#Dirty Shorts

[lady-belz]

D-Day, Good Day: A Dirty Shorts Fic

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Rating: Mature

Prompt: Him: You look good in my hoodie. || You: You know where else I'd look good? || Him: My bed.

Author Note: And so endeth "Dirty Shorts" - unless I think of some new ones.

Story notes: No idea where this was going. I got cavities. Yoongi's blunt as hell.

Is it possible to go through an entire day with a string of continuous bad luck?

If someone had asked you that question just now, you'd answer with a firm and decisive yes.

First – your alarm didn't go off that morning. By the time you woke, you were already an hour late for work.

Second – you forgot to charge your phone the night before and found a dead phone on your night table.

Third – by the time you showered, dressed and got ready for the day ahead, you found 10 phone calls on your home answering machine... all from your very angry boss.

Fourth – your car had 2 flat tires, forcing you to call a cab to get to work.

By the time you made it in, you were 3 and a half hours late.

Needless to say, everyone could hear your boss yelling at you through her closed office door. That was embarrassing.

As if your day couldn't get any worse, the coffee machine in the cafeteria decided to break down and explode coffee all over you, your computer crashed while you were working on an important design for an upcoming fashion show and you got a text message from your long-term boyfriend he was breaking up with you to date your best friend.

By them time you left work, you were ready to just give up and cry.

That was before you realized you didn't have any more money for a cab and the last bus already left.

It was going to be a long walk home.

An hour into your walk, the sky got steadily darker and you stopped dead with a sigh of absolute regret. You stared upwards as the first drops of rain started to fall. No coat, no umbrella.

“Why does the world hate me today?” you shouted out as the rain came down in freezing cold sheets.

You ran until you could duck under an awning in front of restaurant and with freezing cold hands retrieved your phone. Luckily there was enough battery left to make a phone call and you didn't hesitate to call the first person in your pinned contacts list.

“Please answer, please answer.” you mumbled over and over again as the phone continuously rang. You were about to give up at the twelfth ring when you heard the click.

“Hello.” came the deeply familiar voice.

“Can you pick me up?” you muttered, teeth chattering.

“I can't right now, I'm in the middle of a session.”

“Please, Yoongi!” you nearly sobbed in desperation, tears forming in your eyes. “Please?” you whispered.

There was silence for a long moment and you almost thought you got disconnected. But he must have heard something in your voice. “Where are you?”

You closed your eyes and burst into tears, unable to say a word.

“I'm coming, love. I have your location. Just stay there.”

You could only nod even though he couldn't see you as he disconnected the call.

By the time he got to you, you were curled up against the wall beside the restaurant, soaking wet and unable to feel any part of your body.

“Y/n! Oh my god!” you heard him call out to you. You couldn't feel him draping his jacket around you, nor scooping you up into his arms. He got you into his car and belted in before he went around to the driver's side, immediately turning up the heat as he grabbed your hands to rub some feeling back into them.

“Thanks, Yoongi.” you whispered, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'm going to want to hear about this later, but I need to get you warmed up first.” he mumbled, turning to put the car in gear. He pulled away from the restaurant as the warmth finally penetrated your cold extremities.

His apartment was closer so he headed there immediately. You were more awake by the time you got to his door but he hustled you into his bathroom, turning on the shower.

“You hop in there and get warm immediately. I'll leave some clothes on my bed for you to change into. I'm going to go make you some soup. I don't want you getting sick.” he ordered. You could only nod, waiting until he closed the door after leaving before getting out of your wet clothing.

You spent nearly 45 minutes in the shower until you felt warm and human again, and another 15 cleaning yourself up.

As promised, he had left a pair of his socks, sweatpants and hoodie on his bed. The sweatpants were slightly big on you but they were warm and that's all you cared about. You were surprised by the hoodie. It was his favorite, a black smiley face hoodie you saw him wear frequently.

Warm and dry, you left his bedroom, following the smells of food to the kitchen. He was at the stove stirring something in a sauce pan. He glanced up at you when he saw you.

“Feeling better?” he asked as you sat at the island.

“Yeah, thanks for the clothes. And thanks for picking me up. I'm sorry for pulling you away from work.”

“What happened today?” he wondered, pouring some soup into a mug before passing it to you. You took a small sip, relishing the taste. As he cleaned up, you told him everything that happened to you that day.

“Just one disaster after another. Like who did I piss off in a past life?” you complained. He had to turn away so you couldn't see him chuckling at you. “Are you laughing?”

“No!” he squeaked out, still not looking at you.

“You're laughing at me!” you complained, slapping his shoulder. He shook his head as he burst into full on laughter. “I hate you.” you complained, pouting and crossing your arms.

“Aw, come on. You don't hate me.” he smiled, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a warm hug.

“Sadly, I don't hate you.” you mumbled against his chest, relishing the feeling of his arms around you. You didn't want to admit to yourself that you may have had a crush on him all these years.

He drew back to look at you. “Hm... you look good in my hoodie by the way.”

“I do?” You stepped fully out of his arms and did a little twirl.

“You do.” he replied.

“Do you know where else I'd look good?” you asked.

“My bed.”

“In front of the TV with a – wait, what?” you stammered, his words finally penetrating your brain.

“Preferably naked beneath me, but we can work on that.” he shrugged. You stared at him in shock and not a little bit of desire.

“Yoongi!”

“What?”

“You can't say things like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not true!”

“Who says?” he returned.

“What?”

“I'm in love with you.” he stated, making your jaw drop. One thing about Yoongi, he was always blunt and he never lies.

