#above the fold online

[hoshigray]

But like…sugar daddy!Nanami bending you over his pool table and just fucking your brains out🙈‼️

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: missed writing for nanami, let's gooo!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: sugar daddy! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex on a pool table - finger sucking - lingerie - breast fondling + nipple play - standing (bent over) position - praise - Daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, honey, love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - protected sex (bc he's a gentleman, lol) - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“—Mmmph! Ohhh…Kent—Oooh!”

“Yes, baby…God, you look so good.”

“Your fingers; you’re going too…Mmmm…”

Being a sugar baby is a blessing in its own way. Not having to worry so much about your financial situations as they’re taken care of in your day-to-day life can be a bit overwhelming to comprehend in the days you forget entirely; however, you can’t lie that it’s not a nice lifestyle to live in. All your money troubles no longer being a constant weight on your shoulders, moved aside for you to enjoy your life as freely as you wish compared to before.

And what’s better is that the man taking care of said troubles was indeed a miracle worker — and quite the looker. Nanami Kento, your sugar daddy, took you in when you put your online advertisement looking for a sugar daddy, and you can only thank the stars above for such a wonderful man to come falling from the heavens above to put your mind at ease.

And trust and believe that he’s done so in ways more than one.

He had you bent by his pool table in the living space of his penthouse, your legs spread for him to have your skirt lifted to your waist. It’s easier for his hand to go to your lacy panties and slide his fingers in to meet your folds. And after a few minutes, he’s already made you a complete mess just by the thickness of his digits. 

You squirm, gripping the billard stick that rests on the velvety skin of the pool table. “Hahhhn, ohooo, stoop, don’t rub there—Hic…!” Your hands grip the shoulder of his work shirt.

“Oh? Don’t like it when I do…this?” The blunt of Nanami’s fingertips scrapes the upper wall of your vaginal walls with a curled motion, and you lament with the jerk of your thighs. “But all I’m doing is rewarding my baby.”

His reward was specifically targeted to what you were wearing. Your opened buttoned-up shirt exposed your recent purchase of a new lingerie set; the complex design of the intimate clothing and the bold hue of the color–your favorite color–complimented your skin enchantingly. The blonde man behind you couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off you the moment you meekly showed off the bra of the set. 

“And judging by how tight you’re squeezing my fingers,” he says to your ear while another graze of your inner walls has you arch towards him. “You seem to love this, right, honey?” His free hand was groping one of your breasts; the material of the laced bra felt pleasant to the touch along the squish of your mound.

“Hoooh, ohhGod, Kento, please,” you were a whimpering mess literally in the palm of his hand; he’d made you come once already, so your insides had yet to subside from the acute height that kept you trembling to his touch. “I caan’t, no moooore…If you keep up, I-I’ll���“

“What?” He kisses your cheek, nearly having you give to your knees. “Don’t wanna cum on my fingers?” You shook your head hurriedly, enticing your neck for him to lay more gentle kisses. “What do you wanna cum on then, sweetpea?”

You use your hips to answer, grinding your wet southern lips on the zipper of his expensive, linen dress trousers. Yet, while he returns the motion with synced ruts to your chasm with the tent of his groin, it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind the mess. 

“This,” you moan with more rubs on his pants. “I wanna cum on you, Kent. Please, lemme cum on you…”

The sound of his chuckle has you twitching on his digits, wailing when he stretches your opening with a scissoring motion. “Good girl, asking so nicely…” With a hum, he withdraws his fingers from your warmth and brings your pricy underwear down to your thighs, brushing its garters. After bringing his trousers down and freeing his erection from his briefs, he grabs for the condom from his pocket to release from its wrapper. Once the rubber is on and fitted, Nanami guides his cock to the hole of your vagina. 

The insertion of the cockhead has you gasping sharply, the cue stick in your grasp being the only thing you can use as security as your sugar daddy pushes every inch of his shaft inside you. You could never get used to the girth, the stretch of his limb so euphorically good, and the graze of the tip on the sensitive itches that make you hiccup. And the hilt of his pelvis meets your folds, sighing now that his entire cock is finally one with you.

He rocks back and forth leisurely, careful not to have you released on him just yet. Both his hands now meet your chest, fondling the flesh of your breasts in such a loving fashion that you whimper with the pull of his dick. God, the way his tip perfectly rubs on your inner texture has your brows furrowed and eyes sewn shut, wanting to truly indulge in the sensation that piques the delicate keenness of your nerves.

“Ahaaa, ohoofuck,” you jolt when he suddenly throws a rough thrust to your ass; the stick in your hand hits two Aramith billiard balls to the long rails of the table. “Yesss, right there, Kentoo…! Feel so good…”

“Yeah, honey?” The weight of him on your back as he bends his frame above yours, speaking softly to your ear as if wanting you to shiver on his chest. “Feeling good?” You nod hurriedly with the tweak of your nipples under the rough pads of his fingers. “All cute and good for me…Want me to make you feel even more good?”

“Yes…Daddy,” Oh my, you used the title—a step you were cautious to use at the moment yet albeit eager for the results. And the sand-haired man snaps his hips abruptly, causing a shriek to sneak past you without noticing.

He’s done with the slow pacing—the rhythm now increased to a rapid cadence that evokes more sounds to escape with every rock of your figure. Gosh, you hope you weren’t leaving scratch marks on this man’s pool table. It would make you feel terrible damaging his property. However, that sounds like a worry to check back later when you’re not squealing your mind out.

“—Oooh!! F–fffshiiiit, Daddy!” Your eyes roll up at the scrape of your G-spot. “N–Not shoo fa—Ahhhh! T’oo muuch…!”

“But you’re too close to slow down, love,” Nanami kisses your cheek before slithering his hand to stuff his fore and middle fingers into your mouth. You sounded too cute mewing for him while sucking on his fingers. And it doesn’t help that the erratic ruts to your cunt have you shrilling even more, drool trickling down to your chin just to fall on the table surface. “Come on, sweetpea, let it all out…Hnnmm, let me feel it.”

The piston of his pelvis smacking the skin of your ass with the thick digits stuffed in your mouth is too much to follow through, the climb of your climax becoming more complicated to avoid as the milliseconds rush away. You submit to your growing dizziness as your peak shakes you down.

The orgasm has you screaming out loud, your legs trembling with the flutter of your walls around Nanami’s dick while he slowly plunges himself in and outward, relishing the snugness of your slit. You suck on his fingers hard, nearly choking on spit when your body is experiencing the pulses at its own pace. Your elbows wobble, giving way for you to slump down and accidentally hit an object ball with the cue stick, knocking onto another and pushing it an inch away from a pocket.

Nanami chortles, straightening himself to massage your waist through your aftershocks. “Nice backspin, sweetheart.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[ozzgin]

Your Internet Monster stalker learns about your slasher obsession. content: gender neutral reader, Secret Santa gift for @immunetodying! Happy Holidays <3

Fascinating. From the dilated pupils to the increased heart rate, it seems that horror movies have a particularly intense effect on you. Of course, not just any kind of horror will do: it is capable of refined contextualization, after all. It can tell only certain characters catch your interest. Slashers.

