#i just want to draw self indulgent hot women

[toji-girl]

big help | i. midoryia x k. bakugo

synopsis: Katsuki has had a few tough years, between his job and agency it’s been tough to find someone to help with his stress levels until Izuku comes up with an idea that might just help.

wc: 2.4k

tags: 18+ only content - mdni + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + not beta read + repost from my old blog + all characters are over the age of 21 + wife sharing + fmf threesome + feminine pet names + fingering + breast/nipple play + pussy eating + unprotected sex + creampie + handjob + this is very self-indulgent

“I don’t know, will he be able to behave?” You asked in a hushed tone as you pulled dinner out of the oven. The aroma filled the small apartment kitchen wafting into the living room where Katsuki sat waiting for you two. 

Izuku looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks flushed pink at the thought of what was supposed to happen after dinner.  “Yes, don’t worry sweetheart.”

His reassurance helped a bit to relax you, his sweet and gentle tone made you waver as you softened and melted into his arms once the pan was on the countertop. 

Last week when he came home battered and bruised from a long overnight patrol, he told you about how Katsuki went off the rails and exploded - quite literally - at his agency headquarters. 

“He’s probably all torn up about it, I feel bad for him. Did you give him the piece of paper?” You asked, nuzzling your head against him, drawing the warmth from his body. 

Izuku nodded and kissed your cheek. “I did, yes, he just rolled his eyes and balled it up before throwing it to me but he knows everything.” 

Before you could say anything Katsuki walked into the kitchen catching the intimate scene between you and him, he cleared his throat suddenly second-guessing if this would only complicate things. 

The look in your eyes said something different to him and he used the opportunity to take a good look at your body, the curves he wanted to discover like roads on a map. 

You felt his hot stare as you pulled away from your husband to look at him quickly doing the same, it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him, just like with Izuku you grew up with him too. 

Knew his temper as well, now in his late twenties, he relaxed a little bit, but not enough, because he put on a commotion just in time for the nine a.m. news to catch it. 

It’s been a minute since he really relaxed, friends and his parents call him almost daily to check in on him because they know he’s either at work or training. 

Focusing on those two day in and day out put a strain on all his relationships and life, especially his sex life, if he had one that is and his right-hand doesn’t count he always told himself. 

All the women who threw themselves at him were really never his type, they didn’t want to get to know him, they just wanted the last name and fame that came with it. 

“Do you need anything else?” You asked Katsuki sensing his hesitation as he pulled the chair out at the counter and sat down shaking his head. 

Izuku kissed the side of your neck before pulling the barstool out for you, ironically enough he sandwiched you between him and Katsuki. 

You served dinner and the conversation flowed easily once the blonde man opened up a bit more, even cracked a smile and blushed but still grumbled and swatted your hand away playfully when you wiped crumbs from his lips 

“How was it Kacchan?” Izuku asked draping his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him as his friend stared at you, your breasts almost spilling from your shirt and the apron you had on didn’t help his hard-on either. 

What would he do to come home to a cute wife like you every day, love and affection are something he realized he severely lacked, and with you, it came easy. 

He nodded and plucked the courage to take a hold of your hand rubbing his thumb along the backside of your knuckles. His usual brash manner softened as he stared at you, hardened vermillion eyes held your gaze. 

“It was delicious.” 

Warmth flushed through your chest as you smiled. “Good, now I know you two needed to discuss something.” 

You stood and began to clear the plates when Katsuki settled his hand on your lower back. 

“The least I can do for the invite and your wonderful cooking.” He said, memories of high school and college flashed in your mind as you leaned in and kissed his cheek. 

Izuku stood up and gathered the plates kissing your head as he and Katsuki watched you leave the kitchen, their hungry gaze was definitely noticeable and you lavished in it. 

The two number pro heroes wanted you, and one of them happened to be your husband. A shiver racked your whole body, blanketing your flesh in goosebumps as you stepped inside the bedroom. 

You heard them murmur amongst themselves, exchanging hushed whispers before they joined in. Izuku was the last one to shut the door as Katsuki stood to the side. 

”I heard you two say something about dessert?” You asked, feeling the courage bubble through you, the sultry way you infused your words like tea leaves in boiling water. 

Katsuki made the first step and let you grab his tie as he made quick work to untie the knot in your apron, letting it pool around your ankles. 

Izuku followed suit and stepped behind you, large calloused hands feel you up, and two palms rubbed your shoulders then down as they pulled the straps down leaving a trail of wet kisses. 

You dropped your head against your husband giving his friend the opportunity to kiss your neck, sharp canines gently scraping your throat making your cunt clench as you fisted his tie.

“You are going to be the best thing I have ever tasted.” Katsuki whispered gravely and deeply, his voice deep sending waves of newfound shivers. 

Izuku groaned in your ear as his hands drifted down to paw at your dress, bunching it up until your legs and ass were showing. “I agree, and it’s a taste I could never tire of, so sweet like honey.” 

“Oh.” 

It was all you could manage in words followed by something between a grunt and moan. Red eyes met green in a silent meeting as they both worked to undress you. 

“Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He murmured looking at you, uncertainty flashed across his face as you stared at him and nodded holding his broad shoulders giving them a squeeze. 

“I am yes, if anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Katsuki tugged the top of your dress past your breasts as he kissed down until he reached your nipple, sucking it in his mouth while your husband paid attention to your backside. 

He followed Katsuki as they pulled your dress off until it joined your apron, clad in nothing but shoes, panties, and a bra you stood smooshed between them. 

“Ever been fucked in just an apron before?” Katsuki asked crouching down to grab it as he nuzzled his face between your legs. 

You gasped and melted into Izuku who supported you watching the scene unfold in front of him cupping your breasts from behind. 

“No, but we can always change that.” Your husband replied as he kneaded your tits as he gently kicked apart your ankles so Katsuki could lap softly at your pussy from his knees. 

Big strong hands held your thighs in a steel grip, nothing painful, only to keep you upright for him. He licked a wide stripe up your cunt, stopping to tease your clit with little flicks of his tongue. 

You buried your fingers in his hair pulling him closer. “Someone is more excited than me.” Izuku chuckled in response as he nodded in agreement before helping his friend push you on the bed gently. 

They both stared down at you slowly untying their ties before kneeling on the bed, your eyes darted between them as you spread your legs. 

It felt like a fire has taken home in between your thighs, your pussy ached to be played with, touched, kissed, and caressed. Little did you know Katsuki felt the same way about you, his cock hard and leaking in his slacks seeing you naked on the bed. 

He made it to you first with his hands on either side of your head as he kissed you passionately, this was only supposed to be about relief for him but he’s not going to pass up the chance to kiss you. 

His tongue swept in your mouth tasting and memorizing you, he groaned feeling his dick throb but he wanted to do something else first. 

Katsuki left a trail of kisses as he kissed down your jaw then neck, between your breasts going further until he reached your belly, his hands slid under your ass lifting you off the bed as he settled between your legs. 

“She looks so pretty, huh?” Izuku asked as he kneeled next to you, his hand petting your head. 

Warmth flushed through you hearing Katsuki growl in response as he kissed your mons then he sucked your clit making you arch your back off the bed while swirling his tongue around it he grabbed your thighs softly keeping them open. 

He took his time with you, eating you out, keeping you on the edge. “I don’t want to ruin the fun just yet.” He teased looking up at you for a split second. 

You didn’t have time to answer because Izuku kissed you deeply, stealing each breath from your lung as you pawed at his pants. “Ruin it! Ruin me!” You moaned wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt again. 

Katsuki pulled away and sunk his middle finger into you, a soft wet squelch could be heard then followed by a small whimper, both his and Izuku’s fingers were thick, your nerves felt like they were on fire as you tugged on your husband’s black and green locks pulling him closer kissing him deeper, tangling your tongue with yours. 

He added another finger slowly curling it as he found your sweet spot rather quickly, Katsuki watched entranced in the way you opened up to him, your cunt clamping down on his fingers as you blindly tried to reach for him, your eyes still squeezed shut as you kissed Izuku. 

You pulled away and looked at them as you sat up and kissed Katsuki first, his free hand came up to hold the back of your neck softly while Izuku took his tie and shirt, and jacket off leaving him in his slacks that sported his hard-on through the dark fabric you could still see it. 

Katsuki pulled away and pulled you onto his lap wrapping his arms around your waist as you did the same with your legs around his. You popped the buttons on his shirt before sliding his jacket off and then his shirt as you shimmed off his lap groaning as his knee made contact with your clit, he grinned seductively as you rolled your hips humping him. 

“So needy.” He teased flushing more heat through your overwhelmed body, Izuku took the time to kiss you again as his counterpart quickly rid himself of his pants before helping you to your knees on the bed so he could take your place. 

You pulled away from your husband and looked at him, a secret conversation was spoken through volumes in just one glance as you straddled Katsuki’s thighs to pull his boxers down revealing a long and thick cock, his head flushed a deep red that wept with pre-cum, the pearl essence made his dick pretty and as much as you wanted to have a taste that would have to wait. 

With Katsuki’s hands on your hips, he helped guide his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, the head catching on your clit making you gasp before he slowly thrust into you, the blonde man groaned feeling your cunt try to suck him in already before he planted his feet on the mattress and fucked into you from below. 

Izuku kneeled behind you, still half-dressed as he rubbed his open palm up and down your back kissing your shoulders. “You look so pretty sitting on my cock.” Katsuki grunted watching with heavy-lidded eyes as your husband palmed and squeezed your ass giving it a few light slaps that made you buck your hips. 

You leaned into him and reached into his pants palming his hard-on through his boxers as you turned your head to kiss him while riding Katsuki slowly whimpering each time he hit the sensitive spot nestled deep inside your pussy, all three of you could hear the wet suctioning of Katsuki fucking you bare. 

It was a spoken agreement between you three, you and Izuku only have been with each other and it was nearing almost two years for Katsuki, and with no protection, he could feel just how warm and wet you were for him which made his orgasm come a lot sooner than what he wanted. 

He watched Izuku kiss you deeply while fondling your tits, one palm cupping it while pinching and twisting your nipples making you squeeze Katsuki. “Fuck! You’re going to make me cum!” He shouted throwing his head back as he fucked you hard and fast from below until he stopped and held you still filling you to the brim with thick ropes of cum. 

The embarrassment of finishing early made his cheeks glow red as you pulled away from Izuku to kiss Katsuki softly continuing to roll your hips, sending him into overstimulation as you spread your legs wider dropping down further on his cock feeling him go deeper. 

Katsuki gripped your hips tightly with no choice watching you fuck him faster and harder now, you leaned back holding his knees giving him the chance to look down at where you two were connected, a collection of your slick and his cum made his dick shine as you slowly slid up and down his cock until you came, pulsing tightly and hot around him. 

All three of you stayed like that, Katsuki panting heavily as he massaged and caressed your hips, you still straddling him feeling his cum ooze out and onto the sheets while you laid one hand on his abs while still jerking your husband off until you felt him splatter over the back of your hand and his boxers, Izuku kissed you once more and pulled away as he stared at you lovingly. 

“Let’s get you into the bath and snuggled between us.” He whispered catching Katsuki off guard who watched you both then looked at you, his heart racing fast as he leaned up kissing the other side of your mouth, and circled his fingers on your lower back massaging it softly. 

They both helped you off the bed and into the bath where they kneeled by the tub and washed you from head to toe, strong deft fingers massaging soft tender muscles until you mewled and kissed them ready to go again, this time they were going to switch positions. 

#Izuku smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #Izuku x reader #mha smut #my hero smut #katsuki bakugo smut #izuku midoryia smut #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoryia x you #katsuki x you x izuku smut #mha x reader smut #midoriya smut #bakugo smut #Katsuki x you smut #Izuku x you smut

[oletus-writer]

Different anon from the nightmare one but maybe we can get nsfw alphabet for Orpheus? He’s probably into some experimentations, both kink wise and the whole drugs/whatever thing

(We?) Hell yeah I’ll do that.

Orpheus NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: nsfw

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sex with Orpheus is not exactly the most rowdy, so he’s got more than enough energy to draw you a bath, clean you up, get some food, and smother you with cuddles. He’s a gentleman, after all, and wants to make sure you’re doing well regardless of whether or not he’s giving or receiving cock.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

His hands are his favourite part of him, as he writes with them, but also because how he can pleasure you in such ways only using such small tools. As for you, he enjoys your eyes, the windows to the soul, and how the pupils are blown wide while he fucks you. Simply, the information available to him from two organs draws him in.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s got a decent amount of cum, thin and salty, and he prefers to cum either inside you (with your consent) or on your face and chest.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to indulge in some roleplay, of the less nice variety, as he enjoys having power over an individual, sometimes. But he’s a gentleman, of course, and will discuss with you thoroughly beforehand what it entails.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

He’s read some erotica, for research, and has hooked up with many women before. As for men, he’s a bit less experienced, but is a quick and eager learner.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary’s a classic, and Orpheus is a bit old-fashioned when it comes to courtship. He enjoys seeing your expressions and pressing you underneath him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, he’s rather serious, but will crack a joke or two if he sees that you’re nervous. His jokes aren’t too funny, per se, but it’s the thought that counts.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

He’s a gentleman, and a dapper one at that (or so he tells you) so naturally, he’s well-groomed, his thick wavy hair neatly trimmed. He doesn’t mind if you have hair, but would rather it be smooth, although he never tells you that.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? are they romantic?)

Despite some of the rough play, he’s very intimate in the moment and is more of a soft dom, than anything. He’ll kiss down your sternum while pounding you, whisper how good you’re doing while his hands worship.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcannon)

He doesn’t masturbate often, but does it to relieve some stress, when writing about it does not work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s into things like aphrodisiacs, drugged sex (consensual, of course), sleep sex, all things that release your inhibitions and gives him a look at your raw state.

L = Location (favourite places to have sex)

The gentleman side of him prefers the bedroom, but he can’t deny the thrill of the thought of being caught, cocksitting in his office while he’s supposed to be writing, letting loose after a book signing, just in the back of the bookstore… he’s not opposed to any of it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

Of course, old fashion flirting never goes wrong, and the classic touches to his waist, an breath in his ear, will get him hot and bothered. Still, if you go the extra mile and dress up for him a bit, you’ll find he’s a bit more enthusiastic than before.

N = No (what turns them off?)

He’s open to anything, really, except some stuff like scat, fetishes such as anthropophagolagnia (don’t search it up) and all such other strange and deranged things.

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

Fuck yeah, oral. Orpheus loves oral sex, and is extremely talented at it. He’s not too picky on whether or not he’s giving or receiving, but he prefers receiving.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He usually sets a pretty slow pace, but can go fast if you’d like. He has no qualms about being rough and manhandling you, if you’ll let him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

Why not? Unlike some other people, quickies with him don’t become full-blown sessions, and it’s more often than not that Orpheus would go hard and heavy.