“I-I- how?” you exclaimed.

“No idea. Just looked at you one day and said that's the girl I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Oh my god!” You were stunned. He snagged you by the pocket of his hoodie and pulled you forward until you were back in his arms.

“Do you feel the same for me?” he asked.

“I-I mean I do, but-”

“Good.”

And then he kissed you, not even waiting until you could unscramble your brain as his tongue made a home in your mouth.

Turned out to be a good day after all.

-End- Read other shorts in this series: Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

simon 'daddy kink' riley

the first time you called him 'daddy' during intimacy, it had been a total accident. your face had turned red as a tomato and your skin as hot as the sun as it dawned on you what you had called your massive and semi-new lover. you had never called anyone that before. you had no idea where it came from.

but Simon didn't seem to give a singular flying fuck as to the reason you called him 'daddy'. he was just glad you did.

immediately, he got with the program. he noticed your flush, but didn't draw attention to it.

"Ya like that, babygirl? You like daddy's big, bad, monster cock stretching your sweet little pussy open as you make those beautiful sounds for me?"

and he didn't slow down. he never slowed down, unless you specifically asked him to.

that had only happened once, because you really thought you were going to pass out from the physical exertion he took being intimate with you. it had only turned him on even more, but he had relented for you.

he'd really do anything for you.

masterlist

[softandslow]

save me bbno$ cosplaying jayvik... sAVE ME,,

[bunnylocs]

Need someone to degrade me and tell me how useless, and pathetic I am. How I am only good to get old men off and to be use and played with till they are tired/bored of me. Please tell me how much you want to cum inside my v1rgin 😺

🫣🫣😵‍💫😵‍💫😔

[0rmtz]

Slight redesign

[hisbodycorpse]

ٝ ⠀⠀⠀ㅤ 𓉳̸⠀⠀ 𝓤𝗌𝖾𝗋𝑛͟𝑎͟𝑚͟𝑒͟𝑠͟ 𓏶⎯𝖲㎦.

𝖢𝗎𝗍𝖾-𝒄͙̦ͥ̍͟𝒓̂̾̾͑ͣͤ͟𝒆̋͊ͮ͟𝒑̋͊ͮ͟𝒑̂̾̾͑ͣͤ͟𝒚.

@dollyofthegunshot @dollymorgued

@thesiniternecro @ofcannibalsect

@enmaleficio @serdevidrio

@onthedaggershot @morguebounddoll

@necrosinisterveil @rottingdollcarnum

@maleficocurseborn @fallenangelicwings

@reborninplague @rebbornfromdread

@bladesoftheoccult @obscuradoll

@mournfulnephilim @hauntedveins

@dollsinlament @onthecursedveins

𝗦𝗞 ⠀.             𝄢

En caso de dar uso a estos arrobas,

—por favor- abstenerse a hacerlo

en cuentas inactivas/spam/ghost.

[tunacocina]

kendrick during halftime was so real because whenever i wear jeans like that im also stepping on the back of them..i dont even bother avoiding it. i just give up . the bottom of my jeans belong to the soles of my shoes

[felsicveins]

The boys ✨

[lady-belz]

Dirty Thoughts: A Dirty Shorts Fic

Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

Prompt: “How am I supposed to concentrate when I am having the most unholy scenarios about you and me in my head?”

Author Note: Poll results from last week said Jungkook would be the next one in the series. Boy were you wrong! LOL!

Story notes: You and Namjoon have been married for 6 years, and to keep your relationship spicy, you like to send him naughty pics via text message that end up distracting him from working and causing him no end of embarrassment to his bandmates.

When Yoongi entered 'Rkive', it was to see his long-time friend and bandmate staring off into space as he sat at his control board.

“Oh not again!” he chuckled to himself as he closed the door. “Nam!” he called out, trying not to startle the man.

Namjoon blinked twice before looking up at his friend. He cleared his throat, his cheeks tinting pink and Yoongi knew what, or rather who, had been on his friend's mind. “Oh! Hey! How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you thinking about your wife again. What did she send this time?” Yoongi wondered, sitting in one of the empty chairs next to him.

Yoongi (all of the boys really) absolutely adored the woman that had captured his leader and best friend's heart. It was an accidental meeting (Namjoon had been out riding his bike, got distracted by a duck in a pond and nearly ran the poor woman over. If she hadn't jumped out of the way, falling into the pond, she would have been hit with his bike. He was completely embarrassed as he helped her out of the pond, apologizing over and over again as she wrung out her soaked clothing. She waved him off, giggling and the moment their eyes met, it was love at first sight) that turned into something long-term and on a sunny day, 3 years later, in front of the same pond they'd met at, they got married. Married now for nearly 6 years, she still found ways to embarrass her husband, and one of her favorites was sending her husband selfies. Not tame ones either – ones that made him question everything about life and caused him no amounts of embarrassment if he was out in public with his friends and popped a boner after looking at the pics.

If anything, his question made Namjoon's cheeks even redder and he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from his throat. “That good, huh?”

“You don't understand, man! That woman can make angels want to commit sins!” Namjoon burst out, making Yoongi laugh loudly.

“And you married her.” Yoongi reminded him.

“Well I couldn't let anyone else get their grubby hands on her! I saw her first!”

Yoongi wondered if he had channeled Jimin for a minute, he was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of the chair. Namjoon sounded like a pouty 5 year old.

“So why are you here, and not at home asserting dominance over your fiefdom?” Yoongi smirked. Namjoon gave him a dirty look.

