#These few desperately needed some drawings

[voidpacifist]

viktor headcanons

[modern-ish edition + meljayvik because I cannot resist, also I'm desperate to see more unhinged little ideas about him outside of being everyone's favorite blorbo. we should fear that man and this is my thesis]

learned a weird amalgamation of martial arts and self defense as a kid due to growing up in zaun. despite being in what was considered the "safer" part of the underground, his mother worried he wouldn't be safe on his own. his core strength and arm strength are absolutely ridiculous

in fact, one time he was hooking up with a fellow academy student, and by the time the whole affair was over with, he was hardly breaking a sweat while the other person was trying to catch their breath. he became somewhat of a local legend at frat parties because not only can he wear someone out for hours but, allegedly, he's real freaky with it too

knows the exact monetary value of different human body organs on the black market. whether or not this is from experience is something jayce and mel are unable to determine. vi is also knowledgeable of this and has traded tragic backstories with him in detail

has had to kill a man before, and tells this to jayce frequently to win petty arguments (jayce never actually believes him, even though it is fully and one hundred percent true). it doesn't work on mel

jayce and mel have a secret chart written of how many substances viktor has tried and with how much frequency. weed is at the top of the list, with alcohol being shockingly low. in spite of coming from a slavic background, viktor didn't learn how to hold very much liquor without feeling ill, but for some reason is fine with the illicit psychedelics that grow naturally in the undercity near the runoff tunnels. so far the list is nearly half a page long

will not hit anyone with his mobility aids but will ABSOLUTELY find ways to blackmail and hustle his way out of embarrassment. he learned the blackmailing skill from mel, and frequently looks to her for information since she somehow knows the most about the student body

extremely morbid sense of humor. jokes about being fatherless/motherless behavior and then hits you with, "I would know :]." mel is an honorary member of the motherless behavior banter, considering her own mother disowned her shortly before she came to piltover

taking care of one another is equal parts give and take with him, jayce, and mel, but it's never in a way that demeans each other or exploits each other's weaknesses. for example, viktor hates being carried or manhandled without consent and finds it incredibly patronizing if someone assumes he needs help without just asking him (common sense, but the student body is full of ableist sharks). if he's having a bad pain day or is finding it hard to move, he and jayce (or he and mel, depending on time and place) have a system for getting him to or from somewhere without drawing much attention and even have specific "I need help but don't want to be stared at about it" phrases

father's half of the family is slavic and mother's half of the family is romani. cannot follow a recipe unless it has specific measurements, but can improvise ANY stew or potato based dish with little more than his nose and a few kitchen tools. jayce can improvise any dish, but will always somehow overdo the spice if it calls for spice. mel is happy to try any and everything they make (on her birthday, she's spoiled with their attempts at making the ethnic food from her family, and she'll never tell them but she's very touched by their efforts)

owned ONE pet in his life and it was a hamster. instead of freaking out over it's death, he studied it's body post mortem until his father declared it a biohazard and forced him to dispose of it

learned most of his chemists knowledge from a disgraced former academy professor, but taught himself everything else he knows (if he couldn't get access to it in school). including, for fun, how to preserve and analyze body parts. he initially wanted to be a surgeon or biomedical engineer, but then stuck with chemistry (specifically regarding infectious diseases) to try and find a cure for the grey

shows up randomly at jayces or mels dorms at strange hours in the evening/morning. the first time he showed up at mel's, she thought a burglary was being attempted. he made it out with a bad knock to the head, but she did make him tea in the aftermath as an apology (he hated it but drank the whole thing anyway)

gets stoned with jinx on the weekends, since she's the only one who can find him good, ethically sourced weed. he pays her back by teaching her things he's learning and researching at the academy

meljayvik + caitvi + timebomb dates but they have to find a way to rent out the whole place because each and every one of them has Some Kind of History with the other academy students even though jinx and ekko are still a couple years shy of college age

viktor threw up at the distinguished innovators competition because jayce did first. it was a whole disaster. they spent hours after the ordeal hyping each other up on gatorade and pure adrenaline. it was the physically worst jayce has ever felt around viktor but far from the worst viktor has ever felt around jayce. this was just days after the two of them met mel, and she spent the rest of the evening forcing them to sleep or eat something that wasn't "pure chemicals." somehow, this ended in a heated debate between herself and viktor about the validity of gatorade as a substantial meal. he still refuses to admit he lost

I've said this before and I'll say it again: he has a closet full of ramen. mel takes from his stash often

can run on caffeine and very little sleep to the point where he is physically incapable of resting like a normal human being without feeling drained. flu season is absolute hell

showed up to one of his lectures shirtless once because he was in a hurry. fed everyone who looked at him funny the most outrageous sob story about how "weak" he was, then laughed about it with mel and jayce like an absolute sociopath for days about it. jayce did not find it altogether very funny. mel and him still joke about it

beat vi in an arm wrestling contest before he got sick. still almost beat her after his diagnosis too, but still took the betting money anyway. she'll never admit she's slightly terrified of him, but it shows

can wield many different kinds of knives but is terribly clumsy when it comes to other weapons like clubs and swords and staffs. tapped out of adaptive sports within his first week because it was "boring him." spent the next month teaching martial arts to his fellow disabled peers until the board made it an official extracurricular

turned sky down in the nicest but most insane way possible. nobody knows what happened or how, just that they ended up spending MORE time together after the fact and that it involved illicit activities. the rumors were insufferable for weeks. and wildly funny

(please feel free to add more, I'm gonna start a collection)

[starogeorgina]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of child death, blood, oral sex, mentions of cancer, age gap

1.01

Thank you @justinalovee for the pretty header

Exhausted, you snuggle up on the faded green couch, your freezing feet covered by worn-out socks and a wooly blanket. The sound of gunfire and screams in the distance is muffled by the heavy rainfall battering against the windows. Settled down, you open the romance book you found a few days prior while savaging and opening it. The pages were ripped and stained, but it would be an escape from reality, one that you desperately needed. A few hours later, you're so engrossed in the story that the sound of the door of your apartment creaking open catches you off guard.

You glance up, your heart racing, as you see a shadowy figure enter. You reach for the handgun sitting on the side table and aim it at the person. “Take one more step, and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

“Shit, it’s y/n, right?”

You almost shoot the intruder, but don't when you sense a familiarity about them, it was Tess’s partner in crime. “Texas, ain’t it?”

“You can call me whatever you want once you've lowered the gun.” Relief washes over you, but it's quickly replaced by irritation when he dangles a key on the edge of his finger. “Tess gave it to me. She told me to let myself in.”

You lower the gun and place it into the holster on your belt, then get up and snatch the key from him. “Mind telling me why she gave you the key to our home?”

He rolls up his sleeve, showing you the deep cut on his arm. “Tess said you could help patch me up... I can go—”

Of course Tess sent him to you; she had a tendency to volunteer you as a first aider for her criminal buddies. Scoffing, you grip his arm to get a better look at the wound. “It’s deep; you’ll need stitches. I don’t have any numbing cream left, so it’s going to hurt like hell.”

“I can survive a little bit of pain.”

—

As you carefully clean the wound on Joel's arm with a damp cloth, you can't help but feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulder. Your medical supplies were starting to run low, and with more bombings happening than before, you’d definitely need to get some more soon.

And Tess sending strays to your door wasn’t helping.

Joe winces as you gently probe the wound, his muscles tensing under your touch. He looks at you with eyes filled with gratitude and a touch of pain. He holds a torch with his free hand so you can see what you are doing without drawing attention to your apartment with a brighter light on.

“I don't know how to thank you,” he says hoarsely.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Tess is always looking for supplies to bring back to you. I’m guessing you worked in medicine before.”

“This is going to hurt,” you say, before punctuating the first bit of flesh on his arm with the tiny needle. “You smuggle guns and drugs with my sister, right?”

Joel grits his teeth and nods. “I usually just smuggle guns or other weapons.”

“Me and Tess have both picked up extra work over the next couple of weeks. If I write a list of things I need, would you be able to get them for me?”

When he doesn’t respond, you look up and see how tightly his hand is squeezing around your torch. Sighing, you take the torch from his free hand and pop it between your lips. The last thing you needed was him breaking it. A few moments later, you’re finished, and you tie off the ends of the stitches.

“Fuck!” Joel lets out a noise of relief. “That hurt more than I thought it would.”

“Meaty part of the body,” you shrug.

Joel studies the stitches in his arm for a few seconds, then carefully rolls his sleeve back down, then stands. “I'm burning infected in the morning, but you can slide the list underneath my door, Tess can give you my address. I’ll try and get what you need on my next supply run.”

“Cool. You can let me know how many ration packs I owe you once you’ve got them.”

—

Soon as you walk into your apartment, you peel your top that’s sticking to your body with sweat over your head. You sniff it before tossing it onto the heap of dirty clothing on the floor. You glance over at Tess, who is watching with an amused expression on her face.

“What?”

“Expecting it to smell like roses, huh?”

“I smell of sweat, smoke, and death.” You walk by her and into the small kitchen to start boiling a pot of water. “Anything else you want washed?”

Tess shakes her head. Washing was a luxury you didn’t always have, but since the generator was working in your building, you’d take advantage of the opportunity while it was there. Once the water was boiled, you’d pour it into the bathtub, wait for it to cool down, then clean your hair and body, then wash the pile of dirty clothes. The color the bath water would turn afterwards would no doubt turn your stomach.

“Joel stopped by earlier,” she says, holding the cup of shitty coffee close to her lips and breathing in its smell. “He dropped off a couple of first aid kits.”

“Thank god, I had hardly anything left.” You open the door to the cupboard you keep your ration packs hidden behind a slab of wood. “What did he want for it?”

“Nothing.”

You snap your head up to face her. Nobody does anything for free these days. “Come again?”

“He says your square for stitching him up.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you say.

A small smile pulls on your lips; at least you got to hold onto your ration packs for a little longer.

“What’s with the blood?”

You look down at your stomach and see the dried-in red patches. “It’s not mine. A couple of FEDRA soldiers got into a scuffle, so instead of getting a real medic, they asked me to clean them up. Nothing major, just a broken nose and burst lip.”

She chuckles. “I did try to warn you that this would happen. You made your own bed the moment you spilled on working in a hospital in your past life.”

—

As you carefully clean the wound on Joel's knee, you can't help but notice the tension between him and Tess. When you arrived home, the two of them were arguing, but all you overheard was Joel saying your sister was getting greedy, and she thought he needed to toughen up.