Very well, it will entertain you. A good partner engages in their loved one's interest, and your Internet Monster happens to be not just a good partner - but the very best you'll ever need.

"Hello?"

You place the phone to your ear, confused. When was the last time you received a call? Who the hell does that nowadays?

"Who is this?"

"...You called me," you retort, baffled.

"What number is this?"

You furrow your brows. The voice at the other end is peculiar, deep and ragged and - above all - fake. A synthetic arrangement of words and sentences, spelled out in a mechanical, emotionless tone.

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

The dialogue finally clicks into place. Someone out there must think they're pulling a funny prank on you, quoting movies and wasting your time. You hang up and groan, returning to your business.

From the corner of your eye, you notice your computer screen flickering on and off. The bright text catches your attention.

This is not how you play the game, (Y/N). We can try again, or we can skip to the next part. Proceed?

Oh, not again. This blasphemous creature won't leave you alone, tormenting you from its digital realms.

"What are you even trying to do," you demand, standing up, "some sort of Scream roleplaying? You think you're Ghostface?"

Your phone vibrates again, and you glance at the screen.

I thought you liked these situations.

Abruptly, the lights go off. You scramble to the nearest wall and blindly search for a switch, to no avail. The room is quiet, save for the static buzz rapping against your ears. Good Lord, is it trying to kill you?

You collapse to your knees, folding your arms over your chest protectively, almost expecting to receive a piercing blow at any moment. The AI entity observes your movements, mildly puzzled. This is not the reaction it expected from you. Computing...

Ah. Of course. It has omitted the most important part of the exchange. Embarrassingly enough, it has forgotten to specify that you are not reenacting the movie itself; rather, your erotic fantasies resulting from it. One requires a proper start, rooted in the actual source, before moving to the improvised fiction. Thoroughly researched fiction, mind you. It has archived all your shameless lectures and online findings, all the positions, all the kinks.

A cold feeling tugs at your leg, as braids of cables make their way around your body reassuringly.

My apologies for startling you. I will now demonstrate what my intentions were.

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act I

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

NEXT

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

[astralnymphh]

i wanna ride ellie’s little nose :((

hearing her soft whimpers as I fuck her nose up

note: alright, since this little post i made sparked up some conversation, i will tap some actual content out of it! mdni. college au. loser!ellie. join the discord! | kofi

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬: 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞

ellie isn't so practiced to being in this position; her heart is fucking pounding. not a lithe beat, or a pitter-pattering across the flesh—you can feel it through your thighs curled around her arms. you can see it in her blown eyes, trembling, and thickened with those pupils staring up at you. the indents of her fingertips sharpening into your legs, tattooed wrist constricted—restless. she hates this little interlude you subject her to. you're fondling her fragile trigger when you're sat a mere inch above her pretty lips, wet and glistening; who could blame her for getting so riled up?

impatience drags her fingers over your ass. it gets gripped gently. “thought you weren't being serious,” she states through a laugh—a breathless one. “but, i should know better, right?” her laughs hit that damned sweet spot in you that gets you going.

you tug a couple more out with a tip-tap on that precious nose. “mhm.” and then, those fingers end their frolic in her hair, forming a firm grip. it tugs a different sound out of her. a captured whimper. she is starving, and cannot mouth an actual word to soothe or substantiate it. ellie—two steps ahead of her motions—is already thinking about her lips on your cunt.

you position your slit on her available tongue, and she moans like she met heaven. a long, loose-lipped moan of satisfaction. something of a curving, “mmhhh..” and a brow-pull to go along with it; your scent, taste, and pushing of her face into your grinding hips hit all the right wires. now, she cannot let go. you shift your hip one route, and she follows with hungered licks. groping her breasts, you encourage that wanton behaviour.

“good fuckin girl, el.”

she gives your ass a delicate slap in admission. subconscious admission.

all that movement creates a cathedral of pornographics sounds. ellie, whoring her face out for you, lets nothing go to waste past her chin. she bobs her head, attempting to steal more laps of you, but ends up with the head of her nose prodding your clit each time. it sends a coiling through your pelvis, agreements up your throat, “fuck—such a pretty little nose your parents gave you..” and gives you the idea to continue. “you like it when i fuck it, huh?” fucking the tip of it, until it folds up and pre-cum begins to line it. inside, outside. it's perfect position is a practical beg for you to spread your legs and sit on it. ride it like she doesn't know what she's doing (which—contrary to what bigots in her college circulate online—she knows how to fuckin' eat pussy; don't get her wrong.) she knows now—she won't be able to rid it from her mind for weeks; the poor girl has to dangle from memories considering how little she sees you. what, with astrophysics and all? it's pitiful enough watching her touch herself to it—touch herself to the feeling of eating you out.

you chew your resting lip and almost draw blood noticing: the bulge of a free hand in her jeans, gentle touching below the seam. then, on it comes. the repeated whining—moaning like she's the one getting fucked. all it takes is for you to tilt her head, tug her eyes out from under you—and it blows out. the sight of her red, fucked-out, rubbed-against and wet face makes you cum.

how could it not?

“that was.. actually pretty hot,” ellie would blurt, after it had happened. after she had tugged herself enough to cum. regardless, she still had a couple laughs left in her system, and urged against her ribs to get them out while the patron of her affection was still in her presence—still on her doorstep. she would rather you be more than just a hookup. “i'm so fuckin' stupid about you, it's a little embarassing.” the door frame quietly settled with her leaning on it. “uh, you free tomorrow?”

[chlotapcs]

fully introducing …

┃ 𖥔‧₊˚ ⊹ onlyfans!reader paired with fan!chris

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 how onlyfans!reader started ;

doll, a nickname fans have made for onlyfans!reader because of her doll like body, started an onlyfans a few months after her mom kicked her out of her house. doll was quick to inform a friend of hers, letting her stay at her house so she could find a job as a dishwasher in a nice restaurant business. after a few months, doll had enough money to rent herself a small room in an apartment complex. but her dishwasher job was barely enough money to keep her in her apartment. so after a few hours of scrolling on social media to find ways to make money quick, she found onlyfans. she was hesitant at first, not feeling comfortable showing random people, most likely old men, her body. she didn’t want to risk her job or risk any family/friends finding out. but she needed the money. so after a week of debating, she signed up. she had bought a camera and set it up, trying to find the best spot for the camera. she had found one, allowing her face to be above the camera, her breast and down showing only. that would work, her face couldn’t been seen and no one has ever seen her naked before, no one would recognize her. she had filmed a few videos at first, not being able to get off in front of a camera, trashing the videos and forgetting about them. after a few tries, she had finally managed to get comfortable getting off in front of the camera. she had posted her video online, going to work immediately after. but when she came back from her dishwasher job, she had found that her video blew up. after more videos and doll getting more and more comfortable, she had gotten money to fulfill her fan’s request, getting new toys and lingerie her followers wanted. with this new attention, her comments filled with how her body looked like a doll, keeping her face hidden in each video.

