#I feel like sometimes I get really stiff and arch

[elsweetheart]

what friends are for.

🎀 i hate this. words can’t describe how much i hate this. my worst work. it sounds rushed and corny and like a 14 year old on wattpad wrote it. but if i don’t post it it’s a waste of my time and efforts, so enjoy.

abby was your best friend.

you honestly didn’t really have anyone else. you went on patrols with her, you hung out with her 24/7, you had cried to her, laughed with her, everything. to be totally transparent, the lines had gotten a little blurred. flirting as a joke was one thing, but sometimes you weren’t quite sure if it was a joke. abby was overprotective, and when she’d touch you, it was hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that transmit through your veins. okay, if she wanted to fuck you and make you hers you’d totally let her. it was the end of the world, right? everyone just wanted companionship. however, you weren’t even too sure if she was into girls like that. you knew she had a thing with owen a long time ago— but she doesn’t really talk about it much, and she doesn’t seem to have had the best experience with him. the way she talked to you and treated you had lead you to believe that maybe she likes pussy. you guys didn’t talk about that kind of thing, all you knew is she’d been with a few people (because she often teased you for only having been with one person, much to your annoyance.)

you needed a distraction. it wasn’t too late, 11PM — and rain was hammering down on your window. you thought you might get an early nights sleep, but that idea was pretty much shot as soon as you started daydreaming. wouldn’t it be nice, to be able to curl up in someone’s warm strong arms on nights like this? to have them touch you all over, stick their hands up your top and feel your nipples get hard beneath their palms. to kiss your neck leaving a cold wet trail in their path. to slip their hand down your panties and rub your clit slowly, no rush, no race for you to cum, just touching sheerly for the purpose of pleasuring you. a hot wet mouth on your cunt, lapping you up, making you arch off the bed, that sounded good to you. infact, you hadn’t even realised your blanket was stuffed between your legs and you were grinding your damp pussy into it until you shook yourself out of it.

this is pathetic, right? you thought to yourself, sitting up. a distraction was what you were after, and you knew abby would be awake. sliding on a pair of thin sleep shorts, ignoring the wetness between your legs, you hurried out into the cold halls until you found yourself at abby’s door, knocking quietly.

“come in.” her commanding voice lead you to turn her door handle immediately. she was squat on the floor next to her gym bag, zipping it up wearing her muscle-tee and black cargos. her eyes softened when she saw you there, illuminated by the light outside like a halo around you. “hey.” she greet with a small smile, turning her attention back to the stiff zip on her bag.

“oh…where’you going?” you couldn’t help but sound a little whiney, hoping you could stay with her and talk until you got sleepy. she stood up slowly, wiping her hands on her thighs, eyes flickering over your form.

“i couldn’t sleep so i was gonna go work out. what’s wrong?” she walked towards you, brow creased in concern.

“oh. i couldn’t sleep and… i wanted to come and see you.” you shrugged. her concerned expression didn’t relent and she stepped even closer, placing her hand briefly on your cheek and then your forehead.

“why do you seem all flushed? you’re not sick, right?” she hummed. you pressed your thighs together, hating the way that even the touch of your incredibly attractive best friend was sending waves of arousal through you. you let out a shaky sigh and gently pulled her hand from your grasp.

“more like frustrated.” you mumbled, walking over to sit on her bed. you wasn’t even sure why you had said it out loud, you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to— but you couldn’t take it back now. you tensed up, trying to think of a way to change the subject as she watched you, you didn’t want her to ask you what you meant. she closed the door, the room now only lit from the bright moonlight shining through her window— it was a wonder how she got any sleep at all, the moon creating similar amounts of light to a street lamp.

“frustrated how?” she came and perched on the bed beside you, braid tossed over her shoulder when she turned to look at you, eyes glancing to your thin shorts as you played with the hem nervously.

“i—ugh, i don’t really know why i said that.”

“why do you feel frustrated?” she rephrased her question, nudging her strong arm against yours slightly and ignoring your denial of your statement. you bit your lip, thinking for a moment before bringing your hands to your face, giggling into them.

“i think i… do you ever feel like… i just need to get laid, abby. so bad.” you laughed, avoiding eye contact as you downplayed it. you were two best friends talking right? no need to make it weird.

abby was nodding slowly as if she understood and you turned to look at her to see if she was laughing too. she wasn’t. her eyes raised from your thighs to look into your own eyes, serious in nature like she always was.

“and that’s why you’re here right?” she asked casually, like it was nothing. your smile dropped as you stared back at her wide eyed. did she really just suggest that?

“oh! i um, i don’t know i just came here because—well because i couldn’t sleep and i wanted to get my mind off things and—and—" you rambled, stopping to swallow thickly, feeling like you couldn’t breathe from the way she was staring at you. she exuded confidence, and something in her eyes was a little darker today making the burning between your thighs intensify.

“so you don’t want my help?” she asked, eyebrows raised a little as if unimpressed with your whole demure act. you said nothing, eyes drifting down to her mouth as you pictured all the things she could probably do with it. your teeth sunk down into your bottom lip, eyes wide and needy as you nodded. why lie? you wanted her.

“poor thing, go lay back on the bed.” she nodded towards her headboard and you blinked at her.

“i thought you were— i thought you were going to go work out.” you gaped. she scoffed with a chuckle as she stood up to adjust her cargos around her waist.

“fuck that, much rather be here. you know how long i’ve been waiting for this?”

you were in shock. how was she so casual about this? had you totally misunderstood your entire friendship? how long was she going to let this go on? how long was she going to pine after you knowing you needed her?

“you’ve wanted to… touch me?” you clarified. you were aware that you sounded pathetic and shy but it was impossible not to feel that way beside her.

“yeah, just wasn’t sure if you were down. you are down, right? don’t wanna make you do anything.” she froze in her tracks, looking you over.

your gaze centred in on your fingers where they nervously played with one another.

“think about you fucking me all the time.” you tremble. she smirks, bending down to eye level with you.

“lay back on the bed then, pretty girl. like i told you.” there was an edge to her voice, one that said ‘don’t let me catch you not listening to me again.’

you scurried back, piling her pillows on top of eachother so you were elevated and laying against it, knees pressed together. she came and sat before you, placing her hands on her knees and spreading them gently. you shivered, unable to believe how willing your best friend was in this. she stared between your legs, and you realised she was looking at the wet patch from your slick, soaked through the pyjama shorts.

she said nothing, just reached her fingers into your waistband and began tugging them off. you shyly went to close your legs again, but her hands grasping the back of your thighs held them apart, licking her lips.

“pretty, just like i thought you’d be.” she comments, watching the way you clench around nothing. “and you’re fucking soaked too. were you touching yourself before you came to see me?” she exasperated, thumbs sliding either side of your pussy, spreading your lips open as she admired you. you whimpered at the gesture, your legs relaxing and you spread them a little wider before clearing your throat— trying to bat away the fogginess slipping into your mind to converse with her.

“mmph— not— not quite.” you admit and she glances up at you, sliding her thumb oh so casually through your wetness collecting the slick.

“no? what were you doing?” she asks, pushing her thumb through your folds once more — just avoiding your clit each time making it throb, desperate for her touch.

“had—uhm— had my blanket between my legs, was rubbing against it.” you flush all over and she feels it, the heat almost radiating off you. she pouts almost in sympathy, not even bothering to make eye contact with you as she strokes your folds gently.

“cute.” she comments, playing with you just gently enough to tease you and not give you what you need.

“does that make me totally weird?” you sigh out, not sure how much longer you’re going to be able to keep up conversation when she’s toying with you like this as you arch your back off the bed— hinting to her that you wanted more.

“not at all. just need your pussy fucked, no shame in it beautiful.” she comments, low in her throat like she’s talking to herself and finally, finally she pushes her thumb up to rub your clit, massaging it in circles. you whine, relaxing your spine a little more as you grind your hips up slightly to meet her thumb. “that’s it. tell me what else you need.” she demands quietly and your eyes flutter open.

“want a kiss.” you shudder weakly before you can even stop yourself, like you were so desperate to have her all over you that your mouth was on autopilot.

“gladly.”

she leant over you, her torso pushing your thighs up to your chest and attached her mouth to yours without a second thought. she continued rubbing you, hand stuffed between your bodies letting you use her for your pleasure.

fast forward 20 minutes, abby had her hands beneath your ass lifting your hips off the bed all the way to your mouth as she ate you like you were her last meal. in the low light your slick was practically luminous, catching the light from your inner thighs, her mouth and chin, quietly groaning against you as she savoured the taste of you. you came hard again, on your third orgasm of the night and abby slowly set your hips down on the bed, letting you recover.

she rubbed your thighs affectionately with her hands, pressing sloppy kisses around your abused cunt and thighs as you twitched sensitively, panting and wiping your tears shakily.

“m’sorry abby. bein’ so greedy.” you hiccuped in reference to your insatiable needs, abby continuing to pleasure you until she was sure you were satisfied. she leant over you between your open legs, bringing her mouth to yours, kissing you slow and nasty. her tongue massaged the taste of your own cunt into your mouth making you whimper weakly.

“nothing to be sorry for, baby. pretty pussies should always cum. just need a little help, don’t you?”

abby was the best friend a girl could have.

♡

#ugh like the concept was so good and i fumbled it #next time ‼️ #abby anderson smut #abby tlou2 smut #abby anderson prompt #abby anderson hcs

[unholybacon355]

Melting

Sana x Dahyun

Word Count: 2.1k 

A/N: No, I don't just write about Jihyo ahahahah, and also... Thanks to the persons who helped me this time, you know who you are but i still don't know if i have permission to named you. Anyways, enjoy it.

It was quite a compromising situation, at least seen from Dahyun's perspective. OK yes. She was sitting on the sofa, which was quite normal, nothing out of the ordinary, but it was what was between her and the sofa that made the difference. Or rather, who stood between Dahyun and the piece of furniture.

Sitting on the couch, and obviously under Dubu, was Sana. Or was it Dahyun who was over her? Interesting question, for which the Korean did not have an answer right now. The important thing was that the body of the Japanese rather than getting in the way, what she did was support Dahyun's weight. Because for God sake, at this precise moment she wasn't able to stay upright, much less stand up.

The sweat on her back made the skin stick to Sana's breasts, even when her pleasure forced her to arch a little she could feel the other girl's body against hers. The soft mounds of her pressing against her flesh, and even the stiff buttons that crowned them digging into her back. But the truth was, she didn't have much time to think about it right now.

Sana's hands ran over her body in a skillful way. Oh!, those hands that she loved so much but she did not dare to admit it. The hands paying special attention to her chest, kneading Dahyun's breasts like a cat kneading her bed; while her fingers played with the Korean girl's rigid nipples. Oh, those wonderful hands. However, her mouth was not far behind, depositing small kisses behind the ear of the minor, or sucking along her neck. She even sometimes licked the thin layer of sweat that began to accumulate on Dubu, since the temperature had risen a lot in the room. Especially since they had undressed.

How everything had happened was something they didn't want to think about, they only had each other in this wonderful moment. All Dahyun understood was that now things had changed and neither of them had to hide what she felt anymore. Certainly an important issue to have reached the way they were now. Sana completely naked and Dahyun only keeping the lower part of her underwear. The Japanese sitting on the sofa and the Korean over her with her back to her. The older one hands running through the body of the younger one and giving her as much pleasure as possible.

In any case, the truth was that for Sana this was not a difficult task. Dahyun had fantasized so many times about those wonderful hands running over her body, that practically the moment the fingertips of the older one touched her pale skin, she melted without remedy.

Dahyun looked down and saw Sana's hands playing with her chest. Seeing those gorgeous veiny hands grabbing her tits only made her wetter, if that was even possible at this point. Clearly her underwear was already ruined, but she couldn't care less about that now. All she wanted was to replace that sodden garment with her stark nakedness. Giving Sana access to the most intimate corners of her body, exposing as much skin as possible for her skilled hands to roam.

Somehow their minds seemed to be connected as the Japanese released one of Dahyun's breasts to make her hand go down the minor's body. She traced the shape of her muscles with a finger, outlining every inch of an impatient Dahyun's abdomen. The action only contributed to get small moans from the Korean. Luckily they were alone in the apartment and no one could hear them, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. After all she was almost naked on top of hers, until recently her best friend, begging for more of her touch.

“Dahyun-aaah. You look really needy for my hands.” A small nervous giggle accompanied Sana's lewd words, as if she felt embarrassed after saying them. Of course, this was not reflected in her actions, since her left hand continued to play with the corresponding breast of the minor; while her right hand was now fully resting on Dahyun's abdomen.

Dubu's body seemed to burn where Sana's palm rested, making the temperature of her abs skyrocket. Torturously descending in a march so slow that it seemed to Dahyun that she was not even moving. Setting her body on fire and increasing the temperature where Dahyun needed that hand the most.

The kissing and sucking never stopped on her neck, on her ear and jaw, even on her shoulder. But she needed them somewhere else, maybe on her tits or where even Sana's hands hadn't reached yet. However she was sure that she was not going to get that today, the Japanese were not going to give her that privilege tonight. She still began to rock her hips back and forth, in a pathetic attempt to get some friction where she was depriving her. Which only guarantees a new nervous and seductive giggle from the other girl. “Dahyun-aaah. Are you so needy?"

Finally Sana's fingers reached the edge of her underwear, and to the younger girl's surprise the other girl continued to descend over the garment until she placed her hand directly on Dahyun's crotch. Moisture was now soaking through Sana's fingers, covering them in a thin, sticky film. As expected the underwear was completely ruined and offered virtually no protection as Sana began drawing circles directly over Dahyun's most sensitive part. Even so, it prevented her from what she longed for right now, what she wanted madly and what she had imagined so many times in the past.

It was clear that Dahyun wanted, and she couldn't hide it anymore, Sana's fingers inside her. Those precious fingers that had her so crazy, so madly in love in secret. To be honest, she wasn't just in love with her fingers, but with the whole thing. With her gestures, with her giggle, with the way she looked at her, with her skin tone, with how defined her muscles were lately, with how kind and caring she was with everybody. How she cared for her and how she was a little jealous of her when there was someone potentially “Dangerous” around Dahyun. Of all those little details that apparently no one else could see, because otherwise she couldn't imagine how the whole world wasn't madly in love with Minatozaki Sana. But it was those hands and her fine fingers that kept her awake. The same fingers that for some devious reason were now so close, but not yet inside her.

