#This is actually on the edge of content I like

[beloveds-embrace]

(non-sexual smell kink with simon riley 🙂‍↕️)

Simon wasn’t used to softness.

His life had been a long stretch of damp alleyways, stale cigarettes, and the kind of bars where the floor stuck to your boots if you stood still too long. Even the so-called clean places had a lingering scent of old beer and sweat, clinging to the air like a bad memory. He’d spent years thinking that was just how life smelled- musty, metallic, a little rotten around the edges.

Then you came along.

Simon never thought of himself as a man who cared much for scents, but you ruined him without even trying. It started with something small- your presence shifting the air in a room before he even saw you. A whisper of something clean and soft, clinging to your skin like an invisible halo.

You used body powder, he’d eventually learn, the kind that puffed into the air like smoke when you dusted it over your skin, leaving a faint, lingering trail wherever you went. He’d caught the scent of it the first time he stepped into your space, expecting the usual mix of cheap air fresheners or laundry detergent. Instead, he was hit with something warm, almost nostalgic, like fresh linens and a touch of vanilla.

It drove him mad in the best way.

Simon found himself leaning in when you passed by, subtle at first- just a slight tilt of his head when you moved close enough for your scent to brush against him. Then, less subtle- pulling you against his chest after long missions, face buried in your neck, inhaling deep enough to burn the memory of you into his lungs.

“You smell so good.” He muttered once, almost embarrassed by the admission.

You’d laughed, fingers brushing against the back of his head, free of the mask. “Yeah? What do I smell like?”

He hesitated, unsure how to explain it. Saying soft didn’t make sense. Neither did safe, even though that’s what it felt like. So he settled for: “Just… really good.”

You didn’t tease him for it. Just smiled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and let him breathe you in.

And the first time Johnny met you, he almost had the same reaction.

Simon had warned him ahead of time- half because he wanted Johnny to behave and half because he wasn’t sure how his best mate would react to seeing Simon with someone so different from everything he’d ever known.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Simon had said.

Johnny had grinned at him. “Wouldd nae dream of it.”

You’d met at a quiet pub, one of the few places Simon could tolerate. Johnny had been his usual self, easygoing and full of charm especially for Simon’s missus, but the moment you’d leaned in to shake his hand, his expression shifted.

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Johnny blurted out, blinking at you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, and your eyes shifted in hesitance towards Simon. “Uh. Nice to meet you too?”

Simon sighed, already knowing where this was going.

Johnny sniffed the air- actually sniffed- then gave Simon a look of utter betrayal. “You never told me she smelled this good.”

You let out a startled laugh. “What?”

Simon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t encourage him, lovie.”

Johnny, the bastard, ignored him completely. “I mean it, love, you smell incredible. It’s like-” He inhaled deeply again, thoughtful. “Powdered sugar. Or fresh sheets. Or- hell, I dunno. Just really, really nice.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, I do use a lot of body powder.”

“Where do you get it?” Johnny asked immediately.

Simon shot him a glare. “…Why?”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows. “So I can get some for myself, obviously.”

Simon muttered something under his breath that made Johnny laugh, but he ignored them both, turning to you instead. “Sorry, love. Just didn’t expect my best mate to be walking around smelling like a bloody bakery all the time.”

You smiled at Simon, amused. “You didn’t tell him?”

Simon crossed his arms, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the pub’s heating. You looked lovely. Content. Happy, leaning into him without fear. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

Johnny scoffed. “Not relevant? if I had a lass smellin’ this nice, I’d be bragging all day.”

Simon just shook his head, reaching for his drink. But later that night, when it was just the two of you, he tucked you against him and pressed his face into your neck, breathing deep.

You smelled like home. Like warmth. Like the one thing in his life that had never felt dirty, no matter how much blood and grime he carried with him.

And he would never, ever get enough of it.

[honestlyanowl]

Arcane women with a flirty and seductive reader?

Hey doll <3

As soon as I read this I knew I had to write about it!

Content: head cannons with a small amount of nsfw - lingerie description, flirting, slight power play if you squint

I feel like considering Caitlyn’s busy job, on a constant trial and error to find Jinx; she wouldn’t have a whole lot of time to spend with you.

She’s the kind of person to be walking through the streets of Piltover on a patrol, and see a lingerie set through one of the shop’s windows; and buy it instantly for you, as an apology.

By now you’d probably have a whole wardrobe of laced underwear and ruffled bras, the materials would always be comfortable and top quality, and sometimes, if she felt really bad; it’d even be custom made to fit your body perfectly.

However, the times she did have off to relax, you’d make sure to use it to your advantage.

Though Caitlyn wasn’t entirely the type to indulge in your seductive antics and teasing hip sways, some nights she’d give in and let her eyes wander.

She was definitely a more observant person, usually not putting her hands on you unless you verbally asked for it, most of the time she’d just let her gaze rack shamelessly over you.

She adored your body, and that was not an understatement, it didn’t matter what you did, if you used the products she’d spoilt you with or even didn’t do anything to pamper your appearance at all, she still sat in awe every time, in her eyes, you were perfect.

And luckily for you, she wasn’t the type to deny you for long. It only took a few tempting looks and discreet leg spreading for her to give in, soon having you splayed on the large king queen sized bed.

Now she could really look at you.

Sevika would definitely be possessive over you.

Which for you, meant there were a lot of rules. Revealing clothes? Only for her eyes, but there were occasions she’d purposely send you out with certain attire, she liked showing you off.

If there was an occasion you’d try seduce her, she’d most likely tease you with dump play, and brush the attempts off for a good while before even considering actually touching you.

The only downside was if you even tried to force it on her, like you’d done once or twice; straddle her lap, twirl her hair, or put your hands on her? you’re not getting anything.

She’d make it clear who was in control; sit you beside her, on the floor.

Talk down to you and even extinguishing the end of her cigar onto the skin of your shoulders. Before kissing the little blisters better, of course.

I feel like Jinx would be good at clothing design, you see a lot of fabrics reused in her wardrobe. So who’s to say she wouldn’t make you things time to time?

Vibrant multi patterned lingerie, patches sewed into and over the mesh in places that needed to be bigger, or she’d staple edges together to make it a bit smaller.

And if you wore it?

Her hands would be all over you, she didn’t need to be seduced to already have you pulled up against her, feeling over your hips, your back, your chest; especially your chest.

She had zero self control when it came to you, she was infatuated.

You never realised how easily Vi could give into your antics, you’d always expected her to be the one bossing you around, that she would be the one with the self control.

You were quickly proven wrong, if you even had an inch of skin lower than your cleavage visible, or the beginning of your upper thighs peeking out… she was a mess.

It was almost pitiful how easily she’d fall for advances.

You sit yourself in her lap? Her hands would tremble on your sides, stuffing her face into your shoulder.

And if you teased her? Rolling your hips, and yet not allowing her to touch anymore skin then what was exposed?

She would whine, calloused fingertips dragging across your shoulders.

But luckily for her you didn’t have the heart to prologue it, and within a few minutes deep purple hickeys scattered every inch of skin she could reach.

- Owl 🌹

[julietsf1]

Home Again - Charles Leclerc x Reader

summary: eight years, one city, and a thousand unspoken words—will a chance encounter in London bring closure, or is there more in store for Monaco's golden boy and the one who got away? (4.5k words)

content: reunion, slight angst, unresolved feelings, childhood friends

AN: another Charles one! I felt like these tropes really suited his vibe, I hope you enjoy!! :)

____________________________________

London always felt like a city of paradoxes - chaotic yet calming, detached yet full of life. As I sipped my cappuccino at a small café tucked away in Soho, I let my mind wander. The same questions had lingered in my mind over the years, growing louder the longer I avoided them. Was it a mistake to leave? Should I have fought harder to keep in touch with him? With Charles?

I shook my head. No, leaving Monaco had been necessary. It was beautiful, yes, but it was like living inside a postcard, picture-perfect on the outside but so painfully hollow within. Everyone was constantly posturing, trying to outdo the next person in opulence, charm, or connections. It was exhausting.

And Charles… he was Monte Carlo personified in so many ways. Stunning, magnetic, the kind of person who made you feel alive just by being in his orbit. But there was something raw and real beneath that glossy exterior, something I’d always seen, even when no one else seemed to. I loved him for it. And maybe, in a way, I hated him too - for thriving in a place that felt like it would suffocate me.

The faint chime of the café door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up, expecting some trendy Londoner or a tourist fumbling with their map. But instead, my eyes landed on a familiar face, one I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Arthur Leclerc.

“Y/N?” His voice was incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up as he stopped mid-step. He looked exactly the same, just a bit taller, a bit sharper around the edges. Still the same boy I remembered from childhood, though, with that mischievous glint in his eye.

I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. “Arthur?”

He grinned, practically bounding over to my table. “Mon dieu, it is you! I wasn’t sure at first, but… wow, what are you doing in London?”

I gestured to my half-empty coffee cup. “Living here. What about you? I thought you’d be… I don’t know, in Monaco or racing somewhere glamorous.”

Arthur slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, his grin widening. “I was here for a sim session, actually. But you, London? I thought you’d be in Paris or some other philosophy capital, writing about Socrates or something.”

I laughed softly. “Close enough. I came here for university, and I never left.”

“Eight years.” His tone was lighter, but his words carried weight. “It’s been eight years, Y/N. Do you ever go back?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “No,” I admitted. “Not since… well, not since I left.”

Arthur’s expression softened, though confusion lingered in his eyes. “You just… left,” he said gently. “No one really understood why. Charles especially.”

I looked down at my coffee, the words caught in my throat. How could I explain the weight of feeling like an outsider in a world I was supposed to call home?

“I just needed to go,” I murmured. “It wasn’t about anyone else.”

Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I never really got it, but… if it’s what you needed, then fine.” He paused before leaning forward with a small smile. “Come back. Just for the weekend, for the Grand Prix. I think it’d mean a lot to everyone. To Charles.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, I’d thought about going back a hundred times. But every time, I chickened out. Monaco felt like a ghost town to me now, haunted by memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Arthur said simply. He pulled out his phone and started typing something before I could protest. “There. I signed you up as my guest. No backing out now.”

I stared at him, equal parts annoyed and touched by his insistence. “What if I had plans already?”

“Cancel them,” he shot back with a wink. “But seriously, Y/N, it’s time. Come back. Just for a weekend. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I sighed, knowing I’d already lost this battle. And maybe he was right. Maybe it was time.

…

Monaco hadn’t changed. Not really.

The same sunlit streets curved around the cliffs, the same pastel buildings clung to the coastline, their colors soft and warm under the Mediterranean sun. The harbor was still crowded with yachts that gleamed like polished jewels, reflecting the light off the water’s surface. It was all exactly as I remembered—beautiful in the kind of way that made you feel small and insignificant.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe cracks in the pristine perfection, signs that time had weathered the place the same way it had weathered me. But Monaco, ever the picture perfect place, refused to bend to time.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t resent it for that. The beauty I had once thought insincere now felt strangely comforting, like being greeted by an old friend who hadn’t forgotten you, even if you had drifted apart.

“Here we are, mademoiselle,” the taxi driver said, pulling up to the paddock entrance.

I took a deep breath and stepped out. The familiar hum of Grand Prix weekend surrounded me immediately - the roar of engines revving in the distance, the buzz of chatter from fans and team members, the faint tang of fuel in the air. It was overwhelming, yes, but also exhilarating. Nostalgia wrapped around me, equal parts warm and suffocating.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice rang out, pulling me back to the present. He was waiting just inside the paddock entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waved me over.

I smiled despite myself and walked toward him. “Arthur,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re not old enough to be drinking espresso yet.”

He laughed, pulling me into a hug that was warmer than I expected. “Eight years and you still won’t give me a break. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he led me into the paddock, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

“Everywhere,” he said simply. “It’s been years. You’ve missed so much.”

Arthur guided me through the maze of the paddock, pointing out everything with a mix of pride and excitement, as though I hadn’t grown up watching all of this unfold. But I let him have his moment, nodding along and laughing at his commentary.

“You look different,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard. “In a good way, I mean. More… I don’t know, serious. Like you’ve seen things. Learned things.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I look old, Arthur.”

“No, really,” he insisted, his expression earnest. “It’s like you’ve grown into yourself.”

The comment was unexpected, but it warmed me. “Thanks,” I said softly. “You’ve grown up too. A little.”

He grinned. “Don’t let Charles hear you say that. He still treats me like a kid.”

