#[ because it's always Sin's fault

[navree]

You briefly talked about this one time - what are your thoughts on Maegor and Aenys? Do you think Maegor actually cared about his brother? You would think that that care would carry down to his neices and nephews but once Aenys was dead, he was wiping them all out. What made Aenys different that Maegor actually accepted him instead of trying to immediately remove him from the throne like Visenya wanted him too?

My thoughts on Maegor and Aenys can honestly be boiled down to a crowd in the Coliseum of my mind chanting "sons of the dragon! sons of the dragon! sons of the dragon!" on repeat but I will endeavor to go into more depth.

I actually have gone more in depth on Maegor and Aenys's relationship here and elaborated far more on it here, but my view on them is that it's the quintessential tragedy, it was doomed to fail. Maegor and Aenys's relationship was always going to be tainted by forces outside their control, even from before they were born. Aenys was the son of the favored wife while Maegor was the son of the one Aegon couldn't even stand by the time he was born; Aenys's mental breakdown was always going to stunt his interpersonal relationships other than the one with his father and the one with Quicksilver as he recovered; five years isn't an insurmountable age difference but it's significant in that early childhood development phase. All of this, the circumstances under which Maegor was born and the relationships their parents had with each other and the conflagration of situations that was the First Dornish War and how it affected the family, all of it basically doomed the relationship from the getgo. My view of it was that they were never going to be truly brotherly, not in the way that we see from the modern Starks or Orys and Aegon. But, as I mentioned in those prior responses, I don't think it was all bad. Aenys put a lot of trust and value in Maegor, and Maegor seemed to respect that and respected Aenys's kingship and wanted it to go well. I also find it incredibly important that Maegor accepted his banishment, because we know what happens when Quicksilver and Balerion go head to head. He would have made easy work of his brother and he probably knew that, but instead he accepted Aenys's word as law, left and stayed away until he was recalled by his mother only after Aenys died. That, to me, does speak to the fact that Maegor cared about him. Some of it might be transference, with Aenys as Aegon's clear favorite and Aegon having gone without giving Maegor any of what he might have craved from him (the throne, his approval, his affection, I theorized a lot more on Aegon and Maegor's fractured relationship in that first ask about humanizing him) Maegor might have turned to his older brother in hopes of getting some taste of what he wanted from his father with the only version of his father he has. It's also possible that, once Maegor was a bit older, three to four, Aenys had recovered enough from his ordeals to try and interact with him and be a good brother, in spite of not being raised in the same location. Aenys seems like the type to have wanted to try and do right by his kid brother, if the olive branches he extended to Maegor during his reign when they were both adults is any indication. So even if they weren't close in childhood, Maegor's memories of Aenys when he was a child might have been of someone earnestly trying with him, trying to be good and supportive to someone who doesn't seem to have had much of a support system in the family beyond his mother.

And it should be interesting to note, Maegor does seem to have extended some care towards his nieces and nephews initially. While he did usurp Aegon the Uncrowned, he didn't immediately go after him, he actually let him live unmolested for up to a year, considering that he took the throne in 42 AC and the Battle Beneath God's Eye occured in 43 AC. It was Aegon attempting to muster armies and take back his crown that led to his death, not Maegor taking the throne, for all we know, though it's unlikely, if Aegon had gone into exile the way that Maegor himself had, he might never have died. And while Alyssa and Viserys and Jaehaerys and Alysanne were absolutely hostages, there's no record that they were ever treated badly, not even Viserys who was residing in King's Landing. While I'm sure being a political hostage with the uncle who killed your brother and was slowly becoming more and more mentally unhinged wasn't a picnic, there's no evidence that Maegor ever did anything to Viserys or had anything done to him, and that Viserys didn't live any life other than a comfortable one as a blood relative to the crown. And by the time Visenya died and Alyssa fled with Jaehaerys and Alysanne, Maegor's mental state was already dangerous (this was post coma/Tyana magic interference that may or may not have helped exacerbate him into a crazy person) and that's probably why he responded as badly as he did and had the poor kid tortured to death. Maegor's cruelty to his family can be directly linked to how badly he was doing from a mental perspective, so it's entirely possible that he started out without any intentions to hurt Aenys's kids, because they were Aenys's kids, but as he descended into tyranny and madness, that was one of the core elements of him that was stripped away until only The Cruel remained.

I think a huge part of what made Aenys different, to Maegor at least, really is just that familial connection. Visenya didn't have any connection to Aenys beyond the fact that he was Rhaenys and Aegon's child, and that doesn't do much for her (even though I do think she loved them both, especially Rhaenys, it's just that the whole Dornish War thing and the rift probably turned any potential affection for her nephew into pure apathy. Not to get into Visenya conjectures and whatnot, but that Downton Abbey quote after Matthew dies where Mary says "with Matthew's death, all the softness he found in me seems to have dried up" is soooooo Visenya/Rhaenys coded, that's exactly how I imagined Visenya eventually went after Hellholt. Leave me here to die.) so she was more willing to be harsh and critical of him, especially when compared to the child of her own body and her own direct lineage. But for Maegor, that's his brother. A connection to his father, and someone he had a relationship with in his own right. He seems to have cared enough about that, perhaps even loved Aenys enough, that it really meant something to him, and that he didn't want to directly steal his own brother's birthright in spite of how bad he felt Aenys was at it or not. He could have felt grateful, moved even, by the trust Aenys was putting in him as a brother by giving him Blackfyre and making him Hand and trusting him to secure his reign, and wanted to live up to that trust, prove worthy of it. Their relationship wasn't ever fully reconcilable, in my mind, due to the circumstances it came about it that were entirely out of their control, but it feels like they really tried, on both sides, to bridge that gap as much as they were emotionally able.

TL;DR I think that it was doomed from minute one, but neither of them entirely let it just go into that good night and they probably did have best intentions with each other, even Maegor, considering that he accepted Aenys's rule and helped him and he does seem to have tried to be good to Aenys's kids before he went completely doolally. Probably best summed up as "there was some kind of love there, but love isn't always enough".

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

something I find very intriguing about lonan & harrison is that in moth work/feeding habits, harrison thinks about/reflects on/worries about lonan SO much, and when he does, it’s constantly about the past, what they’ve already been to each other, etc (often romanticized). the same could be said in body back. this is kind of his fatal flaw!!! ON THE OTHER HAND lonan barely refers to harrison AT ALL in in MW/FH and now also in hallowed bodies, but when he does, it’s typically about their future together (which obviously doesn’t exist because they’re broken up). anywayyy very intriguing to me. 👀

[loremonster]

I'd say the children of people who shouldn't have had kids.

Still, fully agreed.

we are the daughters of parents who should not have had kids

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

[ramshacklefey]

It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed (part two)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Billy Lenz, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; heavily suggestive content, implied smut, unhealthy power dynamics, references to stalking and kidnapping, violence

♡ notes; still kind of figuring out characterization for Jason and Danny tbh

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> mama always taught him that sharing a bed with someone was wrong

> it could so easily lead to sinning! and the woods tended to be humid anyway, so it’d get sticky and sweaty

> but Jason likes keeping you close, very close

> the only time he’s not by your side is when he’s “working”

> and even then he’ll check up on you throughout the evening

> one day you get worried, though

> he’s usually back by the time you’re about to go to sleep- he drinks tea with you and usually cuddles for a bit even though he’s convinced staying would be bad

> on this night, the tea is getting cold, and you’re getting grumpy, so you step outside to call for him

> it’s just a moment- a split second that you feel a hand on your shoulder- too small to be Jason

> then there’s a sickening squelch, a scream, and a couple more wet thumps and groans before silence

> you don’t need to turn to know what happened, instead letting Jason come to you (he doesn’t like seeing you sad from his messes- and you don’t like seeing them period)

> he’s got the blood of the man who touched you splattered all over you but you just frown softly “…it’s bedtime.”

