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#can you imagine having to wear gloves all the time
chaoticace2005 · 2 days
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Spiders, their senses, and Angel Dust implications
I already screamed to @xxqueenofdragonsxx about this but figured I’d put it out there because I was doing research and I can’t stop thinking about it.
While we don’t know how canon it is to the show, this does have some implications for fanfics and is fun to consider.
Spiders don’t have ears. Or noses. Or tongues.
People have already made jokes about Angel’s lack of a nose, but it tracks with that fact. We also don’t see his ears, although we have seen his tongue (which, given he isn’t an actual spider there can be some allowances made.) Yes, he doesn’t have pedipalps to act as a substitution for his nose/tongue, but that isn’t the only place they can smell/taste things.
It’s their legs/feet(?). Their legs and bodies have sensory hair cells that allows them to detect vibrations in the air, as well as changes in electrical fields (which… Vox and Alastor implications? Can Angel sense them.) Humans hear via sensory hair cells too, but those are concentrated in the cochlea of the inner ear and surrounded by the outer/middle ear system (eardrum, etc.) Spiders don’t have that. They also have chemoreceptors that can smell and taste things.
Now, as someone who didn’t know much about spiders it’s cool to think about in terms of a character with some spider-like characteristics. But then I thought about this other aspect of Angel
His clothing
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More specifically his constant usage of gloves/long sleeves/boots. We know he hates his spider feet, and yeah, the usage of gloves and his blazer can be to fit his style, but it’s also fun to think that maybe him wearing them is an active attempt to reduce sensory input? He’d still get some vibration input because the fabric won’t block everything, but it won’t be as direct. But since spider sensory organs aren’t localized like humans are, this could essentially be the equivalent of wearing a headphones. (Also do you really want to taste every single thing you touch?)
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Which brings me to the second order of business: when he DOESNT wear his gloves. We do see him have to be bare for the camera, and if you consider him wearing clothes as a way of sensory modulation, he could essentially be forced to get all that input. Sensory overload would already be so ways in a place with so many sounds, lights, smells, etc. but imagine if you also have to do that when not used to such a level of exposure?
In humans there’s a condition called hyperacusis, which is basically a reduced pain and discomfort threshold to sounds. Some everyday ones can cause pain. Some neurodivergent people also have sensory sensitivities like that, in both cases sometimes headphones can help to reduce input.
The thing is though, if you constantly wear them you’re reducing your own threshold. It’s not recommended for people with hyperacusis to wear earplugs all the time because it makes them even more sensitive when not wearing them.
So, if you apply the same principle here, there is even more reason to consider the idea Angel would have some level of overstimulation just from not having his clothes on, combine that with the work environment, what he has to do, and the emotional turmoil of it all and that just makes it worse.
Which… with me anyways I’ve found when I’m too overloaded my brain tends to nope out and dissociate. So that could be what happens to Angel as well.
Then, there is one time outside of the studio we see him with uncovered arms and that’s the battle at the hotel.
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Here, he’s wearing gloves but his arms are exposed. So it could be said that he’s allowing himself access to more input while also not overwhelming himself. He still has a buffer with the gloves on, but he also has heightened awareness for things around him.
Again, the amount of this actually being applicable in canon is hard to say. Sense we don’t know how spidery Angel really is (since again, he does have a tongue) and what level of research went into that aspect of their character designs. But I think it’s a fun thing to consider.
So uhhh… yeah. Totally normal about this all as someone who totally isn’t interested in audiology, hyperfixating on hazbin hotel, and neurodivergent myself.
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ATEEZ and how they show their love <3
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Summary:  ot 8 and how they show their love <3
Genre: fluff
Pairing: OT8 x reader (separate drabbles)
Word Count:  n/a
Warnings: none
[note: Okay, this was the fist time, that I did something like this and I have to admit, that it is only how I imagine the boys to be like. I do hope you enjoy reading them though! RE-UPLOAD from my old blog @/justsomedreaming, was requested there by @mitproblem]
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© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.
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SEONGHWA 
Seonghwa's love is quiet but visible to everyone.
He loves to pamper you, make sure you're fed and reminds you to take breaks and get enough rest and sleep. When you go out, he holds your hand, often wearing at least one matching item of clothing, no matter what it might be. He would also shower you with gifts, mostly little trinkets and not rarely matching things. 
When you smile or are happy, he always watches you with this dreamy, stupidly in love smile on his lips. When you're down, he doesn't need to be told, he notices and pulls you into comforting hugs.
He'll always tell you how much he loves you, but he prefers to Do so through his actions.
And he would cook for you, especially when he can sit and eat with you together.
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HONGJOONG
Hongjoong's love is silent and invisible to everyone.
He loves when you join him in his studio, even if it is to nag him to take breaks. Whenever you bring him food, he'll eat it, asking you if you have eaten and slept. If you fall asleep in the studio, he'd make sure to cover you with a blanket and also make sure that you're comfortable while he keeps working. 
Joong can't but smile when he looks at you, often exchanging cute and hidden looks with you.
Even though he's not the type of person to show physical affection, he'd cuddle up with you, whispering love confession into your ear.
When you go out, he'd shy away from public displays of affection, but he'll always make sure to show you he's there, brushing his hand against yours or other small moments of skinship without others noticing.
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YUNHO
Yunho's love is quiet but very visible to everyone.
Yunho loves to hold your hands or hug you. If you are cold, he'll offer you his scarf, jacket or gloves when outside, when at home, he'll always give you his hoodie or pull you against his chest. 
When he kisses you, he puts all his feelings for you into it, when it's in public, he'll get very flustered afterwards though. 
He will always make sure that you know how much he loves you, be it through his actions or words, he'll prove that his heart only belongs to you.
When in crowds, he'll always hold your hand or pull you against his side,so you won't get separated.
He WILL try to make you play videogames with him, but you often just end up watching him play.
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YEOSANG
Yeosang's love is quiet and peaceful, visible to observant people.
You and Yeosang don't need many words. When you're reading, he'll take a book and sit with you silently, reading as well. When you are alone, he's talkative, always asks about yourself, your interests and how your day was. He'll always tell you that he loves you and he loves to give you affectionate nicknames whenever it's just you two. 
When others are around, he'll still be close to you, occasionally exchanging skinship, but not as obvious for other people.
He loves holding hands or cuddling, but this is also more for when you two are alone. He loves to give you flowers. He'll also pick up on things that you mention in conversations that seem not very important at the first glance, but he'll always remember those things.
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SAN
San's love is loud and very visible to everyone.
When you are not cuddling, he will make sure to pull you into his arms, no matter where you are. San is very vocal about how much he loves you, telling you at any time that you're his most loved treasure. He'll always ramble to his friends and family about you and the amount of love he has for you.
He takes any occasion to shower you with gifts, be it small trinkets, jewelry or huge presents. 
He'll also secretly buy an engagement ring very early in your relationship, because he WILL marry you one day.
When you're outside, he'll hold your hand, always sit close to you and never leave your side.
San can't hide when he's jealous, so he often pouts when he sees you talking or being friendly with other men.
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MINGI
Mingi's love is loud and visible for everyone.
Mingi, where to start.
He is shy when it comes to voice out his love for you, it's not easy for him to say “I love you”, instead he will use other words or phrases. He'll give you affectionate nicknames and won't hesitate to use them in public. 
He LOVES to kiss your neck, whether it's in public or at home. Hugs and physical touch are a must, he loves to have you close to him, it grounds him. Mingi will always reach for your hand to hold it, making sure to not hurt you with his rings. 
Mingi also will care for you silently, putting food on your plate while eating, making sure you'll eat well and he'll make sure you take breaks from working and that you have a healthy sleep schedule.
He will physically drag you from your work (when you're overworking yourself in the home office) and make you lay down to cuddle and sleep in his arms!
He's easily jealous and he knows it, he'll always make sure people know you are his.
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WOOYOUNG
Wooyoung’s love is very loud and very visible for everyone.
This guy is a dramatic, whiney and absolutely touchy person. He loves you with all his heart (and his body, believe me!).
There is no time that he will not cling to you. You're out with the boys? He'll hold your hand or just have his arms around you. You're visiting his parents? His hand on the small of your back or around your waist. You're at home with him and the boys? You're in his embrace all time, he'll make the others get up and get snacks or drinks for you, so he won't have to let go of you.
Woo is the first to say “I love you.”, probably shouting it at you in front of everyone. He'll tell you how much he loves you at any moment in the day. 
Woo will shower you with kisses,touch and presents. When he's on tour, he'll facetime you (if it was for him, he'd do so 24/7 because he misses you so much).
He'd panic and freak out if you don't say ”I love you” back or pull away from his touch, scared to possibly lose you. When you're down, he will do anything in his might to cheer you up somehow.
He's very jealous, getting whiney and clingy when he sees you talk or be friendly with other guys.
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JONGHO
Jongho's love is loud but only visible to observant people.
Jongho, sweet, innocent Jongho.
He is not one to display his affection very openly, especially not in public. There will be physical touch, but small ones only. Fingers brushing against yours, his hand hovering on the small of your back, his leg touching yours when sitting next to each other. 
When the two of you are alone? He'll be very cuddly. He loves to rest his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. But cuddly Jongho is for you only, not for others to see or know (not even for his hyungs).
What he will do is tell everyone that you're his. He'll proudly tell you “I love you” as often as possible, no matter who is around. 
Jongho will also shower you with presents and flowers. He'll also make sure to care for you, make sure you eat well, sleep and take enough breaks to rest.
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taglist: @mingis-mizu, @tinyelfperson
(if you want to be added to a taglist, follow the taglist-link in my pinned post)
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We’ve talked in the past about Julia’s red shirt (in her season 1/season 4 outfit) showing her sympathy towards Carmen. What about other parts of her outfits?
First, to contrast with the red shirt peeking through her dark pantsuit, we have Julia’s ACME suit.
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[ID : two cropped screenshots from the 2019 show Carmen Sandiego. The first one shows Julia Argent on the train in India, in her dark suit with red shirt outfit. The second one shows Julia in Rio de Janeiro, in her ACME suit. End ID]
The ACME suits, being uniforms, are all the same (the biggest difference being skirts for the women vs pants for the men), the same way the agents are asked for uniformity, conformity and following orders.
The suits have no color apart from a navy so dark it’s close to black - in fact, depending on the lighting they look almost black and white. Quite like their way of thinking.
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[ID : a screenshot from the 2019 show Carmen Sandiego. Agent Zari and Random White Agent stand on either side of a door. They are in the shadows and their uniforms look dark and desaturated. End ID]
As I noted on a previous post, at the same time Julia receives her suit and as such lets go of her red shirt, she is asked to renounce her feelings that Carmen is innocent. Season 2, where she almost exclusively wears the ACME uniform, is the one where Julia briefly doubts Carmen and struggles to reconcile following her superior’s orders with her convictions. Ultimately, when she does not manage it, she resigns (season 3) and as such goes back to her red shirt outfit. It is in that outfit that she teams up with Carmen in a substantial way in season 4.
Other agents (and, notably, agent Zari, the most featured ACME agent apart from Julia and Chase) tend to wear black gloves. In line with their behavior, this suggests keeping a distance with their environment, refusing to feel things too deeply. Julia doesn’t wear gloves, however, not even in Stockholm where the weather would definitely justify it. Despite Chief's insistance, Julia keeps paying attention to her feelings.
Then, Julia’s glasses. Her glasses in seasons 2-3 are ACME regulation eyewear : once again, they’re part of the uniform, so the same model as the other ACME agents. Big, bulky, they’re almost rectangle in shape, all sharp angles : this suggests rigidity and an absence of flexibility in ACME’s mentality. Also note the dark lenses : they symbolically obscure the vision.
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[ID : a screenshot from the 2019 show Carmen Sandiego. In Indonesia, Zari and Random White Agent stand against the sky. Their glasses' lenses are noticeably very dark. End ID]
And what about Julia’s original glasses, the ones she wears before joining ACME and those she returns to as she leaves ? They are the exact opposite of the ACME glasses : round and clear, what you need to look at the world as it is.