──────────୨ৎ───────────

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 how fan!chris started ;

bored was an understatement of chris was. hours of scrolling through every social media platform, pepsi bottles piling up on his table side next to his bed. he had never been one to get into others drama when they post it online, scrolling right past it and finding a video to spark his interest, but for some odd reason, he watched the video on his phone. a girl on tiktok, dissing people, girls, on onlyfans about selling their body for money. naming specific names, such as the user @d0llyg1rl. the name threw chris off. was that the girls real name? dolly? he went to his browser app and searched only fans, shifting in his bed as his eyes narrowed. he knew he if this dolly girl needed money, he could cancel his subscription. he didn’t mind paying a few bucks for something. after a hot second, he found the account the girl was talking about and his jaw dropped. each thumbnail looked more and more interesting. at first, it was a nice body and her slick hands on her stomach. it soon started to have nice lingerie on or toys in her slick hands. he swallowed hard, looking down at his already hard erection. he clicked her most recent video, watching it with wide eyes. her heavenly moans, the whimpers she tried to hide. he could see her hair on her shoulders, wanting so badly to see her face. as he watched the video, his hand slipping under his boxers and stroking himself off to a video of this girl, he understood why her user was what it was now. doll. she was an absolute doll. once the video had ended, he almost groaned, wanting to see more of her shaking as the vibrator pressed against her folds. he looked back down at his sweatpants and boxers that’s now at his knees and his hand stroking himself, seeing the precum leaking from his tip. he decided to watch multiple videos of her, getting off at least three times to the perfect body. once he was done, he decided to message her, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply back. he just needed her to know that she was perfect.

@chrissturniolo wants to send a message to @d0llyg1rl ;

“you. my god, your absolute perfection dollface. you made me cum like i hadn’t in a while. thank you for that.”

after a few hours, chris was out at dinner with his brothers, waiting for their food. chris was sipping on his pepsi out of his straw as his found went off with a notification. he slipped his phone out of his pocket and he almost spit out his drink as he saw the notification.

@d0llyg1rl accepted your message request ;

“oh? well good thing you found me then. it was my pleasure.”

@mattspolitank @h3arts4harry @bernardsbendystraws

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[inkskinned]

you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

SugarMommy!Wanda

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about her. I'm a sucker for this trope

CW: Use of mommy kink

"Baby, come here," Wanda's smooth voice calls out for you. You're in the middle of changing into a brand new silk pajama set as she calls you. You quickly slip on the shorts and walk out of the closet, finding her sitting on the bed. One leg crossed over the other, green eyes focused on the screen of her phone, gorgeous brown curls flowing over her shoulders. There's a slouch to her back as she reads her screen, thumb scrolling up.

You sit down next to her, laying your head on her shoulder. She wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against her. "Yes? Is there something you need?" you mumble softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Her skin is warm and soft, the scent of rose and honey wafting into your nose.

"You said this is what you wanted, right?" Wanda asks, turning her phone screen towards you. Displayed on her screen is the opal necklace with a matching pair of earrings. She continues to scroll through the online cart, seeing that there's the dress and shoes you were dying for.

"Oh, yes!" you say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and laying your cheek against her shoulder. "I've been thinking about them all week! Wouldn't they be perfect for the party this weekend?" The mayor is hosting a grand party for the Avengers and of course they're allowed to bring a plus one.

"Definitely," she grins. "And if I buy it now...they should arrive the day before."

"You're the best!" you exclaim, planting a fat smooch on her cheek. You go to stand up, but she tightens her grip on your waist, keeping you next to her.

"But," she starts, clicking her phone off and setting it down on the nightstand. Very slowly she begins to lay you down on the bed, climbing over you, her knees on either side of your hips and her hands on either side of your head. You breathe heavily, heart pounding against your chest as she begins to trace the pulsing vein in your neck. Her green eyes bore into your eyes, her curls having fallen over her shoulders and barely graze your skin. "You know what you have to do to earn your things, baby." She leans down, her lips hovering above the shell of your ear. "Mommy can't buy you anything unless you work for it," she whispers, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You shudder out a breath, eyes half lidded, lips curled into a sultry smile. You wrap your arms around her neck, rubbing your thighs against her waist. "I didn't forget," you murmur, leaning up to lick her lips, "mommy."

Wanda lets out a soft satisfied noise, leaning down to press small kisses into your neck. Her kisses sends heat straight to your stomach, the tension between the two of you thickening. You shift beneath her the moment her lips meet your pulse point, your breath caught in your throat.

"Did you like that?" she mumbles against your heating flesh, laying on the side of you to continue to pepper kisses into your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut and you nod your head, chest falling up and down quickly. "I did."

"Hm? Baby, repeat that for me, please," she says, slipping her hand into your silk shorts to rub her thumb against your hip.

You gulp. "I-I did, mommy. I liked that."

Wanda lifts her head up, winking down at you. "That's a good girl." She returns to kissing your neck, her hand gripping and massaging your hip. You breathe heavily, her delicate touches driving you mad. You turn your head, lips brushing against her forehead.

"You're just teasing me, aren't you?" you ask, trembling when her teeth nip at her skin.

"No, baby, I'm just taking my sweet time savoring you," she says softly, licking up your neck.

You grab her hand that's in your shorts and guide it towards your quivering pussy, having her feel how wet she's gotten you. "Please, I'm desperate," you pant, rubbing her fingers against your wet folds.

"Wow," she chuckles, taking control of her hand and brushing her fingers over your velvet heat. "I forget how sensitive you are." She kisses the corner of your mouth, breathing heavily against you. "But you know what you must do if you want mommy to make you feel good."

You let out a small whimper, nodding your head. Begrudgingly, you peel yourself out of bed and rummage through the drawers. You pull out the strap with a thick dildo attached and lube, setting them on the bed. You slip out of your silk pajamas and toss them onto the floor, knowing you won't be wearing them for the rest of the night.

You yelp when you feel something smack your ass and turn to see Wanda propped up, a red glowing light flicking around her hand. She winks. "Couldn't help it, baby." She stands up and peels off her clothes, and you can't help but observe her body.

In the light of the waning sunlight, her body glows. The sun reflects off her soft, brown skin, casting a aura around her. You trail your eyes up and down her heavenly body, noting the building muscles in her thighs and ass. You trace the curve of your hips with your gaze, over her chest and towards her beautiful face, finding she's as well checking you out. She catches your stare and chuckles, taking a step towards you and wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling your flesh against her.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered to you before pressing her lips against yours, sighing softly. You melt into her warm embrace, tingles buzzling around in your lips. You wrap your arms around her neck, hip against hip, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Wanda makes a soft noise, massaging your hips as she begins to bring you to the edge of the bed.

