#There is for sure going to be a rather large bruise on my thigh in a bit

[satans-knitwear]

Snoot.

[ink-n-shadow]

more drunk reader and simon pls 🙈🙈

anything for you, cinnamon 🧎

so i present to you simon with clubber!reader

[ CLUB HOPPER ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where you love going clubbing and simon loves watching you dance

𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x clubber!afab!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut (minors—DNI), strangers being handsy with reader, maybe voyeurism? (if you consider simon watching you grind on other people voyeurism), alcohol consumption, mentions of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it/get tapped), mentions of cream pie, unedited

simon absolutely hates going out unless it's with you. like the amount of times the guys have had to beg him just to go out to a dive bar with them. but the second it's you, all dressed up and pretty for him, pouting up at him and begging him to come out to the club with you, he's pulling on his work boots and driving you both to the club.

he doesn't even bat an eye when you immediately disappear amongst the club crowd, instead just moving towards his usual corner in the back and nursing a glass of whiskey as he watches you out on the dance floor. his jaw ticks at the way slimey assholes try to paw at your body, dirtied fingers trying to hook into the holes of your tattered outfit and slobbering tongues itching to taste the glittering sweat on your skin.

but simon trusts you—trusts you with his bloody life. so he simply sinks deeper into the plush leather of the club's back booth and finishes off his first round of whiskey, palming at the chub of his hardening cock as he watches you shove off the wandering hands and disappear deeper amongst the crowd of grinding bodies.

simon thinks you've never looked prettier than you do in this moment, hair mussed with sweat and glossed lips stretched into a rather demure smile as you lose yourself in whatever club mix is blasting through the speakers. sure, your lip gloss is slightly smeared and your mascara is beginning to bleed down beneath your bottom eyelashes, but you've never looked more alive, with liquid confidence coursing through your veins and a million other pairs of eyes locked on you.

and it goes on like this for another hour and a half, simon's hungry eyes slovenly following you around the club as you grind against sweaty strangers and down free shots from people who think they'll get lucky and take you home at the end of the night. simon can't help the shit-eating grin that curls up on the corners of his lips at the way you turn them down, holding up the glittering ring on your finger with a drunken smile.

you know it's time to go with your glossy eyes flutter open and find simon's steely ones in the back of the room, the slight twitch of his dirty blond brow a telltale signal to get your fuckin' ass back over here. so like the obedient pet you are, you scamper back up the club staircase to where simon hides in the back of the crowd, eagerly finding your place in his lap and nosing gently at his stubbly jaw.

“is it time t’go already?” you slur out a soft whine into simon’s ear as your arms loop around the back of his neck, molding your much smaller body against his muscled torso. “didn’t even get to request a song yet, si.”

simon's all huffs and muttered words as his large hands grip tightly at the fat of your hips, manhandling you until your clothed cunt is pressing down against his now fully hard cock and grinding you down against it in a slow, messy rhythm.

"y'feel that, pet?" simon snarls against your skin as his teeth sinks easily into your pulse point, sucking in rhythm with your heartbeat and making a fresh bruise bloom just beneath your jaw. " so either 'm throwin' you over my shoulder and fuckin' you raw in the backseat of the truck, or you can go up to the dj booth and request your song with my fuckin' cum runnin' down your thighs. pick your poison."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 33

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Okay I had no plans to get this done but since US thanksgiving is near.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You cling to that moment of peace. Without Andy touching you, smothering you, invading you. You hide your head under your bent arm, curled up on your side as you try to close the world out. Reality slices through you like a razor.

You cannot outrun what is. Not anymore. You’ve lost that ability. Your mind can’t summon the fantasies that once kept you safe. There is only the tenderness inside and the bruises on your thighs. 

He’s there, somewhere, lurking. You thought he would go to work but that hope was quickly crushed, along with all your others. He stayed and touched you until that got the better of him. Then he would put you on your back, or your stomach, sometimes your side, however he wanted you…

And you let him. You don’t fight. Your weightless body follows his whim and opens to him. You squeeze your eyes shut and whimper as your walls clench at the thought of him near you. 

There’s something wrong with you. You’re supposed to love him, so it shouldn’t feel so bad, right? After all he’s done for you, shouldn’t you want him to do that? Shouldn’t you be just as eager for him?

You don’t understand it. It’s not supposed to hurt so surely, you’re doing something wrong. You’ll get it right. You can be what Andy wants, what he needs. You will not be another burden. Never again.

You hear him coming. You quiver and shrink down further. You can’t find the strength to sit up and try. 

He greets you with a sigh. Oh no, he’s mad. You whimper and curl your arm snugger around your head. What did you do now? What is he going to do?

He nears the bed, his shadow standing over you as his presence brings a dark cloud. He shifts and sniffs, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He puts his large hand on your shoulder and you wince. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“We need to talk, Dove,” he says.

Talk? You can’t handle it. You’d rather he just hurt you than repeat the facts. You don’t need him to tell you how bad you are, you already know.

“Sit up,” he shakes you, gently but enough to jar you.

You relent and fall onto your back. You stare at the ceiling and press your hands to the mattress. You sit up, little but little, your muscles knotted and stiff.

You hug the blanket to your chest, hiding behind it as you hunch your shoulders forward. You can’t look at Andy so you focus on the lump of your feet under the covers.

“Why do you keep lying?” He rasps.

You blink as your lip trembles, tears threatening to spring free. He’s mad again. Your entire body tenses as you brace for what comes next.

“You could’ve told me about Steve,” he lifts the shape in his lap and you glance over. It’s your tablet. “He’s your doctor, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

You sniffle and cup your chin in your hands, fingers over your mouth. You watch him turn the tablet over and slide back the cover. You don’t try to stop him or defend yourself. He’s right. About everything.

“If you needed help… with the toy or figuring things out, I was here. I am here. You could’ve asked me,” an edge creeps into his voice, “why didn’t you ask me?”

You don’t say a word. You’re trapped in your own guilt. He has the proof in his hands. You did it, you lied and betrayed him.

“The only thing I ask of you, is that you tell the truth. You haven’t, so I can’t trust you. Not until you show me I can,” Andy closes the tablet, pressing his thumb to the cover. “And maybe then you can have this back.”

You nod and hang your head. It’s easier if you just do what he wants. You’ll get used to it eventually, maybe even one day, you’ll be normal and want it too.

🕊️

“This is nice,” Andy struts into the room with a hanger in hand.

You sit on the edge of the bed where he left you. His frustration drew you out of your cocoon to shiver in the morning air. You can smell the crisp autumn seeping in around the window. There’s no point trying to figure out how long you’ve been like this, counting the days will only make it torturous.

You glance over as Andy waggles the dress at you, one of those he bought you. The bishop sleeves are almost longer than the skirt, the shade of faded plum overlaid with a translucent layer. You look at it and nod. Whatever he wants.

“You’ll have to clean up first,” he lays the dress on the bed, “it’ll help you feel better too.”

You blink and pinpoint on his chest. You can’t look him in the face. He nears you and runs his hands down your arms, sending a chill through you. He bends and twists you around to scoop you up. He hums as he lifts you against his chest.

“Aren’t you excited, honey?” He chimes.

You frown, excited? You let your head fall against his shoulder. There isn’t an ounce of strength left in you.

“Thanksgiving,” he prompts as if it’s obvious, “I got everything we need! So you can get started once you're ready. Don’t worry, I woke up early to deal with the turkey.”

He enters the bathroom and puts you down on the closed toilet. You look down at yourself. You wear his t-shirt and nothing else. He moves away to crank on the tub and quickly comes back to you. You wrinkle your nose, confused.

“Thanksgiving?” You croak.

“Uh, yeah, duh!” His tone is laced with forced enthusiasm. “Our first together.”

He tugs the hem of the shirt from under your ass and you murmur. You try to catch the cotton. He tuts and you let go. He rolls the fabric up your body and you lift your arms, surrendering.

“An…” you start to say his name but can’t get the bitter noise out. You clear your throat, “what if… I don’t feel good, I don’t know if I have the energy–”

“You’ve been in bed forever. You can get up for one day,” his timbre turns rigid, “you promised me. You promised Doctor Kemp. Do you want to let us both down?”

You close your eyes and slump. He huffs and tosses the shirt on the tile. You reach to touch your lashes and sniff back a wave of tears. It’s not just the time, the way it moves without you knowing, no, it’s him that makes you feel so helpless.

“Don’t do this,” he whispers, half a growl.

“I…” you inhale, struck by his fury, “I won’t. I’ll be good.”

You try to force a smile as you pull your hands away. Your cheeks twitch and your eyes sting, your lips just won’t curve the way you want them too. Another sigh as he stands straight. He rolls up his sleeves before he lifts you again.

He lowers you into the tube as you squeeze your legs together. You fold your arms around yourself, trying to hide, as he reaches for a scrubby and the bottle of vanilla soap. He pops the cap violently as the water bulges up towards your knees.

“Dove,” he reproaches as he grabs your arm, straightening it as he holds your wrist firmly.

You squeak as he scrubs you harshly. You hide behind your eyelids as the flash of another memory strikes you. The cold downpour of water from a screaming shower head, chattering teeth, and quaking sobs.

When he makes you stand, you curl your fingers to tight fists. As he washes you, you feel even more exposed than before. He takes his time on your chest and stomach, surprising you as he leans forward to his just beside your navel. You flinch and glance down.

“You’re beautiful, honey, you shouldn’t be so shy,” he says, “all done, sit.”

You obey and he finishes up the bath, helping you stand before wrapping you up in a soft towel. He pats you dry and moisturises your skin with the fragrant strawberry lotion. This time, he makes you walk back to the room with him.

As you consider the dress, he goes to his dresser and slides out a drawer. He comes to the bed and drops something else. You stare at the white panties and bra, see-through and speckled with little hearts.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says as he touches the front of his shirt, damp from the tub, “I’ll change too.”

You bite your lip and keep your chin down. You touch the dress, staring at the underwear, mortified at the thought of wearing those. Why can’t you wear something comfortable? Why can’t you be you? Why can’t he love you as you?

🕊️

Andy said Steve is coming. You don’t dare ask when as the conversation about your tablet looms over you. You don’t want him to think anything bad of the doctor. It’s not his fault, you’re just stupid.

You put your energy into following the precise instructions printed out before you. All the ingredients are set out neatly for you. It’s all manageable, even for you.

In the next room, the TV blares with the commentators on the NFL pre-game. Andy paces in and out, as if checking on you, or maybe he’s restless. You start peeling the sweet potatoes as he comes in again, looking at his watch.

“Dr. Kemp said he’d bring dessert,” Andy says, “I bought a pie just in case. If he isn’t here in the next hour, we’ll take it out of the freezer.”

“Okay,” you agree as you drag the peeler over the bumpy potato.

“You must be excited, huh, dove?”

“Um, sure, I… I like Thanksgiving. Lots of food,” you smile, you’re getting better at that. “Um, yeah.”

“What?” He tilts his head, his hands going to his hips. Oh no, he’s mad. Again.

“N-nothing, I didn’t…” you look away, “nothing.”

“It’s just Steve,” he shrugs, “I don’t have family. You know, if you bothered to ask, you might realise we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

You chew your cheek and focus on stripping the orange potato. You never did ask. You didn’t think you should. It feels nosy so it’s not that you never wondered or cared, you just don’t know what’s right.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“For?”

“For not asking. Sorry that you’re alone too,” you grab the next potato.

“Not anymore, dove, we got each other, right?” He chirps, “anyway, before you get too deep into that, you should really do the snacks first. Can’t watch football without munchies.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t think…” you put the potato down and wipe your hands on the dish towel on the counter.

“Wait, wait,” he goes by the fridge and unhooks an apron hanging on the other side. “You don’t want to dirty up that pretty dress.”

“Uh, good idea.”

He puts the top strap over your head, tugging it down snug to your neck. He signals you to turn and you do. He steps close, reaching around you as he smooth the front and drags his hands to the thinner straps behind you. He ties them slowly, tickling your lower back through the dress.

“Let me see,” he steps back.

You face him and he admires you. You look down at the floral fabric with a large bow at the waist. It looks almost like a vintage dress on its own. You straighten your arms and sway as he purrs.

“That looks so good on you,” he steps closer and you plant your feet, resisting the urge to retreat. “Makes me wanna eat you up.”

Your chest racks with panic as he advances on you. He corners you against the counter as he flutters his fingers along the ruffled edge of the apron. You watch his hands creep up the fabric and gulp. Oh, again? Here? You thought you were safe.

“We got time,” his hands close on your hips, “just a little taste.”

You yelp as he takes you off your feet, perching you on the counter. Your ass knocks a bowl across the island and you brace the granite for balance. He pushes your knees apart and steps between them. You're paralysed as he cups your chin, tilting your head back as he kisses you. Suddenly.

He clamps his hand around the back of your neck, locking you against him. His other hand trails down your leg, stopping at your knee and crawling back up. He slips beneath the apron and your skirt, tendrils radiating from his touch. Your muscles spasm as you gasp.

He parts from your lips, kissing your jaw and neck, nibbling and moaning as his fingertips inch towards the trim of your panties. The cool air slips beneath your dress and through the thin fabric. You shudder as you close your eyes, trying to bury yourself inside.

“Mmmm, dove,” he shifts and nuzzles your chest.

He slowly gets to his knees, holding your legs apart as he pecks along your skin. You whimper as he edges towards your skirt, his breath dampening your thigh. He hums and pinches you with his teeth.

“Delicious,” he pokes his head under your skirt, a sudden ding breaking your trance.

He retracts, sitting back on his heels as the doorbell echoes through the house. You look down at him as he closes his eyes and grimaces. He shakes his head and pushes himself up to his feet, grunting as he stands.

“Great timing, as always,” he scoffs.

He struts out, his chagrin obvious in his posture. You push off the counter, landing awkwardly on your feet, tweaking your ankle slightly. You go to the doorway, peeking around into the hall but not daring to venture out.

Andy rolls his shoulders as he stops by the door. He heaves a breath as the doorbell chimes again. He turns back the latch and twists the handle, pulling it back.

“Andrew,” Kemp’s voice booms into the entryway, “Happy Thanksgiving!” You can’t help the way your heart topturns at his familiar timbre, “brought dessert.”