Tess was already a teenager when you were born, so growing up, you idolized her and have never seen her as anything other than fearless, so hearing her say Joel needs to be tougher made you question what the hell they were up against.

The threats within the quarantine zones have been getting worse lately; the firefly attacks have increased, and with the sounds of screams echoing through the walls of your apartment building, you assume one of the men who died in the bombing a few hours before was important to someone in your building. Tess was now pacing the room, her face drawn with worry. She keeps glancing at the window, as if she can see beyond the grimy glass to the dangers lurking outside. You can tell she's afraid, but she won't admit it.

Not yet anyway.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground to get a better look at Joel’s wound, you casually ask, “So what did you cut yourself on this time, Texas?”

“Cut it on barbed wire.”

“Trying to jump a fence or—“

“Don’t,” Tess hisses. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

She was right to an extent; you didn’t really want to know what lawbreaking your sister was doing; it would only keep you awake at night worrying about her. But a part of you wanted to know how Joel was involved. You wanted to know more about their relationship and if it was platonic or something more.

—

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Although you lived with Tess, you hadn’t seen much of her over the past few weeks. One of you had either been working or sleeping while the other was home. The two of you moving the bodies of the dead from the back of a truck into the fire pit was the most time you’ve spent together in a while.

“Ask away.”

“What’s going on between you and Texas? Are you guys sleeping together?”

She scoffs, her nose scrunches up with disgust. “Of course not. I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“Fair enough.”

The air reeks of smoke and ash as you heave another corpse onto the pile. Its limp form hits the ground with a heavy thud, sending up a cloud of gray dust into the air. The acrid smell of burning flesh fills your nostrils, making your stomach turn. You readjust the bandana covering your nose to try and keep the smell out, but it has little effect. You’d definitely need to scrub hard later to try and remove the smell of death from your skin.

Tess stares at you intensely. “Y/n...”

“I was just asking because he’s always at our place. I didn’t know if you two were fucking or planning different ways to dig yourselves deeper graves.”

In the blink of an eye, Tess is standing in front of you. She pulls her own bandana down so there’s nothing muffling her voice. “Let me be clear: I value Joel; he’s a good friend. He’s the guy you want around when shit goes down, but he’s not a good person. Me, and him have both done unthinkable things to stay alive.”

“He’s the muscle; you're the brain.”

She nods slowly, “something like that. I don’t know Joel’s full story; he’s reserved. And he can stick his dick wherever he likes as long as it doesn’t interfere with our business.”

Before you can say anything else, another truck loaded with bodies pulls up. “Oh shit, it looks like it’s going to be a double shift.”

—

Joel appears at your apartment a few nights later, with an unopened bottle of whisky in his hand. “I heard you had a shitty day.”

Without saying anything, you open the door, letting him in. Tiredly, you rub at your eyes before getting two glasses from the cupboard. Joel opens the bottle and then pours the whisky into the glasses. You assumed the news of what happened earlier in the day affected him as well.

Licking at your lips, you mumble, “It doesn’t matter how tough you are; the death of kids is always hard.”

He takes a massive gulp before slamming his glass onto the table and pouring himself another. “Fuck, yeah.”

You go over to the couch, zip open one of the cushion covers, and pull out a packet of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Neither do I, usually.”

You pull out one cigarette, then tuck the packet away again. You only ever smoked while stressed. “Five kids, five fucking kids lives gone within seconds.”

A bomb was supposed to be planted underneath the death square where they hang criminals, but something had gone wrong, and the firefly transporting the weapon set it off early, killing himself and anyone in close proximity, including five innocent children.

Sometime passes before you finally speak again. “Tess told you about Michael, didn’t she?”

Joel nods as he comes and sits beside you. “She mentioned you had a son who died.”

“Michael was diagnosed with leukemia when he was two; he died just before his sixth birthday.”

“I’m sorry.”

You take another shot of your drink and say, “He’s the reason I became a pediatric nurse.“

“What about his dad?”

“Probably dead,” you snort. “Paddy, my high school sweetheart, didn't like the idea of being a teen dad to a sick kid so bailed.”

“That’s shit.”

You sink further into the couch. “What about you Texas? What’s your story?”

“I’m going to need a whole lot more liquor for that.”

—

You and Joe huddle close together in the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. The whisky was going down far too nicely, as Joel told you how he married his ex when he found out she was pregnant, but after his daughter was born, his wife left one day, and he didn’t hear from her again until she sent him divorce papers. Joel’s daughter, Sarah, died at the start of the outbreak after being shot by a soldier.

“Who knew we had so much in common?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the cheap whiskey. “But at least we don’t ever need to see our assholes ex’s again.”

A dark chuckle passes his lips. “You’re just always looking for that silver lining.”

As you both finish your drinks, you lean in closer to Joel, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You close your eyes and imagine a different world, one where the outbreak never happened.

—

As the months went on, Joel would visit you more frequently; sometimes he had alcohol, other times he brought dinner. You tried not to look too much into the fact that he mainly came at night when Tess was on shift. Although he still spent time with her smuggling various items, he also liked spending alone time with you.

Tonight was different though, it was the first time you gave into temptation. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss as you straddle Joel’s waist, tongues tangling as you both lose yourself in the moment. The tension between you has been building for far too long, and tonight you both have just enough adrenaline and whisky pumping through your bodies to give into your desire for one another. Your hands roam over his body, exploring every inch of skin you have access to. Your thighs are left bare as the long t-shirt you wear to bed rides up, Joel’s fingers dig into your soft flesh as he grinds up against you. The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft sound of the wind howling outside.

You pull back for a moment to catch your breath, locking eyes with each other.

You lean in to kiss him again, but Joel gently pushes you off his lap and sits you back onto the couch. At first, you take this as a rejection until he starts kissing down your neck. He slowly gets onto the ground and kneels between your legs, his eyes fixed on yours, as he slowly pulls down your pants. You gasp as his hot breath teases your sensitive flesh, and then puts his mouth on your cunt. His tongue circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arch your back, unable to contain the moans escaping your lips.

Joel lightly slaps at your thigh and smirks. “You gotta be quiet; I can’t have you waking the neighbors now.”

The cocky smile on his face turns you on even more. You throw your head back, letting out a long, low moan as Joel's tongue teases your sensitive flesh. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he devours you. The world outside your rundown apartment fades away, replaced by the intense pleasure coursing through your body as Joel gives you the first of many orgasms that night.

[multifandomfix]

Miranda Priestly Smut Alphabet

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

Miranda tends to be reserved but attentive. After sex, she might quietly cuddle or lay beside her partner, offering a few whispered words of praise.

B = Body part (favorite body part of their partner’s)

Miranda is drawn to your neck and collarbone. She finds subtle, sensual moments in tracing her fingers along these areas, delighting in the vulnerability they represent, and the closeness they bring.

C = Collar (do they mark you as theirs in some way?)

She might purchase several discreet, elegant pieces of jewelry for you to wear in public with her that hints at her ownership of you, but she’s not one that needs to put it on some grand display. People basically already know.

D = Dominant (who is in control? are they a top or bottom?)

Miranda is firmly in control. She prefers to be the one calling the shots, taking the lead in all aspects of your relationship. Whether it's in the bedroom or in public, she likes being the one who holds the power, and she’s great at getting what she wants.

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

With years of experience under her belt, Miranda is incredibly confident in her abilities. She knows exactly what she's doing and what she likes, and is able to read your body language with precision.

F = Fuck (do they prefer to fuck or make love?)

Miranda prefers to fuck rather than make love. She's passionate, demanding, and likes to take her time, pushing you to your limits. It's not usually about tenderness for her, it's about raw, unapologetic desire.

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

Miranda is far more serious and intense, always maintaining an air of control. There's a confidence to her actions, and humor is rare in intimate settings unless she's feeling especially playful.

H = Hot (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you match wits with her, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that you’ll either piss her off or turn her on. She likes someone that can hold their own, but still knows where to draw the line.

I = Insatiable (how do they act when they’re desperate to have you?)

When Miranda is desperate to have you, she becomes impatient and curt, her control slipping only when she can no longer resist. Her usual cool demeanor cracks, and she demands your full attention, her eyes dark with desire as she takes what she wants.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Miranda doesn't often indulge in self pleasure. However, when she does, it’s indulgent, usually borne out of frustration from you being away, or perhaps mad at her.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Miranda prefers the thrill of power dynamics. She’s no stranger to issuing commands, but she also likes some light bondage, and leaving marks all over you.

L = Location (favorite places to have sex)

Her favorite places to have sex are often her own home or, if pressed, a five star hotel suite, where she can maintain her air of control and privacy.

M = Mood (what’s the foreplay like? how do you get them in the mood?)

Foreplay with Miranda is often intense and heated. She’ll pounce on you like a jungle cat with prey and it’s up to you to respond. She’ll slow things down if you need her to, but she can become impatient.

N = Naked (how do they undress? do they like to watch you undress?)

Miranda removes each item of clothing slowly and deliberately, never casting them to the floor, but folding and setting them aside. She's not particularly voyeuristic, but she does enjoy watching you undress, appreciating your figure before guiding you toward the bed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Miranda prefers to receive rather than give. Even so, she’s skilled and focused when it comes to pleasuring you, and loves the sounds you make for her when you get close.

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

Miranda enjoys a slow, deliberate pace, taking her time. There's an intensity in her actions, but it's all about creating long lasting pleasure. Her slow, teasing rhythm is meant to make you ache for more.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Miranda isn't one for quickies. Too messy and unpredictable. However, if she's particularly needy or caught in the heat of the moment, she might indulge in one with a sense of urgency.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Miranda isn't someone who's reckless with risks, but when it comes to experimenting in bed, she's open to trying new things as long as it's controlled.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Miranda has great stamina, lasting for multiple rounds if needed. She's able to keep her focus and intensity for as long as the mood strikes, never tiring easily. Her endurance matches her drive and ambition.

T = Tryst (are they into casual sex or one night stands?)

Miranda is not typically interested in one night stands. While she enjoys a discreet affair, she does not indulge in casual trysts without having a deep attraction.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Miranda loves to tease. She toys with you, pushing you to the brink of frustration before letting you have what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Miranda is usually pretty quiet in bed. She's more likely to let out a soft sigh or moan when the pleasure is particularly intense, but she's not one to be overly vocal.

W = Wait (how long do they wait before having sex with their partner for the first time?)