> he wordlessly nods and scoops you up quickly, seeming scared that you were somehow hurt

> you quietly reassure him but he gets you the tea and pets your hair until he’s satisfied you’re okay

> you relish in the affection and get an idea

> “Jason baby? can you sleep in my bed? just tonight?”

> you can tell he mulls it over a long while before he nods

> he looks comically large in your bed, holding your teddy bear for you while you change into pajamas

> you let him be the little spoon, wrapping around him happily

> surely something this comfy can’t be wrong, he decides and falls asleep peacefully

> but when he wakes up, holding your soft, barely clothed form tight against him…he realizes he doesn’t care what’s wrong and right when it comes to you

> because you make him want to do all of the things mama said not to - and he just loves making you happy

Bo Sinclair

> you like your personal space- that’s something you made clear when you started living there

> back then you were still a victim, but the point stands

> so once they trusted you you got your own little room and let you decorate

> and you like your arrangement. you have your bed, your boyfriend has his, and you don’t ever sleep in the other’s on purpose

> why would you want to sleep next to Bo anyways? he snores, he’s always splayed out in weird positions and he sweats like a motherfucker

> maybe it had to do with the way you can always hear him screaming when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

> or how it stings whenever he leaves after you fuck, even though you never really ask him to stay

> okay, fuck it. you love the idiot and you want to sleep next to him.

> that shouldn’t be too hard to say

> except it is, because your stubbornness is almost as legendary as Bo’s

> you’re still actively putting it off when you manage to sprain your ankle in the house

> after thanking Vincent for patching you up, you spend the afternoon in the living room, sulking as you wait for Bo

> you know it’s not his fault you slipped, but you’re irrationally mad at him and getting worse the later that he is

> you can tell Vincent got to him first because he’s already frowning when he walks in to the living room close to midnight

> “what happened to you, little darlin?”

> your anger immediately melts away and you give a pathetic little pout as he hugs you tight, cursing for not checking in

> he babies you throughly and eventually takes you to your room

> he’s giving you a goodnight kiss when you grab his sleeve

> “…stay?”

> he can’t hide his smug smile

> “…you want me to?”

> you grumble but he’s happy to strip to his boxers, whistling

> “what’re you so smug for?”

> “you finally asked me to stay.”

> “…well duh.”

> he falls asleep with your whole body laid on top of him, hand lazily stroking your hair

> for once he doesn’t have any night terrors, and he’s grateful

> so grateful in fact, he’d like to repay you..

Billy Lenz

> you don’t love the idea of billy spending the night

> it’s not that you don’t love him, or being around him. he’s your boyfriend, of course you like his company

> it’s just that the sorority girls don’t have the greatest track record of giving you privacy

> they don’t cross boundaries, or enter without knocking- you lock the door anyways

> but they like you enough that usually they’re knocking on your door by eight, inviting you on a shopping trip or to breakfast or even asking for help studying

> it can be stifling, but it’s sweet, and it’s not like they’ll know you have a guest. they’d be more courteous if you could tell them

> and there’s the second reason, the one you can’t tell Billy

> you know the walls are paper thin, and you know just as well he’d take that as a challenge

> but it’s spring break, and only a couple of students are still about

> so you quite casually ask him if he’d like to stay the night

> you’ve never seen this man smile wider in your entire time with him

> and he’s surprisingly PG as you make plans

> he’s excited to eat popcorn and get his nails done and cuddle - you paint his hails black and get the snacks ready

> you rent a horror movie for the occasion, and he’s giggling the whole way through it

> he thinks it’s just adorable that you get so scared, hiding your face against him

> “Billy’s pretty baby is so silly- maybe he should distract his baby….-“

> luckily, you’re able to turn being as quiet as possible into a game when you mention how sound carries through the house

> and he’s ecstatic when he gets to stay next to you, tangled in the sheets and clinging to you for dear life

Danny Johnson

> you’ve never been to his place

> he started as a stalker, so it seemed natural he’d just keep going over to your apartment

> and since he’s always busy with the paper, and continuing his current murder spree…

> well most nights you just let him go, and when you don’t you wake up alone

> but on a particularly boring evening you decide to reverse the roles just a bit

> you figured out his address some time ago- and you picked up a thing or two about picking locks from dating Danny

> so it’s not a problem getting into his penthouse and making yourself comfortable

> you make sure to send a vague text that you knew he’d be able to figure out

> after all actually being sneaky around Danny was probably dangerous- you’re about the only person he wouldn’t stab on site

> you can’t help your huge grin when he stalks into his bedroom

> he’s acting pissy but you see the way his eyes survey your nearly bare body

> “You little brat…”

> he’s the fun kind of angry

> after a through lesson in asking permission you shower and collapse into bed together

> you cuddle close and fall asleep in his arms as he traces all your new bite marks and bruises

> he seems to get the message about staying - when you wake up it’s to him kissing your neck and purring your name

> apparently he didn’t finish last night’s ‘lesson’…and he’s eager to continue

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s eager for you to spend the night, in all honesty

> he likes being in control, utterly and completely

> if he had it his way, you’d move in within the month

> but even though you’ve brought a bag, and are all pj-ed up, he’s distracted

> maybe the one thing that can distract him from you is work- he’s a perfectionist

> and he doesn’t have to prove himself to you like he does clientele and state boards, and practically everyone else

> “y’know you said ten minutes ten minutes ago.”

> “yes my darling- i’ll be there shortly, just- go lay down-“

> you roll your eyes and instead stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to kiss his neck

> he tries his damndest to keep focused

> “…if you don’t come soon, i won’t be awake enough to help you…unwind,”

> that gets him up- you 1, work 0

> you’re surprised when after you’ve both gotten nice and relaxed, he pulls you flush

> usually you have to ask for affection

> but he spoons you, face buried in your hair as he dozes off

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 5

Kurt Wagner + Uniform Kink

Priest Kurt :3 Also talks of religious trauma.I know religious imagery hates to see me comin. Readers a visible mutant, inspired somewhat by Killer croc. Readers 8ft tall.

I know very little about catholic priests, the area I grew up was Lutheran. This also takes place at some point on Krakoa. This ended up being more story driven honestly, but I had fun writing it anyways. Not proofread, because I cant be bothered.

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

You had a strained relationship with religion, even if your entire family had been true to the faith. You may have been too, years ago, before your mutation manifested. Back when you had been nothing but their darling son, their gift from whatever god they worshipped, after so many years of trying. The gift just seemed giving, as your parents had more kids after you, giving you siblings.

You didn’t have many good memories with them. You got to hold the first two that were born, even play with them, but then your mutation started. It started out as patches of dry skin, something that could be treated with thick ointments and long baths. They’d thought it was a skin disease back then, and it had been winter, so it was all blamed on the dry weather.

It was harder to deny when the scales started appearing, and when you woke up to your gums bleeding from your new teeth growing in. your sobbing had awoken your mother, who had screamed bloody murder when she saw you. There weren’t many memories of that night, or the next couple of years at that. The human mind worked in strange ways, and yours decided to supress that part of your childhood.

All you remembered were flashes of coldness, of being locked away in what could only have been the basement. Of the churches priests and whoever else they thought might “cure” you of your “disease”. You remembered your father yelling about what he must have done wrong to gain a demon like you as his child. You remembered the quiet whispers in the kitchen at night, that you only were able to hear because of your enchanted senses.

