the proud flesh

Just Kisses

Since  today is the International Kissing Day, I did the headcanons for friendly kisses in another post. There we go with the romantic ones, instead. 

Demetra Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford

He always lingers a little more than usual on her lips, when she’s ready to leave Skyhold. Their bodies are already picking different directions - she has a party that is waiting for her to go through a new mission, he has his duties to attend and a keep to defend.

But his lips stay on her owns a bit longer, gently, as one of his hands caresses her cheek. She opens her eyes slowly, a “See you soon” written there but not spoken. There’s no need for it. They have already told their goodbyes while he helped her to wear her armor. And maybe he has stolen a kiss or two, pressing his mouth against hers with devotion and a hint of fear. 

Demetra’s clearly prefers other types of kisses, however, his “Welcome back!” ones. 
Cullen is a kind man, but a passionate lover and his kisses are devouring, firm, hard. He demands all of her and gives back the same and nothing less. One of his hands on her soft cheek - the gloves discarded on the floor - the other grabbing her waist, he leans over her and they breathe together. When his tongue begs for permission, she gladly opens her mouth. He makes her back arch and steals her very soul. 

It’s beautiful.

After their love making, once that Cullen's sure Demetra’s truly there and safe, he kisses her skin inch after inch, scraping with his stubble against her flushed body, and repeating the motion with a smile just to hear her giggle again. He writes his love with velvet lips and playful nibbles on her flesh, secretly proud she’ll wear his marks under silk and satin. It’s their cherished secret.

He can’t kiss her when days are bad and all he wants it’s crawling to the storage room and choke with lyrium in his mouth. Shame and pain battle hard in his mind, biting his body merciless. He can just lay down, in a pool of cold sweat, and pray the Maker to give him the strength. The Maker usually answers in kind and sends her. Demetra arrives, passing a dump cloth drenched with an elfroot potion on his forehead - it makes his migraine slightly less unbearable. She forces him to drink, pushing fresh water or healing potions between his cracked lips, and after she just stays there. His skin can’t endure to be touched, so she simply sits next to him. Cullen knows she’s checking his breath, and he would like to reassure her that everything is going to be alright. But he can’t speak louder than the blue song. Finally, after hours as long as ages, he opens his eyes. She kisses away his tears, most of the time, and her lips against his are careful, while she murmurs reassurances and comforting words. He believes her when she says he’s doing well.

And then, there are the kisses he leaves on her lips when the life is bright and perfect, when she is his arms he can savor her presence, peppering her face with playful pecks. She jokingly scolds him, when he indulges on the tip of her nose, but she sighs happily as his lips press against hers.
She bites them slightly and makes him shudder pleasantly. They have gone through so much, he thinks tracing with lips and glances the lovely freckles on her nose. And yet, they’re still there, together and alive.

He kisses her with love and gratitude and hope and happiness. Those are Demetra’s favorite kisses.

I hope you enjoyed this little one shot. As always, I treasure and read all your comments, reblogs, tags… !

Tongues and Teacakes - a False Pretenses drabble

hello darlings! god it’s been a while hasn’t it? I’ve truly been missing these two and when I had this idea I knew it was quintessential Holivia. You’ll probably be seeing much more of them in the future. 

NSFW content. 

The flat was cozy as Olivia stepped inside, toeing off her heeled booties and giving the bridge of her foot a firm rub. She could hear the low hum of the TV coming from the living room but seeing it was passed nine chances were high Harry had dozed off.

“Hi sleepy head,” she says softly, seeing his dazed and heavy form sprawled across the couch.  

“Hello, love,” he smiled sleepily, pushing himself up with a groan worthy of a man twice his age, “What time is it?”

She paused to check the time on her phone, “Just passed nine.”

“You work too much,” Harry pouted up at her nuzzling at her as she leaned over the back of the couch to scratch at his scalp.

“Well this asshole that I work for keeps wanting to change up his sound in production,” Olivia teases, laughing when Harry’s frown deepens.

“You don’t even have to do that stuff!” he defends himself.