“Did you just really say 'fiefdom'? Dude.” Namjoon shook his head. “Besides, we have work to do.”

“Work that can wait until later.” Yoongi assured him. “Go home. Be with your wife. You know you want to.”

“...I kind of do.” Namjoon looked down, cheeks and ears red.

“So why are you still here?”

“The music guides-”

“I can call Jungkook.”

“And the ad-libs need-”

“Jimin's free.”

“But the ra-”

“Hobi's down the hall in his studio.”

“But-”

“Jin and Tae are downstairs in the practice room. Go home, Joonie. We got this covered.” Yoongi chuckled, patting his friend on the leg.

“You s-”

“Kim Nam-joon! Go home!” Yoongi laughed, grabbing his friend by the arm and dragging him out of the studio, Namjoon grabbing his bag and jacket before they could be left behind.

“Fine!” Namjoon sighed as he slipped on his jacket, grabbing his bike from beside the door to the studio. “Don't call me unless it's an emergency!” he yelled as he headed for the elevators.

“We won't!” Yoongi yelled back with a chuckle.

The elevator doors closed as Hobi poked his head out of 'Hope World'. “The wife?”

“Yep.” Yoongi chuckled, moving to the door of 'Genius Lab'. Hobi just shook his head with a laugh, going back inside his own studio.

Namjoon entered his apartment to the smells of delicious food. “Y/n, I'm home!” he called out.

“You're home early! I'm in the kitchen!” you returned as he hung up his coat and bag. He followed the smells to the kitchen and found you at the stove, dishing out a soup into some bowls. You looked up and smiled at him. “Why are you home so early? I thought you were going to be a few hours?”

“Yoongi kicked me out.” he shrugged, moving to stand behind you.

“Why would he do that?” you frowned, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Because he caught me staring off into space again.” Namjoon replied, pressing against your back. You hid a smirk, now knowing the reason why he was home early.

“You were thinking about that photo I sent this morning.” you told him, making it a statement and not a question.

“What do you think?” he replied, leaning down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. You hummed in thought as you moved out of his embrace to take the empty pot to the sink. You could have sworn you heard him growl.

“I think you need to get your head out of the clouds.” you chuckled as you washed the pot, setting it in the strainer to dry. You felt his body heat at your back again, this time his hands resting on your hips as he pressed his nose into your hair.

“How am I supposed to concentrate when I am having the most unholy scenarios about you and me in my head?” he whisper-growled against your ear, making goosebumps break out along your arms. “Especially when you keep sending me those pictures!”

“Well... just keeping you interested.” you smirked, giving him a side eye. You found yourself spun around and pinned to the counter at your back, his lips inches from your own making your pulse rate spike.

“I'm always interested, love.” he stated, his tone dropping an octave and making desire slowly curl in your stomach.

“Yeah?” you whispered, voice shaky and he smirked hearing it.

“The things I want to do to you right now on this counter...”

You couldn't help it – you moaned, the sound seeming to come from the back of your throat. It was rare when Namjoon became so dominant and it turned you on completely.

“Namj-” you started to say but he cut you off, his lips sliding over yours in a sensual kiss that made your toes curl and your hair stand on end. You reached out to touch his chest but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind your back with his larger hand. You gasped in surprise and desire.

“No touching!” he growled.

“Yes, sir!” you agreed almost immediately.

Using his free hand, he slowly unbuttoned the shirt you had put on that morning, realizing it was one of his. He loved it when you wore his clothes and if he wasn't already hard before, he definitely was now. You wore nothing beneath it, reminding him of the photo you had sent him that morning; you wearing this exact shirt while laying in bed, the fabric barely covering you.

“You drive me crazy, do you know?” he whispered, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your sternum.

“A girl has to have goals in life, Joonie.” you replied, shivering against his touch.

“And yours is to make me insane with lust?” he glanced up at you, arching an eyebrow and hollowing his cheeks, a look that never failed to make you wet.

“Yes.” you answered honestly, staring him directly in the eye. He just gave you that look again. You waited to see what his next move would be and he surprised you by wrapping his hands around your waist and hoisting you up onto the counter. You gasped in surprise and desire. “Joon!”

He smirked at you, getting to his knees and pulling your legs over his shoulders. Before you could complain, his face was between your legs, his tongue dancing along your wet folds and you cried out in shock. “Fuck!” you shouted, your head falling back between your shoulders as he ate you like a man starved.

He groaned at your taste, something he could never get tired of and hearing your moans above him meant he knew he was doing it right. He pushed in deeper, the moan you released the filthiest moan he'd ever heard come from your lips and he smirked internally.

Your fingers slid into his hair, grabbing tightly and pulling hard, causing his tongue to move faster. He released a hand from your thigh, his thumb pressing against your clit and rubbing hard. You started to swear most colorfully, making him grin. He loved reducing you to a babbling wreck whenever he had the chance.

Your thighs started to shake, the coil of desire in your stomach tightening by the second. You were so close.

He felt the tremors in your legs and used the other hand to slip two fingers inside of you, replacing his tongue, moving the wet muscle to your clit and making circular motions. “Oh my god! J-Joonie!” you nearly screamed, falling backwards on top of the counter. The wet sounds his fingers made sliding in and out of you were loud, the acoustics of the kitchen making it echo.

The coil snapped and your back arched as your orgasm blasted through you. You soaked his face, the counter, the floor and the front of his shirt as your thighs snapped closed around his head. He ignored it, continuing to wring every bit of pleasure out of you he could get.