Sana kept drawing circles on Dahyun's flooded intimacy, without stopping the kisses on the neck or caresses on the chest. Doing everything at a pace and with a coordination that invited one to imagine that she, too, had been wanting this for a long time. As if both of them had finally given free rein to all her fantasies. Fantasies where they abandoned their masks of sweet and adorable people, and gave themselves up to more mundane and adult desires.

A muffled gasp from her own mouth brought Dahyun back to reality. Sana's intrusive hand had finally ventured into the innermost reaches of her being, slipping under her underwear. She could feel her wet fingers playing with the sensitive bud that was her clit, giving her a pleasure she never thought she could have. Her deft digits rolled the sensitive organ in a dance she hoped would never end, drawing more moans from her mouth. This time perfectly audible, loud and real as the love she felt for the girl who was giving her so much pleasure.

She wanted to tell her something, return her caresses in some way, but it was really difficult for her to speak. Instead of words all that came out of her mouth were moans and gasps, maybe a couple of letters together but nothing more. Right now she was nothing more than clay being molded by Sana's skilled hands. She wasn't able to articulate any words, so she had no reliable way to let the other girl know how much she enjoyed her touch. Though certainly the moans, the way she writhed, and how wet she was were surely giving her a clue as to what she was feeling right now.

Then nothing more than a gasp that filled her lungs with air and stopped her breathing for a few seconds, could show what she had felt when Sana finally invaded her. When she finally could feel those fingers making their way through her sensitive flesh moistened by so many external caresses. She rested her head on the Japanese woman's shoulder with her eyes tightly closed and her lips parted wide. As if she was going to scream at any moment, but no sound came out of her mouth. She was gasping for air even though her lungs were full, and the world was spinning and she felt like she was going to fall even though she was sitting firmly on top of Sana.

She looked down, where her legs were open and the Japanese's hand merged with her body. She looked with the hope of finally after so many fantasies to see those fingers of hers entering her and leaving herself. Hoping to see what she had dreamed of for so long. But fate was cruel and despite the fact that she was living it, her own underwear prevented her from seeing it. That long-ruined garment already covered Sana's hand and kept that beautiful sight away from her eyes. She was only able to see the fabric moving as if it were echoes of Sana's fingers. Nothing more than a shadow show that kept her away from the light.

Still what she felt was wonderful. If when she touched her abdomen her muscles seemed to burn, now they were close to melting point. She felt such heat in the center of her that she didn't understand how things around her didn't spontaneously combust. How was it that this room was not engulfed by the flames of her passion as the two of them did. They were certainly questions that had no answers and she had better things to think about right now.

In constant swing of the fingers inside her, in addition to the caresses in the rest of her body, they were throwing her to her limit. Her legs couldn't take any more tension, her feet only rested on the tips of her fingers making her carry all her weight against Sana. The temperature rose to unimaginable extremes throughout her body, every last one of her muscles seemed about to burn. It was hard for her to breathe normally, and thinking was an almost impossible task for her. Her mind was flooded by everything the Japanese woman made her feel, so there was only room for pleasure in her head. She felt so hot, as if her small body was wrapped in a heavy blanket that made her feel hotter and hotter.

Now her entire body was trembling, being run through by spasms that emanated from her crotch to the rhythm of Sana's fingers. Tremors ran through her, altering her body chemistry. That added to the high temperature that it had reached had ended up clouding her senses, throwing her beyond all limits known to her. She was totally overwhelmed by the thousands of sensations she felt in every fiber of her body. As if she were in the center of a whirlwind of pleasure.

And so without warning her muscles clenched one last time, throwing her into the abyss of climax. Feeling how she came in Sana's hand while she rested her head on the Japanese's shoulder one more time. Feeling an overwhelming relief and exhaustion at the same time throughout her body.

The Japanese woman helped her ride her orgasm by moving her fingers slower and slower until they came to a complete stop, and hugging her tightly with her other arm. Once the spasms ended she managed to lean back on the sofa and put the tired Dahyun next to her. The Korean could only react by hugging her by her waist and hiding her head on the japanese chest. There were too many things to talk about, too many things to say, but this was not the time. They both had to rest, and judging by Dahyun's calm and rhythmic breathing, she had already fallen asleep.

“Rest Dahyun-ah. You did very well ”Then Sana also hugged her before kissing the top of her head affectionately, and the two of them fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. Tired but happy beyond limits. Both with a wide smile on their faces.

#twice smut #saida smut #saida #sana smut #dahyun smut #fanfic #twice fanfic

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 1: Pegging

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3876

Warnings: Afab!reader, femdom, slight humiliation/degradation, anal fingering, mention of chastity device, pegging

A/N: I’ve actually been reeeaaally into pegging recently, and I’m so glad I finally had an excuse to write it. 🫣

⭐

You’d known Cyno was not the same person off the clock as when he carried the authoritative mantle of Mahamatra in public, taking care to present himself as someone flawlessly disciplined and unrelenting in his convictions. Many feared him. Most did everything in their power to avoid him at all costs, some even going so far as to cross the street when they saw him coming. But you got to see a different side of him. He was easy with his smiles, loose with his jokes, and unerringly supportive in his own, sometimes off-beat kind of way when not on duty and it was that side of him you were most familiar with. You’d come into this knowing all of this about him and yet, still, he manages to surprise you. 

His body is stiff with anticipation and the kinetic energy seems to bleed off him into you, but he turns so soft under your hands. Relenting, pliant, and mouldable. He bends under your will almost like he’s better suited to submission than the power he usually holds in any other situation, his smooth back arching beautifully for you. He’s a sight to behold, kneeling in the center of the bed with his head hanging low between his shoulders and his bared ass already presented to you. Ready and waiting. Patient, even when you can see the dramatic flex of his ribcage to signify how hard he’s breathing and belie his excitement. 

You hadn’t expected this. Not really. Knowing him as you do, you’d thought for sure you would receive some amount of pushback or challenge, a fight for dominance, no matter how cursory it might be, to cement your role and help him relax into giving up his power to you. You’d seen it playing out in your mind's eye when he’d first propositioned you for this and then again while ironing out the specifics together. The topic of how he would give himself over to you had not been broached. You hadn’t thought it needed to be. 

But having that presupposition already in place just makes his willing surrender in the here and now all the sweeter. Even more satisfying than it otherwise might have been. Not only did he want you to wreck him, he was practically begging for it. 

“What a good boy you are,” You murmur, dragging the tips of your nails down his spine to dip into the delicate curve of his lower back. He shudders faintly at the sensation and groans, very softly, when you follow the natural line of his back further down to trace a path between firm, slightly rounded cheeks. He’s lean and arguably petite for a man, with not nearly enough body fat distribution to give him a prominent ass, but it’s well defined and perky, and you think it just might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. “Who would have thought the Mahamatra himself would willingly put himself in such a vulnerable position. I’m a little surprised, Cyno. I thought for sure I was going to have to put you in your place today.” 

A faltering exhale puffs out of him, making his shoulders visibly waver even as he shifts on the bed, subtly nudging his hips up at you. An open invitation if you’ve ever seen one. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” He manages to get out around the strain in his voice. “I can still put up a fight if you want. It’s not too late …”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Smiling to yourself, you slowly drag the pad of your forefinger over the center of his puckered little hole. The muscle twitches under your touch, flexing around nothing, and then relaxes again. Taking your time with it, you gently rub him in encouraging half-circles until you can feel the rim of his entrance start to become soft and raised against the stimulation. He looked like he was going to be a tight fit but you didn’t doubt he was already well prepared for this. Cyno never half assed anything, after all, and he certainly wouldn’t start now when his own was on the line in the most literal sense. 

You let the tension hang heavy in the air as you gradually work your hand lower still to caress over the faintly raised line of his taint where you pause to massage into it briefly. Pushing up with just enough pressure, searching for the right spot, you watch his narrow hips give a sensitive jerk and his pretty hole winks up at you in response. So his prostate was well trained and appropriately receptive then. Good. You were going to have a lot of fun with him today. 

“If only everyone at the Akademiya could see you now. On your hands and knees, spread open like a slut. I bet that would change everyone’s perception of you real quick, don’t you?”

Cyno whimpers low in his throat, giving his upturned ass a plaintive, barely there shake. 

It wasn’t hard to see what he liked about this; giving up all that control you suspected he didn’t even really want at the end of the day and letting someone else take charge over him, his body, his autonomy. He was so used to policing the behavior of others that being on the receiving end must have struck a particularly arousing chord inside him, and you take a great deal of pleasure in wrapping your hand around his balls, cupping them against your palm to feel their weight. They were already tight and firm, full of unspent cum, and so delightfully round that you can’t stop yourself from gently rubbing your thumb over one velvet soft teste. 

The faint sound of his whining kicks up a notch, rising in volume, and you respond with a slow tug, pulling back on his ballsack to make his dangling cock bob and sway between his legs. You can see the tension thrumming through his body as it doubles, triples, and a sticky bead of precum gradually oozes out of the slit to plop silently onto the sheets. Oh, you were going to enjoy milking him for all he was worth. 

“Come now, General Mahamatra. Why so quiet?” You croon at him while wrapping your fingers around that neglected length, feeling a bit mean at the way he sucks in a sharp, faltering breath. Squeezing him tight to work any more cum out of him, you allow Cyno to drip two more glistening beads out onto the bed before pulling away. He issues a deep groan into the otherwise silent room but stays put right where he’s at. An obedient and willing captive. Yours for the taking. 

“I’m sorry, mistress.” He all but seethes, putting a certain inflection on the title he’d asked to call you that makes your pussy eagerly clench in excitement. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but you’re … a bit distracting.” 

“Oh? Do you find it hard to concentrate while having your cock and balls fondled, Cyno? Is that it?” 

Curling your fingers around his tight scrotum again, you slowly pull back and up until his rigid length is securely tucked between his lean thighs and the resulting gasp that rattles out of him is harsh. Sharp and jagged. He jolts before he can catch it, hissing quietly as he visibly forces himself to be still once more or risk giving his trapped ballsack an inadvertent and painful tug. You had to give him credit where it was due, his discipline impressing you even now. Most men would have reacted much more than that at having their balls pulled on. 

But, well. You’d discussed this with him too. Everything right down to the letter, every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed to ensure that nothing unwarranted cropped up during this time you’d set aside for one another. You and Cyno were friends first and bed partners second, so you had of course trusted his own self evaluation when he’d gone down the list of things he was comfortable with or wanted to try. Even so, something like this … you hadn’t expected him to be this much of a masochist. 

“Good boy.” Doting and with just a pinch of condescension, you let go of his balls in favor of giving them a few good, solid pats that have him sensitively twitching each time your fingers make contact. You feel downright devilish having him at your mercy like this and you coo softly as you once more wrap your hand around his painfully hard cock, just holding it there to let the suspense build further. 

“If this is so distracting,” You quietly pur. “Then maybe I should lock it up for you so you won’t have to worry about it anymore. We don’t want your mind wandering with silly thoughts of cumming on anything but my cock, do we?” 

“Please.” 

The shudder that tears through him is intense and you can’t quite stop yourself from laughing at his predicament. Cyno was surprisingly transparent in this situation, perhaps even more so than you’d ever before seen him. He was not the General Mahamatra, nor was he your longtime friend and colleague anymore. 

Right now he was just a needy little slut looking to get fucked, and you were going to enjoy every minute of tearing his ass up. 

Reaching for the jar of lubricant you’d set aside on the corner of the bedside table, you quickly uncork the top so you can dip your fingers inside. Cyno is outright panting now, clearly struggling to maintain his carefully held composure as you scoop out a healthy dollop of sticky, vaguely rose-scented lubricant which you take your time tauntingly smearing over his hole. He’s good for you, nice and still while you work it around the smooth crease of his body to make sure everything is nice and lubricated before finally setting your sights on the prize. 

One finger slips in easily enough with hardly any resistance at all to show for it. You can see his toes flexing and squeezing in your peripheral, catch the seething hiss he lets out as you breach his already loosened defenses so you can reach into him down to the knuckle. He takes a second finger in stride even when his compact frame powerfully trembles against the intrusion, heaving a high strung groan that makes you feel drunk on power. His puckered hole seems to milk your digits, weakly palpating in sensitive excitement around them, and you eagerly angle down in search of that spongey nerve cluster you’d teased earlier. 

You know the moment you find it because he gives a sudden jolt and clenches down on your fingers tight enough to make you loose a sympathetic moan in response. Whimpering, he clutches at the sheets as he rears back on you, looking for more of that mind numbing pressure on the interior of his guts, but you’re quick to deny him. Giving your fingertips a crook to make sure they catch at his entrance and further stretch him open, you gradually pull them out and watch as the puffy muscle tries almost desperately to cling to them. Of course he never stood a chance when your skin was coated in an excessive layer of lubricant though, and you slip out of him with a wet little pop that seems to echo through the room. 

Giving up the fight, Cyno finally allows his upper half to sink down onto the bed so he can shove his face into the sheets and freely moan into them, muffling the sound. You quickly reach for him again, working your fingers back into the heat of his body at such a staggeredly clipped speed that he has no choice but feel every minuscule centimeter of penetration and the burning stretch that comes with it. A fine sheen of sweat starts to build up on his skin, making him glisten slightly in the faint lamplight, but still he remains obedient and pliant for you. 

You don’t stop until his poor hole is flushed and swollen, the raised ridge of skin just begging to be stuffed, filled, and used. The needy pucker is loose enough now that you can fit three fingers inside him, a mere fraction of your favorite piece, but he had been quite clear about how he wanted it. Cyno was no stranger to inflicting discomfort on others and he had very little mercy to show for it … but he was apparently quite weak to being on the receiving end, and you waste no time climbing to your feet so you can mount him. 