She doesn’t, but Olivia likes to be involved in the whole process from start to finish. Working on Harry’s EP had been one of the most exciting, stressful, and rewarding times of her life. Harry was doing more performances, so he wasn’t in the studio as often as he’d like to be, their schedules were a bit off right now but it just made the time together more special. They’d always been attached at the hip since meeting but as their relationship developed and matured they were able to appreciate a little time apart, both of them confident in what they had enough to give it space when need be.

Still, Olivia never loses that excitement in her tummy when she turns the key in the lock each night and she hopes she never will.

Have you got it queued?” she asks, her voice carrying down the long hallway back to their bedroom, work trousers already unbuttoned and halfway shucked off.

Harry calls back a lazy affirmation and she can hear him cooing at their King Charles Spaniel, Georgie as she pulls on a pair of her worn leggings with a shirt of Harry’s.

“You love her more than me,” Olivia pouts teasingly as she hobbles back into the sprawling living space, feet padding along the grey hardwood floors.

“That’s cuz she’s Daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?” he sweet talks the pup currently sprawled in his lap, scratching behind her ears and accepting the laps of her wet tongue against his scruffy chin.

“I’d like one, please,” Olivia hums perching herself next to Harry on the couch and curling up her legs to rest against his.

Though when Harry’s lips are pursed at her she leans away, “Was talking to the baby,” she feigns confusion, leaning down to nuzzle her as Harry blinks owlishly.

She giggles then as Harry growls, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger and bringing her toward him.

“C’mere,” he whispers warmly, buttoning their lips together through both their smiles.

His fingers rest softly at her cheek as he deepens the kiss, making it just a bit sweeter than a normal welcome home one. With a final few pert pecks the two pull apart, his arm immediately winding round her shoulders when she leans back from plucking the remote from the table.

“You ready?” Olivia asks, pulling up the most recent episode of The Great British Bake Off on their DVR.

“To be on the receiving end of a rigorous round of oral sex? More than,” Harry tells her, smirk tickling his features as the opening credits begin to play.

“Carol’s going to win,” she tells him confidently, shrugging off his crude remark, “and then you’re going to eat your words.”

“And you,” Harry says, nipping at her earlobe and proceeding to rub his scruff along her cheek.

The bet had started innocently but as with anything between Harry and Olivia they’d found a way to make it slightly more interesting. A few months after moving to London, Olivia had grown tired of Friends reruns and decided to let Harry introduce her to some quintessential Brititsh TV. Right away she’d gotten sucked into the show, finishing the first three seasons in one particularly lazy weekend. When the new season started they’d made a tradition of sitting down together each week to watch.

“Who’ve you got?” Olivia had asked him when the first episode had ended.

“Maybe Leon?” he’d answered.

“You sure? Final answer?” she wiggles her brows.

“Are we betting?”

She’d hummed her affirmation with a devilish smile, “And I think you’ll like the stakes.”

Harry’s smile had quickly mirrored hers, “Will I? Out with it then.”

“Loser has to give the winner the best head of their lives,” Olivia had told him, watching as his eyes lit with lust and he’d pulled at his raspberry pout.

That was ten weeks ago and a long ten weeks it’d been. They were endlessly competitive on their own but together the constant jabs and teasing never seemed to end. Jeering when the other’s champion made a fatal mistake and very unsportsman-like cheering and whooping when each won Star Baker.

Tonight was no different and Harry’s pick Leon took an early lead with the Signature Challenge. Swiping his thumb along her plushy bottom lip with with a smug smile as she scoffed. Olivia hit his hand away but he caught her wrist swiftly, kissing her palm sweetly until her lips spread in a syrupy smile.

But his confidence wavered once they reached the second challenge.

“Bloody Christ Leon, you can’t prove sponge at room temperature!” he’d grumbled at the TV. Olivia snickering when it’d stuck to the sides of his baking pan.

Carol pulled away in the Technical Challenge with near perfect teacakes that even Paul Hollywood could find no fault in. Olivia wiggling with a cheer as Harry hurumphed sourly.

“He’s going to take the Showstopper, he always does,” Harry had told her confidently.

“I wouldn’t be too sure, my love,” she smiled secretly. Loving when he got riled up like this.

Hands had started to wander around the first commercial break. By now Olivia’s hand had a stroking grip on Harry’s thigh and he’d pulled her legs across him to toy with the hem near her ankles.