“What is she doing here?” Andy growls.

“Thanksgiving is for family, Andrew, and her family is here,” Kemp insists.

“No, I didn’t invite her–”

“Where is she?” The unseen ‘her�� asks. Your mouth falls open. Amber? “Let me see her.”

You rush forward without thinking. No fear, no doubt, you just want to see your sister. You scurry down the hall and brush by Andy, elbowing him as he reaches to stop you. You burst out through the doorway and crash into Amber, wrapping your arms around her.

“Hey,” her voice piques as she hugs you back, “hey, I’m here.”

[themisimagines]

labyrinth

content: you and vyn attend a birthday party hosted in his honour but end up doing something rather more fun in a garden labyrinth. wink wink nudge nudge. again inspired by anna karenina (2012) film but also labyrinth (1986). maybe a companion to 'i could sleep inside the cold of you'. some spoilers for episode 10. total porn without plot. characters: vyn x fem!reader warnings: public sex, hunter-prey relationship, breeding kink, minor knife play

On your second last day in Svart, Vyn's father hosts a birthday party for Vyn – all to keep up appearances, of course. His father isn't present, and Vyn dislikes half, if not most of the people there. You've made your way through most of the evening by his side, and finally things have begun to wind down, the guests suitably drunk and starting to do unspeakable things, sure to forget everything by tomorrow. Vyn has told you to keep close – he doesn't trust half the people here, and your kidnap by his uncle is still fresh in the forefront of his mind.

Then the next moment, you find yourself wandering the grounds of a large garden maze, heart beating out of your chest as you run as fast as you can, trying to get to the heart of the labyrinth before you get caught. Every single twitch of the leaves and hedges beside you makes you jump. You've dropped pieces of clothing slowly to make a trail, so you don't get lost. Thank goodness they dressed you like an iced cake – layers upon layers of silk, lace, underskirt, petticoats, gloves, ornaments, brocade, outer layers, inner layers, not to mention the hoops used to prop up the voluminous skirts.

Just as you shed one of your outer layers, exposing your bare skin to the chill night air, a low whistle sounds behind you. Without looking, you decide to run, going further and further into the maze, not caring if you get lost now. But just as you see you've hit a dead end, you turn around, but Vyn is there, blocking the entrance.

Vyn stands in front of you, slowly approaching and twirling a decorative blade between his fingers. Even though you know he would never hurt you, there is a tantalising whisper of fear running up your spine, which is deliciously arousing.

'I found you,' he sing songs softly. In the moonlight, his eyes glint as he gets closer, the most delicious shade of honey gold. You love seeing him like this, like a cat who has gotten the cream, a mischievous boy reliving the childhood he never really got to have.

You consider making a dash for it, but he closes the distance and grips your wrists over your head tightly, breath skimming against your ear and neck as he whispers, 'Don't even try... I've hunted down my prey and I intend on enjoying every single moment...'

He turns you around and secures your wrists to a branch with his abandoned bowtie, manoeuvring expertly around your hooped skirts to run his hands up your bodice and corset, slicing open the corset ribbons and stripping your layers back. Standing there, unable to move, you feel especially vulnerable, feeling the cool metal of the blade just barely grazing your skin. Under his careful unwrapping, you are soon completely naked, bared to the moonlight.

'What a marvellous birthday present,' he whispers against your skin, pressing soft kisses throughout your back. 'Thank you.'

You can hear other people have entered the maze, laughing drunkenly from some distance away. Vyn sees you notice them, and chuckles in a low voice. 'You didn't manage to find the heart of the maze so you're all mine. If I choose to let anyone else watch me fuck you, then you can't do anything about it.'

'Pretty words,' you retort, squirming at the feeling of his gloved hands running over your body, squeezing at your tits, ghosting over your thighs, flicking at your clit. 'I bet if anyone actually dared to come over, you would have their head cut off or something.'

He growls at the thought and bites down hard on your neck, definitely leaving a bruise there. 'You're not wrong.'

Vyn pulls away and you whine at the lack of contact, turning around to see what he's up to, but without any warning, he lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you, making you cry out in surprise.

The pace he's taking is breathless, cock sliding out fully before slamming into you, setting a desperate pace like he's trying to punish you, forcing small cries from your throat. You are pressed up tightly against the hedge, pain mingling with pleasure, twigs and branches scratching at your delicate skin, feeling like a thousand hands clawing at you, which somehow is a huge turn on.

'That's it,' Vyn purrs. 'Make those beautiful noises for me, darling. I want everyone to hear you.'

You try to bite your tongue just to defy him, but then he grabs your breasts in each hand, forcing you against him and bending your back impossibly as he fucks you fast and hard. Your nipples are in his clever fingers, and he is playing with them in the way that makes you want to scream, because it feels too good, and you are terribly overstimulated from everything. You squirm relentlessly on his cock and you hear him pant shallowly, quietly whispering about how wonderful you are over and over again under his breath, hips thrusting into you endlessly.

You're not content with letting him have his way completely, so you turn your head around to look at his face, which is dark with desire, completely focused on every single sensation as if he's a beast and you're his prey.

'Is that all you've got?' You challenge him.

Upon hearing that, he growls and stops to untie your hands, looking to punish you even further, but the moment you are free you tackle him onto the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs and mounting him. His face is surprised, but he doesn't resist, and this time it's your turn to pin his arms above his head with his own bowtie as he watches you hungrily, not resisting although you know he could easily break free of your sloppy knots, wanting to see what you do next. It's a strange sight – you are completely nude, having been stripped so thoroughly by Vyn earlier, but he is almost fully clothed. It almost makes you feel like a wild woman who has hunted down her prey and is ready to enjoy the spoils.

You slide down onto his cock, relishing the feeling of fucking outdoors – being fucked from behind always feels so animalistic, but being on top tonight drives you wild, and you lift yourself off his cock and plunge back down, watching Vyn bite his lip and watch you move up and down, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your thighs burning with exertion. 'Nghh-' you moan, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. 'I love watching you like this,' you tease him breathlessly. 'Helpless beneath me, completely at my mercy...' You grind your hips in a circular motion, drawing your lovemaking out.

There are more voices approaching, they seem to be getting closer, but you're quite sure that they aren't about to find you anytime soon. Cries of pleasure ring out from other corners of the maze, other lovers having found secret spots to release their desires. You see Vyn's eyes glint as you tease him, a smile on the corner of his lips, rising to the challenge. He shifts his feet upwards, thighs grazing your buttocks, and you are just about to ask him what kind of tricks he's trying when his hips thrust upwards, sending you bouncing upwards, and seeing stars from how deeply his cock is buried inside you.

'I can hardly let my prey get away with everything,' Vyn bites down, cock ramming into you, leaving you breathless and begging him to slow down.

'Ah - Vyn - Ah - ah - mmmh!' You cry out, as he drives faster and faster, not letting you gather yourself for a single moment, thrusting so hard that you lose your balance and are pressed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soil as he just uses you mercilessly, chasing his own release while pushing you closer and closer off the edge. 'Ready to scream for our audience?' He chuckles in a low voice. A pair of voices comes so close that you swear they are about to turn the corner, and the thought of getting caught is so deliciously tantalising that Vyn just has to thrust a few more times before you come undone around his cock, trying to stifle your cries in his neck, clenching and throbbing so hard that you see flashes at the side of your vision.

Vyn speeds up for his last few thrusts, and he whispers how good you are, how amazing your cunt feels around his cock, about how much he loves you, and surely you have another one in there for him, he wants to feel you come again. He has freed his own hands and one now snakes down to your clit, the other tearing your hand away from your mouth - 'Don't you dare hold back, I want everyone to hear that you're mine.' He rubs your clit as his cock grows and throbs inside your cunt and that pushes you over the edge again, crying out in earnest this time - 'Fuck yes, Vyn - oh!' and Vyn cums with a guttural groan, growling deeply and squeezing his eyes in pleasure.

The voices trail off, giggling to themselves. There is no way that they didn't hear their lovemaking, but also the hedges are so thick that they couldn't possibly have seen who it was. You collapse onto Vyn, and he embraces you in his arms, both of you panting heavily. He gives you his jacket, and drags over the remains of your dress to keep you warm. 'It would be a shame if you caught a cold,' he says. 'I would feel rather responsible.' You giggle against his chest, buried in layers of silk and tulle. You both look up at the sky, watching the stars and feeling so lucky to be in love.

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Aether and Rain are disgustingly affectionate but they don't make it anyone else's problem. Because Rain would rather die than have others know they're like this.

Under the cut: Stupid couple baby talk the morning after a heat. Rain's graphic memories but it isn't mixed with the baby talk. Not intended to be age regression. Just them being doofuses.

Rain wakes up with a deep, content peace and knows his heat is over.

Aether had played his role as stud well. He’d wrestled Rain into submission without any of his damn quintessence powers, forcing him to submit with sheer strength alone. Didn't even let up so Rain could strip naked, only pierced the fabric of his shorts with a claw and tore a neat line down the seam, exposing his hole, already dripping for Aether's cock.  He’d pinned Rain's knees between his own, had Rain’s hands trapped in one of his own while the other scraped his claws across Rain's scalp. Palm tight to his skull before his fingers curled and Aether dragged Rain into a severe arch with his grip on his hair as he bullied his way inside, giving Rain the whole slide of his cock at once. Rain had sobbed, genuinely sobbed when the blunt head pushed up against the entrance to his brood chamber, sensitive and desperate to take in all the cum Aether had waiting for Rain in the heavy balls that slapped his thighs with every brutal thrust.

The rest of his memories were static, only flashes surfacing if Rain concentrates; he’d begged until his voice was hoarse, Aether grinding his face into the pillow to get him to shut up so he could focus. A firm grip on his hips that surely left bruises.  Orgasm after orgasm until he was jelly underneath the cruel beast still driving his hips mercilessly into Rain. Finally being let go so he could wiggle away, gasping and panting only for Aether to drag him back on his cock so he could cum inside with a deep, possessive snarl. 

All that seems so distant now, with Aether next to him deep in slumber. Still large, still a force to be reckoned with but his expression is peaceful and he's drooling on Rain's silk pillowcase. He studies the other ghoul, counting the faint freckles on his nose and forehead. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, eyes that had seemed to paralyze Rain with their intensity as he struggled. Out of curiosity, he reaches back and thumbs an eyelid up to expose the white and a half-moon of iris where it's rolled up in Aether's skull. He lets the delicate skin slide back into place, satisfied and deeply amused.

It's the kiss that wakes him, like Sleeping Beauty, when Rain presses his cool lips to Aether's forehead. He snuffles and closes his mouth, blinking open his bleary and unfocused eyes as Rain watches him.

“Want to get breakfast?” Rain asks. He has no idea what time it is but he doesn't want to be alone yet, this last phase of his heat still stubbornly clinging to him.

“Wanna stay here…” Aether slurs, words blending together in his exhaustion. “Wi’ m’Rainy baby…"

“Big guy still shweepy?” Rain can't help himself. Something about Aether being so cheesy like this does things that kill all his braincells and turns him into some cooing idiot.

“So shweepy…” Aether sighs, burrowing into the pillow. “...shweepiest big guy ever.”

“Aww…” Rain murmurs and throws an arm over Aether's shoulder, scratching the back of his neck as he plants a kiss on the tip of his nose. “My poor big guy.”

Aether starts to rumble in pleasure as Rain scratches him, leg shaking under the blanket like a dog’s. Rain moves to kiss him on the mouth and Aether pants into it, groaning in delight and pulling Rain in close.

“My big guy like that?” Rain asks, when Aether turns away from the kiss to breath.  He pets softly over the nape of his neck, brushes his lips over Aether's cheek. “Huh? My big guys like his scratches?”

“Yeah,” Aether says with a chuckle as he stretches. “Yeah, your big guy likes his scratches.”

“Oh, big stretch.” Rain says in the same dopey tone as Aether groans and moves, popping several joints as he does. “Big stretch.”

“Big stretch.” Aether echoes, and flops back down. “Fuck, babe. ‘m starving. You want snackies?”

“Always down for snackies.” Rain replies.  “Little snackies? Big snackies?”

“Big snackies for your big guy.”

“Biiig snackies for my biiig guy.”

If any of the others overheard the both of them talking like this, Rain thinks he would kill them. And then himself. He’d never stop though. Not when it makes Aether smile like that, at their own ridiculousness. Aether squeezes him in one last bear hug before reluctantly sitting up, sheets falling away from his body. Rain bites back the next bit of idiocy to come out of his mouth but doesn't resist grabbing at Aether's now exposed belly and tickling him. Aether yelps and slaps his hand away, tries to roll off the bed but only tangles himself in the sheets and goes down just about as hard as Rain did last night.

“Oh fuck!” Rain pushes himself up, trying to catch a glimpse of Aether on the floor. “You good?”

Aether groans.

“Owie…” he says quietly. “Rainy, baby… need kissies to make my head feel better.”

Rain pauses, then smiles despite himself.

“Kissies are on their way, big guy.” He says, and can't hide the chuckle when he hears a tired and subdued sounding yay in response.

________

“Waffles?” Rain guesses as he guides his poor, bruised quintessence ghoul down the hallway to the kitchen. Aether’s got a cooling gel eyemask clamped to his head in lieu of an actual icepack. Rain’s going to make it up to him. “Bacon? Pop tarts?”

“All of it.” Aether mutters, cracking an eye open to peek at Rain. “Please, Rainy?”

“Alright, alright.” he says fondly. “Whatever my big guy wants.”

He guides Aether (now limping for some reason, like he can't bear to do anything without Rain helping him, like Rain doesn't have a twang in his hips from Aether's dick) to the breakfast nook and gets him settled. Aether slumps over exaggeratedly, bemoaning his fate.

“You want some juice?” Rain asks. “Coffee?”

“Orange juice.” Aether whimpers, sounding truly pathetic. You’d think he was on his death bed. Rain kisses his temple and fetches the cup of juice without any complaints, even giving Aether an extra long straw to sip from in case he was simply too weary to lift up his thick skull.

“Belgian waffles, all the fixings?”

 

“Yes please.”