At the mention of Charles, my stomach twisted, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. Arthur must have noticed something, because his tone shifted, gentler now. “I know it’s probably weird, being back here,” he said. “But I think it’s good you came. I think… I think Charles will be happy to see you.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong I thought he was. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me deeper into the paddock.

…

The paddock was chaos, as always. Media rushing everywhere, team members darting back and forth. But Charles couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she was here.

He had only seen her for a brief moment, just a glimpse of her stepping out of a taxi and into the paddock. But it was enough to bring back everything; every memory, every laugh, every ache of missing her. She looked exactly like she did before, only prettier. 

It had been eight years. Eight years since she left without a goodbye, leaving him to wonder if he had done something wrong, if he had somehow driven her away. And now she was back, as though she had never been gone.

“Arthur,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. His hand shook slightly as he dialed.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Charles? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Charles hissed, keeping his voice low as he stepped out of the chaos and into a quiet corner. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”

There was a pause, then a sheepish laugh. “Ah. You’ve seen her already.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her!” Charles snapped, though the anger in his voice was undercut by the nervous energy bubbling beneath. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Arthur said, his tone annoyingly casual. “I thought you’d be happy. It’s been years, Charles. Don’t you want to see her?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “Of course I want to see her. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

Arthur’s voice softened. “You’ll figure it out. You always did with her.”

…

Arthur had been called away to a meeting, leaving me to wander the place on my own. I found a quiet spot near the Ferrari hospitality area, nursing a coffee and trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions in my chest.

Being back here was surreal, like stepping into a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to relive. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the comfort of it - the familiar sounds, the smell of the sea air mixed with fuel, the vibrant energy of race weekend.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned instinctively, my breath catching as I locked eyes with him.

Charles.

He stopped in his tracks, his expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t place, something that made my chest tighten. For a moment, neither of us moved. The weight of eight years of silence hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

Before I could say anything, he turned abruptly and walked away.

…

The roar of the engines drowned out everything else. I stood on the hospitality terrace, surrounded by fans who were shouting encouragement in a chorus of excitement. The energy was contagious, a reminder of why I had always loved race weekends, even when the rest of Monaco felt stifling.

Arthur had left me to sit with some of his friends, but I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me a chance to take it all in—the track, the sea of red Ferrari merchandise, the sun reflecting off the sleek cars. My eyes kept drifting to one in particular, the red number 16 that seemed to glide through every corner as though the circuit were made for it.

Charles.

I hadn’t seen him since he walked away from me in the paddock earlier. It shouldn’t have surprised me; after all, what could we have possibly said to each other in that moment? But it still stung, the abruptness of it, the way he looked at me like I was a ghost he wasn’t ready to confront.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about him. It was about being here, about reconnecting with a part of my life I had left behind.

But as the race unfolded, I couldn’t stop my gaze from following him. Every lap, every overtaking move, every moment of brilliance - it was impossible not to be drawn in. Charles had always been talented, but seeing him now, so focused and in control, was something else entirely. It was breathtaking.

The crowd around me erupted as Charles crossed the finish line, taking the victory in a masterful final lap. People were cheering, waving flags, hugging strangers in celebration. I found myself smiling, caught up in the infectious energy of the moment.

But my smile faltered as I saw him step out of the car. The joy on his face was undeniable, but there was something else—something in the way his eyes scanned the crowd, as though he were looking for someone.

For a split second, I thought he might be looking for me. But then I shook my head, brushing the thought away. Charles had the whole world celebrating him right now. Why would he waste a second of it on someone who had been gone for so long?

Still, as he climbed onto the podium and lifted the trophy, I couldn’t help but feel that same strange pull I had always felt with him. It wasn’t just admiration or pride; it was I only felt with him.

As the celebrations spilled into the paddock, where the Ferrari garage was alive with champagne showers, laughter, I kept my distance, lingering near the back of the crowd as the team surrounded Charles, congratulating him.

Arthur spotted me and made his way over, a grin plastered across his face. “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said, motioning toward the scene.

I nodded. “He’s… he’s amazing,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

Arthur gave me a look, something between knowing and sympathetic. “You should come to the afterparty,” he said. “We’re all heading to Rimaldi later. It’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, the thought of being in a room full of people who knew Charles, who had been part of his world all these years, making my stomach twist. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t overthink it,” Arthur said, cutting me off. “It’s just a party. No pressure.”

I forced a smile, but the weight in my chest didn’t ease. “We’ll see,” I said, knowing full well I wasn’t going to go.

***

The party at Rimaldi was everything Charles had come to expect from these celebrations—loud music, overflowing champagne, and a sea of people he barely recognized. The restaurant’s cozy atmosphere had been transformed into a chaotic celebration, with glasses clinking and laughter filling every corner. Fans and acquaintances congratulated him as though they were old friends, slapping him on the back and offering toasts in his honor.

Normally, this was his element. He was good at this—the smiling, the handshakes, the polite small talk that came with being the center of attention. On any other night, he would have been content to let the noise and the crowd carry him, to let it fill the empty spaces he so often ignored. But tonight was different.

Tonight, no matter how many times he raised his glass or laughed along with a joke, he couldn’t shake the gnawing restlessness that had been with him all day. His mind kept drifting, pulled away from the party and back to the one place he couldn’t seem to avoid—her.

She’d looked the same and yet completely different. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others, but it was still her. Y/N, the person who had once been his closest friend, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. He thought he had moved on from wondering why she left, why she cut him off, but seeing her again brought it all back in a rush.

He barely touched his drink, the glass sweating in his hand as he leaned against the edge of the bar. Across the room, Arthur caught his eye, a knowing grin on his face as he raised his own drink in a silent toast. Charles frowned and turned away, pretending not to notice.

“Charles! Congratulations!” A voice pulled him back to the moment. A well-dressed man, someone he vaguely recognized as a sponsor, clapped him on the shoulder. Charles offered a tight smile, exchanging a few polite words before excusing himself.

The truth was, he wasn’t really here. Not mentally. The louder the party grew, the more it grated on him, every laugh and cheer feeling like static in his ears. His thoughts kept circling back to the paddock, to the way her eyes had met his for that brief, electric moment. She had looked surprised, hesitant, but not angry. That was something, at least.

But then she had disappeared, and he hadn’t been able to stop replaying it in his mind—the way she stood there, so poised and composed, and then was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

By midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. The laughter and music blurred into background noise as he stood, shaking his head at someone offering him another drink. He muttered something about needing rest and slipped out through the side door, ignoring Arthur’s raised eyebrows as he left. His brother didn’t stop him, though, and Charles suspected Arthur knew exactly where he was going.

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city’s energy winding down after the race. Charles drove aimlessly at first, his hands tight around the steering wheel. The roads he knew so well blurred together as his thoughts raced faster than his car ever could.

He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know if she would want to see him. But none of that mattered, because the one thing he did know, the one thought that consumed him, was this:

He needed to see her.

***

The knock at the door startled me.

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—12:27 a.m. I had been lying on the hotel bed for the past hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the day. Arthur’s invitation, the race, seeing Charles for the first time in years—all of it felt like too much, like I had stepped back into a world I didn’t belong to anymore.

Another knock, firmer this time.

I sat up, my heart racing. Maybe it was Arthur, coming to drag me to the afterparty. Or worse, maybe it was a staff member telling me something had gone wrong with my reservation. My stomach twisted as I padded across the room, hesitating before unlocking the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Arthur or hotel staff standing there.

It was Charles.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. He was dressed casually—dark jeans, a fitted jacket that hinted at his frame—but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. They flickered between me and the floor, restless, as though he were trying to piece together why he was even here.

“Hi,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.

I stared at him, too stunned to respond at first. “Charles,” I managed after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Can we go for a drive?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Now?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone firmer this time, though not unkind. “I need to talk to you. And I can’t do it here.”

I hesitated, glancing back into the room like it held the answer. But there was no answer waiting for me, no excuse strong enough to keep me from following him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let me grab my coat.”

The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city winding down after the race. Charles drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearstick. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the road, and the silence between us felt heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

I kept stealing glances at him, trying to read the expression on his face, but it was unreadable. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t calm either. It was something in between—a tension I couldn’t quite place.

Finally, he turned onto a small road overlooking the harbor and parked. He shut off the engine but didn’t move, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence like a crack of thunder.

I swallowed hard, my hands twisting in my lap. “I didn’t know how to stay,” I said quietly. “Monaco… it wasn’t the same for me as it was for you. It felt fake, like I was living in a place where everything was about appearances and nothing was real. I couldn’t breathe there.”

He turned then, his gaze sharp and searching. “So you left without a word? Without even telling me?”

I met his eyes, feeling the sting of his words. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Y/N, you were my best friend. I would have done anything for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said softly. “But I had to go. For me.”

Charles shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how many times I thought about calling you? About flying to London to find you? But I didn’t, because I told myself that if you wanted to talk to me, you would.”

I clenched my hands together, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I thought about telling you,” I said softly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to leave. And I had to leave, Charles. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I would have let you go if that is what you wanted. I just wish I had known.” He said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Even a text or a quick call would have made the difference, Y/N.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “You blame me for no contact, but you never reached out either.”

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “You didn’t leave a door open, Y/N. Not for me, not for anyone.”

The anger in his tone cut deep, but beneath it, I could hear something else—hurt. And that was worse.

We fell into silence, the weight of our words hanging heavy in the air. My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady. I looked out at the harbor, the city lights shimmering like distant stars, and took a deep breath.

“Explain it to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Because I don’t understand, Y/N. I’ve spent eight years not understanding.”

My chest felt tight, the weight of everything we had been avoiding pressing down on me.

“I was scared,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “Scared that if I stayed, I’d lose myself. Scared that if I saw you again, I’d lose the courage to leave. And then… after your dad…” I trailed off, the memory too painful to finish. “I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Charles’s expression softened, the anger fading into something more vulnerable. “You could have come to me,” he said quietly. “You should have come to me.”

I shook my head, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “And what would I have said? ‘Sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most’? I couldn’t face that, Charles. I couldn’t face you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

My chest felt tight, my emotions raw and unsteady, as though years of bottled-up feelings had burst open all at once, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I turned my gaze toward the harbor, the city lights shimmering like scattered stars on the water, their soft glow blurring slightly as tears pricked at my eyes. The stillness of the moment contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside me.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft but resolute, as though he’d been holding these words back for far too long. “It shouldn’t have been Arthur who invited you back,” he said, his tone laced with frustration and regret. “It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to call you.”

The honesty in his voice hit me like a blow to the chest. I turned to him, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The years apart had been a chasm between us, filled with missed chances and unspoken words, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like a bittersweet relief. My throat tightened, and I struggled to find my voice.

“I know,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “But you didn’t call me. And… neither did I call you. We both let it happen.”

Charles’s jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I didn’t know how to. After you left, I was confused. I didn’t want to admit how much it hurt. And then it just… felt easier to pretend I didn’t care.”

I let out a shaky breath, the tears I’d been holding back finally slipping free. “The second I got back to Monaco, all I did was look for you,” I admitted, my words coming out in a rush, like I had been holding them in for years. “Everywhere I went, I looked for you. You were everywhere - your face in the streets, your name in conversations, your memory in everything I saw. And yet… you were nowhere.”

I heard Charles inhale sharply, and when I turned back, his eyes were locked on mine, filled with an intensity that made my breath catch. Green and piercing, they were searching for something, some part of me I wasn’t sure I still had to give. Vulnerability. Hope. Regret. I saw all of it reflected in his gaze, and it was almost too much.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know if I could. But now that you’re here…” He shook his head, his expression softening into something raw and earnest. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine letting you go again.”

The space between us seemed to disappear in an instant. Charles reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a way that was both tender and desperate. His touch was hesitant at first, as though he was afraid I might pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then, before I could say anything, his lips met mine.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like we were both testing the waters of something so fragile it might shatter under the weight of our emotions. But it deepened quickly, carrying years of longing, frustration, and unspoken love. It was messy and imperfect, tears mingling with laughter, but it felt like home in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

When we finally pulled apart, Charles didn’t move far. His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though grounding himself in the closeness between us, before murmuring, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever.”

My heart pounded, each beat echoing the promise in his words. I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, before whispering back, “You won’t.”

In that moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving something lighter in its place. We weren’t perfect, and neither was this, but it was enough. It was us.