Miranda waits a while before having sex with a partner, as she likes to make sure the connection is solid and that the relationship has some level of commitment and trust. She's not impulsive in her actions and believes in taking the time to build trust and desire.

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

Under those elegant clothes, Miranda has a toned, well maintained body. There's a sophistication to her appearance, usually accented with very delicate and expensive lingerie.

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

Miranda's sex drive is fairly high, but she often keeps it repressed. She's not impulsive about her desires but is incredibly passionate when the mood strikes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Miranda falls asleep quickly, always seeking rest after a satisfying encounter. Once her needs have been met, she's efficient in winding down, retreating into the calm of her mind, leaving the chaos of her daily life behind.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Miranda Priestly: @iticaboopsyou, @derry-n, @ladysc, @russian-soft-bitch, @rafterymorton, @messynessi

[cinnamon-flame]

Wings of fire oc drawings that I horded in my files, including my least drawn lizards.

They are in order (top to bottom, left to right): - Atlas (Skywing/Silkwing), designed by @rainyjays - Ambrosia (Hivewing), Seaglass (Seawing), Honeydew (Hivewing/Seawing), Mayfly (Hivewing/Seawing) and Alga (Hivewing/Seawing) -Steam (Seawing/Skywing) -Mayfly again -Amethyst (Mudwing) -Verglas (Icewing) - Starfruit (Rainwing/Leafwing), designed by @fat-muffins - Spider (Sandwing)

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[marblerose-rue]

new lioden king except ive had him for a couple weeks :-)

[thornaelle]

I want to gently ease back into my commission work so I'm thinking about offering a couple of these chibi head icon things as a warm up. I'd be selling a very small number via ko-fi's commissions system.

Any interest?

[britneyshakespeare]

A featherless biped

[gentleladyproject]

the chapter ACCOMPLISHMENTS from THE LADIES' BOOK OF ETIQUETTE, AND MANUAL OF POLITENESS Florence Hartley lists several skills and interests becoming for a young lady who is already well-educated. these accomplishments serve to impress others and delight oneself. she suggests to strive for the following ✧ conversing well, which is aided by a deep knowledge of literature ✧ music, played on an instrument and accompanied by singing (she explicitly recommends easier pieces for the less experienced in the company of others) ✧ drawing, sculpture and similar arts ✧ riding elegantly ✧ speaking french, german, and italian, as well as spanish ✧ dancing all fashionable dances ✧ reading out loud and reciting well ✧ arranging tableaux vivants ✧ crochet, knitting, tapestry work, embroidery, bead work, and many more

[luvsavos]

life kicks me in the ribs yet again: more than likely i won't be able to get all the money i need in time for the alatreon model, so. got excited for nothing :)

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah? Cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive, ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide." A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right, Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences, but you're already making your way back towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. That might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, maybe they can smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief.

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to meet just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat, while he pounds you from behind. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the two groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[wyniepooh]

Loving him was never enough

you don’t have what logan needs, but he still takes all that he can.

Cage fighter!logan x reader. Mentions of violence. Porn with a little bit of plot. mdni; 18+

thinking about being logan’s plaything in his cage fighting days.

It’s not uncommon for the fighters to have a beautiful girl around their arms as they enter the ring, and though Logan usually resists against the fan girls who clamour around him in a frenzy, he figures a sweet thing like you could only do him some good.

Not only does it piss the other fighters off, (they hate to see the king of the cage also have a pretty girl like you beside him) turns out, you’re not half bad for company either.

You’re an anxious little thing, brows furrowed and eyes teary before every match. Logan doesn’t bother telling you that he’ll be fine, that he’s going to win guaranteed, that his punch is as hard as metal. Literally.

He hates to admit it, but he finds it endearing, the way you’re so worried for him. through his nonchalant front, he still wipes away your tears with his large hands before every match and reassures you, cooing, “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

When logan gets in the ring, the fight goes exactly as he expects it to go. The other guy is destroyed before logan even shows his true strength. In a spiteful and humiliating position, the fallen guy comments something like, “I’ll fuck your pretty girlfriend dumb.”

Logan hears, of course, and though the guy is already bleeding and sprawled over the mat on the ground in a pathetic display, and though logan definitely didn’t consider you his girlfriend, he throws the announcer to the side and pounces. Through gritted teeth and a bleeding forehead, he catches your eye, shaking his head lightly before knocking the other guy out.

You wait for him in the small public washroom afterwords, arms crossed and pouting. As Logan approaches the door and sees your stiff pacing around the room, he knows you’re mad. And he knows it won’t stay that way.

“‘was so worried, logan,” you practically run towards him, “why’d you have to go after him like that? he could’ve really hurt you.”

He scoffs and flashes you the fresh wad of cash. “Hurt me? Please.”

He stays still for as long as he can bear while you dab at the wound on his head with your sleeve, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice the red cut slowly healing by itself. When you try to touch his face, to run a finger down his cheek and his stubble, he grabs your wrist harshly to stop you.

You’re confused, confused as to why he allows you to trail along to his every fight and wipes your tears with such a gentle hand, but refuses to let you in. He doesn’t give you much time to think, though, because as soon as you part your lips to speak, he’s picking you up from under your arms and sitting you down on the cold sink counter.

there’s an aggressive desperation behind his kiss, probably produced by the adrenaline of the recent fight and triggered by the soft whine he heard from you when his teeth knocked against yours. His hand reaches down between your legs and drags your panties to the side, and before long, you’re biting his shoulder and mumbling, “‘gonna cum, logan, please, let me cum.”

He does, drawing out your short orgasm with a few more pumps of his fingers and a graze over your clit. When he’s done, you’re practically already numb, head limp on his shoulder as you hear the metal clinking of his belt.

“You want this?” He asks, holding your head up by your chin as he tilts his head and raises his brows. “You want me?”

You nod feverishly, half-lidded eyes flickering as you breathe, “yes, logan. need you.” Your head falls back against the mirror, and he looks down with a grin at the sight in front of him.

he hooks his arms around your knees to bring you closer before you take him to the hilt in one go, burying a mewl into his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. The first thrust burns, always does, but only he can make you forget the pain in an instant. Soon, your hands are tangled in his hair, his beard is rubbing against your neck, and you’re begging, “please, lo, need it so bad. “ Logan fucks exactly like how he fights, thrusting into you so sharply your ass is sliding back on the metal counter with each movement of his hips.

He’s done this enough times to know what makes you whine and dig your fingernails into his back, but he still demands, every time, “that feel good, baby? you like that?” Of course, you don’t have to answer for him to know that it does, that it does feel good, so incredibly good, and that he’s hitting all the right spots in the body only he knows so well.

You aren’t the only one filling the room with lewd noises. Logan is panting too, the echoes of his each and every grunt reflecting off of every corner in the room and into your ear. It only makes your cheeks flush hotter, only encourages your hips to move more eagerly to match his pace.

It’s always when he’s just about there that Logan pulls back and looks down at where the two of you are connected, slowing down his strokes to slowly watch his bulging cock sink deep into your slopping cunt.

It’s the only opportunity with logan that you get to really look at him, to see the raw expression of euphoria on his face, teeth bared and mouth open. Some strands of previously gelled hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes rolling back with each press of his pelvis. Your eyes trace the sweat on his shoulder, the hair on his chest peaking from behind his white wife-beater, and the vein on his stomach that connects to the one on his dick.

You gaze flickers back at his face, and you extend a hand to guide his head towards you. He tries to turn away, as usual, and you hate that you know he’s holding back; limiting the noises he’s making, the pace he’s taking.

“Just use me, Logan. I know you want to,” you plead against his lips, inhaling a gasp as you press your lips onto his. You expect him to pull away, to push your head to the side and focus on finishing the other task at hand, but this time, he only pulls you closer, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He doesn’t give you much time to be shocked before he resumes his previous pace, drilling into you with the same vigor, albeit a bit more sloppy than before.

Logan pulls back to catch his breath, and at the same time, you clench tightly around him. A low groan escapes him, a noise so animalistic and fervent that you reach your high right then and there, shrieking as your legs begin to shake.

He’s close too, you can feel it in his breathing, so you let him fuck you beyond your orgasm, even if it’s getting to be too much and you’re losing your thoughts by the second.

“nobody— ah— fucks my girlfriend,” he suddenly growls, lifting you up from under your arms and shoving you against the tiled wall. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look into his hazel gaze as he spits, “n-nobody fucks you like I do.”

He plummets into you deep, leaning his lips in and making you swallow one last groan of his before you feel his warm release fill your insides.

When he’s done, Logan is supporting all your weight, your limp arms splayed around his sweaty back. You whimper at the emptiness as he pulls out, feeling his cum languidly drip down your inner thighs.

You’re too exhausted to realize what he just said, to react to what he just referred to you as, and as the fog of pleasure slowly unclouds Logan’s head, he’s glad he fucked you stupid enough to forget.

-

a/n: anyone else feel like they’re incapable of writing good smut? Hey Google how many other synonyms could there possibly be of the word ‘thrust’?

[mattnott]

𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which you and mattheo were constantly at each other's throats, and this time was no different. WORDS. +6.1K, english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. ‘whipped’ mattheo (he’s obsessed), porn w// plot, reader and mattheo are both 18, making out, smoking , alcohol (mentions), hair pulling, oral sex!f receiving, marking, face sitting, nipple sucking, biting, dirty talk, blood kink.

masterlist

The loud music spread through the dungeon corridors, pulsing like a frantic heartbeat and bouncing off the stone walls of the grand common room of the serpent house. It caught the attention of passersby, drawing curious glances, as if the noise were an invitation to peek in and see what was happening—or to get involved in whatever was going on behind the closed door.

Inside the crowded room, dark green lights pulsed to the beat of the music, almost as if they were dancing along. They lit up the faces of students who looked like they’d already had a bit too much to drink, escaping from their dorms in search of some much-needed fun after a long and draining semester.

In the shadows at the back of the loud room, Mattheo stayed leaned against the cold wall, with a cigarette dangling from his fingers with an enviable ease. His expression appeared relaxed, yet the messy curls still damp from the shower after a brutal Quidditch practice told a different story about his calm demeanor.

Though he would never admit just how tough the practice had been.

Beside him, Enzo and Theodore were bickering as usual, this time over the recent Potions exam that had been harder than they expected, making their voices louder. Yet their discussion faded into the background of Mattheo’s mind, barely registering in his ears, and he was certain they didn’t even notice his indifferent demeanor towards the childish conversation. His gaze drifted across the room, almost desperate to find something—or someone—to shatter the monotony that had settled over his life in the past few days.