Contrary to popular belief, Rain can do things for himself. It's just that it's so much easier to get someone else to do it for him. But still, he's selfish. He doesn't want to share Aether with anyone yet, still feeling possessive in the lingering haze of his heat. He gets the box of pre-made out, adds the liquids and the eggs and finagles the waffle iron out of its cupboard cave, where it lives underneath Mountain’s favorite wok. He knows Aether's watching him, so he puts an extra sway in his hips and hums a little tune while he gets everything going.

“You're so pretty.” Aether says, propping his head on his elbow. Watching Rain pour the batter in and close the lid. “Why’re you so pretty, Rainy baby?”

“Sweet talker.” Rain says. “My big guy want sprinkles and frosting?”

“Big guy would love sprinkles and frosting, baby.”

The timer dings and Rain goes through the motions again until he's got a healthy stack of waffles for both of them. He sets the plate in front of Aether, nabs the frosting and sprinkles from their spots and sits down just as Swiss comes sidling in.

“Hey man.” Aether says in his normal voice and Rain bites his lower lip to hide his laugh. “Sup?”

“S’good, s’good,” Swiss says, opening the fridge to rummage through it. “Princess want waffles?”

Aether shoots Rain a glance. Rain’s too busy laughing, tears stinging his eyes as he hides his face in his hands.

“Yeah dude.” Aether said. “What Princess wants, Princess gets. You know how he is.”

“My man.” Swiss says, coming up with a monster energy drink. He passes by their table to give Aether a fistbump. “Rain, go easy on this guy, yeah? He's a softie, y’know. Needs someone to take care of him too.”

“I had no idea.” Rain says, struggling to keep his voice steady. He clears his throat. “Thanks Swiss.”

“No problem! Practice at noon, kay?” he gives them a salute and cracks the tab of his drink, licking up the foam as it spills out.

“Yup.”

“Uh-huh."

They wait until he leaves. Aether looks at Rain. Rain looks at Aether.

“Does my big guy like his waffles?” He whispers.

“Fuck yeah.” Aether says, picking up a fork and a knife to tear into his breakfast.  “Your big guy likes his waffles, Rainy baby.”

They don't even make it five seconds before bursting into laughter.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 5 of 13 (Alastor x angel!Wife!OC)

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Discussions around consent in relation to the porn industry and contractual obligations.

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

“You are going to tell me exactly how you know that name,” Alastor’s antlers grew, branching out as his shadow rose behind him, looking somehow even more eager to rip Angel’s limbs from his body than the man it belonged to. “And you are going to do so quickly. Am I clear?” 

“Alastor, calm down.” Charlie tried to step between Alastor and Angel only to be swept aside by a shadow, earning him Vaggie’s ire. 

“Enough, Alastor!” She was likewise ignored as Alastor loomed, joints popping as he grew ever so slightly. 

“Tick Tock. My patience is wearing rather thin.” 

“She told me, alright? What’s it to everyone, anyway? She’s just a angel.” Angel Dust took a slow step back, toward the bar, in an effort to put some space between him and Alastor. 

“What, exactly, is the nature of your acquaintance with her?” 

“She’s just Vox’s new plaything. Damn, can I go get a drink now?” Angel took another careful step. For each step he took, Alastor grew and morphed, staying close without actually staking a single step to do so.

“And what, dear Princess, do you know of this?” As Alastor’s attention redirected to Charlie, Angel took his chance to retreat to the bar. 

“Last night, we saw a picture of Vox leading someone into his tower that looked a lot like her.” Charlie was talking fast, torn between the guilt of not telling Alastor sooner when he so obviously cared much more about the news than she had expected and the fear that he may lash out at one of the residents. “I was waiting for Angel to come home, I wanted to see if I could confirm it before I talked to you about it.”

“And so you choose to wait?” Alastor asked calmy in contrast to the flickering lights and dancing shadows in the parlor. 

“Yes!” Charlie wanted to believe that he had understood.

“To ensure I understand the matter clearly- You had reason to believe my wife,” Alastor’s voice rose at those words before calming again as he continued, “Has left her Heavenly home, come to hell and the cherry on top,” again his voice began to climb as his eyes became glowing dials, “She appears to have fallen into Vox’s hands? And you elected to not tell me right away?” 

“That,” Charlie stumbled over her words, “That does sound accurate.” 

“Splendid,” When Alastor determined he had everything Charlie could tell him, he turned to find Angel had already made himself scarce. That’s alright, Alastor was sure he’d get his answers.

~~~~~<3

Isabel had never in her life felt so exposed. Not even on her wedding night had she wore clothes such as what she was forced to wear now. Valentino was angry as he dressed her, displeased to find fading bruises on her thighs. 

He accused her of lying but it didn’t matter, some tall white stockings and no one would see the large handprints above her knees. Vox lurked in the shadows, the glow of his digitized face giving away where he was. It was a ever present reminder that he was there, he was watching and he was ready.

All she had to do was say the word and he would swoop in and save her, he promised. 

She’d never say those words he so badly wanted to hear from her. This humiliation had to be endured. It was one thing to be unwillingly taken and another to willingly give herself to another man. 

Off to the side, Angel Dust paced. He wouldn’t even look at her. Right now it was just costumes, tonight it would be filming. Her heart ached for the man who was already being eaten alive by guilt. He shouldn’t be, it wasn’t his fault. She would never blame him for what he was forced to do or hold it against him. 

Wrapping her wings around her to shield the front of her body from view, Isabel clutched the robe around her as she walked timidly across the floor. It was cold under her bare feet, sticky in places where drinks or God knew what else had been spilled. 

“Hey,” Reaching out, she let her fingertips graze his shirtsleeve to get his attention. Everyone, everything still terrified her but Angel Dust reminded her too much of a kicked dog to ignore. 

“Heya,” He plastered on a smile that looked fragile and fake. 

“Are you alright?” Isabel spoke softly, terrified she’d bring attention to herself and someone would want to check how well she filled out the lacey garments she was stuffed in another time. 

In the distance, Vox and Valentino discussed the scenes and different clothes options. Vox spoke loudly, animated, intending for her to hear. It was another power play, intended to pressure her into changing her mind. 

“What? Of course I’m alright, Toots!” He pulled the smile wider on his face but it quickly deflated when she only looked at him with her caring eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you know I don’t want this? And because I know you don’t want this either?” She spoke softly. 

“They want me to rape you, you do realize that?” Angel flopped a pair of his hands to his sides in frustration. How could she spare a thought to care about him. “You don’t want this and unless you change your mind, that’s what this is going to be. They’re going to make me be a part of this.”

“I forgive you,”

“I haven’t even done anything yet.” Angel struggled to keep his voice down, instead pulling her by her upper arms into his dressing room. How long they had before Val came looking, he didn’t know but he thought they’d have at least have a few minutes. Vox was more interested in her deciding against the film and agreeing to whatever his deal was. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Angel was pleading now, leaning down to be on eye level with her. “Please, don’t make me have to do this to you?” 

“I’m not going to betray my marriage.” She took his lower hands in hers as she smiled at him. 

How could she smile at him when they were talking about the very real possibility of her upcoming rape. He couldn’t do this. Fuck, he’d rather face Val’s anger for refusing. He’d- wait-

Alastor was married. Vox didn’t like Alastor. Alastor all but lost his shit when he heard her name. Angel Dust put himself out of his misery for the night prior with every drug in his stash, bailing out of the hotel while Alastor questioned Charlie after only a single drink. 

“What’s your husband’s name?” 

“What?” 

“Just answer me,” Angel Dust’s eyes were wide and pleading. 

“Alastor. His name is Alastor.” 

“Fuck me,” Angel Dust ran a hand through his hair, “When did he die? Tell me everything about him.”

“I don’t- he outlived me.” Isabel struggled to follow Angel Dust’s change of mood. Panic and hope swam in his eyes. “He had brown hair, darker skin-” 

“No, no-” Angel Dust waved the information away, “We all change when we get down here. Tell me what he liked, what he was like.” 

“Smiles, he seems to always be smiling. Loved music, he hosted a-”

“Radio show.” Angel Dust finished, “Fuck me.” 

“How did-?” Angel cut off her words, shaking her softly by the shoulders. 

“I know him. Fuck, I LIVE with him. Shit. Shit, it makes sense-” 

“You know him?” Isa grabbed at the lapels of his top and pulled herself up closer to him. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve gotta go,” Angel Dust pulled himself away from her. Her wings flexed behind her as Angel Dust suddenly wouldn’t look at her suddenly for fear that he if he looked anywhere he shouldn’t he would end up on the next broadcast. 

“Angel Dust,” Isabel reached out, snagging his hand as he rushed to the door. “What happens now?” 

“I’m going to go to the hotel,” Angel Dust rounded on her, wrapping her up in four strong arms. “I’m going to talk to Alastor. Val is going to be pissed when he realizes I’ve left, I’m sorry- he’s probably going to take that out on you. I’ll be back tonight- if Al dosen’t put me on his fucking broadcast-”

“What does that mean?” 

“I’m absolutely not opening that can of worms with you right now,” Angel Dust gave her one last squeeze, “I’ll be back, with Al or with a plan. If I can avoid doing tonight, I will. I don’t think- with how he reacted just hearing your name last night, I don’t think he’ll let tonight happen.”

“What-?” 

“Not important. What’s important is that you need to play nice with Vox. Buy time and do not give him what he wants.” 

Angel Dust slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open behind him. He moved with stealth she wouldn’t have expected out of his thin but massive frame. He slipped between people, props and wardrobe racks with the practiced ease of someone who had decades of experience. 

“Where are my Angels?” Valentino called, voice warbling. 

Isabel took one last deep breath and walked out of the dressing room, wings once again tucked around her front. “I’m here,” she called timidly.

“And the other one? I saw you two talking.” 

“I don’t know?” Isabel made a show of looking around. 

Valentino thought for a moment before visibly shaking off the thought and focusing again on her. He grabbed her wings with both sets of his hands, pulling her wings away from her body. The grip was painful and pulled a few feathers from the flesh. 

“That set is very good for starting out. It’s not like it’ll stay on long. Or maybe it will,” He sang the last few words. “Keeping some of it on could be hotter.”

~~~~~<3

Angel Dust burst through the hotel doors, “Where’s Alastor?” 

“Waiting for you,” Alastor rose up from the shadows, clearly already in a terrible mood. 

“Yeah, yeah- I gotta talk to you.” 

“Wonderful, I’ve been waiting to speak to you for hours and yet you’ve been off doing all manner of things when you’re the only one who’s seen *my wife*.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about, Smiles. Either kill me now or let’s fucking talk because I have to be back there in a few hours.”

“Speak, then.” 

“We should have this talk in private,” 

Alastor rose an eyebrow as his smile twitched. He held out his arm, microphone tipped cane in hand as direction to take the conversation up the stairs and away from the lobby. Angel Dust lead the way until they were standing in the hall.

“Come along,” Alastor directed, taking the lead as he lead the way to his door. He didn’t particularly want to invite the spider into his personal space but he had been right, this was a conversation deserving of privacy. 

“Interesting decor choices,” Angel Dust said as he stepped into the half room, half bayou. 

“Tell me everything you know.” 

“Vox has her. He wants her. He knows she still considers herself married, she’s made that very clear but he wants her. He- I’m pretty sure half of the reason why is because of you.”

“Has he harmed her?” 

“Not yet, at least not physically.”

“Elaborate,” Alastor ordered before Angel had even had a chance to do so.

“He’s been tormenting her, trying to break her,” Angel hesitated before continuing. “She’s strong, did you know that?” 

“Indeed, to have a smile on her face and remain kind through the times she lived through took strength.” 

“She’s using all that strength right now,” Angel paused, taking a deep breath. “Please don’t kill me for what I’m about to tell you? Can we make a deal where you don’t shoot the messenger?” 

“Fine,” Sickly green light flared quickly only to recede. It was a minor deal, evoking only a touch of Alastor’s power. 

“Vox is letting Val use her in a film. He’s trying to use that to break her. That’s why- that’s how I know her,”

Alastor interrupted, “Use her how, exactly?” 

“He wants to make a porn with her. He wants to use me, to make me-” 

Alastor’s jaw twitched as he held up a hand, stopping the flow of Angel’s words, “When?” 

“Tonight. Al, I don’t want to, you know that, right? I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to do that to anyone, let alone her. Even if she wasn’t yours. Forcing people is all fun and games when it’s an act but she doesn’t want to. She only wants you and I’m not about forcing anyone. Not for real.” 

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @preciousbabypeter, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty

[sailtomarina]

There's no one here but us

cw: smut

If Hermione listened very carefully, she could still hear the sounds of cheering in the distance, as well as the occasional scream of what she hoped was delighted fright. She knew the Great Hall overflowed with candied dishes and pumpkin cider. The ghosts were out in full force, from the Headless Hunt—poor, Nick—to the Parade of Souls, complete with a Ghostly Wedding.

Halloween had returned to Hogwarts.

She could still be there, now, had she chosen to stay in the company of her friends. She could still go back and they wouldn’t say a single thing. Instead, she’d looked across the tables towards eyes that glinted silver. She’d stood and excused herself. She’d walked out and down a corridor she knew would be empty at this hour.

She didn’t even scream when pulled into an empty classroom.

How he always caught her off guard despite her expecting him, she could never figure out. It was like he was the one who’d grown up with a best friend’s Invisibility Cloak, rather than Hermione.

The door slammed shut, followed by locking and silencing spells. Strong hands pressed her into the door. A hard thigh ground into a core that pulsed with need.

“Malfoy, are you sure this is a good place—” Her protests were silenced by a thumb slipping past her lips, the hand cupping her jaw and lifting her eyes to look up at him.

“Shhh, there’s no one here but us, and that’s what silencing spells are for.” He replaced the loss of his thumb with a kiss that vanished any arguments. She couldn’t think past the sensation of him—the body that surrounded her, the heady smell of his cologne, the soft lips that covered her own. 

He worked his way along her jaw and down her neck, softly biting against the tender skin before sucking a bruise to the surface.

“What happened to the mark I left last time?” He murmured, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“I…ah! Healed them. There’d be too many questions.” Hermione clutched at his shoulder, her other hand combing through the white hair she’d always wanted to touch and was so much softer than she imagined.