[hy6erion]

I am back and with another artist reader x JayVik ask!! The ask abt reader drawing em naked rly sparked some inspiration >:))

I was wondering if you could do artist reader drawing JayVik getting each other off? (Doing the do, the devils tango, uh,, sex)

I just think it’d be delicious to make them stop mid fuck cause you gotta draw em in a specific pose

Also, if u could make reader maybe more dominant that would be very appreciated!! I feel like Jayce and Viktor could go either way here (both submissive, one dom one sub, maybe both switches(??)) but I just prefer dominant reader inserts :))

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐲/𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲- 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

⇢ 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠/ 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥, 𝐦/𝐦/𝐟 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜 (𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬)

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 (𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞)

It was obscene, the way they fit together like this.

Jayce, broad and ruined, sprawled against the pillows, body straining under the weight of Viktor above him. And Viktor-delicate but devastating, perched in Jayce's lap, thighs spread wide, lips kiss-bitten and panting.

Y/n had been content to watch. Until inspiration struck.

She stretched, lazily, dragging a hand down the sheet covering her legs before finally speaking.

"Hold that pose."

It took them a second to register.

Viktor went still first. His chest still heaving, skin flushed, but his brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly. Jayce, though-he was slower to catch up, still rutting helplessly into Viktor's body, hands tightening on his thighs, entirely too lost in it to—

"Jayce," Y/n said smoothly, her voice warm but unyielding. "I said hold it."

His body locked up instantly.

Viktor let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. "Oh, you cannot be serious."

Jayce groaned. "She's serious."

Y/n smiled, reaching for her sketchbook.

"Mm. Very serious."

Jayce let his head fall back against the pillows, looking personally betrayed.

"You're actually insane."

"And you're actually gorgeous like this," she countered, flipping to a blank page.

"So stop whining and let me work."

Jayce whimpered.

Viktor, the absolute traitor, smirked as he settled against Jayce's lap, rolling his hips-barely, just enough to tease, enough to make Jayce's fingers twitch against his skin. "I think she enjoys this."

Y/n smirked right back. "You're both enjoying this."

Neither of them denied it.

Her charcoal moved in long, confident strokes, capturing everything-Jayce's tension, his arms trembling where they held Viktor, the way his fingers flexed against pale thighs like he was dying to move but wouldn't dare without permission. The way Viktor's back arched slightly, hands braced against Jayce's chest, lips parted like he was waiting to be kissed.

They were a masterpiece.

Jayce shifted, barely a twitch, but enough to catch her attention. His breath hitched. "Y/n, please-"

She paused.Jayce swallowed hard.

Y/n tilted her head. "Please what?"

Jayce's throat bobbed. "Please let me move-"

She hummed, tapping the edge of the charcoal against her chin as she considered. "Hmm. I don't know. You look good like this. Desperate. Obedient."

Jayce whined, head falling back against the pillows.

Viktor chuckled, dragging his fingers over Jayce's chest in slow, taunting motions. "I think she likes us suffering."

Y/n grinned. "You say that like it's a secret."

Jayce groaned, thrashing slightly, but Viktor held him down, smirking.

"You love this," Viktor murmured, raking his nails down Jayce's stomach, watching him tremble.

Jayce's fingers twitched, his restraint crumbling. "You are both evil-"

"Oh, poor you" Y/n murmured, setting her sketchbook aside. She slid off the pillows, crawling over him, watching the way his breathing stuttered as she hovered just above him. "You love it."

Jayce's lips parted.

Viktor smirked above him. "Very."

Jayce barely had time to breathe before Y/n kissed him hard, sinking her fingers into his hair, dragging her nails against his scalp until he whimpered into her mouth. His hands twitched, but he didn't move, still obeying her earlier command.

Y/n grinned against his lips, pleased.

Then she pulled back and tilted Viktor's face to hers instead, kissing him slow, deliberate, until his hands shook against Jayce's chest. Until his hips jerked forward, unthinking, chasing more.

By the time she pulled away, they were wrecked.

And they were hers.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 10

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda loses her virginity to the most eligible bachelorette in America.

content warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Natasha is still. Too still. And quiet. 

With her heart pounding, Wanda sets her wine glass down, her stomach dropping. Her fingers shakily trace the edge of her plate, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way to take back the words she just uttered.

“I apologize,” Natasha begins, and Wanda’s head shoots up so quickly that she feels a muscle in her neck strain from the force. “For my silence. I’m just… surprised.”

Those dark green eyes are focused on her, and Wanda practically holds her breath, her mind racing. “Surprised?”

“Well yes,” Natasha smiles slightly, her eyes slowly trailing down Wanda’s top, lingering slightly before her eyes snap back up. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Wanda.”

She doesn’t elaborate, simply draining the last of her wine before standing. Her steps are confident, her hand outstretched as she walks around the table to stand at Wanda’s side. When Wanda looks up, she notices the way Natasha’s pupils have dilated, the barest hint of dark green around them. 

Taking the older woman’s hand, a brave move that Wanda barely even had the wits to think about, she stands. 

“I would be honored to be your first,” Natasha murmurs.

Oh god, it's so sweet and so cliche, but Wanda doesn’t really care. This feels like a scene straight out of one of Kate’s raunchy romance books that Wanda secretly likes to read. Normally, she would have to imagine that the handsome, older man with a dark past in the book is actually a woman, but now the scene is playing out before her very eyes. She doesn’t quite know how to react. 

“I would like that,” Wanda whispers, feeling Natasha’s hand squeeze hers gently before the older woman turns and starts walking down the hallway. This one is a different one, not leading towards the playroom, like Wanda had been expecting. She focuses on the hand wrapped around hers, the strong fingers guiding her as they walk in silence. 

Natasha stops in front of a door, the dark mahogany framing her red hair as she turns and faces Wanda. Timidly, Wanda looks up, finding nothing but softness in those eyes as Natasha brings a hand up to cup her face. 

“You can leave at any time, alright? I want you to feel comfortable with me, so tell me if you don’t like something or want me to stop.”

Smiling, Wanda feels relief course through her. She would say that Natasha is adorable, with her slightly rambling sentences and the way her eyes are earnest and kind. But, the slightly possessive grip of the older woman's fingers against her cheek says otherwise. Wanda doesn’t mind, her brain turning to mush as she feels her body relax, her heart rate quickening again, but this time, not from nervousness. 

“I understand,” Wanda murmurs, stepping forward into the woman’s space, loving the way her cinnamon scent wraps fully around her. She hears Natasha’s breath hitch and smiles slightly, emboldened. “I want this. I… I want you.”

Wanda never understood what authors meant when they said that a character’s eyes darkened. But in every sense of the word, Natasha’s did. Her pupils dilated even further as she took a steadying breath, her other hand coming up to wrap around Wanda’s waist. The look in her eyes was intent, and Wanda felt as though a spotlight had just been thrust upon her, the woman’s attention solely focused on her.

“By the end of the night,” Natasha muttered, leaning in close enough that Wanda could feel her breath on her neck. Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and she shuddered as she felt Natasha’s teeth lightly bite down on her ear. “I will have you moaning my name until your voice gives out.”

Biting her lip, Wanda pulled back slightly to look at Natasha’s face. She pretended that she wasn’t affected, but her flushed cheeks were not fooling anybody. “So confident.” 

“I know what I want. And I always get it.”

“Open the door,” Wanda said, her voice breathy and full of want. She didn’t care. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, her mind emptying until the only thing she could think about was Natasha. She craved to have those hands wrapped around her waist, her throat, tangled in her hair. She needed her mouth on her skin, that wicked tongue gliding over her neck and down her chest until-

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, her voice low and raspy. The hand around Wanda’s waist shifted until her fingers grasped the waist of her pants, pulling her inside the bedroom. 

Wanda didn’t have the chance to look around, the dim lighting hitting her eyes for a moment before the door shut solidly behind her, and strong hands pushed her against it. Her own limbs failed to respond, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides for a moment, before she came to her senses, reaching up and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s toned shoulders, pulling her in. 

Warm lips caressed hers, and Wanda didn’t think twice before she parted her lips slightly, letting Natasha’s tongue in. She focused on the woman, loving the way her hands wrapped around her waist, her body pressing against hers until Wanda was fully against the door. The older woman’s chest pressed into hers, her hips trapping Wanda’s as her thigh pressed solidify between her legs, and a soft whimper escaped Wanda as she sucked desperately on Natasha’s soft lips. 

“I’m trying to be gentle with you,” Natasha rasped out, breaking the kiss and moving her lips to Wanda’s neck. “But you’re not making that easy.”

Wanda attempts to respond, but the only thing her mouth does is let out a low whine. She’s never felt like this before. It feels like all her nerves have been set aflame, and she’s throbbing with need as Natasha sucks a hickey into her neck. The strong fingers pinning her waist against the door are driving her insane, and she lets out a pathetic-sounding gasp as she ruts her hips forward, the friction against Natasha’s thigh making her head spin.

“Do you want to be mine?”

Oh, what a question. Wanda nods with every ounce of strength that she has left, her eyes intent as she locks her gaze with Natasha’s.

“Say the words, Wanda.” Natasha’s tone is serious, her eyes glancing between Wanda’s blown pupils and her swollen, parted lips. Her fingers dig into the younger woman’s waist, holding her hips in place as she waits for a response. 

“Yes, please,” Wanda manages, her words breathy as she looks up at Natasha. She looks utterly ruined, her eyes half-lidded and her hips attempting to thrust against the strong thigh flexing between them. “I want to be yours, make me yours, Ms. Romanoff.”

A half-growl and half-moan claws its way from Natasha’s throat, and she grasps Wanda around the waist before spinning her around and pushing her towards the bed. The younger woman is easy to move, her body pliant and soft beneath Natasha’s strong fingers. A small gasp leaves her lips as the back of her knees hits the bed, and Natasha wastes no time capturing them in a searing kiss. 

Fuck, the woman is everywhere. Wanda can’t escape her, and she doesn’t really want to. Somehow, she’s moved to the center of the bed, her hips straddled by firm thighs as Natasha’s hands explore her body. Every touch is electrifying, adding to the fuzzy waves of pleasure clouding her mind. The lips on hers are somehow both gentle and aggressive, sharp teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with a strong tongue. The scent of cinnamon mixes with the thick scent of arousal that stifles the air around them, and Wanda can’t remember the last time she felt this desperate. 

“Please,” she manages, her voice a broken whimper. 

Natasha lets out a low groan, her lips moving from Wanda’s swollen lips to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking harshly. “You should beg more often, it suits you.”

Wanda doesn’t really have a response to that, her mind turning to mush at the low, raspy quality of Natasha’s voice. She settles for a desperate sort of nod, thrusting her hips up slightly to relieve the pressure growing between her thighs. Her actions are stopped by Natasha’s body weight resting fully on her hips, but she doesn’t quite mind. 

Actually, she was quite enjoying the feeling of being trapped. 

“Are you really?” Natasha asks, and Wanda flushes. Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The woman on top of her continues, her eyes glinting slightly, “We can explore that later, Wanda, for now, I’m intent on making your first time memorable.”

Wanda lets out something that sounds like “Oh!” and then promptly forgets how to speak as Natasha places a steady hand on her sternum, pushing her down until her back hits the soft mattress. The older woman's figure above her makes her head spin, arousal coursing through her as strong hands find her wrists and pin them next to her head. 

“Try to stay still for me, can you do that?”

Goddamn, if that isn’t the hottest thing Wanda’s ever been asked. She manages a nod, sure that her face is flushed and her eyes wide, but she doesn’t quite care. The feeling of Natasha Romanoff on top of her is overwhelming in the best way, and she’ll do anything to please the woman.

“Anything, hm?”

Fuck. 

Wanda starts to speak, to defend the words that have slipped out of her traitorous mouth, but a hand covers her mouth and muffles any attempted words. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just gives her a stern look. Wanda quiets, blinking up at the woman as she focuses on remaining still, her fingers twitching as her eyes lock on the fabric that Natasha is slowly pulling up to reveal a smooth stomach and chiseled abs. 

To say that Natasha Romanoff is beautiful would be an understatement. Wanda can’t stop looking at her, every inch of skin that’s revealed sending arousal flooding through her. She practically feels her heart stop when Natasha pulls her shirt fully off, the sight of her breasts underneath a lacy black bra sending Wanda’s mind straight into a fuzzy headspace of need and pure lust. 

She doesn’t even register her own hands moving until she’s cupping the woman’s chest, her thumbs caressing the fabric of Natasha’s bra in an almost reverent manner. It only lasts a brief, glorious moment, before her wrists are firmly grasped and slammed back onto the mattress. 