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[ID : a cropped screenshot from the 2019 show Carmen Sandiego. In San Francisco, Julia wears her red shirt outfit with her round glasses. End ID]
#carmen sandiego 2019#julia argent#if you think i'm reading too much into this. yeah. i'm me. reading too far into tiny details is what i do#(though tbh i keep going from 'this is reaching right?' to 'this is so obvious i'm breaking down an open door' so...)#and let me tell you i'm having the time of my life#you wouldn't imagine the glee i felt thinking about this#mentally i'm lying oin my bed giggling and kicking my feet as i type this#that post wasn't lying. the most fun a girl can have is analyzing making connections seeing patterns etc#anyway with all that (see: post) in mind if i had been in charge of the show i would a. have put julia in a uniform with pants#oh my god that skirt is the ugliest thing i've seen in my life.#also i want julia to be butcher#b. maybe more importantly i would have made julia wear her uniform sliiiightly wrong#like sometimes her tie isn't well fastened. or her vest is partially unbuttoned#or like that moment in rio where she says she still believes in carmen's innocence and her glasses are low and she has to recenter them#(they sort of have that with the gloves but she's not the only agent not to wear them so it doesn't really go all the way)#idk. like she tries to fit it tries to just put her head down and work tries to get into that mold acme wants her to be in#and she's. not terrible at it. she's used to being discrete and working well#with only a quick look you think she's perfectly in line with the other agents. a closer look however tells you otherwise#and shows you how she's not quite at ease with what's asked of her and it makes her miserable#which leads to her leaving acme later#do you see my vision
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rileyslibrary · 8 months
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Ghost rushes to your aid, only this time, it's to help with a pickle jar.
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“C’mere.” He orders, motioning with his hand.
You roll your eyes at him, although a slight grin forms on your lips.
“No!” you retort as you turn your back to him.
He sighs, leans back into the kitchen chair, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Although he still wears his skull mask, you can imagine a smug expression on his face as he observes your failed attempts at opening that pickle jar.
You wipe your hand on your trousers, then grasp the lid, using your other hand to stabilise the jar. You take a deep breath and hold it in as you squeeze and twist with all your might. But the darn thing doesn’t budge—an oddity since you opened that jar fairly easily yesterday.
“You look like you’re about to fart.”
“Shut up, Ghost.” You snap through gritted teeth.
“What you do clearly doesn’t work,” he states firmly. “Just give me the fucking jar.”
You exhale, relax your grip and shoot him a threatening look.
“No,” you snap again, pointing at him with the jar. “I got this.”
He lifts the fingers that are resting on his bicep and shakes his head.
“It’s too tight, love.”
“It’s not tight,” You reply and knock on the jar’s lid twice. “It’s stuck.”
“Knocking on the bloody lid?” He chuckles softly. “What’s next? Asking the pickles to open up from the inside?”
“Stop making fun of me!”
“I’m not,” he replies softly. “It just needs...”
“-a knife.” You interject.
He follows you with his eyes as you march over to the utensil drawer. You slide it open and pull a knife out.
“That’s a bread knife.” He states.
“So what?” You say, waving the knife, “Bread knives are still knives.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replies. “There are other ways to open that jar.”
“I’ve tried other ways.”
“You haven’t tried mine.” He murmurs, seemingly unmoved, brushing lint from his thigh.
You roll your eyes again and place the jar on the kitchen counter. Ghost leans further back in his chair to get a better visual of what you’re about to do.
“You’re going to get hurt.” He warns you.
You brush his statement off and focus on the jar. You stabilise it with one hand and put the bread knife between the glass and the lid with the other. You pull on the knife, trying to pry open a small opening. However, the knife loses grip and comes flying dangerously close to your ear.
Ghost pushes the chair with the back of his legs and mutters a sharp “fuckin’ hell” as he rushes towards you.
“You alright?” He asks and grasps your wrist.
“I’m fine,” You reply, defeated.
His hand lets go of your wrist and travels up to your neck. He inspects your ear, making sure you’re not hurt, then grasps your shoulder.
“Why won’t you let me try?” He asks softly.
You sigh, grasp the jar, and slam it on the counter.
“Because you’ll make fun of me just like the others,” you murmur.
“They make fun of you,” He says, pointing at the jar, “for this?”
“For my strength!” You elaborate. “Why do you think this jar is so tight? They’re doing it on purpose, so I ask for their help.”
He chuckles and tightens the grip on your shoulder.
“Nobody is doing that to the lids.” He comforts you. “The refrigerator cools the container and makes the lid shrink.”
You shoot him a threatening side-eye.
“Don’t gaslight me, Lieutenant.”
He throws his head back and sighs.
“Alright, alright,” he concedes, “even if they’re purposely tightening the lids, there’s always a better way to unscrew it than hurting yourself.”
“Let me guess,” you sneer, “the solution is to ask you to do it for me instead?”
“No,” he replies, turning the faucet to the hot water. “If you don’t have the muscle—”
“Hey!”
“If you don’t have the grip,” he corrects himself, “you should use your brain instead. As a matter of fact, you should always use your brain first.”
He removes his glove and puts his hand under the faucet. He takes the jar and places the lid under the tap, allowing the water to run on it for a few seconds. Finally, he turns the faucet off, wipes the cap with a towel, and hands it to you.
“Here,” he says, “try now.”
You take the jar and place your hand on the warm lid. You twist it, and it pops right open. You look at the loosened cap and throw it on the counter.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
“No need to thank me,” he replies softly. “You did it.”
You study his eyes behind his mask; they’re smiling. You extend that pickle jar to him.
“Want a pickle?” You ask and shrug one of your shoulders.
He shakes his head. “You can have ’em,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I need to start the induction for the recruits.”
You nod as you watch him gather his belongings. He is one of the most ruthless operators on base, and you’ve experienced the violence he is capable of causing on the battlefield. Yet, here he is, offering gentle guidance, advising you to ‘use your brain’ instead of brute force. Not only that, but once he managed to work his way into the jar—clearly twisting the cap with that towel and loosening it—he praised your ‘efforts’, claiming that ‘you did it.’
You take a pickle from the container and put it in your mouth.
How many times has he assisted you behind the scenes, making things easier for you and rushing to your aid, only to later praise your work and efforts, even though he was the orchestrator behind it all? Is that the reason the other soldiers make fun of you?
You take another pickle from the jar and drive it to your mouth, only to stop midway.
The question you’re trying to answer is not how often he acted chivalrous towards you, but...
“Why?” You shout as he walks towards the door, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He stops and turns to you, gripping the door frame. His eyes still smile, but another emotion is lingering behind them this time. He lifts his hand and points to the side of his head.
“Use your brain,” he replies before returning to the door and leaving the kitchen.
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angelltheninth · 1 month
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I know Adam is a prick but he's so hot! I can just imagine him fucking his lover before extermination for good luck or some dumb excuse he'd come up with.
He's such an ass, you're right Anon, and very hot.
Pairing: Adam x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, degradation, creampie, breeding kink (duh it's Adam), no actual pregnancy, bragging
Word count: 0.5k
A/N: I should fucking hate this guy but he is so much fun.
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"Get on my dick babe, we don't have a lot of time." Adam pulled you towards him by your ankles, his huge hands fully engulfing them. "Which is your fault by the way. Insisting on coming before I put it in. You're lucky I even wanna fuck your selfish cunt after you got snappy with me."
"You weren't complaining. Funny that." Your remarks would get you into so much trouble. The best kind of trouble.
Adam scoffed, his mask flickering in annoyance, "You should really learn when to shut the fuck up. From now on all I wanna hear from you is my damn name!" He pushed his cock in with no warning or care. A wicked grin spread across his face when he felt your pussy around him, "Tight. Even after you came. No problem, I like them tight for my dick. Gonna spread you open, hell yeah, gonna ruin this hole."
His soft belly pressed against you with every thrust, your legs open wide for his hips to press against yours fully. With every thrust he slammed in balls deep, said balls, slapping against you.
"You gonna drain these balls, huh babe?" One of his hands pressed over your stomach. "I can almost feel my dick slamming into you. What do you say, wanna get pregnant today? Let all the other Exorcists know you're a slut who drools over my fucking dick. God I can just imagine the look on Sera's bitchy face."
"Don't get so full of yourself, sir." Making you pregnant was impossible. As far as you knew at least.
"Nah. That's gonna be you. Say it. Say you want the First fucking Man to put a baby in you. Fucking say it bitch!" His sharp nails dug into your skin, leaving marks. "Be a good slut for me. Don't make me make you make- uh... I'm gonna make you come on my dick! Hell yeah bitch!" He was such a pussydrunk asshole and refused to admit it. His cock was doing enough on that front.
He was close, he just needed to hear those magic words he demanded from you. You glanced at the clock, it was almost time for the Extermination.
"How about you creampie me for good luck?" You appealed to one of Adam's biggest kinks as you pushed your breasts out for him to grab immediately.
His gloved fingers rubbed your nipples, "I think I just might. You're gonna go out and kill some damn demons with my cum dripping down your legs. Let all of Hell know whose bitch you are." Adam pushed his cock in fully with one final roll of his hips, spilling his cum in your pussy. You groaned at the hot feeling, your legs clenching around his wide hips to ground yourself against him. "Told you that you were gonna come on my dick." Adam grinned widely.
"You were right. As always." You patted the bottom of his mask, "Now kindly get off me, I need to wash up before the Extermination begins."
"Wash up? Oh. Oh no, I was being serious when I said you're gonna go out there with your pussy leaking my cum. But you did do okay, so I guess you can wear the full uniform too. It's gonna make it hotter when I rip it off you later." Your pussy fluttered around him, "You want it already. Greedy, greedy. Not as hot without the demon blood though, so make sure you get a lot of them."
"Yes, sir, I'll make sure to do a good job for you." Maybe even get a promotion which would earn you more free time with Adam.
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gojonanami · 4 months
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ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD - NANAMI KENTO
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✴︎ summary: aka nanami is totally fine and alive. after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. ✴︎ contents: hurt/comfort, fluff, spoilers/discussions of what happens to nanami in shibuya, and of course he survives, he's fine (copium), nanami being a girl dad (b/c you know he would be the best dad - i mean he is already). ✴︎ wc: 1,469
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Refusals came first when it came to Kento. 
“Ieiri can take care of it—” 
Especially when it came to taking care of him. 
“But I want to, Kento,” you say softly, burn kit prepared by you and Ieiri in hand, your fingers curling tighter around the handle, “I don’t want to push you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, but I want to help,” for all of the times that you couldn’t. 
It has been a month since Shibuya. A month since Gojo had been sealed. A month since all hell had broken loose. 
How has it only been a month? 
And it had been only two weeks since Kento had been allowed home, to rest, allowed to be extracted from Shibuya from Shoko’s treatment area. His eye was unsalvageable — destroyed in that octopus special grade’s domain, and his body — burned severely by that volcano special grade. He would have to wear an eyepatch for the rest of his life. And reverse cursed technique only did so much, but they couldn’t heal burn marks.
Half of his body is wrapped in bandages — if you hadn’t been lucky enough to get Kento out of that situation with the curse you now knew as Mahito — you don’t know what could have happened. 
You were lucky. Lucky to have found him after being split off. Lucky you knew how to get to Shoko quickly. Lucky that she was able to save him. 
Luck. Luck. Luck. 
Was this really luck? To make it out half burned and half alive? Was it luck that you saved him or would it have been kinder to leave him? But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You were selfish — you needed him, you wanted your future with him, you wanted him to live. 
You couldn’t let him go. Not yet. 
It wasn’t time. It wasn’t his time. 
He only sighs at your words, “Okay,” he relents, sitting up on the bed. 
“First we have to remove your bandages, and then I’m going to inspect the burns to make sure they haven’t been infected or—” 
“You don’t have to tell me everything, sweetheart, I know what you have to do,” he says softly, and you swallow thickly, nodding.
Your fingers are gentle as you undo the bandages, first starting with his hand and arm, before moving to his shoulder, and then finally his face. Nasty raised burns marred his skin, raised and ruined marks that clawed over his smooth flesh. The marks ravaged half of his body — the other half he was barely able to protect with cursed energy. 
You hid your frown as you looked at them — why was it him? That question kept replaying in your mind. It was pointless to ask. It was asking why tragedy struck one person rather than another — it was chance, it was happenstance, it was fate. 
But you wished fate had chosen another — hell, you wished fate had chosen you. 
Your hands are washed and gloved as you examine him for any signs of infection — discharge, abnormal discoloration, and the last sign — warmth, “I’m going to just check some areas of your skin for any warmth — okay?” and Kento nods, his gaze downward. Your fingers are gentle — a featherlight touch as you check, fingers tracing his hand and up his arm, across his shoulder blade and back, until you reach his neck and face. Your fingers end up caressing his face, cupping it as you stare at him. 
He’s so beautiful. 
Each scar is a reminder of how hard he fought — even against monsters beyond any of any sorcerer’s imaginations, defended his comrades, protected students, and somehow had never given up. Even when it would have been understandable to do so. He still stood on his two feet, unwavering in his determination to live — and it wasn’t even for himself. Sorcery was an individual sport, sure, but sorcerers pass the baton all the time, and they choose to fight for one another, as well as themselves — if only to make the next fight easier for their fellow sorcerers. And you knew he was fighting, fighting to come home to you. 
How did you ever get so lucky?