She feels his warm breath at her neck as he presses kisses he’s trying to pass off as innocent to the skin there. One wide palm massages wide circles into her calf while the other dances gentle fingers along the curve of her spine.

Olivia shrugs up her shoulder against his sweet assault, “Save your energy, babe.”

“You’re quite cocky, little girl,” he growls against her shoulder with a smile.

“It’s called confidence,” she huffs, turning her attention back to Carol’s elaborate sugar work on the screen.

When it’s time for the winner to be announced they’re both at the edge of their seats, both snickering in their own false confidence to make the other sweat.

“Better start stretching, darling,” Harry coos, miming stretching his jaw while she smacks his chest.

“C’mon Leon! Do it for your fellow Englishman!” he yells at the screen, tipping his head back in a laugh though he quickly snaps it back when Olivia stands and bends slightly in front of him. She hooks her thumbs in the waist of the leggings and peels them down quickly, flopping back on the couch in just her cotton panties.

“Just making it easier for you to get started,” she shrugs when she meets his questioning eyes.

“You haven’t got a chance, Olive.”

It turns out she does, and Carol takes the competition in the end much to Harry’s dismay. A whooping yell leaves Olivia as she hops up from her seat on the couch, dancing about in front of the screen to the pleasant theme as the bakers all congratulate each other. Harry’s pout is monumental, deep lines in his cheeks as he watches her gloat like a petulant child.

She’s giggling wildly, cheeks flushed from the exertion of her victory dance and she’s really rubbing it in.

Olivia skips over to the couch, hopping on it and sticking her pelvis right near his face, “C’mon, on with it then!” she laughs.

“You little…” Harry shakes his head, finally cracking a smile at his wild girlfriend’s antics.

He shoves at her knees and she topples over with the force, humphing as her legs are quite literally taken out from under her.

“You shit!” she laughs, Harry’s hands gripping her ankles and quickly throwing the closest over the leg of the couch.

Her laughing dies quickly however with the evil smile that plays around his lips.

“You’re going to be a sore loser aren’t you?” she pants from her laughter.

“Get comfortable, love. You won’t be coming for a long time.”

The smile is quickly wiped from her face as his words sink in. She should have known he’d get his revenge somehow and she’s more surprised at herself for not seeing this coming. Harry didn’t like to lose and he’d punish her by pushing her limits tonight.

His pointed nose swipes along her thighs, hands nowhere near where she wants them as he noses about her skin. His lips press featherlight kisses leisurely, with no real direction to them. Olivia fights against the ansty feeling her belly procures from his actions, willing it away when it will be no use to her for a long while. But Harry is too intuitive, catching her trick and fighting back with one of his own. In a sudden flick of movement he’s chucked her panties to the side and layed a bold stripe against her with the flat of his tongue. Her body jolts at the sudden and strong sensation, his warm tongue putting a delicious pressure against her clit. Olivia pulls in a harsh breath and she feels Harry smile against her flesh, proud of himself, no doubt, for that.

“Let’s get you wet, hmm?” he asks her softly, big round eyes flicking up at her, pupils nearly covering his irises.

He carefully pulls her panties off her legs, pushing her knees apart once again as soon as they’re mostly off. Fingers digging into the plush skin around her full hips.

Harry puckers his lips then, planting a light kiss to her before blowing a light stream of air across her. Olivia’s knee twitches as she blinks at the ceiling, breathing through the onslaught of sensations. His thumbs pull apart her folds gently, running along the lips and avoiding where she’s quickly getting slicker for him. The kisses he places are light and avoid her inner lips all together, running instead along her mound and the sensitive inside of her thighs.

Olivia’s cheeks are flush with unwanted warmth as her body tingles with desire. She’s fighting herself, and losing, Harry pulling out all the stops to get her out of her head. It’s his gentle suckle at her clit that does her in, forcing a squeaky whine from her that makes her grab tightly to his wrist.

