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ma1dita · 1 month

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its 10pm again.... 😈😈

rivals with benefits Luke who makes everything a competition. even in bed. 😼

IM ALSO SO SORRY FOR FLOODING UR INBOX

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

a/n: liv we're boxing because i literally could not rest until i got this right,,,, smut. public sex. wrap before you tap. creampie. all the nasty things. fuck man...

wc: 968

“That’s a point for me,” Luke says with a menacing grin. The both of you are soaked to the bone after paddling across Canoe Lake to see who could make it to the other end the fastest, and as you gasp for air while holding onto the wood post of the pier, you can’t help but somehow be convinced that he cheated.

“You’re built like a frog with those long legs of yours, how the fuck was I supposed to win?”

Daybreak spreads slowly across Camp Half-Blood, sunlight kissing where the sky meets the water and Luke thinks he wants to kiss you. Knows it, actually—deep down to his bones that the line between hatred and love must be lust.

He swims closer to you like a predator creeping toward his prey, wet curls stuck to his forehead as he admires how hard you’re breathing. You’re right there, and since you like to make a competition of everything from capture the flag strategies to how many campers you both can get to screech at nightly sing-a-longs, he thinks he has an offer you won’t be able to resist. Luke’s hands glide under your shirt as the both of you tread water, still fighting for dominance even when it comes to who takes up the most space to stay afloat. You lick your lips, fingers tugging at his camp necklace as you look at him curiously and raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve got an idea…”

“I’ll start my prayers,” you smirk, before seeing the hot burning want in his gaze. You can feel it in his fingers as they brush the underside of your breasts, nipples stiff in the frigid water. Shaking your head, a nervous giggle leaves you as your arms circle his neck, bodies separated by your thin, sopping nightshirt. If he touches the rest of you, he’ll find other parts that are wet too, warm enough to brave the chill of the morning breeze that settles upon your shoulders.

“The nymphs might see…” you whisper, even though the both of you know not a single soul is awake right now but time is running out like sand in an hourglass.

“You backing down?”

The kiss you press into his open mouth is a clear enough answer—tongues sliding and spearing against each other, hot and angry and bruising. It’s a fair shot, not knowing who’s going to come out on top.

—

“Oh, gods, please!”

Your hands and knees are scraping in the rocks and sand of the shoreline underneath the pier as Luke pistons into you at an alarming rate, each thrust a blow to your senses. He watches your head bob up towards the sky almost in reverent prayer and he’s grinning, continually sinking into your warmth while the rest of him shudders from the cold. Luke’s cock works inside your slick hole instead of against it, and he laughs at the irony of you finally letting him have his way. Your fingernails dig into the coarse beach, grains of sand making their way through every crevice as he fills your pulsing one with glee.

“Fucking knew you’d behave…” he grunts, one hand pulling at the thin cloth around your waist and the other holds onto your stomach so he can feel himself bludgeon you from the inside. “Can’t fight back when you’re getting your brains fucked out, hmm?”

He watches your pretty tits swing from the stretched out opening of your soggy shirt as you choke out a sob of pleasure.

“Yes…f-fuck Luke,” you whine, reaching back to ease your hand against his abdomen but he pulls it behind your back to use as a better hold on you. Luke puts two of his fingers in your mouth and they prod at the skin of your cheek, spit dripping around the digits.

Despite the intrusion, you’re groaning loud enough over the icy smacks against your skin that for a moment he thinks it might actually wake the forest nymphs, but then he’s distracted by your pussy pushing and pulling him as his hips clap against your ass, leaving them raw for days to come. Light waves crash against the shore with your movements, splashing against your knees and you’re giggling at him with a dazed grin as you push your hips back harder against his thrusts, overpowering his control over you.

He swallows thickly, groaning through the building sensation in his stomach as you rock back onto his cock faster and with the purpose of taking him down and winning. The both of you work in tandem as you writhe against each other in a battle to reach the end, unsure of if you’re with him or against him but gods, it feels so fucking good being under him.

“M’so close…Don’t fucking stop,” you shudder, and Luke shuts his eyes hard and takes a deep breath. Even if all 12 Olympians came down right now to smite him he wouldn’t be able to pull out.

So he doesn’t.

He couldn’t even if he tried—he cums so hard, his front meeting your back as you fall into the sand with a muffled yelp and he’s pumping thick rods of his release into your pussy. You shiver under him slightly until you realize your belly is warm from his efforts.

“That’s gotta be like 5 or 10 points,” Luke pants, nipping at your shoulder before he sits up. You’re laying there, ass up and motionless so he slaps a cheek before you start laughing.

“For me. At least you came,” you drone, having been on the brink of an orgasm.

He couldn’t argue with that. So he flips you onto your back and eats you out (sand and slick and all) until he’s ready again and by the time the morning bell rings, you’ve both lost track of who’s won your so-called competition.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎

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dogbites-puppylove · 1 month

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Devil Sins

The Batfam and the deadly sin that colors their life, and the virtue of their darling

TW: Yandere behavior (obsession, possessive behavior and unhealthy ideations), mention of suicide ideation and s/h as well as gore

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: Pride

Within Gotham, it's common knowledge that when crimes wretched hands come down to slit your neck you do not clasp your hands and pray to God, no - you whisper your tears into a puddle of blood and give your reverence to hold out for Batman. It is under no exaggeration that divinity in the cursed city leaves justice to crumbled bones and puddles of teeth and tongue, and its cruel master in the form of a man with no face. It's fitting, for a city of corruption and bile. Gotham’s god is its dark knight with steel for bones and scripture of flesh, man made Godhood with flawed creation in its wake. But man has never been meant to hold godhood, the pathway of immortals too cruel and demanding, even with those who have wielded its deadly blade of eons it rips into them. Tearing at seams and breaking into them until their pieces can be glorified in the stained windows of churches.

Batman is divinity within mortal confines. There have been prayers and hymns in his name, retribution in his name and the painful dependency of creator and creation waged on him. Batman is an entity that is nothing but iron and brimstone, unbending and unfeeling, but Bruce Wayne, the man who created this creature whose only split from being a monster is a bloodied and beaten code, is painfully human. He feels each failure weigh on him, aging him past his own casket and decaying him even as he still breathes, it cradles his head during the night and whispers the screams of those he has watched fall.

Every time Batman stands tall, Bruce can feel something small and young turn decrepit and vile in his stomach until it erupts from him like bile from the back of his throat. He thinks it must be the humanity of a son who in truth, died with his parents in that alley. It slices his open, cutting his flesh to ribbons, and gorges itself on his organs only to fill him up with something inhuman. It's with bated breath with lungs that have been clouded with smog, that he waits for Batman to finally rule Bruce Wayne unfit and strangle him entirely.

Darling: Humility

The Darling acts as the humility to his pride, dragging him to his knees so archaically Batman shrivels in your presence. You are his humanity given form, the antithesis to his claim of being the perfect hero. You lead him by the nose, walking him on a leash so flawlessly he thinks you might have been born just to keep him grounded. Every scrape or bruise seems to repel the mission Batman strives for and replaces it with nothing, but a man stricken that he hadn’t done better. Each burn or scrape, even a paper cut drives guilt into him and brings a physical ache to his body like you had beaten him with a bat. Each mark burns the shame of a failed hero and leaves only the pathetic begs and whines of a man that can only be human.

If he could, he would spend his days by your side, affected by the intrinsic need to provide for you, leaving you physically and mentally unable and robbed of the ability to want. It's a desire that burns molten in his chest and drips down his limbs, it burns and aches at him as if trying to rip out of his chest and lick at your hand like a depraved dog. He would do anything for you, would render the world silent, bring you a heart on a platter, violate himself so terribly he could not know anything but his adoration of your presence and yet it still feels inadequate. A simple compliment from you leaves him bereft of ambition and scorn, leaving him on his hands clasped in prayer.

Batman may have been his creation, but Bruce Wayne is your own tool, use him to get what you want, change him for your own needs just keep him at hand. He'll be loyally and wholly (obsessively and blindly, almost rabid) yours. God bends to nobody's will, but Bruce Wayne knows down to the electrons snapping in his synapse that his place in this world is by your side, whether you point, whenever you deem fit. You’re his god, and himself nothing but a faithful follower.

Richard Grayson: Lust

Perhaps born from watching his parents, who should have been a constant, die in front of him a painful death filled with tourists' eyes and misplaced faith, right outside of his fingers grasps Dick has an inherent need to feel. For him, want runs in his skin like a conscious, whispering what he craves, giving voice to a voracity so impossible that it turns physical. He has known denial from the start, whether it be the blood of the man who stole his parents, a want that made his tongue ache and crawled at his ribs until his bones crackled, or the sweeter craving of a relationship, something that watered at his mouth. Want is something that has haunted him, growing obsessively until it reached lust.

Though sexual desire, of course, is something that is often attributed to it, it's not the only way lust presents itself. For Dick, it appears when he closes enough to reach out and feel flesh on his own, something tangible and it shocks him like a bad dog until he reaches out to soothe his skin. It appears in the dead of night when he can feel no other warmth than his blankets, even as he arches out and reaches pathetically into the air. It is a call of pathetic loneliness, so strong that when his younger brothers are cuddled drowning within him it is to try and get rid of the sudden echo, to try and merge them into one, until he is no longer Dick Grayson, and somehow a part of them. Somewhere in between the heat of a lover and the loyalty of a son, he realizes that being a part of a couple isn’t enough.

He wants like a man starved, all instinct and need, like a child who has been ripped out of his mother’s grasp before she has fed him fully, there is always something he’s not quite satisfied with. What he truly craves is a constant, a union, melting himself, and another so they can be poured into the same mold and make something new, indistinguishable from the other. And despite the carnal behavior of his want, he knows how to get it. He smiles full of charisma, grins with the sun and serenades with the moon to get his fixes, but each one leaves him starved, stricken for more. Like a bad addiction.

Darling: Chastity

The darling brings a chastity in his life, though not to say he wants less, but in the way a husband will fully devote himself to their wife. It’s the deceptive nature of a couple announcing a pregnancy and accidentally alluding to nights spent in bed. The darling hits a spot for him that leaves him mind numbingly euphoric, like a high that is reached after weeks and weeks of suspension. Every kiss has him feral, no better than an animal and chasing after you, every negligence has him whining by your feet, clinging to you. He grows incredibly dependent on your presence, on your touch and everything beneath.

With you his sharp mind bleeds into instinct, and the charisma he wields to pry himself into others good graces is left uselessly at the door. It’s a delusional dreamy trance, every hug sends him tumbling down further and further until his panting against your neck and thinking of nothing but you, you, you. He can feel himself slipping into your existence, swearing he can taste the coffee you drank in the morning, and can feel every cut or bruise you get without him present. His want for you is wet, sticky and binding, threatening to pull you over until you lose your mind along with him.