You remember how your mother whispered to your aunt, that this was her fault. That you were the result of an affair, so this had to be God punishing her for her sins. You heard how more siblings were born, how they were told to stay away from the basement no matter what, and punished hard if they even went near it. There wasn’t much entertainment down there, your so-called parents only leaving you with religious texts and whatever else they thought might “save” you.

There was no want inside you to get out, even after what must have been years. Your mutation meant you barely needed to eat, to drink, or sleep. Most of your time was simply spent, listening to your family. Because of that, you learned the same things your siblings did because they needed help with homework, or you got to keep up with the news on the radio. You had accepted it.

It was only when one of your youngest siblings discovered you that it all crumbled. She was young, as small as you had been the day your dry skin started appearing. You knew her name, having heard your mother sing her praises because she had always wanted a daughter. And she wasn’t afraid of you. She spoke to you, sitting with her knees tucked under her chin, telling you about mass, about how God would love you anyways, even if you looked different, because he loved everyone.

But the good never lasts, and she was discovered by your not so shared father, and she was punished. Her screaming awoke something deep and feral inside you, a hatred you had never tapped into. Something that had you tearing your chains like they were made of sugar, your claws drawing deep gouges in the walls as you wrenched your way upstairs. The door split like paper under your giant clawed, scaley hand, the hand of a monster, a demon.

The noise you let out was like that of the demons of hell, something deep, snarling and terrifying. Your mother and fathers’ eyes widened in terror, your brothers, the two you got to hold, were terrified. The siblings that never knew you existed wet themselves or started crying in terror. And your sister. Your sweet. kind sister, was a curled-up bleeding ball on the floor, and yet she still smiled at you.

None of the family dared move as you picked her up, she was so small she fit in one of your giant clawed hands. You had never realized how big you were, but as you stared down at your parents with such hatred, it truly sank in. your father who had always seemed so big, as if he were God himself, trembled like a leaf because of you.

They didn’t stop you as you left, tearing the front door of its hinges with nothing but a small nudge, leaving it split in two in the front yard. It was night, and it was one of those white picket fence neighbourhoods, where you preached Gods love, but ignored how the neighbour beat their children bloody.

Having your sister die in your arms was what broke you, for a long time. You weren’t older than 20 at the time, you at least thought that was your age. And yet, you stood taller than any human man, broader and strong enough to tear buildings apart. And still you couldn’t save her. you wanted to rampage, to kill and destroy everyone and everything. But you knew your sister loved this place, even after they mistreated her so. So in the end you buried her somewhere nice, and left.

The brotherhood of mutants wasn’t a choice you thought much about taking. You were no hero, and by the time you learned about the x-men, there was already way too much blood on your hands and in your teeth. That was where you met Kurt, on the battlefield. At that point he was just an enemy, someone you could turn that deep burning rage against. Feed that blood thirsty demon in your chest, to make it quiet for a little while once more.

It took you years to learn more than that they were enemies, the x-men. Your pain must have been written on your face from the very start, even The Wolverine seemed to have a semblance of worry for you. But you didn’t care, you just needed to hurt somebody, and it was easy to run in the direction you were given and lose yourself to your demons.

There were times you would pray, times when you were alone and hurting more than normal. But it never felt like God answered. And why would he. You were a monster put on this earth to punish your mother for her sins, her very sins woven deep into your very being and fuelling you.

At some point you left the brotherhood. Even that wasn’t enough anymore to quiet your demons and pain. It had been years at that point, and Nightcrawler was still just an enemy who’d grown from a small annoying pipsqueak to a slightly bigger but even more annoying pipsqueak. That very furry blue elf had a knack for finding you, wherever you went.

Most of the time you assumed he wanted to fight, but Nightcrawler, Kurt, would just sit by you in his own contemplating silence. At times he talked, other times he was silent. Sometimes he sat close beside you, sometimes meters away. Him talking about his faith made your heart race, but knowing he too experienced pain because of his appearance helped, somewhat.

Time still passed, you still weren’t a good person. The x-men and mutant-kind settled down on Krakoa. You did not, at least not for a long time. You had settled down far away from everything, somewhere with a nice deep lake where you could sink to the bottom, and imagine you were in purgatory because you never thought you would go to heaven.

Of all people to drag you to Krakoa, you had never imagined it would be The Wolverine, Logan. He gave some big spiel about hating yourself ruining it all for you, trust him, he knew. At that point in your life, you didn’t care much, nothing mattered and everything was just a blur, the demon in your chest dormant and worthless.

Krakoa was nice, people even treated you kindly even after your time with the brotherhood. Your suffering must have been so obvious for them to just accept you with such open arms, thinking about it made you cringe. Kurt was still nice. He was older, had the starts of a moustache, and the garb of a priest.

Seeing the outfit made your pupils sharpen and your heart lurch, some deeply ingrained animal reaction. Hearing about the faith he ran, smoothed down some of your sharp scales, something that yes, had its roots in Catholicism, but was so much more accepting and kinder. The thought of being part of it made your mouth sour, but there was also no pressure from anywhere to join.

You and Kurt grew closer, over time. It was a slow and careful path, all your relationships on this island were. But Kurt was special, in the way he smiled, the way he smelled, the way you became so comfortable in his presence that he could sit on your shoulders. And the way you both grew so close, that it didn’t even fell like sin when he kissed you.

Kissing Kurt must have been what Adam and Eve felt when biting the apple, tempted by the snake to break the one rule they were given to follow. And yet, like Adam and Eve, you broke that rule anyways. Kurts’s fur wasn’t long, but it was soft to the touch, some areas longer than others and carrying a natural curl. The scent of sulphur and the incense he would use in his thurible, became what put the demon inside you to rest, for good.

And maybe Kurt was pavloving you a little. It wasn’t on purpose, you think. He would simply regularly wear his priest outfit, his alb, his chasuble, his stole and amice. And he would kiss you and taste like ambrosia, like something worth sinning for. Kurt would smell and taste so divine, and would touch you so lovingly. At times you were scared to touch, fearing you would hurt him too, but even then, Kurt taught you to trust yourself.

So, who could you truly blame for getting heated, whenever you got to watch Kurt dress himself. You didn’t have a tail like he did, but you did bury yourself in your giant shared bed and rumble deep in your chest like the reptile you shared features with. It seemed so sinful and sensual, even if it truly wasn’t his intention. To see how carefully Kurt draped fabric over his body, or how his tail would flick and make the light fabrics flutter. It made a whole never demon inside you yearn.

You didn’t want to dirty his outfit, shaming yourself for even thinking it. How sinful, how evil, how demonic. But it was yet another thing you sucked at hiding, to the point where the other x-men, your friends now, started making jokes that you churred whenever Kurt would flutter by in it.

You denied it, of course, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. And that didn’t mean Kurt hadn’t planned out how to give you what you both wanted. Which was how you found yourself laying back against your many pillows, Kurt in nothing but his alb and prayer beads in your lap, his three fingered hands against your chest.

It still felt so terrifying to indulge in those wants, even as you dug your claws into the bed as Kurt so slowly rode you, his hips moving at a pace that had your toes curling. Anything he did would have most likely had that reaction, but his soft accented voice cooing loving words at you, only served to leave you feeling more melted on the insides.

It was embarrassing how fast you finished. But who could blame you. You never had much experience, hell, you could count on two hands how many times you had ever touched yourself. It was no surprise you would cum so quickly, Kurts’s tail thrashing from side to side as he was filled more than he imagined possible.

His kisses were still just as sweet, as he worked himself over the edge too, dirtying his alb and your scaley stomach. This moment, Kurts’s act of dirtying his uniform himself, seemed to have been the only sign you needed, after that it was free game. He was the apple and the snake at the same time, packaged in blue fur and yellow eyes, his tail curling in coy ways only you knew how to read.