Feeling the telltale shift of the bed, he practically wheezes as he pushes his hips up higher, presenting his waiting ass to you like a bitch in heat. You positively marvel at the elegant curve of his spine, so whoreish and well practiced for a man who usually gave off the impression of a severe sentry. He was so tight on the reins that even just finding out he was a TCG nerd often came as a great shock to anyone who didn’t already know him, and you could only imagine what the reaction would be if this particular news ever got out. 

You had other plans for him though. Firm yet gentle, you grab onto his narrow waist so you can push down and make him lay out flat on the bed. He offers up a momentary, cursory resistance before acquiescing, groaning even as he slowly sinks into the mattress. Pleased, you shuffle into position with your feet bracketing his thighs and reach down for two pinching handfuls of that tight ass, spreading his cheeks wide to get a good look at his hole. 

“You’re going to take all of this for me, aren’t you, Cyno?” 

“Yes, mistress!” 

Moaning softly in anticipation, you take a moment to dig your nails into his flesh for good measure. “Tell me what you want me to do to you. Loud enough for me to hear.” 

Struggling to lift his head, he pulls in a thick, shuddering breath. “Wreck me. I want you to destroy my ass!” 

“Good,” You breathe out, feeling dizzy from the rush of blood to your head as you lower your pelvis until the blunt tip of the strap-on presses into the center of that tight pucker underneath you. “Because you won’t be able to walk right for a week when I’m through with you.” 

The sound that comes out of him when you start to sink in is high pitched and frazzled, choked off as if it got stuck somewhere in his throat on the way up. You can see him clawing at the sheets from the corner of your eye, but the brunt of your attention is fixated on the steady, gradual insertion that leaves his ass stretched open around it. Inch by painstaking inch, the phallic toy disappears into his body, the glide relatively smooth with lubricant, but it was still a tight fit. Your piece was large and not for the faint of heart, especially not when most men tended to shy away from even the most petite options sold in dark back rooms of the bazaar. 

But Cyno wanted this one and, to his credit, he does indeed take it. Surprisingly well, actually. You only have to pause once to allow him to catch his breath, get his bearings straight, and then you’re sliding the rest of the way home. Straight down to the base until your inner thighs brush against his upturned ass and you’re seated in him right down to the base. He’d asked for you to wreck him and that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Carefully, you shuffle your feet forward so that you’re crouched over top of him in a leap frog position and the strap is perfectly angled straight down to ensure his prostate would bear the brunt of your thrusts. One hand braces against his shoulder to steady yourself while the other fists in the back of his hair, thankful for the length of it as you wrap it around your fingers. He lets out a haggard, gasping sound when you yank his head back, forcing him to keep his neck up so he can’t hide his pleasure in the sheets. And then, you’re moving. 

Bouncing, to be precise. 

You use your hold on him to balance your weight and add extra leverage to the motion of your flexing hips as you drive into him, pounding his ass without stopping long enough for even a cursory warm-up. He moans like he loves it, sounding harried and frantic in the otherwise quiet, statically charged bedroom. Each downward plunge seems to punch the air right out of his lungs, leaving him gasping beneath you, and you bask in the head rush of taking him like this. You can feel his ass stretch around your fake cock as you carve out a space for yourself, feel him shuddering and flexing against the overwhelming sensations that assault him all at once. You’re even vaguely aware of him trying to twist underneath you as if to angle his prostate away from your relentless attack but you had him effectively pinned. Trapped, with nowhere to go. 

Well … that wasn’t entirely true. Cyno was physically much stronger than you despite his compact build and you knew just as well as he did that he could put a stop to this any moment he so chose. Even like this with your strap wedged so far up his ass he was probably tasting it on the back of his tongue right about now, it still wouldn’t take much for him to flip the tables. 

But he doesn’t. Even when his heaving groans take on an almost dire tinge, he just lets you keep going. It’s the fact he’s getting off on this that starts to get you off too, and you falter slightly when a potent wave of arousal crashes into you, nearly bowling you over on the spot. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d been so aroused just from fucking a man up the ass and you quickly decide you’re going to sit on his face once you were done milking him for all he was worth. 

“Archons, do you have any idea how good you look?” You manage to huff out, voice thin and shaky under the strain of keeping up such a brutal pace. “All stretched out and open for me. Taking my cock like a good slut. How is it, huh? You like that cock, Cyno?” 

“Yes — yes! Thank you, mistress!” 

“Such a good boy!” You punctuate this with a particularly hard thrust, making him lurch underneath you. “Oho, don’t run from me now! I know you want more, don’t you?” 

A mean spark lights up in your chest as you yank him back against you, watching him claw wildly at the sheets while you pause to readjust the position of your legs. The added pressure of you sitting on top of him like this seems to drive him crazy, and the pitch of his voice rises another frantic octave. “Please, don’t stop!” 

Groaning, you slide your hand out of his hair so you can hook it over his shoulder instead and you really lean into your work now, leveraging yourself up to a fast, hard pace again. Cyno lets his head hang down without you there to hold him in place anymore, and silvery-white strands fall forward in a touseled mess to curtain his no doubt flushed face. 

“I’m cumming!” He suddenly grunts, shuddering so hard it’s all you can do to keep hold of him. 

“Good, and you’re going to keep cumming for me, aren’t you? Until there’s not a drop left!” 

“Nngaaah!” 

Going ramrod stiff underneath you, he gives one last, violent lurch, and you can tell the moment his orgasm hits him by the way his ass flexes and squeezes around your strap, trying to suck it in deeper. You let out a satisfied moan of approval as you ride him through it, having every intention of keeping your word to milk him dry. The sensitive post-orgasm twitching starts up almost immediately, but you fuck him another moment longer — for your own gratification, not his — before finally slowing to a stop. 

Both of you are left panting in the aftermath, Cyno’s lithe frame heaving when you gingerly start to pull out of him with your hands braced against his back to steady yourself. You could already feel the burn in your thighs starting up but you ignore it for the time being, focusing instead on carefully easing your strap out of him. Going slow enough to make sure he experiences the drag of each individual inch against his guts, you watch it slowly reappear and then finally slip free of his tight grip all together with a tiny, wet little slurp. 

The fake cock dangles useless between your legs as you inch back to inspect the twitching gape of his hole, well used and flushed dark but still hungrily squeezing around something that was no longer there. Seeking out more, begging for more. Archons, you could fuck him for hours and still not get your fill. 

“On your back.” You tell him, delivering a quick swat to one side of his ass to make him jump at the sting. 

Heavily groaning, Cyno complies with a tender slowness that speaks of the deep ache he must be feeling in his body. He rolls over to splay out on his back and you pin him with a sly, knowing look when he peers up at you through dazed, heavy lidded eyes. Dragging your attention down his front, you regard the now softened and spent cock laying across his lower belly. You could see the evidence of semen drying on his skin, and there was an even more incriminating stain bleeding into the sheet just next to his hip. It was certainly a good start, but you weren't finished yet. 

He attentively watches you sink down onto the bed so you can kneel between his legs, his knees bending outward to give you space and invite you in. Nudging yourself closer, you take the strap in hand and unceremoniously slap it down on his stomach, right beside his cock, and his eyes immediately pop open wide. He almost looks a little embarrassed about it when he lifts his head to glance down at the much larger piece and himself sitting side by side, but you certainly don’t miss the way he stirs faintly with tentative interest. 

Yes, transparent was certainly a good descriptor for him when he was like this. 

With a sly, evil lick of your lips, you reach out for his ankles and a fresh wave of delight washes over you when he lets you fold his legs up in the air, carnal heat flashing behind his eyes. It was a good thing you’d set aside your whole day off for this. 

“This time I think I’m going to look you in the face while I fuck you, then make you beg me to let you eat me out. How does that sound, Cyno?”

⭐

Crossposted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50471725

#genshin impact #cyno #cyno x reader #self insert bullshit

[therisingdarkness]