“I understand,” Kento says, drawing you from your reverie, “I understand if you feel differently about my appearance — it will be harder for me to be mobile, the burns could constrict me and my eye as well. I understand even, even if it changes how you feel,” his tone was forced evenness, but he couldn’t hide the slight waver from you — Kento only ever wavered when it came to himself. 
You pause for a moment, “It does change how I feel,” and his eye slides to meet yours, hardened and accepting, “it makes me only love you more,” and Kento blinks, ocean blues filled with water, “Kento, these scars, your injuries, they show how much you fought to come back to me — how much you fought to protect our students — how much you sacrificed just to keep fighting,” your voice cracks, “how could I ever see you as less than for that? I love you so much, Kento — I just wish I could have done more for you,” 
His fingers find yours, curling around them, “Done more? You saved my life—” 
“Did you want to be saved?” and your question makes him pause, and your words tumble out of you, a confession you never wanted to make, “Yuji heard you — heard you say how tired you were — asking yourself if you’ve done enough, did I just put you in more pain by making you stay—” 
And he’s covering your mouth gently with his palm, making you stop, your tears streaming across his knuckles as you cried, “I never wanted to stop fighting to come home to you. I’m grateful you saved me,” he said softly, “every moment of pain is worth it, worth it because I get to be here with you. I get to have more time with you, with Itadori, with Ino, with everyone else,” he gives a terse chuckle, “I am tired, tired of jujutsu, tired of risking my life, tired of seeing those I love risk my life — but I came back for a reason, and I came back for you,” his lips curl into a smile, “and you, I could never be tired of.” 
You can’t stop crying now, tears falling from your eyes, as you wipe them, “I’m going to have to change my gloves now,” and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand. 
“Change them, I’ll be here,” and you have to hold yourself back from hugging him — you need to put his ointments and lotions on and then bandage him up, and then — then you could hug him. But for now you settled with pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then cupping it. 
“I love you,” and you didn’t know, but he knew, he knew then, more than ever, that he wanted to marry you. And he would ask — but not now. 
So he smiles instead, “I know, I love you too.” 
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“We’re going to be late!” you wait outside, arms crossed, “Kento?” 
“Don’t worry, we’re here,” and he’s stepping out, daughter in his arms, as you raise an eyebrow, “Mio wanted me to carry her.” 
“You’re going to spoil her rotten,” you roll your eyes, walking over to your husband and one year old daughter,  “she’s going to be daddy’s little princess at this rate — aren’t you, baby?” you kiss her cheek, as Kento watches you. 
“Like mother, like daughter,” and you gape at him, as his lips curl, as he carries his daughter to the car to strap her into her carseat, “are you coming?” 
You step over to the car, standing as he finishes buckling Mio in, and he turns to face you — the scars on his body remained, but healing with each day — his other eye hidden away under an eyepatch, but he still looked just as handsome the day you met him at Jujutsu High for the first time, if not more so (it was definitely more so, you often teased him, that emo haircut was definitely not attractive). 
“Sweethe—” he raises an eyebrow, before you lean up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and he melts into the kiss, brow furrowed as you pull away, “what was that for?” 
And you shrug, “Just because, now come on,” you climb into the seat beside your daughter. 
“If we’re late for this meeting at Jujutsu Tech, it will be because of your kiss,” he warns, catching your eye with a smile in the rearview mirror as he starts the car. 
You only grin back, as your fingers find Mio’s tiny ones, “Don’t worry, we have time.” 
And you did — you had all the time in the world. 
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✴︎ a/n: so this is some hardcore copium that @laneysmusings claimed i owed after the five times nanami fic. and who am i to deny? but also nanami is fineeeee. just a little scratch.
✴︎ tag list: @ghost-with-a-teacup, @itsseaberri, @himboelover, @sampam0260, @tiredkitten, @angelltheninth, @kateshappyplants, @neon-crow, @akaashi-todorki, @juniperjunpei, @what-the-stories-have-foretold, @purplecandygerl, @trenchcoat-idiots, @crimsonstarrr, @tirouxdreemurr, @dazaifungus, @the-apple-rose, @just1nee, @weirdanddorkyrambling, @goatlings-world
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strawberry-cowmilk · 6 months
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stealing stuff from the brothers' closets
mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read
content warnings: none
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Lucifer
imagine opening his gigantic closet and all there is are 3 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, 3 blazers or whatever, a whole box full of gloves, another whole box full of socks, 2 pairs of shoes and one scarf (the cheapest item is 200 grimm too)
anyways he allows you to steal some of his stuff as long as you do not let his brothers see you with it at any cost
lucifer thinks you look adorable wrapped up in his 800 grimm scarf but he'd never tell you (you can tell)
Mammon
mammon doesn't mind you stealing stuff from him, he even tries to get you to take his stuff
he's like 'look mc I got this cool hat' and then places it on your head and when you try to give it back he refuses to accept it
mammon does have a good wide range of clothes and accessories you can steal unlike lucifer
and everything he owns is either from a devildom designer brand or the devildom version of walmart
Leviathan
he almost passes away
not that he minds you wearing his stuff (he actually thinks it's cute, even if it's his limited edition expensive tsl stuff) but he was not ready for the jumpscare of actually seeing you with his things
eventually he gets used to it though and his closet becomes free rein for you and only you
sometimes when he's shopping for new clothes on akuzon he's debating on whether or not to buy the same shirt for you too
Satan
first of all opening his closet is a whole risk because nobody can guarantee you won't expose yourself to the worst sweaters known to man
also like his room, his closet is a mess too
and sometimes when you steal something from him, satan can't even tell you got it from his closet because it's such a mess in there and he wears just the same 3 shirts anyways
but he doesn't mind you taking his stuff as long as you don't damage anything (he won't get mad at you if you do though)
Asmodeus
you are free to steal anything from him, and he is free to steal anything from you
asmo loves it when he sees you wearing something of his
but do not damage anything or it will upset him (asmo can be scary when he's mad but he forgives you after 4 seconds so don't worry)
at some point he gets a whole shelf for his closet and he uses it to store clothes he bought for you, so you can find them next time you burrow something
it's literally labeled 'the mc shelf'
Beelzebub
the least ancient thing in his closet was bought 5 years ago
but if you want to steal his stuff, he'd definitely let you, he thinks it makes you two get closer to each other
beel would even let you keep anything you'd pick if you really love it
sometimes he even just leaves the item in your room
some stuff in his closet is originally owned by belphie because these twins share everything
Belphegor
half of his stuff consists of soft gowns and other sleep-related stuff, and he wears almost 0 of them, they're just sitting there in his closet
and he absolutely loves it when you steal his fluffy things because it looks cute and he can cuddle up to you and sleep
belphie lets you keep anything he never or rarely wore
if you frequently check his closet out, belphie will sometimes burrow something from beel and put it on one of his shelves to see if you notice (belphie also buys clothes once per blue moon)
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strangersmunsons · 2 months
Text
Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 3 Prompt: Lingerie 🎀 ~ 2,200 words you buy a pretty set of underwear to wear for Eddie. smut, 18+ only: p-in-v sex, spanking (brief), oral/fingering (fem!receiving), nipple play/tit sucking, praise, body worship.
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Soft tissue paper crinkles beneath your fingertips as you gently remove each thin layer from the clean, white, department store gift box. 
You’re almost afraid to touch it; you’ve never owned anything so pretty and fragile-looking. Up until this point the fanciest underwear you’ve ever worn was a plain bra and panty set from K-Mart. 
But this? Whole ‘nother ball game. You imagine Eddie will be very pleased.
The bra is little more than delicately-constructed strips of fabric; creamy satin to line the underside of your breasts, dainty lace to adorn the top, in a display of completely false modesty, as there’s space enough between the two materials for the buds of your nipples to peek through. The waistband of the matching thong is frilled with gentle sprays of lace that will float over the curves of your hips, and there’s a tiny silk bow sewn into the fabric that will cover your mound. 
There’s no doubt in your mind that Eddie loves you in anything. That boy could look at you in snow pants and a parka and still succeed in getting a boner. But you felt the time was ripe for you to treat both yourself and him to something special. 
You’re aiming for soft, romantic — cherubic, even. Something Valentine’s Day appropriate. When you slip the set on for the first time, and eye yourself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, you think you’ve definitely achieved that. It fits like a glove; you’ve never felt sexier. 
As if he somehow knew exactly what you were up to, Eddie taps on the closed door. “Sweetheart? Are you alright in there?” You don’t usually lock him out of the bedroom. 
“Yes,” you call back to him, heart jumping in anticipation. “Just give me one second.” 
Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath, cast one last approving glance in the mirror, and open the door for your boyfriend.
Eddie’s mouth, opened to greet you, suddenly snaps shut when he takes in the sight before him. His eyes are huge as he looks you up and down, greedily roaming over every square inch of your body. 
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”
He doesn’t even say anything — just lunges forward and crushes you to him, arms winding around you as tightly as they can go. His full lips press against yours in a searing, bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and spit. He nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth, leaving you breathless, whiny, needy; he walks you backwards, until the backs of your legs hit the side of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto the plush covers.
Eddie covers your body with his own, warm weight adding a delightful pressure against your torso. Automatically your legs wrap around his trim waist, his denim-clad crotch creating delicious friction as it rubs against your own satin-covered core. 
He moves away from your mouth, peppering sloppy kisses over your chin and up your jaw, then all over your neck until he finds that little sweet spot that makes you keen. One fist tangles in his hair, and you give a gentle tug to the curly locks. Eddie moans into the hollow of your throat. 
With your lips now free, you manage, “Do you like it, then?”
Eddie’s head whips up, like he’s shocked you have to ask. “Hell yes. You look fucking gorgeous.”
Willing himself to gain some self-control, Eddie slows his pace. He peels himself away from you with reluctance, standing back up, and motions with his index finger for you to spin around. “Hands and knees, baby. Wanna see that pretty ass in the air.”
You scramble to the center of the bed on all fours. Once in position, Eddie runs his fingertips down your back, brushing lightly down your spine and back up again, making you shiver. Then he flattens his warm, calloused palms against your skin, rubbing in one smooth motion from your shoulders to your bottom, grasping each bare cheek in his hands and giving them a tight squeeze. “So pretty,” he croons, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to each one. “You’re my angel, you know that?”
You already feel flushed, dizzy, intoxicated by his praise and the feel of his hands, and the sensation of a single, curly tendril falling from over his shoulder and brushing against the back of your thigh. Eddie lets go of one cheek and runs a finger over the back piece of the frilly thong, toying lightly with the fabric nestled between your cheeks. You suck in a sharp breath as his finger dances along the crevice. 
“I like this,” he muses, then wallops a firm slap! against your ass. Nothing brutal — hard enough to bring the blood to the surface of the skin, warm and stinging, but not so hard that you’re writhing in pain.
It’s like giving you a kiss, really.
He spanks the other cheek and you let out a little yelp. Eddie rubs the skin soothingly, easing the pain away. Then he pulls the crotch of your panties aside, already warm and sticky with arousal. Mouth positively watering, the heady, pungent scent of your sex filling his nostrils, he leans in, and starts teasing you with little kitten-licks, cleaning away the soft wetness leaking out of your cunt. 
You moan wantonly, burying your face into the downy bed cover.
Eddie’s hands grasp at your hips, your ass, your thighs, anything that’ll keep him steady while he eats you out from behind like a man starved. His tongue picks up speed, alternating between broad stripes and precise, intricate patterns with the tip of his tongue, which dips inside of you, and after a few shallow thrusts, is replaced with a finger, then two. His mouth latches onto your clit, lips sealing around the sweet little bud, sucking gently while his thick fingers pump in and out of you, curling just so. 
“Tastes so fucking good,” he groans against the slick flesh, “my sweet girl.” He lavishes a series of rapid, sucking kisses against your clit, and you fall to pieces. 
“Eddie!”
Skin alight and tingly, panting heavily, you push recklessly back against Eddie’s face and he lets you do as you will, helping you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages, words muffled by your cunt, “cum for me.”
As you come back down, your bones feel soft and spongy; you’re drowning in oxytocin and dopamine, floating in that sweet, dreamy space that only Eddie can take you to. He moves the underwear back into place, and rearranges your pliant limbs so you’re no longer on your hands and knees, but lying comfortably on your back. He shimmies out of his clothes quickly, shucking off the black jeans and t-shirt in record time. When he pulls his boxers down, his cock springs free, red and weeping; he jerks himself with a few quick tugs. You moisten your lips involuntarily at the sight, and move to sit up, eyes locked onto his heavy balls and girthy shaft. 
But Eddie has other plans. “You can suck me off later, if you want to, princess.” He grins salaciously. “But right now I need to be inside you.”