It’s almost laughable how pliant he is with you, a touch to his arm can have him following you over a cliff, a peck to the cheek and suddenly his on your lap whining for more. For all he is hard and angry, full of vigilante fights and bruised skin you wouldn’t even have to hurt him to kill him. With you, he can indulge himself fully, so much so that he wants no other. In fact any other touch leaves him lacking, so utterly entranced by you that he can no longer feel another’s skin unless it’s yours. To him, his darling and himself cannot be separated, they won’t go down in history but their names, but by the title for lovers. Nothing to define themselves but their own love.

Jason Todd: Wrath

Anger, to Jason, is an old friend that lives in his bones and whispers in his ears with every movement. He has used it well his entire life, a melting anger of forged iron against his father to keep him defiant, a indigent anger filled with a son's tears for his mother, the roar of inequality and social class that steals from the batmobile and the blinding and rash rush that leaves him as robin. It’s at first a soft motivation that keeps him alive, any good street rat knows, or any street rat still breathing that to stop means you’re as good as dead. He covets his rage, it's youthful and idealistic and keeps his heart beating.

Of course, after the pit (after being beaten to death in a warehouse of gasoline and gunpowder, watching his own blood relax as he’s robbed of his own, coming back ripping from his own skin and drowned in green only to find out his father-father-had left him unavenged. Left him replaced and gone) his anger has grown into something primordial. Too old to be Jason’s but so familiar he leans into it. It grows from his bones like ivy and twigs, poking out against his flesh and sewing itself under his skin so that the slightest breach sends it out to take root. Jason’s wrath is something that threatens to leave him choking blood, and yet it keeps him alive with the threat of keeping him running forever. It is the anger of a child on the poster who has never been found, and their stomach full of worms that burrows into his own. The tears of a case under the corrupt policeman’s file, and the ghosts scream in a house empty of their future. It’s all those who have ever been a statistic (as he has been) boiling over under his skin. Because Jason knows the wrath of the dead and unavenged intimately, it burns his memories in green and leaves his chest heaving with permanent mourning of mothers whose children were robbed and never found. It threatens to scratch away from the inside of his ribs until its nails finally rip him open in a mocking autopsy and wail into Gotham’s plugged ears.

Jason's violence, his actions and words, the bullets in his guns and glare under the hood are all reactions to this. As long as the world spins, as long as humans turn a blind eye to victims, and allow the injustice of the world to mold them, he will move. All his actions are an answer, a bullet through a man's cranium, the vengeance of a young girl with a ripped dress, a severed head, the relief of a child who watches their family bleed out for powdered death. Each and every shout of Red Hood, every puddle of blood he coats the ground on proof that he is still moving. Because Jason’s wrath is old and an answer, to the boy in the warehouse, to the boy in the ground and mounted not as a son but a soldier. It’s a solution to the fear that manipulates his chest that should he stop moving he’d be buried again.

Darling: Patience

Jason is a man of action and violence, fear turned into anger because above all he is a man cursed with empathy. With his darling the fear that curdles his insides soothes, like a mother rubbing her child’s stomach and singing a special song to keep the pain away. The world will keep moving regardless of him taking a break, and he has the blinding panic of staying in time, and yet his darling is a perfect encapsulation of time. Something preserved beautifully, a painting stuck in motion, the words on his books that are remembered through words and tongue. The tint of red becomes a pastel pink, and suddenly he’s so, so weak.

With his darling he closes his eyes without fear of waking up decaying. A sweep of your hand against his cheek will pull a sigh of pleasure from his throat suddenly free of phlegm and blood, even a harsh hit will feel divine. His darling functions as a sort of “moment” , something trapped in time and solely for Jason. Much like opening a book, the story is forever clashing but the words stay all the same, waiting for the reader. It’s with you the anger that has kept him moving for so long, washed away, like the dirt clinging to his skin under water. It's freeing and leaves him shakily bare, with you he weeps, with you he grows and stays forever yours. You are life itself, something ancient and timeless at the same time. The nostalgia of losing a tooth and excitement of a birthday party wrapped into tender song and softer skin.

It’s a common sight to see him cry when with you, prayer in the form of tears that are just for you. He spends his days in a lovestruck haze, almost as if he’s been drugged. For Jason there is no constant, no surety but you. He would do anything to keep you perfect, safe and just as you always are. He'll care for you much like a beloved heirloom, of course he loves you with a severance that would scare most, but you are something he seeks to preserve. Nothing can hurt you, will hurt you, you’ll remain untouched until you reach out yourself. Your presence alone is enough for him to intoxicate himself with, bask in forever. But should you give I’m a sliver of your attention, allow him to enter your perfect little world? He’ll be lost forever.

Tim Drake: Gluttony

The most intimate feeling Tim knows is hunger, perhaps not for food but for anything and everything else. Obsession is his most familiar form of companionship, stuffing picture after picture of his object of affection until he can drown in them. In his house of echoing walls and emptiness he comes to emulate it. He feels hollowness in his soul, some nights he wonders if he took a knife to his own side what he would find. Would it be organs? Perhaps a heart? Or would it be the void that has eaten all that made him and left him with a constant hunger to fill himself with? For a time, he manages to satiate himself with Batman and Robin, stalking and drinking them in over and over until one day it's stolen and left him with nausea so terrible. (And Tim still remembers the rawness of his skin as he is thrashing in his room, his throat bleeding from his wails of a boy he never met)

The more he gets the more he hungers, it’s something horrific and apathetic that leads him to chasing after his own fill. Case after case solved, fact after fact filtered and sorted through, Tim is insatiable. Like a well oiled machine, the fuel that keeps him going only works to find more fuel, it's a never-ending cycle of something that can no longer be deemed as human. Half of this can be attributed to the fact that it’s all the same to him, an angelic charity to a garish murder eh takes them and feasts on them all the sometime efficiency is more of a hook then anything, pulling others in so he can feast on them, devouring their mannerisms and habits, licking up and chewing on their thoughts until there nothing left of them.

One could blame this on the fact that the identity of “Tim Drake'' has never really been sought out, so there’s no substance to him. Something useless will obviously stay shiny, clean and unused, it's logical in all the ways it makes Tim want to throw a tantrum. It drives his mouth to salivate until he’s drooling over another function he can consume, another person he can mirror, another morsel to disappear within himself. And yet with each new meal he can only feel the void echo back louder, as if he had never eaten at all. Like a fire consuming too much wood that it withers out in anger, as if the trees that had been cut never existed in the first place. It threatens to force Tim to disappear forever.

Darling: Temperance

The temperance his darling offers is in the form of a craving rather than actual fulfillment. After just his first taste of you, Tim has been enraptured for you, nothing comes close to your unique temperament, your reactions, everything that makes you, you. You leave his mouth watering for more, nothing else can settle against his tongue the way you can, nothing can mimic the way you fill his head with static and leave him filled to the brim. He takes whatever kindness you give him and uses it as an invitation to learn more about you, an invitation to bear himself fully. Any preference you have, a favorite color or show, even general food preference will settle into Tim as if it had been his all along. Where he used to drink black coffee, has grown a taste for your favorite creamer, your playlist will be playing in the back of his head as he switches through W.E. work, it’s all you, you, you. Like a puzzle finally coming together,

Tim’s brain finally quiets down and is forced to digest. Any sort of attention you give him is a five course meal, any scorn is just as quickly devoured. You don’t quite stop the habit of obsession, but you give it direction. Tim has never known such direct want until you, a den he has no plans to stop his indulgent habits. He is ravenous for anything you toss to him, your voice, a text, an opinion, even just a little note, whatever you do stays, It’s a blessing and a curse. Because while the hunger pangs back in your presence, now nothing else can even come close to keeping him occupied.

He’ll obsess over you, crafting himself to be your perfect companion just so he can stay by your side and continue feeding. Everything in your life has a shade of him, your job, your house, your hobbies, even your electronics, each one a special situation he created to have you just a bit closer. Nothing else can come close to you, he’ll make sure you're well taken care of, all he asks in return is you.

Damian Wayne: Envy

Damian’s life is a unique contradiction. He was born the sole inheritor of a Thorne he is meant to fight for, something only he can own and yet is so unworthy he is kept from it. It forces him into a sense of jealousy, inadequacy and egregious entitlement. He could have anything he needs, but only as long as he earns it, it gives him a longing sense of feeling everything is out of his reach. That even should he hold the sword in his hands it cannot be called his. Not in the way a dog can call its food their own, and not in the way a writer can crow over their own creation. It leaves him painfully envious of others, of their right to their own possession, it leaves him vicious and poisonous. Part of the reason he squirrels away animals with so much intent, is because they’d be “His.” He’s their sole owner, and as beings with a conscience they can prove their loyalty.

His envy leaves him with harsh words and even deadlier scars, it forces him into a fine weapon and while it’s an ideal state for an heir it’s a broken state for a child. It leaves the boy wanting, fearful and anxious. His envy is young and childish, something not allowed, and it’s something weaponized. It’s part of the reason he defends the title of robin so freckly, not only because he believes himself right, but because it’s his in way the throne cannot be. Because it’s not a legacy he’s supposed to take, it's one he steals from himself. It’s his, in a way nothing has been since he first cried from the pit.

But even then, the title of partner that so many others have worn, cannot soothe the constant ire, the lashing out that comes with fear of being replaceable, of being nothing but a role, comes with. Because Damian has been born as his mother’s son, as his father's legacy, but not as his own person. It makes Damian feel unfit, unusable in the way he has seen his mother discard students who cannot kill. It burns him, kills him and with time he thinks he might just be a husk. Damian is nothing but competency and a perfect successor, a successor will never be their own.

Darling: Kindness

Ironically the kindness that tempers his own envy is not his own but instead, actions of his own darlings. He fully gives himself to you, gives you his very purpose to do what you want with. Should you order him to kill, order him to die, or to live he would do it without complaint. Tell him you want his heart and he will pry himself open and hand it over with a smile, tell him you want his laugh, and he will laugh himself manic until you tire of it. He is a fine blade, a weapon that has seen battle far too much already, and it’s your own kindness that stops it from going to battle. In essence Damian has made himself a role right by you, but has given up his autonomy of your manipulation. You’ve become his master, his owner and his loyal weapon.

Every action is your doing, every remark is for your benefit, and by giving himself to you, he can have you in a way nobody else can claim. Every smile, every hug, every word that you speak to him is something unique from a dynamic he has hand crafted, and therefore uniquely his own. He will store you away from others, wary of letting them stain you, and even more wary of letting them steal you. You’re his, his love, his heart, his blood, his purpose on this earth, and he cannot let another’s touch deter you from this. His darling is a salve to his aches, a bandage that wraps tight enough to manage to hold him together, and his actions are that with the purpose of binding you to him. Your purpose will be each other.

Author's Note: Another reupload! Previously known as lovesick-laboratories.

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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dhampling · 1 month

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warming 18+ fem!reader, 1.2k

Some half-lidded doze before dawn breaks and you must only be sentient because you await him subconsciously, as prey awaits a looming predator on the hill. - early morning feeding and cockwarming because i said so. inspired by this anon!!! wc: 1.2k cw: 18+, cockwarming, fondling, breeding if you squint so hard, fingering, afab reader, if there are errors no there aren't

You sincerely know you don’t hear him before he approaches, and yet the dip in the bed doesn’t startle you. Some half-lidded doze before dawn breaks and you must only be sentient because you await him subconsciously, as prey awaits a looming predator on the hill.