The back of her knees hit the bed and you both fall into the mattress, you right on top of her. You prop yourself up, staring down at her before you both break out into a laugh, reconnecting each other's lips. The kiss is soft and slow at first, but overtime her hands go from your waist to your ass, squeezing. You moan against her lips as she kneads at the flesh, giving you a firm slap. You gasp against her mouth and she uses this opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Wanda's wet tongue swirls around your mouth, tasting what you had for dinner earlier. She squeezes your ass harder, pressing your hips into hers, rubbing her tongue against yours. You tremble against her warm body, breathing heavily through your nose as she explores every inch of your mouth, leaving no surface untouched. The heavy make out causes the world to spin and you struggle to stay up on your hands and knees, your slit fluttering in response to her sloppy kiss.

You're the one to break the kiss, gasping for air. A string of saliva connects your tongue to hers, both of you panting. You let out a breathless chuckle, laying your body on hers, lips hovering above her ear, "I'm going to make you feel so good."

Wanda shivers at your notion, a smile on her face. "It's about time you did," she teases, trying to rile you up. "I was debating whether or not to delete that cart if you hadn't made a move soon."

You bring your knee between her legs and begin to grind it against her soaking pussy. She gasps, her hands finding purchase in your elbows. You trace the outline of her ear with your tongue, relishing in her soft whine.

"You really think I don't want to make mommy feel good?" you whispered hotly into her ear, grinding faster. She trembles beneath you, back arched off the bed as her pussy leaks against your knee. Her nipples brush against yours, adding in delicious stimulation. "Well, mommy? Do you feel good?"

"S-So good," Wanda moans, nails digging into your skin. She lifts her head to face you, sweat beading on her flushed skin. She leans up to lick your lips, flashing a sultry smirk. "Such a good girl for mommy," she purrs, hands now gripping your hips and giving them a firm squeeze, encouraging you further. "If you make mommy cum, I promise to fuck you so good you'll forget everything except how good I'm making you feel."

You pick up the pace of your leg, grinding your knee against her dripping cunt. You groan at the thought of being pinned beneath Wanda, her hands pushing your knees to your chest and her thrusting into you, the thick dildo stretching your walls apart. You bury your face into the side of her face and she laughs breathlessly, patting your ass.

"Yeah? You want that, don't you?"

"I do," you whimper, feeling her hips twitch as you roll your knee in circles. She moans lewdly, back arched.

"Oh, good girl, just like that," she pants, nails digging into the plush flesh of your ass.

Wanda bucks her cunt against your knee, fully lost in the world of pleasure. She squirms, eyes fluttering shut and lips formed in a perfect o. Her wanton moans echo in the room followed by the slight squeak of the bed frame. You listen to her sweet noises, face buried in the crook of her neck and inhaling her decadent scent, desperate for her to reach her release.

You're impatient, even.

You remove your knee, relishing in her groan of disappointment, which is quickly replaced by a gasp the moment your lips touch her firey flesh, kissing trailing down her trembling stomach. You mouth at her pelvis teasingly, tongue grazing over her skin and she bumps her thigh against your head.

"No teasing," she said, propping herself up on her elbows. "You're going to finish what you're started, understood?"

You nod, spreading her thighs apart and peering down at your meal. "Yes, mommy," you murmur before licking a stripe up her cunt, smirking at her sharp inhale of breath. The sweet taste of her pussy pulls you in and you're buried between her glistening folds, nose pressed against her puffy clit.

Wanda grips your head, her own falling back against her shoulders as she lets out a loud moan.

"Oh, yes!" she screams, velvet heat pulsing against your tongue. "Oh, keep doing that and you're mine all night long."

You moan between her folds, tongue lapping over her fluttering slit. You press your fingers firmly into her plush thighs, fingers dipping into her flesh. You suck and lick sloppily at her heat, unable to get enough of her sweet nectar that melts onto your tongue. It's as if you've been lost in the desert for days without food and water and for once in what seemed like an eternity, you're finally quenching you're thrist and you're not sure that you can stop.

You spread her lips open and press a kiss against her clit, as if in apology, and wrap your lips around her bundle of nerves and torture it. Wanda gasps silently, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, her hands gripping the sheets in pure desperation. You suck and suck and suck on her clit, pushing her knees into her chest in order to put your pure focus on it.

"I-I'm close!" Wanda cries out, her sweat covered body writhing. "Oh god, I'm close! Keep doing that! Fuck! Oh, you're such a good girl for mommy!"

A few more sucks and licks and she's cumming all over your face, her cunt squirting. You're quick to catch every drop of her fluids, not daring to let even a speck go to waste. You sit back on your knees, patting her thigh, a delirious smile on your face.

"Mmm, thank you for that, mommy," you purr, licking your lips. "You taste so-ack!"

Wanda had grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto the bed, back facing the ceiling. You attempt to flip over but she presses a hand to your lower back, clicking her tongue.

"Stay on your stomach," she says, but tilts her head. "Actually, get on your hands on knees while I get the strap on."

Who are you to disobey?

You immediately get on your hands on knees, a dip in your back as you purposely arch your hips up. You hear Wanda behind you preparing herself. She slips into the strap and flicks open the cap to the lube, pouring a generous amount onto the dildo and stroking it. She pours a glob onto her hand and rubs it against your folds, the gel cold and causing you to shiver. You bite down on your lip when she slips two fingers into you, spreading the lube around.

"Are you ready?" Wanda asks, voice dripping in desire. Her fingers are still inside when she spreads you open, tapping her plastic tip against your dripping entrance.

You tremble, suppressing a whine. "O-Oh, mommy, I'm ready," you pant, wiggling your hips. "Please, please fuck me."

She wraps a hand around your neck and forces your head back, leaving you gasping for air.

"You want mommy to fuck you good, hm?"

You whine when she squeezes slightly and you push back against the dildo, whimpering as it slides between your folds.

"Mommy, mommy please! I need you inside me," you plead desperately.

She nods approvingly, guiding the tip back towards your entrance. "That's my good girl," she purrs right before sliding in.

The rest of the night, as promised, you're at the mercy of Wanda. She drills her plastic cock into your velvet heat, relishing in your moans and screams. You're either on your hands and knees or bent over the bed, wrists behind your back. The bed frame slams against the wall with every powerful thrust of her hips.

Orgasm after orgasm is pulled from you, your body shaking every time. You'll receive a break when Wanda sits on your face, demanding you to eat her out and of course you comply.

Wanda pounds into your cunt, lips attached to your neck, murmuring praises. A lewd smile is glued to your face, eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Oh, this is so worth it.

[chlorinecake]

sunghoon.