I read this really introspective piece by @eclec-tech that was based on some amazing art by @cloned-eyes and I was inspired to write a lil angsty blurb. It's not long and it's not much, but I needed to get it out there. I hope it's a short, sweet read for everyone who gives it a shot. I wish I could have written more but the brain worms won't let me work in peace.

~~~

Echo stared at his hand.

Ugly, black stitching attached fingers to palm and wrist to arm, the skin discolored and mismatched from the chemicals pumping through his veins to keep him ‘alive’. Or unalive. He didn’t know what to call this state of existence any longer. It wasn’t living, not in any way it was meant to be.

Surviving, maybe. Every breath drawn labored in his lungs before finally escaping. Every beat of his heart felt like the stutter of a torn drum. His stomach growled and ached from pangs of hunger, his lips dry and chapped, cracking at the corners. His eyes ached because he did not often allow himself to sleep. It was too dangerous and he did not want to be caught unawares. 

His existence, if he could call it such, was made up of a never ending stream of aches and pains and discomfort. He didn’t know anything else, had forgotten the time before when he had felt anything other….

Except….

His friend.

Could he refer to them as such? Was it allowed? Would they look at him with the same warmth and understanding that came before? Would they touch his cheek as tenderly if they knew that he thought of them, often, and dreamed of their face when he finally succumbed to exhaustion?

Today he had initiated the first touch. The tears in their eyes and the waver in their voice…reaching for their hand in a show of support had seemed like the natural thing to do, though he couldn’t exactly recall why. He…he wasn’t sure of much when it came to the fragmented memories of his past, but he was sure there hadn’t been much opportunity for candid touches. Not like that, anyway.

But his friend…they hadn’t flinched at the chill of his skin against theirs. His dry, stiff skin, mismatched fingers—(How many of them were his? How many more belonged to the brothers he had lost? How many of his kin had Wat Tambor butchered to piece him back together?)—closed around their smaller hand and squeezed with a gentility he had to force, but they hadn’t shied away from his touch.

Their expression and reciprocation had inspired a warmth flickering to life within, but now he couldn’t help but lose himself to his thoughts.

Did they know?

Could they understand?

His hand…his arm…too much of him had needed replacing. Tambor had explained very little to him at the time, but his evil genius craved the satisfaction of recognition. 

“It took four of your brothers to make you whole again,” Tambor hummed as he inserted cable after cable into the ports implanted in his skull. It hurt—it hurt, but he had no voice, not yet, nothing with which to cry out. He opened his mouth anyway, a silent scream trapped in his lungs and arching his back as he strained against the heavy manacles trapping him on the examination table.

“Stop squirming. You’ll tear your stitches. Again. Perhaps I should have left you in stasis while I worked…ah, but to see the nerves come alive again, the muscles twitching…no, it’s better this way.”

Four of his brothers…he couldn’t remember their names. He saw their faces in his, but sometimes it didn’t feel right. He hated his likeness and avoided it at all costs. The last time he had accidentally caught a glimpse of himself was in the distorted reflection from a stream he had stopped to drink from, nearly a year ago. 

Thick sutures ran diagonally across his face and from the corners of his mouth down beneath his chin. He could feel them wrapping around his temples and the back of his head, intersecting and branching off, like spiderweb cracks spreading across a sheet of glass. He didn’t want to think about whose jaw was attached to his face, didn’t want to think about the way the circle of flesh surrounding his left eye was a slightly different shade. 

He didn’t know how much of him was…him.

And he didn’t want his friend to question it, though he suspected they soon would. They had asked him so many questions…and he had answered all of them, as truthfully as he knew how because the kindness they had shown him deserved no less than his honesty in return.

But…if they asked him about this….

He curled his fingers toward his palm, squeezing his hand into a fist so tight his nails dug into the worn flesh of his palm. He didn’t bleed, but he felt the biting pain that came from cutting so deep into his skin and breathed a sigh of relief, quickly followed by crushing guilt.

The hand was not his own, nor were the fingers. He felt it deep in his bones, though he couldn’t articulate why. Hurting himself always felt like…a disservice to his brothers, the parts they had sacrificed, perhaps unknowingly—of course, they were dead, stupid, they had to be—shouldn’t be abused further than they already were.

He had already lost his other arm to the mobs that came before his escape into the deeper woods. Deep scars wound up the stump of his bicep from where he had hacked away at his arm with the sharp edge of a rock, pulling and twisting like an animal caught in a trap until the stitching tore free and the muscle pulled back to reveal the glistening white of bone. It had broken easily after that and he had fled, abandoning the remains of his limb in the shackle that had held him.

He could not afford to injure his body further—there was no one else who could fix him. 

…and he couldn’t stomach the guilt that came with every fresh wound, suspecting what he did. 

Echo glanced over at the basket his friend had left with him. In addition to the usual selection of dried meats, fruits, and cheese, there was also a still warm loaf of freshly baked bread and a thin, folded blanket—not much in the way of protection against the harsh winter months, but for the impending cool of autumn, it was more than enough. His stomach growled, louder this time as he looked over the generous selection of food, and he knew it was pointless to put off eating for longer than he already had.

Guilt did not fill an empty stomach.

#inspired by cloned-eyes and eclec-tech #i hope this is okay #it's very short #i tried to write more but something kept stopping me so i guess this is what it was meant to be #franken!echo has my heart tho

[redahlia-writes]

you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

five. songbird

content (for this chapter): family feels (a lot), implication of cheating (in previous relationship), references to a past bad relationships, parenting, benny is their honorary child actually, talks of pregnancy and fertiliy, self-doubt, some suggestive language

word count: 5.2k

a/n: this chapter is a little shorter than the previous ones, with more, kind of quicker scenes, but i really wanted it to be out there before i start exams because i don’t know how soon i’ll manage to write the next one. i love my silly little family

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

previous

“Well, Camila’s crying so I’ll have to keep it brief or I might start doing the same. My brother and Pope said a lot about you, but they forgot the most important part: your heart. Your big, wonderful heart that had space for all of us, for Alba, for all our shitty baggage. Sorry, I know, I’m sorry, I just–I think we take it for granted sometimes, how much you’ve done for us, too. Not just by loving Frankie the way you do, but by being there for us–for me. You took care of my bruises when we’d only just met, you spent nights awake on your couch just listening to my complaints even though you had work in the morning, you overfed me on multiple occasions, and–I warned you I was going to cry. Alright, Cami, you–I love you, thank you for everything, but mainly for being you and taking care of us when you really, really didn’t have to. And Fish–Frankie, thank you, too. Yes, because you brought Camila into our lives, but also for you. You were the first of us to make it out, to get your shit together–sorry, again, I’m sorry–what I’m trying to say is you made me realize love was still a possibility for people like us, that we could have a new life, if we put in the work. I’m grateful for that, and I’m grateful for you–both of you. Now, maybe we should go back to some of those stories Pope was mentioning–”

The Sunday morning crowd made the café feel smaller, a little more chaotic than they were used to, and Frankie did not lose sight of Camila as she gathered their orders while he sat at the small table with Alba–the same table they always sat at, from that first morning still hungover. The people there had started to recognise them, smile at them, linger in small-talk, so it wasn’t all that odd one or the other would be held back for a few moments.

But Frankie noticed the tight line of Camila’s shoulders, the guy in front of her wrapping his arms in a quick hug–she seemed to try to reciprocate, but her arms were stiff at her sides, back pinched together. He frowned, while Camila nodded and responded to whatever it was the other guy had told her, and her gaze flickered towards him and Alba, a tight-lipped smile in their directions even with her eyes a little wider–it took him everything in him to not get up and reach for them both, especially when the guy’s eyes moved from him to the child and back, eyebrows slightly arched, and back further to Camila.

The talk was cut short by a blonde woman pushing a stroller and simultaneously holding a second child on her hip. Camila’s posture went even more rigid, though her gaze softened at the two kids, and with a quick movement of her head she gathered the small tray and walked away, a goodbye thrown over her shoulder as she made a beeline towards the table.

When she returned to the table, sitting between Frankie and Alba, she exhaled heavily and reached for one of the fuming cups of coffee–he bumped his knee with hers, making her glance up with a worried gaze. He frowned again.

“You okay?” he asked, soft enough that some tension left her but not so much so she couldn’t hear him from above the noise.

“Yeah–yes, of course,” she tried and failed to plaster on a smile, another sigh escaping her afterwards as she sagged in her seat. Frankie placed his hand on the table, palm up, and she immediately let her own fall into his, picking it up to bring it up to her face. She brushed her lips to his knuckles in a quick kiss, and he leaned in closer.

“You can talk to me, baby. What is it?” he reassured softly, and this time her smile was true though softer, pushing her cheek against the back of his hand and looking up at him. She cleared her throat then, taking a slow breath in.

“That was Jason,” Frankie looked back towards the man, then at Camila again. “Yes, that Jason,” she added before he could ask. “The very same.”

The same guy who’d broken up with her after a decade because he was bored; the same guy that didn’t like when he could hear her–in their everyday life, or in the bedroom, the reason why she had started singing a little louder, had stopped holding back; the same guy that, despite the years, had still an influence on her sorrys and her fears, although less so now. The same guy who had told her he didn’t want a family, but now pushed a stroller out of the café.

“With a kid?” was the first thing he could ask, baffled.

“With two kids,” she replied, bringing the cup up to her face. “And a wife. Of almost three years, give or take,” she added before taking a sip, flinching at the warmth of the drink.

“Of–wait, what?” he frowned again, glancing over his shoulder as if he could still see them.

“The first kid, too–he’s around Alba’s age, little older maybe,” she smiled at the kid that waved her hands at the mention of her name, placing down the cup to give her the other hand.

“Mila,” he called gently, bringing his chair closer.

“I’m fine, honey, I swear, just a little–” she trailed off, then scoffed with a grimace. “It’s not even confused–it’s not like I didn’t know,” she shrugged, turning to look at him with a softer smile, almost to reassure him. “I did not lose anything after he left, only gained. The loss was all before.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said gently, leaning in to rest his chin over her shoulder, their joined hands falling onto her lap. “You can be disappointed–God knows I wouldn’t be if I found out Sophie has a family now.”

“I don’t think I am, though,” she admitted, tilting her head to look down at him still resting against her. “It feels odd, sure, but I don’t think I care,” she brushed her lips to his forehead quickly, then turned to kiss Alba’s hand, pulling a giggle out of her just as she tilted her head against Frankie’s. “I have all I need, Frankie.”

That same night, when Alba was fast asleep and the house was quiet, Frankie reached towards the other side of the bed and found it empty. Still half asleep, he pulled his head up from the pillow and turned to look at the vacant spot, patting it lightly as if to make sure before sitting up.

“Mila?” he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He waited for a response a few moments longer before getting up, padding quietly outside the room.

The door to the bathroom was open, lights turned off, and when he looked to the other side he saw Camila sitting on the floor by Alba’s ajar door, her eyes wide as she nibbled her bottom lip, crossed legs bouncing ever so slightly in agitation. Frankie walked up to her quietly, and when she didn’t look up towards him–when she kept staring at the door instead–he kneeled by her side, ignoring his legs protesting at the movement and position.

“Camila, baby, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, reaching to take one of her hands she fidgeted over her lap, picking at her nails. She blinked rapidly at his touch, gaze flickering unfocused for a moment from the door to him before lingering on the tilt of his head.

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving a quick squeeze to his hand. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just wondering where you were,” he shifted back slightly, trying to alleviate some of the pressure to his knees. “Did something happen with Alba?” he asked then, and Camila shook her head quickly, offering him a tight smile.

“It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” she reassured. Frankie didn’t budge, arching his eyebrows slowly, and she sighed, looking down. “You’re awfully stubborn, Francisco.”

“And you’re sitting in front of our daughter’s bedroom and staring at it as if it’s about to catch on fire,” he retorted, returning her smile a little wider–there was a flicker in her expression he almost missed, a light quiver of her bottom lip and her gaze shifting back towards the room. “Come on, let’s get up.”

She hesitated just a moment longer as Frankie stood up, offering her both his hands, and then let him hoist her up and wrap his arms around her, pulling her up–enough so that when he walked forward and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs dangled just above the ground. She chuckled softly, letting her forehead fall to the curve of his neck.

“You’re gonna strain your back, Frankie,” she murmured, and he scoffed lightly.

“Are you calling me old?” he put her back down at the top of the stairs, hands sliding down her sides and back into her hands as she chuckled again, eyes fluttering open.

“I would never,” she said in mock offense, tipping her chin up. He caught her pouting lips in a quick kiss before leading her down the stairs, their hands joined behind his back.

He could feel her hesitate every now and then, lingering a step behind and turning her head before he squeezed her hands, encouraging her forward without turning to look at her. She’d done the same for him the times he’d woken up from a nightmare, clinging to her breathlessly until she woke with a startle, shushing him gently and coaxing him up and out of the bedroom, the kettle already on the stove before he fully came to it sitting at the kitchen counter–he did the same now, her eyes following him around as she sat on the counter itself.

The silence that accompanied his presence seemed to be doing part of the work already, her posture relaxing as her legs dangled and rocked slowly–he slotted himself between her knees before placing the fuming cups at her side, the tags of the tea bags wrapped around the handle. When he looked up at her, her eyes had softened, hands searching for him again now that he was within reach.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he hummed the same question she asked him those nights, his hands running up and down her thighs slowly, a soothing motion that had her leaning forward. Frankie kissed her cheek, chaste and delicate, coaxing a quick smile out of her.

She basked in the feeling a moment longer, eyelids shut as she rested her hands over his, palm to knuckles–he hooked his thumbs between her thumb and forefinger, stopping rubbing her legs when she tapped against the back of his hands, exhaling slowly.

“He changed his mind,” she murmured, looking back up at him. Frankie frowned lightly.

“Who?” Camila sighed again, tilting her head back.

“Jason,” his name sounded almost like a groan, and Frankie kept his frown up a moment longer. “Or maybe he didn’t and he just happened to knock her up, the poor girl,” she scoffed, shaking her head lightly. “Or it was just me he didn’t want a family with, which–fine by me, that’s not what bothers me.”

“What is it, then?” drawing small circles over the back of her hand with his thumbs, Frankie brought her gaze back to him, his head slightly tilted, his eyes soft.

“He changed his mind,” she repeated, a worried edge in her voice. “So what if–if Sophie does, too? What if one day she just changes her mind and wants Alba back, and–she’s still her mother, Frankie,” the last sentence was whispered, eyes wide and glossed over. He sighed softly, letting go of her hands with one last squeeze to bring his own at the sides of her face, pulling her closer to kiss her forehead.