He climbs on the bed, crawling between your legs, and turns his focus to your breasts. He lavishes the same attention on your tits as he did your ass, fondling them in the soft, barely-there cups, swiping his thumbs into the space where your nipples are exposed, pinching lightly, rolling them between his fingers.
The bra comes off, and he doesn’t hesitate to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. When he’s finished with one, he kisses his way across your chest to the other. “Love these tits so much,” he mumbles into the swell of your breast before sucking the next one into his mouth, making sure he shows it the amount of same love. He looks up at you with big puppy eyes, and your fingers weave securely into his hair while he sucks. 
Releasing your breast with a wet, almost-comical pop, he straightens back up and pinches the waistband of your panties between two fingers. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulls them down, baring you completely. Cool air hits your sticky, aching middle, and your legs tremble in anticipation. 
The curls on your pubic mound have gone soft, dampened with sweat and arousal; he strokes them with loving fingers before continuing to pull the underwear down your thighs, past your knees and calves, until they’re completely off. He bites his full bottom lip, eyeing your cunt. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he promises you. Then he brings the panties up to his nose and sniffs delicately.
You squeal and kick at him playfully with one foot. He catches your ankle and snickers, pressing a quick kiss to your heel. “What? I like how you smell. I like how you taste, how you sound, how you look…” he trails off, staring at your body beneath him with lovestruck eyes. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He runs his hands down your sides in admiration, feeling every curve and crevice and dimple and bump, and loving all of them. 
“So are you.”
He reaches out to cup your face with one hand. You lay your own hand on top of his and sigh, hoping you can feel this way with him forever. 
Eddie twines his fingers through yours, and presses your interlocked hands into the mattress beside your head. He lays over top of you, settling in slowly, all franticness from earlier gone. He rubs his body against yours, capturing  your lips in a sweet kiss, savoring the feeling, both of you letting out soft moans at the sensation of his hard cock slipping against your wet folds. 
He tucks his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Y’ready, sweetheart?”
“Yes, please…”
“Good girl. So polite.” Eddie lines himself up and slips inside of you, pushing in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his length. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, breathing heavily into the skin. When you moan, and clutch at his shoulders, he understands that you’re giving him permission to speed up. His hips start to rock into yours a little bit faster, a little bit harder.
You move in tandem. The bed creaks. The two of you are a mere tangle of limbs; holding each other this close, it’s impossible to tell where your body ends and Eddie’s begins. 
You whimper at the feeling of his thick cock pumping in and out of you, stretching you out in an exhilarating mix of pleasure-almost-pain.  “Tha’s it, baby, let me hear you. Wanna hear all your pretty noises,” Eddie says, voice ragged. “Let me know how good it feels.”
“Feels so good, Eddie,” you tell him brokenly, thoroughly fucked-out. “Feels so big.”
At that, his thrusts become sloppier. “Yeah? My cock makin’ you all nice and full?” He snakes a hand down to your clit, rubbing it with his thumb. He knew the second he saw you in that getup he wasn’t gonna last long — honestly, he’s surprised he made it this far with blowing his load. 
With the added stimulation over your sensitive bud, you’re nearly there. The scent of sex, spiced body wash, and tobacco invade your senses, so all you can think of is Eddie. The muscles of your abdomen tighten, the walls of your cunt clenching around Eddie’s cock — you’re teetering on the precipice of climax. Eddie wants it like nothing he’s ever wanted before. 
His lips at your ear. “Give me one more sweetheart you’re so close I can feel it —”
A second orgasm overtakes you, pleasure bolting from your core in every direction. You cry out, biting into his shoulder, nails digging crescent-moons into his back. He holds you tightly and works you through it, concentrating on your release, though his own is right on its heels.
It’s too much. “Kiss me,” he begs, and then, not waiting for an answer, desperately seals his mouth to yours, so urgently that it’s merely a collision of lips and noses. Equally drunk on you as you are on him, amidst the aftershocks of your own pleasure, Eddie finally lets himself go. The taut rubber band inside of him finally snaps — he cums as deep inside of you as he can with a guttural groan, curling his body around yours, hips stuttering an uneven rhythm. 
The rush fades slowly, and Eddie slumps against you, pulling his cock out when it eventually softens, which wrenches another sigh from you. You both lie there together and pant, waiting for your heart rates to slow. Eddie’s warm seed starts to trickle out, adding to the wet mess between your legs.
Eddie dots a few hazy kisses to your neck, and you push the sweaty hair back from his perfect face.
With some effort, he lifts his head up, and his eyes find yours. He shoots you an exhausted grin. “You’re too good, baby. How’d I get so lucky?”
You laugh, knowing he did most of the work. “I could ask you the same thing.”
His smile softens, becoming a besotted, giddy thing. He takes your face in between his two hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. 
“I love you,” he pecks at your lips, “so fucking much.”
“I love you too, Eddie.”
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thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist
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another-lost-mc · 9 months
Note
heyyyy there, i just found ur profile wondering around and i was wondering would u do the brothers with shy reader NSFW
thanks if u accept it and if not it's fine
thanks again and i hope u have a grateful day :)))))))
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Reacting to a Shy MC THE DEMON BROTHERS 2.3k words | NSFW | gn!Reader Content warnings: Demon fluff sprinkled with suggestive content (implied oral/penetrative sex). Some of the brothers' sections are more explicit than others but not overly so. A/N: I was in the mood for something soft when I wrote this because being shy/socially anxious in the Devildom sounds like a nightmare. lol
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Lucifer is surprisingly tactile, but not in an obvious way. His small gestures can be perceived as platonic or innocent—leaning over your shoulder when he reads over your work, a hand on your back when he walks next to you on a busy street, his nimble fingers plucking a loose thread from your shirt. He doesn’t like it when you look away from him either. There’s a soft scratch of leather under your chin, and his fingers turn your head so you face him once more. His thumb presses down near your bottom lip and you can’t break his grip even if you wanted to. His stare pins you in place and it’s like his eyes pierce your soul. You tremble from nervousness at first, but later with anticipation.
When he takes you to bed, he cages you beneath him. His wings block other distractions from your view so all you can focus on is the blazing heat roaring in his crimson gaze as he stares down at you. Sometimes you turn your head when something embarrasses you—the way he murmurs appreciatively about the way your body feels, or how he licks his lips after feasting between your thighs, or the obscene squelch as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. But when you look away, he touches your cheek or under your chin, and the gloves he's still wearing smell faintly of your musky arousal now, and he directs your attention back where it belongs—on him.
(After he's taken you to bed for the first time, he doesn't mind if you get a little shy when you glance at his gloved hands and look away—he knows exactly what you're thinking of when you do.)
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Mammon loves the way your heart races when he compliments you. You bite your lip while you try to think of something to say in response, and your eyes that dart quickly to his and then away again, but he catches the glimmer of happiness and affection that softens your gaze. He boasts proudly, to everyone that's listening or anyone that needs reminding, that he's your first. You don't need anyone else for anything.
He's greedy for everything you are and everything you can give him, and he wants you to be greedy too. He’ll lavish you with attention and gifts and praise and when you're ready, all the things he's desperate to do to your body. He's the only one that can give you what you want. The simplest fantasies are enough to drive him mad—whether he imagines your body moving eagerly with his, or your lust-thickened voice whining in his ear, it doesn't matter—he wants it all.
He'll gladly take the lead in bed if that will get things going. He wants you to use his body to satisfy all the urges you’re too shy to admit out loud. He encourages you to grind back against his tongue when he eats you out from behind, and he drags you onto his lap and helps you bounce on his cock. He gives you that semblance of control so it’s easier for you to relax. Once you're overcome with pleasure, he hoards all your blissed-out expressions and sounds for himself.
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Leviathan is awkward, but he’s not shy in the same ways you are. Your kindness flusters him because he doesn't think he deserves it. You compliment him for the most mundane things, and you include him even when he lingers on the sidelines. He learns that it feels good to have a friend like you. You become the rare person that he can share his hobbies with, and he offers you imported snacks from the secret stash in his room no one else knows about. When friendship turns into more complicated feelings, he realizes it’s because of all the little things you do that prove you love him. It boosts his confidence so he can make the first move if you’re too shy.
He might be a little out of practice, but he starts slow: he holds your hand while you watch a movie together, and he kisses you quickly after you finally beat him at Devil Kart. He grows bolder and eager for more. He trails his fingers along your spine, tail curling around your leg possessively, when you cuddle together in his tub. He doesn't try to hide the blush that spreads across his cheeks when he rubs himself against you; he's so hard just from being close to you. He savors your quiet laughter when his fingers tickle your tummy as he tugs your shirt over your head.
There’s nothing cuter than the way you bite your lip when you wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips against his when he starts to grind against you. Nervous smiles and teasing laughter fades, replaced by the soft, quiet groans and whimpers you both pant against each other's mouths.
Levi figures that it's fine if things are a little awkward or silly at first—you’re figuring things out together, and he wouldn't change a thing.
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Satan has fucked before, plenty of times—meaningless encounters to blow off steam or scratch an itch. It’s so incredibly different from the romantic desire he feels when you looks at you. He craves more. He taps into all those cliched love stories he's read and the love songs he's listened to because he wants to show you how much you mean to him. He adores all of your cute, shy expressions when he catches you off-guard with a murmured compliment in your ear, or when he sneaks a quick kiss to your lips when no one's watching, or when he mouths I love you from across the room.
He's so sweet and gentle when he takes you to bed at first—there will be time to explore his rougher tendencies later. Your bodies grow hot and slick with sweat because he envelops you in his arms, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin. He kisses you when he rocks his hips, teasing you with the slow glide of his cock moving gently inside you. He cups your cheek or the back of your neck when he rests his forehead against yours and you can't see anything but him. He would drown in the blurry sea of your eyes if he could because no one's ever looked at him the way you do. He murmurs his affection against the delicate column of your throat as he guides you both towards the precipice.
The soft, whimpered utterance of his name from your lips is enough to pull him apart at the seams. Before you bury your head against his shoulder to stifle your groans when you come, he catches a fleeting glimpse of your expression and he swears you've never looked more beautiful.
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Asmodeus loves to be close to you and compliment you. He assumes it’s a human flaw when you deflect even the most simple praise like you don’t believe him. It confuses him—why would he ever lie to you? He loves you and thinks you’re gorgeous and so sweet. If he tells you that nothing brightens his mood more than seeing you smile, or that there’s nothing he wants more than to take you to pieces between his sheets, he wants you to know because it’s the truth. It’s his truth.
You don’t need to agree with him right away, even though he secretly hopes that one day you will. He can’t deny what he feels for you. It’s impossible. He’s too far gone to pretend what he feels for you is anything less than overwhelming love and admiration and desire. You make his head spin and his heart race and his cock ache, and everyone else can see that he looks at you like he’s never looked at anyone before.
When he takes you to his room and peels the clothes from your body, he stands behind you so you can watch yourself in his full-length mirror. He tsks when you squirm and try to look away, and he coos into your ear between soft barely-there kisses against your neck.
Don’t you see how lovely you are? Can’t you feel the way my fingers tremble because I’ve waited all day to touch you?
He knows you can feel his cock trapped in the confine of his pants—it twitches against your back and he rolls his hips slowly so it grinds against the curve of your ass as he undresses you. Once you’re naked and a little breathless, he finally leads you to his bed and crawls on top of you, or he leans back against the headboard and settles you on his lap so you can straddle him. He whispers his feelings for you against your lips and trails his fingers along your warm, soft skin. He’s patient and he waits while he holds you in his arms, prolonging the inevitable. When you finally beg for him to move, to give you what you both desperately want, he rewards you with all the pleasure his body can give you.
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Beelzebub mistakes your shyness for fear—not just fear of living in the Devildom, but fear of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were afraid of him in the beginning. Humans are so frail—you could be as tall as him, as broad as him, or as muscular as him, and you still would seem so small in comparison. His strength made him a formidable angel and it makes him even more threatening as a demon. Eventually he gets to know you better, and friendship turns into something more, and he realizes that he never wants you to be afraid of him again.
He tries to understand your shy nature and how to make you comfortable. Sometimes you can't enjoy dinner parties or Diavolo’s dances without being bothered by the other curious guests—you like to pick and choose when you want to be sociable. He tries to draw unwanted attention away from you so you can escape for some fresh air. He’ll even bring a plate of desserts to split while the others wonder where you’ve both snuck off to. 
Things change when he admits how much he wants you, and it's not long before chaste kissing simply isn't enough to satisfy either of you. Dark, hungry thoughts are difficult to control when passions run high, and Beel knows he could hurt you by accident if he's not careful—the thought terrifies him. He's not timid when he undresses you or lays you in his bed, but he's hesitant when he touches you with his hands and his mouth and eventually his cock. He glances at your face to watch your reactions and he asks you what feels good. Above his own needs, he desperately wants to please you.
