your arse can stretch up to seven inches in diameter.” He pointed at the raccoons, “The normal sized bastards can fit into a four inch hole. But I’m being nice today and gonna give these smaller ones some wiggle room.”

He can’t help but crouch closer to the cage and coo at them as the man starts yelling for help.

“So.” He said in a calm voice, listing his head slowly when the man had stopped screaming his throat dry. “Since I’m a very nice man today I’m gonna give you two options.”

Fat rolls of tears had started to run down the man’s cheeks, his chest heaving as he begged for mercy.

“Do you want me to sedate these raccoons so they don’t claw your insides or do you wanna..” He remembers a word that floated into his flat one night, “..rawdog it?”

—

Soap had never seen a cleaner interrogation room before. Not from Ghost, the man’s usually so brutal about it. He remembers seeing parts of a live brain one time because Ghost had bashed their skull so badly and remembered having to shoot the person dead out of pity. But today? The intel was good, the man was still alive with almost all of his body parts; save for some of his teeth and nails and the chopped up finger,

and the raccoons.

They were alive and Ghost seemed to never have opened the cage at all.

—

When Ghost came home that month he heard his neighbour say something about a ‘little birthday celebration’ for tomorrow. He checked his watch and decided to walk to the bakery and get them some cake. That last operation went smoothly, and he has them to thank.

He can’t wait to hear what other mental things that will come out of their mouth in the future and apply them to his work.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty imagines #call of duty #scuffed writing

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fantastic-nonsense · 1 month

Note

I love your thoughtful SoC meta! I would love to know your thoughts on Kaz and Jesper’s relationship. Specifically, I adore Kaz but one thing in particular that always seemed so dark to me was that he enabled Jesper’s gambling addiction even though he obviously does care about him. Kaz is obviously willing to do a lot of fucked up things in service of his goals, but this one in particular, toward his own brother figure, I find sad. It’s kind of addressed during their fight at the end of CK but still feels a little unfinished.

I love Kaz and Jesper's relationship. There's sooooo much to dig into there (way too much for a single meta); it's super juicy and complicated, and one of the best complexities of it is that they often enable and feed off of each other's trauma. The pre-canon status quo is a situation where Kaz and Jesper are, in many ways, using and abusing each other as a way of avoiding dealing with their own trauma. It's a fascinating push-and-pull dynamic because neither of them are pushovers and yet neither one is particularly interested in facing their Issues™ head-on, and they both seemingly recognize that in each other and give each other an uncharacteristic amount of grace in helping the other avoid dealing with it.

In Kaz's case, that most often looks like enabling Jesper's gambling addiction and then repeatedly bailing him out of trouble under the justification of "he's loyal and competent, it would be wasteful to let the other gangs kill him." In Jesper's case, this looks like ignoring Kaz's countless and extremely obvious issues in favor of playing the loyal second. Basically, it's not just Kaz enabling Jesper's gambling addiction; it's also Jesper enabling Kaz's unhinged ruthlessness with little pushback other than a few snarky comments.

They also project a lot of their own issues onto each other! Kaz pushes Jesper away in part because he's projecting the grief and blame he feels over Jordie's death onto Jesper, but Jesper is using Kaz's ruthless pragmatism to escape the crippling disappointment of returning home to face his father's judgement for being a college drop-out, gambling addict, and gang member. And Kaz withholds praise and verbal declarations of trust from Jesper because he hates acknowledging that he cares about people, but Jesper uses Kaz's emotional detachment as a crutch to avoid dealing with his own commitment issues by pining after a boy he knows will never reciprocate his advances. This status quo is, of course, insanely unhealthy for both boys long-term, but where would we be if any of the Crows actually dealt with their issues in a healthy way?

That dynamic, imo, is also only possible because Kaz and Jesper have known each other for longer than anyone else in the main crew; Kaz may have let Inej in further, but he let Jesper in first. As far as we know, Jesper is the first person Kaz genuinely lets past his mile-high walls since Jordie died...but he very deliberately holds him at arms' length in a way that he does not with Inej (something that Jesper notices and is jealous about!). Being "the first" in this case unfortunately comes with a lot of baggage, and Kaz and Jesper would both lowkey rather die than talk about how much they care what the other thinks of them.

Kaz clearly didn't recruit Jesper looking for a friend or someone who reminded him of his dead older brother; he recruited him because he saw someone with a useful skillset who he preferred to be at his side rather than in a rival gang or dead in the canals. It's to Jesper's credit that he managed to break through those walls anyway, but there's only so much he can do in the face of Kaz's armor. And like Inej, Kaz's closed-off personality and actions hurt Jesper repeatedly. But he stays anyway, because he (like Inej) sees the boy underneath the mask that Kaz wears and cares a little too much to let him go:

“He wouldn’t—” Jesper stopped short, and then he laughed. “Of course he would.” Jesper flexed his knuckles, concentrated on the lines of his palms. “Kaz is…I don’t know, he’s like nobody else I’ve ever known. He surprises me.” “Yes. Like a hive of bees in your dresser drawer.” Jesper barked a laugh. “Just like that.” “So what are we doing here?” Jesper turned back to the sea, feeling his cheeks heat. “Hoping for honey, I guess. And praying not to get stung.” Inej bumped her shoulder against his. “Then at least we’re both the same kind of stupid.” “I don’t know what your excuse is, Wraith. I’m the one who can never walk away from a bad hand.” She looped her arm in his. “That makes you a rotten gambler, Jesper. But an excellent friend.” “You’re too good for him, you know.” “I know. So are you." -Ch. 17, Six of Crows

Kaz is unused to verbalizing the trust he places in others and actively in denial about how much he cares about them until Crooked Kingdom; he spends his time deliberately being cruel and pushing people away even as he proves over and over again that he doesn't actually want them to leave him. This casual assholery hits those closest to him (Inej and Jesper) the hardest because they are clearly trusted with his life but not with his heart, and that hurts them both.

For Inej, resolving that behavior looks like giving him an ultimatum ("I will have you without armor or I will not have you at all") and telling herself to walk away unless he meets her challenge. For Jesper? That looks like duking it out on top of the Geldrenner when they're both at rock bottom, because of course that's the only way either one of those boys is ever going to verbalize the tension that underlies their relationship. There's just a lot of baggage and mutual toxicity and unsaid words that neither of them are very interested in dealing with until everything comes to a head during the Clocktower fight.

I think we also forget that the Kaz-Jesper dynamic we see in the majority of the duology is not their normal dynamic: it's how they interact when Kaz is mad at Jesper. And a mad Kaz is, within the scope of canon, a pretty cruel Kaz, which is something that I think a good portion of the fandom likes to handwave away in favor of pointing towards Kaz's active attempts to be better in the back half of the duology.

Ultimately we only see the "normal" Kaz-Jesper dynamic for the first 12 or so chapters of Six of Crows (when the Dock Fight/Eyeball Incident happens) and the last few chapters of Crooked Kingdom. Those chapters are a really interesting look into what that relationship looks like when they're on good terms. It's clear that they're good friends, trust each other a hell of a lot, and joke around with each other quite a bit (the "saves ammo" joke in the parley chapter, their interactions during the Hellgate breakout, the "man with a knife!" "man with a gun!" exchange immediately after Kaz throws Oomen overboard, etc), but we also see the stress points: Jesper getting mad at Kaz for not telling him about Big Bolliger's betrayal, Kaz sending Wylan with Jesper during the prep chapters to keep an eye on him, and Jesper's bee and honey conversation with Inej on the Ferolind, for example.

These stress points are what fracture and crack in the aftermath of Jesper accidentally alerting the other gangs that they were headed out on the Ice Court Job and nearly causing Inej's death, and further buckle under the stress and pressure that Kaz and Jesper deal with during the following month and a half: the Ice Court job, Van Eck kidnapping Inej on Vellgeluk, Colm showing up in Ketterdam, and the Sugar Silo/Auction scheme.

In this way, I think Kaz enabling Jesper's gambling addiction is less about Kaz being actively cruel towards someone he sees the ghost of his brother in and punishing Jesper for the sins he percieves Jordie to have made (which is also true, and a meta for a different time!) and more about the weird balance of toxic mutual leniency Kaz and Jesper have allowed the other to provide for them for over two years...and how that leniency breaks down once it's not just Kaz's life or time on the line when Jesper fucks up.

Put more succinctly: for a long time, Kaz and Jesper existed in a toxic balance of enabling each others' worst impulses and behaviors, which was only able to be verbally addressed when they were both at rock bottom, desperate, and seemingly had very little left to lose. This conflict is somewhat addressed and resolved in the conversation where Kaz refuses to give Jesper the last of the parem and offers up a tiny bit of information about Jordie—showcasing his own growth and how he's finally trying to break the cycle by refusing to enable Jesper's self-destructive tendencies—but that level of tension is unable to be properly resolved in one single blowout argument. And I think it's deliberately left a bit unfinished because neither of them are really in a place where they're ready to address everything they've left unsaid for so long, even in the epilogue chapters.

However, we do see the beginnings of that reconcilitaion (Kaz asking Inej to tell Jesper that he's "missed around the Slat") and the story ends on a hopeful note regarding Kaz's commitment to removing his armor, which implies a lot about the resolution of that dangling thread. And of course, we know that by Rule of Wolves they're back to being thick as thieves and fucking around as usual, so clearly they hashed it out at some point in the in-between (and personally? I don't think it took either of them very long after the CK epilogue chapters to do that hashing out).

tl;dr: I love it when two traumatized and emotionally constipated teenage boys use each other to avoid facing their own personal problems and then get into a fistfight to avoid talking about how much they care about each other. Top-tier dynamic. Chef's kiss. I could talk about them for hours.

#also thank you so much for the ask and kind words #I hope this meta did your question justice and makes up for the fact that I didn't answer it for so long #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc meta #asks #long post #(very long post; rip and sorry for not using a read more but it didn't quite fit anywhere)#queue

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deafmangoes · 2 months

Text

I'm not a shipper by nature, just putting that out there. But, uh, Dungeon Meshi does things to me.

Anyway, I've shared my Farcille thoughts, so now to blabber about a different popular ship: Labru. The Hot Mess. The Disaster Couple.

Firstly let's talk about the -bru part of the ship. Kabru is a neurotic little twink with PTSD and anxiety. I don't think that's in any sort of doubt. He exudes an entirely false confidence to hide his crippling self-hatred and survivor's guilt. For some reason, this makes him incredibly attractive to nearly everyone he encounters. Rin has the traditional tsundere crush, his whole party firmly believes in him (more than reflects his actual abilities), the ninjas blush when he smiles at them, even dead-hearted Mithrun warms up to him over time. The omakes take this even further: his landlord cleans his room for him, Dia's fiancé breaks down in tears when talking to him, and Holm's sister clearly wants to get it.

Kabru's not blind to any of this. He weaponises it, really. He's manipulative to an artform! Then he meets Laios. The Monsterfucker.

Laios' sexuality is not immediately clear from the manga. He definitely has a little flame for Marcille - between his awkwardness over touching her, his succubus taking her form, his illusion memory of her focusing on her power and strength - it's not love, I don't think it's even a crush, it's just that "boy sits across the table and stares intently at you" sort of feeling.

He doesn't show any direct interest in men but dearly desires their companionship. He practically kidnaps Shuro and - even though he struggles with Kabru's name at first - takes a liking to him instantly.

So do they make a good ship? Hell no, they're fucking awful together, but it works. Kabru just natually slithers in as advisor, and Laios is more than happy to have someone take all that off his plate. If there's anything there, I think it's one-sided from Kabru, and whatever feelings he has for Laios are based in his total confusion over how Laios just... survives. He finds him fascinating. Intriguing. Possibly sexually. If everyone else is an open book, Laios is the eldritch tome he cannot decipher and will burn him if he touches it. You can see why this ship seems to naturally arise from the canon.

But from Laios' point of view, I think he's... sort of homoerotic asexual? His feelings towards Marcille are more like a fascination with the exotic and monstrous (because she's Not A Tall-Man, and he doesn't want to be one), but his interactions with male companions are much more open and affectionate, even if he's a bit oblivious about it. I think he'd openly appreciate Kabru but wouldn't realise they were in a relationship until literally at the altar.

As another user put it: Laios is a human fascinated with monsters and wants to be one. Kabru sees himself as a monster and is fascinated with humans. They definitely compelement eachother.

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #labru #kabru dungeon meshi #laios dungeon meshi #more shipping discourse

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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

The Shape of You

Summary: Steven loves your boobs. A story of his devotion to them pre, during, and post-pregnancy as you welcome your first child together.

Pairing: Steven x afab!Reader, with some minor Marc x afab!Reader and Jake x afab!Reader. Reader is married to the system and all three alters are no longer working for Khonshu

Rating: Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 9.4k (yes, you read that correctly 😳)

TW/CW: Heavy breast and nipple play, lactation kink, some awkwardness and embarrassment around Steven and Reader discovering they share a lactation kink, pregnant sex, breeding kink, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight somnophilia, daddy!Steven (in both senses of the term 😜), breastfeeding and angst about struggling to breastfeed, postpartum hormones, sundress!kink (that’s a thing, right?), public teasing, a smidge of masturbation, public bathroom sex…so exhibitionism? (no one hears or catches them), more fluff than I’ve ever written iN MY LIFE, titty-fucking, come-eating…writing these always make me feel like a dirty ho 😈

A/N: Sorry friends, the OP got flagged...so let’s try this again with a slightly less steamy gif!

First time writing in second person so please, like Adele, go eaaaaasy on me :) Also I do not have DID, so please forgive and Feel free to educate me if I didn’t nail any dynamics. One more thing - Jake speaks Spanish a bit in this translations will be below

Marc, Steven, and Jake may’ve shared a body, but each alter had a different part of yours that was their favorite. Jake was an ass man, plain and simple. He loved smacking it, biting it, grinding himself between your cheeks…the list could go on. Marc loved your mouth. He never wasted an opportunity for you to suck him off, to feed you every last drop of his cum, to spit into its warm, wet cavern.

Steven, on the other hand, was damn-near obsessed with your breasts. If it were up to him, his hands would never leave your chest. He’d been shy at first, bashful, citing his relative inexperience compared to the other alters. But the endearingly awkward bumbling phase of your relationship soon developed into its current one: The Steven-Can’t-Stop-Won’t-Stop-Playing-With-Your-Tits Phase.

You remember the first time he undressed you and got to see your boobs in all their naked glory. The expression on his face was so reverent it was almost comical. He looked at you as if you’d taken him straight to the Field of Reeds.

“Bloody hell,” he’d whispered.

You asked him if he was alright, to which he nodded frantically and asked, “Can I…can I touch?”

“Of course baby,” you cooed.

From there it was off to the races. Steven cupped your breasts, damn near whimpering when he felt the weight of them in your hands, and gave you a gentle squeeze. You mewled, and his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

“That was a good sound, I promise,” you assured him. “Please, Steven, more.”

He was all too glad to oblige. He massaged each mound in his hand and swiped each thumb over your nipple, delighting when you shuddered at his ministrations. It emboldened him to experiment further. Steven dropped a kiss between your breasts on your sternum, then tilted his head to mouth at one of them. You urged him on with a breathy cry, and Steven took the signal to suck on your nipple.

Whereas most past lovers of yours had treated your tits as a fun but brief pitstop on the way to your pussy, Steven lavished ample delicious attention on them. And he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did, if the way he was frantically humping the mattress for relief was any indication.

Later, after he’d fingered you to orgasm with a nipple in his mouth and you’d rode him like your life depended on it, Steven murmured to you, “Blimey babe, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of your tits.”

***

So you shouldn’t have been surprised when you got pregnant that Steven became even more fascinated with your breasts. They kept growing, almost vulgarly large, and you’d caught your husband flat-out staring at them many a time .

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you’d tease him.

Steven snapped out of it and apologized, “Sorry, love.”

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you conceded, looking down at your chest, using the insides of your arms to push your breasts together. “Even I can't believe how big they’ve gotten. The baby will be well-fed I guess.”

Steven watched you entranced, his mouth ajar, a bulge in his pants growing. “Uh huh.”

Sex was starting to get tricky as you entered your third trimester, but that didn’t stop Steven from fucking you on your side shortly after your little display. He lay behind you on the bed as he drove his painfully hard dick into your cunt, both of his hands on your tits. You rubbed your clit furiously as he alternated between squeezing them and tugging on your taut peaks.

“Ohhhh, Steven, yesssss,” you moaned.

“Are you close darling?” his lips were centimeters from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on its shell.

“Mmmhmmm,” you whined.

Steven picked up the pace and force of his hips. “Come then love, come for me. Gonna come too, your big titties get me so hard, you feel it, don’t you? So good at taking my cock and growing our baby inside you. Fuck love, yeah.”

That surprised you. Dirty talk was usually a Marc or Jake thing, but you definitely weren’t going to stop Steven as his filthy words hurdled you toward your climax.

“Your boobs are so big, gods, I wonder if they’ll get any bigger? Want ‘em to,” Steven was babbling, his thrusts lost their rhythm. “They’ll spill out of your shirt. Gonna have so much milk–”

You interrupted him with a strangled shriek as your release consumed you. Your pussy spasmed delectably around your lover’s cock, compounded by Steven’s dick pulsing inside of you as he reached his peak. You were so lost in the euphoria, the relief of your orgasm, that you didn’t notice the few drops of fluid that had dribbled out of your left nipple.