R = Risk (are they experimental? do they take risks?)

The more risks, the more fun, although a small part of him tells him not to. He’s very experimental as well, but knows his limits.

S = Stamina (how long do they last?)

His stamina is a bit on the low side, as he constantly spends his days sitting at a desk and writing if he’s not in any matches,

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them?)

He’s got a few toys, such as vibrators, dildos, and some bondage equipment, but that’s about it. He doesn’t use them often on himself, and keeps them for his potential lovers.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He’s rather teasing, and enjoys it - when you tease him, less so, but the look on your face is all worth it. He’s not as patient to tease you the entire day as foreplay, but he manages to make you beg for him.

V = Volume (how loud are they?)

He moans a lot, but they’re soft and light, almost feminine, but he’s also quite vocal, describing everything he’s going to do to you.

W = Wild card (a random headcannon for the character)

He’s a writer, and, while not to stereotype, he has written erotica of the two of you before you started having sex. He’s explored his wildest fantasies through that medium, and he’s got his preferences sorted.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

I’m sorry, those of you who think he has a big dick, but I don’t. You know, the louder the car the smaller the penis, and all. The showiness of it all - the fact he’s dressed in the latest fashions and is frankly a prick - all drives me to the conclusion of a 4.7 inch (12 cm) penis.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s relatively average, if not a bit lower, as he is absorbed in his work too often to think of having sex.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If the sex is rather rough, he falls asleep rather quickly, but more often than not, it’s more calmer, and he’s able to tend to you properly afterwards.

#these are so tiring to do #identity v #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv orpheus #idv orpheus x reader #idv novelist #idv

[ryuichirou]

Replies

More replies about the girlies…! And about the Leech parents.

Anonymous asked:

So it’s from AA cup to F cup?

Judging by how they ended up looking, I guess it’s from AAA to FF lol

I am kind of bad at cup sizes though, and also bad at consistency, but at least that was the idea!

Anonymous asked:

How big are the cup sizes of the other genderswapped twst characters (I.e. the staff, Neige, Chenya, Rollo)

I actually talked about their cup sizes as well as what type of bra they would wear in this reply!

But to update: now I think that Crewel is an A and Trein is a C. I don’t know, just feel like it, maybe it’s because of Cruella and Lady Tremaine lol

Also here are those who I didn’t mention: Vargas is easily the biggest one out of the staff, so around D (+wears a sports bra, naturally); Sam isn’t big, somewhere between A and B, and doesn’t usually wear a bra; Crowley is a C… she just is. I can’t really explain any of this lol  

Anonymous asked:

Why does it look like fem Ace and Deuce are scissoring each other?

They always are…constantly…even though they’re bad at it…

They aren’t on this sketch though, but maybe Ace suggested it, that would explain Deuce’s reaction lol

Anonymous asked:

When you’re so thirsty, you grabbing your own boob *eyeballs floyd* On a serious note, I can’t get over how well you draw breasts. I get mad just drawing them under clothes 😔

Yeah, Floyd is probably the one to do that all the time without even thinking about it. She likes to squeeze lol

Also, thank you very much, Anon! I don’t draw them very often, so I am very happy to hear that you like how they look. Looking at tons of pictures and art (R18 obviously included hehe) and sketching helped me a lot…

Anonymous asked:

women...... you draw them so fine omfg

Thank youuuu 🥰 I love them

Anonymous asked:

I love the size, shape, and little difference between each woman. Not only in the pretty 👀 but in body shape and hair situation as well. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful (and dangerous) garden!

Thank you so much, Anon!

I am very excited to share, I’ve been thinking about them for so long before actually finally drawing them all… so it means a lot to hear that you like them <3

Anonymous asked:

was looking back through my liked posts and I saw your drawings of meleanor, and of some of the other twst extras, and it made me curious since now that book 7 is coming out in english will you be drawing more or the new characters like prince Levan, or the knight of dawns? Also a bit of a self-indulgent ask because I want to see sebeks hot ass grandfather in your artstyle :>

We don’t play the game, Anon, so the EN release doesn’t really concern us; we haven’t watched book 7 yet at all.

But when we do, I’m pretty sure I will draw at least some of the characters from it! Definitely more Meleanor and definitely Sebek’s grandpa because how fucking dares he be voiced by Koyasu of all people. I kind of wanted to draw him even before that point (just like Meleanor, I couldn’t resist, to be honest lol), but didn’t really have time for him…

Anonymous asked:

do you have any more leech parents thoughts or possible scenarios?

+

Anonymous asked:

I like to think that papa Leech would also be quite happy with Vil, even though admittedly this is based entirely on a headcanon. Since the boys found out in a vignette that one of his favorite movies has Eric Venue starring in it, I like the idea that papa Leech became a big fan of him. I guess this means that more than liking Vil himself (although he is very charming in his own right), he would like the chance to get closer to his favorite actor through their kids relationship

To the first Anon, I’m sorry for the late reply, I’ll share more thoughts in a moment. Starting with the Vil scenario!

I agree with you, second Anon! We talked about it in this reply, but very briefly.

Whether it’s Jade or Floyd who brings Vil to their house, Papa Leech is going to be super excited because he’d recognise the boy instantly. Somehow, their dinner with the Leech parents would end up looking more like a handshake event lol With Papa Leech asking a lot of questions about Eric and stuff. Even if Vil isn’t dating any of his sons, just the fact that he is their senpai would make Papa Leech super excited. Mama Leech would probably apologise for his behavior, but not in a genuine way, but just to make the situation even more awkward for Vil. Thank god Vil knows how to handle it… probably… maybe…

Vil would also make such a pretty betta merman…

But ALSO!!! If Floyd or Jade (or both) bring Idia to meet their parents, Idia would be absolutely terrified; he would be terrified either way, but the Leech parents are especially intimidating and scary. But they would love him a lot! Not only because he is the Shroud’s oldest boy (connections are important), but because of how his demeanor and his frankly exciting sparkly look. They would stare at him without blinking, showering him with attention. And they would tease him a lot, maybe even more that they would tease Riddle. Because Riddle is just an overly serious baby, but Idia? He is so visibly uncomfortable and scared; teasing him is absolutely priceless. Papa Leech would sit very close to him and look very intimidating, maybe touch his hair, ask him what he is so scared of. Ask about which one of their sons Idia likes the most (neither… please let him go…), a lot of other questions that sound like “there is no correct answer, you are screwed either way, but I am having fun, so you’ll at least survive maybe”. And then Mama Leech would tell Papa Leech not to freak out this poor boy, start stroking Idia’s hand, talk to him in a sweet motherly tone that doesn’t sound even remotely comforting. Somehow… these two are even worse than Jade and Floyd…

A couple of very short HCs!

Mama Leech is a huge gossip. She knows everything about everyone.

Mama Leech doesn’t cook, but it’s a secret, because she wants to keep the image of a perfect traditional wife.

Papa Leech used to operate on land too when he was younger. He still does sometimes, but very rarely.

Papa Leech thinks Azul is a great influence on his boys and wants them to learn everything they could from this friendship before getting rid of him (if he stops being such a great influence).

While the family bond is strong, the entire Leech family is aware that one of them might betray the rest at any given moment. That doesn’t mean that they don’t cherish family tradition and history.

#replies #headcanons

[self-shipping-selfcare]

Prince Average General Headcanons

✎Self Indulgent

reblogs with comments > reblogs > likes

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

❥I have a headcanon where he's ambidextrous but since practically everyone in his life keeps saying "dOn'T uSe YoUr LeFt HaNd, OnLy WiTcHeS uSe ThEiR lEfT hAnD" he decided to say "fuck you" and use his left hand for mostly everything out of spite

❥I have two ideas for his sexuality; he's pan and doesn't care about gender (he just wants a hot partner) but A: he hides it and acts like he's just into women...but he's really bad at hiding it, or B: he's pretty open about his sexuality

❥I like to imagine that, when he was younger, he was kinda forced into taking a sword fighting class by his father but he never really paid any attention, so now if he had to fight someone with his sword, he would know how but he'd be a little rusty at it

❥I'm self projecting here, but I feel like he has very picky taste buds and is embarrassed by it because his taste buds typically only like either specific foods or the bland and plain foods (and he thinks all food look delicious but he can't eat it most of it because he knows his taste buds will hate it-)

❥If he's in a Modern AU, he would listen to rock music

❥Self projecting again, but he loves capes because it's so much fun to wear and it looks cool (at least he has the confidence to wear capes, unlike me-)

❥Is a great artist and has been drawing doodles and artworks ever since he was a kid (tho a lot of people don't know that about him since he doesn't talk about it that much)

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

#amber's writing #amber's self indulgent works #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs prince average #rsatsd prince average #rsatsd

[lesbiansanemi]

talk about your oc's talk about your oc's talk about your oc's (i don't recognize those names from your characters i do know, but they sound super cool and i want to know about them)

*deep inhaling breath before an infodump* OKAY SO

Cain and Aeron have technically existed for years now (Aeron probably for over a decade, and Cain for at least 7 or 8) but they've both gone through a lot of changes, and this is probably going to be their "final" form lmao

I'm still fleshing out the world they're going to be in, but it's going to be a very modern urban fantasy world, with magic and technology intertwined and stuff, so I'm really excited about that!

Cain is a demon who works for the Church. (The religion is hardcore based on Christianity because LMAO yeah). She grew up in a Church run orphanage and went on to become a nun, etc etc. She's definitely not very devout, and mostly just stays for various personal reasons/goals. She's constantly getting in trouble for doing stuff like smoking in cathedrals and breaking celibacy and that kind of stuff, but as a demon, she's important to the Church, so they won't denounce her or anything like that.

Eventually, she stumbles upon a murder scene in one of the Grand Cathedrals while she's drunk and digging around places she's not supposed to. It's obvious the Church is responsible, and it seems to be a part of some kind of ritualistic sacrifice. Cain plans to report it and just be done with it, she has better things to deal with, after all.

So she goes to the authorities and starts going on about a murder in a cathedral and everyone there is like "oh god one of the religion conspiracy nutters hang on we've got just the person to send you to"

Who is Aeron, who has been investigating the Church for a hot minute due to some shady things that happened in her own past. Cain plans to just tell Aeron everything she found, and leave her to investigate it and be on her merry way. But hey, Aeron is a little attractive (what dragon girl isn't tbh) and berates Cain into helping her out with investigating the shady things going on in the Church because a nun on the inside would be extremely beneficial.

They of course have a little romance between them, but they're both terrible, obnoxious, selfish women who are here for their own goals in the long run. I'm planning on leaning really heavily into the "dark" fantasy aspect and sprinkling in some horror elements, and I think it's going to be a really, really fun project to work on! I'm also realizing that like every single major character is a woman, there are hardly any male characters with big roles so LMAO this project is for the wlw

I've also been trying to get into drawing regularly again so I might try drawing them at some point. Idk, I might also commission some art of them as part of my own personal little birthday treat coming up, we'll see, because I want to see my self indulgent demon and dragon girls come to life

#obsessed with both of them <3 #lee visits #my ocs #oc: cain #oc: aeron #untitled dark fantasy religious horror monsterfucker project #<- because sorry i will be posting about this now and idk what i'm calling it yet so there's the tag ladkfjdkal #asks #kaz rambles

[viinas]

rabbit lady hot

#miruko #mirko #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #heroaca #anime #fanart #i know this is like the fourth plain background character staring off to the side piece in a row #i just want to draw self indulgent hot women #i'll do something impressive later

[lofi-bear]

the REAL reason why Comte hosts no female vampires in his mansion

they all wanna hang with Cleopatra because they’re gay

finally got around to drawing my IkeVamp version of Cleopatra!! deep lore ramblings below the read more:

she’s one of the oldest pureblood vampires still active - older than leo, comte, and vlad

wasn’t planning to become queen in Egypt at all; she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and it got out of hand lol

faked her death and yeeted off east until things simmered down

personality - could give arthur a run for his money in the flirtation department, super curious about everything, very open and in touch with her feelings, knows what she wants and willing to go to any lengths to get it (MC included)

her, leo, and comte have an interesting relationship dynamic (they’ve all slept with each other at some point or another)

her and leo aren’t on good terms atm... something to do with comte...?

unique skills revolve around memory: she can add/subtract memories from humans, and she has photographic memory 

is also collecting great minds from history - her ultimate goal is to build a library to rival the Library of Alexandria at its peak

moves to Paris with her coven(?) when she hears that Comte has been hosting historical figures as well - is especially interested in isaac

meets sebastian and immediately tries to hire him as her future librarian - they’re BFFs now

current coven members include queen seondeok of silla, florence nightingale, george washington carver, tchaikovsky, oscar wilde, and fatima al-fihri

meet-cute with MC: they meet at a bookstore and Cleo recommends books to MC

steers clear of vlad - she considers him a teenager in pureblood years and puberty’s made him a bit bonkers

loves the present day - cleo thinks the world is insanely exciting and is a little miffed that the internet beat her to a new library of alexandria

pansexual af

has met jesus - they’re homies and cleo has jokingly offered him a third resurrection 

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp oc #this is so incredibly self-indulgent LOL #my art #hi i just wanted to draw hot women because i'm a thirsty gay #hrnngng i made her too hot i love her #lofi ikevamp

[mrskurono]

title: Bet Me || domming the Seijoh Grads

a/n: anon who gave me this idea, I thought FOREVER about how to execute this and I just like- this happened while taking a shower ok. Iwa had it coming to him being the alpha dog

word count: 2.7k 

tags: dom!reader, group sex (mmmmf), established relationship (on Oikawa’s end), bondage, handjob, slight degradation, edging, cockwarming, ruined orgasm, masturbation (male), oral( male and female), rimjob, cucking, male on male (penetration +oral), anal creampie, cocky Oikawa, brat taming Iwa, slightly dacraphilia, safe word mention (unused) petnames, uh probably something else but c’mon its fucking smut, unedited

character(s): Oikawa Tooru (hq), Hajime Iwaizumi (hq) Takahiro Hanamaki (hq) Issei Matsukawa (hq)

heavy nsfw undercut ⇾ ⇾ ⇾

Tooru ran his mouth like a bullet train.

No one took him seriously when he toted about how amazing you were. Claiming you to be the best. Which, to Iwa’s, Makki’s and Mattsun’s surprise, that was notably a lot coming from the ladies man himself. Tooru’s taste in women came like his coffee order did, sweet and sweeter. So when the man came sporting some glamorous little bruises on his torso. Well, that lead to a bit of a bet.

“This won’t work.” Iwa scoffed at the idea, nearly rolling his eyes out of his head when the last bit of rope was secure, “She can’t do it since Shittykawa is just a wimp of course he cums easily!”