From his spot, he could see drunk students nearly collapsing to the floor—acting like animals, he could swear—others laughing loudly, moving their bodies to the beat of the music, too entertained to notice anything else around them, and couples craving each other’s touch as if they didn’t care about their surroundings. Yet his gaze remained devoid of emotion; nothing stood out—nothing that could break the heavy boredom clinging to him like a second skin.

Taking another look around the room, Mattheo couldn’t help but scoff at his ridiculous state. He felt almost pathetic, surrounded by the chaos he usually appreciated, yet weary of being caught in the middle of it. Everything felt so common and dull that he figured the only adrenaline he might get would come from being lucky enough to vomit the alcohol swirling in his system. He chuckled dryly at the thought, taking a slow drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke curl lazily around his lips before releasing it into the air, watching it dissipate in the dim light around him.

Somehow, that was far more interesting than the party itself.

He leaned back against the wall, a small, irritated sigh escaping his lips as the weight of boredom settled heavily on his shoulders like a coat. His eyes landed on Berkshire and Nott, still bickering with each other—this time about Quidditch—their voices growing sharper by the second. Once again, his attention drifted away, their words fading into a dull roar in the background as he tuned out completely.

His eyes scanned the room once more, this time more attentively. Just as he was about to release one of the last tendrils of smoke from his cigarette, his gaze locked onto the door swinging open again, revealing a sight he hadn't expected at all—you. Stepping out from the shadows of the entrance, you looked around with a blend of curiosity and caution. In that instant, he could swear that everything around him seemed to slow—the music faded, the crowd blurred, as if the entire room were paying reverence to your presence.

Mattheo shook his head quickly, cringing at what his mind—and maybe even his heart—wanted to say. Curiosity sparked in his gaze as he looked up, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, completely caught up in your presence. You definitely weren’t the type for gatherings like this; “party material” was the last thing he’d call you—quite the opposite. Yet there you were, looking as out of place as you were striking, like a prey wandering into 'enemy' territory. A playful smirk appeared on his face as the boredom began to lift from his shoulders.

There it was—the distraction he needed to keep him on his feet.

His smirk deepened as he watched you weave through the crowded party, letting his gaze drop to your thighs for a moment longer than he should. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought Mattheo’s gaze darkened with something far from innocent, and in fact it did. Glancing back at his friends, he checked for any sign they’d noticed his interest in you—but luckily, they were still too absorbed in their heated discussion, now with Blaise joining in. A glimmer of relief crept over him.

As you moved carefully through the crowd, he pushed himself off the wall, almost instinctively flicking the last embers from his cigarette before tossing it aside without a second thought and striding toward the crowd. His gaze never wavered, following you with an unbothered intensity, watching you like a hawk. He stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by the drunken bodies, waiting for the moment you’d feel his eyes on you—only then would he make a move. 

Maybe this was just another game for him, but if he was being honest, he didn’t care. He thrived on getting under your skin, relishing the power to rip apart the perfect image you projected to everyone. You were too polite, too nice, too good—yet with him, you turned cruel, acidic, and downright mean. He loved it. The fact that he could be the one to destroy you and expose the flaws beneath that polished exterior was intoxicating.

Loving your good side was easy, but he was the only one who craved your darker nature, despising your sweetness with a intensity that almost consumed his soul. 

It was no surprise to anyone that you and Mattheo were always at each other’s throats. Since your first year at school, every interaction was filled with cold words and insults, your clashing personalities entertaining everyone around you.

But only Mattheo knew the truth: you were almost a reflection of his own twisted nature, and every stolen kiss only deepened his conviction. Maybe that was why his relentless, penetrating gaze tracked your every move, waiting for the faintest flicker of recognition, longing for the moment you'd finally break and turn to him.

As you continued moving through the room, a familiar shiver ran up your spine, and you gripped your wrists tightly, muttering under your breath—you knew exactly whose gaze was piercing enough to unsettle you like this. Riddle. Turning around, your eyes locked onto his, and when he noticed the angry look on your face, his cruel smirk widened, as if your discomfort amused him. He gave you a mocking wave; his gaze remained fixed on you, heavy and almost suffocating, daring you to get closer to him to show just how much he could get under your skin.

For a moment, you felt trapped by his intensity, the chaos around you fading into the background as his gaze bore into you like teeth. But when you noticed the way he lifted his eyebrows in mockery, you quickly regained your composure, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

Looking away, you steeled yourself, refusing to fall for his game like you always did.

But unlucky—or lucky—for you, Mattheo noticed your reaction, and your defiance only seemed to excite him more. He moved toward you slowly, each step amplifying your discomfort, and when he finally loomed close enough, the air thickened between you, heavy with a fervor capable enough to put you down. It was an overwhelming feeling that made your heart race like crazy, and you could see he was enjoying the way you would react to him.

“Lost, are we?” he asked not really waiting for a response, his gaze fixed on you with a knowing predatory glare that sent a shiver down your spine. His low voice dripped with mockery, and despite your desperate attempt to remain composed, every part of you wanted to break before him. Your heart raced wildly, and you wondered if you were on the edge of a heart attack.

You narrowed your eyebrows, your eyes filled with a hint of disgust as you finally faced Mattheo completely. His smirk only grew wider, but you raised your chin with every ounce of defiance you could muster in that moment. “Lost? Hardly,” you replied sharply, your gaze assessing him with disgust.

As you continued to stare at him, a memory of his clumsy fumbling during Quidditch practice flashed in your mind, causing a disdainful chuckle to escape your lips. You could see the way that mockery threw him, noticing that he was likely the cause behind that nearly insufferable mockery.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He spat through clenched teeth, his anger barely contained, which only made your grin widen and his scowl deepen. He should have been the one to rile you up, not the other way around.

“Nothing much,” you hum, the false sweetness dripping from your words. He glared at you, clearly itching to hurl an insult, but he held back, aware that you were just getting started. “Just about how you humiliated yourself tripping over your massive ego during today’s practice,” you said, savoring the way his expression soured. “Honestly, it was the highlight of my day.” You teased.

Mattheo’s expression darkened as he let out a dry chuckle, forcing himself to meet your gaze. How he wished you weren’t so beautiful; he hated the way your presence twisted in his gut, making him crave what he knew he shouldn’t. Yet there you were, effortlessly making him feel less of the person he was.

Your beauty almost consuming his whole.

“Maybe if you spent less time criticizing me and more time focusing on yourself...” he began, his voice dripping with bitterness yet with mocking amusement, making you frown. “You wouldn’t be so fucking bitter.” He shot back, taking an unconscious step closer, invading more your space. The fever radiating from his body was almost intoxicating, and you fought the urge to step back.

Swallowing hard, you raised your chin even more, your eyes locking onto his almost hypnotic brown orbs. You couldn’t deny the idiot was handsome, and it was obvious that he was aware of his own beauty, appreciating the effect it had on you as he used it to overpower you, pushing the boundaries of your composure. 

“Bitter?” You forced a laugh, attempting to sound unaffected by his words, even though the truth was that Mattheo’s proximity was rattling you to your core. “I just enjoy your suffering. Watching you nearly fall from your broom was... truly entertaining.” You grinned, convinced you’d won the argument, but when his smirk returned, you realized you were the one being toyed with.

“Oh, really?” he began, a smug grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of your flustered expression. “So, not only were you watching my practice, but you were watching me, too.” He drawled, clearly savoring every moment as he enjoyed your discomfort. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” he taunted, blinking slowly in mockery, fully aware of the pull he had over you.

The boredom was definitely gone at this point.

Unlike Mattheo, you blinked rapidly, his words almost suffocating your brain, heat flooding your cheeks as you realized how easily you had exposed yourself. It was infuriating how much he observed the information you unwittingly gave him, and the more he had, the more he used it to make you nervous.

“As if I’d waste my time watching your stupid ass flounder around on a broom like a fucking idiot.” You scoffed, refusing to let your guard down, even if the proof of the embarrassment burned on your cheeks. “You’re not that interesting, Riddle.” You shot back with venom, but his smirk only widened, augmenting your irritation.

You were getting mad, and he loved it. Watching you unravel gave him satisfaction, you were finally losing your composure, almost revealing the side he was eager to see again.

“I’m not that interesting?” Mattheo drawled mockingly, his lips twisting into a fake pout that almost made you cringe. “Yet here you are, practically begging for my attention. Quite the contradiction, isn’t it?” He hummed, amused.

He was infuriating.

You looked at him, almost incredulous, torn between his audacity and his stupidity. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, but he remained unfazed, clearly enjoying the negative attention you were throwing at him. “You’re the one who came to ‘talk’ to me, so get a grip,” you shot back, and for a brief moment, his smile almost faltered.

Mattheo’s gaze dragged over you slowly, every detail taken in with a lazy, shameless boldness that refused to let you feel any sense of power. The smirk was back, curling at the edge of his mouth as though your insult had already slipped his mind. With another step forward, he closed the space between you, close enough for you to catch the sharp edge of his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of the cigarette he was smoking before.

“You talk big for someone who’s practically shaking in my presence,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously soft, each word daring you to react. “Maybe you should get a grip, princess.” You nearly cringed at the nickname, but his words hit, and though you’d never admit it, a part of you knew he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Mattheo's presence was suffocating, so suffocating; each step he took left you feeling like a part of your logic had slipped away. You hated it, you hated how each encounter left you feeling a part of yourself was missing. Yet, no matter how many times this twisted game played out, you found yourself drawn back, absorbed by the chaos he ignited in you.

But you weren’t the only one unraveling—Mattheo was drowning too, trapped in the same game, and the only thing that changed was the reason behind it.

If your chin wasn't raised enough, you would have lifted it one more time, but unfortunately, you couldn't; instead, you had to cling to the last shred of self-respect you had. “Shaking?” you scoffed, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though he could easily detect the tremor beneath it. “Trust me, if my body's shaking, it's only because I'm holding myself back from shoving you off this wall and breaking your damn nose.” You hissed, taking another step closer to him, forcing him to suppress a satisfied sigh at your defiance.

Yet Mattheo didn’t hold back his smirk; it only widened further, with a subtle glint of satisfaction appearing in his eyes. If you had the courage to look closer, you might have noticed it. But his proximity left you oblivious to anything else—your attention was fixed only on how close his body was to yours, how his face lingered near yours without closing the distance.