It wasn’t until Steven withdrew his spent cock from you and rolled over to snuggle into his side that you noticed him examining his wet fingertips.

“What’s that?”

Steven tensed. “It’s…um, not sure how to put this…I think you leaked a little.”

“Obviously,” you giggled, “The sheets are soaked.”

His cheeks burned. “Not from there, love.”

Mortified, your hands flew to your engorged breasts. You could feel it too. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure it’s normal,” Steven tried to assuage you.

You didn’t answer him, instead, you maneuvered your very pregnant self up and waddled towards the bathroom.

He followed you, not needing to exert much effort to stop you. He captured your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a bloody miracle, growing our baby inside of you.”

Steven’s tender words and touch allowed you to deflate some, yet you withdrew your hands from his grasp. “Thank you honey, it’s just…a lot to reckon with. I need a moment to catch my breath in the bathroom. Alone.”

“Alright love, take your time and I’ll put the kettle on.”

You kissed him softly, languidly, trying to pour all the love you couldn’t put into words into the liplock.

But in the privacy of the bathroom, you crumpled. You were embarrassed. You were ashamed. Because why on earth did it feel so good to have liquid trickle out of your boobs and to come at the thought of how much milk they contained?

Nevertheless, you splashed water on your face and composed yourself, joining Steven on the couch for a cup of tea and an episode of the latest documentary series you were watching together.

What didn’t you know though, was later that night, long after you went to sleep and Steven had stayed up working on next semester’s syllabus for the course he now taught at UCL, your breasts had leaked again.

Steven had noticed when he’d called it a night and was situating himself next to you in bed. The t-shirt you wore one to bed, one of the only things that still fit you, and now had twin dark spots staining the loose cotton.

He didn’t know what to do. Steven didn’t want to wake you, he knew how the discovery would likely upset you again, nor did he want you to awaken and to have soaked through your shirt. He cursed his cock, which had twitched at the previous thought. He tried to ignore the arousal beginning to surge through him, but your tits made his blood rush south.

The best course of action, Steven (and his dick) had decided, was to take care of it for you. He fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom, then pulled the already stretched out v-neckline of the shirt to reveal one of your tits. Steven gently cleaned the peak of your breast, the warm, damp feel of the cloth making you shudder in your sleep, though not enough to wake you. He switched to the other one, and found a small, perfect pearl of milk right on the tip of your nipple.

Steven didn’t know what possessed him - he certainly couldn’t blame this on his alters - but he swooped down and lapped up the milk with his tongue instead of the cloth. The drop was small, which meant Steven couldn’t taste much when he licked your nipple. So he sealed his lips around the bud in hope of getting a taste of the cloudy milk. Before he could, you rolled from your back onto your side.

Your husband knew he’d have to call it a night, but that didn’t stop him from shuffling to the bathroom and rubbing one out, imagining what you’d taste like.

***

Any thoughts of sex flew out the window when Nyla was born. All of your husbands had been co-conscious for the birth, the four of you equally in awe of what your love had created.

You loved your squirmy, wrinkly little girl more than you could comprehend, but the first weeks after bringing her home were rough. Nyla was a few weeks early, so your parents hadn't made it to London yet. There was no sleep. There were a lot of attempts at sleep training, but not a lot of sleep actually happening between you, your husband, and your daughter.

Furthermore, Nyla had problems latching when you fed her. You tried to stay calm, telling yourself that plenty of women went through this with their babies, but you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already failed as a mom. Plus, the wildly fluctuating hormones didn’t exactly help you keep your cool either.

Steven, however, was a godsend. He never hesitated when he heard Nyla fussing over the baby monitor, he always had a backup bottle ready to go, he even sang silly songs to your daughter while he changed her. Marc and Jake adored Nyla too, yet you’d noticed that Steven had been fronting the most as of late.

You suspected it wasn’t that they didn’t care for the baby, more that they didn’t trust themselves around a being so small and fragile. The thought broke your heart. You wanted to talk to them more about it…when you had the energy. Which, currently, you guessed would be somewhere around Nyla’s 18th birthday?

Tonight, you’d actually had gotten Nyla to go down at 8:30. You and Steven silently rejoiced while getting ready for bed as quickly as humanly possible. The two of you had already learned to sleep when the baby slept.

It felt as if you’d only laid your head on a pillow for a second when you’d heard Nyla crying through the monitor.

Steven sprung up before you could. “I’ve got it. Keep sleeping.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were just starting to doze off again when Steven re-emerged with a wriggling, still upset Nyla.

“She must be hungry,” he explained apologetically. “Her diaper wasn’t wet and I tried rocking her for a little.”

You nodded in surrender, reaching under your shirt to unclasp a cup of your nursing bra, then extended your arms for Nyla.

Steven carefully placed her in your hold, then announced “I’ll get you a glass of water, yeah?”

“I’m not thirsty right now,” you told him as you tried to get Nyla to latch. Steven was already retreating from the bed.

“Just in case,” he called from the kitchen.

You let it go, focusing more on Nyla than the observation you’d made that as doting as Steven had been, he was rarely present for when you breastfed. It could’ve been because your sweet husband didn’t want to add any eyes and pressure given your difficulties with it, but you couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion it made him uncomfortable.

Nyla wasn’t latching. Again. When Steven returned, he only needed to take one look at your face to see what the problem was.

“I’ll get a bottle.”

Your face crumpled, unable to hold back the tears, which of course, caused Nyla to cry as well.

Steven rushed back in, and scooped your daughter out of your arms.

“There there, little dove, you’re alright,” he shushed Nyla, expertly feeding her the bottle.

“You’re better at nursing her than I am,” you lamented.

“That’s not true, you fed her perfectly for nearly nine months” Steven objected. “We’ll call the specialist Doctor Slater recommended first thing tomorrow.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Sorry, it’s all these goddamn hormones.”

“Don’t apologize,” he told you, moving to burp Nyla. “You did the hard bit, now let us all help out how we can.”

“Alright,” you sniffled.

Steven rose to take Nyla back to her bassinet, kissing you the top of your head on his route.

You wanted to settle down, you did. You wanted nothing more than to surrender to blissful slumber but a fresh wave of tears came when your breasts began to ache.

Steven came back and his face fell. “What is it, love?”

“They hurt,” you bemoaned. “They’re too full. It feels like my body’s punishing me for not feeding Nyla.”

“Oh darling,” Steven scrambled for his phone on his nightstand. “There’s gotta be a fix for it, yeah? I’m going to see what Google says.”

You passed Steven his reading glasses so he could see, privately reveling in how cute he was as he studied his phone screen so intently. It helped distract you from the soreness in your chest.

“Well, it says the best thing to do is to ‘manually express’ any excess fluid,” Steven read.

“So milk me? Like a cow?” you spat.

Steven put his phone down so he could give you his undivided attention. “Hey, hey, I won’t have you talking about yourself like that. Especially since I have Nyla beat at the moment for being the biggest fan of your tits.”

You cracked a smile. Steven crawled closer to you on the bed, “I know tonight’s been a bit full on, but truly babe, I’d love nothing more than to make you feel better.”

“Oh yeah?” you goaded, watching Steven’s gaze zero in on your still exposed breast.

“Uh huh,” he grunted, then looked up at you. “To be honest…you remember that night a few months ago when you first–”

The night you first leaked. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve erm, I’ve been curious since then about…about your…tasting you.”

“Oh,” you gasped. That explained his skittishness when you fed Nyla. Steven left because it made him horny. Well, that turned you on rather quickly. Postpartum hormones were a trip.

Steven gently cupped your engorged breasts, then groaned. “Will you let me try?”

“Oh-okay.” You batted his hands away so could you strip off your very unsexy sleep shirt and shed your bra.

While you were self-conscious about how the milk stretched the skin of your breasts and puffed out your nipples, Steven looked at them like a kid on Christmas morning.

He spared one more glance at your face, “Just tell me if it’s too much or anything.”

You consented with a nod and then Steven lowered his mouth to your left nipple. He started by tracing his tongue around your areola, warming you up to his touch, then enclosed his mouth around it. You mewled as he began to suck on your teat, the feeling of liquid being pulled out of you foreign and therefore thrilling in this context. Your eyelids fluttered shut, the sensation of Steven steadily sucking at you was overwhelming.

Soon the novelty and lingering sheepishness melted into sheer relief as Steven suckled at your tit. You blinked your eyes open, nearly needing to close them again at the sight of your husband resolutely drinking from you. It sent another shiver of arousal down your spine.

“Feels so good sweetie,” you encouraged him. “Are you–ah! How are you doing?”

In lieu of answering, Steven guided one of your hands to his crotch where you could feel his pulsing length. He was enjoying this too. Good. You gave him a squeeze, which incited a groan that you felt against the oversensitive skin of your weeping nipple.

Steven used his free hand to pluck at your right peak, gently coaxing milk out with his fingers. You inhaled sharply at the feeling of both your heavy breasts being drained. Keeping your hand molded around your husband’s crotch, you buried the other in the dark curls at the back of his head.

Steven’s enthusiasm gave you the confidence to ask, “Do you like how it tastes?”

His mouth still around you, he nodded. At last, he pulled off and mumbled, “Why weren’t we doing this sooner?”

A winded chuckle escaped you as Steven massaged your chest. “Might have had something to do with the newborn.”

“Clearly there’s enough to go around,” he remarked before he turned your attention to your other breast, latching on to your already leaking nipple and going to town once again.

You stuttered out a breathy shriek, instantly worried that it’d wake Nyla. Luck was on your side however, the monitor remained silent. You resumed groping Steven’s dick through his pajama pants, letting the fabric catch on the wet stain his cockhead had created.

Steven moaned at the stimulation and switched to flicking his tongue over your nipples, causing you to tamp down on another yell.

“Ohhhh fuck,” he rapsed, pulling off your breast, “I’m gonna come.”

Steven began humping your hand frantically while he gathered both your tits in his hands and swiftly alternated licking at each nipples. You mewled at the feather-light shifting touch on your puffy peaks, now hardened into points for a good while now.

“Yeah, that’s it, come baby,” you urged him.

No sooner had the words left your mouth did Steven’s cock spurt, soaking his sleepwear and your hand with his seed with a whimper. His head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, and it was in moments like these you understood how your husband and his alters could’ve been avatars for an Egyptian god, because Steven looked absolutely divine.

Once he came down from high, you withdrew your hand, expecting Steven to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and clean himself up. Instead, he shucked off his pants, and went right back to lapping at your breasts, mopping up the milk that had spilled from you as he came.

“Sweetie,” you panted, “you don’t need to–”

“You haven’t come yet,” he whispered from the valley of your tits. He nuzzled the two mounds briefly then reclaimed a nipple between his lips and resumed his feverish suckling.

“Nnnnngh, Steven,” came your delirious reply.

He pulled off for a split-second to ask, “Can I touch you?”

You were still a few weeks out from being able to have penetrative sex again, but you gave Steven the go ahead to slither his hand down to your clit.

Another cry loud enough to wake Nyla ripped from you when his fingers meet your neglected bundle of nerves. You were wet enough to flood the Thames, and Steven wasted no time stroking you exactly how you liked it. Fuck, if Steven sucking on your peaks and playing with your tits felt good, him doing that and rubbing your clit was rapturous.

You began moaning, a tell-tale whine in the back of your throat that meant you were close. Steven switched teats and redoubled his efforts – your orgasm building to its zenith...then snapping and drowning you in pleasure. One last sob escaped you as your release spread through your body, Steven never detaching himself from your breast until you gently pushed him away from oversensitivity.

You both laid with your backs flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in sexed out wonder.

Steven spoke first. “No need to call the lactation specialist, I reckon.”

“Steven!” You exclaimed in a whisper, playfully slapping his arm.

“That fixed it, didn’t it?” he pointed out. “Your tits feel better?”

“Well yeah,” you admitted, “but I still want to breastfeed our daughter. You read all the books and journals along with me, I don’t want to deprive her of its benefits.”

Steven hummed in defeated agreement. You rolled over on your side to caress his face and assure him, “That doesn’t mean you can’t still get your fill.”

Your husband’s face split into a wide smile and he pulled you into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. It allowed you to taste traces of yourself and your milk’s mild, nutty flavor as you plundered his mouth with your tongue.

Steven cradled you to him, tucking you into his side and the pair of you drifted into the best night’s sleep you’d both gotten since Nyla was born.

When you awoke the next morning, your husband was spooned against your back.

“Mmm, we’re naked,” Marc murmured.

You turned to face him and with a grin, “Fancy seeing you here.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, mama,” Marc shifted and groaned, “Any reason why I feel weirdly full this morning?”

You blushed. “Well, Nyla isn’t latching still–”

“Still?”

“Still,” you confirmed, “so Steven relieved some of the…buildup I was feeling. With his mouth.”

Marc grumbled, “Just when I thought he couldn't be more fixated on your tits.”

Nyla made her presence known on the monitor before you could say anything else. Marc sat up, but you put a hand on his bare pecs. “I’ll get her. You start on breakfast please?”

He acquiesced with a kiss to your temple.

Marc was in the midst of scrambling eggs and frying sausages when you brought Nyla into the kitchen, “Look who’s changed and dressed and happy to see Daddy!”

Marc beamed, rinsing his hands quickly before you passed her to him. “Hey little girl, I’ve missed you.”

You took over at the stove as Marc walked his daughter over to the couch. He sat down and rested Nyla’s back on the thick, sturdy expanse of the tops of his thighs.

“Now, Miss Nyla Spector, I hear that you’re not letting Mommy feed you,” he began with mock seriousness. “Don’t you know her huge boobs are a gift from Tawaret herself?”

“Marc!!”

***

Things slowly improved after you began seeing Pippa, the lactation specialist your obstetrician had recommended. Nyla now latched the majority of the time and you learned how to keep calm when she didn’t.

Your parents arrived in London too, which also made the care of your newborn a lot more manageable. They did diaper runs whenever you needed, helped with cooking so you and your husband stayed fed, and would watch Nyla so you each could take showers longer than 30 seconds, even nap.

The only drawback was it made you and Steven having what you’d codenamed “Parental Time” a lot trickier. They’d gotten an AirBnb flat around the corner from yours, and your mom especially had a pesky penchant for dropping in unannounced, resulting in a few very close calls of her catching Steven’s head under your shirt.

So you and Steven developed a new routine. On the days he was fronting, after your parents went back to their rented flat for the night, you’d feed Nyla one last time, put her down and then Steven would get his turn at your tits.

To be honest, it happened a lot when Marc and Jake had fronted that day too. Your parents knew about your husband’s DID and had met each alter, but the men tried not to switch in front of them. They figured their in-laws being so accepting of their daughter being married to three men was already enough of an ask that they didn’t want to alienate your parents further. Therefore, if Jake was fronting when they came over in the morning, he’d have possession of the body for the rest of the day, or at least until your parents left.

This was a blessing in disguise you found, since it evened out the time each alter spent with their daughter. All that being said, you didn’t exactly protest when Steven would force a switch late at night to get his mouth on your breasts when you were feeling particularly swollen.

“What is it, cariño?” Jake asked when you padded over to the bed after you tucked Nyla in for the night.

“It’s my boobs,” you told him, trying to massage the ache out of them. “Nyla didn’t eat a ton today so they’re feeling extra hea–”

Jake’s quizzical expression changed into Steven’s unmistakably hungry gaze. “Then come right over here love,” he beckoned you over to the mattress. “And let Daddy help you.”

His naughty words made you whimper and obey him at once. You sat on his lap, where you could already feel his erection growing against your dampening core, and lifted your arms so Steven could disrobe you.

“Missed these titties,” he growled, motorboating his prominent nose in between them.

“They missed you,” you sighed back as he wrapped his lips around a nipple and began suckling.

And what are we, chop liver? A disgruntled Marc asked from their bedroom window.

Jake chimed in from the standing mirror. It was my day to front, pendejo.

I’m the only one who wants to do this, Steven countered in his head since his mouth was full of milk, See how much she enjoys it?

As if to prove his point, you ground down on Steven’s stiff length and squealed at the combination of his thick, hard cock against your pussy and the steady tug of your milk flowing into his wanting mouth.

“Wanna ride you,” you told Steven. “Need that big dick inside me.”

Steven groaned and his hips bucked against you. “You sure you’re feeling up to it, babe?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed feverishly. “Doctor Slater said it was okay.”

Your husband didn’t need to be told twice. He all but ripped off both of your clothes and flipped you back on the bed to prepare you. He slowly fed one, then two fingers into your pussy while he lapped at your dripping tits. After Steven worked you through your first orgasm, you two resumed your position where you sat on top of him.

The two of you went easier than you normally would. As much as you wanted to bounce on Steven’s cock until the sun came up, your body was still on the mend, and your lovemaking consisted much more of your husband grinding into you, finding the perfect angle to rub his pubic bone on your clit while you clenched around him. And of course, his hands and mouth lavished non-stop attention on your puffed out nipples.

While Marc had long retreated to the depths of the headspace, little did you or Steven know that Jake had stayed to watch. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to watch Steven drink from you, nor should’ve the way you grasped your breasts to squirt some milk on his alter’s tongue when you came, but Jake was intrigued.