“She surrendered parental rights, you know that,” he started, voice gentle–still, Camila scoffed softly, looking down at her hands as she began picking at her nails again. It used to be a sore subject for Frankie, the way Sophie had cut ties so drastically, the I don’t want to have anything to do with either of you–not even for his sake, but for Alba’s, the possibility she might search for her mother one day and have to face the reality of the situation, maybe blame it on him. But not ever since Camila had entered their lives.

“She carried her, still, she–” a shuddering breath caught in her throat and she shook her head again. “Where would that leave me, then?” her voice cracked, cheeks flushed. Frankie picked up one of her hands again, stopping her picking, and bringing it up to his mouth, a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re her mom, Mila, in all the ways that matter,” with their joined hands, he brushed across her cheek, stopping the few tears that had escaped her. “How about this,” he said then, pushing gently underneath her chin to make her lift her gaze, “we’re going to take the day off work tomorrow, keep Alba home, and go sign some papers. I think it’s about time.”

“What?” it was her time to frown, sniffling slightly as he locked their hands together, fingers intertwined still under her chin.

“We’ve lived together for over a year now, no? That’s enough time,” he said, shrugging a little. He tilted his head when she did, too, as if perplexed, and smiled softly. “You are her mother, Camila. Just because you didn’t carry her doesn’t mean you’re not,” he added, careful to hold her gaze.

“I know,” she sighed, then shook her head again with a soft groan. “God, I know, I know–I just can’t help but think she’s not mine, and that terrifies me.”

“She’s yours just as much as she’s mine,” he let his free hand brush across her cheek and through her hair, pushing the dark locks away from her face and, in doing so, keeping her head upright. “And I meant what I said–we can go tomorrow morning, and it’ll be down on paper, too.”

“What about Alba? If she doesn’t–” Camila sounded a little breathless still.

“Mamá?” Alba sounded just like Frankie when she called her that–the same tilt of the voice, the same accent, too. She stood at the entrance of the kitchen and rubbed her eyes, hair standing on edge from where she’d rested on the pillow while she slept.

“Hi, sweetling,” she wiped her cheeks and eyes quickly, and Frankie helped her off the counter so she could walk up to the child. “What is it? You alright?”

“You weren’t up,” Alba pouted, arms extended towards her as soon as she was within reach. Camila picked her up right away, holding her on her hip–the kid let her head fall on her shoulder, buttheading her chin gently as she settled into the curve of her neck.

“I’m sorry, baby–dad and I were craving something warm,” she said just as softly, gaze flickering towards Frankie–he was holding both their mugs now, his eyebrows arched and that same smile softened furthermore, looking at them with a shimmer in his eyes. “Did something happen?”

��Sueño,” she mumbled, one of her hands wrapped around the collar of Camila’s pajama shirt.

“Buen sueño o mal sueño?” she asked, slowly rubbing her back as she began rocking side by side. Frankie got closer, her gaze lifting up to him, as he focused a moment longer on Alba.

“Bad,” the child said, a clear pout in her voice. Camila brushed her lips to the top of her head, sighing softly.

“How about,” she said, hoisting her up a little over her hip so that the child would look at her, “tonight we protect you in the big bed?” Alba was already nodding, tugging the collar of her shirt as Camila smiled. “Is that what you wanted? To stay with us?”

“Yes,” she nodded again, and Frankie chuckled softly, leaning in to leave a kiss to Alba’s head first, then Camila’s.

“Come on then,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Mama and I can have our drinks upstairs. Do you want anything else?” Alba shook her head, arms winding around Camila’s neck as she cuddled against her once more–Frankie looked at the woman then, still smiling, and gently bumped their hips together. “I think that answers your question,” he added in a whisper, to which Camila sighed.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and Frankie leaned in again to press a gentle kiss against her lips, brief and tender.

“Song,” Alba demanded, tugging Camila’s shirt twice with a tight fist.

“Song?” she asked in return, one last look towards Frankie before she turned for the stairs. The child nodded firmly, making her chuckle. “Of course, baby.”

Frankie lingered a few steps back, watching their heads bent together, dark hair of one and the other blending together as Camila began humming a song soft-voiced–she’d first sang Songbird for Alba to calm her down during a thunderstorm, both of them curled up on the child’s small bed (Camila had then complained about a backache). He’d watched the tears dry up on Alba’s face as the song went on and then started again, Camila’s gentle caresses across her face and head to soothe her furthermore, until she’d fallen asleep in spite of the storm raging on. When she could not sleep, Alba would ask for the song again–Frankie had tried, too, but she’d just started giggling, claiming it was not like mama’s. He couldn’t argue with her.

That night, he stayed awake a while longer, watching them sleep–Alba was curled into Camila’s chest, head notched underneath her chin, still clinging to her shirt. Camila had one arm wrapped around her, keeping her close, and the other extended towards Frankie, fingers hooked into the sleeve of his shirt as if in the process to bring him closer yet.

When sleep crept up to him, he turned to his side, sandwiching the little girl in the middle of them, and wrapped his arm around them both, leaving one last kiss to each of his girls’ heads.

Frankie believed he was seeing double. Maybe triple. 

Camila held Alba’s hand tightly in the middle of the airport, while her other arm was wrapped around a woman’s shoulders with such strength he could see the strain in her muscles, head bent towards hers and a light shake in her shoulder, as if she was about to cry.

“Ya, ahora, ¿dónde está mi nieta?” the woman said, a gentle pat to Camila’s back as she pulled away. It was uncanny, really, the way the two looked alike–Camila’s mother hair had more gray, tied in a knot at the nape of her neck, and lines crossed her face, but other than that it seemed like a mirror. And Alba, with her dark curls and big brown eyes, a continuation of the picture. “Hola, muñeca,” Emilia said softly, the words almost lost in the chaos of the place.

Alba clung to Camila’s arm, shuffling to hide behind her leg when the woman bowed to her height, pressing her cheek into the fold of Camila’s skirt. The women chuckled softly, and Camila crouched down next to the child, one arm wrapped around her to keep her close while the other rubbed gently at her chest.

“Don’t you recognise her, nena?” she asked gently, a smile on her reddened face. 

“’puter,” Alba said, wide-eyed, shying towards her mother’s touch. Camila's smile widened, holding her close to her side.

“That’s right–you saw her in the computer, that’s my mama,” she nodded, encouragingly.

Video calls with Camila’s mom had been frequent, Frankie shying away more often than not until Emilia demanded to see him, the same scowl on her face that Camila had when something did not go the way she’d planned it. She’d given him the talk over video call, met Alba and Santi, too–they’d celebrated one of Camila’s birthdays with her on the screen, and eventually invited her over for the next one.

They hadn’t seen each other physically in years.

“Mama?” Alba frowned, looking from one to the other. Emilia was smiling, too, her eyes shimmering as she watched the scene play out. “Yaya?” Alba asked then, and Camila scrunched up her nose with a soft laugh.

“Yes, sweetling–your yaya,” she nodded again, dropping the hand that was resting over her chest before tilting her head. “Wanna say hi?”

“Hi,” the child said, wide eyes lifted towards the older woman while she still partially hid behind Camila’s skirt, fist tightened around the folds. Frankie chuckled from his position a few steps behind, shifting forward to rest his hand on top of Alba’s head.

“Cami was the same,” Emilia shook her head softly, looking up at Frankie, grinning almost conspiratorially. “Tímida,” Camila huffed, a pout pulling at her lips as she stood, picking Alba up with her. Her mother arched her eyebrows as if to highlight her point, then stepped forward, opening her arms. “Come here, you.”

Frankie shuffled forward, placing Emilia’s back down carefully before leaning into her embrace–she was quick to pull him down, the hug leaving him slightly breathless in the tight wrap of her arm, one hand patting his back right between his shoulders.

“Gracias, mijo,” she whispered, a kiss to his cheek that reminded him all too much of his mother’s. “Me la has traído de vuelta.”

His breath stuttered, gaze flicking up to Camila’s face–she held Alba against her side, the girl looking up at her face while she looked at them, eyes shimmering and face flushed. Most of all, I missed my mother, whispered in the nights they’d spend talking about the days before.

Before–that’s how their lives were timed now. Before and after them.

Before, Camila had left home for college, to find a job, and had gone back once in 15 years. Before she didn’t miss home, but she did miss her mother, especially those days when she felt particularly alone. Lovely. Left back. Frankie would wish they’d met earlier then, perhaps their lives would’ve been different then, both of them less beat down by it.

“But we wouldn’t have Alba then.”

Alba clung to her, wide-eyed, a crease between her brows that made her look so much like Camila as she looked at her first, then Frankie and Emilia. Emilia, still patting his back with words of gratitude he’d heard before through a screen. You brought her back to me, as in you brought her back to life.

“Come on now, let’s get home,” she said, walking up to them. Emilia mumbled something that sounded vaguely like impaciente, fondness in her voice as she released Frankie and turned around, hooking her arm with Camila’s. At the same time, she reached for her mother’s bag, gently nudging Alba towards her father. “You got her?”

“Yes,” he picked the child up, not wanting to risk the airport crowd. Alba’s arms fastened around his neck, a small pout forming on her face as she watched the other two walk ahead. “What is it, nena?”

“Is mama sad?” the little girl asked, her voice small. It took Frankie everything to not start laughing, the earnestness of her question catching him by surprise. “She’s crying,” she added, a justification of her pondering. He chuckled softly, leaving a quick kiss to her cheek.

“She’s not sad, sweetie–those are happy tears,” he explained softly, and the frown returned to the girl’s face. He reached up to smooth his thumb over the crease, something he’d do with Camila, too, when she focused too much on papers from work. “See, she hasn’t seen her mom in a long time, and now that they’re together again–that makes her happy.”

“Oh,” Alba kept pouting slightly, then tightened her hold on Frankie abruptly, bringing herself close to him. “I wanna keep seeing mama,” she said quickly, clinging to him. Frankie couldn’t help his laughter again, louder this time, to the point Camila looked over her shoulder with a questioning look. He smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, your mama’s not going anywhere.”

The backyard was lively with chatter and soft music, sun setting slow above their guests. Friends from Camila’s work would come and go, old friends from her college days who seemed to adore Frankie stayed longer, chatting mostly with her, or her mother, or Frankie himself, or the boys who, as always, had arrived first and would be the last to leave.

With Alba on her hip, a glass in her other hand, Camila laughed with Will and her whole face brightened up. Frankie smiled, silently walking up to them–Will was the first to notice him, reaching out for Alba and turning her around before she could spoil the surprise, but said nothing otherwise. Not until Frankie shifted forward, wrapping both his arms around Camila and pulling her back against his chest–she squealed and extended her arm as the drink spilled from the glass, letting out a laugh right after as he placed her back down.

“Let’s go bother your uncle Santi,” they heard Will tell Alba, while Camila turned to look up at Frankie. Her face was bright, cheeks flushed with laughter and smile lines etched at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

“Hi,” she hummed, the empty hand falling to his hip while she curled the other over his chest, glass now half-emptied held carefully between them. Frankie leaned in, leaving a quick peck to her mouth.

“Hi, cumpleañera,” she scrunched up her nose, following the slow rocking rhythm he’d set with his arms wrapped around her, fingertips tracing slow lines up and down her spine. “So–your mom just ambushed me.”

Camila’s eyes widened as she leaned into Frankie’s embrace, her head tilted back to look at him–her smile faltered slightly, brows knitting with worry as she mumbled a, “Oh, God.”

“Asking if Alba’s getting a sibling anytime soon,” he went on, slightly amused. Camila groaned softly, her head falling forward against his chest, her eyes screwing shut before the impact–chuckling softly, he wrapped his arms around her tighter, rubbing her back.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled with a light shake of her head. “I asked her not to, but–”

“Baby, it’s alright,” he pressed the words with a kiss to her temple, nudging her head to look back up. Eyes big again, a small pout formed on her lips as she did, and he left another kiss to her forehead before shifting slightly. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“Have you?” she asked tentatively, her voice unbelievably small. Frankie shrugged.

“Few times,” he admitted, and she tilted her head to the side just a little, inquisitive. “Alba’s almost four and–I don’t know, maybe it’d be nice for her to have a sibling. Not now, but maybe eventually.”

“Eventually?” it was her turn to chuckle, while a flush slowly crept up her neck–she looked around at the people around them, celebrating her, the ridiculous pile of birthday presents resting by the growing rosemary plant. “We’re not getting any younger, honey.”

“You calling me old?” she scoffed with a playful push against his chest that did nothing but make him laugh, his grip on her never faltering as he stepped back, bringing her with her and resuming the slow almost-dancing. “Is that what worries you?”

“Maybe,” she nibbled her bottom lip, taking a moment before looking back at him. “My mom had me when she was really young, and I always thought after 30 I just wouldn’t–” she sighed, leaning a little more into him, the hand holding the glass sliding up and past his shoulder, so they were standing chest to chest. He kept caressing her back slowly, tenderly, encouraging. “I did think about it.”

“You never said,” she sighed again.

“You forgot to feed yourself multiple times when we first started going out, Frankie,” he grimaced. “You were so worried for Alba, all the time, I just–I didn’t think you’d want to do that again.”

“Of course I was worried,” one of his hands traveled up her back, resting underneath her hair right between her shoulder blades. “I thought I was gonna have to do everything alone, I was terrified of fucking up.”

“Well, we could still do that,” she pointed out, and Frankie let out another laugh, shaking his head. “We could!” she protested, words cut short by the quick kiss he left on her lips.

“I don’t believe that–and I know you don’t, either,” he spun them around carefully, turning his head to where Alba was, playing with Santi under Will’s careful gaze, her laughter loud and contagious. “Look at her. I think we’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Yeah,” she rested her head against his chest, looking at them a moment longer. Though he couldn’t see it, he heard the soft smile in her next words. “Yes, you’re right.”

“We don’t have to make any decision now, baby,” he murmured, brushing the nape of her neck. “There’s no expiration date.”

“There is, actually,” with her cheek pressed against him, the words came out a little slurred. Frankie scoffed, the low rumble of his laughter bringing her closer, as close as she could get.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he chided, the feeling of her cheek being lifted with her smile widening making him shake his head. “Still, if one day we’d want to, we can try.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” she didn’t move, her steps getting smaller, the music almost forgotten in favor of simply moving together. Frankie shrugged again, the movement small.

“Then it doesn’t work out,” again he guided her head back so she could meet his gaze. “I love our family as it is, Mila. You and Alba–this is more than I ever thought I’d get. I must’ve won some sort of existence lottery for having found you,” her smile returned, wide and a little trembling at the corners.

Lowering his head, his hand still cupping the nape of her neck, he kissed her tender and slow. Camila relaxed fully in his arms, her body almost limp in his hold as the arm over his shoulder curled around his neck, and he ignored the condensation dripping from the glass down to his shirt, deepening the kiss furthermore, making her lean backwards in a mock dipping motion. She chuckled into it, but didn’t tighten her hold.

She trusted him not to drop her.

“Although,” he mumbled, so close still she could feel the words twisting his lips even after he’d broken the kiss, “I am starting to think of giving it a try. Just now.”

“Now?” she giggled again, the tip of her tongue darting between her lips. He nodded.

“They won’t notice if we’re gone a few minutes, right?” brushing his lips across her cheek, he shifted until he was murmuring in her ear. “Bedroom’s just upstairs. Don’t even need to get you out of this dress.”

“Francisco,” though she was reprimanding him, he could still hear the laughter in her voice. She pulled her head back to look at him, cheeks red, and he grinned. “Behave,” she scolded.