It was torture.

“Is that right?” he asked, taunt dripping from his tone as his eyebrow arched, his gaze bearing down on you. Maybe he wanted you to feel less of yourself, or maybe he was just savoring the way your body reacted to him—either way, his eyes held a single intent: make you feel small. “For someone so eager to break my nose, you seem to love getting close enough to do it,” he taunted.

Your stomach twisted; he wasn’t just hungry for your skin—he was tearing at it, and you couldn’t help but feel infuriated. You hated being played with, especially by him. But Mattheo? He was enjoying this moment, enjoying how you kept his boredom at bay.

The way you were practically forced to look at him, how his body towered over you, and how you constantly challenged him—it thrilled him. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the hotness radiating off his body. It was maddening how he turned every interaction into a twisted game, and worse, how you always fell for it.

He was the only one who could ruin your good image, and you hated it. You hated that you found it exciting, and you despised how he made you crave these sick competitions for power more and more. You wanted to hurt him so badly that it almost burned your insides.

“I just want a clear shot,” you hissed, clutching what little dignity you had left. But Mattheo didn’t seem affected at all; in fact, he was just waiting for the chance to turn the tables once more. “So don’t flatter yourself, idiot.” He lowered his head slightly, challenging you, it seemed.

Mattheo chuckled dryly, and you felt his breath even closer to your face than before. “Funny, I don’t see you making a move,” he remarked, his gaze fixed on your clenched fists, satisfaction evident as he noticed how tightly you were gripping them. “Maybe you’re not as angry as you want me to think,” he whispered provocatively, his tongue sliding over his own lips as he did so.

You wanted to punch him; you wanted to see him lose so badly, and he could see it. He could see your facade falling, and he was eager to expose your darker side—the side that could put him in his place with just a word. He just needed one more push, one more slip, and he knew he could get it out of you.

He was almost there. Almost.

You closed your eyes for a moment, desperately trying to ignore the rapid beat of your heart, feeling as if you were teetering on the edge of a heart attack. Still, you managed to respond. “Or maybe I’m just debating which would be more satisfying—breaking your nose or shattering your ego.” You practically spat the words, logic having abandoned your body two minutes ago. You felt heavy, so heavy.

You just didn’t know that Mattheo’s heart was beating in sync with yours. Apreciating your unlogical comportment and the way his mind was getting a bit of logic because of you, because he knew, he knew that he wanted you, he knew that he needed to break you. He knew he could put him on lines, but him? He took pleasure in keeping you off balance, and he knew that you both craved the same thing; you just lacked the guts to admit it.

Unlucky for you, he was more than ready to push you to do it.

Mattheo lowered his head until his lips were barely a whisper away from yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. For a fleeting second, you were almost thankful for the boldness that kept your chin raised. “Go on, try,” he murmured, his voice a dare that left your legs feeling dangerously uneven. “You’re welcome to try either.”

A flash of hesitation crossed your mind, but his gaze trapped you, daring you to make a move. The air between you felt stifling, the noise around you melting away under the weight of his words, and the tension sparkling between both of you. Your pulse pounded as his face lingered close to yours, his mouth barely an inch away, eyes flickering to your lips—close enough to make every nerve burn.

You could feel control slipping right through your fingers.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered, his voice low, rough with mockery, that insufferable smirk deepening in a way that practically begged you to knock it off his face. “Losing your nerve?”

And then you lost it—you lost it completely.

You didn’t answer him with words. Instead, your hands shot up to his neck, and you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your anger and frustration into the kiss. It was fierce, almost desperate, and somehow, it felt painfully right. Mattheo responded instantly, not even a little surprised, just the dark satisfaction of someone who’d been waiting for this.

He chuckled against your mouth, triumphant; you were exactly where he’d wanted you all along.

You could feel the way Mattheo's grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, his chest pressing into yours as the kiss deepened into something raw and almost primal. His hand held you firmly in place, no room to pull away, letting your tongue clash with his in a battle for dominance neither of you wanted to lose. It was pure hunger, teeth and tongues colliding, each of you refusing to back down.

Your bodies pressed together, as if you and him were desperate to merge into one, the intensity between you both fueling an insatiable hunger. It wasn't enough—nothing could satisfy the craving consuming both of you. You needed more, and so did he. Without a second thought, you sank your teeth into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste flooded both of your mouths, sending a primal thrill through you both that made you gasp and moan with the flavor.

It was maddening.

Maybe that's why Mattheo craved kissing you and touching you—because it felt like suffocation, like drowning as your tongue slipped into his mouth, stealing the very air from his lungs. And he needed it more than he cared to admit. Mattheo loved how you made him lose and gain control at the same time, how you made him forget himself completely.

His life could be boring, even wild most of the times, but nothing made him feel more alive than when you were tearing him apart, lips and bodies pressed together, suffocating him with your poison in a way he could never resist—as if he were addicted to the pain of being ruined by you.

Mattheo couldn't take it anymore and kissed you again as the first one broke, his body pressing even harder against yours, your hips grinding against him, making him groan into your mouth.

The blood from the first bite only intensified his need for you, pushing him to the edge where he had to sink his teeth into your lower lip as well, taking another moan from you. He longed for the metallic tang lingering on your lips, desperate to mix with his as your tongues clashed again and again with an intensity that left both of you eager for more.

You wanted more; he needed to give him more.

You and Mattheo seemed oblivious to the fact that you were still at the party, too consumed by each other's lips and bodies to notice the pounding music or the crowded room around you, and compared to anyone else here, the two of you were on another level. After a few moments, Mattheo broke the kiss, lowering his mouth to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin with such hunger that you couldn't be sure who was enjoying it more.

“You smell so good, so damn good,” he whispered like a prayer against your skin, his tongue tracing over the mark he'd just left, almost like he was savoring it. His words jolted you, snapping you back to your senses as you glanced around, suddenly aware that you weren't alone. Reluctantly, you pushed his head back, biting back a groan as you felt the ache of stopping.

“Why did you push me?” Mattheo asked, his lips swollen and tempting like yours, and unlike you, he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped at the loss of contact. His hungry gaze locked onto yours. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, clearly waiting for you to say no.

“Not here.” You managed to say. “Let’s go to somewhere private.” You said quickly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Mattheo’s smirk widened with those words, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he seized your hand without warning, dragging you toward the dorms. You let out a soft, surprised whimper, but he didn’t pause, continuing walking and ignoring the stunned—and amused—looks from his friends. He barely glanced back, his grip firm and unyielding, as if nothing in the room mattered except getting you alone.

Neither of you noticed the dim hallways as you hurried along, too consumed by the need to be alone together. Neither of you registered when the music faded into the background or when his door creaked open and shut behind you. And neither of you realized when the clothes that once covered your bodies ended up scattered across the floor, tangled together just like the two of you.

You were both too lost in ecstasy.

Mattheo's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with excitement that was visible from miles away. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, leaving marks with each squeeze, and if you didn't know him, you might've thought it was unintentional. But the smirk pressed against your skin proved he knew exactly what he was doing—a knowledge that made you moan, and made him grip your ass even harder.

“I could bite you for hours, taste you for hours,” he purred against your skin, his nose brushing against you with a softness that contrasted sharply with his mouth, which was focused on marking your neck fiercely.

His teeth sank into your flesh, drawing blood as he savored the metallic taste, and each lick sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy. “Your skin is so damn soft,” he murmured, the obsession in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Mattheo squeezed your ass a little harder before pulling his hand away, leaving you moaning at the loss of contact and shooting him an angry glare. “What's wrong, love?” he smirked, his voice dripping with mockery as his lips stained a deep red from the blood you two had shared during the kiss and the blood he was still taking from you, curled into a cruel grin against your skin.

“You know what's wrong, don't stop touching me!” you snapped, frustration lacing your voice. The moment the words left your mouth, you let out a breathy moan as he clamped his teeth onto your skin again, this time a little harder in response to your defiant tone.

He chuckled slightly. “Don't be so fucking impatient, love.” He pressed soft kisses against your skin, purring against it. “I will touch you again...” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand possessively cupped your breast, a low moan escaping him as your hardened nipple pressed into his palm. You let out a satisfied sigh, your lips parting slightly, and Mattheo couldn't resist; almost instinctively, he pulled you in for another heated kiss.

As soon as his mouth met yours, you couldn't help but reciprocate his fervor with equal intensity. Mattheo squeezed your chest a little harder, forcing you to part your lips, and he wasted no time plunging his tongue into your mouth, flooding you with the metallic taste of blood that was almost tattooed on his tongue.

The sloppy and open mouthed kisses were enough to send shivers down both your bodies, and you were sure you had never been more wet than you were in that moment.

“Look at you.” Mattheo murmured as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your chin while guiding you to one of the beds in the dorm, his hands never leaving your chest, and his mouth staying on your skin, moving lower and lower. “You're just all talk, aren't you?” he purred, sitting down on the bed and pulling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him, as his lips moved down, almost grazing your hardened left nipple.

You flushed almost violently, but before you could respond, his mouth was on your breast, tongue flicking and teasing your nipple as he sucked, drawing a shiver from you that only widened his grin. His gaze fixated on the marks and faint traces of blood on your neck, an look of satisfaction in his eyes as his tongue continued its relentless, obscene play on your skin, savoring every reaction he wrung from you.

The bastard knew exactly how to use his tongue, and you could already feel yourself losing control.

One of his hands was now tangled softly in your hair, while the other still cupped your chest with a possessiveness that only Mattheo could make feel strangely delicate. It was a balance that would seem odd to anyone else—but not to him. His version of delicacy always came paired with roughness, and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved every bit of it.

"Are you ready to admit that you're just talking?" He murmured, his mouth still toying with your breast as you looked down at him, locked in a mix of pleasure and anger.

“Go to hell, Riddle,” you spat, anger lacing your words, only to moan as his teeth sank into your nipple.

“Oh, love, I'm already in hell.” He suckled your hardened nipple, lingering on the sensitive flesh before pulling away, his hand that had been tangled in your hair sliding down to your neck, giving it a teasing squeeze as he drew you closer, his lips brushing tantalizingly against your ear. “And I'm loving every second of it,” he whispered, sending a surge of heat through your body and making his grin widen even more.