Kurt could never hate it, instead almost preening with pride as you finally let yourself indulge. Fucking him on the altar was a fantasy he had carried for a while, and when you finally did it the blue furred mutant almost passed out from how hard he finished, having to dig his fangs into his stole to keep from wailing at the intensity.

You would never step foot back into religion again, never to the extent where you could call yourself someone of faith, and Kurt would never force you. But you did end up going to Kurts services, on rare occasions, but that was more because you were excited for what would happen afterwards, after everyone else left. There was a demon in your chest, born from your family’s sins, fed by your own and nurtured to destroy. But Kurt tamed it, brushed its fur and held it close. There was a demon, and it was his.

[buckyalpine]

Slightly drunken ramblings. But imagine Bucky sneakily dragging you away to the bathroom in the middle of a party because that pretty little sparkly pink dress is driving him fucking crazy. He's dressed in all black from head to toe and you look like the most delicate sweet thing beside him, his pretty princess. On top of that, your doe eyes keep flicking over to him while you innocently sip on your wine glass and he knows there's nothing but filth behind those eyes.

"Bambi..." He practically growls, pushing you against the counter tops after locking the door shut, slotting himself between your legs.

"Jamie" you shyly giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist, gasping at his erection pressing against your core, his hands going to your waist to grind himself on you. "What are you-

"You're here lookin' like sin and you expect me to keep my hands to myself" He scoffs, the clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor making your stomach flip. "Look what you do to me baby"

He purrs by your ear, taking your hand and wrapping it around his throbbing cock, moving it to stroke his thick length up and down.

"This is your fault Bambi, coming out here, looking a me like that"

"Like what Jamie" You let out a needy whine, spreading your thighs apart to show him where you need him most, feigning innocence.

"Acting like you're not a little cockslut for me baby, batting those pretty eyes as if you're not thinking about my fat cock stretching you" He groans when he swipes his fingers through your folds, feeling your lack of panties, "Dirty girl, not even wearing panties, you wanted this, didn't you baby"

"Please daddy" you beg this time and he doesn't waste a second shoving his cock in with zero prep. You choke out a scream as he grabs your hips to hold you in place while he starts to fuck you hard and fast, your heels digging against his ass.

"That's it, take my cock baby, take daddy's big cock" He groans feeling you clench around him, your sobs of pleasure echoing and bouncing off the walls. "Pretty little slut for daddy, s'perfect, gonna make me cum so hard baby"

He grits his teeth, biting into your soft skin leaving marks along your neck and shoulders so everyone knows who you belong to. He moves one hand to pull the front of your dress down freeing your breasts so he could latch onto your nipples, tugging them between his teeth before laving at them with his tongue.

"Fuck princess, you're gonna make daddy cum" He tries hard to control it but when he's with you his voice always slips into a whine. He wants to hold it, he loves the way your tight cunt makes a creamy mess all over him, he could stare at the sight of his cock stretching your pussy all day. "Cum for me Bambi, m'gonna cum, fuck-

"D-Daddy!" You cry out, his pubic bone grinding and rubbing against your clit making your pussy throb, the head of his cock steadily dripping.

"Fuck yes, such a good girl, my good girl, dirty little girl just for me, take my cum pretty baby, take it, oh God, so much-mph, look at me when I fill you up baby" He grabs your jaw, squeezed your cheeks together, nipping at your adorable pout while he fills you up with the most dirty, sinful moan, hot ropes of cum seeping out of your folds, wetting your thighs. He kisses you deeply and possessively, licking away at the dark marks that cover your neck and breasts, proud of his work. "My pretty little princes"

Meanwhile...

"Has anyone seen y/n"

"Notice you don't see Barnes anywhere either"

"Did you see what she was wearing and how he was looking at her"

"..."

"He's fucking her somewhere, isn't he"

"Yup"

[ginnysgraffiti]

jealousy, unprotected sex, violence, anger, cursing, fingering, fainting, 18+

&. PAUL ATREIDES x yn

could you blame yourself?

no, not really.

not the way you claimed it, at least.

you always placed so much trust and respect in the visions that paul witnessed in his dreams, for they usually concerned the holy war or future events not clear to his complete awareness yet.

however, you never expected something like this.

you couldn't say exactly if it was due to the fact that you and paul had established an increasingly stronger connection and intimacy, but you were sure that it was definitely because of other factors.

paul and his intuitions had been (disturbingly) accurate for weeks, and your boyfriend was even able to see your sexual needs in his visions.

you liked it, yes. it turned you on like hell, and you knew it had the exact effect on him.

you recognized paul's gaze when he had visions of that kind, you glimpsed it through his hungry eyes and you experienced it when his strong hands destroyed your body.

you lived with a certain constant tension, but your inner self knew that you just wanted that moment to come.

"shut that fuck up! take my cock like the slut you are!!" paul's hand slapped your butt, causing a bitter tear to fall from your face.

this excited him greatly and with his other arm he twisted your legs around his waist, making you arch your back to welcome his wet and warm dick as deeply as you could.

you didn't know if it was your fault, but paul was so furious he would have swallowed you alive.

"look at me in my eyes, damn it! or do you want me to call him, uh? to call your beloved feyd rautha and make him fuck you like i do!?"

"paul-"

yet another thrust of his hips brought your hip bones to clash painfully with each other.

you left a loud and pleading moan but his quick fingers choked you in time and reduced it to a pathetic strangled scream.

"who's the one who touches herself while feyd's name slips down her tongue?! her damn fucking tongue! uh?!"

"p-...paul it was just y-y...your vision-"

deadly move.

the bed creaked and for a moment you imagined the springs surrendering to its bloody rhythm.

your boyfriend grabbed your hair mercilessly, almost detaching them from the roots, while his cock was destroying your inner walls beyond limit.

you were crying, but you were just choking on your own moans and sobs, like a sinful child.

it was just a vision, in fact...but now he was going so rough and raw that crying more made you feel real slut.

your sight was still granted to you, even if your retinas were caged in tears as hot as spice.

you could see him, see your boyfriend taking your pussy with a heavenly expression on your face, perhaps the one you wore in his dirty visions.

his mouth was wide open with pleasure and his eyes closed with excitement. he moved his hips for his own burning pleasure, making you aching, sore and wet all in.

"i don't know what would turn me on more, maybe you really deserve to end up in his maniacal arms! you would regret it of course, but it would be too late to go back!!"

you wished somebody could hear you for your own sake.

the wet and sticky tip of his cock was roaming roughly inside you, but the initial pleasure had reduced you to an unbearable burning sensation. you could feel your chest confiding with every sob, but his hands would travel again, landing on your throat already full of purple, almost black bruises.

"you're so soaked, you little whore. you don't even deserve it, on my sheets!!" he groaned, his own anger causing every vein to pump on the smooth skin of his neck, making him there red with anger every time the jugular pumped before your eyes.

he grunted like an animal too proud for the zoo. he wanted to destroy you until you couldn't stand up anymore.

humiliation.

you could feel his tip reaching the deepest places. you knew that paul didn't care about protections in these extreme cases (even if it was the first time he was so out of it), thus implying that he would even risk pregnancy to satisfy his dick to the point of nausea.

"you hold on too well-"

you held the sheets for dear life when you felt him pushing away but replacing his sex with one of his agile fingers between your sores.

you gasped as he pecked at all the soft spots of yours. he knew too damn well you were too vulnerable and breakable when it came to his experienced hands.

at the same time you knew how much effort would be required of him to make you suffer precisely, hoping he would get tired.

"so fucking sensitive-"

he inserted another finger, moving at an exorbitant speed. you could feel your wetness even reaching his wrist.

ashamed again.