“Ah ah,” Natasha tuts, her fingers squeezing harder for a moment. Her eyes are dark, and Wanda feels a spark of terror and arousal run through her. “What did I say?”

“To stay still,” Wanda answers, the words spilling out of her. She feels almost compelled to answer the woman, obedience thrumming in her veins. She doesn’t fight the tight grip on her wrists, but the feeling of being restrained sends her senses into overdrive in the best way possible.  

“Then be a good girl and obey,” Natasha says, her voice leaving no room for argument. 

Wanda nods, biting her lip as Natasha squeezes her wrists one last time before releasing them, her hands trailing down her body while her muscles tense from the electrifying touch. She has to remind herself to breathe, the sensation of Natasha’s fingers against her stomach and hips making her lightheaded with need. 

Those long fingers flex as the hem of her shirt slowly slides up her stomach, revealing her muscles clenching with need as her hips try to move under Natasha’s firm thighs. She would be embarrassed, but the heat within her is rising to an unbearable level.

The look in Natasha’s eyes when she finally pulls Wanda’s shirt free is nothing short of lustful and wanting, her movements becoming slightly rough as she palms the younger woman’s breasts, squeezing gently as she coaxes pretty whines and moans from Wanda’s mouth. 

It’s intoxicating, to feel and hear the woman below her reacting to every movement. Wanda’s hips are still futilely rutting against her thighs, the barest sensation against her throbbing clit driving her mad. 

Wanda can barely think, Natasha’s hands on her breasts sending warm arousal flooding through her. She can’t control the movements of her hips, her body reacting to the older woman’s touch as soft moans sound out. 

“Oh, please,” she whines, her voice barely above a whisper. It causes the hands around her breasts to squeeze, strong fingers finding her nipples through the fabric of her bra and toying with them. 

“Fuck,” Natasha breathes, her tongue wetting her lips slightly as she looks down at Wanda. “How could I refuse when you beg so prettily for me?”

The slightly possessive words send Wanda’s mind into a soft, fuzzy mess. She finds herself longing to hear more words come out of the older woman’s mouth, a need rising within her to obey every command that slips out of those sinful lips. 

She doesn’t get the chance to ask, Natasha’s fingers sliding over her body and working every nerve until she can feel electricity shooting beneath her skin. Her clit is throbbing, her underwear damp as she bucks her hips desperately up against Natasha’s strong thighs. 

“Tell me what you want.”

Wanda makes a noise of protest at the words. She doesn’t know what she wants. She wants Natasha’s hands to never leave her body, and she wants her tongue to keep licking up the side of her neck, and she wants the woman to fuck her and get rid of the throbbing between her legs. But, she can’t quite find the words, so she just whines and gasps out, “Touch me.”

With a low chuckle, Natasha softly nips Wanda’s neck and finally moves her fingers to break Wanda’s waistband.

Long fingers softly cup her, the pressure driving Wanda mad. She bucks her hips, but Natasha simply adjusts her position, laying halfway on top of the woman and pinning one of her legs between her own. 

“Let me take this off,” Natasha murmurs, pressing soft kisses on Wanda’s sternum before lightly biting the fabric of her bra that cups her chest. She pulls it away with her teeth, waiting for Wanda’s permission.

“Mhmm,” Wanda murmurs, regaining some of her breath. The sensations against her heating body and the intense look in Natasha’s eyes make her head spin, so she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of strong fingers undoing her bra. A small groan sounds out as the fabric falls away from her chest, and Wanda can’t help but smile, something in her soaring with happiness at the reaction. 

Teeth scrape lightly against her hard nipple, bolts of firey hot pleasure shooting through her body and pooling at her core. The woman seems enamored by her breasts, her tongue flicking over her nipples and sucking the tight nubs into her mouth, alternating every few minutes.

Wanda can barely stand it. She thinks she could cum from Natasha’s mouth and fingers working her breasts. Honestly, she’d never paid her chest much attention before, instead, she furiously worked sticky fingers over her clit while under the sheets, reading some trashy romance novel that was basically 130 pages of pure porn. Today was all about learning new things, she thought, her brain going blank again as Natasha teasingly bit into her nipple.

“Fuck,” Wanda moaned, not caring what she sounds like. “I need you to touch me, Natasha. Now.” 

“Oh, do you?”

The teasing tone set Wanda’s nerves aflame, her mind riddled with need as her clit throbbed desperately against the confines of her damp underwear. She was already close, the imminent orgasm drawing closer with each swipe of Natasha’s tongue and every twist of her fingers around Wanda’s sensitive nipples.

Something must have showed on her face, because Natasha quickly moved down, pressing quick kisses down Wanda’s stomach. She still took her time, removing Wanda’s pants and underwear from her wriggling hips, and kissing her inner thighs as she spread her legs. 

“You smell divine,” Natasha murmurs. Before Wanda can say anything in return, most likely some snarky remark about how the woman needed to start moving quicker, her tongue dragging through her folds. 

Oh. God. 

Wanda cums the second Natasha’s strong, hot tongue passes over her clit. The older woman makes a surprised sound, which is quickly followed by a throaty moan, her hands moving to wrap around Wanda’s thighs. 

“Keep going,” Wanda gasps out, her hips grinding against Natasha’s face, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her. Warm pleasure grows, her clit almost painfully overstimulated, but she can feel Natasha’s tongue slowly working her towards another orgasm.

Two long fingers prod at her soaked entrance, circling and gathering the slick wetness before smoothly sliding in. Wanda can barely feel them, her pussy so wet the sensation barely registers. That is until Natasha curls them perfectly against her g-spot, a wave of pleasure sweeping through her violently.

“You… I-” Wanda manages, her tongue feeling thick as she pants. Low, muffled moans sound out from where Natasha is licking her clit, her fingers pumping in and out of Wanda. The vibrations add to the pleasure, her orgasm drawing near again.

“Are you going to cum?” Natasha asks, detaching her lips for a moment to ask. Her face is slightly flushed, her lips glistening as she looks at Wanda with blown pupils. She slows her fingers as she waits for a response, a slight smirk on her face.

“Yes.”

“Beg for permission.”

Wanda blinks, her mouth falling open at the command. That was… hotter than she would like to admit. She feels her pussy clench around Natasha’s fingers, and she feels herself flush at the knowing look in the older woman’s eyes.

“Um, please?”

Natasha makes a tutting sound, shaking her head slightly as an intense look appears in her eyes. “You can do better than that,” she murmurs, watching Wanda’s face as she moves her fingers quickly. She curls them with each rough thrust, coaxing her orgasm closer. “Go on, Wanda. I know you can do it.”

“God, please, Natasha,” Wanda bursts out, the words spewing as she desperately chases her orgasm. “I’ve wanted you ever since that first day I stumbled into your office. I wanted you to bend me over your desk right then, and I need you to keep moving your fingers. Please, let me cum, I’ve been horny practically nonstop since our first meeting, I need you to just please-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, Natasha’s lips crashing down over hers and she murmurs her permission. Wanda can taste herself on the woman’s lips and tongue, and her mind goes blissfully blank as Natasha pumps rough and deep, bringing her orgasm to the surface quickly.

Pleasure washes over her, her pussy clamping down around Natasha’s fingers as she cums. It’s a full-body orgasm, her muscles clenching and releasing as she feels herself tremble from the force of it. Her legs are tight around Natasha’s waist, her fingers moving to tangle with the woman’s hair. Wanda can feel her eyes rolling back, her back arching as she feels her body convulse with pleasure, gibberish words, and moans streaming from her lips and into Natasha’s kiss. 

Those long fingers coax out every last drop of pleasure, Wanda’s slit giving one last pulse before she feels herself go boneless. Sinking into the mattress, she catches her breath, turning her head to look at Natasha. 

Dark green eyes gaze back at her, something intense about her gaze. Wanda doesn’t have the energy to think too hard about it, and her mind goes fuzzy again as Natasha slowly pulls her fingers out and brings them up to her lips.

“Suck,” she whispers, coating Wanda’s bottom lip with her own juices as she runs her fingers over it. 

Obeying, Wanda shamelessly sucks her arousal off Natasha’s fingers. She swirls her tongue around them and sucks, enjoying the hitch in the older woman’s breath when she does so. 

Pulling her fingers from Wanda’s mouth, Natasha reclaims her lips in a gentle kiss. It’s not as rough as before, but no less intense. She moves as they kiss, maneuvering Wanda until her head is propped up by pillows, laying half on top of Natasha as her hand rests on the woman’s stomach. The kiss ends slowly, Wanda’s eyes beginning to close of their own accord. 

“Do you want me to-” Wanda weakly gestures toward Natasha’s waistband.

The older woman chuckles, pressing a kiss against the top of Wanda’s head. “No, Wanda. Tonight was solely about you. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to make me feel good.”

Smiling, Wanda feels her body relax completely, practically melting against the older woman’s comforting heat. She feels a pleasant buzz throughout her body, her face still flushed even as her heart rate slows. She tries to say something, her lips moving silently against the soft skin of Natasha’s collarbone. 

“Sleep, Wanda,” Natasha murmurs, pulling a thin sheet over them. Her fingers brush over Wanda’s cheek, tucking auburn hair behind her ear. “You were amazing, and I loved every second of tonight. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

Wanda doesn’t hear much after that, her tired body finally succumbing as she drifts off. 

—

When Wanda wakes, the room is dark, a soft, warm glow of light creeping through the crack underneath the bedroom door. She blinks, her mind still fuzzy and content as the afterglow lingers. She has no idea how long she’s slept, her fingers grabbing the thick fabric of a bathrobe conveniently placed at the foot of the bed. Through the crack in the curtains, Wanda can see the barest hint of light, a sign that dawn is approaching.

The soft sounds of piano soar through the air, the notes almost melancholic in nature. Wanda tilts her head, tying the bathrobe securely around her waist before gently pushing the door open and padding down the hall.

Natasha is bent over the piano, a single, dim lamp softly illuminating her red hair. Wanda can just barely see the curve of her jaw, her attention captured by the steady fingers flying across the keyboard. 

Somehow, they manage to draw emotion out with each note. Sadness lingers in the corners of the room, amplified with each note Natasha plays, her keys performing a somber dance. Wanda wonders what exactly the woman is thinking about as she plays, not a single sheet of music in front of her, only the smooth expanse of mahogany wood and ivory keys. 

The music stops, and Wanda jolts as she realizes her presence has been noticed.

“Sorry,” she whispers, seeing the barest hint of a frown flit across Natasha’s tired features. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Perhaps I should be the one saying that to you,” Natasha responds, a wry smile gracing her features as she wipes her hands on her soft sweatpants. She stands, every movement graceful as she does so. Wanda can’t help but notice the way her pants hang slightly off her hips, a hint of her smooth stomach and abs showing as she walks towards her. 

“Are you… alright?” Natasha asks, concern softening the sharp features of her face as she walks towards her.

Wanda flushes, thinking about the bone-deep ache making its way through her body, evidence of their activities earlier that evening. She finds herself nodding, her fingers running nervously over the tie of her bathrobe.

“Are you sure that you…” Wanda trails off, biting her lips momentarily before she sees the hungry look appear in Natasha’s eyes at the action. “Did you have a good time?”

A small smile makes its way onto Natasha’s face, and she reaches out an arm to wrap around Wanda’s waist as she nears. “Yes, Wanda. I had a good time,” she whispers, pulling the younger woman close. Her fingers cup Wanda’s waist, her other hand tangling with Wanda’s, their fingers intertwined as she kisses her knuckles. “It was everything I imagined you’d be like, and more. I can’t fathom ever tiring of you.”

Well. That’s the most romantic thing Wanda has ever heard in her life, and she blushes hotly, her words jumbling together as she attempts to form a sentence. 

Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against her lips. “Come,” she murmurs, pulling Wanda back down the hallway, her thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “How about we cuddle until morning, and then I’ll make you whatever breakfast you’d like.”

“You can cook?” Wanda asks, mid-yawn. Her comment earns a light jab in her side, and she fails at hiding her smirk at the reaction from the normally composed woman.

“I can do many things, Wanda,” Natasha says, a slight smirk on her lips that tells Wanda exactly what the older woman is implying. She takes a deep breath, fighting her rising blush as they walk back into the bedroom, Natasha pulling her into her side as they slide under the sheets. Their limbs entangle, their bodies pressed close together as Natasha presses a soft kiss against Wanda’s head, the younger woman’s eyes already closing again, drifting off to sleep as she feels Natasha’s lips move against her.