Exhausted and spent, your legs finally relaxed, dropping heavily to his shoulders as you struggled to catch your breath.

He removed your legs from his shoulders, leaving you laying on the counter as he gained his feet, quickly stripping out of his clothes. Once naked, he grabbed your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter before sliding his hard cock inside of you in one thrust. You gasped loudly in pleasure as his large hands gripped your hips and he started thrusting hard.

“Fuck, you feel amazing!” he groaned as you wrapped your legs around his back, keeping him close.

“J-Joon!” you babbled out, so wrecked by your husband you were punch drunk, eyes rolling behind tightly closed lids. He did not let up, didn't pause for a break, chasing his pleasure as well as giving you more of your own.

“So close.” he mumbled some time later. You pried your eyes open to watch him fall apart over you, his face absolutely beautiful as the pleasure overwhelmed him. You could feel his hot seed fill you, triggering your own orgasm, your walls fluttering around him as you moaned his name.

Breathless and sated, he collapsed, his head falling against your stomach.

You stayed like that for a time, waiting for your breathing to regulate and your bodies to cool.

“Guessing you really liked this morning's photo?” you giggled later. He raised his head, giving you a salacious grin.

“Don't tell Yoongi, but I jerked off to it after you sent it.” he chuckled, making you laugh and flutter your walls around him. He thrust back into you, making you both groan. You fell back on the counter, staring at the ceiling.

“I'm never going to be able to cook in here again without thinking about today.” you giggled, making him laugh outright.

“Your fault for being so delicious and putting thoughts in my head.” he replied, slipping his arms around your back to pull you upright and into his embrace. You leaned down to kiss him deeply as he pulled you off the counter, still linked together. He took you to your bedroom where you continued your activities well into the evening.

-End-

Read other shorts in this series: Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

[pastafossa]

"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door. 

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring. 

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional. 

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless. 

Asleep. 

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him. 

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he? 

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused. 

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh. 

You were wearing his shirt. 

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned. 

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest. 

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied. 

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down. 

Gentle. 

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you. 

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep. 

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him. 

God, your scent. 

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you. 

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt. 

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.  

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids. 

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe. 

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit. 

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips. 

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too. 

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?” 

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him. 

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it? 

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”  

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours,  ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat. 

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again. 

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan. 

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken. 

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets. 

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep. 

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more. 

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep. 

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both. 

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep. 

Satisfied with what he’d given you. 

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist. 

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”

[vivitalks]

oh but it is GOOD watching percy and annabeth fall in love in real time. to see the looks on their faces as they slowly discover that they would, actually, go to the ends of the earth to protect each other. "if i have to stick with someone," percy says, and then can't bring himself to say i'd choose you, because mere days ago he expected annabeth to stab him in the back at the first opportunity, and now he trusts her more than he trusts his own father, a literal god. "i thought we don't ask for help," percy says, but of course annabeth will swallow her pride (HER FATAL FLAW!!) and ask for help if it means saving percy. annabeth has wanted a quest since she arrived at camp half-blood, and yet she tries to sacrifice herself so the quest can continue without her. percy doesn't give two shits about the gods, and yet he chooses to sacrifice himself, not for the gods, but for his friends - so annabeth doesn't have to. they have been tentative allies for like three days and already they've both decided that nothing is more important than each other. just. man oh man

[shadowcitrine]

Sunbathing

Before the outbreak there's a girl who keeps teasing Daryl.

Daryl's pov. Angry Daryl. Daryl and named OC. Kind of dirty.

18+ You're responsible for the content you consume.

First post nerves.

Of course she was here! She was everywhere he fuckin’ went. It was like she knew when he needed space and had some sick twisted need to devour what little time he carved out for himself. That stupid fuckin’ Mather's girly is just laying out by the river bank, arms beneath her head like she owns the whole god damned river and the sun is shining down on her over the tree tops like it agrees with her.

Picking up the fishing pole, Daryl's fist tightened around it, his face screwing up in anger makin’ his whole head hurt twice as much. He lets everyone walk all over him, but not anymore, not today. Especially not stupid Mercy who parades around in her dumb tiny shorts and ugly cut off shirts.

Taking the pole over to a shady spot he throws himself down, landing with a grunt. Digging through the little box of feathers he keeps in a tin till he finds a few small ones to tie on. If Mercy is watching him behind those dark glasses of hers he can't tell, not that he was lookin’ anyway. Not that he cares.

He cast the line, sticking the pole in the ground to light a cigarette and wait. She hasn't said a word and it's so unlike her that he thinks she has to be asleep. It's the only time she ain't asking him a million questions or trying to order him around. He stamps out the first butt and lights another. Takes him nearly all of the second one before he can hear the water trickling by beyond the anger pounding around in his head. Takes him even longer to realize his line has too much slack. The reel clicks quietly, a familiar lullaby that usually helps empty his head but not this time, not today.

Mercy still ain't talking. It's the longest they've ever been around each other without her at least sayin’ hi and now it's bothering him. He came out here for peace and now her silence is eating him alive. Not like bein’ around her does him any good. Never has, not even when they were kids. Just to try and take his mind off of her he starts reeling in the line, puffing on the smoke between his teeth but the harder he tries not to think about her the more he does.

That girl sighs and it draws his attention away from his half hearted attempt at fishing. She's still just layin’ there, knees now bent. Her shorts are digging into the upper parts of her thighs making little dips there that make his fingers itch to touch. She's just some annoying girl that he doesn't even like.