"p-paul-...i beg-"

he entered you using his thumb to reach your clit.

you moaned as he lapped at your walls, sliding his sizzling tongue into the heat.

he raised his lips sucking greedily, sliding two fingers in once more.

his grunts made everything wetter.

your body came moaning and shaking, your eyes rolling back.

you whimpered as you felt his cock filling you up, preventing you from coming any further.

"p-...paul, you know you're...the only one i love! a vision doesn't mean anything! i-...i- had always loved you, you're the boy of my life, the one who always had all his trust posted about me. so i ask you praying...believe me..."

your boyfriend moved one inch, hitting your weakest and most stimulated point.

you could feel a slight gag rising in your sore and dry throat as the last bit of lucidity left your body in a deep sleep.

(...)

when you wake up a strong pang pierced your forehead, making the room square and moving around you.

paul was curled up on you, not completely resting on you so that his weight didn't give you even more trouble regaining consciousness.

his white and puffy cheek was resting on your bare breasts, a hint of saliva at the sides of his red and swollen mouth.

you couldn't move so you didn't even try, until you felt something holding you back.

paul was lightly sleeping thanks to a bene gesserit relaxation technique, you could now sense that he was completely alert and attentive to your needs.

his delicate hand was hugging your wrist, listening to your heartbeat since you had probably passed out.

he was making sure you were able to breathe normally.

you assumed he had been in that position since the moment you fainted.

you knew that in the end, he loved you more than anything on that planet.

you were his duchess already.

[little-diable]

Sinful mouth – Draco Malfoy (smut)

A small drabble for my Draco lovies. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: pwp, reader lost a bet and has to pay the price

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), slight dubcon (but full consent), dom!Draco, degrading, choking

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (1k words)

“Kneel.” His voice filled her bedroom, bright eyes starting her down as his smirk began to widen. 

“Fuck you, Malfoy!” She knew she had no way out, forced to follow his command - all because of some stupid bet she has lost. “Why can’t you be normal and ask me to do some other shit for you?”

“There’s that fire you always show me. Good, I was wondering how long it’d take for you to snap. Now it’ll make it even more fun to break you.” She watched him lean back against her dresser, arms crossed in front of his shirt-clad chest. (Y/n) hated the way her body reacted to Draco, how her thighs clenched whenever she heard his voice. “I won’t say it again, (y/n). Kneel.”

“And now?” She had dropped to her knees in an instant, staring up at him as she tried not to pay the way her carpet was already rubbing against her skin any attention. “I don’t have a lot of time, so if you can get this over with.”

He was in front of her within seconds, hand clamped around her throat to draw a shaky and surprised gasp from (y/n). Wide eyes met piercing ones, hers full of confusion, his filled with darkness. A darkness so rich, (y/n) feared it'd swallow her wholly and steal her light. 

“It’s your own fucking fault for being this stupid, you had to try and go against me, and you failed. Now be a good girl and pay the fucking price, sweetheart.” Draco’s smile began to widen as he watched her pupils dilate, a sight that left his cock twitching, growing harder in the confines of his trousers. Tonight he’d force his cock down her throat, just like she had always hoped he would, secrets shared with close friends, secrets that had found their way to him years ago. “Keep up this bratty act and see what will happen. We both know you’ve wanted this for years, be happy I���m granting you this wish.” 

“What are you talking about?” She could only whisper the words, not daring to use more strength as Draco tightened the grip on her throat. His eyes burned through her, leaving holes in her trembling body, holes that were filled with lust the second a raspy chuckle left him. 

“You didn’t think you could hide that crush of yours from me, could you? I’ve always known this little act of yours was nothing but lies, trying to distract me from your obsession with me. Well, tonight’s your lucky night, baby.” Embarrassment tugged on her features, shooting heat through her body as she tried to avert her gaze – without any luck. Draco’s ringed fingers kept holding her in place, staring down at (y/n) with a satisfied grin glued to his lips. 

“Now, be a good girl and open that mouth for me.” He let go of her to rise back to his feet. Draco would never do this if he weren’t sure of her longings, he’d never pressure her into doing something this intimate if she’d ask him to stop – which she didn’t. All (y/n) did was run her tongue along her lower lip before she parted her lips, tongue exposed to his piercing eyes. 

Her eyes followed the movements of his fingers, how they freed his cock within seconds. Draco had done this numerous times, reach for his cock to fuck his hand to the thought of (y/n), speaking to her as if she was kneeling in front of him, ready to swallow his cock – just like she was now. He stepped back towards her, pushing the pre-cum-bearded tip past her lips, unable to swallow his groan at the warm feeling. 

Eagerly she closed her lips around him, she hallowed her cheeks and began to bob her head, wanting to draw the most sinful sounds out of the tall man. Draco held onto (y/n) with his ringed fingers combing through her hair, keeping an almost possessive grasp on her. She worked carefully, pumping the parts she couldn’t reach just yet, having to force herself to calm down. It took her a few seconds to relax her throat, to take him deeper without panicking, but his sounds were worth the struggle, telling her how much he loved being touched by her.

She tried to focus on Draco, on the taste of him, on the feeling of him resting on her tongue, but her mind kept bringing up his words, reminding her that he was all too aware of her crush on him, a crush she had been fostering for years, ever since meeting him at Hogwarts. But even though she couldn’t help but be embarrassed, (y/n) also began to realize that he must share her feelings, otherwise he wouldn’t have pushed her to do this.

“I’ll never allow you to stop doing that, your mouth’s a sin in itself.” Draco’s raspy words left her chuckling, urging her on to move even faster, set on pushing him over the edge. His hips jerked, forcing his cock deeper down her throat to leave (y/n) choking on her gasps. “Such a desperate slut, you’d rather choke than stop sucking my cock, wouldn’t you?”

The hum leaving (y/n) drew a gritty laugh out of Draco, his head rolled back, exposing his throat to (y/n)’s wandering gaze. She could tell that he was close, twitching in her mouth as he tried to hold back, tried to stop himself from cumming right there and then. Her grip on his cock grew tighter, adding more speed to her movements as he once again forced himself down her throat. 

“I want you to swallow every drop, show me how greedy you are for me.” Their eyes met as he spoke the words, seconds before he came down her throat. (Y/n) watched him cum undone, feeling him paint her mouth white with his cum. She swallowed, only pulled away as he loosened his grip on her hair, waiting for (y/n) to expose her now clean tongue to his eyes. 

“The next time you lose a bet, I’ll fuck you, that much I can promise, sweetheart.”

[k3n-dyll]

Vouyer [Abby A.]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: 18+, wlw, a lot of porn - a pinch of plot if you squint and turn your head, subbottom!abby, domtop!reader, Abby getting caught, masturbation, voyeurism cus reader watches her for a hot minute, fingering(A!receiving), tribbing, perv!reader and perv!abby kinda, overstimulation, Abby cries a lil bit

AN: I feel like my brain fizzed out near the end idk. I think I'm cooked. Anyways, hope this doesn't suck ass as much as my brain is telling me it does!

Masterlist. Divider creds DON'T FORGET ABOUT PALESTINE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ "Just like that- fuck" the words escape her lips, sounding strained and breathless. A thin layer of sweat coats her toned body as she fills herself up to the best of her ability, her thick fingers ramming in and out of her used, sloppy cunt as she chases her orgasm for the third time tonight.

This was not how she had planned for her night to go, but if you could have only seen just how pretty you'd looked; drenched in sweat from head to toe, clothes sticking to every curve of your bruised and bloodied body after such a close call on patrol earlier that day. She'd almost compromised herself just to get a glimpse of you looking like that. Her piercing blue eyes tracked your every movement, once the threat - a pack of infected that had attacked while you were both searching for supplies - was gone.