“It was worth a try,” he shrugged, and her laughter returned more vibrant than before, head tilting back as he straightened them both. “Come on, Benny’s dying to give you his present–I haven’t seen him this excited in ages.”

next

#redahlia #you make loving fun #frankie morales x oc #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x original female character #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x ofc #francisco morales fanfiction #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x you #frankie 'catfish' morales x you #frankie 'catfish' morales x reader #pedrostories

[queen-dahlia]

𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Gilbert von Obsidian

Can you really believe this man is 'evil'? (╥ᆺ╥；)づ♡♡♡

There goes all my stash, it's worth it ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *♡♡♡

Note: Translation is not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical errors.

// means alternate translation

(Hmm…)

On my way back to the guest room, I heard familiar voices from the common room and looked inside.

Luke and Bunny-san were chatting with alcohol in one hand.

(...They both look like they're having fun.)

(Especially Bunny-san's smile… It's completely different from when you're dealing with me.)

(You've opened up to Luke a lot, haven't you?)

I have no business just thinking that.

As I was about to turn on my heel to pass by, the little rabbit's body tilted slightly.

(I guess I better stop that party.)

(I don't want to pretend to be a good person, I don't like having trouble waking up.)

I minimized my presence, entered the common room, and approached from behind. **

Then she took up the glass he was holding and drank the alcohol in one go.

(Wow, that’s sweet...)

Gilbert: "This wine is scented with roses. I'm sensing a bit of a Rhodolite obsession here."

Emma: "Gilbert-sama?!"

Gilbert: "Ahaha, that's a good reaction."

Luke: "What, you want to join us?"

Gilbert: "No, I just happened to be passing by."

Bunny-san's face flushes as I take her empty glass and place my lips on the same spot where her mouth was.

(... Ah, I'm the type of person who cares about these things. I'm so naive.)

Gilbert: "Be careful with sweet alcohol, especially if you're drinking with Luke."

Luke: "Oh, right, I hadn't noticed that at all. Thanks."

Gilbert: "You're welcome."

Luke was as competent as ever in conveying what he wanted to say just by making eye contact.

Emma: "What are you talking about?"

Gilbert: "Haha, it's nothing."

Luke: "Emma, I have a new glass. You can use this one."

Gilbert: "Eh, I just got a little bit on it, and you’re going to change the glass?"

Luke: "That little bit is the problem, idiot."

While complaining like a mother-in-law, Luke pours water into a glass and hands it to the little rabbit.

Emma: "Thanks Luke."

(You don't have to act like a noblewoman now.) **

Luke: "Gilbert, would you like to drink too?"

Gilbert: "Oh, you don't mind, do you? If you're friendly with me, you'll get the cold shoulder, right?"

Luke: "You know that, and that's why you're always messing with Emma."

Emma: "Yes, it's too late for that."

Gilbert: "Ahaha, that's right."

(I don't want to let things get out of hand on enemy territory, but it's okay sometimes.)

(If you don't enjoy it while you can, you might not get the chance again.)

I take the glass from Luke and sit down next to the little rabbit.

I could feel her alertness, but I could not sense her intention to avoid me.

(But did I make your smile stiff? I thought if you were drunk, you might be a little more forgiving, I'm sorry.)

The wall that stood in the way of my position as the prince of an enemy country was so thick that it could not be broken down by alcohol.

══════════════════

After the party was over––

I pretended to return to the guest room and visit Bunny-san's room.

Gilbert: "Yes, can you open the door?"

Emma: "Like this?"

(Yes, she seems really intoxicated.)

Normally, she would have suspected that there might be something behind it.

However, Bunny-san was so obedient though, probably because her thoughts were dull.

(I'm tempted to do bad things to you when you’re defenseless like this.)

Hiding my inner thoughts, I smiled and made her drink again.

Emma: "Uh...!"

Instantly, the little rabbit slumped down on the spot and coughed.

Gilbert: "Ahaha, I know it's awful. But it's great that you didn't let it out of your mouth."

Gilbert: "Do you want some water?"

In front of Bunny-san, who nodded her head, I took a light sip from the glass I had beforehand.

If it’s in Obsidian, it would be a good way to show that it's not poisoned.

Right now, it was just mean.

Gilbert: "Here you go."

Emma: "Thank you."

The little rabbit arches her brows and drinks down the water that was given to her in one gulp.

Gilbert: "Hey, you were so worried about it earlier, but now you don't care?"

Emma: "There's no such thing as..."

(But your ears are red too. I'll tease you with this for a while.)

Emma: "What was that thing you made me drink?"

Gilbert: "What do you think it is?"

Emma: "Is it some kind of sobering medicine?"

Gilbert: "Correct. It sobers you up at once, doesn't it? It tastes really bad, though."

Emma: "It tasted so bad, my head started to clear."

Gilbert: "I'm glad to hear that. Are you feeling better?"

Emma: "Huh?"

Gilbert: "I just thought you seemed like you were pushing yourself too hard."

Luke drinks without bottoming out, and the people he is with often drink along with him and get crushed.

(The troublesome part is that Luke doesn't notice.)

He thinks he has a constitution that doesn't allow him to get drunk.

He seems to think of himself as 'a constitution that doesn't get drunk',

The ability to think is so dulled that you don't realize that the person you are drinking with is reaching his or her limits.

Emma: "... You saw through it all. Thank you."

Gilbert: "You're welcome."

Gilbert: "I just have a problem."

Emma: "Are there any side effects?"

Gilbert: "No. Because that's what I made for myself."

Gilbert: "It's that I only had one sobering medicine on hand, and I'm still really drunk right now."

Emma: "What…"

Gilbert: "When I'm drunk and careless, I get so sleepy... phew, I might not be able to go back to my room..."

(... There will be no assassins in this room. I don't think the little rabbit will bother me in my sleep…) 

(Yeah. I'm okay with that. I was at my limit anyway. I'm going to sleep.)

I really didn't intend to sleep.

But if I left, I would become a good person, and I really hated that.

(It's not like me to just help her and leave. ... I should at least be mean to her.)

I put my cane on the table and plopped down on a nearby sofa.

Emma: "Oh no… I'll take you to your guest room, so please!"

Gilbert: "Good night, Miss Bunny."

Emma: "Gilbert-sama!"

I use my cape as a blanket and stop trying to fight my sleep.

It didn't take long for the loud voices to fade.

══════════════════

Gilbert: "Nngh…"

(Is it morning already?)

I woke up and immediately regain awareness.

I got up from the sofa and looked around the room - and noticed something odd.

(There is no little bunny on the bed.)

Instead, there is a pile of sheets on the floor.

Gilbert: "That's a strange way to sleep. Perhaps you have really odd sleeping habits?"

Of course there is no reply.

(The distance is strange for falling off a bed, or did she sleep on the floor voluntarily?) 

(... It's a lot of work.)

Even villains have a conscience.

When I picked up the little rabbit that was sleeping on the floor, her closed eyelids moved.

Emma: "Hey…"

Gilbert: "Oh, you're awake. But don't go crazy now. Unless you want to fall."

There seems to be no intoxication left in her, and the little bunny, who immediately understands the situation, turns pale.

Emma: "Sorry."

Gilbert: "Why were you sleeping on the floor? There's a bed in here."

Emma: "... I'm confused too."

Emma: "But I felt uncomfortable sleeping on the bed while Gilbert-sama was sleeping on the sofa."

Emma: "I didn't have the strength to carry you to the bed, so I had no choice but to sleep on the floor."

Gilbert: ". . ."

Emma: "I am aware that I did something stupid, so please don't say anything."

Gilbert: ". . ."

Emma: "Well, I kind of understand what you're trying to say, so don't laugh--"

Gilbert: "... Pfft... Haha… Ahaha!"

Emma: "So please don't laugh!"

(...I knew you were a good-natured person, but I didn't expect you to go this far.)

Gilbert: "Because you're stupid."

(Was it because I was drunk... No, I would have done the same thing even if I wasn't drunk.) 

(I couldn't pretend I didn't see you last night because you're like that.)

I put the bunny down on the bed with a bright red face and a tight-lipped mouth.

When I brushed her hair from her face to her ears, she looked away from me awkwardly.

Gilbert: "Even with the carpet, you'd still be sore all over, wouldn't you?"

Emma: " Yes…"

Gilbert: "It's all right. Next time, we'll sleep on the bed together, okay?"

Emma: "There is no more next time!"

Gilbert: "I doubt it."

Emma: "I understand. I won't pay any more attention to Gilbert-sama."

Gilbert: "You sure? I'm a powerful man from an evil empire."

Emma: "That's not fair." // "That's cunning."

(Ah…)

The little bunny smiles, seemingly unintentionally. // The little bunny laughs, seemingly unintentionally.

It was the same look she had shown Luke yesterday before I joined the party.

(...Hmmm? You've been so tense all the time while drunk, but you smile more when you're not.)

Maybe it's a reward for the villain's unusual kindness.

(She let her guard down. Maybe I have to remind you that I'm a bad guy.)

(. . .)

Gilbert: "Oh, well. Why don't you go to sleep?"

Emma: "Sleep?"

Gilbert: "You didn't sleep well last night, did you?"

Gilbert: "Don't worry, if anyone comes into your room, I'll drive them all away."

Emma: "If you do that, there will be some weird misunderstanding-"

Gilbert: "Yes, it's time for you to go back to sleep, good night?" // "Yes, it's time for a good girl to go back to sleep, good night?"

Emma: "Gilbert-sama!"

I push the little bunny down and make her cover herself with the blanket.

The little bunny, which had resisted at first, finally gave up and closed her eyes.

Emma: "... Gilbert-sama, I don't really understand."

Gilbert: "Obviously. Because I don't really understand it either."

Emma: "???"

Gilbert: "Nothing."

(I hated doing the good guy thing. But if you smiled at me like that…) 

I brushed back her bangs and brushed my lips against hers.

She immediately hides in the sheets and disappears from my sight.

I looked up at the ceiling, biting back a laugh at her sight.

(Let's just say there's still some alcohol left.)

#サイバード #イケメン王子 #ギルベルト=フォン=オブシディアン #ikemen prince #ikemen prince gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince gilbert #ikeprince #ikeprince gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikeprince jp #ikeprince translation #ikeprince spoilers #dahlia's bad translation

[blueraineshadows]

Imelda Reyes Plays Boss

WARNING ⚠️ This is dirty!!! Filthy, filthy smut! F!MC x Imelda Reyes 🌶 NSFW at all

Things get really steamy in the girls Slytherin bathroom - dirty talk, boss bitch, girl on girl, bi

MC moaned, her head twisting from side to side as she neared release, panting and gasping. She couldn't believe this was happening, or how fucking horny it was...

It all started when she went to bathe after Quidditch practise...

The bath water was nice and hot. MC sank into it with a sigh. That had been one intense Quidditch practise and she was going to feel it tomorrow.

She heard the slap of bare feet across the floor and cracked open an eye to see Imelda marching towards the tub beside her. The privacy screens were there, but it wasn't completely private. Imelda spotted her and paused, she arched a brow, and then went to her tub. The water ran, there was a rustle of removed clothing, and then she heard Imelda's relaxing sigh.

MC relaxed again, eyes closed, beginning to drift.

"What's the deal with you and Sallow then, MC? Are you fucking, or what?"

MC's eyes flew open at Imelda's question and she looked towards the privacy screen that seperated them. Blunt, and to the point, as usual. "Erm, no, we're not doing anything like that."

"You kissed him yet?"

MC blushed. "Yes."

A sigh. "I see."

"Why do you ask?"

Silence. It stretched and MC thought Imelda may have decided she'd had enough of the conversation. She heard the slosh of water and movement behind the screen. Then Imelda appeared around it, naked as the day she was born. She leant a shoulder against the wall, looking down at MC in her bath, water dripping off her limbs.

MC squirmed a little under Imelda's scrutiny and moved to cover her private parts. Imelda smirked. "No need to be shy on my account, ain't nothing I've not seen before,' she said. "You've got pretty tits, MC. I can see why Sallow gets all dribbly when you're near him."

MC flushed. Her eyes dropped to Imelda's breasts, smooth globes peaked with dark tips. Imelda's smirk deepened. "Obviously, you like lads if you're snogging Sallow," she said. There was a cheeky glint in her eye now. "Have you ever kissed a girl, though?"

"No," MC said. She licked her lips. What the fuck was going on?

"Wanna try?"

MC just stared at her. Was this a joke? A prank?

Imelda gave a little half shrug. "No skin off my nose if you ain't into it. I just get a little horny after Quidditch practise sometimes. A quick snog might do the job, unless you want me to get you off too? I'm good, trust me."

Imelda's gaze wandered down to where MC's hands were covering her pussy. She licked her lips. "I bet you taste good."

MC gaped. Not just at Imelda's bluntness, but also at the slow trickle of heat that was gathering where her hands were clasped.

"You're thinking about it, I can tell."

And that's how MC ended up with her arse perched on the edge of the bath tub, legs wide while Imelda, on her knees, finger fucked her to within an inch of her life. Imelda hadn't been lying when she said she was good. MC felt the quiver of her release deep in her pussy as Imelda thrust with one hand, and swirled with the other. MC watched in fascination, Imelda's face deep in concentration, fierce and in command like she was on the pitch.

"I knew your pussy would be sweet," she said. "Look at you, spitting spunk over my fingers like a good little bitch," Imelda hissed.

MC moaned, her cheeks flushed and tight, hands gripping the edge of the tub. She had opted out of the snogging. Too personal. This, however, this was turning her on more than she thought.

Imelda punished her nub, grunting as she serviced MC. "Come on, bitch, give me the goods," she demanded. "Cum, cum for me. Just think how much dear ole Sebby would be creaming in his pants at the sight of this, his cock all stiff and throbbing. I bet he wants to pound this pussy so bad."

Imelda was panting, her own face now flushed with excitement. She kept one hand swirling on MC's clit, three fingers spreading and rubbing that little delight. Imelda's other hand went to herself, rubbing vigorously, her hips bucking. She gave a little cry, watching as a blob of MC's juices slid from her slit. Imedla groaned, her hand on MC going slack for a beat as she crashed into her own release. MC felt a tight clench at Imelda's moans of pleasure, and then she was cumming, moaning in her own pleasure and shock.

Imelda stood and licked the fingers that had been in MC. "Sweet," she said. Her face grew stern. "This is between us," she said. "And don't even think about it becoming a regular thing. That's not my style."

MC nodded. She hadn't been planning on telling anyone anyway.

Imelda bent to wash her hands in the tub. "You did good out on the pitch today, MC. Keep it up."

With that, Imelda sauntered round to her side of the privacy screen, leaving MC a stunned, flushed mess on the side of the tub.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #mc x imelda reyes #imelda reyes #imelda reyes smut #imelda reyes is a boss bitch #hogwarts legacy smut

[shuacore]

[ 11:05 ] bad omens

warnings: brief sexual content (18+), angst

he can tell you've been becoming more distant. he can sense the gap widening, rearing its ugly head every morning when you leave for work, proof of your presence nothing more than a few wrinkles in the sheets.

it wasn't his fault. it isn’t yours, either— not really. sometimes people just grow apart, you tell yourself as if to appease the gnawing ache in your chest.  

wonwoo sees it in the stiffness in your spine when he kisses you on the temple.

you couldn't quite tell where it started; if it was when you stopped hanging out with his friends because you were always tired, or if it was when you stopped saying good night to him. maybe it was when you stopped feeling the same spark between you when he pressed his body to yours after hours. 

the sorrow in his eyes becomes familiar. it's been making appearances more often than usual. 

you're a ghost in your house, your existence real only in the dirty bowl in the sink or the lipstick smudge on the rim of your favorite coffee cup. 

that coffee cup is the first thing you pack away. at first it’s a oh i just don’t want to break it, but then it becomes so much more— tucking away books and clothing and pictures into unlabeled boxes hidden under the bed.

wonwoo feels the emptiness grow every day and he doesn't know what to do to stop it.  

even when the two of you fall into bed, wasted, and he’s thrusting into you with palpable desperation, head bowed into the space between your head and your shoulder, it feels rehearsed and vacant.  

he’s murmuring stay, stay, please, stay against your skin as you press against his chest, back arching off the sheets, feeling his hands clutching at your shoulders, thighs, back. every movement with shaking hands clumsy and ungraceful in your torment. fingers wound in the sheets, clenched in his hair, biting into his back. 

it’s angry. it’s desolate.