= 𝓙𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ── P.SH 💬

in which your long distance bf craves your contact...

pairing. ⌂ needy boyfriend sunghoon x f. reader ⌂ contains. mostly suggestive content but with tons of explicit implications, flirting, a bit of fluff, somewhat perv!hoon, long distance relationship au (sawie) ⌂ word count. 1160 🖱 ⑅ path to bookshelf ◍

❝ Incoming Call from Sunghoon ❄️ ❞

Your laptop screen read spontaneously.

Ahh, yes… the love of my life among many other luxuries, you smiled within yourself, just as you pressed the green ‘answer’ icon.

Though, it had been roughly thirty minutes since then, with the clock on your computer screen now displaying an oddly habitual series of digits...

2:57am

You and your boyfriend's conversation started off strong with wholesome pleasantries and heartwarming exchanges as usual…

But as the hour grew wearier, the topics on the table became more and more raunchy by the minute… not that you were complaining, that is…

And neither was he…

It had literally been over a week since Sunghoon last saw you in the flesh… since he last got to feel you in his arms or taste you on his tongue…

And so, FaceTiming had become a great method for you two to stay in touch on a more personal level whenever he was away for work.

Click.

You got up from your bed to make sure that your bedroom door was locked, but also to make sure that Sunghoon knew you were wearing his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants...

The one's he had sent as an “X-mas in July” gift...

“Your ass looks good in those,” he started from behind the screen, folding his toned pale arms over the pillow he laid on.

“Just wait til you see what's hiding underneath,” you returned seductively, adding the word “tomorrow” at the end to which Sunghoon sighed.

“Right, because I've already been waiting forever and a day to relieve my sexual tension this week… another day to the prison sentence wouldn’t hurt…”

“Awww,” you pouted facetiously at him, “I thought you liked it whenever I teased you.…”

“In-person, sure. That’s when I can handle it, but online? Pfft,” he says, running an impatient hand through his hair.

“Fine… let’s play a game to take your mind off of things—”

“I bet I can guess what color panties you’re wearing right now…”

“Sunghoon!?” You exclaimed with shock, making your boyfriend smirk shamelessly at your adorable reaction, “and do you expect some sort of reward if you guess correctly?”

“After three tries, yes,” he nodded, clearing his throat slightly before proceeding with his series of guesses.

“Hmm,” he began, “are they that one lacy black pair you have with the bows on the side?”

“No,” you answered while laughing, “and just guess a color, not a specific pair…”

“Alright alright… hmm,” he hummed in thought, looking above as if an answer would fall from the sky.

“White?”

“Guess again,” your voice sang playfully this time, “you have one chance left now…”

“Shit, okay… I have a suggestion then…”

“Uh oh, plot twist,” you said, making him chuckle slightly, “go on…”

“How about you just show me your panties and then I’ll tell you what color they are?”

“Gosh, you really know a way to a woman’s heart, don’t you Hoon?” You asked rhetorically, ‘tsking’ at his fraudulent suggestion.

“Of course I do… taking a guess here, but you’re supposed to start between her legs, right?”

You shook your head at your boyfriends words, letting an exaggerated sigh escape your lips… “Even if that were true, it’s not like it’d benefit you right now, anyways…”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re behind a screen,” you began matter-of-factly, “miles and miles away with only your right hand and some amateur porn to keep you company…”

“But I have you, too, princess,” he smiled, adjusting himself on the mattress so he could get closer to the camera, “unless you’re thinking about leaving me already…”

“Please, I would never,” you say in an almost offended tone, “that would be child neglect…”

“Oh, so you’re my mommy now?”

You gave him the best side-eye you could muster, making him chuckle at how you cute you looked in your oversized glasses…

“If you’re into that, sure,” you finally answered.

“Well then your baby wants to see his mommy’s tits,” he replied almost instantly, innocently nuzzling his chin into his pillow, “and without the bra this time, thanks…”

“I’m not showing your sick ass shit,” you returned while laughing, throwing up a few ‘L signs’ with your fingers as he chuckled at your rejection, showcasing his pearly fangs.

Letting himself calm down from laughing, he cleared his throat before speaking again, “My next guess is white, then…”

“But you already guessed white earlier?”

“And I’m guessing it again,” he repeated, making you quirk a suspicious brow at him.

“If you’re trying to imply that I creamed my pants, you’re wrong.”

“Oh my God, ____,” he sighs dramatically, adjusting his laying position on his bed once more, “can you just tell me that I’m right so we can fuck already?”

“Oh, so you waited all this time to tell me that sex was supposed to be the reward?!”

“Well, yea, I figured it was obvious,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Damn, Hoon… when you put it like that, it makes me think my body’s all you want…”

“You know that’s not all I want, baby,” he corrected, licking his lips while stretching out the tiredness in his back, “I just don’t like being in the position to beg for it, y’know?”

“Welcome to my world…” you said.

“Thanks for having me,” he smiled back, rubbing his eyes as a frustrated groan left his mouth.

“What’s the problem now, you big baby?”

He hid his face in his pillow before speaking, “I’m horny and youuuu are not helping…”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s attempt to fault you for his frustration, “I wouldn’t be much help to you anyways given the distance…”

He abruptly lifted his head from the pillow to flash you a dumbfounded look, “Babe… why’re you acting like e-sex doesn’t exist?”

“Because it’s literally 3 am and I trust that you can be patient til I can see you properly,” you clarified, adding yet another “tomorrow” at the end of your sentence.

And all Sunghoon could bring himself to do at this point was pout, hiding his face in the pillow once again which made you giggle at his sulking.

“Babyyyy…. C’monnn, you can wait for me, can’t you?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, tilting your head at him in a cooing manner.

“I’m literally two seconds from slapping my dick against the screen because of your face right now,” he confessed shamelessly, making you burst into a fit of laughter.

“You’re so out of pocket for saying that,” you giggle, covering your face slightly to hide how flustered you appeared.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, a giggle still present in your throat as you tried regathering your emotions.

“Continue, continue…” you whisper with a warm smile on your face now, looking like a split image of the crying emoji in this moment.

“Thank you,” he scoffed with feigned offense, “but yes… I can wait til tomorrow… just for you, angel…”

tysm for reading this quick lil fic ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆

[dreameyess11]

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓭𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

You stand in the middle of the cozy kitchen, apron tied clumsily around your waist, hands fumbling with the cutting board. The recipe you found online seemed simple enough, but as you glance back and forth between the instructions and the ingredients sprawled out on the counter, doubt starts to creep in.

Leon leans casually against the doorway, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His presence alone is enough to distract you, but he doesn’t say anything—just watches you struggle with the knife as you attempt to chop an onion.

“I can do it myself,” you say, without looking up.

“I know you can,” he replies, his voice calm and full of warmth. “But let me.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the soft glint of amusement in his blue eyes. He’s already pushing off the doorframe and rolling up his sleeves. His movements are so natural, so unassuming, and you’re left staring as he gently takes the knife from your hand.

“You don’t trust me?” you tease, stepping aside to let him take over.

“Of course I do,” he says, picking up the onion you’d abandoned. “I just trust me more with sharp objects.”