“There she is,” Harry smiles, using that same hand to rub comforting cicles into her belly. He’s begun to kiss her now, with soft wet lips and a darting flicking tongue. She mewls at the feeling, the sloppy sounding licks filling the space around them. Her panting breaths echo as she licks her lips that have suddenly gone maddeningly dry. His tongue is in earnest pursuit now and she’s having trouble focusing, a resounding chorus of “Harry, Harry, Harry…” leaving her pursed lips. He’s digging deeper now, chin prodding in as he laps at the slickness around her entrance.

“Please,” she whimpers, fingers finally finding purchase in his short curls. Her hips buck instinctively nearer and each ragged breath he takes sends a wild shiver up her spine.

“Please what, baby?” he groans against her, taking turns suckling and licking with firm pressure over her clit.

“There! Oh god,” Olivia moans out, heels digging into the taut planes of his back as her brows pull in tight around her screwed shut eyes.

And just as soon his face is gone, replaced instead with his index and ring finger that rub lazy circles against her button. It’s enough to keep the buzzing through her but not enough to bring her closer to the edge. He’ll teeter her here in this cruel torture.

“You didn’t think I’d give it to you that easily did you?” he smirks, smarmy grin wet with her arousal. “Taste so good, love, I don’t wanna be finished just yet.”

She groans in frustration, covering her eyes with her arm as she flexes her toes against the maddening sensation.

“Need to talk to me, can’t tell what you want if you don’t,” he tells her, giving her a moment of blissful pressure with his fingers before going back to their gentle teasing.

“Want to come!” she gasps out.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” she mewls, “please, Harry.”

He breathes over her softly and she cries out, “Weren’t very nice to me earlier, rubbing it in my face that you’d won. Why should I be nice to you?”

“It hurts,” she whines, her entire entrance pulsing uncomfortably with his barely there touches.

“You can handle it,” he tells her simply, dipping just the tips of his fingers in and out of her soaked entrance, “I think you like it, love, you’re dripping.”

His tongue dives in then and Olivia gives an almighty shout, her breathing harsh and unrestrained as he eats her out with a renewed vigor. His tongue feels like it’s everywhere at once, the sensation so intense she can feel it’s effects to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her eyes blur with the pleasure and she’s unable to contain the moans that slip unbidden from her lips.

Everything is slick and sloppy and the noises they make are absolutely filthy but Harry loves it. Soaks it all in, so to speak, as he prods once again at her opening. This time however, he does so with purpose and she clenches tight around his fingers on the smooth glide inside her. He quickly realizes she’s ready for two already and slips his middle finger in her as well. Olivia’s grip is so tight on his hair it stings but he loves it. Loves to see her unrestrained and desperate for the way he knows how to touch her. It’s over too soon in his opinion with three strong jolts of her tummy and a babbling stream of “mgonnacummgonnacum…” falling from her bitten cherry mouth.

Harry laps at her carefully then, minding her mewls where she’s too sensitive for touch at the moment. When she’s sufficiently clean for the time being, he presses up on achy knees to crawl up her body.

A soft content smile graces her features as her long hair creates a golden halo around her face.

“That was brilliant,” she giggles to him, drunk on the wonderful aftershocks of her orgasm.

“You’re so lovely when you come,” he tells her reverently, he does tend to get a little soppy when his dick is hard.

Said dick was now poking insistently into Olivia’s thigh and through heavy lids she battles to lock eyes with him.

“Let’s get you sorted,” she begins to tell him with a weak push at his bicep but he’s already shaking his head.

“Just wanna lay here for a minute with you,” he tells her softly, folding over her relaxed frame and pulling his fingers through her silky strands.

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them soaking in that warmth and smell of each other that’s so bloody addiciting until Olivia breaks the silence.

“God bless Carol and her perfect teacakes,” she giggles.

Harry just grumbles an exasperated laugh, “Fuckin’ hell.”

Itsy Bitsy Spider - Part 2

Summary: Reader x Dean (though not a lot of it yet tbh). You set out on your hunt for the spider-woman who is killing men in a town near by with your temporary hunting buddies.

Triggers: Spiders!

Word Count: 3358

Y/N = Your name

Part 1   Part 3   Part 4  Epilouge


“It looks like she’s trying to create an army of these monsters,” You said, the boys going quiet after you spoke taking in the news.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. The four of you shot into motion at the same time. The men quickly grabbing theircoats and throwing you a spare army green jacket they had lying around to takethe place of the thinner material of the coat you’d worn inside. Following them you let them lead the way out of the massive underground bunker and up to a waiting car.