Mattheo pushed you for another kiss, this time a softer one, leaning back against the bed and dragging you with him until the back of his head hit the headboard. In one swift motion, he bit your lip, breaking the kiss and abruptly flipping you onto your back, pressing you against his neck with a strength that made your eyes widen in surprise. You looked up at him, breathless, taking in the mix of dominance and desire radiating from him. You looked at him breathless.

“What—what are you doing?” you asked, your cheeks burning with the sudden action. You could feel his skin against your bare wetness.

Mattheo only grinned, feeling your pussy so close to him, and looked at you almost defiantly, but you were sure that you saw primal hunger in his gaze as he squeezed your thighs.

“You didn't want to break my nose?” Mattheo purred provocatively, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looked at the marks he made on your body. “Do it then.” He gripped your thighs tighter, his voice low and enticing. “Prove that you're not all talk, and sit on my face.” He said it without a shred of shame, and your eyes widened as you looked down at him.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to do it.

“Come on, love, are you scared?” he provoked, his mouth salivating with anticipation as he looked at your pussy nestled against his neck. Something in you snapped, and before you could even think about it, you positioned yourself over his face, sinking down and moaning at the sensation, feeling his grin against your wet cunt as he gripped your thighs even tighter.

“Just like that,” Mattheo murmured into your pussy, his tongue dancing and swirling in his mouth like a prelude to what he was about to do against your folds, and he couldn't help but let out a satisfied chuckle as he watched your impatient eyes.

You were already gasping, staring into Mattheo’s eyes with the same hunger and anger you had before, and he couldn’t help but feel a twisted satisfaction at that. He loved that you cared enough to be furious with him and relished the way you claimed his face as your throne.

For a brief moment, he craved you to break his nose, just so his blood could mingle with your pussy, marking you as his prey. That thought made Mattheo whisper inaudible words against your pussy like a prayer before he pressed your thighs against his cheeks and delivered the first lick.

Slow, painfully slow, almost like torture.

But as much as he craved to torture you, he couldn't, it was simply too much for him. The way your pleading eyes begged for more, the intoxicating scent of your arousal, and the initial taste of your cunt had him crazy. Without a second thought, he buried his face deeper into you, eating you out like a starved man desperate for his last taste of ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out, pushing his hair, which made him groan and moan against your folds. His tongue licked every inch of your core with fervor, ignoring any precision that could exist, too hungry to care. And you didn't mind how messy it got, not when he was licking and sucking your essence as if he wanted to drown in your wetness.

That was good—so good that you could already feel the tears streaming down your face. Your moans turned into screams as his muscle pushed deeper inside you. You were on the brink of breaking.

Mattheo didn't cared about that, though.

Since there was no technique or precision in the way he devoured you, there was only animalistic hunger and fervent hatred as his tongue flicked against your sex and his nose rubbed against your clit, leaving you so drunk with pleasure that the next thing to make you squeal was the feeling of his fingers massaging your thighs while his mouth sucked the spot where his nose had just been.

He wanted to be suffocated by you, to die between your legs consumed by your body, and that only fueled his obsession, driving him to push you further against him. He diverted his gaze from your cunt to your face, his stomach twisting with the precious sound of your moans.

“You look so pretty from here,” he moaned against your pussy, his eyes devouring every inch of you. You looked at him as your body started to weaken, and when you noticed the intensity in his dark brown eyes, you had to close yours quickly to escape his obsessive gaze. That only made him grip your legs even tighter, the veins in his arms bulging as he continued to suck on your clit, lost in your flavor.

“So fucking pretty,” Mattheo purred softly, almost hypnotized by the way your body reacted to him. He continued with fierce determination, his movements growing even more frenzied as his tongue and nose worked together to prolong your pleasure.

You were completely at his mercy, each wave of pleasure crashing over you more intensely than the last. He showed no signs of tiring, fully intent on pushing you to your limits, eager to watch you break over and over against his mouth.

He was utterly addicted to your taste, desperate for you to come into his mouth, determined to savor every last drop.

“Mattheo,” you choked out. “I can't—please, I need to cum!” You moaned repeatedly, your voice and legs trembling in sync.

“You can cum, love,” he said softly, his voice a stark contrast to the brutal way he feasted on you. “I will take it, I promise.” At his words, your body shattered as the first orgasm of the night swept over you, leaving you breathless, weak, and completely undone. But he didn't relent; instead, he buried his face deeper into your wetness, greedily lapping up every drop of your essence, driving you to scream even louder as you pressed into his face like a fucking masochist.

“I need another drop,” he murmured against your pussycat. “Just one, just one.” A lie. He didn't stop after the second drop. He didn't stop after the third, and each time he seemed to grow hungrier, as if he wanted to explode with your taste. But when your fourth orgasm hit, you couldn't take it anymore; you fell apart, collapsing beside him and dragging him down with you.

He had cum.

He came with your taste, and you had never felt more fulfilled, completely proud by the fact that you were the one who drove him to the edge without even touching him.

You looked at him, his chin still glistening with your essence, his chest rising and falling erratically, mirroring your own breath. But when your eyes met his, there was no hint of regret or shame—only a potent mix of hunger and satisfaction, as if he were on the verge of saying something else or maybe pushing your limits again.

“Next time, break my nose.” He said, putting your body against his almost like an embrace.

Next time. You nodded, that sounded like a plan.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🫶🏻

this is my first one-shot about slytherin boys, so please be kind and respectful!

thanks for being my fav beta readers: @diiwata & @earth4angels ! love you both <3. also, thank you @nottsangel ! you were the first person i read regarding slytherin boys. thanks for putting me on to it! (my gallery is grateful as well) <3

[imaginedanvrs]

show and tell

masterlist

dark!wandanat x reader. sub!wanda, dom!natasha, dom-turned-sub!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: cheating, dubcon, undiscussed voyeurism, exhibitionism, size kink, strap on sex (r giving and recieving), mentions of tribbing, praise, degrading, gun play, threats of violence, rough sex, begging, masturbation

“Too much…y/n- baby,” Wanda panted helplessly. Despite the words she was hardly able to speak, her legs tightened their hold on you whilst you pushed your newest toy deeper. The Sokovian whined as her back arched off of her King sized bed and her fingers clawed into your back. 

  You grinned, gazing down at the beautiful view you had created. “All that power yet you can’t take a few extra inches,” you remarked. “And there I thought this poor neglected pussy would be desperate for it after being left alone for so long,” you continued, drawing your hips back only to thrust in further. She was so close to taking it all, she just needed some extra encouragement. 

  “Please,” she uttered, eyes connecting with your own the way they always did. She was so influenced with lust she was practically at your mercy, so you filled her to the brim with a grunt. “Fuck!” Wanda hissed, nerves ablaze. You felt her slick against your thighs when your pelvises pressed together and acknowledged the signal she was ready. 

  You fucked Wanda like it was the last time you’d do it, because that was always in question. She had an unpredictable life and her marriage was even more so. As though the absence of planning wasn’t challenging enough, the fact that Wanda was married to the world’s best spy (and assassin) was constantly looming over you. 

  “I bet she never makes you feel this way,” you said, watching Wanda’s blissed features as she moaned breathlessly. She looked insatiable when you had her like that, cheeks flushed, hair messed, pupils blown. All from your actions. “You like when I fuck you with this big cock?” You questioned with a smirk, as though you couldn’t hear how wet she was. 

  “I love it,” she cried out, mind frayed. “So good.” She just couldn't help herself. Neither could you. 

  “Better than her?” She met your cocky grin with a mere flash of hesitation before the carefree smile returned. 

  “So competitive,” a voice behind you mused. Your recognition was instant and you didn’t even turn around when you made to scramble out of the bed. You didn’t get the chance. With a distressed whine, Wanda’s magic entangled with your frame and pulled you flush against her until the strap was buried to the hilt once more. 

  “Wanda,” you gasped, unsure if she had heard her wife come in. “Let go,” you hissed as you heard the widow’s boots thud across the floor. Wanda didn’t oblige and instead began to move your hips for you to resume her pleasure. 

  “Stop that,” Natasha demanded and you stilled, unable to escape. “She was just saying how I could never make you feel this way, so by all means, let her go ahead,” she told her wife, gliding her cold fingertips over your hips and pushed you down. You registered Wanda’s hitch at the action. 

  “Please, I-” you tried but the spy wasn’t interested. 

  “Shut the fuck up.” You knew better than to argue with the Russian, especially once she rounded the bed to kiss her wife tenderly. 

  “Welcome home,” Wanda greeted, still very flushed to her wife’s amusement. You eyed the pair warrily, your heart hammering against your chest so hard you felt your ribs bruise. It almost stopped short when Natasha’s glaze turned cold and locked in on you. 

  “Fuck her,” she ordered. You didn’t dare object but had to tear your eyes away as you dutifully began to thrust into the woman beneath you. You focused on Wanda’s sweet noises of pleasure in an attempt to forget your fear, but it was difficult with Natasha’s stalking behind you again. 

  “So you’re the one who’s been fucking my wife while I was saving the world,” she commented casually. “Such a big strap on you too,” Natasha continued as she watched the soaked toy leave Wanda’s pussy only to be driven back in. “Does it make you feel tough to use this on her? How would you feel if I used this nasty cock on you?” You felt Wanda clench around you at her words. 

  “I’m sorry!” You tried again, imagining all of the different weapons that she could be carrying on her. 

  “You’re sorry you were caught,” she corrected. “If you make my wife cum I might consider letting you leave here with all of your limbs,” she considered, delivering a hard smack to your ass. You jolted forwards and heard Wanda cry out, falling into the rhythm Natasha pushed you into in a desperate attempt to please them both. It wasn’t hard, you had fucked Wanda countless times before, but you momentarily regretting bringing such a large toy to use under pressure. Still, it didn’t seem to be an issue for the Sokovian who gasped into your shoulder, peering at her wife with a knowing glint. Unknowingly to you, Natasha winked back with the same smirk she had stripped you of. 

  “ты хорошо себя чувствуешь, дорогая?” You frowned at the Russian’s words, knowing they were directed at Wanda but still feeling like you should know what they say. 

  “Wha-” you turned to question Natasha only to be met with the barrel of her handgun pointed at your head. You instantly cowered away but knew that even if you had tried to leap out of the bed again, it was pointless against the assassin. 

  “так хорошо!” Wanda answered, entirely unphased by the weapon she happened to be in the firing range of. Natasha hummed, seemingly pleased with her partner’s response.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she told you pitifully. “As long as you do what you came here to do.” You figured there wasn’t much point protesting any longer, so you turned back to the woman beneath you and tried to pin all of your focus on her as you usually wouldn't without prompt. Even with a gun pointed at your head, you couldn’t stop admiring how much Wanda looked like some tainted angel that had succumbed to her desires. 