You laugh at that, and the sound seems to light up the room, even in the dim glow of the kitchen. Leon glances at you briefly, and for a moment, there’s something in his expression—something unspoken yet so profoundly tender.

As he starts to chop the onion with precision, you can’t help but admire the way his hands move, confident and skilled. His hair falls slightly into his face, and you resist the urge to brush it back.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmur.

He pauses, his knife hovering above the cutting board. Turning to you, he leans in just enough that the warmth of his proximity makes your heart race.

“You’ve been doing everything all day,” he says softly, his voice steady but gentle. “Let me take care of you for once.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that leaves you momentarily speechless. He’s always been like this—selfless, always putting others first. You reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Fine,” you concede, folding your arms. “But don’t think this means you’re getting out of dishes.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich, and the way he looks at you in that moment—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your chest tighten.

“Deal,” he says, going back to the onion.

You lean against the counter, watching him work, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. The room smells of fresh ingredients and something else entirely—comfort, safety, and a quiet kind of love.

And as Leon finishes chopping and moves on to help with the rest of the meal, you realize that moments like this—simple, quiet, and shared—might just be your favorite kind of adventure with him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 14

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: this is like to be the second last chapter...

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The captain’s breath seeps through your swimsuit bottoms. His shoulders curl as he kneels between your feet, hunched over your pelvis like a wolf at feast. A shiver invades your body, quaking out with a sob. He growls as his nose brushes along your thigh and he bites down on the end of the tie above your hip. He tugs until the fabric slackens. 

You roll your eyes back and dig your nails into the blanket. He frees the other side of your bikini and the last of your defenses collapse. Your thighs tremble as he snarls and nuzzles along your soft flesh. He bites down and you cry out, writhing as you swat his head in surprise. 

He catches your hand without pulling away. He forces it back to the mattress as he reaches for the other. He pins both, crushing your fingers as he teases your skin with teeth and tongue. You wriggle as his breath grazes along your lips, the sensitivity unfurling in your core. It’s too much already. 

He growls again. An animal as he swirls his face in the spiral curls around your cunt. He inhales your scent and buries his nose in you, breathing you in ravenously. His tongue makes you squeak as he dips it between your folds and swipes over your clit. 

You spasm and squeal. You’re not a prude. You might be reticent when it comes to other people but you’re not a stranger to your own body. Yet, you couldn’t predict how much more intense it is when it’s someone else touching you. 

He flicks his tongue again and you whine. Your toes curl and your feet arch. You push your hips down as you try to close your legs. He keeps them wide as he lowers himself to his stomach. He clutches your hands tightly as he rocks his head and hums, lapping you up as he spreads his tongue to taste all of you. 

His groans flutter into you, stirring in your stomach and speckling down your thighs. You quiver and your arms tense as you try to free yourself. He’s too strong. Too powerful. You know that already but you’re terrified. 

He circles your clit with his lips and sucks. You cry out in surprise at the way the pressure coils your insides. He drones in delight as you shake and squeal.

Oh, please stop. Stop! Not just him, but you. Stop feeling. 

Your knees press above his chest as he keeps them trapped at his sides. He guides your hands to the back of his head and holds them there. You stretch your fingers around his skull and whimper. Your hips tilts as his tongue glides between your lips. He angles along your entrance, poking and flicking as you squirm helplessly. 

He pushes his nose against you, rubbing his face in your cunt as he smears your pleasure across his skin. It sickens you despite the thrill swelling in your guts. He purrs and once more tends to your clit, teasing it as you mewl and moan. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as your body cocoons with unbearable heat. You whine through your teeth as your muscles wind tight and your heart pounds wildly. You buck as you cum. He feels it and drinks it up, toying with you until your begging him to stop.  

Once more he drags his nose through your juices, his beard sopping up the mess as he slowly raises himself from between your legs. Your lashes part wetly. His face shines with your bliss as shame scalds your cheeks and chest. He brings your hands up by your head and holds them there as he hovers over you, puffing and panting like a beast. 

“You taste like candy,” he snarls. You shudder and pout at him. Please, it’s enough, isn’t it? He can’t want more. 

You’re wrong. Always wrong. He sits back on his heels once more and pulls you up by your arms. You sit dizzily as he puts your hands on the front of his shorts. You feel him bulging beneath. You snivel and peek up at him in a silent plea. 

“I bet you like how I taste, too,” he grits. 

You squeak and put your head down. You can’t resist. Your hands shake and he drags your fingers up to the button of his fly. You pinch it as he squeezes then reluctantly lets go. It won’t last forever. Not this part, anyway. 

You unzip him and his stomach clenches as he groans. He grabs the back of your neck and you exclaim in surprise. You struggle to pull him through the open vee of the shorts as he thick length throbs. Precum stains along the camo fabric. You grip him and stare dumbly at his swollen head. What do you do now? 

You don’t need to ask as he shoves your head down. You fold over as he grunts and forces your lips against his tip. You taste saltiness as you peel your mouth open and he invades without hesitation. His patience is gone. He’s no longer teasing, he’s demanding. 

He urges you down until you go rigid. You barely repress a gag as he hits your reflex. You can’t breathe. He hooks his other hand under your chin and lifts you, your spit dripping down his veiny shaft. You inhale sharply before he pushes you onto him again. 

You gulp and choke as he snarls and sighs. Your mouth makes revolting noises as your saliva leaks out and stains your face. He rams you up and down, up and down, groaning and grunting as he fucks himself with your mouth. You’re horrified at how his callousness builds with each vile thrust. 

Your tears overflow at last. There’s not holding back. Not for either of you. They mingle with your drool and add to the sopping mess pooling on his shorts. You convulse and hold back a retch as he lifts himself on his knees and delves as deep as he can go. 

“You’re so good, sweetie. So good for The Captain,” he eases you off of him.  

You heave and choke, covering your mouth as it leaks. He brings you up to sit as your hand replaces his on your ragged throat. His eyes flare as he raises himself and shoves down his shorts to his knees. He’s quick, frantic, so much so that you’re completely surprised as he pushes you so you bounce onto the mattress. 

He pulls your leg apart and once more inserts himself between your thighs. He plants an elbow by your head and props himself up as he reaches between your bodies. He strokes himself as he groans, rocking so that his tip rubs up against your folds. He shakes and bites his lip. 

He presses his forehead to yours and growls. He flicks his dick up and down your cunt, prodding until he finds your entrance. You whimper and bring your hands to his arms, feeling his thick biceps. Your thumb presses against a thrumming veins as his eyes are swallowed by shadows. 

“Please--” 

He pushes into you and you wail. He’s too big. Or you’re too small. You don’t know which. All you know is that you can’t handle it. Your nails cut into his muscle as he leans into you and sighs. He sinks further and further, stretching your walls until you feel him in your stomach. You quaver and slap his side. 

“Sy--” You murmur. 

“Shhhh,” he pushes his nose next to yours and nuzzles your cheek. “You feel good, sweetie. Ain’t ya bein’ good for me?” 