“Leave this one.”

“But—”

“You can just glamour over it, or wear a scarf, if you want. I want to know it’s there, see it next time.”

She tried not to flush at the assurance of his words. Their trysts were never planned. They weren’t in anything she’d label a relationship. A warning bite on her nipple brought her attention back to him.

“You’ll leave it,” he ordered, looking up balefully at her.

“Yes.”

He rewarded her admission with a forgiving lick and a tweak to her other nipple. “Good girl.”

His words sent another rush through her, and she struggled to relieve the pressure against the thigh holding her up. Chuckling, he aided her, dropping his hands to her hips to pull her down against him.

“Nnnnggg, I need more, please!” Godric, how she whined. His grin showed how much he liked the way she pleaded with him.

“Yeah? Do you want to come like this, Granger?”

She nodded frantically, attempting to slide along his thigh but not finding the friction to do so.

“Or would you rather come on my cock?” He cut into the last word sharply, knowing just how much his words affected her.

“Gods, yes, please, Malfoy!”

She could feel his hands tightening on her hips, hard enough to leave bruises. Would he want her to leave those, too?

“Ask me nicely.” His words were soft, and she knew better than to mistake them for a sweet request.

“Please, Draco,” she whispered, “let me come on your cock,” barely getting the words out before he dropped his knee and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him.

He walked them the short distance it took to drop her onto the large desk at the front of the room. Falling to his knees, he pressed her skirt up and tucking fingers into the waistband of her knickers to slowly pull them down. She lifted up to help, receiving a swift kiss to her knee in appreciation.

Once he’d tucked the bit of white lace into his pocket, he tugged her forward so she barely sat on the edge of the desk. Hermione knew what was coming, but still found it unbelievable that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, treated oral sex like his favorite dessert. He dove into her folds like a man starved for too long. She didn’t think she could ever say no to him, either, because she was convinced that there couldn’t be another lover out there possible of bringing her to pleasure with their tongue as skillfully as he could—it was as if he was wired to her desires, even ones unknown to her.

He brought her to pleasure not just once, but twice, and nearly had her cresting a third time before he stopped short and surged upward to press into her with his delicious length, the tremors of her orgasms still wracking through her. She knew the pulsing created a near unbearable strangulation, and were he any less controlled, he might explode right there.

But this was Malfoy, a wizard who’d survived the past couple of years on the self-control in which his family excelled. He would die before he finished early and before he’d fulfilled his declaration of fucking an orgasm into Hermione Granger.

He hauled her legs up to rest on his shoulders and pressed his chest down to hers, affording him a deeper angle and making Hermione feel almost unbearably full of his generous length and girth. Regardless of the pressure, Hermione squeezed her inner muscles out of a different need, entirely.

“Fucking FUCK, fucking Granger,” he groaned, one hand grabbing onto her shoulder for leverage, the other gripping tight to her knee. He nearly lost control then, the long, smooth strokes giving way to a driving need that bordered the line between pleasure and pain.

Hermione loved making him lose it. She was half convinced that was what made him return to her again and again.

Oh, she knew about his history with other witches, knew of his reputation that they couldn’t help but giggle and whisper about. He was oh so proper before the war, but now he looked like he was trying to lose himself in pursuit of pleasure.

She knew he’d thought about her for months, perhaps even longer. She saw the way his followed her and waited for the day he made his move. Now, here they were, and here they’d been for far longer than she knew he spent on anyone else.

If only the sex weren’t so good.

Hermione had lost any sexual inhibitions she might have had before, too. Except, unlike Malfoy, she kept her conquests to herself. There would be no whispers, no memories of the time spent between her thighs. She took, then she wiped all evidence clean. She’d planned the same for Malfoy, had even done the same to Malfoy the first time.

Still, he persisted.

She thought he’d lose interest like all the other boys. Surely, his subconscious would understand it had obtained what it wanted and move on. Yet, after their admittedly mind blowing night of debauchery, he confronted her just as determined as he had the first time. His eyes held the same hunger. So Hermione set aside her previous plans and indulged. She would let this go on for as long as she could until he started to lose interest.

How could she not resist attentions that lifted her above everything else and made her feel like the center of his entire universe. They might not hold hands or even talk in public unless required, but there was no denying the possessive looks, nor the jealous touches every time someone even hinted at flirting with her.

Hermione reveled in the baffled looks other witches wore when their approaches were rebuffed or, worse, ignored. Perhaps that was what prompted her to slip her hands underneath his shirt and rake her nails down the bare skin of his back. She’d leave her marks on that lily white flesh and demand he leave them.

He hissed at the pain, dropping his hand from her shoulder to wrap around her neck. At the same time, his other hand slid down her thigh to circle a thumb around her clit. Hermione felt like she was being squeezed into a tunnel devoid of anything but his hand around her throat, the tireless pumping of his cock, the maddening touch of his thumb just barely where she wanted it. The walls closed in, and, sensing her increasing urgency, Malfoy finally pressed exactly where she needed. 

With a gasp, she careened straight into her third orgasm, and he loosened his grip, allowing blessed air to drive her to greater heights. She wailed in the ongoing rhythm of him sliding through her clenching depths. It wasn’t until she shuddered that he gave in to the pressure and spent himself into her, groaning and swearing as he emptied in bursts.

They collapsed together, his body deliciously weighing her down. Odd, how with anybody else, Hermione would feel smothered, pushing them off of her once the moment was over. She felt like she could lie under him for hours yet.

He moved to pull away, and she wrapped her arm around his back to resist. “Please stay, at least just for a little longer.”

“I’m not crushing you?” he asked, surprise tinging his voice. With their bodies pressed together this way, she could feel their hearts slowing, their breaths just starting to even out.

“I like the weight of you.”

He obliged and relaxed once more, muscles loose and fingers drawing circles on her skin. They stayed like that until goosebumps raised in the wake of his fingertips and she shivered in the chill of the room.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” he said softly, finally rolling off of her. 

Hermione felt an  immediate and irrational sense of loss. That, too, was unlike her. Was she getting attached to Malfoy?

Perhaps it was time to move on.

Once their clothes were back to rights and they stood ready to leave the room, Hermione raised her wand to point it at the back of his head.

“Hermione.”

Her name fell from his lips without him even turning around, and she froze.

“Can we just…explore this?

She could see the tension in his shoulders, how they tightened beneath the thick robes. He kept his back to her as if looking her in the eye would set her off.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” she asked quietly.

“Then why are you trying to make me forget again?”

Again?

This time, he did turn around. His movement was slow, giving her plenty of time to cast her spell. When he finally faced her, the look in his eyes caused her to lower her wand.

He wasn’t guarded like he often was in front of everyone else, nor was he smirking with that signature uptick of his lips. He left himself completely open to her, and, for once, she could see him clearly.

“You know,” she stated.

He nodded.

“How?”

“We Malfoys have always excelled at Occlumency.”

“I was pretty sure it stuck.” She was more than sure at the time.

“It did, for a little while,” he admitted. “I could tell something was off, though. I have certain…safeguards…in place.”

They stared at one another silently, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Hermione’s wand twitched against her leg.

Maybe she could do a series of memory spells, layer them in such a way that he’d never figure out how to undo them even if he did realize something was missing. Doing that properly would take further study, though. She wasn’t confident in casting anything so complicated for the first time in panic.

Take the loss now. Come back and finish the job later when his guard was down.

Just as she was about to pretend defeat and convince him to let them go on their separate ways, he surprised her yet again.

“How about we make a deal?” He leaned back against the door looking for all the world like she hadn’t just tried to wipe his memories.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she took the bait. “What kind of deal?”

Relief seemed to flash across his face for a brief moment, but in a blink his face was back to carefree confidence.

“We have this,” he waved at the space between them, “but I’d like us to get to know each other out there.” He jerked a thumb behind him.

“…out there,” she deadpanned. What, did he want to have outdoor sex?

He sighed in exasperation and buried his face in his hands. He took a few deep breaths before raising his head again, jaw set.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’d like us to be friends, Granger.”

He was saying words that she knew individually, but when strung together didn’t fit within the box of her expectations.

“…friends.”

“Can you stop repeating the last words of my sentences?”

She coughed in embarrassment, realizing she’d done to him exactly what Harry and Ron had done to her so many times in the past. She was a smart witch. She could gather her thoughts before opening her mouth.

“Why me?” she asked, scrambling for more time to think.

He raised one elegant brow. “Other than I like having sex with you and don’t fancy forgetting it?

She nodded, again tapping her wand against her leg. His eyes flickered down to catch the movement, before he brought them back up to answer her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have many friends left. You’re one of the few people I spend any amount of time with.”

She had noticed. There was the obvious evidence that he was something of a pariah in his house after everything that had happened. Very few of their year had even returned, most noticeably in Slytherin. They were either dead, like Crabbe, transferred, like Zabini and Parkinson, or hadn’t been close friends with Malfoy in the first place, like Tracy Davis.

“What about Nott?” She’d seen him hanging out with the dark-haired boy from time to time, almost always separate from anyone else.

“Yeah, Theo’s a good mate,” he conceded. “We’re a lot alike. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to get to know you more.”

“You said this is a deal. What if we find out we don’t make such good buddies?” 

“Then I’ll remove my safeguards and let you wipe everything clean,” he immediately responded.

He said it like it was so easy, removing an extended period of time from existence. Casual sex was one thing, but friendship? Where did one even draw the line between normal interactions and something more meaningful? If she was forced to cast the spells, she’d have to concoct reasons for their fallout that would bear weight under the scrutiny of those around them—reasons that people like Theo Nott would believe.

“Time frame?”

“Graduation.”

She frowned. “That’s too long. The closer we get, the more memories I’ll have to tamper with.”

“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.” He looked amused, She didn’t bother batting away his hand when it reached out to play with the sleeve of her jumper.

“What about Christmas?” That was only a couple month’s away. “It’s still a decent chunk of time to manipulate…nobody will bat an eyelash at a falling out between now and then, and there’ll be the holiday to reset everything for the following year.”

“Again, you say that like failing is a sure thing.”

Hermione huffed. “Take it, or leave it, Malfoy.

He let go of her hem to trail his fingers beneath hers and raise them to his lips. “I’ll take it.”

His kiss against her skin was gentle, the tone of his voice hopeful. Despite her reservations, she felt likewise inclined towards something bordering on warmth.

Now that she needed to control.

“I’m not interested in making love or being sweet.”

His grin split across his face as he took delight in her declaration. “Lucky for you, I am multifaceted.”

For some reason, Hermione felt the need to elaborate. “That isn’t because I’m incapable of either.”

“I never said you were,” he replied quickly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a raised hand. “But if you ever change your mind, I want to know.”

How he oscillated from playful to serious so quickly, she could never figure out. Perhaps she would some day if they actually got to know one another.

Rather than stagger their exits, they walked out together back towards the Great Hall. Like friends. The closer they got to the staircases, the better they could hear the festive noises still spilling out from the central area. It was as they were passing the girl’s bathroom that Hermione remembered another Halloween, the image of a snot-covered wand rising to memory.

“What’s so funny?”  Draco looked quizzically at her as she chuckled.

She considered him, the half light of the corridor casting shadows on his handsome face and his hair still ruffled from where she’d grabbed on earlier. His lips were slightly swollen, the pink standing out against his otherwise pale skin. 

“Do you remember Halloween of First Year and the troll?”

“How could I forget?” He snorted and shook his head. “Quirrell came running in all freaked out and everybody panicked. Why do you ask?”

“Well, what really happened was…”

The easiest place Hermione could think of starting this thing of theirs was telling him the truth behind the stories only the boys and she knew. Maybe after hearing them, he’d come to his senses and realize she was more trouble than it was worth.

She talked, he listened and laughed hard enough to hug his ribs, and she found herself telling him more.

“I can’t believe they took away points for you being in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Or, maybe not. Maybe, he was onto something.

WC 3032

Twitter prompt from @DramionePrompts

Cross posted on Tumblr  and AO3

This was SUPPOSED to be a smutty short without story or feelings, but apparently I'm incapable of just cutting all those things out, which is how this became something just a tad longer than my usual daily prompt. Rather than taking just the one day, I ended up thinking about it the past few days.

[skankinator]

Complications Ch. 3

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: p in v, broken condom

His eyes roam your naked body as you straddle him. You can feel his hard cock through his jeans. His large hands rest on your thighs, his thumbs draw circles. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He asks making sure you are recovered from your first orgasm.

“I’m more than ready,” you say grinding down on him making a sort of growl escape from within him. He wraps his arms around you pulling you to his chest. Your lips move aggressively against each other. Your breasts brush against his chest stimulating your nipples.

Finally, you break the kiss and reach to undo his pants. This time he lets you pull down his jeans and boxers revealing his hard cock. It is larger than you expected, certainly above average. You slide your hands up his thighs and wrap them around his girth.

You begin pumping his length occasionally giving his tip extra attention. He leans his head back in pleasure. Droplets of precum form at his tip. You lick them off circling his tip with your tongue. He moans and grips his hands in your hair.

To your surprise, he pulls your head away making you look at him. “As much as I would love your mouth around my dick, I would much rather fuck you properly,” he says in a deep voice full of lust. He runs his hands down your body settling on your hips and asks, “are you on birth control?”

“Fuck,” you say closing your eyes, “I’m not. Do you have a condom?” You look at him hopefully.

“Not with me,” he says loosening his grip on your hips. Neither of you want to let this road block stop your plans. You sat in silence for a moment before you perked up.

You climbed off of him and walked over to one of your still packed boxes. He sits up and watches you curiously. You mumble to yourself as you dig through the box. “Yes!” You exclaim and turn around triumphantly. In your hand is a rainbow colored condom with an umbrella on the label.

He looks at you with a questioning look as you rejoin him in bed. “It’s from a drag show I went to with a friend. They tossed them out during ‘It’s Raining Men’” you quickly explained not making the questioning look go away, but adding a smile to it.

He pulls you on top of him so you are straddling him again. “That’s my new favorite song,” he whispers in your ear. You laugh pushing him down on the bed. You unwrap the condom and put it on his big cock.