Or at least she'd thought they were at the time until she felt a pair of gnarled and decaying hands grab onto her shoulders. She killed the thing herself, of course, knocking the stalker off balance with one hard whack of a steel pipe before throwing it onto the ground, forcing the heel of her boot down onto its sprouting head with a splat. Not realizing that it was you she had been distracted by, you gave her a disapproving eye roll and she winced.

It was her own fault you weren't that fond of her, the blonde has ignored you since you first showed up at the WLF a few months back. Even when you became roommates, Abby's demeanor towards you was always cold and disinterested. It was stupid but she figured it was best. She was unable to even think about saying a word to you without her palms sweating. She just knew she'd fuck up and stumble over her words, making herself look weak in front of you and she couldn't have that.

When Abby learned that you were going to spend part of your night drinking with Manny, Owen, and Nora, she took the opportunity to lie.

" 'm tired. Think I'm gonna just go to bed" she had mumbled, feigning exhaustion, going so far as to force a yawn out before she walked back to the room. Alone.

The girl didn't make it five minutes without touching herself, getting comfortable in bed, and shoving her hand down her underwear. Dumbly, she figured that maybe if she just got off once, she could get the image of you out of her brain.

That was how she got where she is now. Naked, driving her middle and ring fingers as deep as she can get them, pumping them in and out of her cunt, her other hand joining as she rubs feverishly over her sensitive clit. The scene is downright pornographic, the sloshing sounds coming from Abby's body as she fucks herself stupid on her own fingers, her jaw slack, your name spilling from her soft lips in sinful prayer.

She wants it to be you so bad, it's almost pathetic.

She can't bring herself to stop - she just knows it'd feel so much better if your hands replaced her own and the rest of her body seems to agree with that thought. So much so that every time she tries to stop or give herself a break that ache comes back full force, a heartbeat forming between her thick thighs. It gets so bad that she considers walking to your side of the room and grabbing one of your t-shirts because at this point your scent could get her there.

"Jus' one more, one more, baby pleasepleaseplease - holy shit"

That third orgasm hits Abby like a truck, her begging eventually becoming a mess of incoherent babbling under her breath, her body twitching as she comes down from her high. Again. And again, it isn't enough. She can't take her mind off of just how fucking good you would look on top of her - god - the mere thought of having your pretty pussy slotted up against hers is enough to make her crave more.

Abby lets out a deep sigh and plops her head back down onto the pillow underneath her as she tries to catch her breath, thinking maybe she should just try to sleep it off. Despite her better judgement though, she finds herself with the pads of her fingers back on her puffy, pulsing clit, stroking herself in languid circular motions.

You stood in the entryway of your room, peeking your head in the door to watch as Abby fucking Anderson of all people split herself on her fingers, letting out the prettiest moans as she chases her release. You knew that you should probably just close the door and quietly sneak away. Go back to the mess hall with your group, maybe pretend you forgot something, and then conveniently "lose track of time" while you were there so that your roommate could finish her little "session".

You really were going to leave. As a matter of fact, you were halfway through closing the door when you heard something that made you stop in your tracks. It was Abby.

And she was moaning your name.

The sound was unmistakable as it was one of the only words you were able to fully recognize through her stupor of bated breaths and blissed-out whining. The frigid, unstoppable force of a soldier that had been ignoring your existence for months was actually begging for you, crying out your name over and over again as she fucked herself.

You found yourself biting your lip at the sound, and before you knew it, you were tip-toeing all the way into your shared room. You practically held your breath as you closed the door behind you, freezing completely once it clicked shut and lightly punching the air in silent celebration once you had confirmed you managed to sneak in undetected.

It was all so perverted, and yet you couldn't stop staring

You were leaning up against the wall beside the door, trying your best to be quiet and resist the urge to shove your hand down your own pants as you watched Abby's naked body convulse under her fingers when she came, eyes trailing over her body as she rode out her high.

It became clear pretty quickly that she'd been at this for a while, unable to satisfy herself completely. You watched as she began to start herself up again, her hand making its way back down between her thighs, her legs twitching still from her previous climax. From what you can see of her face, she seems a bit frustrated, her eyebrows knotted together in almost anger as she lazily works her fingers on her clit. She looks and sounds so precious that, before you can fully think it through, you speak.

"Still not finished?"

Abby nearly falls out of her bed with how quickly she shoots upward, covering herself with her blanket, a deep red blush fanning out along her freckled cheeks. It doesn't take much for her to realize that you heard her, your expression telling her everything she needed to know.

"I was, uh-..."

"Yeah, I heard...and saw" you interrupt, making your way over to the blonde's bed, unable to contain your amusement at the situation as your eyes trail over her.

" 'S this why you've been avoiding me, baby?"

She just stares at you, not fully knowing why she can't bring herself to do anything - to deny your suspicion, yell at you, or do something that would make her stop feeling so vulnerable right now. But she just looks up at you, mouth slightly agape.

"You could have just asked me for some help with that if you wanted it, y'know." you continue, gently gripping her under her chin to make her look at you.

Her jaw clenches, and for a moment, Abby considers pulling away from you. Getting mad and reasserting her dominance or something but you both know that isn't going to happen. You catch a glimpse of her fingers, glistening and wrinkly from how long she's been trying to get herself off, and your suspicions are confirmed which only emboldens you to go further. You lean down a bit closer, your face so close to hers that your noses nearly touch.

"You can't satisfy yourself no matter how hard you try, can you?"

Abby squirms a little but she shakes her head slightly in response, eyes breaking contact with yours but your hand never releases her jaw. You've never seen her look this exposed before - not only in terms of her nakedness but she just looked so vulnerable and small right now, despite her actual size.

You press a kiss to her lips, and she practically melts into you, allowing you to lay her back down on the mattress and crawl on top of her, your hand caught in her loosened braid. The other hand wanders down between her legs, eager to feel the sticky mess that shes turned herself into over the thought of you.

The sweet little whines she gives you as you circle your fingers along her clit are so unfamiliar coming from her but oh so welcome as opposed to her usual stoicism. You almost feel bad for the fact that shes had to wait for so long to finally get that release shes in desperate need of. A release that can only seem to be triggered by your hand.

If Abby wasn't already embarrassed for having been caught, she was sure as hell embarrassed with how quickly you got her to cum on your fingers. You've barely gotten the chance to get them inside of her before her irises roll back, head thrown onto the pillow beneath her as her body twitches in ecstasy.

"S-sorry, I-"

You see her begin to apologize but she's cut off completely at the sight of you sucking her essence off of your fingers, her words being yanked right from her mouth as her arousal comes back with a force. She knows she's way too sensitive to do anything else, but the thought of saying no to you right now doesnt even cross her mind as an option once you start pulling off your clothes.

It's all she can do to keep her hands to herself while you strip. Those vivid blue eyes are glued to your body, enamored by the perfection being uncovered in front of her. You place yourself back on top of her, hiking her leg up over your shoulder and lowering yourself until her cunt is pressed flush against your own. You let out a simultaneous groan at the feeling, grinding yourself down onto her with little regard for how sensitive she is.

"Hnmn- fuck" Abby's hips buck upward involuntarily, her body telling her that she's had enough, but it feels too good to stop.

She couldn't tell you it was too much if she wanted to anyway, every attempted word coming out of her mouth as incoherent whines and half-finished syllables. You watch her face intently as a few tears begin to make their way down her reddened cheeks and it only makes you pick up the pace, pressing wet kisses against the side of her calf as your clit perfectly ruts against hers with each thrust.