He has to know.

Your heart has to have given you away, no matter how unaware you are of the thrum nor how you try to temper it. It’s a gentle awakening as the birds begin their early song from rag-woven nests on their roofs outside the window, despite the world still being a few dark hours away from the burgeoning break of a new sun.

You quietly wriggle back, closer to the backboard of your tavern bed; and lift the covers by the far corner for your cool-chested lover to slide in under at your side with his usual thieves’ ease.

Astarion settles swiftly. Captures you in a few silent smiley.

A few moments of a still embrace before he takes the quilt and lifts it over the both of your heads, only to hold your face in one deep sleepy kiss whilst he melds himself to your sleep-warmed figure. His head rests on your inner arm, your other wrapped around his ribcage, while his own both capture your torso in a reverent grasp.

He’s tried to warm himself, you can tell.

He’s been under his own quilt. Your heart warms at it, so he can try and ensure his stony embrace isn’t quite so shocking to your system - but there’s little he can do to give himself heat that doesn’t involve you, and it’s something he knows as well as you.

You bow to kiss his curls and he shuffles in closer with a yawning sigh.

“Hungry?”

“Famished, my love.”

Rumble tones. You offer your inner arm from under his head and he smiles dopily against the soft skin, planting languid kisses along the flesh as he sounds out the basilic vein and rouses it to stirring.

You wish you could see him in the early din. Watch as he worships your simple flesh. He’s divine, face of the gods; beautiful and sincere at your heel.

When he has a secure lock on the vein and dips with little warning into a razor bite, it’s not as jarring as it otherwise can be. As when you offer him your neck after a long day of adventuring. It’s almost balmy to succumb to him like this, to know you have a few hours to rest after providing for him to feed with your beloved newly-warmed like a lamb in your arms.

The pain is still searing, of course; a wincing burn enough to cause strong discomfort. He reaches up under your half-gone sleepshirt and palms gently at your breast whilst he feeds in a familiar calming motion. The skin there is soft and heavy, pleasurable to the both of you when he grabs gently and holds you; thumb seeking a nipple to rub at, to pebble at his touch.

You can hear his suckling above anything the world has to offer, the deep numb in the blood rushing to your head. The precision of his latch. The slightest wiggle of incisors in your butter-soft flesh; the swallowing of spit and the thick metal of your blood, the quiet whimper growling of his groans against skin.

There are a few pained moments offset by his touches to your breast, where the intensity of his bite gives way to the delirious haze of bloodloss and you’re ecstatic in the hot thrum of your heartbeat.

To give him his morning blessing. To allow his stomach the freedom of hunger for few precious hours.

When he mounts your thigh you know he’s nearing the end of his feed, cock hard under his sleeping linens which loosen with each sleepy rut of his hips on you. By the time he’s finished his length is wholly worked free and beginning to leak his own nectar against your own sleepclothes.

His arousal instinctively gives way to your own. You feel yourself growing pliable under his kisses whilst his fangs leave your flesh.

“You feel good, sweet one?” You murmur into his hair, and he nods slowly in response whilst slowly humping your thigh; erratic movements as he instinctively searches for the warmth of your cunt.

“Thank you, perfect thing. Turn for me?”

He palms at the soft flesh of your ass under your sleepclothes as you give way to him.

The moment you turn to face the wall he has you locked in his arms, one hand groping still at your breasts whilst the other works its way to your trousers and aids you in wriggling free of them by holding them open.

When his now-warm hand reaches round your front to finger lazily at the apex of your slit, the low groan of laughter in him gives way to small trembles. You can feel the nectar he coaxes free with ease, wet in wait of him.

“Warm me while we rest?”

His voice is little more than a lusty whisper in your ear as he fiddles with the pebbling bud at your breast, hand at your honeyed cunt held still as you gently hump it in search of friction.

“Gods yes. Please.”

Your left leg gives way to him easily as he takes his newly-wet hand and lifts your inner thigh, lifting his burning cock from where it drips down onto the bedlinens and nestling it in the gap just where your sex ends.

He humps at your slit for a few moments in a fevered search of relief, the bulbous head of his cock delicious in the slick friction it offers. You want nothing more than for him to sink deep inside you and to keep him there forever with your violent spasms.

When he does give you your deepest desire, you feel yourself melting. Fingers losing their tension as you curl into yourself, his tip breaching your hole in the most sinful of delights; dipping in a few shallow thrusts as he hitches your leg at his hip before sinking in one deep push to the hilt.

He’s big. Angry in sheer lust. His cock settles deep and he lets a delirious groan before you tap his arm in silent laughter. A room full of sleeping bodies and you’re indulging like this, as you have been for the past tenday. It feels beyond sinful. He bites at your shoulder with a huge smile and a deep breath.

You could die happy, you reckon. Him inside you, shuffling to ensure the comfort of your limbs without being held by him. He’ll remain hard for a good while yet with no friction and the reassuring weight of him inside you is fast becoming your favourite feeling in the realms.

“I love you.”

It’s a quiet announcement to your shoulder, and the satisfied groan that follows is anything but.

“I love you, too. More than you know.”

His lips leave your neck as you angle your head in search of a kiss, and he’ll be damned if he leaves you hanging.

When he pulses inside you as your lips meet, tip filling your womb with prespill at the deepest part of your core; you can’t recall ever being happier.

“Sleep now, sweet thing. I’ve got you.”

And wrapped in his arms, buried inside you; you believe him.

Gods, you believe him.

#my writing #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion #spawn astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin x reader #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin x tav

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ghouljams · 2 months

Note

“#distribution system is a pillow Princess/sub!ghost fic”

😳 h-holy shit. I think the world went white when I read this. Like a flash bang went off. Oh my god.

You hold his face between your hands, your thumbs gently stroking over his scarred cheeks. Your eyes are so soft, they look at him like he's something fragile, something precious. Ghost holds your wrists like a lifeline, desperately begging to be grounded in this moment. Your lips move without sound, he wishes he could hear it, could hear your voice like the trumpets of revelations. The light shines behind your head like a halo, it must be a halo, divinity shining through your skin. Everything hurts.

"Stay with me," He begs, his throat dry and his bones aching.

"Of course," You pet over his buzzed hair, your voice as soft as early spring, "I'm not going anywhere."

You kiss his temple, let him settle his hands on your waist and lean into the touch, hungry for it. You're not going anywhere. He's not either, this is the last stop. He can just be here. Ghost traces his fingers over your skin with reverence, his eyes on yours as you tip his head back. It's good, you're finally in your rightful place over him, larger than life in all your kindness. He could let you swallow him whole, he wishes you would. Then he could be a part of you, a part of something worthwhile, something good and kind. Whatever he's done in life-

"Stay with me Simon," You murmur, as if he'd ever want to be anywhere else. Of course, he wants to echo, of course. You lean to brush your lips over his cheek, it hurts, white hot just under his eye. You slice your line through him, ask again, your voice so distant and yet so close beside his ear, "Stay with me."

His lips move around your name, breathe in, exhale. His hands hold you, drag over your skin as he tips his head to press his lips against your neck. Can he have this? Is this allowed? Are apostles meant to worship their god through such sinful means? He slides his hand between your legs, rubbing his fingers through the wet heat he finds there. You're so soft.

You whine, such a pretty noise, and he kisses you again. He mumbles your name against your skin, traces his lips against your pulse, desperate to feel your life. Everything he does is for you, every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, each blink, each touch of his fingers. Nothing matters to him like you do. You're so warm, dripping over his hand, the noises your sweet pussy make when he presses his fingers into you are perfect, and obscene.

"My Simon," You breathe, "You're so good for me." It hurts between his ribs, cracks his sternum, you could take him apart with so many words. "You never tell me what you want," You coo, "Never ask for anything."

"Want to make you come," He mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of it, he doesn't deserve to ask for your love, but he can approximate it, "want to be useful to you."

"You are, Simon," You whisper, he jerks against you at the jolt that goes through him, "because I love you."

It spins in his mind like tires stuck in mud. It's not right. He wants it too badly for it to be right. You couldn't. Even when he was leaving you couldn't. Ghost swallows. It's cold in here.

He blinks his eyes open to a hospital ceiling. Everything hurts. He reaches his hand to feel whatever is covering his left eye with a grunt of pain. His fingers twitch and another sharp jolt of pain zips through him.

"I wouldn't," Price tells him. Ghost turns his head to look at him, adjusting to the new blind spot. He's sitting in an arm chair beside the hospital bed, his chin perched on his palm, fingers curled over his mouth and leg bouncing. Ghost wonders how long it's been since his last cigar. Price sniffs. "Down two fingers, gonna hurt for a while."

Ghost turns his head to look back at the ceiling. The fluorescents buzz, a whine only he ever seems able to hear. At least the sky would've been a nice thing to end on.

"Nearly lost you on the table," Price continues, Ghost can hear him standing, "I'll let the nurse know you're up."

Ghost swallows again, tries to feel his tongue in his mouth, so dry it may as well glue itself to his teeth. "Where's my wife," He croaks. Price's footsteps stop, something heavy falling over the air. There are a thousand things he could say, a thousand comforts he could offer.

"You're not married," He tells him, and leaves.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x you #f!reader #I know I've kept it gender neutral so far I'm sorry #I'll get back to that but I love hearing Ghost say “my wife”#captain john price #price is truly the villain of this fic and I love it #the ghost distribution system #sub!ghost

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faith-forgxtten-land · 3 months

Note

Hi! Do you think you can write something for Donatello? Maybe the reader wakes up and he's in bed for once and its very soft

Serenity | Donatello

hi! of course i can! you didn't specify what version of donnie you wanted so i went with bayverse because i'm kind of on a roll with that iteration atm so... also there is a severe lack of bayverse donnie gifs

warnings: nothing really. suggestive? subtle morse code that isn't explicitly mentioned... which isn't a warning unless you consider morse code scandalous? everyone is 18+!!! also there's like no proofreading so reading is always at your own risk but if you ever notice any, please do point out any spelling/grammar etc. errors!

summary: you wake up before donnie who's actually in bed (it's a miracle)

word count: 859

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first thing you hear is the distant whirring of technology. You don’t bother to open your eyes as you shift your hips ever so slightly to seek a more comfortable position now that you’re slowly gaining consciousness. Pausing your lethargic movements, you become keenly aware of the heavy and solid weight curled around you that most definitely hadn’t been there when you first fell asleep. You breathe in deep. A musty scent of oil and sweat and something you’re sure isn’t pleasant hits you. It’s so him that you don’t even wrinkle your nose. Instead, you reach out a hand and find his skin.