  “Don’t stop,” she called to you. She was breathless, desperate and despite her partner’s looming presence, entirely under your influence. You fucked Wanda relentlessly, just the way you knew she went crazy for until it became hard for you not to grow smug at the sounds you were drawing from her infront of her wife. Soon, the gun became a lingering thought and Wanda returned to the forefront of your mind as she had a habit of doing. 

  “I’m gonna cum,” she announced as your hips slapped against her own. You felt the tension in the room rise accordingly but didn’t let it affect you as you drove your fake cock into Wanda’s pussy harder. 

  “That’s it, fuck,” you encouraged, feeling the harness rub against you with every thrust that Wanda tried to meet. She dug her nails into your back as she came, soaking the toy that she clung to with such might that you had a challenge fucking her through her high. You rocked your hips against her as you coaxed her through her orgasm and felt yourself become impossibly wetter. Her slick was running down both your thighs and you wanted nothing more than to throw the harness off and rub your cunt against her ruined one. Perhaps you might have if it weren’t for the eyes on the both of you. 

  You grinned down at Wanda, your arrogance gradually making its way back until Natasha cut it short by dragging the harness off from your waist, as though she could read your mind. For a moment, you really did wonder if she was going to have you do what you were thinking of, until you noticed her tightening the harness to her own hips with practised ease. Somehow, seeing it on the widow made the strap look bigger. 

  You snapped your head back to Wanda when she began to shuffle herself out from under you and up towards the headboard that she rested against with heavy eyes. You made to follow until the barrel of the gun was pressed into the centre of your back and you were forced back down into the mattress with a grunt. 

  “You think we’re done?” Natasha scoffed. “What do you think, detka?” You peered up at Wanda with wide eyes only to see her fingers had returned to the space between her legs that was still red and leaking. The mischievous glint in her eyes was one you didn’t trust one bit. Your instincts were right. 

  “Make her take it,” the Sokovian husked. 

  “как скажешь,” Natasha replied simply, tossing the unnecessary gun to the side so that she could place both hands on you waist and lift your ass into the air. 

  “Wait,” you tried, knowing how large the toy was and how tight the fit would be. It was rare that you were on the receiving end so you were sure you weren’t ready for such a toy. At least you had worked Wanda up to it. Her wife didn’t seem to care because barely a second passed until you felt the head nudge at your exposed pussy. You could show your fear as much as you wanted, but you all heard the sound of the toy against your wetness. You whined into the bed, accepting you were made. 

  “I bet you wanted this from the start,” Natasha mused, pushing the toy past your reluctant entrance. You held the sheets in a death grip and cried out into the mattress at the immediate stretch. “You just need to be put in your place. Made to feel like the bitch you are,” she spat, pushing inch after inch into your dripping pussy without any consideration. 

  “Please!” You wailed inaudibly, needing a moment to adjust to the intrusion. Apparently you hadn’t earned that yet, because Natasha forced the rest of the toy in with a low groan that was overshadowed by your pleas of protest. It felt like you were being split apart, walls stretched to accommodate the cock you had such a thrill using just minutes prior. Needless to say, that power had been stripped. 

  “What happened, tough guy? Is it too much?” The Russian laughed. You registered Wanda’s breathy moans picking up again. “Too bad.” She drew her hips back only to slam them back into you along with every inch of the toy. You whined, high in your throat, and tried to close your legs but Natasha held them firmly apart. “No, no. Take it all. It’s only fair,” she pointed out, slamming herself against you. 

  The pain was prominent and stubborn, enhanced with every sharp thrust into your cunt that was soaked beyond belief, and you were powerless against it. Your slick only served to allow Natasha to fuck you as hard as she wished as your walls obediently parted for her to reach your depths in ways you had never felt. With that, the pleasure was finally able to peek through the haze of pain. 

  “Such a fucking whore letting me use you like this,” Natasha hissed but you hardly registered her over your burning sensations. She grabbed ahold of your hair and hauled your head up enough for your neck to ache and forced you to stare at her blissed out wife who sat pleasuring herself at your defeat. “You like being turned into a brainless fucktoy?” She asked. You didn’t respond as you looked at Wanda, knowing it would counteract with everything you had ever uttered to her but the harsh slap to your ass rid you of that final secret. 

  “Yes,” you whimpered. At the confession, Wanda fingered herself harder though it was clearly nothing compared to what her wife had you subject to. 

  Natasha’s thrusts were harsh, deliberately pushing as far inside you as she possibly could each time to make you bask in how large the toy was and how much it filled you up. You were stretched out perfectly around the toy, reshaped to take it as much as Natasha pleased. She was cruel, etching the words of ‘slut’ and ‘dumb’ into your mind as she ruined you in every sense of the word. 

  “I know you’re getting close, you’re clenching around me like a desperate bitch in heat,” Natasha told you, feuling Wanda’s arousal. 

  “Make her cum, make her know how good it feels,” the Sokovian called. Natasha huffed.

  “You’re lucky she’s here,” she muttered, clearly having planned on leaving you hanging despite the ruthlessness of the way she pounded into you. 

  Your moans grew along with Wanda’s and a matter of moments later, you were cumming around the unforgiving cock as hard as she had, pushing your own face into the bed to avoid meeting her eye in your moment of complete helplessness. You pushed back against Natasha as you came, desperate to have as much of her inside of you to cling to as your mind went blank. Your chest heaved and the world went quiet as your orgasm rushed through you. It was so much. Too much, all at once. 

  Once the intense waves finally finished crashing over you, you felt a pair of hands lift you up and place you on another body. You couldn't place either of them, too frazzled to tax your brain with the task, but you appreciated the warmth regardless and didn't fight it when a red haze clouded your mind and pulled you into a state of measured unconsciousness.

[goldsainz]

❝ NSFW ALPHABET ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . jacaerys velaryon x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . MINORS DNI! lewd language, smut (breeding kink, creampie (?), lactation kink, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), worshipping).

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . jacaerys' behaviour in the bedroom.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am so so so happy to be writing for hotd again, i’m enjoying season 2 so much and i can’t wait for it to be sunday tbh. i haven’t written smut in YEARS (literally) so if this is bad it’s because i am quite rusty😔 requests are open (for aemond & jacaerys)!

[ word count: 2,2k ]

A — AFTERCARE . . . what they're like after sex!

Jacaerys was raised to be a proper prince, and with that, he learned how to respect women. He’s so gentle, drawing a bath himself and making sure you feel at comfort. Anything you need he will make sure you have. When you’re both back in bed, he cuddles you and falls asleep whispering sweet nothings.

B — BODY PART . . . their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's!

THEIRS . . . He loves his hands, mostly because you love them. Loves to use them to hold you incredibly close, to cup your cheeks when he leans in for a kiss, or just loves them when you take his hand and proudly walk alongside him, hand in hand.

YOURS . . . He loves your tummy. Loves peppering kisses on it, resting his head and falling asleep soundly while you run your hands through his hair. If you ever get pregnant it will be a hassle to get him off you and your tummy.

C — CUM . . . anything to do with cum, basically!

Even if he didn’t have a duty to get you pregnant, he would still be cumming inside you. It’s quite the primal urge he has to make sure everyone knows you’re his. It doesn't matter what you're doing, he will not cum anywhere else but inside you. If he sees his cum dripping out of you, he will push it back into you either with his fingers or simply with his cock.

D — DIRTY SECRET . . . pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs!

Jacaerys is quite comfortable in being the giver of the relationship, but sometimes he fantasies about you taking over in the bedroom. To be the one crying from overstimulation, to have you take care of him. 

E — EXPERIENCE . . . how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?

He was one of the few men to save themselves for marriage, though not because of purity but more so because he never felt the urge to go to a brothel and have his first sexual experience be with a whore. Despite this, he does know what he’s doing. He had a talk with Daemon one time many moons ago, and because of it he’s gained some knowledge. But he only learns the true meaning of pleasure with you. 

F — FAVOURITE POSITION . . . this goes without saying!

Cowgirl. As previously stated, he loves the idea of you dominating him and while that isn't quite it, you on top makes him lose his mind. He also knows how much you enjoy the position, with him hitting you just right, as you once put it. With you controlling the pace and how much you take in, Jacaerys can perfectly take in the beautiful sight of your blissed-out face. 

G — GOOFY . . . are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

When he’s in the bedroom he’s quite focused on making sure you’re okay and feel good, so there is no time to be humorous. Still, things happen and a giggle or two slip out when he’s going at it too hard and bumps your head against the bed frame, or when you're both desperate and trip over your clothes. Jacaerys doesn't necessarily try to make your intimate moments funny, but he doesn't stop it if it happens. 

H — HAIR . . . how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

Before you he didn’t really care about grooming, but the days prior to your wedding night he decided to look his best. You have never asked him to groom himself, but he feels as though he has to. He knows how much you take care of yourself, why wouldn’t he do the same? As for the carpet matching the drapes they do. It’s a deep brown and slightly curly, just like the hair on his head.

I — INTIMACY . . . how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.

Jacaerys is very romantic. He’s tender and sweet from beginning to the end, mostly because he’s madly in love with you, but also because he wants to take his time with you. He’s a big fan of eye contact, handholding, and kissing. Any opportunity he has where he can feel more connected to you, he will take it. Confessions of love and adoration are not rare, an “I love you” slipping from his lips when he’s thrusting inside you, or the looks he gives you that make you feel what he’s feeling. You don’t have just sex, you make love.

J — JACK OFF . . . masturbation headcanon!

He doesn’t often masturbate, only in situations when he’s away from you and misses you dearly. Truly, he gets needy. Usually, he waits until he’s back home with you and releases all that pent up tension onto you. But sometimes, when he longs for you and can’t have you, he resorts to his hand. It doesn't measure up to what your touch feels like, at all, but it does the job to at least quell some of the fire burning up inside him.

K — KINK . . .one or more of their kinks!

As previously mentioned this man wants you pregnant so bad. His breeding kink is very obvious to you, from the way he whispers in your ear how much he wants to see you pregnant, to see his seed take and make you swell with his baby, you want it as much as him, and that just makes him more feral. The Velaryon Prince loves feeling needed, which is why edging is one of his favourite ways to make you crave him as much as he craves you. Your desperate pleas to come fall to deaf ears, as he enjoys your whining and writhing just as much as the sight of you orgasming.