“I could get used to this.”

---

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[bitchinbarzal]

Gossip | M Boldy

summary: you can’t date a reporter when you’re an athlete without some fallout.

-

Matt knew this was going to be a problem from the second he introduced you to his teammates.

It was in the way Brock’s easygoing smile turned stiff, how Kirill’s laughter quieted when you walked into the room, how Jake and Rossi exchanged wary glances behind your back. It wasn’t personal—at least, not entirely. It was about your job.

You were a writer for The Hockey Insider, an outlet notorious for gossip pieces that followed the team like a shadow. Kirill had been caught in a dating rumor that nearly wrecked his relationship. Jake’s contract negotiations had been spun into a fabricated feud with management. Rossi had once been accused of partying too hard—never mind that the supposed “wild night out” had actually been his mom’s birthday dinner.

So, when you stepped into their world, there was an unspoken question hanging in the air: Can she be trusted?

Matt had defended you — of course he had. He knew you. He knew the way you analyzed plays more than drama, how you hated the clickbait articles as much as they did. He knew you didn’t write that kind of stuff.

But the doubt still lingered.

And then he saw the text.

It wasn’t like he had meant to snoop. He was trying to find a text from himself he’d sent you important information about.

Boss: We need something on Brock. Preferably messy. Let me know what you’ve got.

Matt felt his stomach drop.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and a moment later, you walked into the room, fresh out of the shower. Your hair was damp, your skin still flushed from the heat, and you were wearing one of his old Wild hoodies — one you’d stolen months ago and never gave back.

You looked at ease, content.

Matt had never felt more off-balance.

“You need something on Brock?” His voice came out sharper than intended.

You blinked, eyebrows knitting together. “What?”

Matt turned your phone screen toward you. “Your boss. Looking for dirt on Brock.”

Your body went rigid.

Matt scoffed, shoving the phone onto the counter. “Jesus, Y/N.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What I think,” he repeated, voice rising, “is that my teammates were right to be on edge around you.”

You flinched, hurt flashing across your face. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve been defending you for months. Saying you don’t write that shit, that you wouldn’t sell us out. And now you’re sitting on a story about one of my teammates?”

You exhaled sharply, frustration flickering in your eyes. “I didn’t write anything.”

“But you were going to.”

“No,” you snapped. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why does your boss think you have something?”

Silence.

Just for a second. But it was enough.

Matt shook his head, stepping back like he didn’t even want to be near you. “Unbelievable.”

“That’s what they do, Matt,” you said finally, voice tight.

“They assume I’m sitting on something because I have access. Because I’m around you. Around them.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “And what? You just ignore them? How long before you give in?”

That’s when you laughed.

It wasn’t a happy sound. It was bitter, exhausted.

“Give in?” you echoed, shaking your head. Then you met his eyes, and for the first time, you looked tired.

Defeated, you mumbled “Matt, I quit.”

The words knocked the wind out of him.

“What?”

“I quit,” you repeated, voice thick with emotion. “Because I knew this would happen. I knew they’d want me to sell you out. And I couldn’t, I wouldn’t do that. Not to you, not to Brock, not to any of them.”

Matt felt like the floor had just disappeared beneath him.

“You—” He swallowed hard “You didn’t tell me.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I wanted to find something else first. I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.”

“But it was because of me,” Matt said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

Matt dragged a hand down his face. He had spent so much time worrying about whether you would betray him that he hadn’t stopped to consider the sacrifices you had already made.

“I’m sorry” he said, voice softer now. “I should’ve trusted you”

You exhaled slowly, staring down at your phone like it physically pained you. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You should’ve.”

And with that, you turned, grabbed your phone off the counter, and walked out the door.

Matt didn’t stop you.

He wasn’t sure he had the right to.

You and Matt didn’t talk for weeks.

At first, he told himself it was for the best. You had fought, you had left, and maybe that was how things were supposed to end. But that didn’t stop him from noticing the silence. No more texts, no more calls. No more waiting for you after games, no more waking up to you stealing his hoodies.

It was stupid how much he missed you.

The guys didn’t bring you up much—not after that night when you stormed out—but Matt caught the way Brock, Kirill, Jake, and Rossi sometimes looked at him like they wanted to say something. Like they knew.

Still, he pushed it aside. Focused on hockey.

The team was in the thick of the playoff race, every game crucial. After a big win, the locker room was buzzing, laughter bouncing off the walls as guys peeled off their gear.

“Hey, check this out,” Rossi said from across the room, holding up his phone. “Hockey Weekly just put out a piece on us.”

Kirill scoffed. “If it’s that one guy again, I don’t care.”

“No, no,” Rossi said, scrolling. “This one’s actually good.” He cleared his throat and started reading:

“The Minnesota Wild aren’t just a team fighting for a playoff spot—they’re a team built on chemistry, resilience, and a camaraderie that’s impossible to fake. From Kirill Kaprizov’s dynamic playmaking to Brock Faber’s defensive reliability, from Matt Boldy’s quiet consistency to Marco Rossi’s relentless drive, this team has found a way to balance youth and experience in a way that just works.”

The guys hooted in approval.

“But beyond the stats and standings, what makes this team special is the belief they have in each other. Watch them on the ice, and you’ll see it. A team that doesn’t just play together, but plays for each other. A team that, if they keep this up, could be a real threat in the postseason.”

Rossi looked up. “Damn. Who wrote this?”

Jake leaned over, glancing at the byline. Then he froze.

Matt caught the shift in his expression immediately. “What?”

Jake turned his phone around so Matt could see the name at the top of the article.

Y/N L/N

The room went quiet.

Matt felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

He should’ve known. The writing, the insight—it was you. You had always talked about wanting to cover the game itself, not the drama. And now, even after everything, you had still found a way to do that.

And you had written about them.

Not gossip. Not rumors. Just a damn good article about their team. About the things that mattered.

Guilt settled like a weight in his chest.

“I thought you said she quit writing?” Brock said, raising an eyebrow.

Matt swallowed hard. “I—” He didn’t know what to say. Because, apparently, you hadn’t quit. You had just quit him.

“Dude,” Rossi said, shaking his head. “You gotta fix this.”

Matt sat there, staring at your name on the screen, heart pounding.

Yeah. He did.

[leaderwon]

NIGHT OF A THOUSAND WHISPERS : PJS | 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 - 𝟗)

Synopsis : With the sun setting behind you and a gentle breeze in the air, Jay sweeps you off your feet for an impromptu date at the beach. Between shared laughter and tender glances, every moment with him feels like a perfectly written love story.

Warnings : Mild suggestive content, heavy skinship (hand holding, hugging, and kissing)

Wc : 1.9k+

masterlist

The ocean waves lapped softly against the shore, blending seamlessly with the distant calls of seabirds. The golden light of the setting sun painted the horizon in hues of amber and rose, and a gentle breeze carried the salty tang of the sea. As you strolled down the sandy path, your heart raced at the sight of Jay waiting near the edge of the beach.

He stood with his back to the water, a soft smile on his face as he caught sight of you. His hair was tousled perfectly by the wind, and the sight was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"You're just in time," Jay greeted warmly, reaching out to take your hand as you approached. "In time for what?" you asked, allowing him to guide you toward a setup you hadn't noticed before. There was a neatly laid blanket surrounded by flickering lanterns and a basket of snacks resting on the side.

Jay grinned mischievously. "A spontaneous date. Thought we could escape reality for a while." "You really went all out," you teased, but warmth bloomed in your chest at the effort he'd put in.

Settling onto the blanket, you gazed out at the horizon. The colors of the sunset reflected on the shimmering waves, creating a breathtaking scene. Jay leaned back on his hands, eyes focused on you instead of the view. "You look beautiful," he murmured. Heat rose to your cheeks. "You flatter me too much." "I mean it," he insisted, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I love seeing you happy."

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you could only gaze at him, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes. The vulnerability between you was palpable, but Jay never shied away from it.

As the conversation flowed effortlessly, you shared stories and laughed until your sides hurt. Jay's warmth and presence made the world fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect bubble.

"Hey," Jay said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. "Do you remember our first date?" You chuckled. "How could I forget? You spilled soda all over your shirt, and I was too polite to laugh at you."

Jay groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Don't remind me. That was so embarrassing. I thought I ruined everything." "You didn't," you assured him, nudging his shoulder. "It was actually kind of cute."

He peeked at you through his fingers, eyes glinting with amusement. "So you're saying I should spill soda on myself more often?" "Please don't," you laughed. "But it definitely made the date memorable." Jay's expression softened. "Every moment with you is memorable."

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and looked down at your intertwined hands. The music playing from the speaker faded into the background as Jay's thumb brushed gently over your knuckles.

"Can I say something?" he asked quietly. You nodded, meeting his gaze.

"Being with you feels like home" he confessed. "I've never felt this way about anyone before, and it honestly scares me a little. But I know that I don't want to be anywhere else but here, with you."

Emotion surged through you, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. Jay had always been thoughtful and affectionate, but this confession touched a part of your heart you'd kept guarded.

"I feel the same way," you whispered. "You make me feel safe and cherished." Jay's breath hitched, and without hesitation, he cupped your face, his touch gentle yet firm. "Can I kiss you?" Your response was immediate. "Yeah"

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and intense. The world faded into the background as you melted into him. Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you close as he poured all his emotions into the kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, Jay rested his forehead against yours. "You're incredible," he whispered. You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you both settled back onto the blanket, content to watch the stars emerge. Jay's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"This is perfect," you sighed. "It really is," Jay agreed. "Thank you for being you." You tilted your head to look at him. "And thank you for being you."

As the night deepened, Jay pulled out a small portable light from the basket and set it up, casting a warm glow around you. He opened a box of snacks and offered you a piece of chocolate.

"Sweet for my sweet," he said playfully. You rolled your eyes but took the chocolate anyway. "You're cheesy." "And you love it," he teased, nudging you playfully.

As the stars twinkled above and the sound of the ocean filled the air, you realized that moments like these were what made life beautiful. With Jay by your side, everything felt right.

The night ended with you lying in his arms, your fingers tracing random patterns on his chest as he hummed softly.

"Let's do this more often" Jay suggested. "What, spontaneous beach dates?" you asked with a smile.

"Yeah" he nodded. "But more importantly, spending time together. Just us, no distractions." "I'd love that," you agreed. Jay pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Good. Because you're stuck with me now."

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[falling-star-cygnus]

Rin Okumura should be allowed to make churring noises, actually.

i've mentioned it a few times on here, but i have a lisp and a shortened frenulum- which means i don't really like talking very much because a lot of my words are slurred or thick around the edges. ↑ HOWEVER: that contributes to why i like inhuman characters so much. it's a lot easier to express an emotion when you have the use of extra features.

i'm currently on ep19 of Blue Exorcist, and already I've read a lot of fics that have Rin expressing different levels of comfort and emotions with his tail

but there AREN'T a lot of fics where he makes NOISES -> this might be too niche, but goddamnit i love an mc that makes chitters and vibrating noises when they're content or confused

IF HE CAN GROWL IN CANON, HE CAN PURR DAMNIT

[rae-raewrites]

Negations

Arkham scarecrow x reader

Warning: Adults only 18+ no minors

Content warnings:smut,handjobs,blowjobs,dirty talk,Jon begging because I be like that

Your honor i want him,badly

Your fingers stopped at the horizontal zipper on his pants, taking note of the groan your ears had just managed to catch. A self-assured smirk finding its way to your face.

"You don't have to be so quiet jon." You teased fingers finally going towards the zipper and slowly pulling it down. The orange fabric of his boxers starting to show, the bulge even more so.

"You're not the one who has to worry about actually getting caught." Jonathan hissed his hands gripped his desk, leaning slightly backwards as you finally freed his cock. The poor muscle twitching from hours prior of neglect. A tiny drop of pre dotting the tip.

"And I believe you're the one who called me away from MY work when you could have easily taken care of yourself." Your tongue made a tentative lick at the head causing a more vibrant moan to exit him. Your hand beginning a few strokes, adjusting you knees to get more comfortable. His hips slightly bucking into it.

Your mouth finally taking him in full causing a small 'oh fuck' to leave him with his hand flying to his mouth to cover it and muffle to noise. Your mouth keeping at its pattern, his hand falling to the back of your head but never forcing anything. A few lewd moans leaving you, more for his entertainment.

And it certainly had an effect, both hands finally needing to grab the desk for support.