You lineup your center with his rainbow cock and lower yourself onto him. You both gasp when his tip enters. You start moving your hips taking more of him with each motion. His hands are squeezing your hips so hard he might leave bruises.

Suddenly you are on your back. He has rolled over so he is on top. His hands are now pushing your legs apart to make more room for him. He pushes deeper within you causing a gasping moan to leave your mouth.

His thrusts are steady and strong. The sound of your skin smacking together fills the room. Your pussy clenches around him as he continues pounding. Your arms are wrapped around his body, nails clawing into his back. Pleasure builds in your body with each thrust. You can feel yourself on the edge of your release.

He keeps pounding into you as you reach your peak. You moan as your orgasm moves through you sparking fireworks all over your body. His thrusts begin to slow and you can feel him cum in you as he lets out a long moan.

His body collapses on top of you at the end of his release. He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck placing kisses while he catches his breath. One hand runs through his hair while your other hand runs across the marks left on his back.

He sits up and pulls out of you. “Oh fuck,” he spits out in a panic. You sit up to see what’s wrong. All of the rainbow condom is missing except the ring still wrapped around his penis.

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Not a hc or sentence. But maybe a situation. Steve is the one on the right (on top of the... dryer??) and Eddie is left. 😄

If it sparks something! If not that's totally okay too!!

ACTUALLY LOVE THIS.

It's not technically spicy but it's suggestive and does mention sex.

"Where is it?" Eddie's entire upper body was in the laundry basket, searching for his one and only nice button down shirt.

Steve was watching him look, shoving a bite of cereal in his face.

They were both mostly naked, only having woken up 20 minutes before and pushing getting ready until the last possible moment.

"Steve, seriously. Where did you put it after you washed it?"

"Where do all things go after I wash them?" Steve said around a mouthful of Honeycombs.

Eddie stood up and turned to Steve, hands on his hips.

He wordlessly took the few steps towards him, pushing his legs apart and ignoring the gasp Steve let out, nearly choking on his food.

Eddie leaned down between Steve's legs and opened the dryer door, his warm breath sending goosebumps across Steve's thighs.

"Ah-ha! You hid it from me!" Eddie exclaimed, pulling away with the shirt in his hands.

"It's not exactly hiding when it's in the place it had to be to dry, baby."

Eddie smirked at Steve, leaning closer to him, close enough to smell his leftover cologne from their night out with Robin, Jonathan, Argyle, and Nancy the night before.

"No smart mouthing me on our wedding day, huh?" Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thought I shut you up pretty good when we got home, but I guess you got some left in ya."

Steve let the blush take over. Despite being with Eddie for nearly eight years, living together for most of that time, and seeing each other in every possible situation, Eddie still made him blush like the first time he flirted with him when he was high on morphine in the hospital.

"It's your own fault the shirt got messy in the first place," Steve finally said, brow quirking up as he tried to get some control over the conversation back.

"Actually, it was your fault. If I'm remembering correctly, I wasn't the one who came the moment a hand was on him."

Steve's eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't the moment."

"Sorry. The second moment then."

Steve rolled his eyes, but set his bowl on top of the washing machine, scooting the inch or so closer to Eddie and wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Can't help that your hands are so good at what they do," Steve whispered against his lips.

"Stevie..."

"What? Just wanna kiss you. I can kiss my soon-to-be-husband, right?"

"My shirt's gonna get messy again, isn't it?" Eddie's words vibrated against Steve's lips.

"Maybe."

"Nancy will kill us both."

Steve threw his head back and laughed.

"I think she's half expecting you to show up in an Iron Maiden shirt anyway, Eds. A slightly messy shirt won't even be on her radar," Steve kissed down his neck, nipping a bruise that he didn't remember leaving the night before.

Eddie's hands tightened on his hips as he let out a groan.

"Fine. But you deal with her when she blames me."

"Deal."

The shirt did end up with a rather large questionable stain, but as Steve predicted, Nancy didn't even notice, her head too busy making sure everything else was perfect for their backyard wedding.

Robin, however, shook her head in disgust when they arrived late and somewhat disheveled.

[captain-mj]

Can we get a part 2 for that Ghost and Soap muzzle fic I think I started drooling

Of course! Previous part though its not necessary to understand this one

Despite taking the original muzzle with them, Ghost refused. At first, Soap thought he had backed out and he understood. Even if Ghost promised, he'd never ever force him to do anything. Of course he was disappointed, but he let it go.

Ghost asked him to come to his room one night, which wasn't unusual, but he seemed a little nervous.

Soap walked into the room and froze.

Ghost had a new muzzle on. Different leather, black instead of brown, clearly higher quality and it fit better. The studs on them were silver and Ghost was undressed to his underwear. Black boxers that hung to his hips. Pale skin covered in pale pink scarring. He was laying on the bed but propped up on his elbows so they could still make eye contact, as if Ghost was not avoiding it.

"Making good on my promise." Ghost fluttered his pretty eyelashes. The muzzle had fabric that kept the bottom part of his face covered which was devastating before Soap realized that meant it would be used multiple times. "I... just couldn't stomach the old one."

"Simon, if you're uncomfortable," Soap started but Ghost cut him off.

"No, I... I kinda..." He didn't look at him but Soap got it. Maybe other times, he'd tease him for it. Hell, Ghost would definitely tease him for it. But right now, Ghost was undressed, vulnerable and looking very pretty. His hair had grown out recently, but it clearly looked freshly bleached. Soft, almost platinum hair curling around his ears.

Soap moved closer and gently pushed him down into the bed. Ghost looked up at him, skin turning pink.

"You know my boundaries. I trust you." He put his hands above his head like before.

Soap hummed and reached down and off the bed. He found the ropes Ghost usually used to tie him up and grabbed the silk one. "Just your wrists, okay? I love testing your self control, but I'm planning on making you lose it."

Ghost shifted higher up the bed and put his hands next to one of the posts. Soap pretended that was his original idea and quickly Ghost's wrists to it, double looping it a few times to make absolutely sure he couldn't just snap it. The knots were sturdy, but not complicated. Enough Ghost couldn't brute force it but could easily untie.

Ghost stayed silent until Soap pulled his attention back to him. The tiny shuddering breath that came out of him was addicting.

Soap leaned down and kissed his neck, grabbing the muzzle and forcing his head back. Soft, open mouth kisses before he bit down. "Always bruise me up yet you never let me. Rather unfair of you, Lt."

"Johnny..." Ghost sounded entirely to... together. Soap sucked hickeys on to him before moving down, biting at his pecs and feeling him tense. His mortuary scars were sensitive, usually Soap wouldn't touch them at all, not because Ghost would mind, just because he had better places to put his hands. But he had so much time.

He slowly ran his tongue along them and Ghost whimpered. It made Soap's head spin. Still gentle, they were scar tissue after all, he sucked a few hickeys along the large scar on his ribs. Ghost trembled, body arching just a little before he quickly relaxed and went still again.

"Simon."

Soap felt the shuddering breath underneath him, even though he didn't hear it.

"Yes?"

"You're gorgeous."

"Johnny..." Much better. He sounded breathy, bordering on whining.

Soap continued. Not just on Ghost's scars. Any sensitive place he could find really.

Once Ghost's chest felt adequately ravaged, Soap moved down to his thighs. Ghost clamped his legs together as if to keep him from touching him, but as soon as Soap put his hands on him, he spread them again. He ran his nails along his inner thighs, reveling in the soft sound that got from him.

Soap slowly pulled off his boxers, noting how damp they were. Good to know Ghost really was enjoying this. He leaned down and gently kissed the tip of his cock, feeling him jerk just a little. Soap trailed kisses down his cock and darted his tongue out to trace a few of the veins he could see.

Ghost groaned and relaxed, in much more familiar territory. His hips stayed pressed to the bed but there was a strain in them now, a desperate need to stay down. Soap rewarded him by taking all of him and holding him in the back of his throat, sucking softly.

He pulled off with a wet pop. "Simon, shift up on the pillows a little." It was a bit difficult for him but like always, Ghost managed. Soap could now see his face and more importantly, his eyes. Pupils blown and they kept shifting around. Focusing anywhere besides Soap.

"Look at me." Ghost slid his gaze to him, making eye contact. Soap dragged his tongue up his cock, careful to keep it. Well, until Ghost's head tilted back and he came. Soap trailed up and down using his fingers. "Huh. You must've been pent up. Or are you just that sensitive?"

Ghost turned bright red. "My uh... My thighs have always been a bit of a... sensitive area."

"And you never thought to tell me? How mean." Soap grinned ferally. He could see Ghost trying to squirm, either from embarrassment or because Soap was still touching his cock. He leaned down and sucked dark hickeys into his inner thighs, scratching down until he felt Ghost start to pant again. Worked like a charm, he was soon back to being hard and flushed.

"This is why I didn't tell you." Ghost panted out but Soap paid him no mind. He grabbed lube and glanced at Ghost. After a second, he timidly shook his head and Soap nodded. He straddled Ghost and slicked his fingers to start working himself open. Unlike before, he took his time, hand splayed on Ghost's chest. They kept staring at each other and he could see the tendons in Ghost's neck from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Every muscle in his arm tensing and for a brief moment, Soap thought he might just snap the post. But it held firm.

Soap pulled his fingers out, wiping the lube on Ghost's chest who immediately huffed at him. He slid down on him, groaning at the delicious stretch.

"Wish I could kiss you right now."

"You could take it off?" Ghost grumbled.

"Nah. I like this too much. You, unable to do anything other than take. Finally letting me take care of you, ya bastard." He took his time. Careful to keep control. It took a longer amount of time than he was expecting, betting on overstimulation and desperation to get to Ghost, but Ghost did start to crack. His hips jerked up and he let out more of those adorable whimpers. At one point, he even yanked the ropes as if they'd snap.

Soap slid his hand up and then around his throat, watching Ghost's eyes widen as he stared at him. He didn't apply pressure at first. But then Ghost bared his throat to him and gave the smallest nod and Soap put both his hands there, squeezing just enough for Ghost to feel the pressure. Ghost swallowed and Soap could feel his throat bobbing under his hands.

Ghost growled and tried to press into him more. Into his hands, into his body, into him. Chasing what Soap was dangling in front of him. He taunted him a little more, lifting up slightly so he couldn't do much. Soap laughed at the snarl that got out of him.

"Feral huh?" He leaned down and kissed Ghost's temple. Ghost stared at him helplessly. Both so angry and so desperate and so wanting.

Soap couldn't help himself. He started to ride him hard and fast, squeezing his throat every time he felt him bottom out. Ghost's eyes glazed over and all the tension relaxed but he never quite took his gaze off Soap.

Soap finished first, all over Ghost's pretty chest. He made a gorgeous picture. Pale skin covered in red and purple bruises and teeth marks now marred with white. He'd need to draw this later. Maybe now. Ghost would probably let him. He completely ignored that his own thoughts were getting fuzzy and that he was struggling to keep a rhythm, focusing only on how gorgeous his lover looked.

Ghost came silently, the only real indication being the feeling of it inside Soap. He looked at him lazily and Soap quickly cut the rope. He slid the muzzle off, noticing it didn't leave marks like the last one. He rubbed at his skin anyway. Ghost made something akin to a purring noise.

"Absolutely perfect."

"Johnny." Ghost said sweetly.

[p1nkcanoe]

dreamy bruises

[ mountain x secondo smut ]

summary: secondo calls upon his most massive ghoul for a favor. warnings: anal sex, rough sex, oral sex, facials words: 2014

!! for @copiasjuicebox since we've talked so much about secondo's gorgeous ass

Click here to read on Ao3 or read below:

“My ghoul,” Secondo sighs, almost bored in tone and inflection. He cranes his neck back where it's pressed against his mattress to catch the eyes of the massive earth ghoul who’s pushing the head of his dick agonizingly slow into his hole. “Get on with it, won’t you? I have paperwork in my office more interesting than this.” 

Secondo’s room is warm both in atmosphere and in temperature, lit by the grand stone hearth that crackles and burns bright, and Mountain is already covered in a thin layer of sweat. He’s nervous, has been since the tiny sibling knocked on the door to the den and requested that Mountain meet his Papa in his bedroom. “ASAP,” she’d said before turning on her heels and escaping back into the abbey. He’d thought he’d been in trouble, perhaps finally getting punishment for the marble bust he’d accidentally walked into months ago. What he didn’t expect was to find his Papa strewn out on his bed clad only in an evergreen colored robe and a glass of red wine in his hand, beckoning him inside and asking him to lock the door behind him. “I have a special request…” he’d said in that gorgeous, husky voice. Everything after that had been a blur. 

Mountain pushes in. It’s still slow, despite the obscene amount of lube that he’d slicked up his dick with, but Secondo seems to be pleased with it. He groans, grits his teeth as the ghoul slides in, drinking up the sting of delicious pain as he stretches around the biggest cock he’s ever taken in his life. His fists tangle expensive silk sheets between his fingers. Every muscle in his body is rigid and Mountain keeps petting at his sides, reminding him gently to relax, until finally his hips meet the back of his thighs and push into those round, hairless cheeks. He ghosts the tips of his claws over the small of his Papa’s back, listening and focusing on the sound of his breathing, the pound of his heartbeat, and waiting for him to open up completely so as to not cause him any real pain–or worse–bear him an injury. 

“Well?” Secondo looks back at him again. This time, it’s irritation etched onto his features. “Am I going to have to hold your hand through this or are you going to fuck your Papa?” 

Mountain stutters, repositions his hands on Secondo’s hips and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Papa. I wasn’t sure if you wanted time to adjust or–”

“I appreciate your hesitance, but if I wanted to feel mediocre cock I would've called for Water.”

Mountain frowns. Secondo is still so tight around him, still pulsing and spasming around such a large intrusion, and he desperately wants to give him at least a minute more to get used to it. Even Earth, the biggest size queen he knows, takes a moment to breathe before they really get started. But he also doesn’t want to get chirped at again, doesn’t want to make his Papa crane that pretty neck of his, so against his own wishes he pulls out until his head catches on his rim and pushes back in with a snap of solid hips. It forces a punched, ugly noise from Secondo’s throat and Mountain almost stops to ask him if he’s okay, but then he - “Again. Harder, faster.” And Mountain straightens back up on his knees and does as he’s told. 