You can feel him breathing like this. It’s slow and steady and your heart feels like bursting. You press closer and your lips smile against the swell of his arm. A few soft kisses won’t wake him, you decide, pressing them gently over his scales. He doesn’t stir as you link your fingers with his. His arm is heavy with muscle, but you manage to lift the dead weight to your mouth, breathing the softest of kisses all over the flesh. It’s so different and so much bigger than your own but your hands fit together perfectly. You open your eyes, only a little blearily, and you imagine the silliest heart emojis that replace them as you stare in quiet reverence.

He’s so perfect it hurts. He’s snoring quietly, more of a whistle really, and his mouth is open with his glasses askew. He looks so cosy and dorky and unbelievably Donnie that you have to stifle a lovesick giggle. He looks both serene and tired at the same time and you can’t believe he actually came to bed of his own volition. Getting him to bed is a Herculean effort at the best of times, for him to sleep – in an actual bed – without your nagging insistence and underhand tricks is nothing short of a miracle. He’s still wearing his suspenders too and you think, a little wryly, that perhaps he was more tired than even he realised.

Your hand cups his face and you rub your thumb over his jaw, in awe at the man beneath your palm and feeling a little silly over how emotional you're being. His face twitches and you pause your ministrations, holding your breath. You don’t want to wake him; he must’ve been exhausted and you’re not sure how long he’s been asleep beside you. He continues to sleep, and you breathe again, this time pressing your lips to his neck.

I love you, you mouth against his skin. I love you so much. He must feel it, whether he feels you physically or as deep in his being as you feel him, because he churrs softly and it makes your eyes burn. God, you’re so in love. You’ve been in love with him for so long you can’t remember what it felt like before he came into your life. You’re not really sure what’s coming over you this morning (is it morning? It’s not like you can see the sunrise like this) but as your lips tremble you find that you don’t mind. Donnie deserves to be loved like this, wholly and reverently, and you vow, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, to love him like this forever.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. The position isn’t the most comfortable and you can feel the pain in your neck that runs along your spine, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You want this moment to last as long as it possibly can and you’re thankful that the Lair is peaceful for once. There are no noises to indicate any of the others are up and you hope it stays that way, just for a while longer.

Your wish is almost immediately denied as you hear a crash and brazen laughter that can only belong to Mikey (followed, of course, by an annoyed bellow that can only belong to Raph) and you can’t help the quiet snort even as the turtle beside you is disturbed from his slumber.

Donnie shifts and his snout is buried in your neck as he inhales, and you’re only given a few seconds to mourn the loss of his sleeping state (he really needs to sleep more) before he kisses your fluttering pulse, and you sigh in pleasure. His hand – the one you’re not keeping hostage still – grips your bare thigh and you push yourself closer as his teeth graze the sensitive skin along the column of your throat. He doesn’t speak, choosing instead to tap a message along your skin as his hands caress upwards. I love you too.

You smile so wide it hurts your jaw. “You’re such a nerd,” you whisper, your voice thick and huskier than usual. He just brings his teeth together again, leaving little teasing bites, and taps your inner thigh once more. You shudder slightly and acquiesce his request, spreading your legs further for him and letting him rub higher and higher.

The two of you stay in bed until the afternoon.

#tmnt #tmnt donatello #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt imagine #bayverse donatello #bayverse donnie #tmnt x reader #idk how to feel about this one

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kentosbabes · 10 months

Text

Forgive me Father Nanami for I have sinned.

Cw: sacrilege, priest, corruption, oral and explicit sexual content

You sit down in front of him, the confessional booth feeling tight and humid due to the heat of the summer. “Go on.” His smooth voice drawls. You look down, ashamed- your voice quiet. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I was at a sleepover with some girl friends and the topic of porn came up.” You paused to better figure out how to finish your confession without Father Nanami believing you engage in sinful behaviour regularly.

Nanami was glad you couldn’t see him, adjusting himself. He could see you biting your plush lip, deep in thought through the crisscross pattern of the screen. “Do not fear, God will forgive if you repent, so do not leave anything out.”

You nodded to yourself, “I admitted to my friends that I haven’t watched it before and they decided to watch it on my TV screen. I’m not sure what overcame me but a heat started to grow down there. We watched it for a while and I started to rub myself with a pillow that was nearby because it was too overwhelming and painful to just sit there. I don’t know what happened Father Nanami. It felt so good. I excused myself after they turned it off to go to the bathroom but when I went in I saw my panties were all wet.”

You paused again, tears welling up this time, “I don’t want to go to hell Father, this is the first time I’ve ever seen that before.” The corner of Nanami’s mouth lifted into a smirk. He quickly schooled his face, “please, kneel and repent with me. Can I ask what about it made you feel so good?” All he could think was how pretty of a picture you look, looking up at him on your knees.

You thought about it, “The man started kissing the woman, down there… He started to tell her things. Dirty things, while he was doing it. Then he pushed his penis in her, she looked and sounded like she was enjoying it.”

“What kind of dirty things did he say to her, don’t worry sweetheart this is only between me n’ you.” Nanami was palming himself over his clothes while asking, trying to even his breath to sound normal.

“Ok… he started off by saying that he was rewarding her for being such a good girl then how good she was taking him, he would call her ‘his pretty little whore’ and other pet names like ‘beautiful slut’.” Nanami didn’t know he could get harder but hearing words like slut and whore from a girl who doesn’t even know what they mean is really jarring.

He just wanted to corrupt you. “Close your eyes and pray after me,” your knees hurting slightly from the cool tile flooring you have been kneeling on. The words of prayer and repentance come easily to you. So easy in fact you couldn’t hear the door opening and closing. You felt two hands start to massage your breasts and hot breath behind your neck. You reasoned that he must have a reason for this, and if Father forgives you then god is surely going to forgive you as well.

“I’m just massaging you to get rid of the devilish thoughts that have taken hold of you.” He whispered, it felt wrong but right. He could feel your heartbeat rise. His touches being more rough, circular motions making you arch your back. Swallowing a moan. Nanami notices this, “let me hear you, unless you aren’t repenting your actions?” He asks with a raised brow.

“Ah, forgive me, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” you started to whine, a mantra of apologies and moans of “Father Nanami” falling from your lips.

“You don’t seem to be repenting properly, perhaps I should help you.” He unzipped his suit trousers and hooked his finger around his boxers, painfully hard cock finally free. Nanami tugged on it, gracing the tip of his cock over your moving lips. “Did I tell you to stop?” Allowing those reverent words spill over his throbbing dick.

“I d-detest all my sins,” Nanami grabs your face with his index finger and thumb, opening up your jaw. He helped himself into your warm mouth. Giving a low, appreciative noise around him, it send vibrations of pleasure down his spine, your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock as if you were worshiping him, as if you were seeking repentance from him.

Groaning, blonde stands of hair fall into his eyes. Tucking them behind his ears and rolling his eyes, lolling his head back- only to see religious stained windows. Nanami bucked his hips further down your throat, unable to stop himself with how good you felt with your mouth wrapped around him.

Tears were cascading down your face, you could feel spit flooding your mouth, and still he held you down. A lewd popping sound echos the booth as he takes out his cock.

“Please,” you whisper brokenly because you just need it so bad, need something.

“Repeat after me, I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee” Nanami started to pull your skirt down along with your white lacy underwear. He laid you down flat from your kneeling position.

His tongue laps all your fluids dry, his insatiable thirst no longer concealed. He doesn’t care anymore, you are the last person in the church due to the late hours and the booth is soundproof. Hearing you whines and moans made him even harder.

Nanami whispered out, “my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” You repeated after him, stuttering and stumbling through the words. The words hot on your pussy. You could feel him smile on it, his nose nuzzling your clit.

He gritted out, “God.” Your tainted body needing to be soothed and caressed by his pure and holy mouth.

“God,” you croak out slowly. “Oh fuck. Okay. Fuck.”

He pried open your legs wider, pausing. “Language or I’ll punish you in the name of his Holy Spirit.” You nodded and incoherently started to babble your apologies. You could feel a knot tying up in you, this is a first for you. It feels so good but the pressure is getting too much. You tangled your hands in his blonde locks, pulling him closer to you. He put in two fingers, you started to rock back and forth in a pattern with him.

Your nipples strained against the thin material of your top as he hummed against your clit, lapping it up and suckling it as though he was a man, starved. You shuddered, “I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more.” But sinning has never felt and tasted so sweet. You came on his face but what surprised you was him licking you to clean you up, not sparing a single drop. Then licking his fingers dry, all with a dark look on his face and in his eyes.

“I still feel like you have sin in you, to remove this I must go deeper. To protect the safety of your soul.” He monologued into your ear, you were scared but curious to what he meant by going deeper. Did he mean he would do like the man in the video and fuck you? You didn’t know if it was bad to crave a man so much you would risk going to eternal damnation but if that was the cost maybe you wanted to pay it.

You nodded, “I want you to use your words sweetheart,” he replied.

“Please, Father for I have sinned, please save my soul from damnation by going deeper in me.” You said with tears welled up in your eyes. His cock twitched at your language, “I am only doing my duties.” But my God what duties they are.

Nanami placed his tip at the entrance of your pussy, rubbing you. “Please, ah,” you bite your lip, “no more teasing I can’t take it.”

He nodded solemnly, pushing himself into you, “You’re so tight, fuck.” Your body began moving in tandem with his, he slammed into you from behind, grabbing and pawing at your hips hard enough to promise tiny bruises the following morning.

“Oh my god, you're such a good little fuck, shit.” You whimper quietly, shaking so hard now, and you nod. You’re a good little fuck, only for him.

Nanami thrusted up harder, the bulge in your stomach prominent. He leaned down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses all over it. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, such a perfect little slut, it’s like God put you down here just for me.” You could hear the echos of Father Nanami’s grunts, his voice matching yours in breath in the booth.

His cross necklace dangling over you, the cool metal touching your breasts. Pebbling your nipples. His fingers slipping out of you and into your mouth, stuffing them full.

He brought his lips to your neck and started to kiss you, causing you to clench down and convulse on top of him. “Repent daughter of the church,” he gritted out. Your moans and whines turning him on, the idea that he, a symbol of good and purity, is corrupting you makes him closer.

“M’ cumming, I’m going to cum in you, May God free you from your sin.” He groaned, his head falling back giving you a view of his prominent Adam’s apple. He bit into your shoulder as he came inside of you, drawing just enough blood to make him moan into your back as his hands swept up your stomach towards your tits. You came with him, moaning pleads to Father Nanami and God.

Your breathing matching in synchronicity, “You will be back on Sunday to continue your repentance, you don’t want to go to hell do you?”

“No Father, thank you for everything. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

#kentosbabes #jjk headcanons #kento nanami #nanami headcanons #nanami kento x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami kento fanfic #priest au #priest kink

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britany1997 · 1 month

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Signed, Sealed, Delivered…I’m Yours

Paul x GN Selkie Reader

Paul x creature partner is my favvvv, think he would be so cute with a selkie reader🥰🥰 hope y’all love this! Not sure if there will be more yet but I plan to keep it fluffy regardless:)

(Also Paul is on the Santa Carla ocean conservation board because of Fishy, so he’s an advocate for all sea creatures🥹)

Warnings: reader is mentioned to be nude a couple times because in selkie lore, they are when they shed their seal skin🤷🏻‍♀️ (readers body not described)

Paul’s teeth tore into the skin of some asshole’s neck. He was sure at one point he’d known his name, but after an endless night of sharing joints, it was long forgotten.