***

Just before Nyla turned three months, your parents had convinced you to leave Nyla and go out for lunch with your husband, just the two of you.

You’d agreed at first, positively exhilarated by the thought of an hour or two without thinking about diapers, feeding, and sleep schedules, but now that the afternoon of your lunch date with Steven had arrived, you couldn’t conceive of leaving your daughter, even if it was for a few hours and she’d be with her grandparents.

“She’ll be fine,” your mother insisted. “Nyla-girl knows us now, and besides, didn’t Steven say you’d go to the bistro on the corner? You’ll be five minutes away tops.”

“But I’ve never left her before,” you protested as you tried to feed her. Nyla wasn’t latching, now a rarity rather than the norm. You used it as evidence to postpone your lunch. “See!”

Your mother took her from you, “She’s only doing that because she can sense you’re stressed. Sweetheart, trust me, it’ll be good for you and Marc–”

“It’s Steven today,” you corrected her.

“Right, Steven. It’ll be good for you two to spend some time as just husband and wife. Your marriage is just as important as this little one here.”

“But mom–”

“Now finish getting ready,” she wasn’t taking any buts. “Wear something nice.”

As old-fashioned and misogynistic as the advice seemed, it had been a long time since you’d worn something remotely appealing. It felt good to feel like a human again too. Your styled your hair and applied some makeup too, giggling to yourself that Steven probably wouldn’t even recognize you now that you’d put some effort into your appearance.

You strutted out of the bathroom in a little sundress and wedge sandals, “I’m ready!”

Your dad appeared, “Shhh Nyla’s napping.”

“Sorry,” you lowered your voice. “Where’s Steven?”

“He went ahead to grab you two a table,” he explained. Nyla began to fuss faintly over the baby monitor by the couch, “I’d make a run for it now if I were you.”

Though it felt like there was a physical tether pulling you to where your daughter was fidgeting in her crib, your parents were only here for a few more days. You and Steven had to make the most of it. So you slipped out of the flat as silently as you could.

You felt strangely unencumbered as you walked the thousand or so meters to your favorite little neighborhood spot. The few times you and your husband had left the house, it was almost always with Nyla, which meant you’d brought basically the entire contents of the flat with you. At the very least a diaper bag filled to the brim. With only a small purse for your phone, wallet, and lipstick, you couldn’t help but feel like you were forgetting something.

Any worries you had evaporated when you rounded the corner and caught sight of Steven sitting outside on the bistro’s patio. He’d cleaned up too - his hair brushed and parted to the side like he favored, clean-shaven, and same as you, he’d traded sweats for a pair of trousers and a patterned, short-sleeved button down.

“Hi, handsome,” you greeted him coquettishly as you sauntered over to him. “Is this seat taken?”

“You’re a bloody menace, you know that?” he fumed.

You played dumb, “What do you mean?”

You stretched your arms up and over the back of the chair, further emphasizing your cleavage in your sundress.

The dress was from your pre-pregnancy days. Beyond its fit flattering your post-baby body, you’d chosen to wear it since it also provided solid support in the bust, which meant for once you didn’t need one of your frumpy nursing bras. It was a tight fit however, clinging to your breasts and resting just above where the smooth, creamy skin of your breasts darkened into your nipples. You wore it to drive Steven wild, and it seemed to be achieving your desired effect rather nicely.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“No,” You continued to play coy. “I thought I’d dress up for the first date with my husband after our daughter was born. Feels like a significant moment for us as parents.”

“You want me to say it.”

You leaned over the table to prop your ribcage on your forearms, giving Steven a new, even better view down your dress. “Say what, my love?”

Steven whimpered, straight up whimpered, a sound you’ve never heard him make outside of the privacy of your bedroom.

You were on the verge of showing him a bit of mercy when your server appeared. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant, nice to see you! How’s the new baby?”

“She’s good, thanks” you grinned at them.

“Lovely. Would you two like something to drink?”

“Yeah, we’re both pretty thirsty,” you replied, kicking Steven’s ankle under the table to tear his eyes off your bosom. “Steven, what would you like?”

“Uhh, tea, please.”

“‘Course,” the server noted. You and Steven were regulars so he knew your husband’s order. “With cream and sugar, right?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. It took another kick to his angle to elicit a proper response from Steven, “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“And for the Mrs.?”

“Just water please, and one for him too. Thanks Alex,” you told them with a smile. Once they departed from the table, you turned your focus back to Steven. “Wow, you really like my tits in this dress.”

Steven glared at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t think it’d make you this frustrated,” you apologized. “I thought we could use a break from the baby talk of it all, concentrate on the two of us, remind you of the person who made you and the other boys want to have Nyla in the first place.”

He took your hand. “You look bloody gorgeous, and yes those were quite instrumental in creating Nyla if I recall correctly.”

“I can run back home and get a sweater,” you offered, “if they’re too distracting.”

Steven squeezed your hand and rumbled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Then you’ll behave yourself?”

Steven sent you a mischievous smirk and a shrug.

And for the majority for the meal, he did. While it was impossible for your conversation not to include Nyla, you two did manage to discuss other topics. Steven got your thoughts on the changes he was thinking of making to his course at UCL for the fall semester, you mentioned a new restaurant you wanted to try, and the both of you brainstormed baby-friendly places to spend Steven’s fall holiday if Marc and Jake’s schedules also allowed.

Throughout the meal however, you noticed Steven barely touched his tea. That was odd for him, since he downed no less than six cups a day.

“Hon, are you alright?” You inquired after Alex cleared your plates and settled the bill.

“Never better, why?”

“You had like two sips of your tea,” you noted, “What, did they change their stock?”

“No,” Steven replied without elaborating.

“Then what is it? “

“It’s the creamer,” he confessed with a suggestive look in his eye. “I’ve developed a taste for something a little sweeter.”

You felt yourself flush. “Steven,” you warned him.

“Come on, babe,” he pleaded, “you can’t wear that dress and expect me to wait until tonight.”

He had a point. You’d spent all of lunch teasing him. “But where would we go?”

“Bathroom.”

“Together?”

“You go first, I’ll follow you and knock three times so you know it’s me” he instructed. “Then if anyone asks, I’ll say you’re having ‘a new mother moment’.”

“What the hell is ‘a new mother moment’?”

“Dunno, but no one will ask anything more if I tell them that.”

“We can’t get caught, I really like this place, Steven,” you cautioned, “I don’t want Alex and the staff here thinking we’re perverts.”

“I don’t think anyone will blame me after seeing you parade around in this little dress all afternoon,” Steven pointed out. “Besides, that’s up to you darling, as my mouth will be occupied.”

You cursed the hot shiver that slid down your spine at his words. You rose from the table. “Five minutes.”

Steven nodded, a tad too emphatically.

“Be cool!” you whisper-yelled before disappearing inside the cafe.

Thankfully it was a small bistro, so they had only one bathroom, so Steven couldn’t accidentally get the wrong door, plus the lunch rush was over, which reduced your chances of being interrupted.

You locked the door behind you, and found yourself giddily pacing the length of the small loo. After checking your reflection in the mirror, you planned how you wanted Steven to find you.

You decided to keep your chest covered for now and let your husband ‘unwrap his prize’ so to speak, so you opted to step out of your knickers and tuck them into your purse. Next, you hiked up the skirt of your dress and began touching yourself. Fuck, you were wet. Maybe this little rendezvous wasn’t only for Steven’s benefit.

Three raps on the door sounded and you lunged to open it as quickly as possible and resume the lascivious tableau you’d created for Steven to discover you in. You managed to swing it, sinking down on the closed toilet seat and fondling your pussy while Steven slipped in and locked the door behind him.

“Shit,” Steven exhaled at the sight of you.

“You going to stand there all day and make me get myself off?” you challenged him with a playful lift of your brows.

Your husband pounced on you, caging you into his grasp and then drawing you into his lap, where you could feel his already throbbing erection. He yanked down the straps of your dress as once, your tits tumbling into view, already dribbling from your lust. He dove right into your cleavage, his tongue tracing the rivulets of milk that had trickled down your skin.

Meanwhile, you made quick work of his belt and fly, eagerly fishing Steven’s length out of his boxer-briefs and giving him a few tugs. You took a moment when you lined yourself up to sink down on his cock, slipping his head back and forth to feel your slick.

“Were you not wearing knickers this entire time?” Steven asked before latching onto a nipple.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you hedged, figuring that the ambiguity would only rile him up more.

He groaned deeply around your tit when you sank down on him, while you bit your lip to muffle your own moan. You two worked in tandem to draw your bodies together, the force of your coupling causing Steven to have to pull off of your breast. That didn’t stop him from drinking from you however, he simply grabbed both of your tits and contracted his hands to spray your nectar into his mouth.

It was Steven’s new favorite thing. He liked to switch, drinking a splash from each nipple, and you were a fan of this technique too, since it meant he could talk dirty to you while he consumed you.

“Taste so good,” he mumbled after swallowing a squirt. “Ugh, wanna milk these jugs into a glass so I can have you anytime.”

You dug your fingers deeper into the meat of Steven’s shoulders and keened. This was some of his naughtiest stuff yet. Getting off on the impropriety of your situation seemed to be doing the trick for both of you today.

“So bad daddy,” you gave it right back to him. “Looking at my titties all while I’m trying to eat, thinking about eating me.”

“Don’t play innocent,” he retorted. “Stuffing your big boobs into this flimsy dress. I know exactly what you were trying to do to me. Is that what you wanted? For me to pound my cock into you while I suckle at your tits?”

He punctuated his question by doing just that, flicking his tongue over one of your weeping nipples and latched on to coax your milk into his mouth faster.

“Yesssssss,” you moaned. You added a swivel to your hips for good measure. “Ohhh I wanna come.”

“Yeah? Then rub that little bud of yours, come all over my cock,” he provoked you.

You did just as he said, maneuvering your hand around his that were still attached to your boobs and worked frenzied circles over your clit. Your release hit you less than a minute later, your fingers providing the last push over the edge, where the novelty of the location and desperation for each other had brought you there quicker than usual.

You kept impaling yourself on your husband’s dick. He was close too, you could tell from the little cries he let out around your breasts that took on a borderline forlorn tone, as if Steven didn’t want to come yet, he didn’t quite want your fucking to be over.

Steven was no match for the heat of your cunt and the sweet creaminess of your teats however. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and planting his face in between your boobs as his cock gushed inside you.

A few moments of silence transpired between the pair of you, save for your heavy breathing, then Steven slowly and gently extracted himself from your core.

“I can’t believe no one interrupted us,” you marveled.

Steven nodded from where he stood by the sink to wet paper towels to clean you both up. “Lucky, innit?”

“Thank you honey,” you said softly when we passed you paper towels for your breasts and slit. “We should be getting back.”

You tried to think of something else to say, but when you and Steven looked at each other, the two of you simply burst into a fit of giggles in disbelief over what you’d just done.

“You could ask me for anything now and I’d say yes, I reckon,” your husband joked while you two switched spots in the small bathroom. You checked your appearance, smoothed down your hair, and prayed that people wouldn’t be able to see how fucked out you felt.

“You and the other boys already gave me everything I could ever want,” you turned away from the mirror to gaze straight at Steven. “A beautiful, healthy baby, and a trio of loving fathers to raise her with.”

“Awwww, darling–”

“Jewelry would also be nice,” you swiftly added. You found the idea of a “push present” too transactional, having a baby was both your and your husband’s idea thank you very much, and you knew what you were signing up for. In fact, you’d fiercely wanted it. But something sparkly had caught your attention recently. “There’s this stunning gem bracelet I saw on the Tiffany website that would go great with my eyes. I’ll send you the link.”

Steven rose from the toilet seat and crowded in behind you. He sprinkled a few kisses on your neck, then locked eyes with your reflection. “Whatever you want.”

***

Marc and Jake didn’t protest when Steven mentioned he purchased you the Tiffany bracelet, work had been steady for all three of them, and you had a solid maternity leave package.

“Besides, think of how much we’ve saved on groceries now that every night Steven eats local for dessert,” Marc quipped.

Steven had fucked you in full view of the mirror to get back at him for that, using every trick in his book to show how much you enjoyed him enjoying your body.

Though drinking from your tits didn’t really appeal to Marc (truthfully he had no qualms with it, despite an offhand joke here and there), Jake was different. He hadn’t forgotten the look of elation you wore on your face that time he watched you and Steven fucking while he tasted you.

His chance came a week after your parents had left. Nyla was soundly settled into her sleep schedule, and things didn’t feel quite as chaotic as they had when you first brought you little bundle of joy home. You two were lying on the couch, watching a trashy reality show after folding a load of laundry while Nyla napped.

“Ugh, shit,” you swore, seemingly out of nowhere.

Jake clicked off the TV. “You okay querida?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I leaked again,” you took the pads out of your bra. Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “I’m just pissed because I thought I was done with this.”

“Lo siento, mami.”

You rose from the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower,” you told him. “Warm water helps ease the ache.”

Jake caught your hand. “Wait.”

“What?”

“No”, Jake barked at his reflection on the dormant television screen, then furrowed his brow. You recognized it as the look he made when he tried to stave off a switch, “I want to help.”

“You do?” you asked carefully. “You do know what Steven usually does to relieve the pressure?”

“Si mami,” he reiterated. “I figure if Steven likes it, why wouldn't !?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’ve seen you eat two burgers in one sitting and Steven’s a vegan?”

Jake waved a hand as if to swat the implication away. “That’s different.”

You weren’t convinced. “How so?”

“Because Steven and I share a taste for you.”

“Okay,” you watched him cautiously as you sat back down, “We can stop if it’s too weird for you.”

“Please,” Jake scoffed, climbing over you and pinning you down onto the cushions. “They’re your tetas and they’re still so big. And you know I’m the kinkiest one out of all of us.”

“Bien bien Papi,” you surrendered. “Show me what you got.”

Your husband hastily rid you of your clothes. When his mouth first made contact with your pearly nipple, a hearty groan resonated in his chest. He’d held the warm, heavy weight of your post-baby tits many a time, but this was something entirely different.

“Mmm, mamacita, su leche es tan dulce,” he switched to the other peak, already getting drunk off your milk, “no wonder Steven didn’t want to share.”

***

Your family’s fall holiday came together more smoothly than you’d anticipated. Steven’s students were on holiday, Jake took time off from the limo company he owned, and Marc was between consulting jobs.

You were still on maternity leave, but planned on returning to your job in the new year. This time was precious - it felt like the end of a chapter, the last hurrah, the eve of “what comes next”.

So you and the boys rented a seaside cottage in Cornwall. Though you were anxious about Nyla and the four-hour car trip, she was a champ. It turned out that Jake was the one you needed to worry about, nearly veering off the road when he caught a glimpse of you feeding Nyla in the backseat. Apparently your daughter wasn’t the only one who’d gotten hungry.

It was past the busy season, so the little village you were staying in was quiet, exactly what you’d all wanted. You pushed Nyla’s stroller around the sleepy high street, hoping the serene location would ease the blow of what you needed to discuss with Steven.

“Solid foods.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, “We’ve waited long enough to start her on them. I don’t want her to fall behind “

“So no more breastfeeding,” Steven spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Yeah.” you tried to soften the blow. “But not right away, it’s a process.”

Steven looked at you like a kicked puppy, but ultimately he wanted what was best for his daughter. Trying to look on the bright side, he remarked “Well, there’s always the next one.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, storminess flickering behind your eyes. “This one–” you pointed to Nyla, “--needs to be potty-trained and eating solid foods before any of you–” you jabbed your finger at him “--in there can even begin to think about the next one.”

Steven immediately squeaked out a “Yes ma’am.”

“I freaked out,” you acknowledged. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright love,” Steven comforted you, affectionately bumping his shoulder with yours. “You have to do the hard bit after all. Feels like it goes without saying, but we don’t want another until you’re ready.”

“I know,” you exhaled. “It’s been a lot. And as only you could, you turned my struggle with breastfeeding Nyla into a way for us to celebrate being new parents, when it could’ve sent me straight off the deep end. I can’t tell you how much it means…I was so self-conscious about my body after giving birth, and you–Jake and Marc too–but you especially made me feel desirable when I was afraid I never would again.”

Steven drew you into a misty-eyed kiss. “I will always desire you. If anything, your post-pregnancy self is the hottest version of you so far.”

You preened from his praise. “You’re a good man, Steven.”

The week you were spending on the coast also marked your anniversary with Steven (each alter had their own “relationship anniversary” with you, though the four of you shared your wedding date).

As gracious as he’d been earlier, you knew Steven was gutted about you weaning Nyla off the boob, so you intended to do something special for him that night.

You knew he’d spoil you, and your husband didn’t disappoint. Steven ordered takeaway from one of the nicer restaurants in town, setting up a candlelit dinner in your AirBnb cottage so you two could commemorate the evening without having to leave your daughter with a sitter. The Tiffany earrings that matched your bracelet though were a pleasant surprise though.

For your gift, you’d encased his favorite photo of him and Nyla in a frame where you also made imprints of her little hands and feet.

“For your desk at uni,” you’d elucidated when he unwrapped it.

“Darling,” he whispered in awe.

Steven’s dinner also included a bottle of very nice wine, which led to you making out like randy teenagers on the couch after your meal.