Then she moves again, rolling to her knees in the dirt, dead grass clinging to her back she's digging in a small cooler. Picking out some red white and blue ice pop she stuffs the wrapper inside before flopping back down on the ground. Still, not a single word out of her. She sick? High?

The more he looks at her painting her lips with the cherry end of the ice cream the more he's bothered by her silence because he can't help but see something else in his head. The way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip collecting the sticky sweetness there makes him tense in a way he shouldn't be around her but can't seem to help.

“Why ain't you sayin’ nothin’?” He asks. It just sort of bubbled up.

She takes her time answering sucking on the end of it making a soft lewd noise that makes his dick twitch. “Thought I talked too much Dixon?” there isn't even any anger in it. She's acting like she isn't even bothered by him being there watching her suck half the ice cream in to her mouth like she suckin’ cock.

“You do.” He drops the spent butt on the ground, his fishing pole forgotten.

She hums again around her snack, lips making a slurping noise around it like they do on titty channels that come on late at night. “Want me to ask you how you got that shiner?” She turns her head to look at him and if she notices him move his leg to hide his half chub she doesn't say.

Mercy runs a tongue along the underside of it catching drops of it before it can land on her tits and he's silently hoping she misses just one. Then his dick is coming alive thinking of her swearing the melted sugar water across them, swirling the red end over a nipple until it's rock hard. He don't need to be thinking about her like that but he can't look away.

She sits up holding in her mouth, cheeks hollowing around it and he swears she's doing it on purpose. No, she knows what she's doing and this–this tease is secretly eating up the attention. Mercy grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She isn't wearing a bra or even one of her bright colored biking tops, no, she isn't wearing anything at all now ‘cept them frayed shorts of hers.

“Put your shirt back on Mercy!”

She lickin on the end for a moment, watching him watch her. He can't not think about how her ice cream is smaller than his dick. “Stop actin’ all mad.” She drops her head back.

Stop actin’ mad? Stop actin’ mad! She's doing this to fuck with him cause he doesn't wanna talk to her. He can see it in the way she smiles at him before biting off the last of the cherry flavor. Knows it when she leans back on her elbows to push her tits out on full display. She does all this shit just to fuck with him and he can't even figure out why! She treats him like he's nothin’! Tryin’ to push all his god damned buttons! Fuck her and fuck this!

He has to readjust himself as subtly as he can just to stand up. Even being mad at her doesn't stop his cock from throbbing, doesn't stop the ache. Then he's mad all over again because this is Mercy he's thinking about. Bitchy, awful, needy Mercy who comes over and smokes pot with Merle. The same girl who laughs whenever his brother calls him some stupid girl's name. This same girl who tries to lay against him on the couch when Merle leaves to go get more beer because she's lonely.

He's shaking his head. “I ain't in the mood for your shit. ‘M goin’ home.” He hates her. Hates the pink strip of colored hair that falls over her shoulder. Hates the way his brain has already memorized the trail of blue melt that's dripping on the swell of her breast and racing for her dusky nipple.

“If you stay–” she shouts loud enough for him to hear. “I'll let you touch em'.”

He even hates himself at this moment because now his feet are planted in the ground. Needing a distraction he lights a cigarette he doesn't even smoke. “The fuck you think I wanna touch your tits for?”

Mercy shrugs. “You keep staring.”

He snorts a breath of air through his nose. None of it even means anything to her, she's just messing with him. Always messing with him and he was tired of being nice. “You're the one who whipped em’ out to get me to look. What did you expect?”

Her face twists up. “I'm sun bathing asshole! I was the one who was here first!”

“And you ain't pretending to give the world's shittiest blow job with that thing?” He takes a hit off his cigarette nodding to the sweet melting in her hand. Her face is turning red, the tips of her ears are burning in embarrassment. He's turned the tables on her, called her out on her little game and she can't take it. Some distant part of him feels an inkling of pride at that. Her lip curls and he's moving towards her one slow step at a time.

“I changed my mind. Get fucked!” She throws down her ice cream in the grass.

Letting out a soundless laugh he's next to her now. Daryl's looking down his nose at her, the blue melt finally falling off the tip of her breast. “You wanna suck cock? Here it is.” Then he's grabbing himself through his jeans.

He blames the fact that there's no blood left in his head for why he's acting like this. That he needs her good and pissed off and disgusted all so she'd quit trying to get on his nerves all the damn time. He wants her to hate him as much as he hates her. Only, she ain't pushing him away. No, she's licking her sticky lips as she looks up at him behind those big ugly glasses.

“What? Can't figure out how a belt works?” He asks her. He's goading her to yell at him, but she hasn't yet. He sticks the smoke in his lips bending down to grab her hand. He pushes her fingers against the buckle when he stands back up. “C'mon! You want it so bad you're going to have to take it out yourself.”

Mercy bites her bottom lip as she twists to sit on her knees in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest when she begins to tug on the strap and he nearly laughs. She was so desperate she was actually going to suck him off. She's silent for probably the second time in her whole life as she undoes his belt.

[ohwolfling]

the Gale of Waterdeep blow job meta

this is the most unhinged I've been on this website since like 2012 but here goes...

This is a piece pulling what we can from the game- Gale’s statements, characterizations, etc- and applying it to the narrative & symbolic function of sex in literature. It won’t be too academic ultimately, as I personally am still in Act II, and will not be citing any sources other than my trauma-earned armchair psychology and years of field experience as a bit of a heaux. 