"haa...Close...very, very close." He managed to get out. You gave a small nod speeding you just a bit to keep him on edge. His moans getting more and more desperate, whiny to a point. The man stopping himself from sounding pathetic. Your mouth leaving his cock with a soft pop. His face becoming slightly panicked "Now hold-"

"I'm not just going to give you want you want sweetheart." You ran a probing finger against the tip. "That would be rewarding you for nothing but standing there and being handsome."

The red that had flooded his cheeks went deeper, panting. Swallowing a little, hand returning to rub the back of your head. Not abrasive. Loving even for him. Almost coming to an internal conclusion fast to save himself the trouble.

"....Please? I'll behave...I'll behave so good, promise." It wasn't hard to notice the apprehension in his voice. His pride slightly fighting back, the delicious desperation being the catalyst to have you resume your torture. The good doctor sucking in breath. Moans finally becoming vivid,cum spilling down your throat.

"That was...."

"Good?"

"Yes um-" You helped him get more presentable and liked your lips one last time, Jonathan giving a small cough. "Sorry"

"You seriously couldn't wait four more hours for our shifts to be done?" You giggled, poking him slightly on he nose, "I'm your partner jon, not your relief."

"You certainly didn't say no darling."

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twelve

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

Read on AO3

When she opened her eyes the next morning, Eirlys was alone and she thought for a moment that perhaps she’d dreamed the previous night. Dreamed the previous weeks. 

But then she heard the soft pad of bare feet on wood and rolled onto her belly to gaze out at the terrace. There, dressed in only his trousers, was her husband. She smiled. He is my husband. 

The chill in the morning air did not seem to faze him. He did not shiver. Didn’t rub his hands along his thick biceps or forearms to try to keep warm. Instead, he bent slightly forward—most likely leaning against the railing as she often did—and let the pale early morning sun splash across his skin. It highlighted the swells of muscle along his broad shoulders, down his equally broad back, but her smile faded at the sight of the scars that marred his skin, for there were quite a few. When he moved and the hair that fell halfway down his back shifted, it exposed still more marks. Some were old and had gone white, some were newer and still pink. Some were smooth, but more than one had jagged margins, and she wondered how he’d come by them. 

The sunlight shone along his black hair, the ornaments he’d woven into it glinting, throwing off flashes of light here and there with the slightest of movement. She didn't know what he watched, but something seemed to have caught his attention. 

She snuggled into the pillow beneath her cheek, perfectly content to simply study him. The previous evening had been nothing short of magical and while she hated to see the morning come, she knew there would be more nights like their first and she looked very much forward to them. 

He turned then and her breath hitched. If she’d thought him beautiful in the moonlight, that was nothing compare to him in the daylight. Her dwarf was the powerfully built man she’d ever seen and when he smiled, her heart actually skipped a beat, a soft laugh bubbling to her lips when he grinned and greeted her with, “So that’s why my back grew warm.”

“I’ll not apologize. You’re quite handsome, you know.”

His grin widened as he came back into the room. “I thank you for the compliment, but I’m certain not many would agree with you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she replied, rising to prop her head on her fist. “They must need glasses, to think such a thing.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed. “I thought this moment might be awkward,” he confessed, trailing his fingers along the length of her hair. 

“Why? We did nothing wrong.”

“No, we didn’t. But… it was still nothing I could have prepared for. And I mean that in the nicest way, before you think I found fault with it, or you.”

He skimmed along her hair, over her shoulder, and the caress sent heat streaking through her. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, but she refused to let them close even as she shivered beneath his touch. “I also found no fault with you, Thorin,” she told him softly. 

“So I did not disappoint you, then?”

She heard the note of teasing, the hint of a smile, in his voice, and shook her head. “Not at all. Did I disappoint you?”

His eyes darkened slightly and he shifted to ease himself over her. The hair curling away from his chest tickled her bare back, and he nuzzled her, whispering, “I think it impossible for you to ever do such a thing.”

Now she let her eyes close, his lips soft and warm, his beard coarse and tickling her skin as he swept teasing kisses along first her cheek, then over her jaw. Sweeping her hair to let it spill over her left shoulder, he then kissed his way down along her neck, over her nape, across her shoulder. With each pass of his lips, her skin grew more sensitive, the warmth that uncoiled in her belly bubbled into heat that spread through her veins.

He slid one hand along her arm, to her hand, beneath her pillow, and covered it, linking his fingers with hers as he whispered, “Does anyone expect us at this hour?”

Her thoughts came muddy and slow, thick and lazy as she managed to murmur, “I care not, to be honest.”

A soft laugh whispered across her back and her toes actually curled as he kissed down over her left shoulder blade. “Good.”

Thorin crept lower, drawing the sheet down to her hips, pausing when she shivered. “Are you cold, mesmel?”

“No.” She could barely make her voice go above a whisper, she felt so languorous. He punctuated each kiss with a teasing sweep of his tongue, and with each caress, the heat within her grew. The now-familiar knots slowly tightened, slowly lowered into her core. He came back up, flattening again her, his breath warm against her ear.

“Your Majesty?”

Eirlys and Thorin groaned in unison at Madris’ voice. With a muffled growl, Thorin eased off her, onto his back and she winced, calling back, “What is it, Madris?”

“Your father sent me up to remind you of the breakfast before everyone departs.”

Eirlys bit back the oath rising to her lips. She’d forgotten about the breakfast. “Give us a minute, please?”

“Of course.”

“I forgot about the breakfast,” she sighed, sinking back into her pillows.

“It is of no matter.” His words wafted slowly into the air, heavy with what sounded like regret. “There will be other mornings.”

That brought a smile to her lips, one that stayed there even as he gave a rough sigh and rose from the bed to go to the wardrobe, where his chest stood alongside it. “Do you promise?”

“Why, Queen Eirlys, you sound almost wanton.”

He said it with a grin, which warmed her blood once more. “Is that a yes, King Thorin?”

Crouching before the chest to lift the lid, he bobbed his head. “It is most definitely a yes.”

“Good.”

“And now,” he stood, a heavy dark grey henley clutched in both hands, “I will go and assure your maid I’ve not been in here ravishing you silly and if you don't mind clumsy dwarven hands assisting you, I will help you dress.”

“She might not believe you.”

“I am very persuasive when I wish to be.” He drew the henley over his head, winking as he emerged through the neck. “Although, I might warn her we will be late to the breakfast. I think she will understand though, given that we are newlyweds.”

“Thorin, we can’t keep our guests waiting.”

He thumped past her, pausing to bend and press a kiss into her forehead. “If they have complaints, they can come visit me in Erebor to voice them.”

“I like how you think.”

He winked once more and then crossed to the door, where he tugged it open and stepped to into the corridor. Eirlys sighed softly, then reluctantly rose from the bed, crouching to swipe her nightgown from the floor, where it had spent the night. The wrapper lay beside it, but further under the bed, and she snatched that as well, balling both in her hands as she stood. 

She moved around the foot of the bed, toward the basket where she’d dump the garments, when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. 

The dark splotch stood out vibrantly against the white linens. Blood. 

“I thought you might not want your maid to see that.”

Thorin’s voice suddenly in her ear made her jump. He’d come up behind her without a sound, and slid an arm about her waist as he spoke. A feeling of foolishness swirled through her at her starting the way she had, but at the same time, his concern touched her as well. “It’s silly to be concerned about it,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It isn’t as if no one knows what happened here last eve.”

“Still… it’s no one else’s concern, either.” The arm about her waist tightened briefly. “Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

She didn't answer, not that he gave her a chance. Instead, he tossed the ruined linens into the basket and then crossed back to the wardrobe to tug open the doors. “What did you wish to wear today, Eirlys?”

A sense of unease settled about her even as she forced a smile to her face and said, “I think the pale blue will suffice.”

By early afternoon, the palace became a frantic hive of activity as the wedding guests readied to take their leave. Her father and Thorin had disappeared after breakfast, although neither would tell her why, which irritated her as much as Thorin’s statement about begetting an heir troubled her, and Eirlys tried not to dwell on either as she went in search of Madris to aid her in the packing they need to do to make the trip to Erebor in the coming days.

“Eirlys?”

She paused at a very familiar voice, one she had not heard in what seemed like a lifetime, and turned to smile. “Lachon? Is that really you?”

Lachon of Rivendell hurried toward her, sweeping her up to swing her around. “Did you think I would miss an event such as this? Princess Eirlys of Mirkwood actually settling down and taking a husband?”

She couldn't help her laughter as he set her down, and she smiled up into his warm dark eyes. “My father was none too fond of you, if I recall.”

“Well, now, that would be because he caught me attempting to take liberties with you, if you will also recall.”

“Lachon, we were but children when that happened.”

“I was a boy, yes,” he nodded, tucking her arm through his, “but you were anything but a child.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Either way, it was a lifetime ago, so I suppose Papa thought it would be safe.”

“And he judged correctly. I would never have missed this.” He looked around, the sunlight glinting russet over the reddish-gold hair streaming down his back. “But, where is your new husband? I should like to offer him my congratulations on winning your hand.”

“He is in with my father even as we speak.” She peered over her shoulder, toward the Throne Room, where she figured her father and Thorin were discing whatever it was they discussed. “I’m sure it has something to do with how many soldiers will accompany us back to Erebor.”

“A wise idea, to be sure.” Lachon bobbed his head as they strolled along the walkway, where sun splashed the wood as if lightning their path. “Gundabad has grown far bolder and if you are making your way from here to the Lonely Mountain, it would be best to have as many soldiers as your father might spare.”

She paused, peering up at him. “Have they grown so bold? I know they’ve ventured closer to our borders in the last few weeks, but are they stronger? They have no leader.”

“Oh, but they do once more have a leader.” He turned to her. “And by all reports, he is far worse than Azog or Bolg would ever be.”

She tried to ignore the sudden knots in her stomach, the sense of unease that settled about her. “And has he a name?”

“Rildu. He is a cousin to Azog, or more aptly, was a cousin to him. And that blood knows no mercy, no empathy, and no compassion. And yes, they are stronger now. Stronger and far more determined to rule whatever they can.” Lachon nodded in the direction of the Throne Room. “From what I understand, he is also to out for revenge for what your husband did to his cousin, and what your brother did to Azog’s son.”

“Wonderful.” Her unease grew. Erebor was almost two days’ travel from Mirkwood. Not incredibly far, but a good portion of their journey would be along open road, which would leave them more than a little vulnerable to attack.

“Let’s not talk about it now,” she told him, forcing a smile to her lips, forcing a cheeriness she did not feel into her voice. “Instead, tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” He shrugged. “You know how I am, Eirlys. I’m not overly fond of doing the same thing over and over.”

“I know, but I’d have thought Elrond would have given you the opportunity to channel your energies into one objective.”

Lachon chuckled. “He has. More than once.”

“And still nothing, eh?” 

“I tried to have him speak with your father,” he replied, his smile fading and his eyes growing soft. 

A hint of unease unfurled in her belly. “We’ve been through this before, Lachon. And besides, I’m married now, remember?”

“I know, more’s the pity. Although,” the familiar gleam leaped into his eyes once more, “I am happy for you and Thorin, is his name?”

She cocked her head to the side. “You very well know his name and do not try to pretend otherwise.”

“Guilty. But tell me,” he lowered his voice, “does the fact that he is a dwarf trouble you at all?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation, shaking her head, “not one bit. Why should it?”

He offered up a long look. “Surely, you remember well the last time they passed through here. We heard about it all the way in Imladris.”

She sighed. “The last time they passed through here, it was for the wedding of the king’s nephew to our own Tauriel. So, I’ll wager whatever you heard of that was not nearly as horrifying as what I think you’re alluding to.”

“Don’t be daft, Eirlys. You knew I meant the last time they were here uninvited.”

She stared hard at him. Of course she knew what happened when her father imprisoned the dwarves. They escaped and made their way first to Esgaroth, then to Erebor itself, unleashed Smaug and destroyed the town on the lake.

But, all she said to Lachon was, “What is it you’re saying, man? Don’t beat about the bush, but man up and say it.”

“Your dwarf king went mad. Went mad and nearly wiped out your father’s army, your brother  and Tauriel, all of Esgaroth, as well as his own kin.” Lachon’s dark eyes almost glowed. “And yet you’ve married him just the same, which astounds me.”

“Why?”

“Because when I asked for your hand, you refused. And yet you willingly pledged your troth to him—a dwarf?”