“Are you ready for part two of your present?” you queried breathlessly.

Steven looked up from the spot on your neck he’d been nibbling on. “There’s a part two?”

You assured him with a flirty little nod. “See, there is one more thing I want you to do to me while I still have these.” You grasped your tits and pushed them together with your palms.

Your husband’s eyes widened and his hips jerked underneath you. “What is it?”

Instead of answering, you climbed off of him and led him to the bedroom. Your gaze kept dropping to the tent Steven’s turgid cock made in the dad-trousers he wore long before Nyla had been born. You found the view just as lewd as it was invigorating.

Once you hopped back on the bed, you ordered Steven not to move a muscle, and peeled off the rather modest loose-fitting dress you’d worn for dinner to reveal the lingerie you sported underneath. The skimpy set consisted of a mostly sheer bustier that embraced just how obscenely big your boobs remained and a tiny, strappy thong.

Your husband’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Fucking hell, babe. You look incredible.”

“I was hoping you’d have that reaction,” your voice was lilting. “Now remember, stay there, and no touching”

“What are you going to do?” he whispered with a mix of crippling arousal and a perhaps a hint of fear.

You palmed your mounds once again, squeezing them to urge more milk to spew from your teats. Breathy little gasps and sighs stuttered out from your lips as you soaked the thin mesh of your bustier, you wanted to put on a show for him.

Steven’s hand crept down to his crotch but before it could reach its destination you snapped, “Hey! I said no touching.”

“I thought you meant you,” he whined.

“Nope,” you quipped, popping the ‘p’. “You’ll get your chance soon.”

“When?”

“Hmmm,” you glanced down at your chest and rib cage that was now bathed in your own milk. “Think I’m slippery enough?”

“Uh huh,” came Steven’s articulate reply.

“Okay then,” you leaned your arms back on the bed, “Now fuck my tits.”

Steven’s knees threatened to give out. He caught himself and what he said next was a bigger surprise than the earrings. “Alright, mommy. But I wanna get my prick wet in your pussy before I stick it between your knockers.”

It was your turn for your jaw to drop. Where the hell had sweet Steven gone and how did he learn to talk like this? Two could play that game. You fiddled with the straps of thong. “Then come over here and move these panties out of the way.”

Steven jumped you, knocking you back on the bed, too impatient to get inside you to properly deal with your scanty underwear so he did exactly as you’d prodded, he pushed the crotch of your thong aside and sunk two fingers into your sopping pussy.

They went in without much resistance, thus Steven only felt the need to drive them into you a few times, curling them against your g-spot for good measure. He licked off the residue of your desire from his digits and proceeded to tear at his own clothes until he was naked.

His eyes were wild, wilder than you’d ever seen them, as Steven notched the head of his angry-looking erection at the opening of your cunt and sheathed himself in one fluid stroke. You cried out while Steven groaned, your husband wasting no time to start hammering into you.

Every forceful push of his hips punched a “uh” from you, his unrelenting pace stringing them together in quick succession. He couldn’t stop watching your tits swing freely and the copious amounts of milk spill from them. His orgasm mounted in his groin sooner than expected, which propelled him to wrench his dick from your folds and grip the base tightly. Steven wasn’t coming anywhere except your tits.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice gravel as he clumsily scooted up your body to straddle your bosom.

“Please daddy.”

Steven advanced with a goddamn growl, positioning his cock between your milky tits and plunging his length in between them as you held your breasts together. It was nasty, your milk mingling with your juices and his precum, all spread across the expanse of your chest.

Yet the years of love and trust you and Steven had fostered with one another allowed you both to succumb to the kinkiness of the sex you were having without shame. It had taken a hell of a lot of communication and vulnerability for you to get to here, so yeah, you were going to revel in the slick sound Steven’s cock made as it slipped between your tits, the way his face was contorted with pleasure and concentration, how his hands had fallen on top of yours to create the suffocating channel for him to fuck his rock-hard length through.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized this meant you were going to have to be this slutty for all of your husbands’ anniversaries, but the thought was kicked out of your consciousness when Steven removed his hands from the top of yours to pluck at your nipples.

A primal sound of pleasure tore from your throat that also ignited your competitive streak. You tilted your neck up and opened your mouth so that the tip of Steven’s cock could brush against your tongue on every drive of his pelvis.

The kitten licks were what did him in, Steven orgasmed with a roar and raised himself higher on his knees at the last possible second to paint your boobs with his seed.

“Oh. My. Days.” Each word required their own breath from your winded husband, now speaking his normal register once again.

“Yeah,” was all your scrambled brain could add before you tried to squirm away from Steven’s tongue on your sternum.

“Please, love,” he nuzzled the one patch of skin on your torso that wasn’t doused in some form of bodily fluid. “Wanna taste us.”

“Fine,” you submitted. “Be grateful I can’t move.”

Steven hummed happily, getting a total of three sweeps of his tongue across your torso before Nyla’s fussing echoing down the cottage’s small hallway.

“Perfect timing, as always,” you groused.

“Ehh, she could've announced herself a lot sooner,” Steven countered. “Hey, you didn’t come.”

There was your Steven, ever the gentleman and egalitarian in the sack. “Honey, if you go take care of her and let me shower right now, we can call it even.”

He pecked your cheek and hopped to. “Only if you let me make a cup of tea too.”

“‘Kay,” you said as he pulled on his, well technically Marc’s, boxers and headed toward the door. You, on the other hand, set yourself the task of maneuvering to the en-suite without dripping everywhere and being kicked off of AirBnb.

“Hon?’ you looked to where Steven watched you from the doorway, ignoring Nyla’s fussing for one more minute. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am sweetheart,” you assured him. “My pussy’s going to be wet for days after this.”

Steven grinned, remarkably sweetly for a man who’d just come all over your chest. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you parroted.

Read the follow up fics : Close Encounters of the Maternal Kind and First

A/N: Writes nearly 10,000 words of lactation kink and *takes myself to horny jail*. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed!

Also I wrote this in less than a week, isn’t that terrifying?! Leave it to the moon boys to inspire my to write obscenely long and dirty fics.

My weird little headcanon on the reader and Nyla’s surnames are the on paper and official documents, you use Spector, but casually and in social situations you use the last name of whoever’s fronting.

Translations:

Pendejo - Stupid/Idiot

Querida - dear

Lo siento mami - I’m sorry, mommy

Si mami - Yes mommy

Tetas - tits

Bien bien Papi - okay, okay Daddy

mamacita, tu leche es tan dulce - little mama, your milk is so sweet

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alicerosejensen · 1 year

Note

Idk if you’re taking requests but what about RE6 onwards Leon with reader who is much younger (early twenties)? I think it would be sooo cute

If someone has requests, then I accept everything! I have practically no topics that trigger me, so if someone wants to see some headcanon, then I will gladly try to fulfill his desire)

To be honest, Leon was 36 years old at the time of re6, and if the reader is twenty… for me, 16 years is a small age difference because I literally know a couple with many children, who have an age difference of a little more than twenty years, and they live together perfectly. it makes me believe in love.

There comes a moment when, probably, it was worth realizing that the woman who was being chased for more than twenty years was just a love interest and beckoned only with her mystery and flirtation.

It's unpleasant, but Leon came to this conclusion almost immediately after Lanshiang. The last night with Ada put all the dots in their strange relationship.

It was as if Leon had received a sobering slap in the face that brought him back from heaven to earth. On the other hand, Ada will forever remain a part of the history of his life, but not of the future, but only of the past.

Some part of him wanted to take care of someone close, despite all the fear and risks. Every living being wants to love and be loved in return.

But Leon was still afraid to take risks, however, he was not averse to having lunch with a beautiful girl who did not refuse a free dinner.

At some point, a free dinner for you and a quiet conversation with a person, not a zombie for him, turned into a series of pleasant dates and gifts in the form of fruit baskets to your rented apartment.

You liked Leon, but you understood that he was…a little older than you… Actually, for as many as 15-16 years, but he definitely wasn't fit to be a father yet. The actual question was, what did he want from you?

Does he just want to have sex with a young girl? Well, then you let him know that this number will not work with you.

You already want to close the door in his face before he suggests the usual walks. Just talking. Without dirty hints or suggestions from which you could slap him a ringing slap in the face.

He is glad that for some reason you agreed (because you found him interesting yourself), and conversations with you bring him to his senses, making him believe that there is still something to fight for in this world.

Previously, your meetings were held in crowded places, but after a couple of months you ventured to invite him to your place and treated him to lunch. "It's not Italian pasta from a professional chef, but I hope you don't die of poisoning". Leon laughs, encouraging you that your food is more edible than what he can cook.

More and more Leon finds himself fascinated by you as a person. He likes to listen to how your day went, to see your smile, something blooms in him when you are next to him.

You really look like an angel sent to him by heaven. He does not believe in God, but it seems to him that a real blessing is in front of him.

Leon will take the initiative of the first kiss when he realizes that he is in love. This is the first time he's worried about your age difference even though he hopes you won't push him away.

He's a broken man. Therefore, when you reciprocate him, something inside him clicks, triggering like a switch. Leon will wrap his hands around your face, deepening the kiss, but will not go further if you are not ready for more intimacy yet.

He thinks you're too perfect.

He likes to give you sudden compliments and watch you blush. I think he will specifically shower you with various pleasant epithets so that you are embarrassed.

The tone of his voice is always filled with love. Leon likes to hug you from behind when you're cooking or doing something. However, he completely goes crazy when you start taking the initiative and, for example, hugging him. Then don't even hope to escape from his strong arms. "You wanted hugs yourself, but I refuse to let you out of them".

He seriously won't let you out. Instead, he will kiss the top of your head and stroke your back, holding you tightly to him, as if afraid that you will be taken away.

"You mean a lot to me." - The thumb strokes the skin of the cheek. - Tell me if you don't want any serious relationship. I'm often away from home, I'm much older than you…damn it, the last reason should be more than enough for me to leave you and my fucking feelings. I don't want to force you into anything, so if you're not sure or don't want to, then I'll understand everything.

You cover his lips with an uncertain kiss, hoping that such an answer will suit him. Pulling away just to press against his forehead while your warm palms hold his face.

This answer will suit him perfectly.

Leon's defender mode is clearly activated.

At first, he will come to your house to have dinner and spend time in your company, but he will constantly comment that there is barely enough space in this "cardboard box" for one person, let alone two.

A subtle hint that his girlfriend moved in with him.

He will help you move all your things. In fact, despite the vastness of his apartment, Leon admits that it is too empty, but hopes that you will fill the space. In truth, he wants it himself. Now he had a good reason to come home as soon as possible.

When you're not too busy, he'll distract you from your studies.

You can tell Leon a hundred times that you love him, but everything you do for him (even if it's insignificant little things for you) makes him love you much more. However, what he definitely doesn't want is for you to see him in a broken state.

Leon hates thunder and lightning. It reminds him of a traumatic childhood, pulls out the memory of Raccoon City, so he will leave the warm bed so as not to wake you up and go to the kitchen trying to overcome another nightmare.

The last thing he wants is someone to comfort him. He couldn't save a lot of people, he lost someone all the time and still can't forgive himself for the death of the president. You are his sun, while he is just a shadow. Leon is not going to pour out all the shit that happened to him on you, but you are just a real blessing that takes away his pain when you press your chest against his broad back, kissing the skin covered with goosebumps.

Are you so worried about his condition? Leon would prefer not to bother you, but the way you take a glass of whiskey from his hands, sit next to him on the bar stool, remove the bangs from his face to see how broken he is.

Tears are not weakness! You cover Leon's face with a lot of gentle kisses, hugging him to you, whispering various endearments in his ear. "If you need my support, then you will get it"

Taking care of him does something to his heart, but it's not something terrible. On the contrary, Leon wants to return this love to you in double size, so be prepared for manifestations of tenderness. What is completely normal and natural for you, for Leon is very expensive. In addition, you are the first woman in a very long time who stays with him in bed after sex, and in the morning cooks him breakfast, because Ada never stayed with him for more than one night.

And he is grateful to you.

"Will you stay with me?" - A request that sounds almost like a mantra when he sits you down on the table, hugging you under the hips. - "I know I'm old for you, but I want you to be mine. Tell me you want it to… Because if you want to leave later, I won't be able to let you go."

Now you are in the same boat with him, but we must admit that if this boat sinks, he will do everything to pull you ashore. Understand how you want. If earlier he could still agree to a meeting with Ada while your relationship was in limbo, now he belongs entirely to you in body and soul. Leon knows that you are too young, but he hopes and trusts that your fellow students will not become your love interest. You promised him.

He likes to give you gifts, but what he doesn't expect is that you will give him a wristwatch.

"Just a sign of attention. I thought you might like it, but you don't have to wear them if they're not your type".

Your gift is now always on his right hand.

Well, after a long relationship, he decides to put a ring on you and hopes that you will say yes. This is a risk he is willing to take, promising himself that he will protect you in case of danger.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon x you #leon x y/n #leon kennedy x y/n

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p4p1l0nn · 4 months

Text

my sweet angel.

pairing: shy!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, smut.

content warning: 18+ mdni.

a/n: first non-nct fic. happy reading!

kissing fascinated hyunjin.

the books he delved into and the movies he enjoyed depicted it as a powerful blend of unwavering love and primal longing. only during his most sincere moments of self-reflection did he acknowledge his curiosity about it.

he pondered the sensation, contemplating how someone else's lips might feel against his own. yet, he believed this curiosity might forever remain unfulfilled.

haunted by the ghost of a past heartbreak, the scars of love lost lingered, rendering him hesitant to unlock the emotions associated with intimate connections. the fear of vulnerability cast a shadow over his desire, and the prospect of reliving the pain stifled the courage to explore the pure euphoria that awaited him in your kiss.

lying together on the bed, the celebration of your three-year friendship took an unexpected turn as you found yourself sitting on hyunjin's lap, engaged in a steamy kiss.

your hands explored his bare chest, fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone with gentle caresses. hyunjin, cautious not to hold you too tightly, lightly gripped your hips. despite his efforts to control the intensity, each exchange of tongues caused a flurry in hyunjin’s mind, leading to a tightening grip as he grappled with the rising passion.

hyunjin, though still a bit reserved and unaccustomed to such intimacy, eagerly embraced the role of a quick learner, discovering the nuances of how you preferred to be kissed. moving away from your lips, he traced a slow path down your jaw, reaching the tender lobe of your ear.

a tender nip prompted a shiver in your embrace, and a broad smile graced his face as he observed the reaction he evoked. continuing in his exploration, he proceeded to tenderly kiss your neck.

an approving moan escaped your lips, and your hips began to grind against him. hyunjin couldn't help but hiss at the warmth of your center brushing against him. though longing for more, he patiently waited for your initiation.

in the past, your hand flirted dangerously close to his most sensitive area, gently stroking his inner thighs, but never going further — whether it was a playful teasing, or just being touchy-feely.

the unclear of your relationship status might have played a role, as the two of you had never clearly discussed where you stood. but in this moment, he felt the entirety of your body pressing against his erect member.

“hyunjin,” you said suddenly. your body stopped its movement against him, yet you remained seated firmly on his hardened. a sincere smile played on your face, though a seriousness lingered in your voice. “it's fine if you're not comfortable with it.”

hyunjin’s expression shifted, uncertainty clouding his features. a wave of insecurity washed over him, like a sudden chill on a warm day. “i just don't want to disappoint you, you know?” he confessed, his words tinged with vulnerability.

your hand gently brushed against his cheek, the warmth of your touch like a comforting beacon in his storm of insecurities. “hyunjin, it’s not about perfection or expectations. it’s okay to take things at your own pace.”

a relieved smile flickered across his face, like a flower blooming after a refreshing rain. “you make it sound so easy. still, i want it to be special for you.” he admitted.

“you make it special just by being you,” you reassured, a genuine smile reflecting the warmth of your connection. “we’ll figure it out, one step at a time.”

feeling the sincerity in your words, you pecked his nose and lovingly stared at your friend. with every passing heartbeat, you found yourself falling even more for him. the yearning for his warmth tugged at your heart, but your respect for his pace and the delicate dance of friendship held you back.

after all, you both were just friends. and patience seemed like the most precious gift you could offer.

as you prepared to lift yourself from him, hyunjin surprised you by pulling you down with a gentle yet firm grip, his arms enveloping your waist in a tender embrace. it was like the warmth of a comforting hug after a long day, a gesture that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

confused yet pleasantly surprised, you met his gaze as he asked, “where are you going?”

a soft chuckle escaped your lips. “thought i'd give you some space,” you replied, your eyes reflecting a mix of playfulness and affection.

hyunjin tightened his hold, a warm smile gracing his face. “you're not going anywhere. stay with me.”

in that tender embrace, hyunjin felt a symphony of emotions swirling within him. nervousness gripped him like a fluttering butterfly in his stomach, uncertainty threading through the fabric of his thoughts. his heart pounded relentlessly, as if seeking an escape from the confines of his chest.

it was a moment of both vulnerability and longing, a juncture where words felt inadequate, yet the need for connection was undeniable.

uncertain of where to begin, he found solace in the simple act of holding you close. the warmth of your presence against him echoed the silent melodies of his emotions, each beat of his heart resonating with a desire to bridge the gap between friendship and the unspoken depths beneath.

as hyunjin’s heart raced, you, perceptive and playful, couldn't help but notice the rapid pace beneath your ear. teasingly, you remarked, “relax a little, your mind was pretty chatty.”