"You've wanted this so fuckin' bad, haven't you?" You tease her through gritted teeth, the words spilling out without much thought.

"Want me to fuck you till you cant fuckin breathe, hm?"

All that comes out of Abby in response are breathless "yes's" all jumbled into one word followed desperate little whines, her fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as if she's afraid you'll stop if she lets go.

"G'na cu- ohmygod" she tries to warn but the poor girl can barely think. You hear her loud and clear though, making a point to apply a bit more pressure, the sloppy noises coming from your bodies moving against one another in tandem bringing you close as well.

The orgasm that results sends electricity through your body, pleasure that's only heightened by the uncontained scream that pulls from Abby's throat when she cums with you, drenching your inner thighs even more. She doesn't even seem to care if anyone hears her, too fucked out to even try to keep her mouth shut. Mercifully, you take the responsibility away from her, crashing your lips onto hers and muffling the sound in the hard, wet kiss.

The euphoria lingers even after you've slowed to a stop, heavy, labored breathing and Abby's soft whimpers the only sounds that occupy the room. A low chuckle escapes you as you pepper soft kisses along her cheeks, your thumb accompanying to wipe up her pretty tears.

AN: One thing I suck at doing is thinking of a way to fuckin close these

reblogs appreciated☆requests open

Almost forgot, taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @ikoinsblog

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING DESIRED !!! TOTO W. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: "don't mix business with pleasure" they said, but who were they to stop her and toto from wanting each other?

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), based on a request from my ask, use of explicit language, rbr test driver!horner!reader (christian's sister), forbidden love trope-ish, porn with plot, unprotected sex (plz don't do that), office sex, lowk filthy, size kink (heavy on this), choking, dacryphilia

song rec: now by trouble maker

note: this is the closest thing you'll ever have to a fic where a horner and a wolff banged. enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

she wanted him. and he wanted her too. he just refused to let his desires give in to save face.

and she hated it so much. she hated that she saw him as someone else’s younger sister and nothing else. 

she hated that she was even related to christian horner of all people. she usually didn’t care about christian— she had no reason to dislike him as he’d been nothing but a caring brother. she just hated that toto wolff saw her as nothing but an extension to christian’s surname. 

she supposed that’s what would happen as she entered the motorsports industry later than he did. it wasn’t her fault that christian was twenty years older than her.

it wasn’t his fault either. but to be told that you were off limits to every single man in the grid and every team? she loathed her brother so much.

because amongst those men that christian horner had warned, the mercedes amg team principal became the subject of her interest— and her desire for him grew as her brother and toto wolff became friends outside of their teams. 

“you don’t have to mix business with pleasure,” she almost scoffed when christian told her about his friendship with toto.

how hypocritical, she thought, because even i’m not allowed to see drivers or staff outside of business hours for ‘pleasurable’ reasons. 

at the age of 30, many would’ve expected her to be shackled to some man outside of the industry— probably married to him with a child. 

yet here she was, a single woman whose title as a test driver for red bull racing expired a few weeks ago. she appreciated the opportunity given by her brother— the team principal, really. but the longer she worked for his team the longer his big brother act would prevent her from wanting anyone. 

and if christian told her that she couldn’t have anyone, then he too couldn’t have her intelligence that helped bring his team to success.

and when the rumours of her contract’s expiration went around the pit lane— every team scouted her. after all, this horner was an important asset to red bull’s success for this season and the season ahead of them.

she could’ve accepted scuderia ferrari’s offer. amongst the desperate teams that rolled the red carpet for her, the scarlet team offered her a large sum of money. they wanted her knowledge in car development as much as they wanted her expertise in driving. 

yet she didn’t choose the money. instead, she found herself sitting across from the mercedes team principal. why?

“you’ve been looking well,” toto started, his eyes trained on her as he spoke, “did your brother’s team stress you out that much?” 

“being in that team is stressful, alright,” she scoffed, earning a deep chuckle from toto as she continued, “30 years old and i’m still being treated like i’m sixteen. all they wanted was my brain— yet my brother kept me on a tight leash as if i didn’t know any better outside this industry.” 

“so now you’ve decided to let your contract expire,” toto said with a nod of understanding. “he can’t do so much about it. you’re a free woman.”

“i’ve always been,” she gave him a grim smile and quipped, “all the men in our business just refused to believe that because of who my brother was.”

“you were a younger woman,” toto said with a gulp, “it was only right of christian to protect you like he did.”

“and five years later, i’ve grown,” she bit back.

“you are still his younger sister,” toto reasoned. he knew where the younger horner was getting at here. 

there was an unspoken agreement between the two that they wanted each other. they’ve agreed on it during dinners, during their family vacations and during those days when toto wolff was invited into christian’s home and she was there too.

they’ve always agreed on it. yet toto was letting her down like this— like the agreement should remain unspoken and unheard of. 

“are you seriously going to let his stupid mouth and his whole big brother act dictate what you want, toto?” she asked with a hint of irritation in her tone. “i’m not christian— and he’s not me because he doesn’t know how much you fucking want me. and i do. i do understand.” 

“i allowed myself a couple of months— months to decide on whether or not i was going to stay in his team,” she continued. “i could’ve signed before the season was over but i didn’t. because this gives me the chance to work with your team— to work with you.”

“this,” she pointed at the contract in front of her. “gives me the chance to make you realize that i’m not just an extension to your friend’s name. that your feelings for me shouldn’t be deterred by your friendship with my brother— who i want nothing to do with because it’s not his life that’s being put on hold. it’s mine.”

she let out a heavy sigh and chuckled humourlessly. “but i suppose we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”

he merely stared at her as she stood up. she flashed him a smile as if she hadn’t just gone off and berated him for listening too much to christian. 

then she said, “i’ll come back next week. i’m expecting the contract agreement to be modified by then so we can finalize the deal.”

yeah, who the fuck was christian for him to dictate who she wanted and who toto wanted? 

the door slammed shut as she turned around, the gap between her and toto was little to nothing as his breath fanned across her face. he dipped his head and captured her lips in a lustful kiss. 

she almost moaned at the feeling of his tongue tangling with hers. her body burned in desire as she craved for more. 

toto wanted more too, and she could tell that by the way he ravaged her without hesitation. 

his office at the factory was filled with nothing but silent screams and sounds of low growl and skin slapping. everybody had left hours before she arrived at the factory. 

thankfully the mercedes staff wouldn’t have to hear their employer fucking the most scouted talent at the pit lane right now— and even if they did, it was in their best interest to keep their mouth shut about it. 

but toto and the woman couldn’t find themselves to care at the moment, both were too drawn to each other as toto’s cock thrusted into her deeply. 

she held into the leather couch and cried quietly, tears threatening to fall from the pleasure that she felt when his cock continued to rub against the sensitive spot that nestled inside her cunt. 

“fuck, schatz,” toto hissed from behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed it lightly. she gasped, catching the last of her breath before he let go and kept his hand around her. 

then his other hand took hers and placed her palm flat against her stomach, making her squirm and moan. “do you feel that, liebling? that’s my cock. such a filthy girl- wanting a big cock inside this little pussy of hers,” he chuckled darkly as he continued to fuck her.

she loved the feeling of it— his cock buried in her cunt while he manhandled her body. the constant protrusion in her stomach drove her wild. she had always known that toto was taller and bigger than most— she just hadn’t expected to crave for more when she felt her lower stomach bulging as he fucked her. 

“so desperate f’me,” he muttered, bottoming out inside of her as she whined. her whining subsided when he squeezed her throat again.