The next few sounds are equally as ugly, equally as guttural, but Mountain doesn’t stop. He digs his fingers into Secondo’s hips, grips onto hard muscle and bone, and pulls back into every rough punch of his hips. It doesn’t take long before the man under him adjusts to the abuse, his lips pursing closed to show his pleasure through pretty hums rather than harsh vocalizations. He gives him a particularly hard thrust that jerks his body forward, sliding over slippery satin, and still, he offers him a pretty moan in return, pleased despite how his knuckles are as white as the sheets folded around him. 

His Papa is pretty like this, on his knees with his chest pushed into his own mattress. He’s not as beefy as Omega is, but just as tall, maybe taller. His body, thick with muscle and fat, is divine and the ghoul can’t help himself from touching. He runs his hands over the broad plane of his back, feels his skin and kneads it with the heel of his palms. His thighs are perfect, too. Just the perfect combination of muscle hidden beneath a solid layer of fat dimpled with cellulite and imperfection. His Papa is human. It’s a reminder of his mortality, his fragility… He loves it. 

Mountain could stay like this for a while, fucking into his Papa’s hole and exploring the shape and the foreign feel of his body, but in truth he’s getting bored. His thighs are stiff, uncomfortable from kneeling for so long, and his ass is beginning to cramp, so the ghoul pulls out almost completely and adjusts himself to plant his right foot flat against the mattress. He pushes back in and Secondo mewls at the slight change in angle. He’s more free to move this way. He has better control of his hips. The new position makes anything he’s given him before seem amateur. 

Large hands splay themselves back against his hips, using the leverage to pull him back onto his cock when he pistons forward. And Secondo seems to enjoy it. He squirms against the sheets, stretching his thick arms out in front of him to grab on to the edge of the mattress for some sort of hold that he won’t grasp. Mountain fucks him hard, rough, and can’t help but still feel a little uneasy about the punched and pained noises that fall from his lips. But he’d asked for it, told him hard and fast, so Mountain gives it to him. 

“More, my ghoul,” he forces out between thrusts, his voice strained and hissing through his teeth. 

“Papa, forgive me, but I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Hurt me. Make me sore. Bite me, scratch me, I don’t care–fuck your Papa like you mean it.” 

He does mean it. He’s really trying to give his Papa what he needs, but somehow he still manages to fall short. Mountain sighs, catches his breath before pulling out completely and using Secondo’s hips as a support, he gets up on both feet and crouches into an awkward squat. “My ghoul, what’re you–oh–!” Mountain lines his dick up with his hole and plants the other hand on his waist. He drops his hips and bends his knees and oh, it’s good. 

The new position and angle means that Mountain isn’t only fucking him, isn’t just thrusting his hips forward until they meet that pretty, round ass, but it mean’s that he’s dropping most of his weight into his hips and really drilling him. It’s rough, powerful, and every drop makes his Papa nearly scream in pleasure. He fucks him real good, puts everything he’s got into pounding his ass, and he’s grunting, growling deep in his chest while his muscles ache and burn in exertion. 

“Finally. I knew you were more than just a big dick. Finally, a gifted ghoul who can actually use the thing.” 

Secondo lets out a breathy little laugh after that like he can’t believe it and Mountain doesn’t know quite what to say. How many ghouls have been in his place? How many have been granted this privilege? He doesn’t know, isn’t sure if he wants to know, so he doesn’t respond. Instead, settling for leaning further forward and over his Papa, planting his hands on his sides near his fragile ribs and pressing more of his weight into him there. Mountain is a massive ghoul. Bearing most of his weight into the much smaller man and still expecting him to hold himself up is almost a loss. Secondo shakes. His thighs wobble, threaten to give out, and his back arches into a position that is clearly unfamiliar and harsh for him. The weight makes it difficult for him to breathe and suck in a proper breath but Mountain couldn’t care less. He’s too far gone himself, driven by his own need to cum and also maybe get some healing quintessence magic in him later to deal with the ache. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Secondo wheezes, punctuated by moans. “Keep going, keep doing that.” 

Mountain fucks his Papa so hard that his bed shakes against it’s wooden supports and the headboard slams against the wall. The noises that come from him are growls, feral and ghoulish in nature, and he digs into the sheets, chasing his own end. 

Beneath him, he watches as Secondo snakes an arm underneath his body to stroke his cock. He watches, enraptured by the movement of his arm as it glides over his dick, and licks at his fangs when Secondo curses at the stimulation, speeding up faster and faster and faster until his legs shake impossibly more and he cums with a shout over his hand and his expensive, silk sheets. 

“Papa, where do you want me to–”

He cuts him off before he can finish. 

“Pull out.” 

Mountain really doesn’t want to pull out. What he really wants is to keep pounding into his Papa’s ass until his balls squeeze up tight and he floods that pretty hole. But he’s not in charge here. Not in this room. So he forces himself up using the old man’s hips again and clambers down to his knees again. The ability to rest his aching muscles is almost enough to send him over the edge as is. 

“Help me up, won’t you? Then I need you in that armchair,” he motions to a crushed velvet armchair next to the fire. “I’m going to finish you off.” 

Mountain shuffles back until he’s able to stand on the wooden floor and he offers out his hand to Secondo, who takes it and uses it to shakily rise from the bed and onto the floor. He motions to the chair again and Mountain gets the hint, guiding his Papa to the spot and sitting. Secondo sinks to his knees before him. 

The first contact of his tongue against the tip of his flushed dick is like lightning. His mouth is hot, not as hot as Alpha’s or even Air’s, but warm and wet and good and he throbs when he wraps a hand around it. He tries to sink his mouth onto his shaft, to take him down, but it’s apparent that that won’t be happening. His lips go taut only two inches down before Mountain’s girth stretches him too far. It’s nothing the ghoul isn’t used to. Secondo rises back up towards the tip, sucks at it and uses his tongue to lick up his pre that wells in his mouth. He’s not the best at giving head, but it’s enough. 

Mountain groans when Secondo bobs his head over the small section of his length, using his hands for the rest of it, and it doesn’t take him long to reach his end. He feels it in his stomach, then feels it in his balls as they tighten up and he’s too slow to ask where his Papa wants it before he’s cumming hot and thick over his mouth, nose, and cheek. Mortification sets in quickly once the high fades away. 

“Papa–I didn’t mean to–” 

Secondo raises a hand up to shush him. “It’s good, my ghoul. But please, grab your Papa a washcloth and start the bath…” 

Mountain gawks, frozen in place, as he watches him drag a finger through the mess on his cheek and suck it into his mouth until it's clean. The glimmer of it, shiny with spit, is enough to snap him out of it and he jumps up, rushing to the bathroom to waste no more time. If he wants this again, he needs to make this the best bath of his life.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 18: Pain

SWTOR

Rating: E for Explicit -- it's kinky and a bit graphic

CW: biting, lovebites, and a little bit of blood; oral sex, male receiving

Time: Anytime after 25 ATC

Words: 1215, with all warned content under the cut

Note: I still don't know how to feel about this one. Heed the warnings; it's different from my usual fare.

~~

Her breath caught as he finished describing what he wanted.  “Are…. Are you sure?”  Eva finally managed to stutter out.

Theron hadn’t asked for …anything like this before.  He wasn’t… into this sort of thing.  Hell, she’d had to convince him it was fine and acceptable and even preferred when he wanted something in the bedroom. 

Now he had laid out a rather detailed plan for the evening.

Her face must have given away the concern behind her questions; Theron reached for the tumbler of whiskey she’d found him with and finished it off in a single, long sip.  That wasn’t his first one of the night, she guessed.  “Yeah.”  He stared at the empty glass for more than a few moments before putting it back on the table.  “…I…”  His lips pulled downward as he struggled – still struggled – to be fully open with her. 

They’d been together for years now, and there was always one more door to unlock with him. 

But Eva was the one who could hack through his defenses and pry him open. 

The olive-gold eyes gleamed up at her in the dimness.  “I don’t – I don’t want to think of SIS anymore.  Of my old life.  Before you.  How I was.”  The frown deepened momentarily before he reached for her hand, just to hold it.  He stared at her bare, pale skin, just visible in the scant light, before following her arm up to her face.  Then Theron’s face was open, vulnerable, and eager.  “When I ache, I only want to think of you.”