“didn’t mean for you to hear all of that,” he admitted, a touch of embarrassment coloring his expression. despite the awkwardness, he felt the weight of the moment, realizing it was now or never. wanting it to be special, he took a breath and said, “i’m ready if you are.”

“really?” you asked, genuine surprise in your tone. “i don't want to rush you, especially in a moment like this. we can take it slow, no pressure.”

“positive,” he assured, a newfound confidence in his tone. “i’m ready for this. if you’re comfortable, why don’t you take the lead?”

taking a moment to absorb his words, you flashed a wide smile, almost as if confirming the decision. “alright, i guess.” as you leaned in for a kiss, there was something different about the moment.

in the air, there was a palpable tension, electric and thick. it was the moment hyunjin had eagerly anticipated, one he'd daydreamed about more times than he cared to admit. this, for him, needed to be perfect.

truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure. there wasn't a foolproof test for readiness in these situations. he'd checked. yet, at this very moment, he felt as prepared as he could be.

as he realized this was his long-time dream, a question lingered: why did he suggest you take the lead? shouldn't he be the one guiding in this situation? a shift in dynamics unfolded as he carefully flipped you over, placing you beneath him.

moving slowly, he leaned forward, a mix of nervousness and gratitude filling him. he acknowledged the relief of not being able to sweat, imagining beads forming on his forehead if he could. pausing just millimeters away from you, he could feel the warmth of your breath against his lips.

his lips moistened, and he inched forward until he finally reached you. a simple kiss that hinted at the exciting start of something more.

the kiss engulfed him entirely, a warmth spreading through his body. though he knew he wasn't overheating, his skin felt hot and flushed. your hands encircled his head, pulling him closer. a gentle nibble at his bottom lip preceded the intimate dance of tongues.

hyunjin, unsure of where to place his hands, began by threading his fingers through your hair, offering a subtle tug he knew you enjoyed. cradling your face, his tongue brushed against yours in a shared rhythm. eventually, his hand ventured lower, tenderly touching your chest.

he sensed the firmness of your nipples beneath the fabric. cupping your breasts, he marveled at its delicate softness, his fingers delicately skimming over your nipples through the thin material.

a moan escaped you into the kiss, prompting hyunjin’s hands to slide underneath your shirt, making contact with your bare skin.

your warmth enveloped him, and your skin felt wonderfully inviting under his touch. his fingers danced, playfully squeezing and teasing your nipples, eliciting the most expressive reactions from you.

as you kissed, a rhythmic dance unfolded with each of hyunjin’s movements prompting you to grind against his stomach. the wetness seeping through your pants heightened the intensity, causing him to unintentionally bite into your lip, a move you welcomed with a moan.

“y/n” he said, breathless, stealing another quick kiss before urging, “take these off.” his voice, a blend of pleading and yearning, expressed a desperate desire.

swiftly complying, you removed your shirt, revealing your naked breasts. hyunjin, who had glimpsed you accidentally in various states of undress before, now had the rare opportunity to openly appreciate your beauty.

“go on, get comfortable,” hyunjin instructed, and you promptly followed, understanding his unspoken desire, his shorts now discarded.

fully settled on the bed, hyunjin crawled on top of you. his lips found your neck, focusing on the spot behind your ear that he knew would elicit a response, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

“good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he registered his thoughts.

“good girl?” you blushed, teasingly. “that’s a new side. feeling a bit bossy today, aren't we?”

your tone carried a playful tease, yet hyunjin paused, unsure. “is that o—”

“it’s more than fine, hyunjin, actually,” you grinned mischievously. “what else do you want me to do? come on, give me my orders.”

a smirk played on your lips as hyunjin groaned at your words, a thrilling surge of excitement coursing through his entire being at your request.

“i’m not sure,” he admitted with uncertainty.

“you’ll figure it out,” you reassured, pulling his head down. once again, your lips met, and hyunjin found himself lost in the intoxicating kiss. there were now countless places he could explore with his kisses, and the possibilities felt endless.

his hardened cock begged for attention, aching to connect with you, yet he restrained himself, eager to provide more for you before succumbing to his own needs. his hand traced a path downward, tenderly exploring your stomach and thighs.

“spread your legs,” he urged, and you followed suit. the immediate response to his command and your ready surrender to his touch filled him with a sense of satisfaction.

“my sweet angel, so impatient,” he teased.

your response got stuck, morphing into a breathless moan as hyunjin slid his slender finger inside you. the warmth and wetness enveloped him, the pressure against his finger feeling heavenly.

“more,” you gasped, and hyunjin promptly complied, smoothly adding a second finger.

his fingers began with a deliberate slowness, but he keenly noted your responses, realizing speed was what you liked. observing your body's reactions and the rhythm of your hips, he adapted his movements to maximize your pleasure.

eyes closed, head tilted back, and breaths escaping in a steady rhythm, you panted in bliss. hyunjin, utterly focused, seamlessly added a third finger.

quickly thrusting his fingers, he curled them upon full immersion, while his thumb circled your clitoris.

your muscles tightened and released around his fingers, while hyunjin skillfully continued to stroke your clitoris.

gradually, your body eased in his arms, muscles transitioning from rigid to loose, and a blissful, content smile painted your face. lazily opening your eyes, you sat up and drew him into a deep, lingering kiss.

“hyunjin?” you softly uttered, your hand descending to caress his aching cock, eliciting a shudder. “need you inside me.”

in a struggle for words, he faltered as your hand cupped him. the contrast of his size in your small grip left him saying, “that can be arranged, angel.”

retrieving a condom from the drawer, he struggled with it, finding it tricky to unroll over his hardened. that’s when your hands stepped in.

“allow me,” you softly insisted, taking the condom and effortlessly rolling it over his shaft like a sleeve.

“thanks,” hyunjin mumbled, a sudden wave of shyness and embarrassment engulfing him.

you entwined your legs around him as he slowly entered you. it felt a thousand times better than his fingers. you were warm, wet, completely wrapped around him.

his movements were slow, cautious, fearing he might cause discomfort. however, your encouragement through grinding spurred him on. hyunjin followed with a thrust.

you set the pace initially, but soon, he gained confidence. rapid and deep thrusts followed, met with your loud panting and deep moans. it became evident that speed and intensity were what you most enjoyed.

hyunjin sensed himself nearing climax as your walls tightly embraced him, each thrust heightening his pleasure.

when his orgasm finally arrived, it took him by surprise. briefly, his heart raced, then he felt the release and shivered as you clenched around him. continuing to thrust until his cock softened, he rested his head beside you, inhaling your scent as he caught his breath.

“y/n?” he raised his head, peering at your face. “friendship celebrations don't usually feel like this, right?”

in your mind, you couldn't help but marvel at his adorable nature. one moment he's all tough, and the next, he's like a kid in need of constant reminders.

smiling, you gently kissed his cheek, your eyes filled with affection. “i think we need to talk because, honestly, i’m pretty sure i’m falling for you.”

“yeah, we should. maybe after the next round?”

#skz smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin stray kids

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lucysgraybird · 2 months

Text

part 2 of modern!uni!coriolanus x fem!reader. part 1 here, part 3 here. as promised, reader's a lil cuckoo which i hope yall are into because it's here to stay. on this, if anyone feels like offering thoughts -- would longer updates be preferable, or does it make no difference? the only tradeoff would be that they'd come out less frequently (once a week vs every 2-3 days). warnings: blood mention, minor suggestive material. this is not a healthy relationship but BOY is it fun

Coriolanus Snow, as it turns out, is wonderful to date, at least for you. You've been back from the winter holiday for a month, and though you've yet to make anything official with him, things are going very well. He doesn't text constantly, but there will always be a good morning text when you get back from the gym, and a good night text when you check your phone after hours at the library. He makes it clear that you're together when you're out with an arm around your waist or a hand over yours on the table, or with the faint bruises that trail across your collarbone and down your shirt. That's your favourite mark of your relationship: it's illicit, obvious. You know it makes other people a little uncomfortable, and you like that they can't seem to look away.

He's also fascinating. Orphaned when he was quite young and raised by his grandmother and cousin, you've learned that while he obviously has money now, he didn't always. He had a stint in the military to pay for school, and got a job for his best friend’s father as a thank-you for saving the boy’s life in battle. Apparently the friend had been court-martialed for something – Coriolanus wouldn't go into detail – and now they weren't as close. He now makes more money than most people would dream of twenty years out of school, and though it means he's almost always busy, you like that he's so dedicated.

Right now, you're bent over a sheet of stats equations at a table on the quad when Coriolanus sneaks up behind you. He drops a kiss on your head and settles in an open seat at your table.

“Hello,” you say, setting down your pen.

“Don't let me distract you,” he replies, pulling a book out of his bag. “I'll wait until you're done to talk.”

This is another thing you appreciate about Coriolanus. Besides that first date, he understands how much you value school and your grades – he actually seems to like it – and never expects to come first. You blow through the last few problems, check your work, and clip the paper neatly into your binder.

Coriolanus looks up from his book. “Finished?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” he says. “How's that class going, by the way?”

You keep apprised of each other’s academic performances – you're both shooting to graduate valedictorian next year, so you've got a little bit of competition going. As far as you can tell, it only serves to push both of you further, as winning seems more of a reward if there's been a real challenge for it. This being said, he knows that your statistics class is giving you a little bit of trouble, just like you know that his Victorian literature class is driving him up the wall. You're going to win, but you'll let him hope.

“Not as badly as you might hope,” you tease. “I'm on track for a decent A. How goes the adventures in Victorian lit?”

He lifts his book miserably, revealing the cover of Middlemarch. You wince.

“Rough. Don't make winning too easy on me, though.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart.”

You smile at the pet name, however targeted it is. “So did you come to make fun of my homework, or did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

“Right, yes. We've been going out for a little over a month now.”

“This is true.”

“And I think it's time we make some decisions. I'm not looking for something casual. Between school and studying for the LSAT and work, I don't really have the time to devote to something that's definitely not going anywhere.”

“I hope you're not proposing, Coriolanus.”

“Not at all. But I am asking if you would like to be my girlfriend, officially.”

“Oh! Yes.”

“Yes?” He seems surprised.

“I'm not particularly interested in anything casual either,” you say. “I’ve tried it and it doesn't work. I just get jealous.”

“I wouldn't have pegged you for the jealous type.”

“You haven't given me any reason to be. Believe me, if I'm jealous, I'll make sure you know.”

You regret saying that the minute you do – not because it's not true, but because it could be a little off-putting. But it seems to have the opposite effect for Coriolanus, who bares his teeth in a smile. The wider his smile gets, the more he looks like a wolf, the more you feel like he is waiting for the perfect moment to sink his teeth into your neck. Perhaps it should scare you, but it doesn't. It thrills you. It makes you want to tilt your head back and let him take hold, because you want to see your blood on his teeth and trickling down his chin, staining the starched white of his collar. You want to ruin this boy, which you would feel worse about thinking if you didn't get the sense that he wants to destroy you, too.

“I hope you would,” he says, lifting you from your reverie. “As long as it's okay that it goes both ways.”

“Of course.” Perfect.

“Are you free tonight?”

“I have a class that ends at 6, but after that, yes.”

“Would you like to meet my family? You'll love my cousin, and my grandmother…well. She doesn't like anyone, but she's interesting.”

“That sounds lovely,” you say, a thrill flooding you at going from occasional dates and make-out sessions to meeting his family in the course of an afternoon.

“Fine, then. I'll pick you up at 7.”

–

The Snow apartment is incredible. There's a sterility to its modernity that should be disquieting but isn't: you can't imagine Coriolanus growing up anywhere else. You're sitting with his cousin, Tigris, while he disappears to make drinks. The fabled grandmother was apparently refusing to make an appearance. Tigris seems anxious, fiddling with her floral skirt.

“So you're dating Coriolanus?” She asks finally. Your brows knit together – is she daft? Coriolanus introduced you as his girlfriend.

“Mhm. We've been going out for a little over a month.”

“Oh.”

When she doesn't say anything else, you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“Coriolanus tells me you basically raised him,” you say, wanting to fill the silence.

Tigris nods. “He was such a kind little boy. I worry I didn't do enough sometimes, you know?”

What a weird thing to say. “I'm sure you did your best. I can't imagine it's easy bringing someone else up when you're a kid yourself. And he's turned out well, from what I can tell.”

“He can just be…intense. I'm sorry, I know this is strange, I just want you to know what you're getting into.”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I need to find someone to give him this speech about me. I'll be okay, Tigris. I can be a lot too; I think we'll be good for each other.”

Coriolanus returns just at that moment.

“I think we'll be good for each other too,” he says, handing you and Tigris each a glass of red wine. “I hope my cousin hasn't been telling you too many embarrassing baby stories.”

Something passes over Tigris’ face – grief, maybe, or fear – before she settles into a demure smile.

“Not at all, Coriolanus. Your girlfriend is so sweet.”

He sits next to you and puts his free hand on your knee. “She's perfect, isn't she? I knew you guys would get along.”

Tigris gives him a tight smile, then lets her eyes go unfocused into space.

–

The rest of the night passes with much of the same uncomfortable conversation, until Coriolanus finally decides that it'd be best if he drove you home before it got too late. It's the first time you've seen him drive, and you just enjoy the way the streetlights cast shadows on the angles of his face and the way his hand sits hot and heavy on your thigh.

“I'm sorry if Tigris said anything strange to you,” he says finally. “She's been odd ever since I got back from being deployed.”

“She was fine. I think she was worried you'd be too much for me.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “She doesn't approve of my job. Or my ‘work-life balance’, as she calls it.”

“Sounds like she cares about you.” It's hard to say more, because you don't really know what he does for work. Something with national security or defense tech, but beyond that, you're in the dark. It also seems like there was more to the way Tigris was acting than just complaints about Coriolanus working too hard, but it's not your place to pry. Nor do you really care.

“No, you're right. She does. I just wish she'd keep her opinions to herself.”

“That’s fair. I'm still glad I got to meet her.”

“I am too. And I'm always glad to spend time with you.”

To say that, he takes his eyes off the road for a moment and gives you a sweet, close-lipped smile. You return it and place your hand over his on your thigh. His fingers dig in a little too hard, and you curl your nails like claws into his skin in reply. He pulls the car into a parking space in front of your apartment.

“Here you are.”

You turn to him and take in the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes have gone murky in the dark of the night and trail across the scooping neckline of your top. The skin on your neck is pristine again, and you need him to fix that.

“Would you like to come upstairs?”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo snow #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader

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goosewriting · 5 months

Text

Underneath

summary: after getting stationed at the fortress inquisitorius, it seems a certain inquisitor takes an interest in reader.

relationship: inquisitor Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: (18+) me being absolutely delulu, slow-burn-ish??? as it can get at 7k lol, making out at the end and fade to black, sexual tension if you squint, psychometry

word count: 7.6k

A/N: started writing this back when i restarted JFO and got cal’s inquisitor clothes, so it’s been in the works for quite some time. also i had made pancakes back then and was sad about having no one to share them with, so i shall share them virtually with all of you <3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

As long as you can remember, you’ve always been fascinated by the way people communicate with each other. Now, as a linguistics and behaviour expert, you count yourself lucky to be one of the probably few people who actually like their job. Stationed in an Imperial office on your home planet, you mainly monitor comms and analyse the occasional security holovid in an attempt to weed out any suspicious activity.

In fact, it was thanks to you that a rebel cell was found, since you caught a suspicious exchange on unused frequencies, which earned you a promotion. You were content with that already, but then your superior said he’d put in a good word for you, as he’s always felt like you were far more capable than just listening to comms all day, and that you could use your skills better in service of the Empire.

Fast-forward three months and lo and behold, you’re now stationed at Fortress Insquisitorius.

It’s the first day and while you’ve got the grand tour of the place by a group of stormtroopers especially assigned to you (you still can’t quite believe you get your own little squad of troopers), there’s still some time before dinner. After dismissing the men, saying you’ll catch up to them later at the mess hall, you walk around, further checking out the place.

As you turn a corner to a hallway you haven’t been to yet, you notice it looks rather deserted. You check the small sign on the wall; this leads to one of the bigger residential wings, but not yours. So you decide to turn on your heels and head the other way. Except that before you can even take a step in that direction, you’re stopped in your tracks by an invisible force and turned back around again. This hold around you isn’t so tight that you can’t breathe, but you do feel the pressure keeping your arms at your sides and your body suspended in the air, the sole of your boots hanging barely an inch over the polished floor. Unable to resist your captor, you’re met with an Inquisitor, of all people, who slowly walks towards you with one of their hands in the air, holding you in place.

They come to a halt before you, the helmet tilting slightly to the side as the eyes under the red visor study you, out of your view.

“Who are you?” comes the distorted voice. Despite the modulator, you can tell by the tone and body language it’s a man. You’ve heard stories about Inquisitors, and despite being stationed at their base, you hoped you wouldn’t have to interact with them. Just your luck, and in an empty hallway no less.

Nonetheless, you tell him your name, station and even your office’s room number. Just in case.