i love you, wonwoo begs, but it doesn’t have the same ring like it used to. you don’t respond, but you kiss him, open-mouthed and pleading as he comes inside, his muscles contracting with pleasure as he mutters your name again and again. if you get lost in these moments, then maybe you can pretend like you haven’t been empty for weeks.

when wonwoo buries his nose in the crook of your neck, exhausted, he doesn’t see the tear that rolls down your cheek.

he doesn't even put up a fight when you finally tell him you're leaving. 

“baby, come back inside," wonwoo says from the side of the car, hands pressed to the window. you hate how calm he is, how measured and logical he always is, even when after five years you're sitting in the car, engine idling, poised to run away. 

"i'm sorry," you say, voice flat. you wish wonwoo would scream and cry, you wish he would throw himself on the ground and plead and beg for you to stay. 

you wish he would do anything. 

"y/n—" he protests, fingers wrapped around the car door handle. he pulls—thunk thunk thunk—but you've already locked the doors. was this some kind of sick metaphor? wonwoo, locked out, looking from the outside in as you slowly fall out of love with him. 

well, it was less of an analogy and more of a sick reality. 

you pull the clutch into reverse, eyes locked on the rearview mirror so you don't have to look at your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—anymore.

the car backs into the road, blinker indicating left, and then you're gone— nothing more than a puff of exhaust in the bitter air. 

wonwoo's not sure how long he stands in the driveway, but his body is stiff with cold by the time he stumbles back inside the house. the click of the door jamb is loud in the suffocating silence. wonwoo is numb and he's not sure if it's the winter air or the realization that you're gone. 

long-dormant sorrow forces itself up his throat, choking, strangling, destroying. 

wonwoo sinks to his knees in the foyer and weeps. 

i died when you left last night for the thousandth time cause you love somebody else, i tried to stop the door as it was closing, can't help the way i keep ignoring every omen

—

masterlist

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt smut #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #svt angst

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

rating my self-done joint pops:

distal finger joints: 5/10. easy to pop, nothing particularly special. pinkies are especially fun to pop

intermediate finger joints: 4/10. hurts to pop sometimes but the pain is over quickly

proximal finger joints (not thumb): -10/10. so hard to pop and when they actually pop it hurts so much

proximal thumb joints: 7.5/10. sometimes very painful but usually just extremely relieving. points removed bc the relief is gone within a few minutes and the thumbs are stiff again.

elbows: 6/10. really fun movement that is done to pop them however it does either hurt or feel really weird

wrists: 45/10. post-nap wrist pops are one of the best things anyone can experience. its hard to get a truly good wrist pop but when it happens it makes the whole day better.

shoulders: -20/10. feels so so weird and its difficult to get a good, solid pop.

neck (sides): 12/10. a good neck pop is one of the best experiences known to man. bonus points for the post pop neck stretch

neck (back): 8/10. hard to get a good technique yet amazing when you figure it out.

sternum: 9/10. feels so so good yet i can only do it accidentally once i figure out how tf to actually do it ill be unstoppable.

upper back: 100/10. THE quintessential joint popping experience. a good upper back crack will make your forget you have joint problems for a few seconds.

mid back: -50/10. some of the hardest joints to pop and it hurts like a motherfucker when it happens

low back: 50/10. extremely underwhelming when done wrong and truly beautiful when done right.

inner hip (right): 3/10. really fun to scare your family with your loud hip joints. sadly it hurts so so so much

inner hip (left): 7/10. still able to scare my family but it doesnt hurt as much bc sensory nerve damage.

right knee: -100/10 loudest possible noise ever it scares my dog plus its very very very painful

left knee: -20/10 this would be completely unbearable if i had full feeling in my leg. always gotta have laying down time post knee popping

ankle (sides): 2/10. no pain, no relief, just annoying because they never ever stop popping

ankle (back) 20/10. its hard to actually do it and so satisfying if you pull it off. feels different to all other joint pops in a good way however it is an acquired taste

arch of foot: -70/10. difficult to pull off and feels weird when it happens. does reduce stiffness but theres little relief besides that

toes (not big): 5/10. kinda boring to pop because they need to be popped 24/7 so it gets old fast. it is fun to pop them all at once though

big toes: -200/10. have passed out from this multiple times. how the fuck do a few little joints hurt so much. absolutely horrible experience.

#disability #physically disabled #joint pain #cripple punk

[dovahkinniez]

ur writing smacks, neloth nsfw headcanons?

thank you very much! <3 but uhhhhhh ;) let’s get into it…

18+ only! sexual content awaits your very eyes, my kind soul. ps, i will try and stay gender neutral as much as possible but there is a tiny mention of a female bodied reader, so either don’t read if that’d make you feel uncomfortable! or skim/ignore that part. :]

ps. i haven’t wrote anything sexual in a very long time, so if it’s not the best.. my apologies!

Remember to not be a silent reader, like and share your thoughts! I love hearing everyone's feedback. <3

SPICY NELOTH

— nsfw headcanons

rubs hands together, let’s get it. :D

he’s a busy man, he takes his time management seriously because with his time he needs to focus it on things that truly matter!

that’s why when it comes to you and the ‘bedroom acts’ he takes it slow, and almost studies your body and sees what exactly makes you tick and what personally isn’t for you.

i see him as a person who believes the whole, ‘as long as the two are having fun does it really matter who is dominant or submissive?’ - which is a fact but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have certain sides to him.

naturally, he’s a service top. he loves to make you feel good, comfortable and ultimately satisfied during and especially at the end.

if you feel good, he feels good. he feeds off your pleasure because he loves to watch you, and it’s pretty much memorised and scorched into his brain, the images and even sounds of you, that even when he’s trying to do work he feels himself annoying growing stiff in his you-know-what area.

people have came to a conclusion that he gets a hard-on over his research, i’m not sure which is the most embarrassing - the truth or this theory?

your body is a map, his hands and mouth is the adventurer, he’s affectionate and touchy and wants to explore all across your body.

i saw somewhere in a post where they say he probably is the type to use spells during sex, which i completely agree on.

using spells and creating them to be able to pin you down without using physical items, or spells to make your body more sensitive.

heated hands from flames to heat you up, making you flustered with the odd shock that’s enough to arch your back against the bed.

master with his hands, spells aren’t the only things he can play with. takes his time, teasingly slow at times because he likes to hear you whine and he’ll say the odd comment, ‘aww, are you frustrated? you’ll be fine, sweetheart’ as he presses a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth.

he knows what he’s doing and at times he can sound very condescending and bitchy, let’s hope you like the mild degradation here and there.

loves it when you’re on your knees, worshipping him with his cock in your mouth, “come on, you can do better than that.” he’d groan out as he taps your cheeks before pushing your head down further.

guides you through it, tells you what to do and instructs you between shaky breaths with his hands gripping onto your hair or shoulders.

body worshipping mf. likes it both ways. the feeling of your lips and tongue all over his skin as you reach further down sends him dizzy and his dick pulsating.

he likes to fuck you with his tongue before he even thinks about actually fucking you. you deserve the best treatment, that involves multiple orgasms.

likes to edge you, playing with you until you’re clinging to him before he stops with a short laugh, “i’m not done with you yet.” before he starts again once you’ve calmed down. changes tempo to keep the rhythm bumpy, the bigger the patience the bigger the orgasm.

after a stressful day he just wants to be inside you, sometimes you don’t even fuck. cock-warming and falling asleep in a very close intimate cuddle. the best.

sat on his lap, his hands roaming around your body as your nipple is caught between his lips, you grind down on him teasingly as you grow wetter, his teeth nip at you which just turns you on even more.

deep kisser, passionate and electrifying. sweet pecks and lustful makeout sessions, both are a must. his lips are soft and the words that leave them have you begging for more.

he just wants you to beg a little more until he gives you exactly what you want.

#☆ — mama dovie writes… #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #elder scrolls x reader #skyrim #skyrim headcanon #skyrim scenarios #skyrim x dovahkiin #skyrim x reader #neloth #neloth x reader #neloth x dragonborn #neloth skyrim #skyrim neloth #skyrim neloth x reader #neloth headcanons

[naivesilver]

Apparently sea air is amazing for Eliana-related inspiration 😊✌😎 off we go!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eliana is drawing in the mud with the tip of her finger when the man arrives. 

She doesn't immediately look up, though. It's not that she wants to be rude, but grownups don't come looking for her, usually, and when they do thet tend to be unpleasant in the way they speak. Up until the stranger's shoes stop right in front of her, she supposes he must be looking for her father, working in his shop just a little further down the path. 

But then she catches the feet stopping with the corner of her eye, and a voice addresses her directly, affable and easygoing: "Hello there."

It's quite a strange voice, high and breathy and with an accent that sounds very different from the one people in the village have. And the man himself looks strange, too, when Eliana finally raises her gaze, squinting up at the newcomer - he's dressed lavishly and in extravagant colors, and what is visible of his skin, over the collar of his doublet and on his long-nailed fingers, is bumpy like that of a frog, his eyes big round coins with a slit pupil in the middle. 

"Hi," she replies, politely, because her father says she should be nice to everyone, no matter what they look like or how rich they are; besides, he's hardly the weirdest creature she's encountered in all her six years of life, not when there is the pale lady walking up and down the riverside at night, or the deer that eats out of her hands if she doesn't startle it, with its glossy white eyes and flies crawling in and out of the wound on its side. 

Six, or however many those years are, at least. Jiminy and Papa told her to say she's six when foreigners ask, but she's not entirely sure it's right, truth be told - her age is a confusing matter, after all, and Eliana gets things muddled up so often she could never swear on anything about how old she really is. Part of her hopes this stranger doesn't ask her anything of the sort, frankly, because it's a bothersome business and she wants to finish her drawing before the clouds go away and the ground gets too dry in the heat. 

Luckily, he doesn't seem much interested in that. Instead he grins widely down at her, showing two rows of knife-sharp teeth. "I'm glad to find you here, dearie. I've been wanting to speak with you for a while now."

"With me?" Eliana frowns, her small brow knitted in puzzlement. "Who're you? I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Ah, but I'm not a stranger, really." The man chuckles merrily to himself, then sketches an hint of a bow, his arms spread out. "Rumpelstiltskin, at your service. I'm an old friend of your mother."

The confusion in the girl's head vanishes instantly, leaving space only for suspect and snappish irritation. "You're lying. You should leave. If I scream my father will come get me, and he has an axe."

He arches an eyebrow, not looking particularly scared. "Why do you think I'm lying, girl?"

"You can't be Mother's friend. She doesn't like anyone."

That's not a very nice thing to say, but there is no one around to chide Eliana for it, unless Jiminy has hidden in the grass again without her noticing. He does that sometimes, when he thinks she's going somewhere dangerous, like when Red challenged her to climb the bailiff's house and walk on the roof. 

And anyway, Papa has taught her that she should always tell the truth, and this is the truth, even if it's unpleasant. Mother only ever seems to enjoy speaking with other fairies, and that is not a given either, even when it comes to the nicest ones - Eliana's been permitted to meet some of them, when they tagged along during the Blue Fairy's stiff, rare visits, and though Merryweather told her she's too skinny and Brighid refused to even touch her, Nova kissed Eliana on the cheek and complimented her sewing, before Mother quickly ushered her out. 

Eliana feels for Nova, because Mother's always urging her to sit down and behave, too, her hands pressing on her daughter's head as though willing the child to shrink and become less of a nuisance, small and invisible. She's polite with Eliana's father and Jiminy, when she chats with them, but Eliana's constantly doing things wrong and being scolded for them - she brushes her hair the wrong way, and treats her dresses the wrong way, and plays her games the wrong way. Wrong wrong wrong, like a pebble in a jar of peas. 

Mother would be kind to her if she were doing the right thing, Eliana thinks sometimes, but she has yet to find out what it is, so for now she's on her own, wrong on all accounts. 

The man looks wrong, too, decidedly too wrong to be a friend of Mother's. His clothes are too gaudy, his features too eye-catching - Mother likes people who are quiet and don't get in the way, which this stranger would probably struggle to accomplish, even if he wanted to. His smile appears lopsided as well, too sharp and jagged as he leans closer to Eliana and speaks to her conspiratively. 

"Ah, I know. Your mother is a- difficult woman to handle, should I say? But we've known each other for a long time now, and there are some things I would like to talk about with you, Eliana."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know many things, girl, and your mother worries often about you. Of course I would remember your name."

Eliana's eyes go very, very wide. Mother worries about her? Even when she's not around? That sounds strange. That sounds more like something Papa would do, or Red's grandma, at least. 

But oh, Eliana has envied Red for Granny's brusque affection for so long, now. 

The man - Rumpelstiltskin, he said his name was, right - seems to notice her surprise, for his grin grows even broader and sharper. "Well, what do you say, Eliana? Would you like to talk about your mother some more?"

"I…" She hesitates, chewing at her lower lip, even if she was told she should stop many times over, because she might hurt herself. "I don't know."

"It would be very helpful, you know? I have many, many questions, and you might be the only person who has the answers, dearie."

"Would it help Mother, too?"

Something flashes in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, too quick for her to catch. "Oh, I promise you, whatever you say would have a great impact on her life, child."

Eliana is a smart girl. Papa said so many times. People in the village always say she's mad, or ruined, or touched in the head, but her head works just fine. She knows the difference between what's real and what's story - it's a clear cut in her head, this separation, and she's never tried to convince anyone of the contrary, even when the older kids insist she must have made up some things she's seen. 

And yet, when she takes the hand Rumpelstiltskin holds out for her, she feels as though she were clutching an entirely different set of fingers, smaller and less scaly, warm and welcoming, and in that fantasy there is no voice chastising her for the mud clinging to her feet as she moves, distractedly stepping over the unfinished drawing. 

#oc: eliana #au: appalachian wine #fanfic #ouat #I love my mommy issues baby #time to be a narrative foil eliana dear #keep me company bc this damn train is already an hour late smh

[aluciahaz]

I DELETED THIS ASK I THINK OR SOMETHING 💀

I ADDED IT TO SCHEDULE ON ACCIDENT AND IT DISAPPEARED 😭😭 WHOEBER YOU ARE ANON IF YOU SEE THIS IM SO SORRY !!! maybe my unfinished work will show up randomly tomorrow 😭😭 its literally just me freaking out on how much i loved your ask LMAOO

have ur fic as early as possible cause 1) your req slays and 2) i feel bad for it disappearing 😭

wait, sensitive!

—lucifer x gn!reader

—includes : riding, sub!lucifer, dom!reader, sensitive wings, nicknames like baby and babyboy, crying

you didn’t think much of it when you stroked lucifer’s wings as he sat as his desk, humming to yourself a quiet tune as he works on a new duck.

you thought it would be relaxing. after all, he doesn’t have his wings out all the time, surely they’d need to get a little massage here and there to work out some stiffness?

so you did so, your fingers gliding underneath and over the tufts of his soft feathers. you’d draw soft circles into his wings, massaging them carefully to not hurt him.

which, you realize slowly, was far from what you were doing.

you notice the way he would clench his screwdriver a bit too tightly, how he’d dig his heels into the wooden floor below him, and the way he’d sometimes drop his head down for a few seconds before bringing it back up, a slow exhale leaving him.