“ah shit~” she gasped breathlessly, feeling the pressure around her neck increasing as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

“so fucking tight,” toto grunted in her ear, nipping on it as he continued to fuck her relentlessly. “is this what i’ve been missing out on, then? your desperation for me and for my cock, hm?”

and when his grip loosened, she let out a sigh and quietly whimpered, “yes— wanted your cock so bad, toto.”

“you’ve got it now, schatz,” he muttered, moaning at her walls throbbing around him as he continued, “i fucked my cock at the thought of you, you know? wanted to fuck you so bad as much as you wanted me.”

“stroked my cock when you wore those short dresses,” he taunted, earning a whimper from her as she continued to listen to his filthy words, “wishing it’s your hands. i could just hear your voice telling me how your hands couldn’t even wrap themselves around my cock- you are so small in comparison to me— i can’t believe this cunt of yours could even fit all of me.”

“toto, i- i,” she whined, “‘m- ah, hah~ ‘m gonna cum.”

“i know, liebling,” his thrusting became frantic as he chased his high and hers. “i can feel your cunt around me— you’re about to cum aren’t you?”

“mhm— toto pleaseee~” she cried out, “please cum inside me.”

“yeah? you want me to cum inside you?” he hummed in pleasure, “do you want me to fuck this pussy of yours ‘til you’re full of my cum?” 

“ye- yes, yes!” she exclaimed, mewling as she continued to plead, “‘s so- so good. so fucking good— please fill me up!” 

“how bad do you want it?” he could feel himself nearing his orgasm as well, but he couldn’t help himself. “tell me. how bad do you want it, liebling?”

“soooo bad~ god! toto,” she sobbed.

“it’s just me, liebling, there’s no need to call me god,” he chuckled one last time as he groaned loudly, feeling her spongy walls clenching around him as she let out a loud whine. “fuuuuck~ schatz, i’m gonna— oh fuck!” 

his cock twitched against her walls and painted them white, his thrusting slowing down as he let out a long sigh. 

pulling out of her, toto sat on the couch and observed her tear stained face with a smile. his large hand pulled her body on his lap, hearing her breath quiver as she gathered her composure.

“this better not be the last time, toto,” she whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck with a soft sigh. 

he chuckled quietly, “you’re working alongside me now, schatz. and you’re stuck with me outside of work. i know this isn’t the last time.” 

don’t mix business with pleasure? sure. 

after all, business brought stress. pleasure took the stress away. 

toto knew that she’d be able to handle both. he was nothing but proud of her. he couldn’t believe that this resilient woman finally became his. 

he wouldn’t let go of her that easily. not when he finally had her.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

[brawlingdiscontent]

It's devastating enough that Louis can't say 'I love you,' because they were the last words he said to Paul before Paul walked off the roof, but then you have Florence explicitly accusing him:

"You must've said something to him Louis, you must've said something to him...What did you say to him?... Paul's in hell because of you."

A whole new level of devastation! Florence assumes he taunted Paul ("you always had to have the last word") not knowing as she drives the knife in that the words he said were "I love you"! She has hit on Louis' fear that there's something rotten at his core. And Louis—with his internalized toxic masculinity and homophobia, his pathological need to not appear weak, his fundamentally Catholic worldview—carries the secret feeling (FOR YEARS! ALONE!), from his queerness, his ties to sex work, his exploitation of others, that he is a creature so sinful, so monstrous, so evil, that his love brings death and he's condemned his brother to hell!!

(When he asks 'is my very nature that of the devil?' (ep 3 title) -- it isn't a question about vampirism, not really, it's a question that's fundamentally about who he is at his core.)

And every further hit—when Florence sees the devil in his eyes, when he almost eats his nephew, when his nieces are afraid of him and Grace loses trust in him—serves as validation that this feeling is right and Paul's death was somehow his fault. And the guilt, and the blame, and the self-recrimination compound.

No fucking wonder he can't say 'I love you' to Lestat! No wonder he needs Claudia, the girl who called him an angel—the one person who sees the good in him, who doesn't see evil in his love—to live so badly!

While Lestat also doesn't see his love as evil, Louis sees Lestat as evil, as confirmation of these ideas about himself—think about how Lestat delights in Louis' act of murder and mutilation right before Claudia is made ("companion of the dark gift, finally"). In that scene, Lestat shares his excitement at finally having a partner to match him and fully embrace vampiric life—and all Louis hears is 'everyone was right about you.' And so the full embrace of Lestat's love, of vampirism, feels impossible for Louis as he drowns in his own sense of culpability and his fundamental wrongness.

[r0-boat]

might i request ur thoughts on cock warming the whb kings + amon perhaps

Bark bark bark cockwarming!!!

Aaa

Whb Kings+Amon

Cockwarming reaction!

NSFW mdni

You ended up tying him down because he didn't want to be a good boy and sit there patiently.

Satan

To his credit, he did last for a little while. You heard all the delicious sounds he made while his hands roamed and groped your body. It felt good at first. A feeling he had never felt before, their walls snug around his cock; he felt so warm, so hard. But after a while, it became agony. Especially when you would clench around him; you felt so good... All he wanted to do was move. He was gritting his teeth, grumbling in protest when you would discipline him for pushing his hips against you.

Oh yeah he can get behind this, He can't stop running his fingers over the little bulge in your tummy from his big heavy cock nothing right up against your warm walls. Look at you sitting pretty in his lap your ass on display for him to grab. And the best part is, He could admire all his possessions while you use him like one.

Mammon

You're 100% in control of this large beast of a man, even though it really doesn't feel like it. Especially when his big cock stretches you so good even when you're not moving, every twitch makes you clench and gasp.

This is terrible! But it's so good. Oh Fuck- you're clenching! And his eyes are rolling back. It hurts so good! He doesn't even remember the last time he has been this hard. Hes fucking throbbing. That you feel so warm. Every slightest movement which he hates so much, because it's not fair! He's so jealous that you're still allowed to move your hips even though he can't move it all. But he can't tell you to stop. Because when you do move ever so slightly, that painful, heated pleasure hits him tenfold. He's losing his mind and it's your fault! He's almost at his limit if you move one more time, He's going to throw you down and fuck you till you pass out.

Leviathan

What the fuck, is this torture?! Please!! Please move he'll do anything!! Beel is whimpering begging moaning for you to move your hips. Tied down with no real way to move, He realized on you for his pleasure; too bad you're a sick and twisted human!!

Beelzebub

You feel so good, so tight, so warm. He wants more!! He needs more! Like Satan you had to tie him down and he still tries to move his hips. Acting more like a beast than a devil his eyes glazed over with lust. There was nothing left but hunger has he still tries to struggle and break the binding so he could fully have you.

His nose nuzzling into your shoulder, His arms wrapped tightly around you pulling you against his naked body, his hand slowly roaming every part of your body feeling every part of your soft comfy skin as he lays against it like a pillow. His cock at home deep inside you, so warm so soft.

Amon

"mmh So good for me."He murmurs against your neck. He could fall asleep like this. He wishes all of his naps were like this.

Now that he knows that something like this exists. That he could just stay inside you for however long he wants; fucking you and resting at the same time, that he could fall asleep and feel this good at the same time.

He wants to have you on his cock always. When you're sitting down next to him Amon will rap an arm around you pulling you closer. Trying to convince you to warm his cock for a while.

So sinful, how is he supposed to pay attention to his paperwork while you're sitting so pretty in his lap. You're so small and you fit around him so good. Your skin is so soft. The softest thing he have ever felt in his life as an angel and a devil. With his arm wrapped around you his head buried in your hair the pen scrabbling on the paper begins to slow. A whimper escapes his throat as he tries to grind himself deeper.

Lucifer

"You're not supposed to move."You say with a cute smile that's sinful looking your eye that he is grown to love.