“I’m new,” you add, as if it wasn’t obvious by now. He remains eerily calm and still all the while. With a polite smile, you throw the question back at him, “And you are?”

His helmet tilts the other way ever so slightly as if your question took him by surprise.

“Inquisitor Kestis,” he replies after a second. “Cal Kestis”

“Well, nice to meet you, Inquisitor Cal Kestis,” you say. If you could move, you’d stretch out your hand towards him out of habit as a greeting, but he probably wouldn’t take it either way, so you’re glad you don’t get the chance to embarrass yourself. Yet, anyway.

For a few moments, he just stands there with you in his invisible grasp. Is he looking at you? Did he space out? You suddenly feel your stomach complaining about its emptiness.

“Uhm, could you let me down again?” you ask, looking down at the floor tiles and back up at the red visor. “I’d like to go get dinner.”

Without a word, he places you back onto the ground surprisingly gently, then takes off in the direction he came from, disappearing from your view as he turns a corner. Well, you think to yourself with a satisfied nod as you make your way to the mess hall, I think that was a solid first impression. Good job, me.

The next day, you officially start your new job, and you’re all sorts of excited and nervous. You’re still intercepting messages, decoding and translating encrypted communications, but on a much higher level this time. These are important people you’re monitoring. You’re also called as an interpreter when there’s holocalls with parties who refuse to have droids in the room. Besides, the officers and generals seem to actually enjoy having you around, with your happy and optimistic demeanour in this otherwise cold and sterile building. You know that Imperial staff can be rough sometimes, but you’re convinced that the kindness you put out into the world eventually comes back to you. So you make sure to treat everyone equally, with kindness and respect, wearing a smile whenever you get the chance.

The days go on, and you see all sorts of people around the place. You do see some Inquisitors from time to time, mainly in the hangar. Occasionally they make an appearance in the mess hall as well, but they usually sit alone and for a very short amount of time on one of the round tables in the far corner of the mess. You never see Inquisitor Kestis there, though.

As you sit with your little trooper squad, you chew on a stringy piece of meat deep in thought, not really paying attention to the conversation. This Kestis has you intrigued if you’re being honest with yourself. You still don't understand why he talked to you. The other Inquisitors seem to ignore you, as well as everyone else, most of the time. Besides, Kestis could have just talked to you. There was no need to Force-hold you or anything. Was he trying to show you he’s in charge or something? Doesn’t that mean that he felt threatened?

With a light scoff at yourself — because the notion of an Inquisitor being intimidated by you is pretty silly — you take another bite of your food, your gaze scanning the mess hall without looking at anything in particular. The thing is that, since you don’t see Kestis in the mess hall like, ever, you only catch fleeting glances of him here and there when you see him slip into the elevator or turn a sharp corner at a hallway. You furrow your brows. It’s almost like he’s avoiding you. And that makes you just much more intrigued in what his deal is.

When the squad is in a good mood, you try to slip a question into the conversation about the Inquisitors here and there, asking if they ever saw their faces or what they’re like, and what they do. The troopers can only tell you the rumours you’ve already heard in a thousand different versions, the details getting more violent and out of hand every time you hear them. You dismiss most of those stories; you’ve noticed that a few Inquisitors walk around without a helmet. And others are pretty direct in their attitude towards others, getting into arguments or even physical fights when something bothers them. So they all want the rest to know who they are and be scared, many even seem to enjoy the fear in people’s faces. But Kestis? The few times you’ve seen him, he moves like a well-oiled machine. His face is always hidden, every movement is calculated, and he doesn’t waste his breath on any unnecessary syllable. That’s just proof that he has a carefully curated persona he wears when he’s out and about. But once he’s alone, when he gets to peel back all those layers? You truly wonder what lies beneath.

One evening you find yourself thinking about him yet again, suddenly concerned about his eating habits, wondering if he’s okay and eating well. For some reason that you still can’t quite comprehend, you decide to just go to him. After all, if he didn’t want to see you, he’d just send you away, right? By now you’re very well aware about what the Inquisitors are capable of, but you’re both on the same side, so surely there’s nothing to worry about.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as your feet carry you to the mess hall that evening.

After you’re done eating (the food today is better than you would have thought), you order a second portion to go. You start walking down the hallway, looking for a console or a droid. You know where the residential wing is, but you don’t know what floor the Inquisitors’ rooms are, and doubt there’ll be specific directions towards them. It isn’t long before you do find an R4 unit, and you ask where the Inquisitor quarters are. The cylindrical droid beeps and jumps a little with a startle, at first unwilling to tell you, afraid that if it does, the droid will be sliced in half. But you promise the droid that you won’t tell on it. So after some more convincing and promising the droid you owe it an oil bath, it finally brings up a holomap of the place, showing you where you want to go with a blinking dot.

With a pat on the head, you say your thanks and go to where the map said. Soon enough, you find yourself in a wing of the building you’ve not only never been to, but one you didn’t even know existed if it wasn’t for the droid. The design of the walls is even sleeker here, and the sound of your boots echoes through the hallway. The further you walk into this wing, the fewer people and troops you come across. Even the constant rumbling of machinery behind the panels seems to be quieter here.

After some more minutes of walking, you finally reach the door you’re looking for. There are no signs or name plaques, but you remember the number on the door from the droid’s map. The lettering is almost the same shade of black as the door, so it took you a moment to find the right one. But you’re fairly sure this one should be it.

Taking one final deep breath, you knock on the door. In the seconds waiting for a response, you suddenly feel silly about being here. He’s a full-grown man. An Inquisitor. Why did you think he’d need you to bring him dinner? What if he didn’t like it anyway–

The door opens with a whoosh, and you look up. For some reason, you were expecting to be met with the red visor of his helmet. Which now that you think about, doesn’t make sense; if he’s in his quarters, he wouldn’t be walking around with his full uniform on.

Instead, you’re met with a pair of intense yellow eyes, and equally fiery red hair on his head. Your breath hitches and you’re not sure if it’s the surprise of seeing his uncovered face or the realisation that he’s incredibly handsome, and it just caught you off-guard.

He gives you a quick once-over, momentarily looking at the box in your hands, then bringing his eyes back to yours, boring into your very soul.

“Why are you here?” he asks in a flat voice.

“I haven't seen you in the mess hall today. Or, any other day, really,” you explain, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Ever since I've started working here. So I brought some food in case you haven't eaten yet…” Your voice starts trailing off at the end as you once again realise how dumb that sounds out loud.

He holds your gaze a little longer, narrowing his eyes at you as if to scrutinise whether you're being honest or not. While you hope he’ll accept the food in case he actually hasn't eaten yet, that's all you expect to happen. You’re counting on him taking the box and leaving you be, so you can go back to your quarters and continue reading your novel, which you are actually looking forward to.

To your surprise, the Inquisitor takes a step to the side, silently inviting you in. You walk past him, slightly bowing your head as a thanks, and take in his quarters. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it's surprisingly… normal. Bigger than the barracks and other quarters you've seen, including yours, but still normal. There’s a banner with the Imperial emblem hanging on the far wall, a couch on the other side, and a round table with some chairs in the middle, as well as a kitchenette. Everything is neat and clean.

You hear the doors close as you walk to the table and place the box on it, turning back around to Kestis, who’s eyeing you curiously.

“It’s still warm,” you tell him, pointing at the food.

He walks by you to pick up the container, and that’s when you notice he’s still wearing his gloves. It strikes you as odd to be wearing them in the confines of his own room, but to each their own. Kestis walks to the kitchen and pours the food onto a plate and throws away the take-out container, then rummages in a drawer for a fork. After walking past you to sit at the table, he takes off his gloves and places them neatly next to him on the table.

“Sit,” he orders without looking at you, and takes the first bite. You sit down across from him.

“Have you already eaten?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” you give the honorific a try, and he seems to like it. “At the mess hall.”

“I wouldn’t have any food to offer you either way,” he states, and lifts his gaze to look at you. “This visit is… unexpected.”

“I’m sorry for intruding, Sir. I didn’t mean to. I just–”

“You just what?” He shoots you a look akin to a glare.

“I was just worried, I guess,” you say. He scoffs.

“Please don’t act like you care,” he retorts. “If you need or want something, just tell me upfront.”

“What? No, I- I’m not acting,” you reassure him, raising your hands slightly to underline you’re being earnest. “I’m not trying to gain something in exchange. I was genuinely worried about not seeing you in the mess hall.”

His fork stops mid-way from the plate to his mouth, and the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why?” he asks. You squirm slightly in your seat.

“I’m not sure myself, to be honest,” you admit, and you can’t help the defeated slump of your shoulders. “You were the first one who talked to me when I got here out of their own volition and not because of work. After our chat, I was hoping to see you around or something…”

The pause that follows lasts for a couple of seconds only, but it feels eternal. Until finally, Kestis lets out a short sigh and continues eating.

“I usually avoid the mess hall,” he says, his voice much more gentle now. “Too many people. Too much noise.”

“I see,” is all you manage to reply.

Taking the two last bites of his meal, Kestis sets down the fork. That’s my queue, you think.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep imposing,” you say, rising up to your feet, and he does the same. Before turning around, you search his eyes one last time. “That’s really all I wanted to do: to bring you the food. I’ll be going now. Good night, Sir.”

The Inquisitor walks you to the door, and just as you walk past the threshold, his words surprise you.

“Next time you could bring two portions.”

You whip around, but the door whooshes shut with a hiss.

— — —

After that, you two fall into a strange routine where you get dinner to go and bring it to his quarters so you can eat together. The conversations start out as polite small-talk, but soon enough you can broaden your topics, ranging from work to anecdotes and fun facts you picked up here and there.

While the tone remains polite and all in all pleasant, you do notice that he’s very careful not to touch you. You think it’s because he’s being respectful, but unbeknownst to you, it’s because he wants to get to know you organically, and not pry into the echoes of your belongings. Even if he knows he could, and you’d never even know, and despite his growing curiosity, he feels… compelled to try. For you. Because you bring a refreshing factor into his otherwise stale life, like a gentle melody in the cold vastness of space.

It’s rare to run into Cal, as he’s recently allowed you (and only you) to call him, in the halls or in the hangar. As fate would have it though, you’re just about to get into a ship with your trooper squad to leave for a job off-planet, while Cal happens to be getting off his own ship at the same time.

You don’t want to disturb him. Even if you want to wave at him from afar really badly, or even call out to him. But you think he’d appreciate it if you keep your relationship, whatever it is, a secret. To your complete surprise however, once he spots you in the ever moving crowd of the busy hangar, he comes to you.

Beelining towards you, he comes to a stop in front of you, sporting his full uniform. And while the group around you stiffens up and some even take a precautionary step back, you feel very at ease in his presence, greeting him like you normally would with a smile. If you’re being completely honest, you feel kinda proud that one of the most feared Inquisitors on base came to you, and that everyone seems so scared of him while you are completely relaxed, though still remaining respectful of course.

“Welcome back,” you greet Cal with a genuine smile. “I hope your mission wasn’t too eventful?”

“It all went according to plan,” the distorted voice says with a static crackle.

“That’s good to hear,” you reply.

Cal’s head shifts ever so slightly, the visor looking past your face to something behind your back.

“Is there a problem, trooper?” the Inquisitor asks, standing a little taller as he addresses the soldier who’s shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“With all due respect, Sir, we’re on a tight schedule-“

The trooper next to him elbows him in the side.

“Is that so,” Cal asks rhetorically, and you can’t really read his tone because of the distortion. Still, you decide to intervene.

“It’s okay, we can still make it on time,” you assure him and shoot the trooper a pointed look while whispering to Cal that he’s new. “But yes, we should probably get going. I’m glad I got to see you, though. Thanks for stopping by to say hi.”

Cal nods and makes room for you to walk past, while the others keep a noticeable distance between the Inquisitor and themselves as they walk around him. When you reach the ramp to the ship, you turn around one last time. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re still surprised to see Cal standing there, hands behind his back, facing your direction. You give a little wave with your hand, then hurry up the ramp and take a seat. As the ship takes off, you’re checking the data on your holopad. You suddenly feel something on your cheek, like the faintest caress of a summer breeze, and you could swear you just heard a voice in your head.

‘Come back safely.’

As the ship activates the hyperdrive, your hand involuntarily comes up to touch your cheek where the skin still prickles from what you can only describe as a ghost’s touch.

— — —

Ever since then, you notice a shift in the way everyone treats you, even your superiors, but especially the troopers. Some seem to get out of your way completely when you come walking down the hall, while others are especially attentive to your needs, offering to help you whenever you look like you’re lost or are searching for something. That one trooper who had spoken up to Cal, you haven’t seen him around at all. In fact, it isn’t until two weeks after the incident that you decide to ask one of your other squad members where he is, and she tells you that he got reassigned to not only a different squadron, but an entirely different planetary system. You have a hunch about who’s responsible for that, but you're still not quite sure why he would go to such lengths. Had he really felt that disrespected? You should watch your tone with him from now on, lest you also be sent to some backwater planet…

However, Cal still acts as he always has around you. You still eat dinner in his room, like you’ve been doing for a while now. And while it may just be your wishful thinking, it seems like his whole body language has finally started to soften too. When it’s just the two of you, his shoulders are not as tense, his jaw not as tight, his eyes not as harsh. Even the way he talks has changed. Others may not notice, but you’re literally trained for this. His choice of words has shifted to a less strictly professional lingo, allowing himself to articulate more freely, as well as use more face expressions, voice tone changes and hand gestures, compared to how he acted when your dinner routine started. At some point, he even stopped wearing his gloves around you all the time.

On one hand, for the past couple of months, dinner has been the highlight of your day. You get to spend time with someone who actually listens to you, not because of work, not because you have data they need, but because they just like to spend time with you. Or at least you hope he does.

On the other hand, you’ve been noticing a slight knot in your stomach whenever you stand in front of Cal’s door, waiting for it to open. As well as the prick of heat on your cheeks when he reacts to your jokes (you haven’t seen him properly smile or laugh out loud yet, but you’ll get there). And let’s not forget the involuntary hitch of your breath accompanied by the skip of your heart when you discover him in the same room with you when you weren’t expecting to see him.

Somewhere deep within you, you know what all of those mean. But you like the relationship that you’ve built with him, no matter how weird it is, too much to listen to your gut right now. So you just push all and any thought of that kind waaay back into the darkest corner of your brain, hoping it’ll pass.

— — —

One day, you’re feeling a little blue, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Cal. He asks what the problem is, and you tell him you miss something from your home planet. He assures you, whatever it is, he can get it for you. So you write down some things and he orders them. Only two rotations later, the package is at his door.

He's really curious to open it but decides to wait for you to get there that evening. When you’re finally in his quarters and he shows you the box, you’re super happy and unpack everything: it’s candy, some fruits he’s never seen before, a jar of what looks like herbs, and another jar with a blue spread of sorts.

You hum, thinking about what to show him first, and decide to go for the jar with the spread. Picking it up, you’re about to start explaining what it is while you open it, but whatever you plan to say gets cut off because of your fruitless effort to screw open the lid. You give it a second try, but it just won’t budge.

With a sheepish look, you wordlessly hand him the glass and when he takes it, there’s a cocky smile on his face that you’ve never seen on him before. You bite your tongue just in time to stop some witty remark, because it would have been a jumble of sounds and no coherent sentence anyway. For in a split second, all those feelings and thoughts you have been repressing come back all at once in one massive wave that crashes over you, drowning everything else around you.

If that small of a change in his face has such a big effect on you, you wonder what else there is. What would a proper smile on him look like? Would he ever properly smile at you? With you? For you? And if it was the other way around, if it was you wearing a cocky grin, looking down at him, how would he—

Oh, oh no. You’re in it bad. So bad.

The sound of your name snaps you back to reality, where Cal is offering you the now open jar, waiting for you to take it. You blink a couple of times, your eyes moving from his face to the jar, then back to his face. One of his brows rises to give you a questioning look. Heat spreads on your face, ears and neck at the multiple images that appeared in your head. You give him a quick thanks, grab the jar, and turn around to hide from his gaze. Already familiarised with his kitchen, you walk up to the counter to rummage in the drawer for a spoon. Taking a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart, you turn back around. Cal is still standing by the table, following your every movement with his yellow eyes. And for some reason, you feel like all the walls you had managed to pick away at ever so slowly have been pulled up again around him.

You’ve heard stories of Force users being able to read minds, and right now you really hope they’re not true. What if he can sense your thoughts? Is he… disgusted at you?

Somehow managing to regain your composure and willing away most of the prickling heat on your face, you explain to him what this spread is called in your mother tongue, which translates to something like “sweet of milk”, and how delicious it is.

You’re still by the counter, not really wanting to get into Cal’s space, and you take a spoonful of the jar’s contents and put it into your mouth.

“Hm, it’s so good,” you say, offering him the spoon to give it a try himself.

He suddenly seems to revert to his normal self and approaches you, grabbing a new spoon from the drawer. Ah, you should have known, he doesn’t like sharing cutlery. Or cups. Or… anything, really. Odd, but you’ve always just attributed it to him being scared of germs or the like, which is very valid. It’s probably the same reason why he’s wearing gloves all the time, especially outside.

As he twists the spoon in his mouth, you see Cal’s face light up for the first time; he likes it. You’re relieved.

“So glad you like it! Alright then, let’s make some pancakes. You’re going to love them,” you exclaim.