Her heart fluttered slightly as she squeezed his hand.  “To bed, then?”

~~~~~

So careful. So very careful.

Enough to bruise, he’d instructed.  

The moonlight on Odessen came down through the viewports of her bedroom in narrow beams.  They danced in and out of the clouds that night, occasionally revealing her handiwork on his bare skin.  The light sometimes caught her nude form, teasing him.

They had started with his back.  Then he had laid open to her on their bed, hiding nothing from her and her mouth.  He’d propped himself up with a few spare pillows to watch her.

The tension built with each slide, each taste, each moment he would gasp just a little louder, every time his pulse jumped under the press of her body.   He grew harder, thicker as the shadows played.

She’d checked in a few times when she heard him hiss air through his teeth.  He’d waved her off, told her to keep going. 

Other times, he’d moaned and told her ‘yes.’

She was aroused by how he was splayed, showing all of his tender spots to her and trusting her not to hurt him.  For once, he was passive, letting her touch what she wanted, when she wanted – but only on the way to delivering what he had asked for.

The inside of his knee, then his thigh.  He cried out, a combination of pain and desire.  An unexpected bolt of arousal caused her to impulsively do it again --- a great gasp---

“Oh, God, I  – ”

“It’s fine—”

“--- I think I broke the skin  –”

“Don’t care – finish it.”  Theron’s large calloused hand out to cradle Eva’s face, his eyes becoming molten gold as he commanded?  Begged? 

The lines of power had been smudged and smeared, just like the blood that dripped from his thigh to the bed, the sheets shifting over it. 

He pulled her up to his mouth, the kiss disrupted by his hitching breath as she brushed by so many painful spots.  He was still so powerful, and she thought she would drown in him before he pulled himself back.  Heavy breathing, sweat forming from the intensity.  “Finish me off.”

Blindly, she went by touch and long-shared intimacy.  She tasted his salt, his brief bitterness, and then the head of his thick cock was in her mouth.  The hand on his shaft gently twisted, and he growled.  Out of the periphery of her vision, she could sense he had grabbed at the headboard, fighting the impulse to grip the back of her head.

That was for other nights, not this one.

Her tongue teased at his tip as she pumped him, and then her other hand snaked between his legs to press against the sensitive skin.  He cursed and let out a long raunchy moan as her mouth slid down and up with her hand. 

As his abdomen tensed and jumped with each stroke and slide, she felt him grow as hard as beskar.  He was never shy about his pleasure, but now every breath was a  gasped word of praise, her name, a groan.  He was at her mercy ---

And she was a merciful goddess, as he keened her name one last time.  He came in her mouth with a great burst and a shout: “Oh, love!”  She felt his body almost vibrate against hers as he was carried away by the wave of pleasure. 

Eva went still as his release pumped into her mouth, the rest of him sinking back into the bed.  Theron panted, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were unfocused, dazed.  He trembled slightly as she slid him back out of her mouth, then he reached for her.

**

Eva woke in darkness.  Her hand swept across the sheets and found empty space, though she could still feel his warmth. She opened her eyes and realized he was still in their room.  He had turned on the small lamp on her desk, bathing a small section of the room in gentle light.

Theron had the body of a defaced god.  One could see the art in his form, how carefully honed it was and how beautiful it was by its nature.  He was muscle.  He was power.  But time and enemies had worn on him, chipping away at his physical perfection. A slash here.  A gouge there.  Divots.  Physical graffiti had been cruelly applied to Theron.  Eva had always seen his scars; she wouldn’t recognize him without them.

Now he inspected her handiwork in the mirror.  Over every single one of his scars – even the one from swoop racing on his wrist – was a love bite, a bruise that had already purpled.  There were some parts of him that she couldn’t see the natural color of his flesh, and that made her heart twist.  Eva managed to say from their bed, “You must be so sore.”

Theron hummed softly in response, twisted his back toward the mirror, and craned his head over his shoulder to see how thorough she had been.   “I much rather think of tonight than whenever I got these.”  His hand skimmed down over his pectoral muscle and then just below it and down his ribcage, feeling the entry wound as he stared at the exit wound behind him, both obscured by bruises.

She could not argue with that.  “Come back to bed?”

Theron tore his eyes away from the mirror to focus on her.  “Not to sleep.”

Then his warm, strong body overwhelmed her, and she was lost to the night.

~~

@fluffyfebruary

[orexias]

@dreadspvwn : [ circle ] — my muse makes shapes with your muse’s c*m on the floor/their belly/etc / nsft memes. no longer accepting.

la petit mort. the littest death - the feeling that one has between life and death, and bedsheets. nesta had always wondered, did the little death get tithed to bhaal, or to yog'sogoth?

despite having wider hips and a softer body, nesta feels small in lorn's embrace. their hands wrap around her form, pressing her down into the plush mattress of the bed she laid on. her own hand has reached up to hold them by the throat, the intense eye-contact they've maintained for a moment enough to guide them and be guilded by them. in the halls of consumption, anything is possible, the violence of one's sex included. it is as if there was a turning of blades - the knife stuck into the stone wall, placed by lorn's hand. the evidence: cut clothes and ripped fabric splayed out like wilted lillies, harsh in contrast to the deep red bedspread. 

nesta herself is marked up to high heavens - the bite on her shoulder, the bruising of her lips. lorn is not so lucky as to not walk out without bruising of their own, though- the grip of her hand, the trail of lustbites down their throat, their shoulder. it is mutual worship, divinity and sacrilege - in their violence, the bhaalspawn feeds their omnipresent patron; in their eroticism, yog'sogoth sings the song of indulgence.

in the echoes of their lust, their bodies have created quite the tension - sweat building on each of their skin, in combination from the actions of carnal pleasure and the heat of being underground; the wetness between nesta's thighs, now spread to the other as their bodies meet over and over again; the already once-spent load that shines in the low light on nesta's stomach, evidence of mutual stamina, violence, and vigor. it is joined by the small cuts on nesta's chest, stomach, breasts - the removal of the clothing was not done with practiced care at the demand of the lady of hunger, and perhaps, had they wanted to move any faster, she may have demanded lorn rip the clothes off of her. alas - they had time - and desire, and want.

silence is needed, more often than not - nesta knows this of her companion. lost in their own mind, in their desires, in their wants. sex can be this, a moment of reprieve; violence for the sake of indulgence, not destruction. wanton pleasure in the face of the call. one of these days, lorn will conquer even the unconquerable. nesta only hopes she is immortal and alive to see it, this eternal death. she hopes they let her feed on the viscera.

her stomach tightens, face twisted into an expression of agony and ecstasy - it is always a challenge to handle lorn in this way, but it is a blissful challenge. the folly of her ego, the idea that a mortal would meet equals alongside the infamous bhaalspawn. she does not fear their urge: what more a delectable consumption than the need - not want - to take another's life? she laughs in joy, ecstasy as she rolls her hips against them another time, skin meeting skin-- one more and she'll be over the edge--

surely this must be what death feels like. this moment of breathlessness, the inability to inhale or exhale, the unknowingness of where one body begins and another ends - consumed, swallowed whole, lost in this moment of nothingness. nesta's back arches off of the bed as lorn's excess spreads across her swollen cunt, down her thighs. 

they chuckle - and she laughs, a joyous sound as she ponders whether or not she's going to go a third time with them. warm, large hands press the inside of their thighs, collecting that which has been made as a byproduct of their eroticism, spreading it up past her cunt, atop her stomach. nesta lays there, watching curiously, as their hands work a pattern around her stomach - expecting, perhaps, the bleary symbol of bhaal - an attempt to reclaim this moment for their worship rather than her own. alas, it never becomes such a thing, instead a trail of abstract shapes, a reminder of all the places their hands might have been, might ever be. nesta matches the action, her own hands, damp in a mixture of their sweat and her slick, move down their arms; streaks of their lust coating both of their bodies now- both of them consigned to the abstract, looping shapes their hands instinctively create. she can tell that underneath their hands, they are searching for her pulse, listening to the heretical life that still sits inside of her.

underneath her own hands, she is looking for the softest meat to bite.

[tallmantall]

James Donaldson on Mental Health - Why It's Important to Talk About Suicide

James Donaldson on Mental Health - Why It's Important to Talk About Suicide By Hadassah Zirkind When you hear of a suicide, who do you picture? Perhaps a depressed teenager, a single and lonely middle-aged person, or an anxious criminal who kills himself rather than face a court? The person who most likely does not come to mind is me: a young mother. Self-harm and suicide are two topics that are rarely discussed in relation to our community, but we are not exempt from these issues. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, suicide is the second-leading cause of death for people aged 10-34. With a statistic like that, you likely know someone who has, at one point or another, dealt with suicidal ideation. Before you panic that talking about such topics only encourages them, take a deep breath. There is a misconception that speaking so openly will cause someone who did not previously entertain such thoughts to not only have them, but to act on them, Heaven forbid. In fact, the opposite is true. When a person knows that others are going through the same thing, it can make it easier to cope. Knowing that support already exists eases the burden. Feeling alone in the struggle simply exacerbates the struggle itself. My journey into the darker part of depression began, like so many others, as a teenager. I was around 14 when I self-harmed for the first time. I came to believe that hurting myself caused a large release of the tension and anger I was holding onto. Although I knew it was not healthy or proper behavior, I never told anyone. Instead, I made sure to use parts of my body such as my thighs or upper arms where nobody would ever see the marks left. This behavior continued on and off throughout high school and seminary. Once I got married and became pregnant, my mental health took a downward plunge. I dealt with depression and anxiety throughout all of my pregnancies and postpartum stages. I tried therapy a few times for short periods but never stuck it out. After I gave birth to my third, my depression went from bad to worse. I began to regularly hurt myself to the point that my thigh was a constant bruise. After a major depressive episode which could have ended much worse than it did, I went to the doctor to get a prescription for antidepressants. Since this was an emergency, I was forced to go to a regular GP instead of waiting for an appointment with a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, the doctor decided that I must be fine since I have a solid community and did not even give me the option of saying that I was suicidal. When he reached that question on the mental health assessment, he skipped over it, saying, “Nah, you definitely are not suicidal.” Unsurprisingly, in my vulnerable state, I did not feel comfortable correcting him, although in truth I was very close to being actively suicidal. I would love to say that once I began taking medication, everything straightened out. For those who are thankfully unaware, antidepressants are not magic. It can take many tries to find the correct medication and dosage. And even once that perfect recipe is found, one’s body can get used to the medication causing it to lose its effectiveness, which is exactly what happened to me. About a year and a half after I started taking my medications, I had my first real flirtation with suicide and spent half the night with our local police force, sheriff, and state crisis workers. Thankfully, this episode ended without me getting hurt in any way or having to be brought to the hospital. However, for the next week, I had no energy whatsoever, and for the next six months, I had constant flashbacks. A year later, suicidal thoughts struck again. This time I was out of town, traveling for a family celebration. The urge was so strong that I sat in bed shaking and crying, trying to rationalize with myself why I didn’t dare ruin the celebration by killing myself. I told my husband about my thoughts and had him hide my medication. Otherwise, I would almost certainly have overdosed. There was a third and fourth time that I contemplated taking my life, and thank G?d I was able to make it through that time as well. Thank G?d, I am doing much better now. I am still on medication and see a therapist regularly. But my depression and the fact that I have contemplated suicide in the past are a constant. It’s almost as if I feel the need to be aware at every given moment that this is my challenge, that this is my journey. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth If you'd like to follow and receive my daily blog in to your inbox, just click on it with Follow It. Here's the link https://follow.it/james-donaldson-s-standing-above-the-crowd-s-blog-a-view-from-above-on-things-that-make-the-world-go-round?action=followPub I often wonder if one of the reasons that I just can’t seem to get over it is the lack of support for suicide attempt survivors or those who have struggled with suicidal ideation in our community. I even reached out to one of the mental health organizations geared towards Jewish women and was not allowed to join since they are not open to discussing suicide or self-harm. I once heard a nurse who worked in a psychiatric ward say that patients in our community have a much higher return rate. I would venture a guess that this is due to the feelings of loneliness—and therefore unworthiness—that come from dealing with these struggles alone. Because of my experiences, I realized that changes need to be made, and so, A Drop of Light was born. A Drop of Light is an organization aimed at raising awareness of and preventing suicides within our community. From dispelling common myths to providing information on both Jewish and national mental health organizations, as well as compiling a list of Rabbinic authorities well-versed in the intersection of mental health and halachah, our website is a treasure trove of vital and potentially life-saving information. Without dialogue, there can be no change. And if there is no change, then the risk of losing loved ones to suicide remains all too real. A Drop of Light aims to start that conversation. What do I hope to gain by going public with my story? First and foremost, I want others who have struggled or are struggling with mental health—specifically self-harm or suicide—to know that they are not alone. There are others with the same struggles. In my experience, being open only helps. Find that person (or people) you can trust and speak with them. Having someone who checks in on you and keeps you grounded is very important. The day after my first suicide attempt, my husband sent a letter to the Ohel, begging the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory, to bless me with a complete recovery. We read many letters the Rebbe wrote to people who were struggling with depression, and the Rebbe consistently suggested learning Sha’ar Habitachon and doing things for others. Prayer helps, even just speaking to G?d in your own words. It’s also important to connect with a qualified rabbi who is knowledgeable about mental health and halachah, and can advise you which things you must do and which things can wait while you focus on becoming stable. Most importantly, keep fighting. If you fall one day, try to get up again the next day. Don’t give up; you are brave, strong, capable, and can make it through this battle. And now, to everyone else, we need your help: Please, check in on your friends, children, and loved ones. Even a monthly “How are you?” text can be enough. Be genuinely open to hearing and holding space for the other person. Learn the signs of suicidal ideation. Look out for sudden radical changes in behavior. And if you do suspect that your friend is suicidal, don’t be afraid to ask them point blank. Let them know in clear terms that you are there for them, to support without judgment. Thank G?d, the last few years have brought much more awareness and openness to the topic of mental health. But suicide and self-harm are still taboo. It should not be this way. If people were more open about the fact that this problem exists, those struggling would be much more inclined to seek help. As it currently stands, admitting to these struggles is a permanent black mark. For this battle to be won, we need all the support we can get. So please, let’s break the silence, stop the judgment, and help each and every person lead a healthy and happy life. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, do not hesitate to use these resources including on Shabbat or yom tov. Call 988 or text “HELP” to 741-741 If the thoughts present immediate danger, call 911 For countries out of the USA, it is worthwhile to know your country’s crisis line number Learn the signs of suicidal ideation: https://www.suicideispreventable.org/ Read the full article

[caelcstis]

A, C, J, P, T & U (from the nsfw alphabet meme for Jupiter)

nsfw alphabet. // @r3dblccd

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

towards his partners, jupiter is actually very caring and gentle with them. he isn't the type to go entirely insane with sex, but he has his kinks, has his enjoyments that may dabble towards light bdsm - so he does make sure his partner is taken care of and spoiled afterwards if he's the one giving rather than receiving. he makes sure they have plenty of water, will draw a warm bath if they'd like with salts and aromas for them to relax in. if they're hungry afterwards he's got no problem making a quick snack or grabbing something from the convenience store down the street while they're resting up. if he's ever a little too rough, maybe some bruises in unsightly places, he'll kiss them, apologize and try to be gentler next time. rug burn because you couldn't make it to the bed? he's got creams and will help apply them. all in all, he will treat you like the royalty you are to him.

C = Cum (where does your muse prefer to cum/have someone cum)

ngl you make him cum from just fingering and he's entirely your little doll to fuck into absolute submission. there's just something about having an orgasm on someone's fingers, his partner licking up the aftermath of it, and he's dragging you with his legs to fuck him. in regards to his partners, he won't say no if you cum in his mouth from giving head, he'll suck you dry if he really gets into the play. he also just loves to tease with his tongue piercing. you can also cum on his stomach or chest, maybe his thighs. he doesn't mind if it gets messy because sex is messy.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jupiter uses a lot of lube to masturbate due to the fact he uses more than just his fingers, and he also of course dabbles with anal play. he has a lot of toys of different shapes and sizes, always curious to just see what he can take or what he likes the most - hence why he uses so much. so afterwards there's probably some towels being thrown into the wash and he is taking a long shower - probably playing with himself again too bc it's hard for him to get down from that high sometimes.

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

jupiter isn't so rough where it needs to be written out that this is how he plays and you all need a safe word - but he does tend to prefer it to be deep, rough - but still so passionate that just losing him or his partner has them both begging to return inside, to not want to leave. he doesn't mind if his partner prefers it another way, he's more than willing to play along and spoil - and he loves making sure his partner is satisfied because sex just isn't fun if they aren't enjoying themselves.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