You whimper or groan his name, or you whine when he touches the most sensitive parts of your body. He stops to remind you—with his rough voice thickened with lust—to use your words when he asks if you’re okay. All you have to do is tell him what you want, what you like, what you need, and he'll give you everything you ask in return.
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Belphegor is surprisingly protective of you. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that you squirm or avoid eye contact in public settings. Your voice wavers when you have to present something in one of your classes, and you don’t like being the centre of attention at Diavolo's parties. He tries to help and take some of those burdens off your shoulders. He sticks close to your side so he can deflect away unwanted attention, and he glares at the other demons that might try and approach you.
Somewhere along the way, friendship stops being enough for him. He disguises his genuine desires as teasing remarks or jokes to test the waters and gauge your response. He invites you to nap in the attic, and he strips down to his boxers and suggests you do the same. It’s cute when you stammer and insist that you’re going to keep your clothes on.
(For now, anyway—eventually you agree to take off some of your burdensome layers as long as he turns the lights off first. He obliges because he can still see you perfectly, but he figures you’ll be more comfortable believing he can’t.)
Sometimes when you sleep cuddled together, your dreams bleed over into his. It happens by accident, but he doesn’t do anything to prevent it either. It gives him a glimpse of the world through your eyes, and he realizes that his face flickers across your dreamscape more and more often as time passes.
Those dreams of yours encourage him, and he starts teasing you just a little more. He wakes up half-hard and pressed against your side, but he pretends not to notice when he asks how you slept. He wears nothing but a loose towel wrapped around his hips when he walks past your room after showering. He leans close and wipes at the corner of your mouth with his thumb, claiming you have something left there from dinner. Your breath hitches when he lets his eyes trail down to your lips, and he pulls back with a smile when you try and fail to hide your disappointment.
One day he might grow impatient and finally close the distance, but for now he tries to be patient—he’s curious if you'll overcome your nerves and kiss him first.
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Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @haezen @xpixie @lemonivall @meggsngrits @flemmingbamse @tortibomb @amberrskiies @angelsdilf @rensphilia @4allthefours4 @a-hidden-gem @lust--on--my--lips @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @callmesaya @cosmicstarlatte @alexxncl @sirimirihiro @i-am-empress-irish @ezraiix @bizarrebankai @devildomd0ll @alexxavicry @moon-i-v @ablondehoe @vinsmouke
Join the taglist here. | Obey Me! Masterlist
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bbytamaki · 11 months
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more random obey me headcanons >:)
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content: sfw headcanons, scars mentioned (from piercings), belphie has depression, all family love <3, not proofread >:((
note: i haven’t done any dateable hcs yet :(( might do some soon
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— lucifer can’t stand bananas. it’s just a thing. even the smell will have him pressing his handkerchief over his mouth like a sick victorian man. does satan use this to his advantage? possibly.
— has very feminine hands. he covers them with gloves so he doesn’t have to hear asmo’s jealous whining. if anyone brings it up he’s not above strangling them with his dainty, girlish fingers.
— flexible. like shockingly. it doesn’t really come to light that often but every once in a while lucifer follows single mom yoga videos on the weekends.
— mammon has the prettiest facial features ever. like his eyes and lips look so good in candid photos. his magazine covers are the bane of asmo’s existence.
— bird tendencies. like i mean squawking and jumping like 3 feet in the air when startled. in his demon form he’s just a big parrot. he does the head tilt thing when he’s confused.
— if anyone stands in front of him for longer than a minute he’s picking lint out of their hair and fixing their clothes. his brothers have gotten more than used to his “preening” and either avoid standing around him for too long or just take it. lucifer does this too and sometimes they’ll just stand and fix each other’s clothes for like 5 minutes straight while everyone else is like “???”
— levi is tall. very tall. he’s just so scrawny and lanky and his posture is awful so you wouldn’t even notice until he actually straightens up to his full height. this rarely ever happens unless he’s in his demon form. when it does he is scary.
— cosplays online. his cosplay friends are some of his favorite people. he already sews his own costumes (as we’ve seen), and he’s really good at makeup. one of his future plans is to meet up in the human world to go to a con with his friends.
— screams like a little girl. one time mammon accidentally walked into the bathroom when levi was showering and he shrieked. lucifer ran to see what the commotion was because “how did a human child find their way into the devildom??” levi has never felt more embarrassed.
— satan watches trashy reality tv in his private time. bad girls club, keeping up with the kardashians, you name it.
— can sing the whole periodic table song by tom lehrer forward and backward. i think satan is actual really good at science and it would be his best and favorite subject.
— he just likes animals in general. he has a thing for bunnies after visiting a human world petting zoo.
— asmo has an abnormally long tongue, like surpassing attractive and approaching freakish. he usually keeps it in his mouth but once every so often decides to creep solomon out just for fun.
— has soooo many stripper friends. if you’re wondering how his hair and makeup stay in place the whole day, he learned from the best.
— he definitely designed an entire line of lingerie but only made one of each design. they’re ultra rare collectibles in the devildom and worth more than you could imagine.
— beel can french braid and make friendship bracelets like he’s going to a girl scout camp. nobody can tell me he didn’t hand make the necklaces he wears.
— speaking of martha stewart beel, he can crochet and makes blankets and cute plushies for belphie all the time.
— luke is actually his little brother and no one can convince him otherwise lol they go back and forth over nothing all the time and stop talking to each other until one of them says “what do you want for dinner”
— belphie is the king of doing his own piercings at home because why pay $50 for something he already knows how to do? he ends up taking some of them out before they heal because he gets tired of them and ends up with a bunch of scars on his face and body.
— you and beel are his dream journal. he texts the attic club gc after every nap to tell you guys what his latest dream was about. (you’re the two people that show up in his dreams the most.)
— goes absolutely dormant during depressive episodes. the complete opposite of his twin brother (beel has to keep busy at all times to stay distracted). asmo carries him to his private bathroom and lets belphie pick his favorite soaps and lotions (he likes the ones that smell like sandalwood, they remind him of taking naps in his brothers’ rooms).
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mondaymelon · 9 months
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— 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀. ♥
:feat~ albedo, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, alhaitham, kaveh x gn!reader:
⤷ sometimes, warm moments like these is what truly makes their love apparent.
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori
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"May I... sketch you?"
ALBEDO's request is quiet - well-mannered as he's caught gazing at you with those deep turquoise eyes of his, holding a pencil aloft in one gloved hand.
"Go ahead." You let a smile cross your expression briefly, glancing up at him and letting your eyes meet. His stare is warm, contrasting to his usual blank expression that he wears so frequently. Your cheeks warm as his lips curve upwards into a gentle smile, and the quietest laugh escapes from his lips.
"Hm, if you keep looking at me with those eyes, I'm not sure if I'll be able to focus at all." His voice is playful, almost, before he flips to a new page in his sketchbook, which is set against his usual easel, and begins to draw.
And although only silence surrounds the two of you, occasionally accompanied by the gentle scratching of Albedo's sketching pencil moving across the paper, everything feels perfectly familiar.
Sunlight filters through the large windows, bathing the entire room in a cordial glow. From where you silently sit, you can feel your heart quicken at the sight of Albedo quietly standing, occasionally glancing at you with a diligent gaze.
It's clear that no words need to be shared between the two of you. The soft smile set on the male's face unmistakably says enough.
It's an expression that reads, "I love you." ♥
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"Here, shall I order you another drink?"
KAEYA's voice seems to waltz in the thick air. Amongst the mixed chatter and low tones of the bar, his smooth one is something that stands out. His eye twinkles as he glances at you, slowly swirling the contents of his own glass with a distant amusement. "The night's just begun, after all."
"Ah, no thanks... I have work tomorrow." You sheepishly decline his offer, not wanting to wake up to a vicious hangover the next morning... which had happened the last time the two of you went out for drinks. It seemed that that was Kaeya's idea of "entertainment".
"Mm, very well. It's a pity, but I suppose I can't ignore your reasoning." With a short sigh and a loose shrug of his shoulders, he lets out a small laugh. "Ah, but since you won't be drinking any more, perhaps I'll make up for it?"
You don't understand his words... not until he takes the wine bottle off the table and downs it all with startling quickness.
"Kaeya!?"
"Ahaha... oh, maybe that wasn't such a great idea..." His body tips, his head lolling onto your shoulder with a drunken stupor. Kaeya holds his drink well, so it's certainly not everyday where you'll see the cavalry captain in such an intoxicated state. You can sense that something has changed in his gaze, from the way his interested gaze flicks up to your face from where he leans against your shoulder.
"Hm..." He mumbles it to himself, mostly, and it's something you're sure you weren't meant to hear, but you do.
"Haha... How could I be so lucky as to have you as my lover...?" ♥
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"Love, are you tired? Come here."
ZHONGLI's expression is gentle, amber eyes warm as he lightly gestures to the space beside him. The evening air is cool, so his touch is inviting more than anything.
His gaze seems to melt as you sit beside him, body leaning against his. He's quick to move his arms, wrapping one around you, pulling you into the frame while the other stays by his side.
If you had glanced up at him then, you would've seen the gentle smile that spread across his features. Yet you didn't, and instead leaned into his warmth with a smile of your own.
Perhaps you're imagining it, but in the quiet of the night, you can almost hear Zhongli's heart beating alongside yours. Steadfast, strong. An unbreakable will.
And while you held such admiration for the male, he, in return, held such affection for you. You, the beacon of his attention and you, who had captured his heart obliviously.
Every second he spends with you is bliss - moments he will never take for granted.
Above you, Zhongli lets out a satisfied breath, running his fingers through your hair with an unimaginable delicateness. He stays there for a moment, musing to himself with twinkling golden eyes as he plays with your locks absentmindedly... although anyone who knows Zhongli is well aware that he is not one to be absent minded in any matter.
Ah, is he saying something? His words are quiet, so much so you can't hear them, but his lips move accordingly with every word.
"The day will come where we are not together, but until then, please, let me hold you for as long as it may last." ♥
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"You can open your eyes now!"
CHILDE's game had been rather suspicious from the start - yet, the first thing you notice when you open your eyes is the glimmering excitement that seems to dance across his features. And while his amusement always had been somewhat plastic, some part of you knew that this enthusiasm was genuine. He takes your hands, his touch warm, and spins you around in a half-hug that seems to make you fly.
"Hey, do you like it?" His voice is higher-pitched - airy and hopeful.
Huh? Oh... he means-
You had meant to look at his surprise, but found yourself gazing distractedly at him instead. In his arms, he holds a bouquet of your favorite flowers, each and every bud fully in bloom, every petal pristine. How he got them to be so perfect, you might never know, but you can already feel a smile forming on your face.
A laugh escapes your lips as you throw your arms around the male, pulling yourself into his embrace. There's a moment of shock before he returns it, and you can see the way his own lips curve upwards.
His eyes are the same deep azure, void of light... and it'd likely be too much to hope that any sort of brightness would return to such, yet sometimes, in the late hours where you would be cuddled up beside him, there was no mistaking how his expression seemed to lighten at the sight of you.
"I love it." The words come out almost like a whisper, but the male hears it.
"And I love you." ♥
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"Oh, were you waiting for me?"
AYATO's violet eyes seem to sparkle as he rounds the corner and spots you leaning against the wall, heedlessly standing there with a tentative air. "If you wanted to see me, you could've told one of my retainers... or, perhaps the thought hadn't crossed your mind in such haste?" There's a smirk on his face as he chuckles lightly.
"I just thought waiting for you would be faster." You pout, cheeks slightly flushed at his jesting.
Ah, there it was. The expression that had made him fall for you. The male can only laugh further. "Very well, then I suppose I'll have to indulge you then, correct?" He begins to walk down the hallway and gestures for you to follow suit. At the end of the corridor stands two armored guards, attentively glancing across the courtyard with weapon in hand. As the two of you cross them, they respectfully bow their heads.
"Commissioner Kamisato and esteemed guest, we greet you."
"Thank you." Ayato smiles, but it's one without warmth. "You are dismissed."
"...Pardon?" The first one seems dumbfounded, but the second seems to get the hint and tugs on the other's shoulder, leading them out of the area.
"Hm... now there are no prying eyes, let's talk, shall we?" He sits and you mimic his actions, watching with a flitting gaze as the Ayato himself stares at you, seemingly transfixed. "How have you been, love?" There's already two cups of hot tea set at the table, but somehow, he pulls a cup of boba from his sleeve instead.
And while you're telling him all about the day's occurrences, waving your hands about as you elaborate, you pause as you hear a quiet laugh emit from the male.
"Oh sorry, go on."