Seeing the rest of the imported goods on the table, you tell him to try some candy while you work. You take off your bracelet, leaving it next to the box, and roll up your sleeves to get to work.

While the pancakes are cooking, you watch Cal’s reaction to the sweets. He first inspects it closely in his fingers; it’s shaped like a short stick with stripes in different shades of pink. You tell him the wrappers have trivia facts about animals, but they’re written in your native language. So while he chews on the soft candy, he walks over to you, holding out the wrapper for you to read.

“What does it say?” he asks, and you can’t help feel extremely endeared. Your eyes fall to the paper in his hands.

“It’s about banthas. It says that both females and males have a pair of spiralling horns, and they grow a knob a year. So you can tell the age of banthas by how curly their horns are,” you read out loud. “Huh, I didn’t know that.”

“Interesting,” Cal remarks with a short nod of his head. He chews some more on the candy while inspecting the drawing of the bantha on the wrapper. He seems to like them a lot. In fact, he goes back to the table and takes a second one. He asks you what they’re called again, saying he will probably order some more for himself.

Flipping yet another pancake, you tell him their name and smile to yourself, glad you managed to introduce something nice and colourful into his life. Not that being an Inquisitor wasn’t fun… was it? Truthfully, you have no idea how they feel about what they do out there. You’ve tried getting something out of Cal, but whenever the topic of his work comes up, he shuts you out. You also try not to listen too closely to the gory details of their work that are talked about in quick whispers in the hallways. Either way, you like to think that you broke whatever monotony there could be for Cal, even if only a little bit. Maybe he even looks forward to your moments together, as you do.

The Inquisitor asks what the other jar with the herbs is. You explain that it’s actually leaves for an infusion, and ask if he could put the kettle on.

Suddenly this whole moment feels strangely domestic, and you reprimand your heart for yet another beat it just skipped. It’s just a normal hangout between… colleagues. Making pancakes and having tea. Absolutely normal, strictly professional behaviour, yes.

You flip the last pancake and watch as Cal stands up to get back to the kitchen, but when he puts the jar with the tea leaves back on the table without really looking, his bare hand grazes your bracelet. With a sharp breath through his teeth, he suddenly tenses up, and his gaze is fixed on some spot behind you, without really focusing on anything. You’re not sure what’s happening, but he’s completely frozen up, and you start panicking.

After turning off the heat on the stove, you hurry to stand in front of the Inquisitor, unsure what to do. You call his name repeatedly, but he doesn’t react. Your hand comes up to the side of his arm but you hesitate, stopping just before touching him. Looking up at him, you try calling his name again; still no reaction. So you don’t really have a choice. You place your hand on his upper arm and give him a gentle shake.

“Cal,” you call yet again. ��Cal, what’s wrong?”

He takes a big gulp of air, as if he had forgotten to breathe all this time. After blinking a couple of times, it seems he’s back with you, and his eyes dart back to yours, boring into your skull with an intensity that takes you off guard. You’re quick to remove your hand from him and instinctively take a step back to give him some space.

“A-Are you okay?” you ask. “You just spaced out really hard for a moment.”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine,” he replies, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter. “It was… something occurred to me that really took me by surprise, is all.”

“… Right,” you stretch out the word, waiting for him to explain what he meant further, but he reverts completely back to normal in an instant.

“You asked me to put the kettle on, right?” he asks and is already on his way to the kitchen.

“Uhm, yeah,” you follow him with your gaze, confused, then remember an important detail, so you join him in the kitchen. “Oh, but don’t let it boil. That will ruin the leaves. Just gotta heat up the water.”

“Got it.”

— — —

After some more preparations, you’re both sat at the table, and you show him how to eat the pancakes. They’re not like the thick, small pancakes he knows. These ones are larger in diameter and very thin. You demonstrate how to evenly apply the blue spread, stack the cubes of fruit you prepped, then roll up the pancakes like a tube and pick it up in your hands.

“Ta-da,” you exclaim. “And now, enjoy.”

Taking a big bite, you squeal at how good it tastes. It’s been ages since you’ve had this!

Cal imitates what you did earlier, putting together his own pancake tube, and takes a bite as well. Even he can’t help the low moan that escapes through his nose at this fantastic combination. You giggle at the sight, enjoying it immensely that you get to see all these sides to him that probably no one else has seen. Once more, your brain is invaded by the thought of what else there might be to Inquisitor Cal Kestis. If he allowed you to lower wall after wall, layer after layer… what would you discover?

You shake your head to rid yourself of the images starting to form. Nope, can’t go there.

Instead, you decide to show him how the tea is brewed. You grab a small cup and pour some tea leaves in there, which are chopped much more finely than other loose tea Cal has seen. Then you place the special straw that came in the box in the cup. Cal has never seen something like it; it’s essentially a metal tube that is flat at the top and ends in a bulbous shape at the bottom full of little holes.

“So, let me get this straight,” he starts once he understands the mechanics behind your concoction. “Instead of putting the contained leaves in water and then removing them to drink the tea, you just put loose leaves in the water and filter it through the straw to drink the tea?”

“Essentially, yes!”

“That’s so many extra steps…”, Cal sighs, bringing his hand up to hold his temple.

“It’s literally the same,” you laugh. “Just in a different order.”

Pouring hot water into the cup, careful not to overspill it, you offer the cup to him.

“The things you make me do…” he says under his breath, taking the cup and giving it a tentative sniff.

“Oh please,” you say teasingly, and a grin spreads on your face as you prop up your chin on your elbows. “As if you’re not having the time of your life today. I saw how many candies you ate earlier.”

Cal’s eyes dart down to your lips and back up so quickly that you miss it. With a defeated sigh, he gives the tea a try, grimacing at the bitter taste. You chuckle.

“It certainly is an acquired taste, but give it a chance. It gets better with time, trust me.” Kinda like you, you think.

He looks at the cup and back at you, kinda lost on what to do now.

“You’re supposed to suck on the straw until there’s no more water left, then you pass it back and I pour another one,” you explain.

“So many extra steps,” he repeats with a playful shake of his head, but he does as you said, if only to humour you. Once the straw makes the typical noise of there not being any more liquid at the bottom of a cup, he passes it back to you. With a smile, you pour more water into it, and have a drink yourself. He seems a bit shocked about that.

“Oh yeah, this is a drink passed around in a group, and everyone drinks from the same straw…,” you explain. Not to sound like a 12-year-old, a voice in your head says, but that just was an indirect kiss with an Inquisitor. You clear your throat. “Sorry, I guess I should have asked for a second straw so we could both use one each. I was going to offer another round of tea to you after I’m done with this one, as it usually goes, but if it makes you uncomfortable…”

Cal straightens up in his seat in surprise at your words.

“Why would it make me uncomfortable?”

“You don’t like sharing cutlery and stuff like that, right?” you ask, now confused as well, thinking back to when he clearly grabbed another spoon to try the spread.

“Oh, uhm, that’s… never mind.”

He fidgets with his fingers for a second, but when he notices you watching him, he hides his hands under the table. You merely hum in response, taking another sip. Is he… nervous? The mood seems to have shifted again and now you’re completely lost as to what’s going on. All those years of training and studying, yet this man before you remains a mystery.

The rest of the evening is spent eating pancakes and drinking tea, holding a pleasant conversation, albeit a superficial one. At times, it feels like his eyes are completely fixed on you, but within seconds, it’s like he can’t even look at you.

Concluding you’ve overstayed your welcome, you offer to quickly wash up, then be on your way. He merely nods and helps to bring all the dishes to the counter, then goes back to the table. You assume it’s to get another candy from the box. But you don’t mind; you offered to wash up after all.

Silence envelops the whole room, the only sound being the water coming from the tap. As you’re putting the last of the dishes on the little drying rack, you sigh. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea after all. Full of questions and doubts, you dry your hands on the towel, fully set on ending the evening by thanking him for getting the things in the first place, saying you had a good time and keeping your goodbyes short. You aren’t even sure if you’ll manage to appear here with a straight face for dinner tomorrow after everything that happened today, the problem being mainly the things playing out in your own head.

Being so deep in thought, you don’t notice the presence behind you, so when you turn around, you’re almost nose to nose with Cal. You can’t help the surprised little “ah, kriff!” that escapes you at his sudden appearance. With the counter behind you though, there’s nowhere for you to back away to, and Cal isn’t budging from where he stands.

“Don’t forget this,” he says in a low voice and holds up your bracelet, which you had left on the table earlier. He’s so close that you can feel his soft breaths on your face.

“R-right, thanks.”

Looking anywhere but at the Inquisitor, you take the piece of jewellery and put it on your wrist. It takes you a couple of tries though, because your fingers are trembling. In fear, anticipation or something else, you don’t really know. You fumble for a moment until you finally manage to secure the clasp. Cal however, is still standing right in front of you, his hands now coming up to rest on the counter on either side of you. You don’t dare to breathe.

“Uhm, what’s going on?” you ask in an impossibly small voice.

“I think you know.”

It takes every last drop of courage in your body, but you scrape it all together and put it into lifting your eyes to look at Cal. And when your gaze meets his, the breath is knocked out of your lungs entirely. He’s looking down at you so intensely, so hungry, you can’t even begin to describe what you’re feeling. Your brain is long gone, you realise, so now you’re entirely at the mercy of what Cal does and whatever physical reaction that gets out from you. And it seems he’s very much aware of this, enjoying the state you find yourself in, if that tiny side smile is anything to go by as he leans in next to your head. You go completely stiff.

“If you want me to back off, tell me now,” he says directly into your ear.

You take a shaky breath, and the last of the voices in your head all but screaming at you to get out of there is abruptly shut up. Anything and everything in your mind and body is Cal Kestis right now, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s using some Force mind trick on you or if this is all you. That thought dissipates instantaneously though when you feel Cal’s breath tickle your ear, still waiting for your response. You merely shake your head, and it’s so subtle he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he didn’t have his face right next to yours.

With his cheek now against yours, you can feel him smile. Properly smile.

“Good,” is all he says, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

His arms snake around your waist, pressing your body into his, and he devours you with such ferocity that you need a moment to regain control in your limbs. Once you do, your hands are all over him. One fists the shirt at his back, the other goes into the hair at the nape of his neck and you give it a gentle, tentative pull. The groan that leaves his lips is intoxicating, and you know right then and there that there’s no going back from this. Not tonight, not ever. This is all it took for you to know you’re officially addicted to Cal Kestis.

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss further, his tongue pressing against your own and pushing both your hips into the counter behind you. You can’t help the low moan that escapes you. Any other day you would have felt embarrassed, but today you don’t care. You’re making out with a kriffin’ Inquisitor and it’s great. As if he could hear your thoughts, Cal gives your bottom lip a nip, starting to leave a trail of bites and licks along your jaw, while his hands slide to the backside of your thighs. Before you can process what he’s doing, you're being lifted onto the free counter space like you weigh nothing, with Cal standing between your legs. One of his hands slowly moves further up your thigh, and your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

Suddenly, something occurs to you, and with a breathless “wait” you tilt your head to the side to take a breather and try to regain any rational thought you may have left. You’re both panting heavily, and while he looks openly annoyed at your interruption, he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, then backs away a bit to let you take a break.

“What,” he finally says, and it’s less of a question and more of an impatient bark, as you still haven’t said anything.

Your brain is going at a thousand miles an hour, there’s too much input from everywhere, but you still manage to find the words somehow.

“I just- This is- Not that I’m not enjoying this immensely, but… why? All of a sudden?” you ask, finally feeling like you’ve caught your breath again.

Cal huffs with a slight roll of his eyes, running a hand through his hair, and while you probably should be a little bit offended at his gesture, you’re suddenly way too focused on what you have the chance of witnessing: the way his hair messily falls into his face once he drops his hand. The clear blush adorning his freckled and scarred cheeks, nose and even the tips of his ears. The puffy lips, mouth still parted. The backlighting coming from the main room behind him almost gives him an ethereal glow, making the golden hue in his eyes stand out even more. You commit the image to memory.

“The bracelet, when I touched it earlier,” he starts explaining, but when he sees you just as dishevelled as him, he decides he can’t be bothered right now. “It’s called psychometry, I’ll explain it to you later.”

With an impatient grunt, he just picks you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist.

“Right now there are more pressing matters,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You realise you’re being carried towards the door that’s always been closed every time you come over. When you both approach, they slide open with a hiss and you’re met with his bedroom, as you’ve always speculated that’s what lies behind it.

Letting you fall backwards onto his large bed rather unceremoniously, he starts climbing on top of you, but before putting any weight on you, he stops and looks down at you with a serious face.

“Last chance to back out,” he offers.

You can’t help at chuckle, and grin up at him.

“As if.”

Your hands shoot up to hold him by the collar. You have no idea where the confidence even comes from at this point.

“I want you, Cal,” you say breathlessly, and that’s all it takes for him to be on top of and all over you again. Let’s just say pancakes and tea aren't the only treats you’ll be getting today.