yeah like i said above, he does own toys. vibrators from bullets to wands and even some digital ones where he or his partner can control the pattern and speed to their desires. dildos from small to large, sometimes the occasional out of the ordinary one that looks more creature-like than human. he has grinders for himself typically if he needs a quick off and doesn't want to get messy. he's got straps too due to not having his bottom surgery just yet so if his partner wants him to be giving, he'll definitely oblige. jupiter is very open towards these sort of plays and toys, he loves trying and testing new things.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

jupiter is definitely one of my brattier muses if it wasn't obvious. he loves to tease loves to pinch and bite but never give exactly what his partner wants unless they're whining and begging for him- demanding to be fucked stupid or for him to get in their lap and ride them dry. he also adores sending little photos or videos to his partner when they're in public - be it work or something as simple as going to get groceries. he wants to hear you beg, wants to hear you say please so breathlessly - wants to see just how wet or hard you are to the point you're going to break, but will still step on you just to hear a small cry.

[pookha]

A Promise Ring Chapter 4

Tying Loose Ends

Harry and Luna do their homework in his office. Harry is concerned that Luna's new job may be too dangerous. Grimmauld Place is sold and Kreacher reaches his decision.

A/N Sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter out. RL took some priority. I also realized that if I included the wedding it was going to be a very very long chapter, so there will be one more chapter.

“I heard the third years talking about you in the Common Room,” Luna said after she pulled away from the kiss.

“Only good things, I hope,” Harry said and sat back in the chair. This caused Luna, who was sitting on his lap to fall more onto him. She gasped in what sounded like pain, but then laughed and kissed him again. He put his arms around her and tried to pull her in for a longer kiss, but she pulled back and slid off his lap.

“I’d like to just snog all night, but I really do have to finish this essay and get some sleep,” Luna said.

He watched her as she moved stiffly around his desk. When she caught her sleeve on a corner of it he saw a large bruise on her forearm. He pulled the sleeve back further and the bruise went over her elbow and up to her shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Oh, I was thrown off a thestral,” she said airily. “Fortunately, it was only four or five metres high, so it wasn’t too bad. You should see the bruise on my thigh.”

“Show me?” Harry asked, making it a question rather than a demand.

She nodded and bent over his desk. She reached back and lifted her robes. The bruise on her right thigh started just over the knee and went under the line of her knickers, which Harry noticed were bright pink.

He touched the bruise lightly and her leg trembled involuntarily. He sighed.

“Are you sure you’ll be up for this?” Harry asked, meaning the Groundskeeper job.

Luna nodded and pulled her robes down. She stood back up, pecked Harry on the cheek and sat gingerly on the chair on the other side of his desk.

She pulled her essay out of her pack, then an inkpot and quill and started scratching away at it, humming a jaunty tune lightly under her breath. Harry watched her for a while, dithered, then seemed to come to a decision. He stood. She looked up at him.

“I’ll be right back; do you need anything?” he asked. She shook her head.

When he left the room, she went back to her essay. She pulled books out of her pack and referenced them a few times, and then put them back. She took a break and looked around Harry’s office. Her eyes landed on a piece of photographic paper that showed a repeating photo of a Hufflepuff student she didn’t know knocked on Harry’s door and then the door opened.

She put it down and looked at the crystal ball on Harry’s desk. She unfocused her eyes and gazed into and suddenly she could see the hallway outside Harry’s office. This was obviously the Charms experiment with the Supersensory Charm that Harry had talked about. She pulled her gaze away from the crystal ball and went back to her paper. A few minutes later, Harry came back with a covered ceramic pot in his hands.

He locked the door behind him and put Charms on it for Silence and to repel casual passerby. Luna knew the Charms and they wouldn’t stop someone who really needed to see Harry or any of the Staff.

“Okay, robes off,” Harry commanded.

Luna arched her eyebrows at him.

“I thought you didn’t want to have sex at Hogwarts,” she said bluntly.

Harry’s face colored slightly.

“I do, but we can’t until after we’re married and have private quarters.”

He laughed and lifted the cover from the pot. The sage-y smell of arnica made it clear why he wanted her robes off.

She stood, pulled her robes over her head and leaned over the desk. Harry put the pot down on his desk with the cover next to it. He dipped out a small amount of an opalescent salve from inside the jar and rubbed it into his hands. Then he carefully began rubbing it into the bruise on her leg. He worked his way up from her knee, kneading very slowly and steadily. Luna gasped as her leg went icy, then hot, then moaned as the salve started to work and the knot under the bruise lessened. She turned her head and watched Harry as worked the salve into her flesh. She could just see the edge of the bruise where it circled around onto the front of her thigh. It was yellowed like a days-old bruise. Harry touched her knickers and made an inquisitive noise. She nodded and he pulled them down and slid them over her legs. She lifted one then the other and stepped out of them. He worked the salve into her buttock up to where the bruise ended and she gasped loudly. Now she understood the Silencing Charm on the door. Anyone listening would assume they were having sex in here. When he was done, he helped her back into her knickers, sliding them slowly up her legs. He kissed her on the back of her unbruised thigh as he put them back into place and she shivered again, this time with wanting.

He stood and she turned in his arms and kissed him. Her breasts pressed against him through her bra and he started to lift his hands to them, but stopped. He repeated the whole process with the salve on the bruise on her arm and shoulder. She watched his eyes as he worked and once he looked up and met them. When he was done, he kissed her at the base of her neck, where he knew she loved it. He finished treating a couple of other, smaller bruises, wiped his hands on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and closed the jar. He pulled back reluctantly and picked up her robes from the floor. She laughed and put them on.

“I love you,” she said and kissed him again. This time he let the kiss get deeper before he pulled back.“Thank you,” she said.

“Anything for you,” he replied.

They spent the rest of the evening in his office. She worked on her essay and he reviewed his lesson plans for tomorrow and finished his Transfiguration homework.

Luna cast a drying charm on the ink on her essay, then rolled it up with a snap. Harry looked up at her, then the clock. It wasn’t as late as he thought.

She packed away her stuff, then stood, came around the desk and sat on his lap again.

“I have to go in a few minutes, but I thought I’d snog you silly until then.” She smiled and licked his nose. He started to lean forward, but she pushed him back in his chair.

“My turn,” she said. She hitched up her robes, turned to face him more fully and straddled him. She held his hands down at his side. Then, she snogged him silly until she had to leave. Harry watched her go, then watched her in the hallway through the crystal ball and the Charm in his door; she was moving much easier now. He sighed, packed up his own stuff and left. He made sure his office was locked and Charmed before he left. That night his dreams were of bright pink knickers on the floor of his office and his hands on Luna’s thighs.

When he woke up the next day, he saw Luna’s writing on the notepad on the table next to his bed. He put his glasses on and read.

Dreamed of you last night. We were flying on the thestral together when I fell but you caught me before I could get hurt. Your hand burned my wrist hot and icy where you caught me, but your kisses made it all better. I’ll see you at Potions. Love you.

Harry wrote back.

I need to visit Grimmauld Place this weekend to meet the estate agent and we can check out Saturday and Sunday if you’re able.

She must have had the notepad next to her because she replied immediately.

That sounds good. I have to check the unicorn herd Saturday morning, but should be done by noon. Is that good?

Yes. I do the paperwork for us both with Professor Flitwick today. Love you.

He ate breakfast with Hermione like normal and then went to teach a third year class with Professor Flitwick. He made sure to fill out a check-out form and hand it to him.

“Saturday and Sunday?” Filius asked.

“Yes, sir. I have to check in with the estate agent and my house elf and it will be quite late by then. Luna’s coming with me and we’ll stop by her father’s on Sunday to visit and maybe the Burrow as well.”

Filius smiled knowingly.

“Don’t stay up too late Saturday night.”

Harry started to object, but Filius waved him off.

“I was young and in love once, too.” He smiled at a memory. “Give my best to Molly, Arthur and Xenophilius.”

“I will,” Harry replied.

The students started to come in, so they cut their conversation short. Harry thought the class went well, with most of the students grasping the General Counter-Spell. Harry spent some one-on-one time with the ones who struggled and showed how it worked on a variety of Charms. The only issue he had was a boy who just wouldn’t pay attention and kept just listlessly waving his wand and saying the words. Nothing happened. Harry tried to work with him, but the boy just nodded and went along. When Harry went to help another student, the boy just put his head down on his desk and ignored the rest of the students and the din of them practicing.

When the class was over, he approached Filius.

“What was I doing wrong with Mr Fitzgerald?” Harry asked.

“Mr Fitzgerald has been having a lot of issues this year. He was a good student last year, but something happened over the summer and he won’t tell anyone. It’s affected his schoolwork and he also didn’t try out for Quidditch this year and last year he was very excited for it. I’ve talked with Pomona and she’s talked with him, but he won’t open up.”

Harry sighed.

“I don’t understand why we don’t have mental health counselors here at Hogwarts.”

“Is that common in Muggle schools?” Filius asked.

Harry nodded and told him of his experience in school. The counselor was afraid that Harry was being abused, but Harry had deflected her; he didn’t want anyone to come investigate and make it worse. He hadn’t opened up to the counselor, but other students seemed to like her.

“I couldn’t help myself, but some of the other kids did get help from her and if she helped even one child, I think it must be worth it.” He sighed again.

“I’m finding that being an adult has some thorny issues: how to deal with my House Elf without being like a slave-owner; having to sell a house I inherited, but know I’ll never live in; deciding to get married young or not be able to be together at our job; how to look after my godchild when I’m barely not a child anymore. It’s hard.”

“I’d like to comfort you, but some of it will always be hard, but you’ll also have happiness. Ms Lovegood makes you happy, so do your friends. I can tell that your new research makes you happy, too.”

Harry smiled.

“Luna was the best thing that ever happened to me. She has a way of making everything better; she just sees to the heart of the matter. And, I do like my research and I really like teaching, especially the younger kids. I feel like I can see when they get something and it’s like when Hermione teaches me something after I’ve been thick about it.”

Filius laughed now.

“I’ll have Minerva look into counselors. It seems like an especially good idea now, after the war.”

“Thank you, Filius.” Harry looked at his watch.

“Got to run, Quidditch practice. Still looking forward to crushing Ravenclaw in two weeks.”

Filius laughed again as Harry left.

Harry waited outside Hagrid’s hut on Saturday. It was just after eleven when Luna and Hagrid came tromping up from the forest. Hagrid plowed through the slushy snow and Luna walked over it on charmed snowshoes. She lifted her feet on them expertly and Harry admired how quickly she’d picked up the skill. Hagrid waved and shouted.

“Gotta go and see Grawp. Good to see yer, Harry!”

Harry waved back. Luna reached him a moment later. He opened the door to Hagrid’s hut and she took off the snowshoes, stomped the snow from her boots and went in. She hung the snowshoes on a hook just to the side of the door. When he closed the door behind them, she opened her coat to let in the warm air. She held out her arms and he went into her embrace, both of them hampered by their thick coats.

He kissed her cold, cold nose and then her lips; they warmed quickly under his.

“You’re early,” he said when they were done kissing and she was no longer shivering.

“Hagrid helped when he found we had plans today. Do we need to go to the castle to use the Floo from there?”

Harry shook his head.

“Filius gave me Staff Apparation privileges. I can Apparate to and from Hogwarts now, and on the grounds. You have your pack?”

She nodded and pulled a miniature trunk from her pocket, then put it back. Harry had cast the Reversible Shrinking Charm on it himself when Luna was struggling with it. Hermione seemed impressed with how quickly he was picking up new Charms.

“Ready?” he asked and she nodded. He held her tightly and Apparated. They appeared on the top step outside the front door to 12 Grimmauld Place. Luna inhaled sharply, still not used to Apparating long distances, but Harry was used to it from doing it so often while on the run.

“Okay?” he asked, keeping his tight grip around her waist.

She pecked his cheek and nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

He unlocked the door with his wand and opened it. The first thing he noticed was the odor of fresh paint and the second thing was that the portrait of Sirius’s Mum was gone from the wall. He looked at it and could just see where it had been cut or chiseled out and repaired. He knew he could only notice it because of the work he’d done at Hogwarts restoring the castle.

“Master?” Kreacher’s voice came from down the hallway.

“I’m here!” Harry shouted back.

Kreacher came bustling into the hallway, and Harry could smell cinnamon and cloves over the fresh paint smell. Kreacher was obviously baking something that smelled good.

“You’re early!” Kreacher shouted back, wringing his hands nervously.

“We were able to get away early.” Harry stopped Kreacher from taking his coat.

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it; you go back to what you were doing. I’ll take care of our coats and put our stuff in our room.”

Kreacher bowed and ran back toward the kitchen.

“He wants to please, doesn’t he?” Luna asked, a strange tone in her voice.

Harry ran his hand through his hair before answering.

“Yeah, but I want to please him, too, you know?”

She nodded and kissed his cheek again.

“You will. I have faith in you.”

They hung up their coats and put their boots on the boot tray. Harry made Luna smile when he  pulled Charm-shrunken house slippers out of his pocket, enlarged them and gave a pair to Luna. His were standard issue, but hers were bright purple with spangly stars bedazzled on them. They put them on and then went upstairs. He enlarged both of their trunks and they sat on the bed. Luna ran her hand over the tattered bedspread, obviously enjoying the fine silk embroidery.

“It’s a shame; it’s seen better days, but everything has its time and I guess it’s time to let it go.”

“Yeah, I wish I could keep it, but it just costs too much to maintain and I’ll never live here full time. I’d love to keep it for Teddy, but it’s just not in the cards.” Harry put his hand over Luna’s. He saw his watch.

“We’ve got an hour and half until the estate agent gets here,” he said.

“Plenty of time.” Luna dragged him down onto the bed. Both of their house slippers fell off a moment later.

They cleaned up and made the bedroom presentable again before the estate agent arrived. When she arrived, she was dressed Muggle-style in a slightly out of fashion pantsuit with padded shoulders. Luna smiled at the outfit and Harry knew she was thinking something along the lines of, ‘and people call my fashion sense eccentric.’

The estate agent introduced herself to Luna as Phillipa Gregson and Harry told her that Luna was his fiancée.

Harry ushered her into the sitting room where Kreacher had already laid out tea and biscuits. Phillipa took her tea black and delicately dunked a biscuit in it. She pulled papers out of a satchel that she had to wave her wand at to unlock.

“Sorry, the lock sticks and this is the only way.” She never noticed that both Harry and Luna had their hands on their wands inside their robe pockets.

“Good news is even though we haven’t officially listed yet, we have an offer, but it’s only 80% of what we discussed as price,” Phillipa said, and put a piece of paper in front of Harry.

“Oh?” Harry asked, picking up the sheet and reading it as Phillipa continued talking.

“The Ministry wants to buy it directly. It doesn’t say why particularly, but I suspect they want to keep it as something they could use to house dignitaries. With just a little cleanup, it would be excellent: good location, hidden from Muggles and has just that right ambience of the continent, but with Englishness. ” She laughed.

“I think we should take the offer,” Harry said and handed the sheet to Luna. Her eyes widened slightly at the offer.

“This is 80% of the asking price?” Luna said.

Harry smiled.

“Phillipa says the market is pretty hot right now and especially for wizards around here.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want  to wait? We could see if there are any other takers?” Phillipa said.

“You told me before that it’s at the top of the market and there aren’t a lot of families that could afford it?” Harry asked.

“That’s right, but there may be some interest from the continent. There are some French and Belgian families looking to have a manor-style house here. But, it’s not assured and a lot of them are looking for a turnkey property and not a, may I speak frankly, a fixer-upper.”

“I say let’s take the offer,” Harry said. He saw a small flicker on Phillipa’s face.

“You can take your commission as if it were the price we suggested,” he said and saw her face twitch again.

“Will you put that in writing?” she asked and Harry nodded. While they were doing the paperwork, Luna got up and went into the kitchen. Harry could hear her talking with Kreacher and Kreacher’s sobs.

“Is everything okay in there?” Phillipa whispered to Harry.

“My house-elf is going to miss this place; he’s served the Black family for a long time,” Harry whispered back.

“And will still, Master Harry,” Kreacher said from right behind him.

He bowed to Phillipa, then said to Harry, “I have decided to go and work with Mrs Tonks and Master Teddy.”

“I think that will prove to be an excellent choice, Kreacher,” Harry stood and offered his hand to Kreacher, who took it and shook it, trembling.

Kreacher went back to the kitchen and Harry and Phillipa finished the paperwork.

“They’ll take over at the end of May,” Phillipa said.

Harry nodded.

“We’ll have everything we want to keep out of here by then. They can keep most of the furniture and do what they want with it.”

They shook hands and she left.

Luna came back in and sat next to Harry.

“What are we going to do with that money?” she asked.

“We don’t need it; I have about twice that much in my vault. I want to give most of it to Andromeda in trust for Teddy. It’s properly his money anyway.”

“I like that idea,” Luna said and kissed him. They kept busy on the couch until Kreacher cleared his throat and announced dinner. After an excellent dinner, Harry talked with Andromeda via Floo and told her about the money and Kreacher. She cried and thanked him profusely while Teddy fussed in the background. Luna promised they’d visit after their wedding and school ended, but before they went on holiday for their honeymoon.

They went to bed early and slept in late. The next day, they visited Xenophilius in the morning and Molly and Arthur in the evening. Bill showed up and talked with Harry about how to set up the trust for Teddy properly. It ended with Bill being appointed Harry’s personal banker and accountant. They got back to Hogwarts late Sunday night, kissed their goodbyes and went to their separate towers.