"You just look so beautiful right now... that I couldn't help but laugh at my good fortune." ♥
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"Here, I made you this!"
THOMA beams warmly as he sets something on your head, a something that smells rather fragrant, like fresh vanilla. The blonde's smile is contagious, lethally so... from the way his spring eyes are glimmering excitedly, to the manner on how his expression brightened as soon as he had spotted you - everything about it, about him seemed to make your heart feel warm.
You glance up. Wind... Windwheel Asters? Weren't those the flowers from Mondstadt? Low and behold, there they were, stems intricately intertwined together, occasional leaves flourishing outwards as the heads delicately spin in the gentle breeze.
"A... A merchant came by and was selling some flowers from my hometown, so I thought..." Thoma's voice trails off as his face slowly grows redder. In a way, he's slightly ashamed. Perhaps he shouldn't have indulged in such a childish hobby, gifting you a flower crown? With the way your eyes have widened... do you dislike it-?
All those thoughts cease instantaneously as he feels something warm - your lips, pressed against his cheek as you give him a quick kiss. When you pull away, your happy expression is something that makes his eyes widen in surprise as he feels his heart soar.
"Ah, but now I feel bad..." You put a finger to your chin, pondering a thought. "You've given me such a priceless gift, yet I don't have a thing in return..." Instantly, Thoma is all over your slumped figure.
"Nono, please don't say that! You being here is the best gift I could wish for." ♥
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"Are you done with this page yet?"
ALHAITHAM glances down at you. Your back is pressed against his chest, sitting in between his splayed legs comfortably as the male holds out his book for the both of you to read. As he breathes steadily, his chest rises and falls in a constant rhythm.
When you nod your head in approval, he flips the page, revealing the next. He's a fast reader, that much is apparent. You can't keep up with him, but he waits for you at the end of each and every one... and if he gets bored, he'll rest his chin on your head - or maybe even play with your hair, the slightest bit.
Sometimes, a distant part of you thought he reminded you of a cat.
But that was besides the point. The book isn't anything special - just more ancient Sumeru history, but the way Al Haitham is staring at every page so diligently would make one think that he's reading something incredibly riveting. You've seen that look before, now that you think about it. It's the certain type of gaze that you've caught Al Haitham using out of the corner of your eye. The type of stare that just spells out his infatuation.
You haven't even noticed that your eyelids have begun to flutter shut until the male's deep voice emits once more: "Are you tired?"
There's a faint smile on his face, an expression that one could easily miss. In your drowsiness, however, you still manage to catch it. "Mhm."
Silently he sets down his book, before placing a hand behind your head and pushing you closer. He closes his eyes, his breathing composed.
"If you're drowsy, get some rest... But stay here, would you?" ♥
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"Darling, what... what are you doing here?"
KAVEH stands in the doorway, ruby eyes wide. His stance is stiff as he somewhat comes to his senses, whipping his head about in an almost comical manner. "Why are you here? Is he home??"
He sounds so anxious it's hard not to laugh. "I just wanted to see you, so..." Your words come out as more sheepish as intended, and you can see his harried expression lighten.
"You didn't talk to Al Haitham, did you?" There's a new edge in his voice, although his jitteriness has significantly eased since the start of the conversation. "And he didn't say anything weird to you, did he??"
Oh. The realization finally hits you. He's jealous, isn't he?
"No, not at all. I haven't even seen him, actually." A giggle manages to escape your lips, and Kaveh visibly brightens at your mood.
"Good. Then, should we get out of here before he decides to show up?" Kaveh opts to place his work things aside, leaving Murak on the table to fend for himself as he quickly piles his blueprints onto the coffee table, emptying the bundles in his arms. He takes your hand as soon as possible, his grip tight but comfortable.
As he tugs you along and out the door into the warm evening air, glancing back at you, his crimson eyes seem to shimmer.
"You're mine, and I won't ever let you forget that." ♥
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(a/n) oops this took me much longer than it shouldve
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bayambii · 2 months
Text
fontaine hands . . .
warnings: swearing, 4.2 archon quest spoilers, hands, a little steamy in clorinde if you squint
characters: wriothesley, neuvelitte, lyney, lynette, navia, clorinde, furina and freminet
bambis comments: hai cuties!! i have an obsession with hands so i thought it would be a perfect first post LOL
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WRIOTHESLEY
◦ jesus fucking CHRIST, this man has large hands. i mean like second to none in teyvat i would say
◦ his hands are bruised and often dirty. when they’re not inside of his gauntlets, his right is covered with dark bandages. he goes really soft when you take the time to clean his hands or even like his nails
◦just like massaging his hands while he tells you about his day, rubbing his temple with his freehand while he goes on and on about one inmate who always tries to pick a fight
◦speaking of his nails! they’re stubby and not painted. he doesn’t bite them they just like break off naturally due to the nature of his job and his gauntlets
◦he has silver rings for every finger it looks like, and he fidgets with them when he’s talking to anyone, rolling it around his fingers and back again
◦HIS HANDS SMELL LIKE TEA RAAAH
NEUVILLETTE
◦ skinny ass hands, but they’re long.
◦ he almost always wears his gloves, because underneath he has scales on his hands. his hands aren’t fully dragon like, still keeping a human like color, but many teal scales decorate his hands.
◦his fingernails are naturally tinted a little blue, and they’re on the longer side. he keeps them clean and pushes his cuticles back often
◦he’s often writing with his hands, rolling his quill/pen around his fingers when he thinks. his hands are skilled at writing, and can write rather fast.
◦a wrist roller. his wrists get tight from writing for hours on end and always makes sure to roll them out.
LYNEY
◦OH MY GOD. don’t even get me started…
◦another fontainian who’s hands are often concealed in his gloves. a magician never reveals his secrets, does he?
◦he has regular length hands, but they’re on the skinny side.
◦his hands are almost always clean, and have a very soft texture.
◦imagine lyney late at night practicing new card tricks without his gloves, using you as his test audience (he shows you all his tricks first anyway)
◦he has trimmed nails, that he paints black and red, to match his whole theme. they tend to be chipped however, and he needs lynette or you to keep repainting them.
◦his hands are obviously very practiced, and he takes great care of them
LYNETTE
◦she has smaller and skinny hands, very petite and cute
◦ due to her cat-like nature, her hands are very sensitive, and she prefers to keep her gloves on
◦ when she holds your hand she likes to keep her gloves on, just so she doesn’t get overwhelmed
◦ however, she likes taking her gloves off to hold your face, and memorize each and every crevice and dimple with her hands
◦ when she feels comfortable, she’ll let you see her hands, and trusts you to know her comfort level with her sensitivity
◦she keeps her nails long, and painted a teal. she often keeps up with her nail care, and looks after your nails as well
◦her hands smell like tea, like wrio, due to her often drinking and brewing the beverage.
NAVIA
◦ADORABLE HANDS, and very well kept!
◦ skinny and longer, and a little freckled near her wrist.
◦she only keeps a glove on one hand, and she prefers to hold your hand with that one!
◦very well kept nails, with sapphire colored nail polish adorning them. she seems like the type to get like gems and stuff put on her nails.
◦she knows you like her hands, so she always makes sure to put extra time into caring for them
◦her hands are incredibly soft, and don’t really get that clammy
◦navia would only get clammy if you were flustering her, which is not an easy feat
CLORINDE
◦beautiful lady, long skinny hands again however she doesn’t know how to look after her hands
◦ ITS NOT HER FAULT NO ONE TAUGHT HER OKAY!! before starting a relationship with you, she never put much thought into her hands!!
◦she often keeps her gloves on, and like washes her hands when needed but she doesn’t take care of her nails or put lotion on or NOTHING
◦her nails are stubby, and might have leftover polish from the last time you attempted to paint her nails
◦with handling her weapons, she has very tactful hands and is not very clumsy
◦where she puts her hands is very, how do i say, purposeful
◦she might feign oblivion, but she knows exactly what she’s doing with her hands
FURINA DE FONTAINE
◦oh ho ho? you want to see the dear lady furinas hands?
◦only furina would take this much care into something she’s going to just put a glove over but WHATEVER
◦she’s got small hands, with many jewels and rings adorning her fingers
◦she looks after her nails with the upmost pride, and keeps them constantly painted and pristine
◦like clorinde, she is very purposeful where she puts her hands. your dear lady knows you, and knows exactly what makes you flustered (and oh does she love that)
◦she would love to help you look after your hands, and even help you paint a most magnificent nail art on your nails oh ho ho!
FREMINET
◦smaller hands, with larger palms, with FRECKLES!! and i mean freckles .
◦freminet doesn’t necessarily have clumsy hands, due to his work on per and other mechs, but his hands aren’t as practiced as other fontainians
◦his hands can also get clammy due to his shyness, and doesn’t want to bother you with that
◦HOWEVER, you can hold his hand all you want underwater. there’s no risk there, and he’s fully confident. maybe he’ll work up to holding your hand above the sea
◦he is very shy, and earlier on in your relationship, and is careful if he puts his hands on you if he does AT ALL…
◦ often under the water, his nails are always clean but still stubby, and never painted (but he wouldn’t be apposed to you painting them) ((just be prepared for a flustered frem))
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goldfish-afterhours · 3 months
Text
How the Genshin Characters Find Your Ring Size
Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli, Xiao, Thoma, Scaramouche x Gn!reader
Type/genre: Bulleted headcanons, fluff, comedy
Warnings: None
Diluc
Asks for the measurements of your hand and pretends it’s for another reason
The trees are now bare and it is getting chilly outside, so Diluc takes the opportunity to ask for your hand measurements for custom-made gloves
You raise an eyebrow when he asks for measurements instead of a size, but you get out a string measurer and measure anyways
Sneakiness: 7/10. Accuracy: 10/10.
“The glove maker prefers the most accurate of measurements for his craft. And it’ll be warmer if it’s fits better.”
Kaeya
Brings you home one of those plastic rings as a joke
You accept it graciously, playing into his bit and slipping it onto your thumb since it was so big. Kaeya shakes his head, saying it has to go on your ring finger
You roll your eyes but put it on your ring finger anyways
It’s one of those flexible rings so you can push the bands together so they touch, fitting perfectly on your finger
All he has to do is steal it back from you when you take it off to shower, and now he has the perfect reference to take to the jeweler
Sneakiness: 6/10. Accuracy: 7/10
“For Your Royal Highness, monarch of the entire universe, I present to you, the ring of destiny!”
Childe
I can’t imagine that this is the first time Childe’s bought any sort of jewelry for you
This man would love to spoil you, and I can see him buying you necklaces and rings even before he gets any ideas of proposing
You wear a ring on your index finger that he brought back from Inazuma a while back. The size is a a little odd, and the two of you have been talking about getting it resized to fit better
He’ll take you to the jeweller, who will insist on getting the measurements of all your fingers “as we do for all new customers to keep on file!”
They do not, in fact, do this for all new customers. Childe specifically asked them to, and now he has your exact ring size.
Sneakiness: 10/10. Accuracy: 10/10
“Wow, the customer service is pretty good here, right?”
Zhongli
Doesn’t know which size to get? That’s fine, he’ll buy all the rings that seem around your size
That is, if he had the mora. Since in terms of mora, he has no mora, Zhongli had to find another way to figure out your ring size without you knowing
Traces the outline of both yours and his hand on a piece of parchment, pretending it’s for an old ancient Liyue tradition that couples do that you’ve never heard of and neither has Zhongli until an hour ago
You don’t question it because Zhongli is always bringing up stories and traditions you’ve never heard of, so you just assumed this would be one of them
Sneakiness: 10/10. Accuracy: 7/10
“My love, with the silhouette of our hands etched together on this paper, we will be blessed by the spirits for eternity.”
Xiao
Poor boy doesnt know what to do and too prideful to ask someone else’s help in finding out your ring size
He’ll judge it on his own
Fine I’ll do it myself
The next time the two of you are holding hands, Xiao will spread his straight out against your palm
You’ll follow suit, and as much as Xiao is enjoying the romantic moment, he’s busy trying to memorize how your hand looked in proportion to his
Since he’s eyeballing it, the measurements are a little off and ends up buying a size too small
Sneakiness: 7/10. Accuracy: 2/10
“It’s nothing. I just…like holding your hand.”
Thoma
Has one of his many friends help
One of his friends is a peddler, and they parked their travelling stall on your route home from work
They call you over, praising your beauty and insisting you take a look at their wares, that someone who shines as brightly as you deserves the finest jewellery to match
Though the flattery was too much, you felt bad about just leaving so you try on one of the rings the peddler recommended
Seeing it didn’t fit, the peddler insists you try on a different size, until you found a perfect fit
Thoma’s friend then changes attitude, suddenly saying none of the wares were for sale anymore and shooing you away
You go home and tell the strange thing that happened to you today to Thoma, who just nods innocently and pretends he had nothing to do with it
Sneakiness: 8/10. Accuracy: 10/10
“Huh, that is weird! The world is becoming a stranger place, it seems.”