“You gonna bet me for that huh baby?” Standing above the man who was now tied at your feet seemed to leave you in a pretty domineering position now over him. Iwa wouldn’t give it up though. He was certain you couldn’t edge him until he cried.

If Iwa cried, then the bet was in your favor. Makki and Mattsun would without a doubt bow to your ability. Seeing though as no one had bested their friend since high school, neither of them saw much potential besides maybe a fun circle jerk out of this. Tooru on the other hand was nearly vibrating out of his own skin with excitement for the occasion.

“You’re gonna eat those words you know Iwa!” Tooru grinning. His best friend really had no idea what he was in store for. And he wasn’t going to tell him either.

Rolling your eyes you wave your boyfriend away and kneel down in front of the bulky athletic trainer. Searching his face. Paying almost no attention to his half a hard on even now, and you simply smile at him, “No kissing. And the safe word is teal, yeah?”

Iwa rolled his eye once more, “Yeah ok.”

Mattsun and Makki elbowed each other with a bit of a giggle between the two of them. They didn’t think you could do it but were certainly glad to not be in Iwa’s shoes. Only arms tired behind his back, Iwa was left in a precarious position when your hand ghosted over his cock.

Feathery touch of your fingertips down his thick shaft and Iwa scoffed. An offhanded comment about if that was the best you got then you should just jerk him off. Instead you let his words fall on deaf ears. Smiling as you took your hand away. Earning all eyes on you as you reached for what was simply a regular bottle of lube. 

Drizzling it over Iwa’s cock until it ran down his shaft and between his balls to drip on the ground at his feet. You really had everyone’s attention now that his cock was slimy with lube and untouched. The peanut gallery snickered. Tooru said something in a husky mumble. But it was clear all three men were beginning to palm themselves through their pants. Iwa on the other hand, held firm that this would just be another handjob.

Which in reality you suppose it was. Your work slow and methodical. Wasn’t long before you realized Iwa was enjoying himself. Fingers dancing up and down his cock. The squelch of the lube when you squeezed his tip. Watching him roll his head back and savor the simple movement. Really besides his arms being tied behind his back this was all about to end like a normal handjob. 

That was, until the first stringy bits of precum dripped from Iwa’s cock.

“Fuck- Right there-” His low guttural moan. 

Indulgent and self centered. Iwa was about to cum and not a tear in sight. Even Makki and Mattsun who now shamelessly were jerking themselves off weren’t surprised by the outcome. But like he knew something they didn’t, Tooru had his hands off himself. Completely. Only those brown eyes set forward and fixated on your hands like he was waiting for you to do something.

“You gonna cum baby?” Your fingers working magic up and down his cock. 

Iwa nodded. He wasn’t even paying attention. The handjob was hot but all eyes on him while he was going to win seemed to fuel him even more. You could feel his cock twitch in your hand. Carefully you watched until his balls tightened and then you did it. Exactly what Tooru knew you’d do.

Hand smashed to the top of Iwa’s cock before he could say anything. Your strokes stopped completely. Replaced by a firm grip and your opposing hand feverishly rubbing your palm in circles over his slit. Iwa had no time to react. The overstim right into too much making his entire body twitch and convulse. He doubled over but could not escape. The bindings he strained against didn’t give way. And your hand didn’t stop with it’s cruel motions. Nothing he did could make him escape the pins and needles of pleasure cascading through his body on overdrive.

“Give up? Too much baby? Huh you not gonna cum? Baby wanted to cum though. Where’s all that big boy talk now, Hajime?” Your words sweet in tone and evil in context. Iwa was coming undone in front of everyone he knew. Makki and Mattsun had stopped stroking themselves entirely. Wide eyed at the sight as Tooru was giggling and palming himself finally to his slight relief. His queen was going to win the bet. He just knew you would.

“-‘s much-” Iwa croaked, body trembling under your touch.

“What? I can’t hear you?” Your hand only slick with precum and the lube off his cock, “Come now, I wanna see all your sweet milk spill out~ Won’t you do that for me Hajime?”

Iwa grunted, bucked his hips and gritted his teeth. His orgasm was being forcibly taken from him but still not a tear to spare. As he twitched and shifted his hips up he was certain this would come crashing into an orgasm. Building quicker and quicker by the passing second. He forgot to care if everyone around him was even jerking off to the sight of him anymore. Iwa gasped just when his orgasm was tipping to no return.

“That’s enough.”

Iwa gasped. Mattsun and Makki gasped. Tooru giggled.

Your hand completely removed from Iwa’s cock. All men witnessed the cruelest thing to date. Iwa’s cock bouncing, in desperation, with one exact bead of white cum oozing from his slit. You just ruined Iwaizumi’s orgasm and they all watched you do it.

“No! Don’t stop! Idiot! K-Keep doing it! Keep moving I- I just- I wanna cum!!” Iwa’s pleas fell from his mouth. Ending with his voice cracking as his orgasm tightened around him but just wouldn’t be released. You sat smug in front of him and when his voice cracked he knew it was all over.

You won.

“Shit....” Mattsun mumbled, fixated on Iwa’s poor cock standing so abused and hard.

“Man....that’s....wow.” Makki, still grabbing at his cock, couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Told you guys so~” Tooru sung your praise more than happy to see both his friends adamant that what they saw wasn’t something they wished on anyone. Especially themselves.

“So.” You stood up, hand covered in slickness mixed with Iwa’s precum and looked at Mattsun and Makki, “Anyone else think I’m a liar?”

Quickly they shook their heads. 

“Good.” You smiled sweetly. Fixing to pull your panties off right away and throw them between Iwa’s legs still bound in front of you. On full display the natural juices clinging to your thighs with how wet you’d gotten on this little bet. So now you figured no one was going to argue with you, it was your turn for some relief, “Makki, come here.”

Eyes wide he looked at Tooru. Who grinned and nodded for him to do as you said.

Sheepish of the same treatment. He knew a bet was a bet. Undoubtedly you were proclaimed alpha and did as you asked.

“Sit for me yeah?” You point across from Iwa.

Makki swallowed hard but listened. He didn’t want the same outcome as Iwa. When he’d sat down you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him into your ass, “Lick me up a little. I don’t wanna sit on your cock this wet.”

Obediently Makki liked this outcome much more. His tongue swiping over your thighs and lapping at your juices with no questions asked. If he heard you right, sitting on his cock was next in line.

“Tooru baby,” You cooed at your boyfriend, “Mattsun looks awfully hard. Maybe you should take care of him?”

While you pulled Makki’s face into you more, letting him lick you clean in front of Iwa. You take pride in seeing how well your boyfriend drops to his knees to take his friends cock. Mattsun certainly as big as some of the toys you make sweet Tooru gag on. It’s within no time that he has him down his throat. Brown eyes looking up at Mattsun as his cheeks hollow out and he goes to town sucking him like a good boy. Allowing you to enjoy yourself a bit more.

“Alright thank you, Makki,” You pull his face away, coated in your juices and a bit of a dazed look. Adding to the bliss on the man’s face when you finally seat yourself on his cock. Makki’s hands going right to your hips, “Ah ah ah, don’t move. Unless you wanna end up like Iwa huh?”

“Y-Yes ma’am-” Makki stutters with the right amount of fear not to try you on it. Iwa is still left bound in front of you with his cock head purple and aching as it twitches against the air for some kind of relief.

When you wiggle yourself comfortably on Makki’s cock. Moaning softly and spreading your legs so Iwa can see his friend’s cock buried inside you. You click your tongue at Iwa to make him look at you.

Drawing a finger up your slit and teasing your own clit, you smile at Iwa, “Bet you wish you hadn’t lost huh? Wishing you were stuffing my cunny with that cock right about now? Instead, only seeing sweet Makki stretch me out and how hard my clit is. Bet I could cum like this. On his cock that is.”

Iwa licked his lips. How desperate he was to cum. You were absolutely right, Iwa desperately wanted to be Makki, “.....please.”

“Please what?” You asked, reaching your wet fingers back to stuff in Makki’s mouth, “Suck baby.”

Makki listened well. Tongue washing over your fingers to eat your juices up as he relished the feeling of his cock inside you after all this. He wasn’t about to screw this up.

Hanging his head low Iwa internalized his growl and finally spoke up, “....please...let me taste you.”

“That’s a good boy,” You use your foot to tilt his head up towards you. Making him face you but when that smile widened Iwa’s stomach tightened, “But first, Tooru~”

Popping his lips off Mattsun’s cock, your boyfriend turned towards you. Seeing you motion him over. Tooru hated to leave what he was doing but was more curious about what you could want.

“Love, do you think you could take Mattsun?” You ask sweetly.

Tooru blushed at the idea, “I mean...yeah...with a little prep I could-”

“Say no more,” You wave his words away and look to Iwa, “Prep him for me will you baby?”

Giddy at the idea. Tooru didn’t waste anytime getting on his knees. Hips pushed back towards Iwa and Tooru bringing his face inches from your core. Not allowed to taste you but where he could vividly see Makki’s cock stuffed in you. 

Perhaps it was the grogginess of a ruined orgasm. Or the fact he was desperate to cum at this point. But there was no hesitation when Iwa pressed his tongue against Tooru. Earning a lewd moan from his best friend that fueled him. Finding himself so hard at the idea of Tooru pressing back on his face as Iwa tongued him.

“Mmm there, does Iwa’s tongue feel good love?” You caress his face as your free hand plays with your clit. Makki not moving as you ordered but his hands certainly didn’t seem to count as he groped and fondled your breast.

“S-So good-” Tooru moaned. His labored breathing and cock hanging between his legs as Iwa ate him out was a beautiful sight. One that wouldn’t last long though.

“Can you take Mattsun now?” You asked sweetly of him. Tooru nodded. He didn’t want to lose Iwa’s tongue but he knew the next thing would be better. So you looked to Mattsun with an inquisitive look.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” Mattsun ready to stuff his cock in anything a this point.

You watched in pure bliss as you saw Tooru straddle his friend like he did you so often. Instead of sliding down on a toy though. You watched Mattsun’s enormous cock disappear in his ass. Tooru’s stomach tensing until he relaxed and the brown haired man sighed in relief.

“Feel good?” You asked the both of them.

Hardly a response though as Mattsun and Tooru ended up in their own little world. Fucking only mere feet from you. Makki’s cock buried in you as you lazily played with your clit. Leaving Iwa out of it.

“Please...” He stooped as low as to beg, “...Please let me taste at least.”

Feeling generous and like it would be a nice change. You indulge him. Allowing Iwa to finally get a little something even though he was the loser.

“Make me cum before Mattsun fills Tooru and I’ll let you cockwarm next time~” 

Iwa didn’t need to be told twice. Diving between your legs to find your clit instantly. His tongue working overtime as you leaned back into Makki. Making the man hold you and catching his lips. He was a good boy who wasn’t moving so kissing him was the least you could do. 

As instructed Iwa was an expert with his tongue. Giving your clit all of his attention. Sadly thought he wasn’t privy to winning this either. Glancing over at the other two soon assure you of that. The way Mattsun gripped Tooru’s hips. Cum drooling out of Tooru’s cock for lord only knows how long now. And the way Mattsun’s brows pinched in the middle and hips stalled meant Iwa lost once more.

Unsurprisingly the two men had to catch their breath. Mattsun pulling out and a flood of cum following. Tooru being a good boy when you told him not to waste any and he scooped up Mattsun’s cum and pushed it back inside himself. Fingering himself as Iwa’s tongue began doing the trick when your hand found his hair and your grip tightened.

First a wonderful little tickle until finally you were leaning back into Makki groaning with a shudder. No real movement save for the ripple of your cushiony cunt walls around his cock. After all this Makki wasn’t going to complain. Even as Iwa’s tongue glided over his shaft a few times in desperation to keep you cumming on his tongue. 

Neither men cared when your orgasm was in full swing. Your cunt tightening around Makki until he had no choice but to double over into you. Holding you tight as his cock throbbed inside you and his balls emptied every last drop of cum into your well deserving pussy. Even Iwa not caring as he did his job to ride out your orgasm and some of Makki’s excess cum drooling out around him and Iwa licking it up like a good boy. Focused on your hand in his hair until he knew he’d done his job when your grip slowly loosened and finally released him completely.

Satisfied but not letting Makki go anywhere just yet. Which he didn’t mind. Tooru crawled over to you. Kissing you with the faint taste of Mattsun’s cock on his lips and certainly his cum still dripping down his inner thighs. Tooru smiled against you before nuzzling his face against yours.

“Aye wait-” Iwa, still the only one who hadn’t came yet, huffed and looked around.

No one said a thing. Makki spared you a look by hiding his face in your neck like Tooru. Mattsun looked your way and didn’t say anything to his friend. And Tooru simply kept kissing your neck without a care. None of them were going to go against your wishes making you smile at Iwa, “Well, maybe next time you’ll know better than to bet against me now won’t you?”

#threethirst #hq smut #hq!! #haikyuu!! #haikyuu smut #oikawa tooru #oikawa torū #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x matsukawa #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki takahiro smut #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi haijime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut #issei matsukawa #matsukawa smut #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa issei smut #matsukawa issei x reader #seijoh #aoba jōsai #aoba johsai

[20dollarlolita]

So, this ask may be too general, but here goes nothing: Can you talk about what lolita _is_? I get that it's about the skirt bomph and lots of detail, also cute as in "as a button" and not cute as in "sexy", but other than that, what divides "lolita" from "not lolita"? I read your entire "lolita" tag and tried googling, but especially the web search only brought more confusion (and local sex clubs, blech). Or maybe I need better search terms, lolsob.

Okay, so this is a bit of a doozie to answer, because defining something by what it is not and describing something by what it is are very different functions. Also, lolita is a very broad topic that spans from the 1970's until today, and that's a lot more to focus on than I have time for in this post.

So, first of all, google advice. The term you want is "lolita fashion", because that gets you more actual lolita results and less sexy baby stuff. If you put quotes around it ("Lolita fashion") then you only get results that include those two words next to each other in that order. If you stick a minus sign before a word, google will exclude any results with that word. This means that "lolita fashion" -sexy will only give you google results for pages where lolita fashion specifically is being discussed, and will block out any page with the word "sexy". This gets you some quality articles written by people who are in the fashion.

The second thing I'm going to recommend, Anon, is to look in the notes of this post. I'm going to recommend that, because I'm going to ask my followers, and other people who see this post, to contribute their own answers about what the most important things are when you answer the question "What is lolita?" There's a lot to know, and if everyone shares the most important parts of the fashion, we can give a thorough view of the fashion without putting a huge amount of research labor on any one person.

So, I'm not doing any intense research here. This is just what I talk about when strangers ask me what I'm wearing when I'm in walmart trying to buy 50 hostess cupcakes.