She rolled her eyes. “I refused you because we wanted different things, if you’ll recall. You had our lives all planned out and yet failed to ask me what I felt about any single aspect. I’d rather not have a husband who plans my life for me without any input from me.”

“And your dwarf has listened to you? Has he taken into account what you want?”

“Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

Still, she couldn't very well tell Lachon how Thorin had not troubled himself to ask her whether or not she even wished to have children. “Lachon, you know how families such as mine are when it comes to marriage. It’s all about the alliances that are created.”

“So, it’s one of convenience,” Lachon nodded, “so why not simply say so?”

He stepped closer and before she could do anything, he caught her around the waist to pull her close. “Remember, my grandmother was Oropher’s mistress. We should continue the tradition, Eirlys.”

“What our grandparents did has no bearing on what we do, and you know as well as I do that those rumors were never more than that—rumors,” she told him, shaking her head. “Now, unhand me.”

“We belong together, you know,” his voice lowered, grew throatier, his arms in fact tightening about her, “and you would be but wasted on that fool, mad dwarf.”

“Lachon, don’t you—”

Before she could finish, he caught her lips in a fierce kiss, his arms like bands of steel about her, pressing her own arms almost painfully against her sides. She tried to jerk back, to pull just beyond his reach, but she had no leverage and no way to force him to yield.

“What goes on here?”

The angry growl of Thorin’s deep voice was enough to make Lachon pull back and she was able to yank free of his grasp. “Thorin, I didn't hear you coming.”

“No,” he growled, turning cold blue eyes to her, “I’ll wager you did not. It’s time for us to take our leave.”

She smiled. “Good. I was just coming to find you.”

“Were you?” His gaze shifted to Lachon. “Did you perhaps mistake an elf for me?”

Her belly knotted. “It isn’t quite what you think.”

“Really?” Thorin came up to them, putting himself between her and Lachon. “You were at the ceremony yesterday, weren’t you?”

Lachon bobbed his head. “I was, indeed.”

“So you know that her Majesty is now married. To me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Thorin offered up a mild smile and then, to both Eirlys’ and Lachon’s surprise, leveled the elf with a punch that seemingly came from nowhere. 

Lachon crumpled to his knees and Thorin crouched before him, adding, “If you come near her again, I will kill you. Do you understand that, elf?”

Blood trickled from the corner of Lachon’s mouth, and he gingerly prodded at his already swelling bottom lip as he nodded. 

Eirlys pressed her lips together to hold back her smile as she looked over at Thorin. He’d seen the kiss, but he’d no doubt seen her fighting Lachon off as well, which filled her with relief. At least his anger was aimed at the right person.

She moved to slip her arm through his. “I’ve never been so thankful to see you, Thorin,” she whispered, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“Indeed,” he replied, his voice cold, “and now it is time for us to take our leave.”

With that, he started off, and she stumbled as she tried to fall into step with him. Fury practically radiated from him as he stalked away from Lachon, still on the floor. Eirlys had to practically run to keep up with him, and as they rounded the corner leading to her chambers, she said, “What is the matter?”

“The matter is that you were kissing another man the morning after our wedding.”

“Wait,” she dug her heels into the floor to halt him, yanking her arm free, “I was what?”

“I saw you.” He spun around to face her. “Laughing with him and then the next minute, kissing him. Now, I know you and I might not know each other well yet, and perhaps that isn’t exactly how a marriage should begin, but—”

“I want’t kissing him. He was kissing me.”

He stared at her, eyes cold, arms folded. “As if there is a difference.”

“There is this time! He kissed me and made it so I couldn’t free myself.”

“Is that so? I thought you were trained alongside your brother, with Tauriel, with the others, to defend yourself. Didn’t you tell me that? That you are skilled with a bow and arrow as well as steel? And yet, you could not avoid a single kiss?”

“I couldn't when he’d pinned my arms to my sides, you fool!”

“I am indeed a fool,” he replied with a sharp bob of his head, “for now I am bound to you, my faithless queen, for the rest of my days. You should have but told me your heart belonged to another, for I would have refrained from consummating our marriage and then could have possibly freed myself.”

Her heart beat at triple its pace as she held his angry stare. “If that is what you wish to do, then leave for Erebor without me. I will tell no one of last evening.”

“Your sheets were stained with your virgin’s blood, your maid saw them and for all I know, they’ve been presented to your father as proof of our joining. So, as much as I would now rather just leave you behind, I can do no such thing.”

“I did not ask him to kiss me. I did not want him to kiss me, Thorin. But he did so anyway. I’ve not betrayed you nor am I faithless, but instead fell prey to a man who used his size and strength against me to his advantage and for all I know, he saw you there and that was why he did what he did.”

“We will never know, I suppose.”

“No, but you’ve already made up your mind as it is, so I don't suppose it matters one way or the other.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He turned and strode away, calling over one shoulder, “We leave in thirty minutes’ time and do not think to hide in your chambers. You will be with me in my coach if I must throw you over my shoulder and put you there myself.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she snapped.

He paused then, turning back toward her. “Satisfaction?” He shook his head. “There is no satisfaction. I knew better than to trust Thranduíl. Woodland elves lack all honor and now I am trapped with one for the rest of my days.”

“Thorin, I do not lie when I say I tried to free myself from him. I—”

“Of course you did. I saw what a struggle you put up. Please, do not insult my intelligence.”

He bit off the last part as he whipped about and stalked off without a look back. A heavy sigh rose to Eirlys’ lips as she watched him go, watched the way the light played along his silver-streaked black hair, the way it glinted off the silver ornaments woven into those long curls. As soon as he calmed down, he would realize she told the truth. Why else would he hit Lachon the way he did?

Lachon.

She stalked back to where he still sat, his back against the wall, probing the swollen lower part of his face. Crouching alongside him, she said, “If you ever come near me again, Lachon, I will see to it that you never know another woman again. Am I clear?”

“Bugger off,” he mumbled around his puffy bottom lip.

“Gladly.”

With that, she stood up and marched off, wondering who had been fool enough to invite him to the wedding and how she untangled herself from the mess his being invited had created for her. 

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @lathalea

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[toobusyshrimping]

Took 83 years but here you go uwu

Tommy:

Him being a brat tamer is delicious! Love the idea of him being ready at all times to throw you over his lap if he feels even the slightest hint of disobedience. Anything to do with someone being trained to deep throat brings me so much joy. Tommy stroking your hair and calling you a good girl is very horse girl of him God bless. I agree that he is someone who prefers giving barehanded impact play but I love the idea of him using a belt. Spot on with him expecting you to stay in place because he told you to or by pinning you down (or holding your arms behind your back).

Jackson:

Dacryphilia boy through and through. Isn't a Dom; just an awful asshole, I don't think he's even attempt to get into a kinkspace, he's more into manipulating someone into letting him do things. If he HAD the balls to go into a kinkspace he'd consider pushing someone past their limits a win (it's his goal). Nuts and bolts mad me cackle. Doggie would be his favorite position. Evil man he'd cum in your hair in purpose. Never dare to sleep with him outside of your place (he's leaving his mark on you). Does anything and everything to mark you in places you can't hide. Messy and aggressive blowjobs are the only kind allowed for him. Says such degrading things he shouldn't be allowed to have a voice.

Crane:

Loving the idea of him thriving in life with a service sub used for experiments and as human furniture. Not enough human furniture, wish I had the joints for it. Reminds me of the witty girl series by DittyWrites. Chastity belt was probably implemented because edging you throughout the day had you getting off by accident. Manipulating you through nonchalance and silence is genius; just the right amount of mean. Predicament bondage + a rougher rope for the bottom = joy.

Robert:

Using his money for something he actually enjoys (you) is a release for him since he has more money than one man knows what to do with. Exhibitionism and telling you to be quiet while doing everything he can to make you loud. Lover of suede floggers. Needy and affectionate because he wants to keep you content after being “mean”.

Neil:

I agree that he’s not a caregiver or a pet play owner but I think he’d love to play with them because he’s big into acting and giving himself into something fully. He’s a sweetheart with them :) Would be up to trying anything because who knows I could like it, either way it’s still fun! Praise kink!!! You’re his sunshine! If he knew bondage tape existed he’d like it more than the velcro (Neil strikes me as someone who’d hate the sound of that. And chewing noises.)

Kitten:

Very Rosie and Alena vibes (if you know you know). "What a good puppy! Look how much looser and sloppier your little hole has become since our last session." Picture me standing up and clapping. No notes. Heart shaped paddle to leave her own sweet little marks on her sweet little plaything. I’m picturing her having three drawers of snacks increasing in quality. She tells you to pick something out of which drawer (you don’t know there’s a system). You’re expected to sit for however long it takes to dress her dolly up how she wants. Makeup/underthings/clothes. Your wardrobe has grown exponentially for her to flip through.

😈Dominance and sadism headcanons😈

Headcanons about Tommy, Jackson, Jonathan, Robert, Neil, and Kitten being dominant and/or sadistic in bed. I realize that not all sadists are doms and not all doms are sadists, but pairing them together is kinda like peanut butter and chocolate? Like you just gotta do it. NSFW for obvious reasons.

Tommy

*Strict daddy

*Brat tamer, straight up hoping you'll misbehave so he can throw you over his lap and spank you to tears

*Big on sexually training you, if he takes you on you're going to learn to deep throat, receive anal penetration, and more. He sees you as putty to be shaped.

*Uses pleasure as a means to manipulate you. He'll fuck you dumb, get you addicted to his cock, and reward every behavior he wants to see with orgasm after orgasm until you can't think for yourself.

*Praises you because he loves seeing the effect it has on you and how much you want his approval, usually by stroking your hair and calling you a good girl.

*Loves showing you off like a fancy trinket to his colleagues and rivals. Your obedience and allure serves to make you quite the status symbol, making him look even more powerful than he already does. He'll even go as far as having you warm his cock during business meetings.

*Favorite form of discipline is impact play, including pussy spankings. He'll use riding crops or his belt, but his favorite is his bare hand.

*Doesn't care much for bondage, if he wants you to stay in place, he expects you to stay in that place and position simply by being told. If he wants to restrain you, he'd rather do it himself by pinning you down.

*Feels affection towards you, but ultimately sees you as more of a pet than a partner. He wants someone who's more of an equal as a significant other.

Jackson

*Feral fucking sadist. Wants to see you struggle, wants to see you cry.

*Doesn't use safewords. Honestly more of an abuser than a dom.

*Sessions with him are purely sexual. In fact, you could even call him the Sex Machine because he nuts and bolts.

*Favorite position is doggie with your face being mashed into the mattress.

*Loves leaving marks all over you. Bruises, bite marks, rug burn. He wants everyone to know you're his, and for you to be feeling him for days.

*Likes to get wet and messy. Coming all over your face, facefucking you until you're hacking up saliva, pissing anywhere you'll let him. Once again, he likes to mark his territory.

*Favorite restraints are metal handcuffs. Yes, they hurt after a while... that's why he likes them.

*Big on verbal degradation, filthiest mouth imaginable. Constantly finding new, innovative ways to call you a whore and to make sure you feel like one.

*Don't expect aftercare. Don't expect him to toss you a towel to clean yourself off. Don't expect him to call you back.

Jonathan

*Cold, calculating, and impossible to please. His ideal sub is a type A perfectionist who feeds on criticism.

*Emotional sadist like nobody's business. Studies you intently to find out the exact insults that will cut you down and make you feel less like a person and more like a tool to be used.

*Not particularly affectionate, but neither of you expect that from him. When it comes to showing you that he cares, it's through the great lengths he goes through to provide for you physically, keep you safe, and make your surroundings comfortable.

*Extends his dominance beyond the bedroom and all around treats you like an object that exists to serve him, sometimes literally. If he needs a coffee table, he expects you on all fours, holding as still as you can as his scalding hot mug sits on your back. Better not let it spill, there will be consequences.

*Impact play is passé to him. Been there, done that. Sure, spankings can be fun, but he'd much rather stick you with needles, zap you with a violet wand, or pump you full of aphrodisiacs while forcing you to wear a chastity belt that prevents you from getting any relief.

*His most effective punishment, though, is... nothing. No insults. No probing. Nonchalant conversations about what to have for dinner. Watching you unravel while you try to read into his actions and figure out what you can do to please him again is far more interesting for him to watch than giving you anything concrete.

*Loves rope bondage, especially intricate shibari designs. If he's feeling particularly inspired, he'll include predicament bondage elements.