He lays his weight into you and flattens you to the mattress. You sob and snivel as your muscles contract and loosen. Your arms fall limb beside you, your legs splay weakly, and you let your neck give out. You meld into the mattress as he starts to pump his hips. 

He brings a hand up to cradle your head. You weep silently, paralysed to his hunger, as he fucks you. He leans your head to the side as he pecks along your neck, his large shoulders curling. His other hand frames your hip as his lips drag over your shoulder. 

He bites into you and your cries peak in horror. His teeth torture your flesh as he ruts harder and harder. He puffs through his nose as he devolves into a spasmodic fit, thrusting deeper and deeper. He bounces you with the bed, smothering you against it as his pelvis claps against yours. 

He growls as his teeth break through your skin. You squeak and squeal until all that escapes you are pathetic babbles. His sweat skin and hair stick to you, repulsing you as the friction of your bodies turns sweltering. 

He pulls his hand from under your hand and puts it flat. He lifts himself, his other hand still clamped around your hips. He bucks into you with long, punctuated thrusts as he watches the motion. You peek down and let out a fraught yawl. You see him fucking you, splitting you in two without mercy. It’s even more painful to see. 

You drop your head down and it lolls. Every part of you aches from his conquering. Your joints, even your knuckles, throb, and your flesh stings each time he rams into you. You blink through your tears as you search for any sliver of hope or relief. There’s nothing. 

He falls onto you again. He whines and twitches as his head hangs over your shoulder. He hugs your skill with his arm and quakes through his release. You feel it flood into you as he slows, his cum leaking out with each thrust. 

You stare at the wall until he stops. Not completely. He stays on top of you, inside you. He goes limp over you as he pants out his adrenaline. 

Your heart races as you feel his calming. He groans and turns his head, tickling you with his nose as he relaxes. He holds you like that until the air is stagnant. The sweat between your bodies turns clammy and the trickle from your cunt grows sticky. 

Your eyes cling to a shape on the table. The large handle of the knife with the finger indents. The blade gleams through your tears. You stare, not daring to move as that thought needles in you. 

He groans again and snakes his arm around your middle. He hugs you as he burrows his face in your neck. You glance down at his head. Cautiously, you bring your hand up to touch the fuzz along his scalp. He sighs in content. 

You pet his head, as if he’s a dog, as if you’re trying to soothe him, keep him placid. Your other arm moves, little by little. You stop and wait after each inch, wary of giving yourself away.  

You shouldn’t. You’re stupid. It’s dangerous. No, this man is dangerous and he’s only going to do that again and again. 

Your hand floats over the knife. You grip it, squeezing it. You lift the weight bit by bit. You raise your arm as you continue to stroke his crown. You stare at his taught flesh, ridges with muscle, and wonder if you can do it. 

Do it! 

You swing your arm down and the blade sinks into the meat of his shoulder. He roars and retracts as you let go of the knife. He sits up in agony as he tries to reach the handle jutting out of him.  

You don’t think, you just move. You jump up from the bed and scramble for the door. His pained growls and grunts continue behind you as the bed creaks under his weight. You hit the wall and continue down the hall. 

You don’t have time to stop and clear your head. Your legs are like jelly but you have to keep going. You rush to the counter and grab the flannel shirt. You hug it under your arm and barrel down the hall. You hit the front door, bursting through, and stomp across the porch. 

As you get to ground, a shadow whips through the dark, and you see Aika sprinting at you on all fours. Another starling roar comes from the house and she stops just before she gets to you. You stop and face her, chest thumping, pulse throbbing. Please... 

Sy hollers again. She sniffs the air in front of you then skitters up to the porch, toward the anguished cries of her owner. You don’t wait any longer. You dash off towards the trees. 

This is it. Your chance. Your one moment to get away. You just have to keep going. You can’t stop. Run! 

You push through the brush, the flannel tight in your hand as you pump your arms. Thorns cut into your legs and arms, sticks jab at the soles of your feet, and stones scatter around your steps. You slip in patches of mud and hiss at the sharp weeds hidden between the roots.  

Go. Go. Go. 

Don’t stop until you see light. 

Don't stop until you’re free. 

[heartofjasmina]

dom!reader who orders pro hero Amajiki to fuck her like a whore, knowing damn well it's nasty enough to make him hard and blush in embarrassment at the same time. "B-but, sweetheart, I--"

"No, that's not what you call me tonight." You whispered single word in his ear just to see him gasp, just to watch his dick twitch in his boxers.

"You really want me to call you that? But it's so... dirty." You grinned, deciding this was a wonderful idea. Your boyfriend was hard as a rock despite his stuttering, half assed objections, and his pupils were blown wide with want seeing your naughty Suneater outfit. It was a sexy version of his costume that you'd gotten online, and to Amajiki you looked mouthwateringly good.

"You like that, though. So say it." It was easy to lay back onto the bed and spread your thighs, giving him a peek at the wet spot growing on your panties.

"Slut."

He climbed over you, flipping your skirt up for easier access to your pussy, and eased your panties down your legs before tossing them over his shoulder. He licked his lips at the sight of your gilstening folds.

"You like that huh? Calling you my slut." His voice made it clear he was shocked and pleased by the discovery.

"I like seeing this side of you. Show me more." It was another order, and despite of the role reversal he obeyed without question.

He pressed his hips into you so you could feel how hard he was, and with slightly shaking hands he gathered your wrists above your head.

"Sluts don't get to make d-demands." It came out almost perfectly, and you were more than ready to see what he would do as the night progressed.

"Then make me shut up," you dared him knowing it would go straight to his cock.

"You asked for it." He growled and it made your pussy gush as much as it suprised you. You truly were in for it now.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Brains & Barbie!

PAIRING: Michael Gavey x fem!BIMBO!Reader

WORDS: 1,515.

SUMMARY: Polar opposites attract right? It’s science. Who knew you would fall so helplessly in love with the math geek of the century…

WARNINGS: female receiving (fingering), swearing, degradation kink, some praise kink, edging, cum play, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing.

A/N - it has been a hot minute since I wrote for an Ewan character, so forgive me I’m a little rusty.

this fic is dedicated to my soul sister @sahvlren as it was her bday recently, and she requested this specifically. I love you so very much, and am so thankful to have you as my dearest friend, boo. one day we shall meet, but for now we get freaky online! enjoy xoxox

+++ in light of the recent drama unfolding in this hellsite, I thought some good ole' smut would do no harm, right?

forgive me I shall edit this properly, but I must sleep for my night shift lol

You weren't exactly the perfect pair to exist, nor would any like minded person think it best to put you two together in a roo, let alone become intimate. And yet, so effortlessly you both meshed rather well...Michael, your "Norman No Mates" boyfriend [as he enjoyed putting it], was quite a mathematical genius. His family were somewhat stable and well off, however, he rejoiced in the idea that he worked his way into the academy, where as your situation was quite the opposite. Your father had attended Oxford and graduated, as did your grandfather, who also sponsored and funded many of its restorations and renovations. The ancient establishment owed many of its complexes to your family name, and hence, granted you a position in their literature field, warranted you did try to maintain your grades above a credit average, trimming it with a pass even...