Lolita fashion is a subfashion from Japan. While it started in the 70's, it really started to look like modern lolita fashion in the 90's. It's focused on having a certain aesthetic that draws heavily from French Rococo fashion and a lot of things like what Edwardian children wore. It has a very specific silhouette, and a big focus on an almost overload of details. The key components are the large skirts supported by petticoats, and the balancing of the other elements of the outfit to create one coordinated look. A lolita outfit is called a coordinate, because getting the elements to balance is the most important part of the look.

I'm personally drawn to lolita fashion for a few reasons. I love the absurd, self-indulgent, and unapologetic extravagance of it. A lot of people enjoy getting dressed up to go to a special occasion, and I get that same feeling with lolita, but I can wear lolita any time I want. It's absurd and over-the-top, but it's so beautiful, and it doesn't need a reason. No matter when you wear lolita fashion, it's going to be strange to outsiders, which gives you the freedom to wear it anywhere you want. I love that it's not sexy, but it's still detailed and beautiful. I don't want people to see me and calculate if they want to have sex with me, but outside of lolita, when I dressed up nicely I would often be told that it was a sexy/hot look, or asked what kind of man I was trying to impress. I want to look beautiful, but I don't want to look sexy. Lolita fashion isn't sexy to outsiders; it's just confusing to them. People can't tell me I have a nice ass; it's under ten miles of ruffles. There is no ass. My ass cannot be seen. With lolita fashion, I control if I feel beautiful, and I control if I'm a sex object. And I want to be beautiful but I don't want to be a sex object.

(EDIT: I believe the origins of lolita are in a similar line, where it's a reaction to young women being told to grow up and find a man. As a reaction, they created a modest and child-like look. However, I don't have a source on that, so if anyone does, I'd love to link it here)

Lolita fashion's looks have a lot more rules and guidelines than most fashions and subfashions do. You're aware of this, because it's why you wrote this ask. This is one of the biggest draws to me. I love having such a serious boundary and guideline to creating a look, because within that limit is endless creativity. This is the kind of creativity I love. I think a lot more people are creative when they're limited, and I think a lot of people have more fun within limits. Party games like charades, where you must communicate a concept to other people without speaking, are fun specifically because the harsh limitation of the rules forces you to express yourself in a different manner. Charades is not fun when you can talk. Lolita is not lolita when there are no rules.

And then, to me, handmade is so much a part of lolita fashion that I forget it's not part of everyone's lolita fashion. That's completely valid, by the way, and probably more common, to make your outfit by buying all of the components. But I make a lot of my own things, and that's so important to why I love lolita. A lot of the construction of lolita garments is so simple, and the ability for it to work is entirely dependent on how you balance it and detail it. You can take the Clothing and Design elective you took in 9th grade and make actual lolita fashion that can still feel complete and valid in a group of people wearing brandname pieces. It's basic construction and then filling in the space you gave yourself, like you've drawn a basic sketch and now you're rendering your idea as an oil painting. And once again, you get the limitation issue, and you have the fun of solving that like a puzzle. Where are you getting your fabric? Your lace? How does it build into your wardrobe? How can you design something and still have it be lolita-acceptable? All of that is part of regular lolita, but it becomes a whole 'nother story when you're building it yourself. And I just love that. (Also, when you make your own dress and you can objectively say that it's the same quality as one that was $200, it feels like you just printed your own money. I don't really bring that up too much, but you asked a budget lolita blog and so there you go, I'm motivated by that too).

So, Anon, definitely check the notes, and followers, please take a second to talk about what you think the most important things are when you're talking about lolita fashion. It's a big question

#ask #anon #lolita fashion #how to lolita #20dollarlolita #long post

[egcdeath]

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;) 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics  *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me. 

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in. 

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there. 

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy. 

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise. 

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was. 

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy. 

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now. 

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what. 

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup. 

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another. 

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you. 

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side. 

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent. 

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t. 

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale. 

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you. 

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries. 

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared. 

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper. 

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

 The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home. 

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance. 

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell. 

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious. 

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.” 

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat. 

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case. 

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you. 

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times. 

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm. 

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall. 

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat. 

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…” 

You nodded again. 

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly. 

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted. 

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!” 

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement. 

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of  “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less. 

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless. 

You finally won.  

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #dark!reader #ransom drysdale x dark!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

[mindibindi]

They are destroying Rebecca’s character this season and this Sam bullshit is the final nail in the coffin for her. What the f*** are they doing to their female lead ??

Well, I suppose this is the danger of offering resolution early in the piece and why so few television writers do it, particularly when it comes to romantic relationships. Because then there is the looming question of What Happens Next. So many writers prove that, while they may have the imaginative juice to create, they don't have what it takes to re-invent.

Whether you understand her as the protagonist or the antagonist of the first season of Ted Lasso, Rebecca's big revenge plot drove s1, gave it a clear narrative arc. This inaugural season likewise gave her character a clear and compelling arc. You could posit that, while Rebecca's pain drove season 1, Ted's pain is meant to be driving season 2...? But whatever Ted is going through does not have as clear-cut an objective so it is not giving the same sense of cohesion or direction. Within her s1 arc, we got to see Rebecca feel angry, frustrated, victorious, smug, thwarted, conflicted, heart-broken and vulnerable. Last season gave Hannah Waddingham so many opportunities to show the range of her skills as an actor and I still hope she wins an Emmy for this performance. But I doubt she will be winning any awards for her performance this season.

Most situation comedies stick to the same situation, snapping their characters back to where they were at the beginning of each episode. Certainly, this formula can become repetitive and dull after years. Ted Lasso received a great deal of praise when it broke this formula by offering resolution at the end of its first season no less. It broke the no-hugging-no-learning mantra of so many sitcoms when it allowed Rebecca to learn from her trauma, come clean and literally embrace Ted as a valuable part of her life. Since her character went on the biggest journey of the season, the question of What Happens Next was always going to be more significant for her than it was for any other character on the show.

Season 1 of Ted Lasso made me fall in love with Hannah Waddingham and the character of Rebecca Welton. But as much as it pains me to say it, in s2 she is nothing like the problematic powerhouse we met in s1. Her friendships with Keeley and Higgins continue on nicely enough. She's had some good moments with characters she had little interaction with in s1, like Roy and Nate. And it was great to meet her mother and god-daughter. But this fleshing out of the character is mostly work around her rather than work that propels her forward in any meaningful way. I understand that some people may be content just to watch Rebecca living her best life after the intensity of last season. But, for me, the pursuit of heterosexual romantic love by a woman to the exclusion of all else is a problematic aim since women have been told for centuries that securing a man is the single most important thing they can achieve in their lives.

Rebecca wants love and doesn't want to be alone. She's stated that, that's canon and that's fine. But romance seems to be Rebecca's ONLY aim, her single focus. We haven't seen her do anything in her role as club owner except make a phone call and look sharp, which I admit she does well. The woman looks INCREDIBLE. But if you are in your right mind (at least in my opinion), you are not expecting this amazing woman to end up with a pretentious windbag, a hot booty call or a wildly inappropriate youngster. So it all seems a bit aimless, purposeless. All of this dithering about with wrong dudes is just a waste of time when we have limited time with these beloved characters. We know we are only getting three short seasons of this show and I don't want to spend a full season watching a previously complex female character stare at her phone, only ever prompted into (questionable) action by her cute best friend. And I DEFINITELY don't want to watch...whatever the fuck they think this thing is with Sam.

Frankly, I am still flabbergasted that they have chosen this path. They genuinely seem to think that their audience will enjoy this as some hot romantic adventure...? And hey, a small but vocal minority are. Some diehard fans are trying to hold onto their faith with white knuckles. And the rest of us are just over here in compete and utter shock at the suddenness of the decline in this show's quality and ethics. The latest justification some fans are rather desperately grasping at seems to be that Rebecca's actions stem from her trauma. Now...okay. Trauma can be responsible for many things. But not this. Trauma can make you act in v strange ways but I don't see the connection here. I can clearly see how Rebecca's trauma from her first marriage dictated her actions towards Ted in s1. That is a very clear line to draw. I can see how, after her disastrous marriage, her judgement may be off and she may go for someone like John Wingsnight: someone safe, solid and appropriate. Again, a clear line to draw. I can also see why she would indulge in fun, shallow sexual relationships with the waiter in Liverpool and her booty call from bantr. All normal, understandable behaviour for a woman in her situation. And a v clear narrative line for the writers to draw. No problems there. Her actions in each of these cases can be traced back to Rupert and his abuse. But I cannot for the life of me draw a line between Rupert and Sam. As a traumatic reaction, that does not make a shred of sense to me.

It's true that sometimes those who have been abused become abusers, not that I'm saying Rebecca is abusing Sam in this scenario. What I am saying is that most trauma survivors will go out of their way to avoid becoming anything like their abusers. Most survivors try their damnedest to break the cycle of abuse, not perpetuate it. Most victim-survivors will act, sometimes even to their own detriment, to spare others from being impacted by their pain and trauma. Trauma and abuse does not break your moral compass. If anything, it makes it stronger. Trauma and abuse heightens your sensitivity to what is right, just and honest. Having seen Rebecca ultimately unable to follow through in her trauma-inspired revenge plot on Ted, it does not make sense to me that she is blindly (without any of the nuanced inner conflict of s1 Rebecca) allowing her trauma and abuse to lead her into a situation that not only emulates her ex-husband's hurtful, unethical behaviour, but endangers what is now supposed to be so valuable to her.

All the press for s2 as spruiked Rebecca as a dating disaster but enthusiastically committed to her club. There is a huge difference, however, between charmingly, comedically 'messy' and inept to the point of self-destructive stupidity. I just don't buy her as this dumb. Yet here she is, after all her dealings with the savage British press last season, endangering the reputation of herself, her club and one of its most vulnerable players. Oddly enough, the Rebecca we saw in s1, with her many layers and nuances, seems to me to be a far more moral (not to mention interesting) rendering of this character. This Rebecca was motivated by injustice, she had an acute understanding of what was and wasn't right. It's why she conceived of her revenge plot and also why she ultimately dropped it. It is one thing for writers to propose that there are multiple steps on the way to healing. It is one thing for them to lead a character into a dark forest full of conflict and complication. But, from what I can tell, some people don't know the difference between a dark forest and straight-up bad writing. And it really fucking shows.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #hannah waddingham #sam obisanya #ask #whoops another long post without a cut #sorry not sorry

[dateamonster]

Honestly why do most reader inserts put you in the perspective of a human. Like I'm already a human in real life, why would I want to be one in this shameless self indulgent fantasy about getting it on with a hot monster

OK LITERALLY like not to generalize but i feel like ppl who write a lot in that pov make assumptions abt their reader base a LOT and thats one of the reasons i find it so alienating. like i dont have a huge sample size to pull from but i feel like the majority of reader self insert characters ive seen people write are (literally or implied)

human (like you said, assuming that the draw to the monstrous is predicated solely on attraction and not like. a sense of kinship or general interest in the monstrous)

women (or if not, vaguely fem-androgynous. even when explicitly male/masc theres a weird vibe to them that feels.. not necessarily feminine but never rly masculine)

submissive (sexually or otherwise) (alternatively theyre presented as like Feisty but only so they can eventually be softened up once theyre in wuv)

cis

white

able-bodied

skinny (and like vaguely conventionally attractive usually but like in a boring way)

and if a reader insert deviates from these trends its kinda treated as this aberration or point of intrigue that needs to be addressed explicitly or incorporated into the plot ("plot"). like for example the only fat reader fics ive seen are typically centered around like a partner comforting you or reassuring you that they like your size and its. weird! to me. idk.

and like again this isnt Every fic its just a trend ive noticed. i feel like in trying to appeal to what the writer perceives as the largest demographic of readers they end up both creating a super bland stock character straight out of an otome game and alienating anyone who doesnt fit the standard theyve assigned them

i mean maybe im just biased since i probably wouldnt vibe with them anyway but considering reader fics are like this totally independent fan-driven form of expression (and in the case of monster x reader, already somewhat taboo) youd THINK thered be more variety and less upholding the same norms that appear in like the average hallmark romcom

#ask #i know i know its not that deep #except nah actually i think this time it kinda is that deep #i think its weird how heavily normative so many of these stories are #but just to be clear this is not an invitation for u to rep ur favorite totally diverse y/n writer sorry lol i literally dont care

[frobin]

Okey serious question here. How much do you actually believe that Oda ships Frobin? Like do you think he actually have like doodles/sketchs of them in a pairing kind of way? like for the strong world film riding the motorbug? (Personally i would love it to be true but he has stated one piece isn't about romance in that way)

Hey there anon! Thank you so much for your question and I hope I can answer it seriously enough. Also once more sorry for the late response. I felt like a question like that needs some research and that is what I did these last few days.

So... I think I'll start with the tl;dr because that way people can read that and ignore the rest.

So, long answer short: I 100% believe that Oda has one or more sketchbooks with drawings of his characters that are absolutely self-indulgent. I am 98% sure that he has drawn Franky and Robin in a romantic way at least once (and supported the ship). I am 80% sure he still is shipping FRobin.

Little disclaimer: I actually have no idea if any of this is true. I pull everything in my arguments out of my own experiences and knowledge and since I'm not a 46 year old Japanese Mangaka my perspective might be WAY OFF.

argument - reason- example - conclusion... behind the cut (or in the google doc)

So, why do I think that Oda has a secret sketchbook?

Simple answer is that he is an artist. He is drawing a lot and no artist will publish everything. That can have multiple reasons like imposter syndrome or because the artist thinks it’s not good or interesting enough or they just forget. There are even more reasons I forget and every person has their own.

For Oda I can imagine two big reasons as to why he would keep secret sketchbooks.

First: He is a horndog. You can skip this part if you don’t want to read about it, to the second reason.

Anyway, we know thanks to answers in the SBS, the way he likes to draw big-breasted women and how some of his characters are classified as perverts that he can be considered one too.

Let me show you a few of a few lewd SBS questions he likes to answer in a funny way:

Chapter 228, Page 46

D: How are ya, Odacchi? I know how much you like getting butt-naked, so this must be a favourite season for you. <3

O: Yes, yes. I just LOVE getting completely naked. In the summertime, after I take a bath I just run STRAIGHT OUTSIDE!! And when the girls' softball team running on the sidewalk looks over at me, they say, "Yup, it's really summer now!!" ... AS IF!! I'D GET ARRESTED!!!

(x)

Chapter 433, Page 68

D: If Lady Robin can use her Hana Hana Powers to make any part of her body sprout somewhere else, does that mean she can do it with her ample bosom as well? "Nyurin-zaki" (Breast Sprout) Boy, I'd like to take a hit from that sometime... P.N. Ero Ero no Mi Devil Fruit User.