Paul wasn’t picky about his blood, but stoners were his filet mignon. They had a sweet and spicy flavor, and they always left him with a buzz.

This one was yummy, but he’d been insufferable. He wore a scarf and wire rimmed glasses he didn’t need, he was a philosophy major who’d met both of his girlfriends in his gender studies class, and ten minutes into their conversation, he’d explained to Paul that it was actually pronounced “Van Goff” and not “Van Go.” Paul had quickly moved him from his smoke circle list to his dinner list.

As he sucked the last drops out of Mr. Pretentious, Paul let his body fall to the sandy ground underneath the boardwalk.

He checked his watch, there was still time before sunrise. Paul couldn’t think of anything better to do with the rest of his night then ride out his high on the beach.

Dwayne seemed to like it after all.

Paul snuck away from his dumping grounds and began to stumble towards the shore.

He paused, rubbing his eyes.

He had to be hallucinating, because reclining on the sand was the most attractive person he’d ever seen in his unlife…

…totally naked. God what was in that weed.

He rubbed his eyes again. You were still there.

So this was why Dwayne loved the beach so much.

You were radiant. Alluring in a way that made Paul swear he’d dreamed you up. No person was that perfect. He was over the moon instantly.

A look of pure determination washed over his face as he desperately tried to conjure the words to speak to you. He scowled as he thought this would have been a lot easier if he was sober.

After a few minutes, he realized he’d better come up with something quick because he’d been fumbling around behind you for an almost unacceptable amount of time.

Just as he was about to approach you, he watched you shiver as a cool breeze blew past. Your arms crossed over yourself, rubbing your shoulders as you tried to keep warm.

Paul softened. He may have been a bloodthirsty, vicious vampire. But dammit, he was also a gentle man.

His eyes scanned the shore until they landed on a sleek leather coat.

Paul strode to your side and picked up the coat, smoothing it out a little.

You whirled around, fear blooming in your chest at the sight of a strange man holding your coat, your only escape to the ocean.

But instead of keeping the coat for himself, he flashed you a warm smile and held it out to you.

“You must be freezing,” he said, maintaining impressive eye contact as your naked body graced the sand.

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard many horror stories from elder selkies about the cruel and savage human men who would hunt down stunning selkies, only to take their coats and lock them away. Confining the selkies to the land, and shackling them to the men who’d stolen from them.

The captured selkies would be forced to live as humans while their hearts ached desperately for the world beneath the water.

You’d met some of your kind who’d suffered this terrible fate and escaped, but some you knew had never returned.

But this sweet, handsome man, he was giving you your coat? You’d never heard of such a kind human man.

You took the coat from his hands, half expecting him to yank it back, but he didn’t, he let you take it. “Thank you,” you uttered reverently, folding the coat over your arms.

“No problem baby,” his smile widened, “what’s a babe like you doing out here so late?”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. “I- I’m not a baby,” you told him. You had thought you looked like any regular adult human in this form.

Paul’s eyes widened, “oh uh, no sorry that’s not what I meant,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s like uh…well you know it’s a nickname.”

He was wayyy to high for this.

“Nick…name?” You rubbed your temples, “but my name is not nick…” you trailed off, confused.

Paul’s head was pounding. “No, sugar, it’s like um…it’s like a nice thing to call someone you know?”

Your face flashed with something Paul thought resembled understanding as you nodded slowly.

“Damn babe, you from outer space or somethin?” He asked, only half-joking.

“No,” you replied.

“Mkay,” he shrugged, hey he had secrets too, one of them was currently decomposing under the boardwalk.

He noticed your shoulders shake before realizing the coat was still in your arms, “you’re not gonna put that on sweetheart?” he asked.

Your lips pulled downward. You weren’t ready to change back yet. Not when you were having such a wonderful time with this man. He was teaching you important human things. You figured you’d better stick around.

You vigorously shook your head no.

Paul mirrored your frown. He couldn’t let you freeze to death. “Alright baby well at least take mine,” he offered as he shrugged out of his own jacket and placed it around your shoulders.

You could have melted into a puddle right there.

This man hadn’t just returned your coat. He’d given you his coat as well. What a strong man he must be to brave the cold. He would be the perfect mate.

You practically purred as he buttoned the jacked around your shoulders. You leaned in to nuzzle against his shoulder. “You’re so strong” you hummed, “so warm, so handsome.”

God bless the beach.

Paul beamed, “yeah baby? I hit the gym every now and again, nothin special.” He flexed his bicep with a smirk.

“Mmm,” you hummed, moving closer to press your cheek to his chest, wrapping your arms around him, desperate to be close.

A goofy smile spread across Paul’s face as he couldn’t imagine a man on earth as lucky as he was.

Then he remembered. Daylight.

His watch confirmed his fears, it was time to go.

“Listen sugar, I could do this all night but I’ve gotta get going,” he cursed his Sun intolerant vampire body, “but give me your number honey and I’ll call you anytime.”

You glanced up at him, confusion written all over your face. “Which number do you want?” You asked.

His brow furrowed, “home, cell, work, whatever you have babe.”

“Three?” You guessed.

Paul shook his head in disbelief.

“Let’s try this, where do you live baby?” He asked.

You smiled, you knew this one.

“With you,” you purred, wrapping yourself around him once more.

Paul raised an eyebrow, “what?”

“I live with you now,” you informed him.

Paul stood still for a second, processing as you held him.

“Yeah ok,” he said, taking your hand and tugging you toward his motorcycle. Best night ever.

TLB Taglist❤️: (comment to be added)

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @crustyboypix @arenpath @anna1306 @bloodywickedvamp @kurt-nightcrawler @ria-coolgirl @gothamslostboy @vampirefilmlover @lostboys1987girl @solobagginses @dwaynedelight @dwaynesluscioushair @warrior-616 @sad-ghost-of-garbage @chiefdirector @its-freaking-bats @arbesa-mind @f4iryfxies @mickkmaiden333 @bitchyexpertprincess @katerinaval @rynsfandomsfun @softchonk @walmart-cereal @fraudfrog @memphiscity69

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ddarker-dreams · 11 months

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there's this Very specific concept that's been floating around in my head for yan scara and i must share it or else i'll spontaneously combust. here is said idea.

so. before you find out about that itty-bitty detail about him being a fatui harbinger who wreaks havoc and all that (god forbid he has hobbies), you're rather openly affectionate with him. he'll groan and grumble about how annoying you're being while simultaneously drinking in everything you offer. as such, there is an unspoken, long-held tradition between the two of you. when you reunite, since his "work" often has him traveling, you'll run and leap to give him a hug. he always makes some wry comment about how you must've been miserable without his company to act as shamelessly as you do, despite the fact he spends literal hours staring at a picture of you every day like a little weirdo.

he's traveling in your region but has yet to visit you — there are some matters he must attend to first. as fate would have it, your paths cross prematurely. fortunately for him, the useless fatui ensemble in his vicinity are invisible for stealth's sake. unfortunately for him, they are very much capable of seeing you ambling toward their lord harbinger who they are charged with protecting. scara catches you with one arm and uses the other to covertly signal that they are to remain on standby. while you're peppering his rapidly flushing face with kisses, there's this sense of foreboding that falls over the fatui agents, like they're witnessing something they most definitely shouldn't have seen.

this is further reinforced by the way scara is beaming in your presence, haughty as he might be. it's so different from his usual cruel conduct that a few of them wonder if they're dreaming. he's making some sly comments at your expense, but the words lack his usual bite, they're more teasing in nature. he looks at you with more reverence than he does the tsaritsa. it's surreal.

when you depart, content that he'll stop by later, a cloud of silence hangs over the land.

scaramouche issues an order to his nervous subordinates.

"if you want to return to your homeland in a boat and not a box, i suggest you keep what you saw here today to yourself."

(... he does away with them regardless, when their guards are down that night. you are his secret, most prized treasure — no one can know of the sway you hold over him).

#i love him a normalamount (this is a lie)#yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #concepts #scaramouche brainrot

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nanamimizz · 2 months

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tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader / fingering / reader is mexican / spanish / religious imagery / aftercare / hinted virginity loss / penetration /2.6k/ pwp - let me know if i miss something.

synopsis: javier escuella feels an all encompassing desire to have you. you feel it too, maybe even more.

Javier laughs into your lips, you are kissing him with the reverence of the faithful. You kiss sweetly, gently with the undercut of hunger he is all too happy to sate. Your form is soft beneath his hands, flesh pillabe like the strings on his guitar and the trigger of his revolver - the hollow of his palms filled with the curve of your hips. Javier nips at your lip until he can hear you hiss from the sting among your sighs from the pleasure of having him suck on your tongue.

“I can’t believe you - all I did was kiss you,” he stops to puff a breathe against your lips snickering at the dazed look on your face and the glistening spit on your lips, “and now you’re letting me fuck you.”

You whine, high and embarrassed but so unbearably needy and pressing yourself up against him like a cat in heat. There’s a little gold necklace threaded along the slopes of your collar - it glints against your untouched and unblemished skin like a comet, looping along your form in a circle until completion where it stays in perpetual orbit. Javier doesn’t know if he should be jealous of the thin necklace or not.

Your nightgown is off, spread out on the ground and Javier’s eyes are caught on the pendant that holds the face of La Virgen that glints in the lowlight of his tent - his eyes meet hers and he feels a shiver against his spine. Of course she would be there, looped above your too-good heart and appearing before him. It almost pains him to touch you, the holiness of your skin burning his palms that are too greedy to stay away.

You gasp his name and it brings him back to you - it brings his lips to your chest and you sigh as your hands twist on the fabric of his shirt clad shoulders like you are scared to touch him. You still have your bloomers, the white cotton stark against his tan hands and he presses another kiss right above your heart as it stutters tucked away in your ribs.

“Esta bien hermosa - you can touch me.” The pet name makes you tremble, whining when the word graces your flushed ears. Hermosa, meaning beautiful or gorgeous in the language your mother would sing you to when you were a girl. Your nostalgia brings desperation and it only serves to make you needier, wanting for more of the man above you like how priests desire the light of God. You think of that ill-stricken Reverend that wanders this camp and something aches in your chest as you let your hands go over the curve of his shoulders and anchor yourself there. Teeth aching with each suck on your tongue you don’t notice it when your bloomers are off until the brisk cool night breeze dances on your bare thighs. The skin there is hot and growing more so when he lets his hands settle on the smooth skin.

It’s almost comical how perfectly you fit in his roughed hands, his callouses from his knife so seamlessly accepted by the plush of your thighs. Like the velvet cushions rich men sit in their gilded train cars and golden stagecoaches. You go from velvet to wet silk with simple touches and you moan something sweetly into his ear as his face goes to your chest and his hands in between your thighs. The backs of his knuckles tease the wetness of your slick that leaks like honey and Javier lets his lips kiss the bud of your nipple softly but not without letting his teeth have their own kiss at the edge to make you whine.