Scaramouche
Flat out asks you for your ring size
When you tease him, asking what it was for, he’ll mock you, saying you’re really flattering yourself thinking he was going to propose
But when you ask him for the real reason, he’ll open his mouth to respond but no sound will come out
His head goes blank and he can’t think of a reason, and his face just turns redder by the second
You tell him your ring size, and teasingly remind him not to get you a halo ring <3
Sneakiness: 0/10. Accuracy: 10/10
“D-Don’t look so smug! If you don’t want it, then forget it.”
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gatorbites-imagines · 10 months
Note
Hihi, love your writing. Just sending over a request for a male reader (could be ftm if you'd life) with Hobie Brown? So basically the reader is apart of the organisation too and is a spiderman (could be possibly like a rock and/or punk based spiderman, or something completely opposite it's up to you) and it's how he had met Hobie and how they got close? I can send more details over if you'd like, thanks!
Hobie Brown x Male reader
Headcanons
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I couldnt find any gifs of hobie yet, so just have this one.
Spoilers for Across the Spiderverse I guess? Reader is a Juggalo because I like ICP lmao.
You were one of the Spidermen that stood out somewhat amongst every other spiderperson around. You suit was white and black and had Juggalo features painted on the face. You wore a baggy ICP t-shirt and black shorts, maybe even a jacket or battle vest covered in patches. You wore a pair of heavy boots as well, perfect for kicking ass.
Along with that you didn’t respect the machine, aka the people in charge, as much as everyone else. You liked fighting and busting fascist and racist heads, you didn’t get involved with cops, and you were stubborn like a mule. This resulted in Miguel hating you because you were so difficult, but you were one of the best, so he kept you around.
You really liked fighting, which could be seen in the claws you added to your gloves, the brass knuckles worked into your suit, or the hard covering on your knees perfect for kneeing people in the chin. Those were only the visible ones, but you had many other hidden gizmos. This made you a bit of an outcast amongst the spiderpeople, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care about anyone’s approval but your own.
When Hobie joined the organization, it had been for Gwen’s sake in the beginning, since he himself doesn’t care much for large organizations with one leader who makes all the decisions. He puts up with it though, since its his duty to be spiderman.
Color him intrigued when one day he, Gwen and Jessica are called to Miguel’s area. When they arrive, they first see Miguel pacing back and forth rubbing his temples in clear annoyance, and second, they see a spiderman perched on the wall with little respect in his posture, roasting Miguel from head to toe.
Hobie already liked you from just that, but when you jump down to introduce yourself and he sees the anti-capitalism and anti-cop patches on your jacket? He might have fallen in love.
You, Gwen and Hobie were sent on a mission together, and you and Hobie got along like a house on fire. Gwen joked about being a third wheel the entire time, but she was just entertained about how well you two got along.
Outside of missions Hobie and you hang out most of the time, jumping into each other’s dimensions and just spending time at the others place. Hobies place is as punk rock as you can imagine, with all his instruments and an organized mess going on.
Your place is more what you’d imagine from someone who listens to rap, hiphop and ICP. You got a lot of music, casettes, cds, anything you can imagine. Lotsa posters or homemade merch stapled to the wall, etc.
When Hobie and Gwen make their band, you are invited of course, you are the singer. You can rap up a storm and speak so fast its hard for them to keep up some days. Hobie won’t admit it for a while, but hearing you spit bars makes his heart flutter.
Gwen would tease the both of you for having a crush on the other, which you both deny, because you are both cool and having crushes isn’t cool.
Gwen jokes about you two being boyfriends after you accidentally wear each other’s vest after spending the night at Hobies’ place. You both just roll your eyes at her and roast her with no actual heat, just doing it how friends would do it.
You both start dating at some point, neither of you can pinpoint when. One day you two just find yourselves cuddling on your rundown patched up couch without your masks on, cuddling and kissing.
Neither of you ever actually ask if you are boyfriends now or not, because you both know you are. It takes a while for Gwen and Pavitr a while to realize you two are together, since you don’t actually act any different.
Its only when they see you pull up his mask and your own to kiss him before going on a mission that it clicks for the both of them. They both whine that neither of you actually told them you were together.
When the movie happens you peace out the same moment as Hobie, having stolen your own tech so you two can keep visiting each other even if you aren’t part of the organization anymore.
Neither of you were ever big parts of being part of it anyways and only stayed for each other and for your friends, but seeing how Miguel deals with the whole Miles situation, you agree you need to leave.
You work together to make the watch for Gwen so she can save Miles. You two might join her too if needed, especially you, because you will take any chance to knock Miguel on his ass, maybe knock out those cheesy fangs of his.
Like I said, you hate authority. And since Miguel is authority, you hate him. Hobie follows after you because hes whipped and loves you deeply, plus he knows you can get kinda careless at times, so he has to pull you outta trouble if he needs.
You are both so grossly whipped for each other, it makes Gwen and Pavitr gag, though its fake gagging. You share clothes, instruments. You do his eyeliner and paint his nails, he does your Juggalo face paint. He always makes sure to give you a big kiss, which just wipes the paint onto his lips too.
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ohbo-ohno · 6 months
Text
run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)
summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.
word count: 6.5k
cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication
read on ao3 - see the pinterest board
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One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 
You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.
It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.
A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.
You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.
The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.
You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 
The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.
He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.
He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.
You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.
He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.
His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.
When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.
You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.
There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.
“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”
You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.
“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”
He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 
Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.
You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.
You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.
“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”
He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?
He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.
Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.
You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.
The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.
But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…
You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.
———————————————————————
The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.
You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.
He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 
He’s the one who speaks next.
It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.
“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.
You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.
“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 
“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.
He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.
You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.
He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 
“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.
If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.
He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.
There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.
You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.
The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.
The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 
“Gettin’ food. You got money?”
You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.
You shake your head.
He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”
With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.
The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.
The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.
You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.
You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.
“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.
“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”
“Will that be all for you today?”
“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.
“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”
He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 
“Don’t worry about it.”
Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.
After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.
You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”
He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”
You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?
He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”
You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.
He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.
His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.
The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.
For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.
With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.
———————————————————————
You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.
The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.
He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.
He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 
“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”
That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”
“With what money?”
He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”
“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.
Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.
You swallow again, force down a cough.
You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.
“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.
He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”
“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.
“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.
You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.
It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 
He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.
The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.
You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.
You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.
———————————————————————
You wake slowly to movement behind you. 
You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.
The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.
Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.
The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.
That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.
The realization comes to you in pieces.
Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.
You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 
It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.
He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 
Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.
The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.
He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.
He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.
It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.
Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 
He’s humping you.
His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.
You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.
But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.
So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.
His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.
He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.
That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.
He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.
His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 
You wish you could fall back asleep.
You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.
But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 
He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.
He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.
He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.
You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 
The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.
His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.
He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.
The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 
You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.
You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.
You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.
Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.
You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.
But you can’t. So you bear it.
He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.
You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.
“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”
You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.
You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.
He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 
Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.
He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.
He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.
———————————————————————
He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.
He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.
He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.
He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.
Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.
That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.
He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.
He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 
But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.
It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.
He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.
You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.
He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 
It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.
He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.
Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.
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mellowswriting · 1 year
Text
did you miss me?
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pairing || Din Djarin x f!reader 
word count || 4.2k
summary || Din proves just how much he missed you while he was away. 
content || pure poetic smut, rough but loving sex? is that a thing?, blowjobs, deepthroating, face fucking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms Din is pussy whipped and painfully in love, thorough aftercare, dorks in love
a/n || not me coming back from my mini hiatus with pure smut 🤠 no one is surprised, right? 
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It’s been too long since Din has felt your lips against his skin. By too long, he means just a little over a week. Call him dramatic but he’s certain it’s a miracle he survived without you at all. He wasn’t meant to be gone for so long. He’s far too used to waking up and falling asleep next to you, teasingly smacking your ass as you walk by, dragging you close and fucking you against whatever surface is available. Din can feel your absence tugging at his skin, pulling him taut and tense. He’s grown… attached. More attached than he imagined himself capable of, in fact.
So when Fett came to him for help, Din was less than enthusiastic to leave the little world of calm you created together. It took a bit more cajoling than usual. It will take two days at most. We can compensate you. Then you can take your pretty little lover out somewhere nice. Din rolled his eyes at the light teasing from his fellow Mandalorian, but he couldn’t deny the prospect sounded like… fun. Something he hadn’t sought out in a very long time. So Din looped you in on the plan, fucked you nice and thorough, and very begrudgingly left you in his bed to help his friend.
Two days quickly became a week. He really should have known that this would happen but Din is a man of his word. He stays and fights by his friends’ sides, and undeniably wins the entire ordeal for them. The celebration afterward would have been tempting if he didn’t know exactly what was waiting for him back home. Fett didn’t even bother trying to convince him to hang around; he just tossed Din a bag of credits and a knowing grin, which Din pointedly ignored. He took a quick shower before he headed off, all too aware that he wouldn’t be wasting a second once he has you in his arms again.
Din sees you before you see him. He half expects you to startle when he wraps his arms around you from behind - an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin, something. But you just lean back into his chest with a surprised but happy sound, the blaster you were stripping abandoned on the counter. Your hands rub down his forearms until you reach his hands and deftly tug his gloves off, carefully setting them aside before lacing your fingers with his. Ease trickles down his spine as he takes in the feeling of your skin against his. Din never realized just how much he needed this. He’s so starved for affection that he feels like he just might die without yours. It doesn’t help that you’re just so… you. Soft against his scarred hands, firm against his stubbornness, so understanding of his inexperience.
“Did you miss me?” There’s a thread of humor in your tone that sends a flare of want burning through his body. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder, a small punishment for your teasing, but his hands are too busy to reach up and take off his helmet.
“Of course,” He says instead, the modulator in his helmet doing nothing to hide the raspiness of his voice.
You turn in his arms and Din is graced with your beautiful smile. A thread of concern laces through him as he takes in the tension that lingers in your body and the exhaustion-induced darkness under your eyes. You never sleep well without him. It must have been a late morning for you; you’re still wearing the tiny shorts and old shirt you love to sleep in. He catches a glimpse of the peak of your nipples through the thin material of your shirt just before your chest presses against his beskar. “Yeah? How much?”
“Help me out of my armor and I’ll show you.” That’s all it takes to encourage you to lift his helmet off.
Din drags you in for a blinding kiss the moment the helmet is out of his way. It’s a far cry from the first time he pressed his lips to yours. There is a confidence that surges through him - it ignites his need for you into something palpable and ferocious. Unrelenting. He digs his fingers into your thighs as he hauls you up into his arms and blindly stumbles his way into the small bedroom. Your bright laughter fills the air as he drops you on the bed and for a fleeting moment, genuine fondness soars over his lust, mixing into one devastating need. The two of you eagerly strip away each other’s layers, armor and clothes falling into a pile on the floor.
“Come on, get the fuck - get off.” You grumble under your breath as you finally unclasp his pants enough to strip him out of them. Din’s chuckle dies in his throat at the feeling of your fingers around his aching cock. Fuck, it feels so good it almost hurts - but that doesn’t stop him from greedily chasing more. His hand wraps around yours and guides it along his length in long, tight strokes, and the intensity of finally feeling your touch has his eyes fluttering closed. You huff a quiet laugh at his antics but don’t hesitate to give him even more - little kisses peppered along his belly and gentle caresses to his sensitive inner thighs. He’s so lost in the weight of your worship that he doesn’t even notice when you slip to your knees in front of him.
Din jerks in surprise at the warm, wet slide of your tongue along the head of his cock. A guttural sound rips through his chest as his fiery gaze meets yours, his jaw slack, lips parted as the heat of your mouth slowly envelopes him. His hand falls away as you work him further, instead coming to rest on the crown of your head. He doesn’t pull your hair or try to push; he just rests his hand there, gently caressing your hair as you roll your tongue in practiced swirls. Every inch you take further sends him reeling, pulls out those desperate little sounds he knows you love. Pride swells in his chest as your nose brushes the short, curly hair at the base of his cock. It isn’t easy; Din isn’t exactly a small man, in any sense of the word, but you still work him until your jaw aches and drool drips down your chin.
“Fuck… you’re so good,” Din’s voice is gruffer than usual, all deep and gravelly, and it does something to you. He watches with rapt attention as you go all soft and pliant for him, a muffled whine vibrating against his cock. His hips jerk unbiddenly at the feeling and an apology is poised to fall from his lips - but you just whine again. “Oh, is that what you want? You want me to fuck your pretty little face?”