at first, you just thought he was getting really focused at intermittent points on his very important rubber duck project, but when your hands made their way to the base of his wings, that’s where things clicked.

“mm!”

you jump back, his back straightening instantly as his wings flutter outwards for a second before going back to their resting position, another sigh leaving him as he leaned over his desk, his hands running through his hair with his elbows on the table.

“lucifer? you alright, honey?” you ask, slightly concerned on what prompted such a sudden reaction.

“YEAH—yeah, i mean. ahem! yes. yes i’m fine, uh, thanks for asking, love,” he stammers awkwardly, his eyes darting to the side to look at you behind him briefly with an uncomfortable smile before going back to his work, readjusting himself in his seat.

“can i keep going then?”

“of cour—ngh!” he’s taken aback as you interrupt him by kneading your fingers into the base of his wings, raising your eyebrow at his somewhat intriguing noises.

“…i assume your are wings sensitive?” you inquire, a smirk slowly etching onto your face as you gently brush the tips of your fingers across his feathers, now noticing the quieter stifled noises coming from your lover.

“i—uhm. yes, a little. sorry i just—you know! you started randomly touching my wings out of the goodness out of your heart and i didn’t want to stopyoui’msorry—,” he turns over to you, his apologetic expression clear as he rambles on with his unnecessary explanation.

“shh, it’s okay, baby,” you hush him, moving his chair out of the way before pushing him further over his desk, making him scramble to get his project out of the way as you bend him over as he squeaks in panic. he didn’t want his new invention to get ruined!

“you really should’ve told me sooner though. i could’ve done so many things to you with this information, you know?” you whisper into his ear, your grin widening as one of your hands keep working on the base of his wings, making him whimper as your other hand finds its place on his hip.

well, until his unbound wing flutters out and almost hits you in the face.

you two decide to change positions after that.

and it certainly wasn’t a bad one. you now sat on the chair with him facing you on top of your lap, feeling up his wings as he arched his back in delight, now unabashedly letting his noises out.

“mm—there, ah! yeah, please,” he grinded against your thigh shamelessly as you made use of his sensitive wings, making him squirm and writhe so easily.

the red blush across his face seemed to compete with the natural ones permanently set on his cheeks. oh, if only he could see it. it would set him aflame in embarrassment.

“that’s my boy. keep grinding against my thigh like that and i’ll give you something nice,” you encourage him, kissing his now exposed collarbone and biting little marks into his pale skin, red blotches forming like ink on parchment.

of course, he listens to you. he’s yours after all. why wouldn’t he?

your treat for him is letting him ride you, messing with his wings until he’s a drooling mess. seriously, he really should’ve told you about this earlier. he was so beautiful like this, defiled and downright delirious for every touch you graced him with.

“so, so good. my baby boy, so perfect for me. like you were made to ride me. you were, weren’t you?” you murmur quietly as you thrust upwards, meeting his hips as they slammed down, desperate for more as he wailed, tears falling from his pretty illuminated eyes as he kept getting overwhelmed from all of the sensations pulsing through his body.

he needed this. your constant praise that filled his heart with pride, your steady thrusts that warmed and twisted his stomach in loops of sinful indulgence, and lastly your hands that weaved their way through his wings, each finger prodding and poking an area that was bound to send a shock of unholy satisfaction through his whole body.

not that he was holy to begin with, of course.

“m-may i cum? please—please let me cum, please!” he yelps, the movements of your hips getting faster and faster. he tries to keep up, beads of sweat falling from his brow as he exerts as much energy he has left to keep fucking himself on you.

“yes, you may, my love,” you coo. his hand finds his way on his cock, touching it just slightly before gasping from the sudden grip on his wings, harsh and rough and just the thing to set him off.

he collapses over you, his chin on top of your shoulder as you rub his back, sweet nothings leaving your lips with ease as you wait for him to compose himself a bit.

“good.. that was… we should do that more—oh!”

another moan flies from his throat as your squeeze the base of his wings once more, a smirk spreading on your lips. “really? i was thinking the same thing! how about now?”

and who is he to deny you?

i have to admit i did not reread this very well bc im tired but if there are any mistakes or repetitiveness just blame it on notes app ❤️ also i dont know how to @ people on tumblr apparently wtf 😭 why is this so hard HELP??

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @drlucichen

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel dom reader #sub hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin lucifer #sub lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #dom reader

[phenomanemone]

oo1

"Well?" Ed stands in the threshold with one hand on the door, his foot tapping impatiently. "This is what you wanted, right?"

In the face of his immediate attitude, I falter. It's never been done this way, but it's in the nature of things to be adaptable and ready to change.

"Yeah," I say, smiling despite my nerves. "Thank you for doing this."

"Yeah, whatever."

Ed moves away from the doorway and disappears down the hall. I hasten to follow, making room for Sage to enter with her camera. Her bright eyes shine with mischief and I feel further apprehensive, but not enough to pull the plug on the mission.

I shut the door and navigate the narrow hall. We find Ed lounging on a plush couch in the living room. His back is straight, but his posture isn't stiff. His legs are spread wide, and his arms are crossed over his chest. His keen, golden gaze is heavy as he watches us sit on an adjacent couch.

"So, how does this go?" he asks us.

Sage and I exchange a look. This kind of processing usually happens internally, and in a far more abstract manner. 

"Do you even know?"

No, we don't. We're the same as Ed; he just has more pre-existing emotional pathways. Ed can be a placeholder, giving structure as a newer part begins to knit together.

We just have to find a more productive means to integrate them into the system. Finding the frayed edges where they first start without access to the lost memories is an incredibly time consuming process.

Moments for the body to feel a level of comfort to safely be trusted to experience the physical effects of exploring that zone are incredibly few and far between.

"Hey," Ed says, reaching out and putting a hand on my knee. "Focus on me."

I try. It's too public a platform to lose control of myself. I'm embarrassed.

"Sorry, you're just too handsome," I joke, and he relaxes.

"Hey, thanks. You're not too bad yourself." Ed replies, and smiles like we have a private joke.

I'm taken aback by the sudden shift in attitude. He'd seemed rather reserved when we had arrived, but now it's as though we're old friends.

"What now?" I ask, and Sage tsks loudly.

"You broke immersion!" she complains with a huff. "We had it!"

"Oh, really?" Ed asks, his eyebrows arched in surprise. "It's really that easy?"

Sage waves a hand. "Eh, yes-and-no. It's complicated. The guys up top wanted to test a theory, and that's why this," she jostles her camera, "is a thing."

"To capture the internal process in an external manner," I nod, following along.

"Can't you do that yourselves?" Ed asks, gesturing between us.

"No," Sage says, annoyed. "In order to effectively utilise the medium, there has to be an active trichotomy. Don't ask me why, that's between my bosses.”

"This is about the meeting we stumbled across on New Years!" I gasp.

"Okay, then why me specifically?" Ed asks, sitting forward with a hand on his chest.

"You're... an anchor." Sage answers, squinting at him through the lens. Only then do I realise she's wearing an earpiece.

"I don't think I like bearing that kind of weight," Edward replies, kicking his booted feet onto the coffee table between us. He doesn't look pleased.

"It's the fastest way to figure out how to tie up those ends." I say to him. Sage's information had filled in some gaps.

Ed scowls, arms across his chest.

"What does... being an "anchor" entail exactly?"

"You just need to keep drawing our focus. We don't know anything from that." I tell him. "Sage can't always bear the weight of a direct message from up top. It usually carries too much raw emotion. If we're focused on you, it gets filtered out."

Ed looks perplexed, but he doesn't look angry.

"Negative emotion leads to a spiral," Sage reveals to him. "When I'm decoding the messages, so to speak, the good emotions don't outweigh the bad. Instead, they're all filtered out. The good and the bad. We need someone to filter this through– someone who can be trusted to take care of the good and the bad."

"Can I come back here sometimes?" Ed asks, almost nervously.

Sage and I exchange a look.

"Of course," I say, bemused. "You won't be doing this alone; it will be split between you and many others. You'll always know when to tag in and out."

"Huh,"

Ed blinks, looking awfully surprised.

"So, that's it?"

We don't know. This was just to test a theory– which had proven to be correct.

We can stay on track long enough to make more significant progress in journalling if we split roles between us.

One of those roles is to be the subject of intense scrutiny, which just made sense to go to a fictive. We're not working with a full story to easily pull apart and reflect on.

That is the missing link needed to drive forward. We agonise when it's just the two of us, spiraling into doubt and panic.

The three of us will continue to experience it going forward, but it will be far less weighty than before.

#pha journaling #dissociative identity disorder #did system #complex ptsd #healing #journal

[daedalusdavinci]

49

49. shake

i had to double and triple check that this one didnt say snake. ive been sitting on this forever and im not really getting anywhere w this draft so im just gonna hit post and not deal w the consequences sometimes i do think about how badly john coped w the end of the game tho and the potential dirk n john had as friends (or more)

"John?"

"Fine!" you yelp, stuffing your hands into your pockets. You can still feel them shaking, but you clench them into fists and hope it's unnoticeable as you flash Dirk your best i'm so fine don't even worry about it grin.

Dirk's expression is the same deadpan as always, entirely unreadable, but his head tips just slightly to one side. It's infinitesimal, but you're a registered expert at reading the microexpressions Striders throw at you at this point. Or, you hope you are. Dave's pokerface was never as good as Dirk's and it always has you second-guessing yourself.

"Just, getting some fresh air," you say, knowing it's not helping your case at all, but unable to keep your mouth shut.

Dirk hums. It's a short, clipped noise, meant to acknowledge and nothing else. Rather than leave you alone like you hoped he would, he steps forward to join you on the balcony, arms folding, hip leaning into the railing. It's a pose that feels perfectly designed to look cool, to the point where it feels almost stiff, and really lame. "It's a lot colder out here. The dancing really heated things up inside."

"Yeah, exactly," you say, grasping onto the excuse with both hands.

Dirk arches an eyebrow. "But you left way before it even started."

#asks #tumblr drabbles

[10moonymhrivertam]

That issue where you enjoy next week’s chapter more than the one that you’re supposed to be posting tomorrow 😅

#I feel like sometimes I get really stiff and arch #but next week’s chapter has some really natural dialogue in it imo #I tried to set it up so this week is Jaskier opening up and next week is Geralt. #and I....don’t know if it works #alas we shall forge ahead! #on the other hand I just read a bunch of daemon AUs so I’m very distracted by those XD #and thinking about how I would make this into a daemon AU

[lilevixen]

AOT Eating Out HeadCanons

Characters: Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger

•*Warning- 18+ Content* Heavy sexual themes and mentions of oral sex (female receiving) and slight humiliation•

Armin Arlert

Please cuz Armin would absolutely LOVEEEE eating you out

He’s almost always the one to initiate it (once ya’ll get comfortable w each other ofc)

He sees it as getting to know the body that he loves so much even better, like a hands-on experiment of sorts that shows him what you like

And you know this boy is observant as FUCK so it doesn’t take him long to get in-tune with your body

Every little noise you make, every arch of your back or twitch of your thigh, he’s logging it in his brain for future reference

Like he’d change the pace and stiffness of his tongue on your clit with his slender fingers curled inside you, taking note of every minute change in your reactions.

“She really likes that, I should do that more”,“Ah she’s not really into that”, “Fuck she feels incredible clenched around my fingers like this, I’m definitely doing something right.”

And God does he LOVE your reactions

This man is literally in heaven between your legs, inner thighs glistening with arousal, your body a hot, trembling mess at the mercy of his touch

Knowing that he’s responsible for you feeling so good turns him on more than anything else

Like it REALLY turns him on you don’t understand

When he sees you start to shudder and your legs close around him-&-9-9 he LOSES it

He would 100% moan into you as he’s eating you out

Face shimmering with sweat, blonde strands of hair clinging to his flushed forehead as his glossy eyes drink in the sight of you

Your taste, your smell, your skin, the fact that you’re even letting him do this to you and that you were feeling so good bc of it-that’s all he needs for a hot rush of pleasure to reach his pulsating cock

He’ll grind his hips into the bed as he’s doing it to relieve the aching need for you swelling in his dick only to end up CUMMING just from eating you out

He probs cums like 75% of the time he eats u out

Sometimes he won’t even need to stimulate himself, just the sight of you sprawled before him, sweaty and writhing from what his unrelenting tongue is doing to you is enough to send him over the edge

You’re just so STUNNING

And be ready to hear that A LOT

He cannot stop praising you, in general, but especially while eating you out

“Fuck y/n how’d I get so lucky?” “mmm you look so good spread open like that” “You’re so beautiful babe”

His favorite position to eat you out is missionary just bc he likes having a good view of that pretty face of yours, but he also loves it when you ride his face hehe

Also be prepared for an occasional wandering tongue

He likes to tease your asshole a little sometimes just to hear you squeal lol

His head game is 12/10 trust



Eren Jaeger

Definitely doesn’t do it as much as Armin

Not bc he doesn’t like to

It’s just he can’t see your pussy oozing with your legs spread in anticipation WITHOUT wanting to fuck you silly, simple

That being said, he will do it on occasion when he REALLY wants to drive you insane

And when he does he’s so fucking sloppy with it

Like this man is spitting on it, slapping it, practically motorboating it-

Bruh like are you that wet or is that all just his saliva the world may never know

This man is full of the passion

When he’s doing something he does it with the entirety of his being, and this is no exception

He’s only satisfied when you are giving him the most intense reaction possible

And he will continue to assault you until he’s gotten the reaction he wants

And he’s such an asshole about it too lol

Like just to see how crazy you’ll go, he tells you to stay completely still and if you don’t he’ll stop. And he’ll only resume if you BEG

So he’ll be there holding you down by your hips, his nails biting into the soft flesh above your pelvis, alternating between having his tongue buried impossibly deep inside of you (boy’s got a long ass tongue) and sloppily lapping at ur clit, and when you start move your hips to meet his mouth, he’ll punish you by stopping

“I told you I’d stop and you’re still trying to rub your wet cunt into my face?”

“Tell me how desperate you are. Tell me how much you need me and I’ll continue”

He LOVES having that power over you

On the topic of him being an asshole, he’ll lowkey embarrass you by calling out how crazy you’re going for him

For example, when you start moaning and whining loudly, he’ll say some shit like:

“Why are you so noisy? Does it really feel that good?”

“If it was my dick fucking up that pretty pussy of yours the neighbors would swear you’re getting murdered”

Like sir you are doing the MOST what do you expect??

It does feed his ego tho

Oop and ANOTHER thing

It’s almost always his goal to make you squirt

He sees squirting as biological proof that he is capable of making you unravel in the most nasty, vulgar way possible.

And he likes seeing you all messy

After you finish he’ll stand back and admire you, marveling at how spent you were just from his fucking mouth alone

“Turn around. Let me get a good look at you”

He’ll just be there practically salivating at the sight of your ass in the air, thighs glossy with wetness gliding down your skin in fat, slimy streams

His cock is ready to burst at this point so just be prepared for a LONGGGG night

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #eren x reader #aot headcanons #aot fanfiction #aot smut #eren yeager #eren smut #armin arlert #armin smut #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren yeager x reader #armin arlert x reader #armin x reader smut #eren x reader smut #armin headcanons #eren headcanons #snk headcanons #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #armin arlert smut #eren yeager x reader smut #armin arlert x reader smut