This really strikes at the duality of Gale, something I think that ultimately makes people crazy for Gale. Gale is a giver AND Gale is desperate for control. Players who find Gale annoying or think he’s pure bravado miss this entirely. They take him at face value.

And to complicate things, Gale’s entire story is about connection. Trapped by unstable magic, desperately (but casually, no big deal, oh don’t fuss over me) reaching out. That’s Gale’s start but it’s also just… Gale’s story.

Okay, it’s horny henceforth…

Gale is a giver. That is, he's someone who wants to give, give entirely. His full self. It's what tangles Gale as possibly the most monogamous character, the most openly devoted character, the sincerest, but also a character easily distracted from the limitations of his own vows. Giving himself entirely isn't something he can do in the way that he wants with a one on one, mortal, committed partnership. 

Because Gale wants it to hurt. Gale wants it to destroy him. 

The Weave is many things for and to Gale, but for our purposes we have to talk about it as a balm to loneliness. At the Tiefling party, Gale possibly speaks about Tara being proud of him, and regrets he hasn’t given her much of that lately. He’s speaking of his tressym as an equal, almost as a parent. For him, saving the Tieflings feels like “having repaid the favor,” as if he needs to do penance for letting his tressym encourage him, aid him. She was all he had because he set up wards to prevent any colleague or friend from checking on him. Magic is the only companion allowed to see Gale if he’s not at 100%, if he’s not ready to be Wizard of Waterdeep™. Of course, Tara’s origins are relevant here. It’s easy to see Gale as someone with a streak of ambition but I think it all comes down to that first wound/heal with magic… Validation, company, companionship, magic gave that to him- rewarded him- with Tara at a very young age.

“Magic is my life. I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember.”

The Weave functions too as a neutral space for Gale to initially connect with Tav in the small, at least romance leaning Act I scene that happens after you engage him creating his little illusory Mystra. Gale showing Tav the Weave is a safer way for Gale to show himself. It’s an intrinsic part of who he is but it’s also a shield, a wall, a safety net. Teaching or showing Tav the Weave’s wonders gives him the control he seeks AND the opportunity to impress. “You feel something warm, like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time.” We have no way of knowing if this is what the Weave feels like to Gale, and so to us through him, or if what we’re feeling there is Gale’s influence over the Weave. Are we nestled in the cup Mystra’s hand or what Gale wants it to be? Wishes it would do for him? Is the sense of a kiss hovering about Tav and Gale or is that element of Mystra’s using of Gale so tangled in this magic that he can’t shake it free?

Mystra plucks him up. First teacher, then muse, then lover. Then the root of his demise. With Mystra he is both chosen and servant. I’d argue a worship kink is at play, or at the very least it is the lens in which Gale’s sense of sensuality has been most amplified.

At a point these feelings of conflict- never alone but lonely, wizard prodigy but just one of many men or boys plucked by Mystra, Wizard of Waterdeep but the Whatever of Mystra- are as crucial to his idea of the Weave, to magic, as the spells themselves. Gale has comparatively high charisma… his magic is a performance, as much to himself and of himself, as to anyone or for anyone/anything else.

Gale's boundary pushing is about proving himself through admiration, through praise. He craves it, good boy, Gale. Very the Wizard of Waterdeep of you.

His first assumption in New Love is that he has to offer Tav something more than himself. “I could do more than woo you - I could wow you.” Gale doesn’t understand how those are ultimately one and the same. Sex hasn’t been about connection, solidification, or strictly pleasure for him. It has been about proving himself, about being worthy, about service (which is another great somehow parallel & foil he has with Astarion but that’s for another time).

The specific intimacy of a blow job reverses the conflicted feelings and roles that Gale is accustomed to. In pornography and even popular culture, blow jobs are- erroneously in my opinion- depicted as something dominant and masterful for the receiver. Even something to be wielded as punishment or degrading, even in consensual BDSM practices.

In reality, a blow job is the ultimate submission. It makes Gale a man, it centers his manhood figuratively and literally. He loses a sense of control. Yes, even service gives one a sense of control. But the giver's power is not just in how their mouth wraps around ye classic quivering member. It's in intent. Pace. Pressure. Eye contact, the use of hands, fingers, even toys… The humanity of oral sex. And the humanity of the thing is not something Gale knows. 

Even if Mystra has played the giver it was for her game/goals and her pleasure. It was an adjustment to or pull of his strings. Gale tells Tav he has been with other mortals but I doubt as Gale the Man™. While creating a full night sky and seeking to do it the way the gods do (which we know means the way Mystra taught him or the way Mystra refers) is a genuine and catered moment for Tav, his other lovers no doubt got lazier, less genuine showmanship or else the wit and bravado and courtesy he thinks people expect of him. Early in Act I in his tale of the pub fight he manages to stop, the peace he makes comes at his cost- just monetary in that equation, but the point is, even in his performance of a Big Deal™, sexual or otherwise, Gale seeks to give to maintain the status quo. Gale’s sexuality, just like his magic, is genuine, sincere, and very present part of himself but it’s also unrecognizable to him if he has to stop thinking of it as a tool for five seconds.

Gale himself being a giver is something I really think he takes great pleasure in. His references to it out of the heat of the moment are something he is speaking about fondly and assuredly. He probably enjoys going down on someone as much as he enjoys magic. Like magic, he knows he’s good. Specifically with his tongue (I SCREAM). But remember, he is groomed by a goddess. A literal goddess. He is not just servicing, giving, he is WORSHIPING. Body worship is inherently submission and it’s specifically service oriented submission. Gale knows and has self esteem issues and hang ups around being submissive and if that submission secretly means he’s not good enough- likely why he tries to one up people, places, and things even as he begs to be back in that position of submission- but Gale genuinely likes being of service sexually. 