Keep reading

Imagine Kieren taking Simon shopping specifically to get him more diverse clothes because he’s kind of tired of seeing the same sweaters over and over. At every store they go to, Simon sheepishly picks out MORE SWEATERS and tries each of them on, and Kieren just sighs and let’s it happen, because honestly his boyfriend is so adorable, how could he say no?

anonymous asked:

I think you prefer a submissive role, but how do you feel about people worshipping your muscles?

Muscle Worship as a Submissive

I think this a great question, thank you to whomever posed it. As the kind of muscular bull pup / slave I represent , I do feel there’s a tug and a balance regarding the act of muscle worship in my identity as an owned beast.

Winding the clock back, to former years - I’ve experienced muscle worship, have enjoyed the appreciation. But it always was partnered with an expectation of dominance on my part that made me… unsatisfied, uncomfortable. People wanted me to be the powerful hulk who forced them to appreciate my size. Make them cover my muscle with attention and be in charge of proceedings. Call to attention how small they were in comparison. And so forth. 

Muscle is the most erotic thing to me, the growth of size on my own body a central part of my sexuality. But approaching it from a domination standpoint is not satisfactory to me, nor appropriate.

How then, to approach muscle worship as a submissive bull slave? Let’s first discard that word ‘worship’. I am not worthy of worship. It is for me to worship my Master and God. He is exalted by my breath and acts of submission. But as an item of property, as something that has polished himself to be worthy of being owned, the Master may show his appreciation… perhaps?

Let’s put it into a scene. I think it will express what I mean.

I’m at Master’s home. I’m performing some domestic duties in my uniform - that is to say, nothing except my jockstrap and collar. My heavy bulge and the heavy chain both reminders of whom I belong to.

There’s a slight gust of wind on my exposed thigh as a door is opened and he steps into the room. Immediately, just sensing his presence, I am triggered. Head down, unable to meet his gaze as he approaches, heart thumping. He comes close and just taking in his scent my cock twitches in its confines, and there are butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Every time. Throat getting tight.

“Hello bull. Have you missed me?”

“Yes Master…” I exhale. I can barely think in his presence. I was in the middle of doing something - but I can’t even remember what it was. I am caught. Stupefied with gratitude when he is around.

When his touch pats my chest the breath is stolen from my lungs with a grunt. He’s deigning to touch me and I am overwhelmed again. He’s feeling out the shelf of my pectorals, examining his property. “It was chest day for you, wasn’t it bull? I can tell… they’re really looking good…”

“T-thank you M-Master…”

The hand alights on my cheek. I wonder how I can stand it when he speaks again. “Present!” He barks. 

My breath becomes ragged as I feel myself falling to subspace. The bed is there to catch me as my overmuscled, clumsy arms reach out and I mount the mattress, lats and shoulders rippling as my thick rump and bull balls are fully exposed.  

His touch alights again on my glutes, kept smooth for when I’m onstage. He feels the bubbled, proud flesh that he owns. His powerful hands move up from my rump, to the columns of the lower back where his brand lies. Further to the achingly wide lats. Over boulder delts and I shudder and want to cry out with every touch of appreciation. So unworthy. “Good bull… you’ve been growing lots for me… but I want more… much more…”

I’m already 350lb. But I know it’s true. I am worthy of nothing unless I continue to grow. I can’t remember a time any more I wasn’t growing for him. “Y…yes Master…”

“Good bull… now flex…”

I lean up from crouching, and make a muscle with my biceps. They stretch my flesh like balloons, all the way to 24 inches with fat veins visible. They belong to him. It’s all for him as he gives a satisfied squeeze, like he is picking out a ripe melon at the farmer’s market.

“I can’t wait to see these even bigger. Thank you, bull…”

And when he kisses their peak - dares to place those sacred lips on the muscle I have worked so hard to achieve for him - I am lost anew into passionate, submissive happiness.

I flex harder. Become harder. And know that I will never be able to stop myself from wanting to please him more with my size. My Master and God.

And with every breath, giving him more… 

Phew. Something like that, mmm?