O: "Ichirin-zaki" (Single Sprout) "Nirin-zaki" (Double Sprout) "Nyurin-zaki" (Breast Sprout) Very clever!! NO IT'S NOT!! STOP THAT!! I'm sure she CAN do it though ♡

(x)

Chapter 798, Page 64

D: Oddachi, I'll give you a pornographic book, so please answer my question. Sanji won't allow anyone to waste food, but what will he do if a woman does so? P.N. Smoker's Cigar

O: I think he would grab the plate and eat it up. Now please give me the pornographic book.

(x)

Nowadays I’m sure there is a focus on those lewder questions compared to the beginning because that is what 13 year old boys laugh about and we all know that is Oda's main demographic (of course).

I think a very good picture of that is given by Tekking101 in his breakdown video of SBS Volume 100.

“Let’s get diving into these questions (...) now, this is a huge moment. I mean, not many Manga manage to reach 100 Volumes, Okay? Now I know Oda usually starts these off with questions relating to boobs and things that don’t really… you know, aren’t really relevant but you know, this is a big celebration so we’re gonna dive right into it. I bet the most important things that we need to know about the One Piece Story are right here in these pages, okay? I printed them out. That is how important this is. So let’s start off, shall we? Epic voice, Barry!

‘Mister Oda, there is a UFO over there with huge big-breasted beauties on it. That memorable 100 Volume of the SBS is about to begin.’

[pause] Yeah, like the first five of these are all related to boobs in some way. You know what Oda? Sticking true to your guns! Godspeed, Sir Oda. Godspeed.”

(end at around 2:30)

So, Oda is a man who likes beautiful women and who draws.

Coming to the conclusion that he will draw his own characters in suggestive poses, naked and even doing adult stuff is not hard.

Obviously he would not show these sketches just around. He would probably keep them in a secret sketchbook that he keeps at a safe location. Maybe his wife and some close friends know about it? Maybe it is his and only his little secret.

I don’t think it would be unlikely to learn about this years into the future, maybe the next generation of Anime Fans will hear about this.

And it would not be the first time that something like this happened.

Not that long ago the daughter of Osamu Tezuka - groundbreaking Mangaka, known for his works of “Astro Boy”, “Kimba the white lion” and many more - found his adult Furry art. Source; Japanese article;

It’s a fact that many Mangaka did indeed start their career with art of the more risque kind and/or as doujinshi artists.

So again, I have no doubt that Oda, a known pervert, has one or more secret sketchbooks with „the p0rnography“ in it. Is there only hot stuff in there? Not necessarily.

The second reason to keep a secret sketchbook would be to collect information in there, that could be considered canon but he is not willing to use it in the Manga. Maybe they are not important enough or will be used later.

What am I imagining here? Anything that could be considered too weird for the normal sketchbook but isn‘t too risque. Funny things that might still not be „appropriate.“

Like a sketch of the male Strawhat ding-dongs with the sizes beside it. All the lewd jokes the fans did about Luffy's stretching qualities? I’m sure Oda thought about them too and drew that in the past if he had the time and it made him laugh enough.

But also maybe there are scenes in there that never made it in the Manga. The Strawhats interacting with each other in their daily lives, ideas for colorspreads and maybe chapter-titles. Oda probably has noted/sketched down a lot of unofficial stuff somewhere.

Another example, even an artist like Oda himself would have needed to exercise drawing two people kissing. Why not use Characters he thinks that might work out together?

Why not Franky and Robin? I would imagine he sketched up a few panels of Franky and Robin having a romantic date, going shopping together in Dressrosa, having a conversation that we never got to see because it was too on the nose.

Which brings us to the second point of me being very sure that Oda had drawn FrankyXRobin at one point.

I’m sure in those sketchbooks there is at least one drawing of them doing anything couple-related together. Again it does not have to be downright nasty but it could be them holding hands, kissing or even just Robin leaning onto Franky while reading, like all those fanarts that exist out there.

It’s not hard to imagine. Even for other Characters I think that is possible

And there might even be proof for that idea. The sketch of the Strong World movie you also mentioned, anon. The one movie that can be considered canon is Strong World. It was basically written/directed by Oda. Shiki the antagonist had an appearance in the Manga.

This sketch is drawn by Oda. Robin is holding onto Franky.

Can it be read as romantic? Yes. Can it be read as Robin holding onto Franky because there is nothing else to hold onto? Also Yes. But couldn't she just have used her power to keep herself secured on the bike without holding onto Franky? WELL YES. Could Oda never have thought in these circles like I do right now? I hope he did not because I hate it and I don’t wish it upon him.

In the movie Robin is NOT holding onto Franky. Now the really interesting thing - that is neither proof pro nor anti FRobin - is that we can see the sketch provided by Oda as a “between the scenes”.

In the movie Strong World the old trio is collecting information at the Pirate assembly. The next time we see them they use the Batta GT-7000 to slowly approach the destroyed village, which had been ravaged by the animals, and start to look for their friends. No need to hold onto Franky and no need for Brook to lean back. They are looking around.

The sketch is clearly not the same scene as the one we see in the movie.

In conclusion the drawing is indeed a between the scenes drawing. And yes if there exists one, who is to say there aren’t more?

Talking about Animal-Bikes...

Is there any meaning about the fact that in the opening scene (that is part of the talked intro after the opening ‘We Go’ - a huge thanks to antiherofangirl, ccb0nnet, JFL_Estudios and Maems, over at twitter!) Franky and Robin build another grasshopper-based vehicle? Maybe not but I still feel like it’s quite a callback.

Where did the idea to put this in the beginning come from? a) an editor had the idea inspired by Strong World; b) maybe it’s another sketch that Oda provided.

Neither seems very far-fetched in my opinion.

So yes, I am very sure that Oda has drawn things that we would consider FRobin.

Now to the last point (the first being Oda having a secret sketchbook, the second me arguing that Oda might have drawn FRobin).

As I said in the beginning I’m very sure that at one point Oda did and kinda that he still does ship Franky and Robin. Because even though every Interaction of two characters can be depicted as romantic or platonic, Oda used ROMANTIC TROPES with Franky and Robin.

They have never kissed on screen but we had

finishing each other's sentences

coordinated clothes

one using the others lap as pillow

hand on cheek caressing

and we can’t forget that Robin had answered Franky's invitation to ride on another animal-themed bike with a heart.

Edit: I didn‘t say anything about „no romance in OP“ so ask again if you want me to talk a bit about that. Sorry!

Those are things an author of Oda's level would not write or draw without being aware about how teasing this is. He has to be aware that every single line he draws will be analyzed to the end of the universe and back. People earn money by saying their opinion and interpretations about the Manga on Youtube.

These interactions are not something outlandish like “There was once an Anime Scene in which Robin was wearing something blue and exactly 28 episodes later Franky was wearing something violet and then 39 episodes later they both stood beside each other for exactly 69 seconds.”

Whenever I think about these facts, things that are not about interpreting but are factual, black ink on white paper but also about the little things, about how Frank and Robin help each other to become better, how they support each other… I want to say YES! ODA IS 100% on board! While in reality I’m 80% sure and 20% of me is wondering if I’m not actually analyzing too much into it. If maybe he really is abandoning ship. Maybe I will become the person who will curse his name and throw my Mangas and fanfictions in an active volcano?

I don’t know and it’s impossible to say what is going to happen.

And with that I've concluded this answer, and it only took me around 2k words and four days.

#FRobin #One Piece #One Piece Meta #Odas secret sketchbook #One Piece analysis #Adult themes #Notreally Frobin #long post #2k words #ask #modpost #kon #boy this was something #sorry about any mistakes

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

offer me that deathless death

Jaskier has never shared the bed with a man before. Geralt is more than happy to take him every step of the way, allowing him to explore his body and the pleasure it can bring him.

[Written for the “Inexperinced” prompt for the milestone celebration]

(10.9k words, explicit, also on ao3)

------------------------------------------------------------

There were so, so many things that Geralt absolutely adored about Jaskier. 

The look in his impossibly-blue eyes when the witcher kissed him and then broke away, so full of love that it almost hurt sometimes; the softness of his skin under Geralt’s fingertips, warm and smooth and flawless; the scent of something sweet and almost intoxicating, like pomegranate, hidden right under the sharp of his jaw and on his delicate wrists. 

But above all that, Geralt loved knowing that most of those things were new to the bard. That Jaskier was completely, utterly his.  

It stirred something deep in his chest, something hot and possessive, to see Jaskier’s hands tremble ever so slightly when he would reach out to him, run his hands down Geralt’s shoulders and chest, studying the lines of his body. The way he bit his lower lip to try and stop the colour from spilling over his cheeks while doing so. 

Geralt would’ve never thought him to be quite so coy when it came to physical closeness but then again, Jaskier was only twenty-two and though he’d already made his way through more beds than either of them would care to count, all of his lovers were women. 

Over the four years they’ve been travelling together, Geralt had seen the bard flirting with other men countless times, have seen him with kiss-swollen lips and marks on his neck but, as he had come to realise very quickly once he became the one leaving those marks, it had never gone any further than that yet. 

Jaskier was almost self-conscious about it for the first few evenings but then, as he’d learned just how much Geralt loved having him all to himself, it had quickly become a weapon that he used against the witcher shamelessly. 

The way he leaned and arched into every touch, little breathless gasps escaping his lips whenever Geralt would find his way to his neck, leaving bruising kisses in his wake, the way he tangled his hands in his silver hair to pull him closer still, the way he trembled under what seemed like every touch - all of that was driving Geralt insane, slowly but surely. And it wasn’t helping at all that when it all started - a little over a week ago - they were in the middle of nowhere, and the villages that they would pass on the Path were all too small to have an inn. 

The bright side of it, however, was that Jaskier was growing beautifully impatient. 

Every night, when they would set up their camp, the summer nights warm and kind to travellers, he would grow more and more frustrated when, drunk on the taste of Geralt’s lips on his own, he would get his hands intercepted at the wrists and seized before he could as much as strip the witcher of his shirt. No matter how much Geralt wanted him, he was going to get him into a proper bed first. 

Jaskier pleaded, whimpered and threatened but nothing worked, and his impatience was growing so hot and overwhelming that Geralt could almost feel it on his skin whenever the bard was close. Though also a torture, it was an absolute delight to know that he’s the cause of it. 

And even so, when they finally reach a town a little south-east of Tretogor, Geralt can tell that Jaskier is nervous. In a good way, but nevertheless. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Geralt wonders if he’d been like this the first time he had shared a bed with a woman but he also knows the answer. He remembers his own first sexual experience, a young and beautiful barmaid somewhere in Kaedwen, grateful to him for saving her father from a water hag and fascinated by his silver hair and golden eyes. She was warm and soft and gentle, taking her time with the buckles of Geralt’s armour and breathing sweet little moans into his lips. 

Geralt was twenty-four then, only a year out of Kaer Morhen where all he’d really learned about sex were the stories he and his brothers would tell each other, all of them so obviously made-up that when he thought back on it, he was genuinely impressed by their imagination. 

But even so, he remembers how easy it was to figure it all out, how effortless it was to find the right pattern. So he knows that no, Jaskier wasn’t like this the first time he had slept with a woman. And that thrills him even more. 

He doesn’t mention it, though, allowing everything to go at its own pace and, when the door of their rented room closes behind them, he busies himself with his bags and armour, just like he always does. 

Jaskier is telling him something about a fellow student he had in the Academy that is now a poet at the Tretogor court and, slowly but surely, he can feel the tension bleed away from the bard’s shoulders. He knows that on some lever Jaskier had been expecting to be tugged to bed the moment they got to the room, and that anticipation was what was making him anxious. Geralt did ask himself what did he do wrong for the bard to feel like he’d be given no time but then again, it’s hardly his fault, too much anticipation tends to do that to people. 

So when Jaskier relaxes again, Geralt just smiles to himself. 

“When was it that we’d last slept in a proper bed?” the bard murmurs, coming closer to wrap his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Let alone this big.” 

Geralt chuckles, leaving his bags alone and covering Jaskier’s arms with his own, tilting his head to brush his lips over the bard’s temple. 

“Hmm,” he hums, considering. “Three weeks ago?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh, touching a gentle kiss to Geralt’s shoulder. Through the fabric of his shirt, Geralt can feel the warmth of his lips and, despite all his self-control, it sends a shiver down his back. 

“We can stay here for a couple of days,” he says, turning around in Jaskier’s arms to dip his head and steal a proper kiss from him. “If you want to. It’s been a long couple of weeks and the only way I can think of making up for them is not letting you out of my arms for a day or two.”

Jaskier smiles and bites his lips, a beautiful tint of pink spilling over his cheeks. He hides his eyes and Geralt knows better than to tip his chin up now. He knows that in a way, Jaskier is enjoying his own nervousness now that the edge of it is taken off, and he gladly allows him to savour it. 

Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers down Geralt’s chest and then moves back up, over his shoulder and neck, until he can get his hand into the witcher’s hair and pull him to his lips, closing in what little distance there is between them. 

He kisses him slow and sweet, and Geralt parts his lips obediently when he feels Jaskier’s tongue on them. It’s a pleasure of its own - letting the bard explore his body slowly and carefully, in whichever way he likes, allowing him to feel in control of everything that happens. 

When Geralt thinks about it, he’d never known anything sweeter. 

As Jaskier moves his other hand over his torso and chest from where it had been resting on the small of the witcher’s back, Geralt gladly leans into it, chasing the touch, ready to both follow Jaskier to the bed, and let him go. 

Jaskier rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, fingers digging into the skin just hard enough to keep the witcher close, and only breaks away to suck it a breath before his lips are on Geralt’s again. It’s impossible to resist and Geralt doesn’t even try to, catching the bard’s lower lip between his teeth and drinking in the gorgeous little gasp he gets in response. He’d had more than enough time over the years to notice the way Jaskier looks at him whenever he smiles in a way that shows his canine, elongated and sharpened by the mutations and the Trials. And though the bard never openly admitted anything, it wasn’t necessary. 

The temptation to bite just a little harder and see how Jaskier will react is not the one that Geralt can keep at bay and so he gives in, tipping Jaskier’s chin up and biting at his plush lower lip, not so hard as to draw blood but enough to have the bard arch his back, chasing the feeling and flinching away from it at the same time. The choked moan that escapes his chest sounds more like a whimper and, by the gods, Geralt can barely breathe with just how much he wants him. 

Fortunately for him, they’re close enough to one of the walls that it only takes Geralt two steps to press Jaskier up against the wooden panels and kiss him again, keeping the initiative to himself this time, licking into the bard’s mouth and keeping him close with a hand on the small of his back. 