“You are so wet, leaking for me - you’ll make a mess on my pants mi amor.” His teasing is endless and you can hear that smile you see whenever you blink. You jumble out a half-assed apology and it makes Javier laugh at you again. He must have you in quite the state if it’s making your perfectly trained manners fall off like wool when faced with sheep shears. His fingers have made their way to where you are the most needy - letting them pet along the slit and cup at your mound. You moan his name, oh so, softly when he squeezes gently, cradling your most delicate part the same way he cradles the neck of his guitar.

“Javi - please, please.” The shortened version of his name makes him grin, shivering pleasantly at how affection given only to him melts into his ears like syrup.

“Ya se, ya se. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tonight.” Dark eyes are wicked at how they glint in the low orange light of his tent as he lets one finger slip in. He reclines himself back so he can watch how you take him.

Javier does not profess how he would take care of you every night for the rest of the nights you have in your life.

You whine thinly into the air, and it makes him hiss at how tight you are around his one finger.

“Relax, chiquita - I can’t take care of you when you’re all tense like this. Shh, shh,” he murmurs to you and in return you whine with a nod; pliable and sweet for him as you let your legs shuffle more open, working on letting him in and letting him deeper. One finger turns to two, and they curl into you cruelly without respite for how you weep and sniffle at the pleasure he tugs from you like music from his guitar strings. Your mouth is hanging open, drool shining on your lips as you let out thin little sounds.

You feel full, and pleasure dances along your spine as his thumb plays with the glimmering pearl of your clit. You whine - no sing his name like gospel and it makes something inside his stomach preen like a peacock.

Javier is dedicated, giving you an even pace and deep curls of his fingers to make you soft and loose for him. Dark brown eyes watch you with the precision of a predator - eagerly taking in how sweat drips down the middle of your breasts and how your jaw drops to make out little pants of his name just for him to hear. His fingers do just enough to bring you to the edge, and you stutter over your words as you push at his wrist with the desperation that is unbecoming of you. Etiquette and education are long gone from your mind as you beg him with an addled mind.

“Please, please not - not like that,” you stutter and let out soft little moans in between each word as Javier remains unmoved; letting his fingers stay inside you at their same pace, dark brown eyes taking in how even this almost makes you weep in pleasure. His cock stirs in his jeans at how it will be when he’s inside of you, filling you well beyond anything you’ve ever had.

“No, like this - it will hurt if you don’t cum now.” He mutters, voice thick with lust as he watches your hips twitch and jump when you have begun to hit the highest peak of your pleasure. Your body is eager for his fingers, tightening and fluttering around them as you leak down to his palm. Javier goes to shush you but you’re a good girl he realizes, watching you with a grin at how your hands shoot up to your mouth to muffle your long winded whines when you crash and cum for him. His voice is soft, reassuring you as you ride out your pleasure with the trembling of your hips and the quickened rising falls of your chest.

“Just like that - like that. There you go, there you go. Cum for me, give me this one and I’ll give you another.” He promises you, his accent thick as he watches your eyes go dark and unfocused as you burn with hot desire for him until he hears your broken voice mumble; “There’s more?”

He laughs. Teasingly, adoringly, lovingly and so many other words he can’t quite say.

“Si mi vida, there is always more with me. That I can promise you.”

Again, he laughs at the way he feels you twitch around his fingers that have stilled inside at the prospect of what more entails. He won’t admit to how his cock twitches in time with you tucked away in his pants.

You whine at the idea, hot at the image of being filled with all of him and whine again when his fingers slip out of you. Gossamer strands of your cum follow them, only to break and splatter along the inside of your flushed thighs. Javier smiles the same charming smile as when he sings and soothes you by rubbing your thigh with one hand while the other goes to undo his belt buckle.

You don’t see the length of him, only feel the heat of him against the petals of your cunt and it’s enough for you to yelp like some poor animal caught in a trap. Javier is bent over you, the build of his slim body covering you with his elbow supporting him above your head, eyes attuned to the half lit scene before him. You, sweating enough to make strands of your hair stick your flushed face with your eyes half lidded and mouth parted. His hips move without him thinking, coating his length in your glimmering release and rubbing against your still sensitive clit that it makes you flinch - mewling his name in a wet and defeated tone that makes him huff in half fondness-half teasing.

“Javi-” you whine, hotter than you have ever been and voice cracking when the head of his cock brushes past your entrance and makes its way in. You gasp into his mouth, one hand coming to cover your eyes and the other gripping at the fabric of his shoulder. Javier sighs against your lips and kisses you to muffle his own noises - higher pitched than he’d like to admit they are lost in between your two mouths as you take another inch of him. He is long, he knows this and you are tight ; tighter than anyone else he’s ever been with due to your lack of experience so he is slow with you despite how he wants to devour you entirely with one stroke.

Javier is tactical when he wants to be and is more than practical when he has to be so he controls himself, letting you have him inch by torturous inch. You are panting, throwing your head back in a way that lets him catch the tears that make it down your cheek and are uncovered by your hand. With one hand he bats away yours until your face - glistening and flushed is revealed to him as your mouth shines with drool from pleasure. His thumb goes to wipe away a tear and you move to feel the warmth of him more closely.

“Why are you crying hermosa, hm?” He asks you, sighing at how you take more of him so sweetly. You don’t respond only squealing and squeezing around him as you lose more of yourself on his cock. Half of him is seated inside you, enough for you to moan his name brokenly as you beg for more despite you wincing when he moves. Javier grunts and stops, letting the half of him that’s inside you stay still to let you breathe

“You can,” you pant, “you can put the whole thing in - please, please put it in.” You beg, and a thrill goes up his spine at the idea of seeing you weep from his cock being too much runs across his mind before he pushes it to the side. You are far too sweet, too delicate to be treated so roughly by him. You aren’t a working girl he can forget about come morning but the woman he wants to wake up to, which is why it’s easy for him to do what he thinks to be best.

He denies you.

“No, this is -” he sighs deeply at the way you feel around him - slick and wet and wanting for him to give you more until it aches. “This is enough. You’ll take the rest next time.” You whine at the thought and whine again when he pulls his slim hips back to fuck you like that. He gives you slow, careful thrusts with the hand that cradles your face sneaking down to rub at your pulsing clit with gentle precision. It’s almost too much for you, he notes and he feels bad that the sight of you weeping on half his cock, losing your mind with your eyes glassy from tears is doing it more for him than anything else.

You’ve always been a proper girl, ever since he saw you on your horse in the snow of Colter looking at him with the sweetest eyes framed by snowflakes. There’s a sick pleasure tugging at his stomach at how he has you now, manners gone and all you are now is debauched and drunk on him. It’s almost enough to make him finish and clearly it’s enough to get you there too by the way you weep out the little nickname you gave him.

“Javi, Javi, ’m going to -” He cuts you off with a punched out exhale, grinding his molders to keep from cumming inside by how you keep tightening around him like a vice.

“Go let go for me, mi amor - you’ve been so good.” With that you break, voice so ruined it cracks when you whine out babbles of precious thank yous in his ear as you come to completion a second and last time for the night. It’s painful, the last drag he gets of your cunt before he tugs at his sticky and slick cock to shoot his spend against the mound of your cunt. The sight of him dripping down to your twitching lower half more than makes up for it and he is more than willing to bend back over you to press gentle kiss after kiss on your panting lips. Your eyes had fluttered close and you babbled mindlessly under his gentle touches as you slowly came back down to look up at him with blearily eyes. Javier smiles at you with all the tenderness of the world when you wrap your arms around his neck - he manages to settle on his side with you in his arms and you tuck your face into his neck. You nuzzle the skin and sight softly, eyes red and half lidded tired from all he has pulled for you. Javier is soft with you, spoiling you by letting his nails scratch your scalp the way you like.

“Rest mi vida, I’ll clean you up.” he murmurs into your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum, murmur his name and a soft little confession of love before your eyes slip shut. You shiver when the soft fabric of a pocket square wipes at the mess of your swollen cunt and whine when you are moved to have your nightgown pulled over your head. Through your fussing Javier remains gentle, whispering praise as he settles you to his chest to sleep. When you awake you’ll be faced with teasing you thought you were quiet enough to avoid but that can wait. Now your eyes are heavy and Javier’s heartbeat is soothing - anything else can wait as for now you want for nothing else.

#lamb.writes #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2 smut

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bluelockmaniac · 2 months

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BEYOND THE PALACE WALLS (ft. alexis ness)

royal/fantasy au - princess reader x wizard alexis ness

no kaiser in this story– feeding ness simps ♡

wc; 1k

"in which a bored princess seeks a wizard rumoured to possess extraordinary healing abilities to find a cure for her ill father"

you were the princess of the vast empire of anastas, a land blessed with fertile soil by the gods themselves, a formidable army, and advanced architecture. an empire revered by allies, feared by foes. but, beneath the deceiving facade of prosperity, there beat a restless heart, longing for the thrill of exploring way beyond the palace walls. you badly wanted to set foot in the crowded markets in town, where street vendors promoted their goods, where the overwhelming aroma of spices filled the air and vibrant tapestry gave the town life. your parents forbade you.

fate, however, had plans for you. sure– the concern for your father, the emperor, had weighed heavily on your heart when the royal knights announced he had fallen gravely ill, and that not even the most skillful of healers in anastas could cure him– but, as sickening as one might think, you felt a strange feeling of excitement after getting the reluctant approval of the empress to finally leave the palace and venture into the ancient forest with a purpose; to seek the mysterious wizard rumoured to possess unrivaled healing abilities, ness.

you began your journey into the forest and it was beyond comparison to the royal gardens in your wing of the palace–no offense to your gardeners. large trees and colourful plants and flowers decorated the area and the scent of wet earth was lingering in the air. it was very quiet, and only the sounds of rustling leaves and frequent chirps and squeals of creatures you have yet to see can be heard.

however, this ancient forest did not align with the rumours. it seemed as though some mysterious ‘force’ was attentively tending to every leaf and branch of the forest. the fierce beasts you had expected to encounter weren’t there. neither were the giants or tiny, cunning, elf bandits that your mother warned you about. everything was well preserved– from the mushroom on the soil to the ladybug climbing the tree.

you had absolutely no clue where you were going, only guided by the subtle hints of ness’ whereabouts. and finally, you reach an ancient tower–cracks and crevices on its withering stone walls along with overgrown ivy draped tightly around it. suddenly, the man you were looking for emerged from the tower as if he had sensed your arrival. it was him. it was unmistakable, plain as daylight.

he had an exceptional, distinctive aura, an aura that surpassed even the best mages of anastas. despite your best efforts to appear composed, you could not help but feel suffocated by the tension of the atmosphere that… he involuntarily portrays?