Gale, by virtue of being a great pretender, has never really given himself over to the real mortal experience of sex. Which brings us to the big moment of trust… 

The ultimate act of trust for Gale is letting someone in… he fully expects to be met with hatred and derision for his attempt with the orb. How could anything genuine be anything else? How could Gale's Folly, mortal, human, desperate, far reaching, reckless, be worth anything but hate? 

The reason Mystra can make Gale so easily believe that seeking these lost pieces of herself for her- even if unasked for, even if unwanted, even if upsetting to her, even if a misinterpretation of where their relationship stood at the time- was so unforgivable is because Gale thinks what the orb is doing to him reveals his ultimate sin, his glaring weakness… it makes him WANT. it makes him NEED. In Gale’s mind there’s nothing worse a man could do.

Blow jobs extend this into the element of control and real, physical intimacy. He's in your hands. He can't pace or bait his own pleasure. Pleasure is a thing happening to him. What is more human than the whimpers and moans in ecstacy when it feels so good you don't care if you cum or die? What does it mean for Gale to be made really and finally tangible and mortal in someone’s eyes? It’s the thing his most intimate connections have always liked least about him (and I imagine outright punished him for).

He can't earn credit or bonus points or paint himself the god. He will cum before you. You will give that gift to him. That's often the whole point. For Gale, anything like that with Mystra after being initially groomed by her into her hall of lovers would've been a debt. He might want you too much, too obviously, too greedily, if he’s in YOUR hands. Even his proposed “as the gods do” creates so many doubles of himself that you couldn’t have time to think, much less ever find yourself wanting. Gale genuinely connects to Tav, genuinely expresses love for them, but still does so by anticipating needs, assuming he isn’t enough, giving Tav no time to want or need, thereby leaving no room for adjustment, correction, or disappointment. 

Gale speaks about pushing the boundaries of magic. In having sex with Mystra he is taken into the vision of her world. But she won't go with him, won't take him further in, won't actually teach him or show him or grant him anything. The great beyond for Gale is not really magic or forgiveness or whatever… It's intimacy. 

Gale doesn't think he can just ask for intimacy. Doesn't think he can just find it organically. He must suffer for it, make a grand gesture, make up for the ways his mortality have dirtied Mystra by making her more herself, the way she was in Gale's mind before he tainted her with his want. Even in the realm of intimacy, he assumes he will have to be on his best behavior and earn it. It doesn’t occur to Gale until deep into Act II, post the romance scene and further validation from Tav, that having those restrictions on intimacy and care as a standard in a relationship is damaging, unfair, or cruel. 

“Now more than ever, it’s important to recall what makes us human.”

There is no right or wrong way to romance any of the romance options in Baldur’s Gate 3, of course. But narratively, Gale’s story begs for further examination and agency for Gale the Man, versus the Wizard of Waterdeep.Gale is at his best when he is open, vulnerable, and reaching out. He is as tactile seeking as he is ever-calculating about who he is to who, what he does or does not owe, what will maximize on paper his value and contributions. Left to his own devices, Gale will literally explode or transcend to avoid any offense or harm the baseness of his humanity might cause. Sex is a magic and spirituality that offers us briefly to transcend ourselves but while being wholly of our bodies, that makes we silly mortals keenly aware of our physical, limited humanity even as an orgasm can hit so hard you lightly trip balls and don’t know how to use your hands.

No one has ever needed a blow job more than Gale Dekarios. If he wants to explode, I MEAN 

[girltiger5000]

Happy new years!! Here’s my headcanons for the Tulpar crew’s bodies 😌

[lady-belz]

Give Me A Good Ride: A Dirty Shorts Fic

Park Jimin x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

Prompt: Hearing him moan while going down on him has to be the most satisfying sound ever.

Author Note: I may be slightly unhinged. Lol!

Story notes: Just Shameless Smut

A low groan slipped from his lips as his body sank into the cushions on the couch.

”That feels good.” he whispered as you massaged the muscles in his shoulders.

He had come home from working in the studio all day, feeling like a lead balloon. It had been a particular grueling session and he just wanted to sleep and forget the day ever happened.

You arrived home from your own work about a half hour after and spotted him sitting on the couch, head back, eyes closed. You knew he wasn’t asleep.

”Bad day?” you asked, slipping up behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders.

”Long day.” he mumbled, not opening his eyes. You started squeezing his shoulder muscles and he groaned at the feeling.

”Let me help you relax then.” you replied, moving one hand to the muscle at the back of his neck.

”Okay.” he agreed, sitting up slightly to remove his shirt. It never failed to make you hot and bothered, seeing his muscled and toned frame in all its naked glory. Jimin was a fine specimen of man and he was all yours.

You stepped away while he turned over and laid himself flat on his stomach. You made your way around the couch and straddled his thick thighs, staring hungrily at his naked back, his moon phase tattoo calling you like a beacon. You can’t count the number of times you traced your tongue over that tattoo, driving him to distraction to the point he would grab you and make fierce passionate love to you until you were both exhausted.

Shaking those thoughts from your head, there would be time for that later, you ran your palms hard across his back and shoulder muscles, making him groan in pleasure, the sound shooting straight into your core and making you throb. You bit your lip.

You continued your ministrations before you scooted backwards down his legs, your hands moving to his fantastic ass and squeezing those globes hard. He gasped in surprise, not expecting it and making you smirk. You tugged on the belt loop of his jeans.