If there’s anything that he’d learned over the last week and a half is that even though Jaskier loves his freedom to touch and kiss whichever way he wants, he also loves just how much stronger Geralt is, how, if he wants to, he can just take, asking no questions.    

Geralt had first discovered it a week ago when, after they had settled in for the night, the kisses had grown hotter, hungrier and Jaskier, his hands everywhere at once, had finally caught on the hem of the witcher’s shirt only for Geralt to intercept his wrists and pin them above his head. He wasn’t really expecting anything aside from displeasure from the bard, keeping his hands away simply because telling him to do so would not have been enough but the way Jaskier looked at him them, pupils blown so wide that there was barely any blue in his eyes, had told Geralt everything he needed to know. 

And it would’ve been a terrible mistake to deny them both such pleasure. 

Careful not to overstep, to always make sure that Jaskier doesn’t feel trapped, he indulged them both, knowing perfectly well that more often than not Jaskier wouldn’t keep his hands to himself for the sole purpose of having them pinned above his head once more. He struggled against the grip with little to no intention to actually escape it and Geralt could feel his pulse pick up when all of those attempts failed and Jaskier knew that he’s helpless against the witcher. 

If his life depended on it, Geralt would not have been able to decide what he loves more: allowing Jaskier to do anything he wanted to him, mapping out his body with careful hands and lips, or having full control over him. 

Moving even closer, Geralt shifts just enough to push his thigh between Jaskier’s and he can’t help but grin at the way the bard gasps, already half-hard. 

“You’re so easy to turn on, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it,” he murmurs into his ear, breaking the kiss and finding his way to Jaskier’s neck, still bearing the marks he’d left two nights ago. 

He doesn’t see Jaskier blush but he feels it in his scent, sweet and heady, like peach blossoms. He breathes it in, lets it fill his lungs, barely suppressing a low moan as he undoes the hooks on the bard’s doublet one by one.

“Geralt--” Jaskier breathes, eyes fluttering closed as the witcher sucks a new mark onto his neck, the sparks of pain only adding to the pleasure. 

 His hands are shaking as he cups the sharp of Geralt’s jaw, making him lift his head, and pulls him to his lips to kiss him again. Geralt lets himself be manoeuvred willingly, giving the control back and something low in his abdomen ties into knots at the way they can play with power like that. 

He’d never been the one to obey easily but letting Jaskier take things his own way held a different kind of power within it.

Knowing that Jaskier cannot keep his hands off him, always so open and sensitive despite his own nervousness and fear, was better than any control Geralt could imagine. 

“Bed,” Jaskier breathes into his lips, stepping away from the wall. “Please.”

Without looking, Geralt takes a step back towards the bed, leading Jaskier after him without ever breaking the kiss and it’s when the back of his knees already hit the mattress that there’s a sharp knock on the door and Jaskier flinches in his arms, eyes flying open. 

“The bath you ordered is ready,” comes a female voice from behind the door. “When you’re done just leave the towel on the door handle and my boys will deal with the water for you.”

Geralt recollects himself faster, thanking the innkeeper and, as he listens to her make her way back down the stairs, the heels of her shoes tapping against the wood, he can feel Jaskier rest his forehead against his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. 

His cheeks are bright-red either with the heat or with the sudden embarrassment for the state he’s in, and even though Geralt is dying to tease him about it, he’s trying so hard to hide it that the witcher chooses to pretend that he doesn’t see the blush. 

“You’ve ordered a bath and forgot about it?” Geralt asks, pressing a calming kiss to Jaskier’s temple, his own shoulders shaking with laughter, as well. 

“Turns out it’s very hard to keep such insignificant things in mind with you around,” the bard smiles, still hiding his eyes and so gorgeously embarrassed that Geralt can’t help but lean in and steal one more kiss from him.  

Geralt lets him go when he pulls back and as he sits down on the bed, watching Jaskier fumble with the ties on the sleeves of his doublet, his fingers still shaking, he realises, though not for the first time but with an intensity that he has never felt before, just how hopelessly in love he is with him. 

“Jask,” he calls softly, extending an arm towards him and pulling the bard closer when he takes his hand. “Everything alright?”

Jaskier allows himself to be pulled down into Geralt’s lap and, after a second, takes in a breath and finally looks him in the eyes. 

“Yes,” he says, brushing a stray lock of the witcher’s silver hair out of his face. “I’m sorry, I  just got a little… overwhelmed.”

Geralt can feel it in his scent but he doesn’t say it, dipping his head to touch a gentle kiss to the curve of his shoulder, instead. Jaskier relaxes under the touch, tilting his head to give better access. 

“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much,” Geralt says softly. “If you’re not ready.”

“No,” Jaskier says immediately, pulling back to look the witcher in the eyes again. “I want to. You don’t even know how bad. But I just… can we wait until the evening?”

The blush is now slowly fading from his cheeks but his eyes are shining just as bright as before, and he looks so impossibly beautiful like this that Geralt can feel his heart skip one of its slow beats. 

He leans in, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s warm cheek, and smiles at him, pulling away. 

“Of course.”

***

Over the four years that they’ve spent together, they’ve never really seen each other naked, so when Jaskier leaves for the other room to take his bath, Geralt knows better than to follow him, no matter how close they’ve gotten over the last days or what’s going to happen in the evening. 

He gives Jaskier the space they both know he needs right now and heads downstairs, where more and more guests are gathering around the tables as the sun is starting to set. 

At first, he wants to get himself a drink for the time to go by faster but then, after giving it some thought, decides against it and instead orders a bath for himself, as well. It takes a little bargaining but in the end, he manages to successfully convince the innkeeper to set it in one of the empty rooms. Fortunately for him, this inn is big enough to have the baths and the beds in separate rooms instead of just behind a panel screen.

It’s not that he necessarily needs a bath, since the night before they camped close to a riverbank and he’d sneaked out for a swim when Jaskier fell asleep, but he just wants one. While summer nights are warm and the water in the river was more than pleasant, it still cannot compare with a proper hot bath. 

And, well, when he thinks of it, he does want his hair to still be damp and smelling of herbs when he comes back to bed tonight, wants his skin to be warmed and softened by the water, wants to be as close to perfects as he can be - for Jaskier. 

He can imagine the way he’s going to touch him once finally given full permission, the way he’s going to look at him, with those impossibly-blue eyes, and it feels… special. Gods know Geralt’s never been the one for sentiments but there is only so much one can do when there are so many feelings mixed into the equation.    

As he sheds his clothing and steps into the steaming bath, just on the right side of too hot, he thinks back on what it felt like when Jaskier had kissed him for the first time. It was mostly his own doing, he supposes, for he couldn’t keep his hands to himself when they’ve settled in for the night but at the same time, he could hardly be blamed for it. With Jaskier pressed close to his chest, a sleeping arrangement they’ve somehow fallen into sometime in the last year, his scent was so overpowering and he was so close that it barely even registered with Geralt that he’s got his nose burrowed in the bard’s chestnut hair, just breathing him in. 

And, well, it was only a matter of seconds after that that Jaskier was turning around, reaching over to get his hand into Geralt’s hair, and kissing him. 

Then, finally, everything fell into place. 

If Geralt had known sooner that that was the reaction he was going to get, they would’ve probably been sleeping together for months not, if not years, but the longing did have something special, almost bittersweet within itself. 

The way Jaskier kissed him, both gentle and absolutely desperate, justified the previous three and a half years that Geralt had spent yearning for him, convinced that his feelings aren’t reciprocated because why would Jaskier flirt with just about everyone right in front of his eyes? 

“Because, you goddamn idiot,” he laughed when the witcher had asked him. “I thought that if you get jealous, you’ll finally do something about it.”

Ah, so that was his strategy. 

But none of that really mattered anymore, not with Jaskier parting his lips oh so obediently for his tongue and trembling so sweetly that it didn’t take Geralt long to realise he’d never really went further than kisses with other men and that anything the witcher was going to do to him would be a first. Oh, the way it made his blood boil. 

But on some level, he was worried, too. 

All the men he’d been with before were… well, more experienced. They knew exactly what they wanted and what Geralt wanted from them, it was a practised pattern, easy to fall into for a night or two and then fall out of it just as easily. 

But with Jaskier, Geralt knew it would be different. And he couldn’t help but think that he might do something wrong, might be too much. After all, he was a witcher and his hands were made for a sword rather than a body as beautifully delicate as Jaskier’s. He would never hurt him, of course, not deliberately, at least, but he was still… a witcher. 

Geralt shakes those thoughts off before he can concentrate on them too much and closes his eyes, slipping lower into the hot water, instead. 

As it washes over him, Geralt allows his mind to wander until he can think of nothing but the feeling of Jaskier’s lips on his own. 

***

When Geralt comes back to their room, the bed is still empty and he can hear soft splashes of water from behind the door to the bathroom along with Jaskier’s humming of a song he’d been composing lately. 

Geralt rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, already used to the bard always taking forever in the bath whenever he’d get his hands on one. But, well, he’d always come out smelling of his oils and salt, mild enough not to cause the witcher discomfort, and then Geralt couldn’t really complain for after a long bath Jaskier had always searched for more warmth in his arms. 

Geralt can’t imagine this time being different, so when he gets into bed, having left his trousers on an armchair in the corner of the room, there’s a sweet little thrill of anticipation that runs through him. Even if Jaskier won’t want to take it any further than kisses, just the feeling of his warm, slender body close to his own is enough for Geralt to consider himself a very happy man. 

He stretches on the wide bed with a soft pleased rumble, his hair, still damp from the bath, brushed back with only a few loose silver strands falling into his face, and reaches for a book that he’d been carrying around for the last couple of weeks. When Jaskier asked, the witcher had told him that it’s about the flora of the Skellige Isles and that he needs it for future reference on elixirs and salves, because he couldn’t bring himself to admit that it’s a romance novel he’d bought when they were passing Rinde. The story was ridiculous but the erotic scenes were hot and decently written, so he wasn’t complaining. After all, everyone’s allowed a little guilty pleasure. 

Geralt wasn’t really paying attention to how much time had passed but he was just about to finish a chapter when he’d realised that the splashing in the other room had stopped and after just a few moments, Jaskier slipped through the door, nothing but his smallclothes and an oversized shirt on. 

It’s what he usually sleeps in when they have a proper bed, and so does Geralt, because wearing trousers to bed is a form of torture, and Geralt should be used to it except now, when he’s finally allowed to touch and kiss and feel, he can’t help but bite his lip at the sight. 

It doesn’t help at all that Jaskier’s wearing his shirt, as well. 

“Is that mine?” Geralt enquires, still.

 Jaskier smiles at him, almost teasingly. 

“The shirt or me as a whole?”

He crosses the room, coming closer to the witcher and takes the book away from his hands, closing it and putting it aside, on the bedside table. 

“Either way,” he says, his hands coming to rest on Geralt’s shoulders as Jaskier straddles his hips in one effortless, almost practised move. “The answer is yes.”

And oh, how good he is with his words. 

His body is a pleasant weight on Geralt’s hips and the witcher barely notices it when his hands come up to rest on Jaskier’s waist, his skin warm even through the fabric of the shirt. From this position, he has to tilt his head up to look at the bard but it’s not something that Geralt minds. 

He’s aching to reach up and kiss him but even more than that he wants to let Jaskier be the one to set the pace, and so he waits, just rubs little circles into his sides with his thumbs and even that, somehow, makes the bard shudder. 

“Do you still want me?” he whispers, brushing a silver strand away from Geralt’s face and letting his fingers linger on the sharp of his jaw. 

 Geralt can feel his heart skip a beat. 

“Always.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath and then his fingers are under Geralt’s chin, tipping his head up more, and he’s kissing him, just as gentle and desperate as he did the very first time. 

Geralt can’t help but moan softly into his lips, the realization of finally being alone and in bed fully catching up with him at last.

He slides one of his hands up Jaskier’s back, barely holding back from getting under his shirt so soon, and pulls him closer, letting the bard’s scent wash over him, fill his lungs from wall to wall. He can feel the oils Jaskier’s used for his bath, the herbal soap he uses on his hair, but under all that, he can feel his own scent - sweet, heady pomegranate, with something even richer, even sweeter slowly mixing in and he knows Jaskier well enough to recognise the scent of his desire. 

Jaskier breaks away for only a second, their lips never fully parting, and takes in a shallow breath before kissing Geralt again, slower this time, his entire body leaning into the witcher’s touch. And then again. And again.

Geralt kisses him back gently, his other hand moving up to tangle in Jaskier’s hair, still wet after the bath. He runs his tongue over the bard’s bottom lip but, when Jaskier parts them obediently, withdraws, earning himself a disheartened little whimper as a reward. 

“Teasing me, Witcher?” Jaskier asks, a little breathless as he breaks away. 

Geralt grins, showing off his canine. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, not even trying to sound innocent. 

Jaskier’s eyes are already darker than they usually are, transfixed on the witcher’s grin, and Geralt knows perfectly what exactly he’s looking at, what draws in so much of his attention. 

“You and your fucking witcher mutations,” he hisses, dragging his thumb over Geralt’s bottom lip and leaning down to kiss him, hard. 

Geralt laughs somewhere deep in his chest. 

“What about them?”

Jaskier leaves him without an answer for they both know it well enough, and dips his head to touch his lips to Geralt’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw. The touch sends sparks of pleasure up Geralt’s spine, and his eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head to give the bard more access. 

The neck had always been a sensitive area for him and as much as a couple of well-placed kisses could have him biting his lips but right now, with Jaskier kissing him, he can barely hold back a moan. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Jaskier asks, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Geralt’s throat, his hands slowly making their way down the witcher’s chest. 

Geralt has to bite his lip, hard, to keep himself from getting under Jaskier’s shirt. 

“More than three years,” he says, catching the bard’s lips with his own when he lifts his head. “Pretty much ever since we met.”

“Ever since we met,” Jaskier echoes, kissing him again and slowly, carefully rolling his hips against Geralt’s, tearing a sigh out of them both. “And yet you waited all this time.”

His breath is hot on Geralt’s lips and before the witcher has the chance to answer, he’s silenced with a kiss, Jaskier’s tongue hot and wet when he licks into his mouth. Geralt doesn’t mind being led, not with Jaskier, so he allows for it with pleasure, arching into the touch when the bard finally slips his hands under his shirt. 

It’s not that Jaskier’s hands have never been on his chest or sides before, because of course they have, helping wash off blood and wrapping bandages around fresh wounds but it was always a necessity, with no time to actually feel, to study the firm muscles and the pale scars. Geralt did catch Jaskier looking a couple of times but that too wasn’t nearly enough. 

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s hands tremble slightly as he rucks his shirt up and moves just far enough from the headboard of the bed for him to pull it off over his head. Jaskier drops the shirt to the floor beside the bed, his hands finding their way to Geralt’s broad chest and for a moment, he just looks, brushing his thumb over a healing cut on the witcher’s collarbone. 