— — —

A/N 2: inq!cal has a sweet tooth, honk if you agree

A/N 3: where my palitos de la selva gang at B)

~~~~~

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#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #inquisitor cal kestis x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #star wars x reader #listen if milk is blue in star wars #it makes sense for dulce de leche to be dark blue right?#let’s just go with it #look at me bringing irl cultural aspects into my writing wow

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yestrday · 11 months

Text

–BLUSH BLUSH ! anemo | hydro | geo

⤷ yan! hybrid! kamisato ayato, childe, xingqiu

summary ! your aquatic hybrids are just as playful as the ebbing tides of the sea, and very much in love with you. the prime residents of your manmade lake just behind your house, you foolishly trust them enough not to question why the water’s surface grows red when they submerge into its depths.

content ! inaccurate demonstrations of their animal’s physical traits; any science majors this is the time to not read any further lest you want a headache; mentions of murder; thoughts of corruption; sadism; mentions of a leash; toxic behavior

notes ! uh wow did not notice theres like only 3 hydro men and yet it took me five business days to write this lmao.. anyways enjoy

AYATO scares you the first time you meet. on that particular day, the sun is bright and makes the man-made lake behind your house glisten ever so beautifully. it’s a sad attempt on your father’s part to appease your loneliness, but you can’t deny how happy you are when you find out about it. riding a rowboat into the center of the lake, you enjoy the wonderful weather as you relax under your parasol, alongside the tea and biscuits aether has prepared for you…

that is, if the tea hadn’t ran out when you weren’t watching. you swear there was tea in the thermostat just awhile ago. as you ponder in confusion about its sudden disappearance, you spy a pair of glowing eyes peeking at you fro just under the ripples of the water. when you try to lean in closer, you scream in shock when the creature’s head pops out from the water and nudges your head. “hello~” the creature, covered in glistening blue scales and sporting a coy grin, greets you even as you jump back. “my, that’s not how you greet a tenant of your lands, do you now?”

AYATO helps balance the rowboat when you almost tip it over from your shock. in fact, he actually helps push the rowboat towards the shore so that he can finally have a proper conversation without you almost falling into the water every now and then. now that you’re on stable ground, you can finally get a good view of him– inhumanly white skin tinged with the undertones of blue, and shiny blue denticles covering his limbs and temples. and when smiles, it’s rather… deadly, if the sharp rows of teeth have anything to say for themselves. he leans casually on a rock, and lets his fin (your anxiety increases when you begin to realize it’s shaped like a shark’s) rest under the sun.

you quickly find out the sawshark hybrid has been living in your lake just a bit after it was finished building. he was busy running away from something, and he wasn’t about to pass up a good lake. it unsettles you when he tells you that he was there from the very moment your father’s driver dropped you off at the mansion and could even recount the day you met aether. his shark’s grin grows larger when you shudder.

when you bring him back to the mansion, everyone is on their guard against AYATO. his eye smile seems cunning, and he touches you a tad too flirtatiously for everyone’s taste. the only one who seems happy about his appearance is thoma, who apparently has a shared history with the man, and they quickly adapt a master-servant relationship. thoma seems to be at his every beck and call as he is at yours, and sometimes you wonder if you’re sharing the title as ‘master of the house’ now.

AYATO seems to have a strange fondness for teasing you. as his long fingers trail your cheek and lift you by the chin, he delights in seeing you all flustered and stammering. he finds you adorable, like one would do a pet. he finds it fascinating how so many hybrids, both mythical and normal ones alike, have become so subservient to you. he understands them though, really– after all, how could one not fall for a human as sweet and genuine as you? you take care of them even though you could easily exploit them, and you have no ulterior motives like the rest of your folk.

AYATO likes to watch the events of the house unfold from the shadows. he’s not one for actually being part of the drama, but if there’s something going on, he’s sure to know about it. in fact, some of them may even be orchestrated by him. but whenever the involved hybrid angrily comes up to confront him, all they are left with is a coy smile and the very damning fact that they have no evidence on him.

if you’re thrusted into the elite life, you can come to AYATO for guidance, but do be wary when doing so, though. in his home country, he was one of the more important elites, so he’s well-aware of the trickeries and betrayal that comes with this sort of lifestyle. he finds it very amusing that your loaf of a father would push a greenhorn like you into such an intricate environment. it’s like he wants to see your downfall. but no worries~! mature and responsible AYATO is there to guide you!

beware though, AYATO is very strict when it comes to your training. after all, you are sort of his master, no? and he can’t have an incompetent buffoon for a master. he’ll make you repeat and repeat his lessons until you’re crying and your hands are sore from raising the teacup the right way. at his side, thoma wants to come forward and soothe you, but all it takes is a knowing glance from ayato to make him stop. tsk tsk… come on, master. you’re the child of a billionaire as well as the beloved human of sooo many hybrids. these trials are for your own good…

or so he says, with a sadistic grin on his face. his blue eyes shimmer as you rub your tears away and continue on with the training. ah… you really are quite the adorable pet. sharks don’t easily bow their heads to anyone, you know? much less filthy, corrupt humans. he doesn’t understand why your hybrids are so eager to lay their head at your feet, when you’re soooo much prettier with a leash around your neck ♡

RELATIONSHIPS: ayato is never seen without thoma by his side, and many of the hybrids actually seem to pity the dog hybrid as he’s the number one victim of ayato’s pranks. the inazuman hybrids are actually quite respectful of him, minus itto who has no sense of wariness and just ropes ayato in whatever game he has in mind. sometimes, he manages to involve aether in running an errand for him, much to the chagrin of the catboy.

AJAX shows up at your house as he’s tagging behind a disgruntled aether. you swear you could mistake him for a fox hybrid had it not been for the pointy horn (er… tusk?) on his head. he just… gives off that aura, like the coy smile on his face and the fluffy ginger hair. from what aether tells you, they met while aether was out for a walk and the man just immediately pounced on him and challenged him to a duel. judging by the injuries, it was a close fight, but aether ultimately came out the victor. you catch aether sending wary glances towards the narwhal, who ignores this in favor of smiling at you.

AJAX immediately greets you, a friendly and curious look on his face as he inspects the master of the hybrid who bested him. "hello there~" he's intimidatingly tall, and a closer look at him lets you see the faint shimmer of the mottled skin from his neck to around the edges of his face. "you wouldn't mind sheltering me for a liiittle bit, won't you? i can't seem to rest until i've bested my comrade over there! that, and–" his eyes glint with a crude expression as the shadowy eyes of your hybrids glare from the corners. "– you've got a pretty interesting cast here."

when AJAX joins your crew, it seems like there's a plus one headache for aether. he's challenging every other hybrid he comes across, but he seems like he's pestering aether the most. he always gets his ass beaten, and though he isn't actually upset about it, he uses this as an excuse for you to comfort him. he comes running to you with fake tears and rushes to hug you— much to aether's chagrin— whining about how your cat was bullying him (not minding the fact that you've been watching them from when AJAX challenged him out of nowhere). hugging you from behind, he fake sobs into your neck, all the while locking you into place with his thick thighs.

AJAX takes good care of you, like how an older brother would. when he's not purposely irritating the other hybrids by being overly clingy with you, he's gentle with his touches. he's also a good help with chores and he'll make you your favorite foods! it's quite obvious that he loves to dote on you, and that's one quality the others can respect. oftentimes, however, you become too adorable for your own good and he can't help but squeeze you in for a hug! that's when the other hybrids swoop in to pry him off you.

he finds the thought of pretty little you sequestered away in some mansion away from the cityscape somewhat… romantic? or more appropriately, appealing. his sick perversion convolutes your pitiful situation when he thinks of how easily he can just take you for himself. those with similar delusions may want to preserve your innocence, but AJAX fantasizes about how far he can corrupt you. did you really plan on staying quiet in this lonely mansion all your life? are you not angry at how easily your father can abandon you? you’re the heir to multimillion corporation, for goodness sake! you deserve more than this!

AJAX is more than willing to bloody his hands for you, should you ask of him. in fact, he already does so without you ever asking for it. he truly cares for you, and he can eliminate any threats to your life and position while laughing as he does so. if you’re a bit more innocent and sheltered, he won’t really let you know about his doings. however, if you’re the one who explicitly ordered the strike… well, AJAX will definitely seek your praise. clinging all over your, soaked in the blood of your enemy, he near grinds his body against you as he begs for your sweet, sweet praise… although it’s also sexy when you ignore his pleas.

RELATIONSHIPS: zhongli and ajax are a strange pair often seen together. while they talk over tea together, there is a stifling atmosphere as they passive-aggressively one-up each other. xiao is wary of him and is only second in beating him up. aether, of course, takes the number one spot, as ajax holds him in high regard than anyone in the house.

a rare trip to a lake– not your lake, but another one– greets you with disaster. the wind blows too hard, and your boat is swayed by the wind until you topple over and crash into the water. your hybrids are on the shore, none of them too adept at swimming, and strain as you might, you find that your underused limbs aren’t strong enough to pull you to shore. but suddenly you feel a pair of arms embrace you, before quickly swimming back up.

your savior drags you to shore, where your hybrids fuss over you while you cough up the water in your lungs. when you turn to meet your savior, you don’t know why you’re surprised when you meet another hybrid– an otter, he introduces himself, if it wasn’t evident enough by the long, fur-covered tail on his back. XINGQIU greets you with a gentlemanly smile, and you find yourself gaping at his pretty face before you suddenly thank him and call him your hero. XINGQIU is pleasantly surprised at this— so pleased, in fact, that he decides to come home with you.

seeing your collection of hybrids, XINGQIU is excited at the thought of meeting so many mythical as well as heroic entities. not only that, but he’s plenty delighted at your personal library. he’s usually engrossed in fiction about heroes and whatnot, and more often than not you’ll see the boy cuddled in the library’s sofa with his nose in a book. if he’s not in the library or playing another prank on chongyun, then he’s at the lake, floating contentedly on the water or reading a book on the riverbanks.

just on the foot of the hill your mansion sits on top, XINGQIU is well-known in the local village for his chivalrous deeds. it’s a quiet rural town, and he delights in its simplicity. when he’s down at the village for the walk, he’ll catch thieves and turn them or pay for the food of a hungry group of children. he’s among the well-liked hybrids of yours, and is a favorite by the local mothers. he’s not so much a favorite back at the mansion though. him being cheeky as well as prone to mischief has made the other members grow wary of him, even his best friend, chongyun. all this he laughs at, and continues to play pranks when other’s aren’t looking.

XINGQIU often shows an eagerness to do what’s good— for humanity, for his friends, and for you. while he’s a bit lazy when it comes to actually helping with the housework, he won’t stand for any sort of injustice that happens to you. whether you are falsely slandered or attacked by paid assassins, XINGQIU makes it his mission to save you. he’s so caught up in the thrill and pleasure of being your hero— the day you first called him that replays in his mind over and over again.

he’s so caught up in playing your hero that XINGQIU willingly blurs the line between chivalry and self-serving. is he really doing this because your opponents are unjustified in attacking a naive and defenseless person like you? or is he doing this because he enjoys you clinging to him and thanking him, singing his praises as you call him your hero over and over again.

XINGQIU loves you, that much is true. he loves you the point of never wanting to let you go, and he truly means to become the chivalrous hero he reads about in his books. but his more… playful (?) side wants to see you tear up a bit more, as you sit dazed on the floor with your attacker’s blood all over you and him at your front as he slices them up in the name of justice.

RELATIONSHIPS: he and chongyun are best buds, but it seems that xingqiu always has the upper hand in their relationship. zhongli sometimes acts as a mentor to the both of them as he trains them in the martial arts. he tags along with aether when he makes grocery runs down the village, as well as shows off his training to him every once in a while to show how much he’s improving.

tags: @probablynoposts

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #genshin impact #yandere #genshin impact x reader #yandere ayato #yandere childe #yandere xingqiu #yester.writes #yester.au — hybrids 🪶#yester.au — hybrids 🐾

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merakiui · 1 year

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AHHH i knew I'd mess up the request 😭 I would really love to have a flower bouquet from the miscellaneous menu, red velvet cupcakes and red mochi beans from midnight menu for my one and only Malleus 🖤 (I'd appreciate it if reader was an afab female)

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-con, nsfw, stalking, obsession, slight delusion note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

The beauty of humanity is transient in nature—so fleeting that one of unfathomed age might assume mortals are merely temporary phantasms crocheted into a celestial fiction. Most days it seems as though you are the untouchable human threads woven into a lively tapestry shielded by the toughest, sharpest of brambles. You are the very shape portrayed soft and precious in watercolor portraits, preserved within the haunted corridors of Malleus’s mind. Most days he wakes from poetic rumination and looks at you for who you are: a dear friend. A kind, clever child of man who is unafraid of crossing the threshold that divides humans from those with lengthened lifespans. You are, in every wondrous way, a mortal who continues to fascinate and amaze with your endearing peculiarities.

Most days Malleus wonders if he could ever flawlessly imitate humanity in the way you do. Perhaps the idea is an impossibility or a childish dream fostered by his inherent need to stitch himself into your tapestry like a loose strand in search of a home. He can sketch your form in his mind every night—can follow your movements with eyes so green you may be smothered in their vibrancy—but he can never quite grasp the meaning of humanity. Although who could, really, when such an inquiry remains one of life’s greatest enigmas? Malleus surmises that is what makes the modern world in which he exists as curious as it is troublesome.

There is beauty in tragedy. Malleus knows this well because all human life is tragic in some melancholic manner. But nothing can be more devastating than the raw emotions that entwine themselves through you, staining your expression in muted fear. Thankfully, it takes but a moment for the darkness to dispel itself, alight with yellow-green speckles that foretell a familiar presence. He offers you a pleasant smile through the window, not having considered you might still be awake at such an ungodly hour when he appeared for his usual visit to admire you while you lay motionless, wrapped in the sweetest of dreams. The little beast who often accompanies you—Grim—is curled on the bed, his furry frame moving up and down with each peaceful breath he takes.

There is beauty in the sincerity of relief. Malleus knows this well because when your shoulders relax and you slide the window up to greet him, all instances of horror having vanished from your delightful countenance, you look most ravishing.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Horns. Don’t scare me like that!”

Horns. It’s a cute, casual nickname—an alias that he wouldn’t have received had he not met you. It’s far more meaningful than the princely status draped across his shoulders, a reminder to all who see him of the destiny that awaits him—a destiny that distances him from others grandly. They seem to care about such a thing—as if it’s a thing so ominous—but you never mind it.

There is beauty in the thorns that pierce the heart. Malleus knows this well, for he stands at the edge of a love that just cannot bear any fruit, consumed in a shadow while he watches you enjoy the noisy company of friends and classmates. Malleus is not very partial to this, yet if it made you happy he would willingly melt into the darkness so that you may continue to spread your glorious light.

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise curiously and he bends down to lean further into the open window, conscious of the sleek, obsidian-colored horns that curl upwards from his head. “I’m far from a medical practitioner, but I have heard that a good shock to the heart is one way to keep it beating. You need only give me a moment. I shall conjure a bolt strong enough to—”

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” you whisper hastily, shaking your head in a manner so wild it sparks amusement deep within his chest.

“I jest.”

“I would hope so,” you retort, a smile spreading on your lips. “One shock from you and I don’t think I’d be standing in one piece.”

“Nonsense.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand before pausing to truly consider it. “Well, I suppose in order to test such a theory you would need to incite my wrath first. Would you care to try?”

“That’s a death wish! Is your sense of humor always so morbid, Horns?”

“Would you prefer otherwise?”

“Nah.” He blinks at you, and a chuckle spills from your lips. “It’s you, Horns. Morbid jests and all. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

In that moment, Malleus thinks he wants nothing more than to have you, radiant smiles and all.

There is beauty in trust. This is something Malleus knows well, for when Lilia handed him a cloth the color of a starlit sky and uttered something about acts of trust he understood the implications. Or perhaps the meaning evaded him; Lilia is always so cryptic. And so, once the moon has risen high, Malleus descends upon Ramshackle’s grounds to consult his wise, beautiful child of man.

“Acts of trust? Like trust falls?”

“Trust...falls?” Malleus repeats it with a furrowed brow.

“It’s when someone falls backwards into the arms of another person, assuming that that person will catch them. It’s supposed to be a trust game.”

“Shall we play?” He withdraws the cloth from his vest pocket, running his fingers over the silky satin. “This game of trust humans are so fond of... It sounds most entertaining.”

“Oh, sure. Uh... I don’t think we need a blindfold for it, though.”

“I have recently learned of this ‘trust game’ from Lilia. One that involves relying on another to replace your sight.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that one! We can try it.”

“Then allow me to be your eyes.”

Your nod is immediate, and so Malleus flicks his wrist and the blindfold fastens itself around your eyes. You reach up to touch the fabric and giggle.

“Make sure to guide me away from any furniture, okay?”

Though you’re unable to see it, Malleus smiles at you, a deceptive flicker in his gaze. The game begins innocently enough. Malleus leads you with honest intent, and even when you stumble he merely levitates furniture out of your way. You nearly take a nasty tumble when your foot catches on the rug, but he’s quick to cast a skillful spell that lifts you up out of harm’s way and lowers you gently upon the bed. Your hands curl into the sheets and you exhale a relieved sigh.

“That was close. I almost fell.” When Malleus doesn’t respond, you sit up and move to take your blindfold off. Malleus places a hand upon your shoulder, guiding you back down. You flinch, arm stiffening in surprise. “W-Whoa! Seriously, Horns, you can’t keep scaring me like this!”

“There’s nothing to fear,” he assures you. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve kissed the floorboards.”

Malleus nods, as if having expected this answer—it’s unsatisfactory for a reason he cannot list—and traces the path down your stomach, along your hips, to the waistband of your trousers. You seem so fragile in this moment, so vulnerable and so very in need of protection. He’s watched you long enough to know of the dangers you often find yourself in. You move to sit up again, but he looms over you, straddling you, and he thinks you can sense his towering presence. It’s that unique sixth sense he’s heard all humans secretly possess.

“H-Hold on. Wait. What...” You swallow thickly, remaining completely still. “What’re you doing, H-Horns?”

“Do you trust me?” he asks again. “You must trust me. I mean you no harm.”

“No... No, I really don’t right now. Can we stop? I want—” You squirm under him when his fingers curl around the waistband, tugging both your trousers and panties down slowly. He peers at the modest lace trim. Like the rest of you, it is very pretty. “I want to stop. Please. Hey, stop. Seriously—”

You reach blindly for him, your voice rising in panicked pitches. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. Though you try to pull away at the next second, his grip remains firm. Not enough to break your hand, but it does cause you a bruising discomfort. Your lips twist into a trembling frown and a meek whine squeezes itself out of you, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

“You will trust me in due time,” Malleus murmurs it like it’s a vow, his voice so soothing it’s like muffled rainfall. He notices the silent tear that slips out from under the blindfold, and he swipes it away with his thumb. Out of sight, out of mind. “I only wish to prepare you.”

“P-Prepare...” You shake your head, voice straining. “For... For what? Malleus, stop. I don’t want...this. Please stop.”

No longer Horns. He’s lost that name now, but it’s nothing he can’t retrieve.

He slips his gloves off and, after having coated his digits with enough of his own saliva, works your pussy open with two slender fingers, quietly amazed at how soft and warm it is within. Your body goes rigid under him, your free hand grabbing at the sheets while the other remains imprisoned in his grasp. You could take the blindfold off, but you don’t, instead sniffling through a mantra of stop and take it out. He knows you don’t mean those words, for it isn’t long before you’re tightening around the three fingers curled within you, your labored breathing punctuated with little gasps and groans. It is most adorable.

There is beauty in submission. Malleus knows this well because when you arch your back, dig your nails into his hand, and gush around his fingers with a strangled cry you are the most exquisite portrait he has ever had the blessing of admiring. He could spend lifetimes pondering your angles, considering dainty brushstrokes, wondering about the skillful hands that sculpted you so perfectly. So beautifully. So humanly.

You’re panting when he comes back to his senses, having slipped a fourth finger into your wet warmth without realizing it. There’s a strain in his pants, an ache that had once been so dull and is now so unbearably tight. The insatiable, animalistic part of Malleus wants nothing more than to spear you on his cocks, to feel the stretch as your pussy envelops both in its gummy walls, to hear your wails and kiss your lips puffy, to press his hand against your bloated belly and feel the sinful connection for himself. But there is the rational, sweeter side that knows you would be in a world of pain if he was not given enough time to properly stretch you, and so he decides that, as pressing as his needs may be, yours are far more important.

He wishes to cherish with you for many years to come, not break you beyond repair.

“We shall spend the night here, my dearest,” he declares, the fondness of a smile in his tone. His hand releases yours momentarily so that he may tug the blindfold up to see your sparkling eyes. Tears of joy, no doubt. “Until I can fit more than just my fingers so that we can truly connect as one.”

He leans in to press his lips upon yours in a chaste kiss; you do not reciprocate. Malleus would have thought he’d put you to sleep with how frozen you’ve become. But you’re merely looking at him with defeated eyes—eyes that are so beautiful even when reflecting the pains of betrayal. Malleus tells himself that this is the teary-eyed ecstasy he has heard of in the stories Lilia would often recall when he was old enough to hear such tales. It is not pain; it is pleasure.

And there is beauty in both.

#yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus #yandere malleus x reader #n/sfw #tw: noncon #lunar love hotel 2023 #omg my first ever malleus writing!!!!#i hope he is characterized well orz #(i may have gone slightly over 1k words ;;; please forgive me)

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