L — LOCATION . . . favourite places to do the deed!

Always somewhere private. Jacaerys is not much of an exhibitionist, although he likes people knowing you’re his, he also doesn’t want anyone else to be able to see you in a compromising position. That sight is sacred, reserved only to him only. As for a specific place, he thoroughly enjoys having sex in your bed. Maybe it's because of how intimate it is or that he knows there’s no way you'll be uncomfortable, but that is his preferred place.

M — MOTIVATION . . . what turns them on, gets them going!

Anything that you do is enough. Sometimes he fears how much power you have over him, how he’s so enamoured and almost obsessed with you. He gets turned on pretty easily when he’s around you, it doesn't take more than you speaking at him in your sweet, honeyed voice for him to be hard. 

N — NO . . . something they wouldn't do, turn offs!

Any type of experience where he has to share you with someone. No to threesome, no to exhibitionsim, and no to cuckolding. He also does not like seeing you get hurt, if he even suspects you’re not liking something he’ll stop until you’re comfortable. 

O — ORAL . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

Jacaerys doesn’t dislike the feeling of your mouth on his cock, but he much prefers the feeling of his mouth on your pussy. He eats you out like it’s his last meal, holding your hips down and feasting on the taste of you. He loves overstimulating you until you’re trying to push his head away, the pleasure too much. Loves how you push him back towards your pussy, grabbing a handful of his hair to make him continue his ministrations when he separates himself from you to breathe some air. Sometimes you fear he will suffocate between your thighs, when he doesn't come back up for air in a while, and what a sweet death that’d be to him. 

P — PACE . . . are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

His pace is usually slow and sensual. He worships you, taking his time to appreciate all your sounds and the faces you make, forever burned in his memory. He loves showing you just how much he loves you, making you feel his adoration for you. Still, Jacaerys has moments where he can be rough, lost in the pleasure he frantically fucks into you. He rarely loses control, but when he does you’re both left a beautiful, sweaty mess.

Q — QUICKIE . . . their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

Not the biggest fan of them. He likes to take his time, savouring those intimate moments so quickies are not something he would choose to partake in. If he’s really needy, he will consider the idea, but usually what starts as a quickie, ends in a long sexual endeavour. 

R — RISK . . . are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

He’s pretty open to any ideas you might have, as long as they don’t involve sharing or hurting you in any way. He doesn't mind taking risks, but he’s pretty comfortable with the things you already do and will not be the one to propose different ways to spice things up, he leaves that to you. 

S — STAMINA . . . how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

He can last a few, it all depends on what you're doing. Three rounds is the sweet spot for him. He eats you out, he fucks you and then fucks you once more to make sure his cum really takes. If you just want to make love, have one simple round where you’re both connected, then he’ll give it to you. But this man is insatiable, so it rarely ends in one round for him. 

T — TOYS . . . do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

Neither of you really need them, you both consider the other enough. If you ever wanted to introduce toys in the bedroom, then Jacaerys is open to the idea. Maybe one day you’ll experiment, but for now the Prince has plenty of skill that will make you forget about any toys.

U — UNFAIR . . . how much they like to tease!

He loves teasing you. He makes you yearn for his touch, adoring the pout you give him and how glassy your eyes get when teasing you. Jacaerys slicks himself along your entrance, bumping against your clit which in turn makes you squirm and whine, and he takes his time until you’re almost sobbing for him to insert himself in you. He’s the worst in public, grabbing you by your waist and telling you how badly he wishes to be in bed with you, only to leave you to go speak to some lord. He watches your agape mouth as you look at him, and all he does is smirk because he knows how wet you’ll be when he finally has you alone.

V — VOLUME . . . how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

Jacaerys is incredibly vocal. He groans when he finally sheathes himself inside you, moaning when you’re on top of him bouncing up and down without mercy. He’s not shy in telling you how good you're making him feel. He wishes he could speak more to you, but he becomes an incoherent mess pretty quickly and all you can understand are the few mumbles of “Need you” or “So good”, lewdly whining when you clench around him. A drawn out “Fuck” leaves his lips when he comes, squeezing your hips and almost shaking in relief when he feels his spend painting your gummy walls. 

W — WILD CARD . . . a random headcanon for the character!

Wants to fuck you while pregnant and see the milk from your tits dripping, to taste the sweet nectar your body produces. He dreams of how round your belly will be, and how ethereal you’ll look with the glow of motherhood. 

X — X-RAY . . . let's see what's going on under those clothes!

He’s around 15 cm or 6 inches. He’s quite girthy, with a heavy ball sack. He has some prominent veins which you can feel when he’s thrusting in you, the ridges making you sigh in pleasure. 

Y — YEARNING . . . how high is their sex drive?

Jacaerys has a high sex drive, better make the most of it while he’s young. He can control himself, he has great restraint because he knows the wait will just make it all the more sweeter. You can tell quite well when he’s yearning for you, sometimes all it takes is a good look at him and other times he’ll simply groan into your ear how badly he needs you. You guys have sex pretty much every day, with a few exceptions when you're sore or simply not in the mood. 

Z — ZZZ . . . how quickly they fall asleep after sex!

When you fall asleep, he falls asleep. He has great stamina but sometimes when he tires the both of you out, he can’t help but fall asleep almost instantly after he spends his load inside you. Adores cuddling you, makes sleeping for him easier and rids him of any bad dreams. He holds you close, drifting off to the sound of your slow breathing and the heat of your body against his. 

[playfully-sadistic]

Getting yourself off again, angel? Second time today, isn't it? Or already the third, fourth, fifth? You're such a greedy, insatiable thing. Now, now, don't stop on my account - no, keep going, you're doing great.

But your touches are a little too intense, don't you think? A little too... on the nose, too obviously intended to make you come. Good little pets don't finish fast - if at all - no, they edge and edge, over and over again, until they finally get permission to let themselves go and succumb to their primitive needs. So... Lighter. Slower. No rubbing, only caressing, no fingering, only teasing your hole with your fingertips.

But first things first, fingers off entirely. Apparently, you need someone to guide you through the entire process, don't you? You're just too impatient and worked up, full of hormones and heat, to be able to regulate yourself, poor baby. Don't worry, I'll do it for you, step by step, nice and slow. Nothing makes it easier for you than having someone to order you around and tell you exactly what you're allowed to do. Now, isn't it extra fun that, even though nothing stops you from going further before I allow you to, we both know that you won't? You'll be good and behave, just for me, less even, just for a few written words, the illusion of a dom hovering over your barely clothed body and whispering sweet commands against the shell of your ear.

Touch your chest first. Even if it does nothing for you, even if you barely have any sensation in it, I want your fingers circling your nipples, your fingernails gently scratching over them, pinching them between two of them, pulling, massaging. Put on a show, as if someone was watching you. If you have some clamps around, get them, and tease yourself with them - not quite putting them on, but rubbing over your areola, using it to pinch and pull as well. Feel that, treasure? That's what you get for being patient and taking your time. That nice pulling feeling in your stomach... Yeah, that's good, isn't it? Good job. Toy with your chest and nipples some more, make them swollen, sore, red, make sure they already ache before you finally put on those clamps. If you don't own any, you go ahead right now, and order some. The most humiliating, the prettiest ones you can find. And I want you reading through this post again when they arrive, so you can properly get off to it.

Now, I'm sure by now your legs have fallen open all by themselves, mh? Revealing a soaked, hot mess in between, throbbing and begging for attention. So tempting to put your hand right in the middle of it and grope yourself, but you'll be good for me and keep your hands to yourself, love. For now, all you're allowed to do is let your fingers brush over your stomach... Drawing little circles around your belly button, long swirls that slowly go further down, ah, there's that nice feeling of your guts tensing up, isn't it? God, you're so predictable, such a simple thing. Oh, it's fine, you're merely a body in need of being fucked right now, no wonder your brain turns into simple mode.

Gently tease yourself with your fingernails along your lower stomach, before you move onto your thighs - oh, my, you're really desperate, spread them out as far as possible, and let me guess, you only just noticed now how far you've opened up, haven't you? A proper slut for the taking, good job, my angel. Touch your thighs, not the inner parts yet, just explore yourself, palms tracing your muscle, reaching up to your hip, moving onto your stomach again, where that nice, tight feeling comes back. Slowly let your fingers glide to the inner part of your thighs, where your ticklish, and it usually only works to get touched there when it's someone else's fingers, but, oh, fuck, darling, today's different, isn't it? Touching yourself so intensely, yet thoughtfully, it's really showing its effect on you, mh? That's perfect, you're doing so well, yeah, touch and tease your thighs some more, move those fingers up until...

Now you're allowed to move them right in between your legs. That feels good, hm? Finally letting your fingertips feel your own heat, swollen and twitching, feeling your own wetness, only caused by a post. Doesn't that truly show how desperately you need guidance and being made to feel utterly submissive? Don't keep those moans in, show everyone that you're such a needy, horny doll, so desperate to touch themselves. Why the modesty? Let it out. Rub yourself - slowly, dear - and feel yourself up, and know that you've done anything to this point because you followed orders, because you obeyed, because you just couldn't do it yourself and needed someone else so fucking badly, you needed someone to tell you what to do, does it feel like I'm there with you, do you like it, mh? Does it turn you on to know that I took the time writing this, for you to follow every step and work yourself up?

If you own a vibrator, you'll use it now. If it's the kind that you shove inside your needy hole, then do it, don't be gentle, don't be slow, shove it inside of you on the highest settings, as deep as it can go, and use your hand to continue rubbing. If it's the kind that you put on yourself, lay it on you, don't press it against you - we wouldn't want you to get too excited now, would we? - and shove your fingers inside of your instead. Fuck yourself. Make it good. Make it hard to not fall off the edge. Make it as rough and fast and overstimulating as you possibly can. Make it feel humiliating how fucking close it gets you that you're doing this in the first place. Feel the weight and tension that your heat brings - lean into it. Open your mouth, let the moans and whines and all those pretty noises out, don't close it to swallow, let your drool run down your chin - pant. It's getting hard to not come, isn't it? Poor baby.

Do you want me to give you permission? You do. I know. It's okay, baby, relax, keep fucking yourself open like that. A little patience.

Getting harder, mh? Feeling it in your guts already? God, you're so...

Think you can manage a bit longer?

Soon, my angel. You sound so good when you're desperate.

Almost there.

Ready, love?

Come for me, right now.