His hands are warm against Geralt’s skin and though he’s not used to such direct attention, it feels good. 

“Like what you see?” he teases, watching Jaskier slowly move his hand down his chest, stopping just between his ribs, just the tips of his fingers touching skin. 

That gets him the result he wanted, a flush of colour spilling high on the bard’s cheeks and Jaskier bites his lip, hiding his eyes in a gesture that Geralt had grown to love a little too much. 

“Yes,” Jaskier says, only a whisper. “Gods know I’ve been dreaming about you for years.”

He dips his head, brushing his lips over the cut he’d been tracing and, after a moment of hesitation, slips lower, to Geralt’s chest, eyes fluttering closed. 

He’s careful with his every touch, like it’s Geralt who’s never been in bed with a man, not him, but it sends Geralt’s head reeling regardless, knowing where that tentativeness is coming from. Unable to help himself anymore, he gets his hands under Jaskier’s shirt, tearing a soft little gasp out of him, and runs his hands up his back, both encouraging and calming. 

Jaskier kisses a line down his chest, touching his tongue to the skin every time, and there’s only so much that Geralt can take before he’s searching for the hem of his shirt. 

“Can I?” he asks, tugging on it just a little to indicate his intentions. 

Jaskier goes still for a moment, his breath heavying, but Geralt can tell that it’s anticipation rather than indecisiveness. And it’s only a second before he nods. 

“Yes,” he breathes. “Gods, yes. Please.”

More than anything Geralt wants to flip them both around, lay Jaskier down on the pillows and just kiss him until there’s no air left in his lungs, wants to make him tremble with pleasure, hear those little choked-off moans and whimpers, but he knows that there will be time for that, and right now what Jaskier needs is time. And that is something that Geralt can give him. 

He pulls the bard’s shirt off him slowly, letting his hands brush over his sides, and once it falls down onto the floor, he keeps his eyes locked with Jaskier’s for a long moment before running his gaze down his shoulders and chest, all the way down to his lower abdomen. Jaskier’s heart rate picks up even more so than before, and Geralt leans in to brush his lips over his neck, feel the carotid pulsing under the tender skin. 

Jaskier leans into it, until they’re chest to chest, and gets one of his hands into Geralt’s hair, pulling him closer, giving him more access, more freedom, while his other hand never quite stills on the witcher’s chest, like he’s mapping out every curve and line. 

“Talk to me,” he pleads, throwing his head back with a soft moan when Geralt presses another open-mouthed kiss to his neck, sucks a mark into it with just a hint of his canine scraping over the skin. 

Geralt knows just how inexperienced Jaskier is, can feel it in every touch of his hands and lips, but the bard had never told him directly, and it’s too tempting for Geralt to deny himself the pleasure. 

“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” he murmurs, letting his voice drop to a soft purring rumble that gets Jaskier’s heart beating faster every time. 

He doesn’t have to see the blood rushing to Jaskier’s cheeks to be able to feel it. 

“No,” Jaskier admits, his hand catching on the witcher’s medallion and wrapping around it. “I wanted to, a couple of times, but I never quite had the courage. Or maybe I just never really wanted to be with anyone but you.”

Those words run through Geralt’s body like a shockwave and he breaks away from Jaskier’s neck to catch and hold his gaze.  

 “Gods, you perfect,” he whispers but before he can capture Jaskier’s mouth in a kiss, his lips are already back on his chest. 

He seems braver this time, his kisses turning into teasing bites, like that confession was what he needed to feel more confident. It’s getting harder to breathe and though Geralt manages to keep his breathing more or less even as Jaskier makes his way down his chest, once the bard’s lips close around his hardened nipple, he fails to suppress a gasp, hips jerking involuntarily.

He’s fully hard by now and the pressure of Jaskier’s hips against his own sends sparks of pleasure through his lower abdomen. 

Jaskier seems to take that as an encouragement, pressing himself closer to the witcher and rolling his hips slowly, his own cock hard and throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his smallclothes. 

For a second, Geralt is overwhelmed with the desire to flip Jaskier onto his back and get his mouth on him, make him come just like that, finally learn what he tastes like, but he makes himself hold back. After all, they have the entire night. 

“What about you?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt is so lost in the feeling of his hot tongue that it takes him a second to register the question. “Who was the first man you’ve slept with?”

He chuckles, pulling Jaskier up to his lips for just a second before letting him get back to his chest. 

“Another witcher,” he says, nearly choking on a moan when Jaskier catches his nipple between his teeth before shifting in Geralt’s lap and moving lower. “I was eight, maybe ten years out of Kaer Morhen. He was a little younger than me.”

Jaskier takes his kisses lower, down the centre of Geralt’s abdomen, and though his hands are slightly trembling again where they’re resting on the witcher’s thighs, he doesn’t stop in one spot for too long. And if Geralt’s voice is what it takes to take the worry away, how can he refuse?

“We met in the Pont Vanis court, in Poviss. There was some kind of a creature in the harbour that was killing seamen and dockworkers at night, and the king needed a witcher to take care of it. When we asked which one of us he wants to take on the contract, he said that whoever brings him the head of the beast will get the coin. We spent two nights searching the docks and growling at each other, and all the other nights we spent in one bed.”

Jaskier’s head snaps up from where he’d been following the trail of short silver hair running down Geralt’s lower abdomen, and his eyes are widened with both surprise and amusement. 

“Hatesex, Geralt?” he asks, not quite managing to hide a grin. “That’s… hot.”

Geralt laughs, shaking his head.

“We didn’t hate each other,” he says. “Coën is… well, he’s certainly something. On the third night that we were supposed to go looking for what turned out to be a vengeful siren, I’ve decided to show up on his doorstep and tell him to stop getting in the way of my hunting but instead of telling me to fuck off like I’ve been expecting, he just rolled his eyes and pressed me up against a wall.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen even more and his grin is now not concealed in the slightest. 

“I’ve always thought you to be the one doing the pressing,” he says, running the tips of his fingers up Geralt’s thigh. 

Denying anything is useless at this point, so Geralt just accepts that Jaskier now knows a little secret of his. Considering that there are fresh marks blooming on the bard’s neck, it’s a small price to pay. 

“I am,” he agrees. “But he’s very… dominant.”

Jaskier hums something dismissive, the grin never leaving his lips even as he pulls himself up to steal a long, sweet kiss from the witcher. 

“You still sleep with him, don’t you?” Jaskier enquiries, willingly allowing Geralt to pull him back into his lap and leaning into the touch when the witcher rolls his hips slowly. 

When Geralt wants to, he can look just as charming as the bard, and that is exactly what he does right now. 

“From time to time,” he grins. 

He’s half-expecting the bard to be jealous, though he doesn’t want him to be, but Jaskier just laughs and kisses him again, blindly searching for Geralt’s wrists to guide his hands to the waistband of his smallclothes. His fingers tremble where they’re pressed against Geralt’s skin, but he doesn’t stop. 

Geralt kisses him back gently, calming him and letting his hands rest on the bard’s hips for a long, comfortable moment before breaking away when there is no air left in his lungs. 

“Are you sure?” he asks softly, and Jaskier just nods, a little nervously, his lips already back on Geralt’s in search of consolation. 

Geralt undoes the ties on the bard’s smallclothes with practised ease and, when Jaskier shifts just enough, slips them off him, careful not to let his hands wander too soon. 

Jaskier sucks in a breath, breaking away from Geralt’s lips, and his cheeks are flushed with blood again, too beautiful for the witcher to be able to hold himself back from placing a kiss on both of them. 

“Alright?” he asks, tipping Jaskier’s chin up to get his attention. 

Jaskier’s darkened eyes snap up to meet his, and he smiles, open and warm. 

“Alright,” he breathes. 

He rolls his hips, pressing himself close to Geralt, and they both moan softly at the pressure. It’s almost unbearable, taking it so slow, but it’s better than anything Geralt has ever known. He desperately wants to get a proper look at the bard, now completely naked and so, so close, wants to study every curve and line of his body, but Jaskier’s already blushing, and he doesn’t want to push it too far.

Jaskier, for his part, seems determined to finish what he’d started, so before Geralt gets the chance to as much as kiss him again, he’s already spilling back down, his lips low on the witcher’s abdomen and his hands blindly tracing the lines of his thighs. 

There’s a long uneven scar that starts just above the witcher’s hipbone and curves halfway around his lower abdomen, and Jaskier halts just above it, lifting his head hesitantly.    

“May I?” he asks. 

It’s just now that Geralt realises he’d been avoiding his scars. And not because he didn’t want to touch them but because he wasn’t sure if he’s allowed. 

Geralt lets out a shuddering breath, running his fingers through the bard’s hair.

“You can do anything you want to me,” he says. 

 Jaskier flashes a happy smile at him and then he’s dipping his head down to kiss a line along the length of the scar, starting from its inner side and making his way to the witcher’s hipbone, tugging on the waistband of his smallclothes just enough to give himself access. 

His breath is hot against Geralt’s skin, sending tingles up his spine, and the witcher gets so lost in his pleasure that he barely registers the moment Jaskier undoes the ties on his smallclothes and tugs them off him, for he lifts his hips almost instinctively. 

  But once there are no more barriers of clothing left between them, he’s suddenly hyper-aware of just how close they are, and that sends his head reeling. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, licking his lips in a gesture that Geralt can’t help but follow with his eyes. “You’re even bigger than I thought.”

Geralt has about five different ways of replying to that but just as he opens his mouth, Jaskier’s lips wrap around the head of his cock, and all words fail him. 

He moans, clenching his hand into a fist in order to keep himself from getting it into the bard’s hair, and it’s so overwhelming that for a second, he thinks that he could come just like this. 

“Jask--” he chokes out, taking in a deep breath and grounding himself to gently run his fingers through the bard’s hair, calming and reassuring him. Them both. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

Jaskier smiles without pulling away and wraps his hand around the base of the witcher’s cock, stroking torturously-slowly. 

He doesn’t move any further yet, just sucks lightly at the head, moving his hand over the entire length every time, but that is more than enough to have Geralt trembling, his breathing deep and heavy. He keeps his hand in Jaskier’s hair but doesn’t try to guide him, just plays gently with the chestnut locks, his eyes fluttering closed as the bard lets his cock slowly slip deeper into his mouth. 

Geralt doesn’t even try to bite back a moan as Jaskier presses his tongue closer, runs it over the underside of the tip of his cock where the tender flesh is especially sensitive, and the bard echoes, the vibration going through what seems like Geralt’s entire body. 

Jaskier sinks even lower, a little too fast this time, almost choking for a second, and Geralt runs his fingers down his cheek to stop on the sharp of his jaw, gentle and grounding. 

“Don’t rush,” he murmurs softly, finding Jaskier’s other hand and pulling it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm. “Don’t rush, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier pulls away to take in a proper breath, and the way he looks, with those darkened eyes, ruffled hair and lips glistening with spit and precome, is almost too much for Geralt to take. 

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching out to pull Jaskier closer. “Gods, just come here.”

Jaskier obeys without hesitation, climbing back into Geralt’s lap and finding his way to his lips easily, sharing his own taste with him. 

Geralt runs both his hands down the bard’s back, over his waist and hips until he can finally dig his fingers into his thighs, letting his self-control slip just a little. 

He just can’t take it anymore, can’t stay in the position they’re in, his entire body aching with the need to be closer, and he wraps one arm around Jaskier’s middle to keep him close as he flips them both over, lowering the bard down onto the pillows. Jaskier gasps sweetly but doesn’t protest, throwing both his arms around the witcher’s neck. 

“I’ll get you back into my lap later, if you want,” Geralt promises, breathless as he breaks the kiss and immediately finds his way to Jaskier’s neck. “All you have to do is ask, alright? Anything you want, I’ll give you.”

Jaskier nods, his bottom lip caught between his lips, and Geralt takes that as a permission, pressing his hips into Jaskier’s and paving a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, moving closer still when the bard wraps his legs around his waist, his hands tangled in the witcher’s hair. 

He can feel Jaskier’s cock against his abdomen, hot and throbbing, can feel the smears of precome on his skin, and his mind blacks-out completely for a second as he moans and leaves a bite on the curve of the bard’s shoulder, making his gasp and arch his back off the bed. 

“Gods, Geralt, please,” he whispers, edging on a sob. “Please.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he’s asking for for Geralt to know, and he gladly obliges, biting him again, just a little harder this time, letting Jaskier feel the pressure of his canine against his skin. Jaskier tugs on his hair and whimpers, his breath coming in short gasps. 

Geralt presses his tongue to the faint mark left by his teeth and moves lower, to Jaskier’s collarbone, nearly growling with pleasure when he sinks his teeth into it, making the bard shudder all over, his head thrown back onto the pillows, lips parted and kiss-swollen. 

He’s growing overly sensitive and it sends a thrill through Geralt’s body, makes his blood boil in his veins. If Jaskier is this responsive now, how much further can he push his before it becomes too much?

“Jask,” Geralt calls softly, getting the bard’s attention. “You can stop me at any moment, alright? Always.”

Jaskier nods frantically, rolling his hips against Geralt’s and breaking off into a breathless moan. Oh, the things Geralt is ready to do to hear that.

He kisses a line down the centre of Jaskier’s chest, keeping his balance with one hand and never quite letting go of the bard’s thigh with the other. 

It only seems fair to give what you get, so Geralt doesn’t even think about it as he sucks Jaskier’s nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue until the bard is writhing and whimpering under him, and then bites down, making Jaskier cry out. 

“Please--” he sniffles, and it’s just now that Geralt realises that there are tears in the corners of his blue eyes. “Fuck, Geralt, please, you’re going to kill me.”

For a second, a wave of cold fear runs through his body, and his mind races, trying to figure out what he did wrong, but then he takes in a breath, takes in Jaskier’s scent, and he doesn't feel distress or pain, only the deep, rich sweetness of lust. And something more. Something that he doesn’t quite dare to think about just yet. 

“Shhh--” he murmurs, touching a calming, grounding kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Jaskier pulls him closer, catches his lips in a rushed, desperate kiss, all sharp teeth. 

“Please,” he says again, and Geralt can barely even think because of how easy it is to get Jaskier to this state, hyper-sensitive and desperate. 

He doesn’t want to make him wait any longer, doesn’t want to deny him the pleasure, so he just nods, unclasping Jaskiers’s ankles on the small of his back to climb off the bed and reach for one of his bags, searching through it quickly to find the oil. And once he’s got the vial in his hand, he comes back and finally, finally runs his gaze over the bard’s entire body, splayed out on the dark-red bed covers just for him. 

Jaskier flushes under his tentative eyes but doesn’t tense, doesn’t hide. If anything, he spreads his legs further and it’s an invitation that Geralt cannot decline. 