You nod as best you can and Din has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. It ignites something almost animalistic in him when these moments align so perfectly; his need to be in control rises to meet your need to be taken, and the two of you become one. Din’s wide palm settles at the back of your head to steady you against the slow, steady pace of his thrusts. His free hand grabs one of yours and laces your fingers together, and the familiar unspoken agreement passes between you.
Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.
The muscle in his jaw jumps at the sight you make. Unshed tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, your lips stretched around the thickness of his cock. His fingers drift across your cheekbone and the steady pace he’s built falters as you instinctually lean into the familiar touch. Din’s heartbeat stutters. It's so simple, the absolute trust you show him. Even as your throat flutters around the almost too-big stretch of his cock, your eyes glimmer with so much love that Din nearly drowns in the overwhelming wave of intimacy. His stomach tightens, his stamina dashed in the wake of your beauty. It's enough to force him to pull you away. He can’t finish now, not like this. Not until he has you laid out beneath him, trembling and sweat-slick under his nimble fingers. He has been fantasizing about it for days, the idea taking the front stage of his mind and consuming all of his attention.
“Fuck, wait…” Din grits out through clenched teeth. His blunt fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his thigh as he tries to drag himself away from that edge. You just smile up at him, all too aware of the effect you have on him, and Din can’t help himself. He guides you up with a hand on the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely, completely unbothered by the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. He grumbles against your lips, “You’re too good at that.”
You don’t have long to preen under his praise. Din has the body of a hard-working man; he’s thick, all well-built muscle and startlingly fast reflexes as if he was handcrafted by the highest divinity. He’s powerful. And he has no issue in using that power to manhandle you onto the bed. Din kneels on the bed and uses his broad stature to his advantage, your thighs forced to part as he braces them against his own. The opportunities feel endless with you lying so close, so exposed beneath him. Din aches to worship every inch of your body. He wants to tease you with his tongue and fingers until you beg him, until his name falls from your lips, all sugared and desperate and ethereal.
Din hums a pleased sound as he finally lets his touch gravitate between your thighs. You’re so warm, so slick. “I haven't even touched you and you're so wet…”
“Yeah, well,” You chuckle breathily. “I missed you, too.”
That whispered confession makes his heart lurch. He has to sink his teeth into the delicate, already sore flesh inside his cheek to rein in the instinct that rears its head; that old animalistic instinct that screams at him to bend you over and fuck you, raw and unrelenting until he has his fill. He knows he’ll give in to it soon, but first… first he needs to show you the devotion you deserve. A shudder wracks through your body at the insistent exploration of his fingertips as they delve deeper into your pussy, teasing at your entrance before sliding up to brush against your clit. He’s entranced by the petal-soft feeling of your skin; so soft, so warm. He could stay like this for hours.
But then your breathing goes unsteady and you grind against his hand in a feeble attempt for more. “Please, Din.”
The fragile hold on his self control snaps.
Two fingers sink into your pussy and Din moans at the feeling of your wet heat tightening, trying to draw him even deeper as if he isn’t already buried knuckle deep. His other hand braces against the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh to keep your legs spread wide. He isn’t letting you hide from him, not tonight. Those two fingers curl up, driven by muscle memory and an overwhelming need to make you see stars, and he’s rewarded with your cries of pleasure. His fingers are thick and calloused from years of hard work, and he knows just how to use them to make you scream.
Din works your pussy in eager strokes, easing his fingers out of you only to introduce a third on his way back in. He watches with bated breath as you devolve into a whimpering, writhing mess. The sheets are your only anchor against the onslaught of pleasure. Your fingers twist the expensive fabric so tight that your nails threaten to tear right through it, but you can’t help it - not when his thumb is rubbing precise circles over your clit until you see stars. Your hips roll and a strangled whimper falls from your lips, and Din can feel it. He can feel the intensity that radiates from you the closer he draws you to a devastating orgasm.
You’re just so easy for him to read. Every hitch in your breath, every jerk of your hips, every rhythmic pulse of your walls. The siren song of your body is impossible to resist. You whisper his name, lovesick and aching, and Din knows you’re close. Some small, cruel part of him wants to leave you right there on the precipice with euphoria hanging just outside of your reach. The bigger part of him, though? It won’t rest until you break for him.
“Let go,” Din rasps, leaning closer to kiss your thigh. The roughness of his stubble makes you jerk in surprise. He can’t take his eyes off of your face, too enraptured by the sight of you falling apart just from his touch. “Fuck, you look… you’re so beautiful, cyare.”
The praise sends you trembling. You manage to meet his eyes for a mere second before you throw your head back into the plush pillows, a broken cry choking through the clench of your teeth as you rock your hips down into his touch. Din lets you take and take without hesitation until you finally shatter. The violent arch of your spine forces Din upright to give you the space you need, his hand still working you through your orgasm in steadily slowing strokes.
“Fuck, that - you… so good, you did so good for me.” Din trips over his words in his haste to praise you but it still affects you all the same. You give him that love-drunk smile as he presses closer to hover over you, his broad form caging you in against the bed. He knows you’re still lost in the bliss of it all but he just can’t help himself from dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving sloppy kisses and teasing bites in his wake. It has been days since he had the chance to properly shave and the rough feeling of his stubble against your skin makes you squirm and laugh brightly. “You have no idea how - fuck…”
He can’t even find the words to tell you just how much he needed this, how much he needed you, but he doesn’t need them. You whisper ‘I know,” before kissing him, your tongue teasing his soft lower lip, and Din whines. A sound of pure need and adoration. He crowds closer to deepen the kiss and he can’t help the small canting of his hips as his neglected cock nudges your thigh. It isn’t easy to ignore the ache that has been building but he wants to give you time to really come down and recover - he is an excellent lover, after all. But he isn’t the only one who has been impatiently awaiting this moment.
The shock of your fingers wrapping around his cock has Din breaking the kiss with a rough gasp, those dark brown eyes widening as they lock with yours. He can see his own lust mirrored in them as you guide him closer and line him up, too impatient to wait for him to move of his own volition. You’re breathtaking in your need for him. It never fails to stroke his ego, to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world. An unspoken question passes between you, one you answer with your thighs wrapping around his waist, and Din’s willpower to ignore his urges vanishes.
Din sinks into your wet heat, doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt and the head of his cock nudges your cervix. He usually pauses there, just to give you time to adjust to the obscene stretch, but the animal instinct that burns between you is too much to ignore. His blunt nails bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he pins you beneath him, keeping you still and unable to escape the sharp, fast shove of his hips - as if you would dream of trying. The entire bed shudders and jerks under the weight of Din’s strength.
It doesn’t take long for Din’s large hand to find its way to your throat, his forefinger and thumb digging into the hinges of your jaw. He doesn’t restrict your breathing; Din just wants to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you brainless. Your lips part with a small gasp and an awed, pleasure-struck smile blooms across your face, and warmth unfurls through Din’s body at the sight you make. So beautiful, so intoxicated by his touch. He can’t deny you when your chin tilts, your wordless request for a kiss met by a soft brush of his lips. Such a soft, gentle thing should seem out of place in the deliciously harsh treatment of your body, but it doesn’t. It feels so right that his chest aches with it.
Din’s nose brushes yours as he hitches your hips higher and suddenly your back arches, his name cried out right against his lips. He drinks in the sounds of your ecstasy, the very nectar of the gods he needs to go on. The slight shift in angle only deepens as he damn near presses your body in half, your knees pressed back into your chest. The sharp shift makes you feel even tighter, especially as your pussy throbs deliciously around his cock. You whimper a broken sound because you know just how fucked you are. The position isn’t easy for either of you to hold but it just hurts so damn good, a perfect pinch of pain against endless waves of pleasure that makes you gush around him. Din doesn’t fuck you like this until the very end, when you’re both eager for release and clawing for that last little bit to throw you over the edge.
The earnest press of his thumb against your clit sends you reeling, the sensitivity almost too much to handle, but you both know he won’t rest until he hears you scream his name again. It’s sharp and electric, and Din knows just how to play your body until you break. Your hips jerk away on instinct before surging forward once more, driven by greed and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A whisper of ‘just like that’ is all the encouragement he needs to work through the burn in his thighs and keep his sharp pace, his violent thrusts shoving you further up the bed. It’s so fucking worth it just to feel your pussy tighten around him so hard you nearly force his cock out. Your thighs tremble and your hand flies up to press against his chest as you choke out a vague warning, your words nearly unintelligible as the surge of your orgasm gushes from you to wet his thighs and belly.  
The feeling makes his rough pace stutter in shock and Din growls your name, fascination and lust burning hot in his tone as realization washes over him. It’s the only thought playing on a loop in his mind - he made you fucking squirt. He’s always wanted to see it, to feel the wetness of your cum on his skin. Delight and pride sing in his veins as he falls into a sloppy pace of short, rough strokes. Your slick drips along his thighs in little rivulets down to soak into the sheets and Din finally breaks. He doesn’t pull out - some filthy part of him wants to see his cum mixed with yours, dripping from your fucked out hole just so he can shove it back in with his fingers. He wants you marked as his, just as you have marked him as yours.
“Was that…” Din asks, his dry throat making his voice even rougher. “Did I really make you…”
“You did,” You answer his half-finished question with a breathy chuckle - as if you haven’t just rocked his entire fucking world.
You welcome the heavy weight of his body sinking into yours. Even with the ache in your thighs and back from his rough manipulation of your body, you let your legs shift back down to his waist and stroke the soft curls at the back of his head. Din kisses the valley between your breasts, a small offering of appreciation as he buries his face in your chest. The exhaustion of the last days - hell, of the last hours - vies to take over. Din lies in the embrace of your arms and your cunt, your overstimulated walls pulsing around his softening cock, and he finally feels at peace. At home, safe in the bed you share. But the urge to care for you is much stronger than the urge for sleep.
Din carefully untangles your body from his. Your disgruntled little groan is shushed with promises of a quick return and a fleeting kiss to your forehead. He has his own little ritual for those moments after he’s fucked you senseless. Water, a soft robe, maybe a snack or two, and a small cloth soaked in warm water. He catches a glimpse of the little smile on his face in the bathroom mirror as he wrings the excess water into the sink. It all feels so… right. For once, he isn’t searching for somewhere, for someone. He feels lucky. Din takes his armful of goods and that little smile of his back to you - and he nearly drops it all at the sight of you.
You are glowing in the aftermath. A light sheen of sweat illuminates your body in the low light, shows off the curves of your body as you lie prone in the expensive sheets he bought just for you. The crook of your elbow hides your face from view, but he already knows the blissful expression that is tucked away there. It is seared into his memory, one of his most beloved memories. Every ounce of tension has left your being; you’re loose and relaxed without a care in the universe. Elegant and beautiful with the evidence of his presence drying on your thighs, darkening the curve of your hips in the shape of his fingers. You are a goddess in your own right and Din knows he will spend every moment of his life worshiping at the altar of your body. He revels in that knowledge, takes the utmost peace in it.
Life may be chaotic and uncertain, but this… this is eternal.
In these quiet moments, he knows you crave his touch more than anything. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, skin on skin as he eases you through the submissive haze. Din settles close to you, propped up on his elbow, and sets about taking care of his lover. You wince just slightly as he passes the cloth along your sore cunt. Murmured apologies are met with dismissive hums. No words need to be said for your message to get across. I loved it. Don’t apologize for giving me what I want. Still, he pays close attention to the marks he left on your body. The soft floral scent of your favorite lotion lingers in the air long after he’s finished using it to ease the knots in your muscles.
Din loves taking his time with his aftercare. Once he has you cleaned up and rehydrated, he snuggles in close and lets his hands wander. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns into your plush thighs, over your belly, and up your sides. You shiver as his fingertips trail over your ribs and shoot him a warning look that he knows all too well. His sweet little woman, so sensitive to his touch. He does know better than to tickle you, so he instead slips his fingers beneath your jaw and tilts you up into a soft kiss. While he has you enraptured by his lips, his hand falls to your chest, cupping your breast in his large hand and groping you shamelessly. It's so silly that you pull away with a playfully incredulous laugh and Din can’t help but smile, one eyebrow raised as he takes in how beautiful you look.
“I really did miss you, you know.” You say as you reach up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Din sighs and captures your hand in his, drawing it up to his lips to kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, even your palm.
“I love you.” The words fall from his lips without thought. It startles him, his own candor. The vulnerability of it. But just as anxiety begins to crest, it’s burned away by the bright grin that blooms across your face.
You tug him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I love you, too.”, like a little secret, just for the two of you - and you kiss him. You keep kissing him, pulling him down until his body is pressed fully against yours. Din doesn’t know how long the two of you lay there, languidly kissing and whispering little confessions of love, but he knows he would stay there forever.
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