“sir,” the words trip awkwardly out of your mouth as you look at him with twitching lips, a failed attempt to smile at him, “y-you must be ness, the legendary wiza–”

“oh my, the princess herself–the embodiment of royalty– graces me with her presence,” he chuckles and walks closer to you, bending slightly as he gently takes your hand and presses a soft kiss on it, “please, fret not, my princess,” he grins, “it’s been quite a while since i’ve last seen someone.”

pulling your hand away, a soft blush spreads across your face, tinting your cheeks a rosy pink, “ness, i desperately need your help,” it felt strange. despite experiencing this gesture from countless tedious suitors who seeked your hand in marriage, you had never felt your heart race as much as it does in this moment. “...my father, the emperor, has fallen ill and is in critical condition,” you utter with desperation, tightly clutching onto his cloak as you look at him pleadingly. “please, help my father,”

“oh,” a soft sigh escapes his lips as he holds his elbow and rests his head against his palm, “i suppose i can heal the emperor, princess,” he starts, a smirk playing on his lips, “but, naturally, nothing comes without a cost. my assistance is no exception,” he adds as his fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze.

you feel your heart drop as you prepare yourself for the conditions he is about to lay out. is he some sadistic bastard who’s going to make you fight to your death with a monstrous cerberus he summons? with reluctance, you gulp, “n-name your price, i’ll give you whatever you wish for– be it a thousand white horses or a million gold bars,”

he adjusts his coat, dismissing the material offerings, “horses? gold? far too ordinary, not my style,” he laughs, his fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, “what i’m really after,” he teases with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “is a kiss,”

you pause, shock washing over your face. did you hear that correctly? or was your mind playing games with you? “a… a kiss?” you stammer, your heart was beginning to beat uncontrollably against your wishes all over again. you felt conflicted, unsure of how to respond to ness’ unexpected demand. “why? a kiss won’t benefit you all, so wh–”

“says who?” he laughs, patting your head gently, “dare i say, i’m certain any man would be thrilled to have the opportunity to share a kiss with the princess, hm?”

“...i…” what you feel for this man is unlike anything you have ever felt before– your racing heart, the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sudden consciousness of your own appearance– they’re all sensations you remember your palace nanny describing in fairy tale books, sensations you thought were only for the characters of the novel. you once dismissed those feelings as mere fantasies, but now you couldn’t deny it any longer, “ness, it’ll be my first kiss,” you gaze deeply into his magenta-coloured eyes, looking for assurance, “make it good.”

grinning playfully, he tenderly rests his palm against your cheek, pulling you in closer by your waist, “your wish is my command, princess,” he murmurs softly before pressing his lips affectionately against yours. his lips felt distant, yet strangely familiar, as if you had not just met this man a few minutes ago. your arms instinctively find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer until your chests were pressed together.

you still vividly remember the day you granted his request– the day his hand guided you towards the enchanted tree of healing and extended its branch to you. it’s been three years since that encounter, yet you still find yourself gazing out of the window of your palace chambers, yearning for the day when fate would reunite you once more.

thank you for reading!! comments appreciated ♡

a/n: this was so much fun to write, i've been obsessing over manhwas lately and thought i could somehow incorporate ness' backstory in a royalty setting.

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yeslordmyking · 2 years

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July, 4 (Morning) Devotion

“Sanctify them through thy truth.”

John 17:17

Sanctification begins in regeneration. The Spirit of God infuses into man that new living principle by which he becomes “a new creature” in Christ Jesus. This work, which begins in the new birth, is carried on in two ways—mortification, whereby the lusts of the flesh are subdued and kept under; and vivification, by which the life which God has put within us is made to be a well of water springing up unto everlasting life. This is carried on every day in what is called “perseverance,” by which the Christian is preserved and continued in a gracious state, and is made to abound in good works unto the praise and glory of God; and it culminates or comes to perfection, in “glory,” when the soul, being thoroughly purged, is caught up to dwell with holy beings at the right hand of the Majesty on high. But while the Spirit of God is thus the author of sanctification, yet there is a visible agency employed which must not be forgotten. “Sanctify them,” said Jesus, “through thy truth: thy word is truth.” The passages of Scripture which prove that the instrument of our sanctification is the Word of God are very many. The Spirit of God brings to our minds the precepts and doctrines of truth, and applies them with power. These are heard in the ear, and being received in the heart, they work in us to will and to do of God’s good pleasure. The truth is the sanctifier, and if we do not hear or read the truth, we shall not grow in sanctification. We only progress in sound living as we progress in sound understanding. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” Do not say of any error, “It is a mere matter of opinion.” No man indulges an error of judgment, without sooner or later tolerating an error in practice. Hold fast the truth, for by so holding the truth shall you be sanctified by the Spirit of God.

Daily Bible and Devotional for Women - http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=daily.bible.for.woman

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gretahayes · 4 months

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dick and tim are like this; you are a boy, and you watched your parents be killed. a man has a hand on your back, he leads you away. he raises you, he guides you. you don’t know when he makes you into his dog—you don’t sense much difference. you find it natural to be like this around him. you don’t think he meant to turn you into his dog, you don’t think he wanted a dog, you think he wanted a boy like a dog, but you could not choose what you became. you don’t think he was honest about what he wanted, even to himself, especially to himself. his hand became a guiding rope around your neck, you don’t know when it became a leash. he chains you to him, and you strain strain strain and he pulls pulls pulls. he lets you go or you break free; who’s to say? who saw but you two? god is silent. you leave, and you pretend it doesn’t kill you. he doesn’t call you back so you pretend you wouldn’t come if he did. you pretend you are not lingering by the broken chain. you were made to be a bird, not a dog, but you settle for human and pretend it is what you are.

now there’s a boy, a boy willing to be a dog, to lick the hand that strikes him. he’s eager, and he tracks you down, sniffs at your heels, drags you by the sleeve back to the man. he was there when the man put his hand in your back, he says, he watched the hand become a guiding rope around your neck [he did not see it strangle you], and he admires you [you, and the dog you become, he knows they are seperate and together but not in the way you know they are] and he knows the man must be good, because you stayed with him. he wants you to become that puppy again, you refuse, but you come back, because you have a chance to linger at the broken chain physically this time, and you hold it with both hands. the boy likes graves, or, no, maybe; he reveres the dead more than the living. he honors those left grieving, at least. you know the boy will become the man’s dog soon, will choose him because you did, and so he must be worth it. you cannot tell him the man isn’t, because he will ask, why are you still here then? and you know dogs cannot acknowledge they are dogs, so you do not tell him their master isn’t worth it, and he doesn’t ask.

dick and tim are like this; who can grow me a new brother?

#my rambles #dick & tim #don’t ask. btw #theres this Thing i have. with them as dogs. if you’ve talked to me ever you know #tim drake #dick grayson

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starrylothcat · 6 months

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For the 'sweet and intimate actions' prompts you reblogged, may I request some 12 (Character B tucking Character A’s head under their chin while they’re cuddling) with a touch of 13 (Character B nuzzling their neck and breathing in Character A’s scent/fragrance, and commenting on how nice they smell) with Rex and short fem!reader?

No obligation! (eternal-transcience)

With You

Pairing: Rex x Fem!Reader, but can also be Gen!Reader

Warnings: None. Fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff. Kissing, but nothing explicit. Established relationship.

WC: ~700

Summary: You and Rex share a morning in bed.

A/N: Hello @eternal-transcience ! Thank you so much for the ask. Rex is King and I haven’t written for him in awhile, so I was happy to get this request! I was possessed by the Fluff Gods and wrote this fluffy lil’ piece for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Prompts taken from Sweet and Intimate Actions list.

You woke slowly, blinking sleep out of your eyes and stretching under the pile of blankets that lay on top of you.

You instinctively reached over, hoping your hand would meet the warmth of Rex’s shoulder or chest, but instead found empty mattress.

You frowned, knowing he had probably been up for hours working on reports. You never expected Rex to toss aside his duties for you, but sometimes he didn’t know when to take a break.

You sat up fully, ready to find Rex and drag him back to bed.

As your feet hit the carpeted floor, the bedroom door opened and Rex stepped in, holding two cups of hot caf.

“Good morning.” He smiled softly, the wrinkles you loved so much appearing at the sides of his eyes. It was something he was self-conscious about, but you lived to see those wrinkles, since they only appeared when he was smiling. When he was happy.

He set the caf down on your nightstand, kissing your forehead as he did so.

“How long have you been awake?” You asked, watching as he strode to his side of the bed, placing his caf down as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Not long. Figured you’d be up soon, thought I’d take it slow this morning.”

You grinned, settling back into bed as he did the same. Rex pulled you into him, placing his chin on your head, and tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He knew you loved this, being so close to him and safe in his arms.

“Taking it slow is something we never get to do.” You mumbled as you snuggled even closer to him, his strong arms draped around your smaller form, huddled entirely to his warm, solid body.

Rex hummed, stroking your back in gentle, rhythmic movements that made your eyelids droopy.

“I know…” He kissed the top of your head. “That’s why I’m back in bed.”

You removed your head from his neck, taking in everything that was him. He was basked in the early morning light, tanned muscle decorated with scars of different shapes and sizes that you have traced and memorized time and time again.

Rex was resolute in so many things. His duty to the Republic. His love for his brothers. His dedication to you. You will always be a loving and safe place for him, just as he is for you.

He was beautiful in all sense of the word. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have him by your side.

He must have been thinking the same as you as his gentle honeyed eyes met yours. He wordlessly brought a calloused hand to your cheek, capturing your lips in a long, worshipful kiss. You sighed against his lips, lightly running your fingertips over his buzzed head. He hummed in delight, deepening the kiss, his thumb stroking your cheek.

Rex laid you down on your back, covering his body with yours as he kissed you. You moved together in practiced rhythm, a loving dance that didn’t need words.

When you both finally parted for air, Rex gazed down at you with such reverence you felt butterflies explode in your stomach. He somehow always made you feel like you were meeting for the first time, enraptured by one another’s presence.

“I love you.” You whispered, mirroring his motion from before, stroking his cheek right below his eye. His eyes fluttered close at your touch, leaning into your hand. Rex slowly and carefully laid down on top of you, slightly off to the side to not crush you under his weight.

It was his turn to nuzzle himself into you, hearing him inhale and feeling him smile against your skin. “So sweet…” Rex rumbled, pressing his lips to your neck. “Always so sweet for me…” You felt his body relax against yours, his large hand finding your smaller one.

“I love you too, mesh’la. No matter where I am in the galaxy.”

You both lay there, tangled in one another, enjoying the quiet calm of the morning before you or Rex were called back to reality. The caf sat at your bedside tables, getting cold as you let yourselves be lost in one another.