He climbs back onto the bed, settling in-between Jaskier’s knees, and dips his head down to press a wet kiss to the inside of the bard’s thigh, making him gasp softly and flex his muscles, both leaning into the touch and trying to get away from it. His cock is throbbing and leaking precome onto his stomach, and there’s nothing that Geralt wants more than to take it into his mouth, but Jaskier seems to see right through him, for just as the witcher moves to go through with his intentions, Jaskier stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“No,” he says, breathing hard. “No, not right now. Believe me, love, I’ve been thinking about this what seems like every night but I know what it feels like. And right now I want something I’ve never felt before. With you.”

He looks so open, so vulnerable that Geralt’s heart seems to stop completely for one endless moment, and then his lips are back on Jaskier’s thighs, peppering calming kisses over the tender skin. 

“Alright,” he breathes. “Anything you want.” 

Geralt spreads the bard’s knees further, giving himself more access, and uncorks the vial of oil without looking, too preoccupied with sucking a mark into Jaskier’s thigh that makes him shudder and whimper, pain mixing in with pleasure. 

The oil smells pleasantly of lavender and Geralt is just about to drip it into his hand, when Jaskier asks:

“Will it hurt?”

His voice is so small that Geralt would not have heard it were it not for his heightened senses. Oh, it tears his heart into pieces with just how much it makes him feel. 

“No,” he says, smoothing both his hands down the bard’s thighs and leaning down to touch a kiss to his hip bone. “Maybe just a little. We’ll go slow, alright? I won’t hurt you.”

Jaskier bites his lip but nods, loose strands of his damp hair falling into his eyes. But he still seems worried, and in Geralt’s mind, there’s only one thing for it. 

“You know,” he murmurs, running his tongue over the fresh mark to get Jaskier’s attention. “I could start with my tongue.”

Jaskier’s darkened eyes light up with interest. 

“With your tongue?” he echoes. 

Geralt just grins, closing the vial of oil again and setting it aside for now. He should’ve thought of it from the start. 

“Turn around for me,” he says, and Jaskier obliges immediately, though his arms shake when he props himself up on his elbows. “Just like that.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to know exactly what Geralt wants from him, and when the witcher runs his hands down his sides only to slip them under his hips and lift them up until Jaskier’s propped up on his knees, he gasps in what almost sounds like surprise. 

He looks incredible like this, his chest still pressed to the bed and the perfect swell of his ass on display, the blush that never seems to leave his cheeks only making it better.

Geralt doesn’t torture either of them with anticipation, running a line of dry, calming kisses down Jaskier’s back and getting a better grip of his thighs to keep him in place. As he runs his tongue over the crease of the bard’s thighs for the first time, slow and wet, he can hear Jaskier gasp into the pillows, and it’s all the encouragement he needs. 

Geralt presses his tongue closer and swipes it up again, listening to every little noise that Jaskier makes. He lets the bard rock his hips into the touch but keeps him at a steady, slow rhythm, until he relaxes enough to whimper in response to every touch. Only then does Geralt allow himself to go further, applying more pressure with every drag of his tongue, teasing at the bard’s hole, and Jaskier trembles under him.   

His cock is leaking steadily onto the bed covers, and Geralt knows that they’re going to absolutely ruin them by morning, but that doesn’t concern him in the least. Not with Jaskier panting and whimpering because of him. 

Jaskier is eager to get more, and he relaxes quickly, allowing Geralt to press harder, push his tongue inside, his lips and chin slick with spit. If he could, he would gladly spend the entire night like this, licking into the bard’s hot, tight body and feeling his thighs shake where his fingers are digging into them. 

“Oh, fuck, Geralt, please--” Jaskier sniffles, and Geralt can feel the salty tang of his tears. “Please, don’t stop. Do anything you want to me but just don’t stop.”

Geralt is happy to oblige, ignoring his own throbbing cock, painfully hard and leaking just as much as Jaskier’s. But he can’t help but think about what it will feel like to sink into that hot, pliable body that’s taking his tongue so eagerly, and his vision darkens for an agonisingly long moment. His entire body responds to the fantasy, tingling and aching, and he just barely has it in him not to wrap a hand around himself. 

He makes himself focus completely on Jaskier, on the way he claws at the sheets, rocking his hips faster, fucking himself onto Geralt’s tongue, and it takes him everything he’s got to keep his own movements slow and gentle - a sharp contrast to the bard’s eagerness. 

He presses in close, sinking his tongue deep into the bard’s body and then withdrawing almost fully, and gets completely lost in, fucking him just like that until Jaskier’s moan suddenly breaks off into a sharp cry and his hips snap forward as he comes, spilling all over the sheets. 

Geralt fucks him through it, his head reeling with the overwhelming scent of the bard’s pleasure, and when he finally breaks away, he has to steady himself with a hand on Jaskier’s hip because for a second he feels completely disoriented. 

Jaskier’s entire body trembles with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but he keeps his hips up even as he hides his face in the pillows, his breath coming in short uneven gasps. 

Geralt allows him his time, peppering kisses all over his back until he finally reaches his shoulders and Jaskier turns around, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck and pulling him into a heated kiss. All tension is gone from his body, and when Geralt pulls him closer, until their hips are pressed together again, he allows himself to be manoeuvred willingly. 

“Gods, that was--” he chokes out, voice hoarse. “That was incredible.”

Geralt just smiles into his lips, kisses him again, slower and deeper this time, licking into Jaskier’s mouth and sharing his taste with him.

“Now that didn’t hurt, did it?” he teases and Jaskier bites on his lower lip, breaking the tender skin. 

“No,” he grins, licking the blood off and rolling his hips against Geralt’s, his cock already half-hard again. “But I want more.”

Oh, that Geralt is more than ready to provide. 

He laughs somewhere in the back of his throat and reaches for the previously abandoned vial of oil, leaning into every touch as Jaskier runs his hands down his shoulders and back, gripping and scratching everywhere he can reach. 

“Do you want me to start with one or two fingers?” the witcher asks, nosings at the bard’s throat and sucking new marks into it as he drips the oil into his hand and warms it between his fingers. 

Jaskier spreads his legs further, full of impatience. 

“Two,” he says, running his hand all the way down to the witcher’s ass and digging his fingers into the flesh with a pleased moan. “I want you inside so fucking bad, Geralt, please.”

Geralt is growing just as impatient as he, so he doesn’t wait anymore, just props himself up on one elbow, his lips never leaving the bard’s neck, and slips his hand between his legs, circling two fingers around Jaskier’s twitching hole before slowly pushing them inside. 

Jaskier arches off the bed with a broken moan, and his sharp nails rake down the witcher’s shoulders, leaving burning scratches behind. He rolls his hips, taking Geralt’s fingers in deeper, and throws his head back, exposing his neck. 

Geralt takes advantage of it without hesitation, switching his lips for his teeth and biting down, not hard enough to draw blood though only just. Jaskier’s mouth falls open as he suppresses another moan, and all of it is so overwhelming that all Geralt can concentrate on is his scent and the hot tightness of his body where he fucks him with his fingers. It’s only a matter of minutes before there is no more resistance and he adds a third one.

“Gods, Geralt, if I didn’t kiss you then, how much longer would it have taken us?” Jaskier pants, a whine escaping his lips at the stretch. 

Years, maybe, Geralt thinks, Until one of them would finally break. Or maybe just a month or two, until they would get drunk and would no longer be able to keep their hands to themselves. But nothing that could’ve been would not have been better than this. If they waited longer, maybe Geralt would not have been the first one. If they waited longer, maybe Jaskier would have just stopped waiting for him to make up his mind, and gave himself to someone else. 

That thought runs through Geralt’s entire body like a wave of suffocating heat and he growls.

“You don’t even know what it does to me - knowing that I’m the first man to touch you like this,” he breathes into the bard’s ear. 

Jaskier seems to be about to answer when Geralt’s fingers brush over just the right spot inside, and his eyes fly open as he gasps. 

“Right there,” he pleads, curling into Geralt’s body. “Right there, please, Geralt, please.”

For a second Geralt wonders if Jaskier could come three times in a row, if he could get hard again if he was to keep fucking his just like this until he’s absolutely ruined, but he just can’t ignore his own desire any longer. He’s lightheaded with it, almost dizzy, and he just won’t make it through another round like this.

He moves his wrist faster, keeping the same angle, and Jaskier whines and trembles under him, his cock hard and leaking again, making a mess of his stomach. And as soon as he relaxes enough, Geralt withdraws his fingers, swallowing the bard’s disheartened moan with a kiss. 

“Breathe for me,” he says softly, dripping more oil into his hand to slick himself up and clenching his jaw at the friction of his own calloused fingers. “Just breathe, Jask.”

Jaskier does as he’s told, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck again to keep him close, and Geralt holds the gaze of his darkened eyes as he aligns himself and slowly pushes in. 

They moan in perfect unison, and Geralt drops his head to rest it against Jaskier’s sweat-slick shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks deeper into his hot, welcoming body, barely able to breathe. 

The sense of time is completely lost to him, and he’s not sure just how long it takes before he finally bottoms out, but once he does, Jaskier’s ankles clasp together on the small of his back, and the bard pulls his closer, hands fluttering blindly over Geralt’s face until he finally tips his chin up and captures his lips in a kiss. 

He’s still so impossibly fucking tight that it almost hurts, and Geralt moans into his lips as he slowly rolls his hips, carefully starting to move. 

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m not letting you out of this bed for days,” Jaskier breathes in a loud whisper, moving to meet the witcher half-way. 

They fall into a perfect rhythm easily, slow and careful at first, but faster as Jaskier gets used to it, staying close enough to breathe the same air, gasps and moans falling off their lips and getting lost in tender kisses. 

Geralt had slept with a lot of people in his life, both men and women, but it has never felt like this, like they’re not just having sex, not just fucking but making love. And fuck if he can see himself opting for anything else ever again. 

His chest feels tight with emotions, and Geralt hides his face in the delicate curve of the bard’s shoulder, kissing and biting everywhere he can reach, moving faster until Jaskier is whimpering again, snapping his hips just in time to sink as far down as possible every single time. 

“There are so many things that I want you to do to me,” he whispers, voice shaking as his nails dig deep into Geralt’s shoulders. “So many things I want to do to you, if you only knew--”

The temptation is too strong to withstand, and Geralt doesn’t even think as he snaps his hips, hard and deep, making Jaskier cry out and drag his nails down his shoulders, leaving bleeding marks behind. Geralt moans breathlessly, always the one to mix pain into his pleasure, and the smell of blood is so intoxicating that it nearly pushes him over the edge. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, wrapping his legs tighter around his waist, encouraging. “Again.”

Geralt doesn’t have to be asked twice. He snaps his hips again, just as hard, and Jaskier’s entire body trembles in response as he throws his head back onto the pillows, his cock twitching where it’s pressed against Geralt’s stomach. 

They’re both close, and Geralt can’t keep the slow pace up any longer, shifting just enough to brace himself better against the bed and picking the speed up, one of his hands coming down to squeeze Jaskier’s thigh and keep him close. 

He’s vaguely aware that the headboard of the bed is knocking into the wall behind it with every thrust of his hips and that it’s already late at night but that’s not something that really concerns him right now, because all he can concentrate on is the heat of Jaskier’s body and his moans and gasp that drown in messy kisses. 

Jaskier scratches Geralt’s back and shoulders raw, arching off the bed and desperately trying to keep up with the witcher, pushing them both closer to the edge. 

His hands are shaking when he reaches out to intercept Geralt’s wrist as the witcher lets go of his thigh and slips between their heated bodies, and Geralt only hesitates for a second before obliging and returning his hand to where it was. 

“Let me come untouched,” Jaskier pants, and his eyes glisten with tears again. “Please, just don’t stop.”

The knot low in Geralt’s abdomen ties tighter and tighter, making him tremble with the sharpening pleasure, the tips of his fingers numb from hyperventilation, and it only takes him one more sharp snap of his hips, one more set of bleeding scratches on his back for the orgasm to crash over him in a suffocating wave. He bites into the bard’s lips, spilling deep into his body and still moving, and he’s still trembling when Jaskier catches up with him and comes all over both their stomachs. 

He clings onto Geralt’s neck, both their bodies shaking with the aftershocks, and Geralt can’t even imagine just how much time passes before they let each other go. He pulls out carefully, knowing just how sensitive Jaskier is right now, but the bard still gasps softly, though whether it’s from pain or pleasure Geralt can’t tell. 

He falls onto the pillows beside the bard, his body lighter than he can remember it ever being, and pulls Jaskier into his arms, tucking him against his chest, safe and warm. They need to clean up, to take the bed cover off but all of that can wait, and right now all that matters is the way Jaskier leans into his touch, pressing a smudged kiss to Geralt’s chest. He’s still trembling, though barely perceptible, and it sends Geralt’s head reeling all over again. 

A few long, comfortable minutes pass by in silence as they just breathe together. Then, Geralt asks:

“Was it like you’d imagined?”

Jaskier laughs quietly, pulling back just enough to look Geralt in the eyes, steal a gentle kiss from him. 

“No,” he smiles. “It was much better.”

Geralt snorts, propping himself up on one elbow to get a proper look at the bard, run his gaze down his entire body, slender and beautiful. The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, and while he still has the courage, he needs to say them. 

“Jask,” he calls softly, getting the bard's attention. “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly and Geralt can hear his heart skip a beat, but then he’s smiling, so bright and happy that it almost hurts. 

“Oh, Geralt,” he says, voice breaking like he’s about to cry. 

He sits up, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck when he does the same, and hugs him so tight that he knocks the air out of the witcher’s lungs. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining with tears. 

“I didn’t know,” he says, sniffling and laughing when Geralt reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Not until tonight, at least. But with the way you touched me, the way you cared so much about my comfort, oh, Melitele preserve me.”

He covers Geralt’s hand with his own and pulls it to his lips to press a kiss to the witcher’s fingers. 

“I love you,” he whispers, lifting his eyes to meet Geralt’s. “Gods, of course, I love you, I’ve loved you ever since we met.”

And then his lips are on Geralt’s again, and it’s so much, so much that all the witcher can do is kiss back, his heart beating against his ribcage so hard that he feels like it might actually break through it. He wraps his arms around Jaskier’s back, and when the bard breaks away, breathless, the corners of his lips are still curled up in a smile. 

“Do you think we’ve woken all the other guests up yet?” he enquires, eyes sparkling. 

Geralt falls into pretend consideration for a second then shrugs with one shoulder and grins. 

“Not all of them,” he says.

Jaskier mirrors his grin. 

“Wonderful,” he says, pushing the witcher down onto his back and straddling his hips. “Then we ought to fix that.”

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my writing #calton writes #oh gods this one was a ride