*Generally, being his sub is more dynamic- and service-oriented than it is about sex. The two of you do fuck, but it's surprisingly vanilla. His kicks primarily come from performing highly unethical psychological experiments on you while you're trying to do his laundry.

Robert

*His entire life has been laid out for him since he was a child. His time with you is the only time he actually feels in control.

*However, he's also spent his life getting exactly what he wants, when he wants, so he can be difficult to please.

*Loves playing sugar daddy, treating you to expensive trips and luxury clothes in return for you showing his gratitude.

*This also means that he'll threaten to revoke his financial support if you misbehave.

*Constantly pulling you aside for quickies in semi-public places: dark corners off nightclubs, his private plane while waiting to take off, the backs of cars. He's thrilled by the idea of getting caught.

*Wants you by his side even when he's working so he can pull you into his office for "stress relief"

*Not particularly sadistic, but owns a variety of high end floggers, paddles, and other spanking implements in case the mood strikes. He'll leave you with a bright flush across your cheeks but is unlikely to leave bruises.

*Incredibly affectionate during aftercare, to the point of being needy. He's bad with emotions and just needs to know that he's a good daddy and that he's taking care of you and that you're not going to leave.

Neil

*Much more competent as a dom than people expect. Still, he's not THAT dominant, it's just enough to deny people's expectations.

*Warm, playful, and goofy. Scenes are gonna be pretty soft with him.

*Plays best with littles and petplayers. Even if it's not a caregiver/little dynamic, he takes on kind of a caregiver vibe.

*Surprisingly good with brats, he knows how to match their energy. Punishments are pretty unconventional, and based more on him engaging in irritating or frustrating behavior, like only speaking to you in Dad Jokes for an entire afternoon.

*Even if he's not into the harder stuff, he loves to experiment and explore new kinks. He'll try anything once. Or twice. Eight or nine times until he really decides he dislikes it.

*So. Much. Praise. If you have a praise kink, this is your dream man.

*The only restraints he owns are the inexpensive ones with the velcro closures, although that's probably for the best because he doesn't know how to tie any knots and he's too scatterbrained to keep track of a key for locking cuffs.

*Even if you're a masochist, he feels kinda weird about hurting you. He'll spank and pull hair, but that's about it.

*For him, domming is more or less just foreplay for aftercare.

Kitten

*Will turn you into the slut you've always dreamed of being

*Loves to tease until you're sobbing and begging. You can look, but you can't touch.

*Dresses you up however she sees fit, you're her little dolly.

*Excels at being affectionate and condescending at the same time. "What a good puppy! Look how much looser and sloppier your little hole has become since our last session."

*Favorite spanking implement is a leather paddle with special cutouts so it leaves heart-shaped imprints on your ass.

*"Your son calls me Mommy, too"

*As a professional sex worker, she's seen and spent a lot of time working with kinks she's personally ambivalent towards, and has a very "live and let live" attitude towards it all.

*Has lowkey cracked at least one egg by repeatedly forcefemming a client (at their request)

*Aftercare is pretty standard, mostly cuddling and maybe sharing snacks. The quality of the snacks depend on how much she likes you, though.

[anglerflsh]

both tumblr and twitter dot com insist on showing me iwtv content girl cease this immediately I have seen that blonde man Enough okay. I'm going to eat him

[daincrediblegg]

personally I think the best thing that the joker sequel did for me was expose the exact degree to which how much of internet/public criticism is not based on genuine analysis of the content using social and cultural resources to support an actual argument but is actually adult children whining because someone took their batman toys and put them up on a high shelf for once and they, as a consumer, feel like they're entitled to throw a tantrum about it

[ofresoluxe]

Naomi   let   out   a   sharp   laugh,   equal   parts   amused   and   exasperated,   though   the   amusement   in   Santiago’s   tone   softened   her   initial   frustration. Now,   he’s   speaking   my   language,   she   thought   to   herself   as   she   took   another   sip   of   her   hot   cocoa.   The   warmth   did   little   to   temper   the   irritation   that   bubbled   up   in   her   at   the   thought   of   her   previous   meetings,   but   at   least   Santiago’s   dry   humor   seemed   to   take   the   edge   off. “See,   that’s   the   problem,”   she   argued. “They   want   innovation,   but   only   if   it   looks   exactly   like   what   they’ve   been   doing   the   last   fifty   years.”   Naomi   huffed,   running   a   hand   through   her   brown   hair   before   mutter. “But   somehow, I’m   the   one   who’s   being   too   idealistic.”   From   her   peripheral   vision,   Naomi   noticed   someone   reaching   past   her   for   a   handful   of   marshmallows,   hesitating   when   they   realized   she   was   standing   in   their   way.   She   stepped   out   of   line,   making   room   for   others   to   grab   what   they   needed   from   the   toppings   bar   before   turning   back   to   Santiago.   The   pause   was   long   enough   for   her   to   recognize   how   much   she’d   been   rambling.   Straight   up   complaining   about   work   and   board   members in   front   of   a   board   member.   Heat   crept   up   her   neck,   but   as   she   studied   Santiago   he   didn’t   look   put   off.   If   anything,   the   glint   of   amusement   in   his   eyes   said   he   was   more   than   content   for   her   to   keep   going.  Well,   if   he   was   going   to   encourage   her,   she   wasn’t   about   to   stop. “Honestly,   I   think   some   of   them   still   believe   that   social   media   is   just   a   passing   fad,”   she   continued,   her   voice   laced   with   disbelief. “Like,   God   forbid   we   actually   adapt   to   how   people   consume   information   now.   No,   instead,   let’s   keep   banking   on   the   same   methods   have   have   been   dwindling   in   effectiveness   for   the   last   decade   and   act   surprised   when   we   don’t   see   results.”   Naomi   exhaled   once   again,   feeling   much   lighter   now   that   she   ranted   her   feelings   out.   Her   gaze   focused   in   on   Santiago’s   face,   her   gaze   turning   more   pensive.   “You   get   it,   though.   You   actually   see   the   issue.”   Her   gaze   flickered   over   him,   searching.   It   was   rare   to   have   someone   listen,   to   hear   her   complaints   and   not   just   nod   out   of   politeness.   Santiago   wasn’t   just   humoring   her,   he   understood   the   battle   she   was   fighting,   and   Naomi   wasn’t   sure   if   that   made   her   feel   better   or   worse.  “Why   aren’t   you   fighting   them   harder   on   this?”   Her   tone   wasn’t   accusatory–well,   not   completely.   She   knew   how   these   things   worked,   how   changed   moved   at   a   glacial   pace   and   how   people   always   resisted   change.   But   still,   she   found   herself   watching   him   closely,   wanting   to   understand   if   she   could   make   an   ally   out   of   him   in   the   board   room. 

The festival thrummed around them, a pulse of laughter and music, but his focus remained tethered to her - Naomi, with her sharp mind and sharper wit, her frustration spilling over in her words and bitten-off exasperation. He liked this side of her, the one that spoke before smoothing out the edges, before remembering who she stood in front of.

His head tilted slightly, gaze steady as he let her finish. Then, with a casual ease that belied his amusement, he exhaled, “No, go on. Tell me how my money’s being wasted.” A teasing lilt, but agreement flickered in the depths of his voice.

“You’re right,” he continued, shifting his weight, fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup. “Nobody’s reading print anymore - unless they’re at an age where they’ve got cataracts. And if that's the case, they sure as shit ain’t gonna come see an exhibit.” Taking a second to collect his thoughts, a contemplative look passed over his features. “It’s short-sighted. You want revenue? You target the generation that’s impulsive with their spending and won’t hesitate to swipe their cards for a quick fix. Otherwise, it’s just throwing money into a grave and hoping it’ll grow roots.” He sighed, a quiet thing, before letting his head tip back slightly. “Though, convincing the board of that won’t be easy.” The threat of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “They’re practically artifacts themselves.”

[sezija]

Ok i think i’m actually going insane not talking abt this so fuck it

Dragonwalker Hiccup AU

My fic of it, set during HTTYD1; basically just a prologue

Ramblings underneath (like, a lot. i’m warning you.)

So basically, Dragonwalkers are humans who, when they fall asleep, turn into dragons. Just go watch Wolfwalkers actually it’s a very good movie and the concept is very hard to put into words, i’ve found.

Anyway; thoughts. Many MANY of them. :)

Valka’s had her dragon form (a night fury) her whole life, and lived on an island w her family AND a family of Night Furies. (Night Furies live in family packs, w the parents leading/raising/teaching their children (they only have 1 egg at a time, and only lay up to 3 in their whole life) until they’re old enough to get their own mate and start their own pack. (When a Night Fury pair’s children all have left and started their own families, they will sometimes join their children’s packs since they can’t hunt and fight on their own that well as they get older.))

And bc thw sucks and Grimmel, a man who is still alive, somehow killing off an entire species of dragons is stupid, i’m using my sibling’s idea, which is that Grimmel’s family has been hunting Night Furies for generations. It’s a family tradition basically, tracking and killing them until none are left. (And every person in his family has been killed by Night Furies, further motivating them.)

So Valka’s family (dragon&dragonwalker) were all killed, and only she escaped, ending up on Berk. Fell in love w Stoick, tried to make the vikings stop killing the dragons, was taken by Cloudjumper, the usual. She reunites with Hiccup early, during RTTE, just bc i want them to kick dragon hunter ass together. The war w Drago happens later.

Also i’m completely discarding the whole “king of all dragons” thing, it doesn’t fit w how i want this world to feel. Also toothless sucked as Alpha, i dont want that. And what i’ve always liked abt the HTTYD dragons is that they’re animals. The whole “king of all dragons” kinda,,, ruins that. So that’s also gone now.

I’ve been having a lot of thoughts abt how dragon flocks/packs/pods work, and these are my current ideas;

A “Flock” is a group of dragons of different species, under the control/protection of an Alpha (the Red Death’s flock, (Valka’s) Bewilderbeast’s flock, that one flock of dragons in RTTE s2e8-9 “Edge of Disaster”)

A “Pack” is a group of dragons of the same species, under the control/protection of a leader/queen/etc. etc. (speed stingers, fire worms, terrible terrors, (night furies in this AU))

A “Pod” is the same as a Pack, except for Tidal-class dragons specifically (a pod of seashockers, scauldrons, etc.)

The whole franchise is very inconsistent abt this so i’m working w what i have ok

The “Great Beyond” was separated from Berk/Berserkers/etc. by a heavy wall of fog all around them. There were some spots you could cross, used by traders and such, but the rest of the world has stayed pretty separated from this one corner of the world that experiences Dragon Raids.

However, after the Red Death’s demise, the fog has been slowly dissipating, allowing more to cross over; this way, the riders taking hours and hours of exhausting flight to reach “the great beyond” AND Gobber somehow making his way to Dragon’s Edge on a small, rickety boat both make sense; the more time passes, the easier it is to cross.

A lot of the conflict in the series comes from the human characters not understanding why the dragons are doing something, so giving Hiccup the ability to communicate with them takes away a lot of it, which i’m not happy abt bc it means i need to come up w my own stuff >:( (communicating w the dragons is actually kinda difficult in human form, since his hearing isn’t good enough to hear a fair amount of their vocalizations, and his throat isn’t made for producing those sounds.)

Anyway, my thoughts have been specifically focused on one episode of RTTE, my favourite one since i first saw it, up there w Dire Straits and Enemy of my Enemy; s3e8 “Stryke Out”.

In this AU, hiccup is taken by dragon hunters in his dragon form, taken to a dragon fighting ring. He’s worth a lot to them, being a Night Fury (this is what the art at the top of the post is depicting). He’s caged up for a few weeks until the news of a Night Fury in the ring spread enough, and he has to start fighting. The Riders figure out where he is due to these rumours, and interrupt his fight with the Triple Stryke 3 days into him being forced to fight the other dragons, the same day Ryker came to collect his cut of the money again.

Anyway, that’s all i rly wanted to get out rn. Just. Obsessed. Hiccup becoming crueler and much less forgiving towards dragon hunters after this experience. He’s seen their cruelty many times before, but being caged and muzzled and forced to hurt other dragons if he wants to live, dependant on them for food, even for the capability to eat it, bc of the hook they put in his mouth, really just... changes him. God i love torturing my faves <3

He would take the Dragon Fliers&their Singetails so personally here.

anyway, art;

(i forgot to add his chin scar in many of these oof)

[mcytegg]

it haunts me that ro has unironically spent more time w derap than anyone in s6, including his own teammates </3