”Take these off.” you requested, sliding completely off his legs. He didn’t argue, didn’t complain, just got to his feet and quickly removed them, revealing the fact that he had decided to go commando that day. “Fuck, Jimin!” you moaned, unable to help yourself.

A naked Jimin was a danger to your sanity Jimin… and he knew it, the grin on his face attesting to that.

You couldn't control what you did next if you tried. You stepped into his personal space and yanked him into a kiss. He gave as good as he got, biting your bottom lip before dipping his tongue into your mouth, making you moan. You ran your hands over his naked and toned chest before shoving him back, breaking your kiss as he landed sitting down on the couch.

Before he could catch his breath, you were on your knees between his muscular thighs, mouth wrapped around his cock. You relaxed your throat muscles, taking him all the way down and the moan that fell from his lips was the most satisfying sound you'd ever heard in your life.

Just knowing you could reduce him to that sound? It always made you hot.

Saliva coated his skin in a thin layer as your head bobbed up and down on his thick and pulsing flesh and his hand slid into your hair, grabbing on tightly and forcing your head down. He always did try to choke you – but he could never accomplish it, your gag reflex was non-existent.

“Fuck!” Jimin cursed, head falling back into the couch cushions as you sucked harder. You freed a hand from one of his thighs to gently caress his balls and he bucked up into your mouth.

His moans and gasps of pleasure were music to your ears as you let him fuck your mouth, chasing his own pleasure.

“Oh f-fuck!” he groaned loudly, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrust hard one last time, flooding your mouth with cum. You didn't waste a single drop, swirling your tongue all along his thickness as you slowly pulled away. He shivered from oversensitivity while you pulled off with a soft pop, licking your lips. You sat back on your heels, watching him struggle to catch his breath as he came down from his high.

He slowly raised his head after some time and pinned you with the darkest look he'd ever given you and you knew you were in for a wild ride. You got to your feet and stripped out of your clothes a few seconds before he yanked you into his lap, kissing you hard...

-End-

Read other shorts in this series: Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

[projectbluearcadia]

"Oops."

This is just the kind of scenario that pops up in my head a lot. The walls in the House of Lamentation have ears. (Suggestive)

---

“MC, my room. Now,” Lucifer snapped when he saw the mess you and Mammon had made. As usual, Mammon was getting himself in trouble with a so-called good idea and you were roped into it. This time, it had been adopting a feral demon.

Mammon, of course, had wanted to become a selective breeder after he heard about what purebred dogs are worth. Though now he gave up on that because he was a little too attached to the pair of Harumons he’d just adopted. 

In any case, the living room was an absolute disaster area, and Lucifer was very clearly pissed. 

“I-It was me! Why're you taking MC??” Mammon cried after Lucifer, and he turned a glare back at his little brother. 

“I’ll deal with you later.” 

And he left Mammon in silence, dragging MC by the collar. 

Guilty and feeling scared for the resident human, he followed and debated outside Lucifer’s door whether or not he should knock it down and rescue her. 

“L-Listen, Lucifer we can talk about th—Ah!” Mammon flinched at the high-pitched cry against the door accompanying a loud thud. 

“MC…” Lucifer’s lowered voice rasped. “I think I already warned you there would be consequences for doing something stupid like this.” 

“You’re not my dad!”

“No,” Lucifer replied, and a whimper resounded through the wood, making Mammon shiver. Should he risk it and jump in? Should he? “But you serve me, now don’t you MC?” 

“Well…y-yes…” 

“And since you so willingly went along with whatever that idiot’s harebrained scheme was this time, you’re going to make me feel better.” 

“M-My knees are still sore… sir.” Mammon was half tempted to break in there, a little enraged at the thought of whatever physical punishment he’d given to her. Didn't he know that human was fragile!? And how could he do that when she was so cute anyway!?

“Then rest assured that I’ll make something else sore today.”

“W-Wait, Lu-Lucifer,” she gasped before she let out a surprised cry, and Mammon felt his ears turn hot as the sound of a kiss and something else reached his ears. 

“No waiting,” Lucifer growled, breathless as she panted. “I’ve been waiting.” 

“Ah! N-Not there!” she cried out, still heaving for breath, and Mammon flinched as he heard a thump against the door. 

“Why not? You’re shaking your hips like you’re enjoying it. Dirty girl.” 

Fuckin’ hell, Mammon thought. He’s doin' it that way…. Come to think of it, I think Levi was complaining about that earlier... I really should lea--

“Ahn?! Lucifer, why did you lick me!?” 

Mammon's ears turned pink at the sound that came out of her mouth, and he found himself desperately wishing that he was in Lucifer's place.

“Would you have preferred I childishly bit you like I wanted to?" Lucifer chuckled to himself. "But you want me to lick somewhere else, don’t you? If you want that, then you’re going to beg for it… and I’ll make you scream so loud that the entire house will know.”

“A-Aren’t you afraid they’ll get scared…?” 

“They know I’m here, and they know damn well I’d never let anything happen to you. They’ll know exactly why you’re screaming. I promise.” 

Mammon covered his reddened face with a groan. That asshole knew I was gonna follow to make sure she was okay, didn' he? Fuck. I'm not sleepin' tonight...

As a bonus, when the other brothers found out that Mammon was the reason that Lucifer was making MC scream louder than usual, they casually bullied him the next day. Lucifer was satisfied.

MC later made them make up and screwed them both ruthlessly.