It was a small slice of paradise, a glimpse of a peaceful life you could hopefully have one day, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

Taglist: @crosshairlovebot @sev-on-kamino @kimiheartblade @wizardofrozz @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @kashasenpai @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @aconstructofamind @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @secretthegriffin @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @secondaryrealm @littlemissmanga @coraex @maybethatfanfictionwriter @pb-jellybeans @wanderer-six @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @523rdrebel @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @sleepingsun501 @cw80831 @dangraccoon @mythical-illustrator @din-miller

Dividers by @freesia-writes (Rex) and @saradika

#captain Rex x reader #captain Rex x you #captain Rex #rex x reader #captain Rex fanfiction #captain Rex tcw #rex tcw #tcw fanfiction #clone x reader #the clone wars #the clone wars fanfiction #starrycatwrites #star wars #Star Wars fanfiction #x reader

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ghouljams · 8 months

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can we get medieval slow burn crumbs pls 🤲🙏

I have had this idea with Knight Ghost bouncing around in my head since I saw an absolutely destructive to my psyche insta reel, so here it is

Ghost helps you get his mail shirt over your head, far too big and far too heavy for you to practically wear, but he's insistent. You try not to tense your shoulders at the weight of it, try not to buckle your knees when it drops into place. You knew knights were strong but to wear this every day without so much as a complaint? Plus the rest of the armor? Your eyes roam over Ghost's broad shoulders as he turns away from you to fuss with the rest of his armor. You always thought he'd look smaller without all the metal, but it almost feels like the opposite it true.

He's larger than life. Life being the operative word here. A living breathing man of flesh and blood, and greater warmth than the fire. His linen shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, revealing the firm musculature as he moves. You grab the mail shirt in your tightening fists, feel the well worked metal press its indents into your skin, still so warm from being on Ghost. You want to touch him. You won't, you're not supposed to. Not supposed to want to. You think that's what the armor is for, to keep you from thinking the man underneath is human, to keep you from wanting him.

"You alright Princess?" He asks, his voice is so low and rasping it makes you want to melt, "Thought you'd be complaining about the weight by-" He turns to look at you again, and his voice falls another impossible degree, "-now. Jesus." His eyes drag over you, fresh kindling for the fire in your stomach, the heat in your cheeks.

You must look silly in your dress and his chain mail, but the way he looks at you... God, the way he looks at you. Not even at your best dressed has a man looked at you like that. You swallow, and hold onto the mail rings a little tighter.

"It's heavy," You tell him, and although you mean it to sound like a complaint, to whine and put on the spoiled princess act that keeps all the other men away, you find your voice quiet almost reverent. Ghost nods, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. The only man in the kingdom with the impertinence not to look away, not to bow his head to your gaze.

"It'll keep you safe," He barely breathes, his eyes don't leave you, can't leave you. There's no where safer to look than your face, and no where more dangerous.

"You're doing a more than suitable job of that already," You know that twitch in his brow, the way his lips draw thin.

You remember the bandits that had ambushed your carriage, the way they're battered their daggers against your door, made slow battle with your guards. How they'd dragged you out of your safety kicking and screaming with harsh laughter. How Ghost's blade had torn through them like paper, his eyes red with fury. The physical shield he'd put between you and your assailants, the sound their swords had made bouncing off his armor was still ringing through your ears. Blood still soaked the hem of your dress.

"I'm not taking any chances," His eyes leave yours, turning his attention back to his armor. It's like having cold water thrown over your head. With you, you think, he's not taking any chances with you. "Can you move at all?" He asks, not looking at you, it feels purposeful. You hesitate, before testing the weight over your arms, hopping to feel the drag of the chain try to pull you down. You shake you head.

"Not much, I don't think I'll be swinging a sword anytime soon." He chuckles, and the heat returns to you, your heart clenching tight in your chest.

"That's good," He nods, "Violence doesn't suit you."

You wish it did, sometimes. You've begged him enough to at least show you how to properly hold a sword, but he always refuses. Always tells you, your future husband won't want your glaring to hold real threats. As if your gaze doesn't already bear his shadow, doesn't command Ghost to act as your sword. Wouldn't he come with you, to wherever you did marry? You couldn't stand to be apart from him.

Ghost lifts you up onto his horse with a quiet grunt of effort. "We'll have to take more rests, she's a strong horse but with two of us..." He shakes his head, pets a hand down the horse's neck. "Do you think you can stomach a few extra days of travel, my lady?" His hand lingers on your dress. His lady, you think, he never shortens the words like the others do.

"Of course, I'm hardly one to complain," for you, you tack on silently.

"Of course not," for me, he seems to agree.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #knight!Ghost #princess!reader #medieval au #I want him so fucking badly I am screaming I want him #his lady and her knight #soft pining looks across ballrooms neither of them able to make a move #Ghost seeing his girl in his armor and losing all ability to think #cod ghost

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waywardangel-wilds · 21 days

Text

I wrote this last night when I couldn’t sleep, will I finish it and post it on ao3? Let’s hope.

I sit with my back pressed tight against the wall. I try to hold myself together by the seams, my nails dig desperately into my skin. I thought I had become something of an expert on fear, or at the very least I thought I was familiar with it. But nothing could have prepared me for this universe shifting moment. This lack of control. I squeeze my eyes shut and dare not breathe more than I must. My heart knocks insistently into my chest. Bum, bum it says. Bum, bum, bum, bum, a reminder of this unending life.

“Katniss!” I hear Haymitch before I see him. The storage rooms door flies open, “Katniss, they’re back. Katniss!”

I blink and stare at him uncomprehendingly. He’s still shouting, his hands reaching out to grab me, but the shock is intense. I stare at my mentors’ familiar face, my eyes round and helpless, a child once more.

The child I am.

“He’s alive, Katniss, he’s alive.” Haymitch says in a slower more purposeful tone. He crouches as best as his useless knees will allow him, his hands reaching out to grasp me by the forearms. “Katniss, we did it. We got them back.”

And when I take my next breath, it feels like a car crash. The sounds of the world catch up to me and somehow, the meaning of Haymitch’s words finally enter my mind. Alive. Here.

I keep staring at Haymitch helplessly, but I scramble to my feet. I’m hyperventilating. Haymitch shakes me, but my breathing doesn’t slow. There’s no time. I push past him and nearly fall on my face, rushing down the hall.

I don’t need to ask; I know where to go. He’ll be at the hospital. He’ll be past this hall, around that corner. My body, my heart, something in me knows. It tells me where to go. Keep going, keep going. If I don’t get there quick enough, who knows. I have to get there.

“Annie!” I skid to a stop, taken aback by the absolute emotion in Finnicks’ voice. There’s so much joy, so much love.

“Finnick!” a woman replies, running to him and jumping into his arms. My skin itches, my heart burns. I’m so envious, I have to look away. I used to be held like that, I used to have that much love.

But then my heart stutters. Alive. Here. If I keep running, will the arms that I’m looking for hold me? Will I hear his voice? Will I feel his lips?

“Come on!” Haymitch takes me by the arm and yanks me in the other direction. We’re both running now, I’m surprised Haymitch can keep up. He pulls me towards a hospital room, a very busy one. There are doctors everywhere, nurses too. I shove my way past them because I know, oh god, I know it. He’s here, in this room.

“Peeta,” I gasp, and the longing is so intense. He’s awake and sitting up on his hospital bed. Regrettably, I wasn’t the first face he saw. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, not at all. Peeta’s eyes meet with mine and suddenly nothing else exists on this entire planet. Nothing else in this world.

“Peeta,” I repeat with a sob, my vision blurring. I rush towards him, and he sweeps his doctors aside. He’s so thin, and his face is so sharp. But he’s still my boy, the boy with the bread.

He grasps me, crushing me into his chest and whatever was left of my composure evaporates. Nothing holds the walls of emotions, of suppression after suppression, back any longer. My knees soften, and my hands claw at his back, greedily feeling him, ensuring his solidity.

Peeta’s hands are still big and heavy. They feel amazing on my back and my shoulders. I can feel him gasping against my neck, and the tickling of his breath feels like home.

“Is this real?” he whispers with his mouth pressed against my ear. “Are you here?”

“Yes,” I reassure him. “I’m here.”

“I missed you,” there’s a weight to his words, a reverence.

“Me too, a lot.” I choke and smile around my tears. There won’t ever be enough words to tell him. “So much.”

“They said you were dead, but I knew.” He confesses. “I knew.”

I nod. Yes. There’s a desperation in me borne from his complete understanding. “I knew too. I always knew.”

Peeta pulls away from me then, and I can see his face has broken into an emotional smile. He cups my jaw, and when his lips graze mine, everything is okay again. I can breathe, I’m alive.

I stretch up onto my toes, chasing after him. My arms encircle him. I never want to let go. His tears mix with mine on my cheeks, and we kiss. We kiss and we kiss, and we kiss. My tongue sweeps across his bottom lip and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but we don’t stop. His fingers slip into my hair, and his touch lights me up.

His fingers tug too harshly against my hair and I reflexively pull back. He’s shut his eyes tight, his body suddenly tensed. My hands fly up to his shoulders, fluttering in search for injury.

“Peeta, are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. To my alarm, he starts hitting the sides of his head with his firsts. “Peeta,” I repeat, pulling at his wrists, but he’s stronger than me. “Stop!”

“Katniss,” Haymitch says, taking me by the shoulder but I can shake him off easily, his heart isn’t really in it. “What do they pay ya’ll for? To stare? Help the kid!”

A nurse reaches out to Peeta, but he cowers away, like a frightened child. He folds in on himself on the ground, hiding his face behind his knees, and tugs on his own hair. I drop to my knees and crawl towards him, slapping away the nurses’ hands when she tries to reach out to him again.

“Peeta?” I ask, placing my hands on his knees. “It’s me, Katniss. Where are you? Did you go away?”

“Don’t,” He flinches away from my touch, leaving my hands hovering midair.

I look helplessly over my shoulder to Haymitch, but he looks just as lost as I am. I look back at Peeta, “I—”

A Doctor kneels beside me. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I fall silent. “Peeta, I’m Dr. Amaltha, I work here at the hospital in District Thirteen. Your friends and I have been waiting a long time to see you. You’re safe. Would it be okay if I touched your knee?”

Peeta stills, a single blue eye peaking through his shaggy hair, “No touching.”

“That’s okay, we’re just a little worried about you, is all.” The Doctor offers him a smile. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine,” he says curtly but reconsiders. “I can manage.”

“I know you can, but if you’re in any pain I can patch you up and you’ll be all better.” She inches ever so slowly closer to him. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go home with Katniss?”

“Home?” he asks.

“That’s right,” she reassures. “Once we check you for injuries, you can go with your friends.”

“No more hospital?”

“None.”

He slowly raises his head. He eyes the doctor uneasily for a moment before moving his gaze towards me. I try to rearrange my features into something less worried but I’m sure I fail. His eyes return to the doctor, “alright.”

She crawls closer to him still and Peeta bumps his head against the wall trying to get away from her. She smiles and he grimaces in return, but he allows her to check his pulse anyway.

“That’s a little fast.” The doctor comments, “Take a few deep breaths for me?”

Peeta complies. After some more goading from Dr. Amaltha he stands and allows her to check him for broken bones. He lets them take his blood pressure, and his shine lights in his eyes with no issues. He puts up a bit of a fuss over the blood work, so they let it go for now, asking instead if he’d let them take an x-ray just to be sure about his bones.

“No machines,” Peeta says insistently.

#the hunger games #everlark #thg fanfic #fanfiction #wip

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