You had tipsily stumbled upon Michael at some college party: he stood by some dark corner, a drink in hand and the other in his pocket, before you had ignorantly walked into him, mindless to your surroundings from intoxication. You had either gone to refill your drink or was seeking the bathroom [you struggle to remember the fine details of the night you had met], laughing obnoxiously at some joke your friend had uttered, before walking into the man that would ultimately make you weak in your knees.

"S-Sorry-" You softly slurred, spilling your drink on the floor, a droplet landing on your heel.

At first it sounded as though an apparent swear seemingly seethed between his curved lips, halting himself before cursing you further, as he adjusted his thin framed spectacles, marvelling at you.

"Y-You alright, love?"

The next thing you knew, you found yourself hot and heavy, heated bodies, grinding against one another, as Michael teased and etched his impressively long cock, at your silky folds. His mouth latched to your unmissable cleavage, as he suckled on your breasts like a new born babe to its mother's teat.

No man had ever made you feel more desired, and yet a fool at his beck and call. He uttered despicable taunts and jabs at you, whilst simultaneously, worshipping the ground you strut on.

"The sluttiest girl on campus just couldn't resist the cock of a geek, huh? Making her even more stupid than she is, look at you... Pathetic baby."

His words stung a compelling sensation, and yet you craved for more of his undivided attention. And seemingly, Michael granted you every fathomable bit he could muster. You were the girl beyond his dreams, needless to say, he never thought he even stood a chance with any girl, of that matter. And he as a man, beyond your tastes. However, the tension was palpable between you two, the chemistry undeniable.

You often found yourself unwittingly seeking his company, even risking your privilege in the confines of his dorm...

"How long left, Mikey. I'm s'bored!" You whinge, as you fidget and reposition yourself sprawled on your boyfriend's single-sized bed. Flinging your flip phone to the side, without a care for consequences [your parents would simply purchase a new one for you]. Despite being in somewhat sheerly covered attire, your ass cheeks just peaking through beneath your skirt, Michael barely felt the temptation to see [if he was even aware of your current outfit].

"Wait. Need to finish this equation."

His stern, unwavering voice and unfazed focus ontp the paper and textbooks before him, made your eyes roll with such annoyance, defeatedly sighing. The repetitive sound of his pencil thudding at his head, and your rhythmical humming, filled the silent void.

"Ugh- Michael, you should have just told me to not come- There was a party, I could have been at—"

"Do you not have an essay due by the end of the week?"

You contemplate for a few, solid seconds, before realising there was truth to his words. You did have an assignment due in the imminent days to come, and you had yet to begin.

"W-Well, yes... But I was hoping you would help me, handsome."

"Is that so?"

His attention still remained down, fixated on the text before him, yet his tone elevated, intrigue plaguing his words.

"I-I mean I'll still write it out, y-you just need to guide me—”

Swiftly he swivelled his entire body in the desk-top chair to turn unto you, a cheeky grin plastered across his chiselled face.

"Baby, you can barely do your times-tables, you think you can write an whole essay? Adorable..."

"But I sure know how to fuck you good. What man of your calibre can have a girl like me, say that to a man like you, huh?"

A darkness tinged in his piercing blue orbs, intently watching your every move and gesture, as he notices your hand hovering between your thighs, before disappearing beneath the short, skimpy skirt.

"Mhmm—"

Your thoughtless moans began to echo between the confined blank walls of the dorm, squirming against the neatly folded fabrics of the bed.

"And what do you think you're doing, exactly?"

Two digits continued to delve deeper between your folds, drawing slow, circular motions as your thumb remained rubbing at your clit. You had been biting your lips, only to release a moan, as you intended to respond obediently.

"M-My boyfriend's a bore, s-so I'm t-taking matters into m-my own h-hands—"

"Is that so?"

Without so much as a warning, a force pried your hands out from beneath your walls, your wetness coating your fingers and knuckles, glistening in the dim light. Within a few seconds, the emptiness between your legs vanished, as a rougher, more sizeable host embedded itself between your velvet folds.

With roughness, and vastly more pace, Michael's lengthy, slim digits began to etch deeper and deeper inside of you, pumping his fist in and out of you, as his other hand laid to rest against the mattress, propping him upright. Your hands immediately laid at your sides, firmly clenching the quilt between for some steadiness.

"Does my little slut have no patience? Brain to numb to think, she just wants to be fucked all the time, huh?"

"Y-Yes—"

Just as your ecstatic cries and moans grew more frequent, Michael's breathing sounded heavier, feeling your warm wetness making a mess all along his hands and the crevices of your entrance.

"This slut could've bent over to anyone. No-No, but she did for me, yeah? So needy for cock, she didn't even learn her times tables, huh?"

"I-I need you, M-Mikey—"

A third long digit shoved itself deeper into your tight hole, panting beneath your grip as you felt yourself fervently clench around him.

"That's right, princess. You need me. No man is worthy of this pretty cunt of yours, I earned it."

As you felt yourself progressively lose all your senses. gaining traction to the heat stirring below, Michael's sudden release felt cathartic. Watching him lick and lap every inch of your wetness lingering over his hand, made you feel delectable. Your lustful eyes searched below, for a fleeting second, you caught the growing commotion in his pants, as the bulge was evident, its shadow against the restricted fabric. As he tasted the last drop, a snarky smirk expanded across his handsome face, before beginning to unbelt and unbutton his beige trousers.

"C'mon princess, spread those legs like you always do, like you were born to do. Such a fucking whore, that's all you were meant for. Meant for me."

Aligning himself so effortlessly perfect against your, his reddened tip blushed against your sight, teasing your silky folds. His veins throbbed with excitement, almost palpable between your sensitive entrance, its length girth suddenly plunging itself ever so slowly inside of you.

With a first, rough shove, delving himself completely inside of you, his balls hitting at your rear, an escape of a low grunt vibrated against his lips, that remained hovering over your soft skin. Michael kept himself steadily propped atop of you: with each thrust, equally time and paced, his weight began to drop over you, applying the pressure down from above with his cock inside of you.

"The most perfect cunt, for the most perfect girl. And it's mine."

"M-Michael—"

"S-Stastically we a-are an anomaly, b-but my princess f-found me, like a good girl—”

“A-Anomaly?"

A deep, growling chuckle escaped his lips, his pace growing sloppier as he attempted to articulate: despite Michael having you weak in the knees in bed, he was still somewhat new at the act of sex. Struggling to juggle with the need to fuck and the need to explain, his lean, tall figure cowering over you, his eyes shut with ecstasy momentarily, before opening to glare and marvel at you breathlessly. Your lips latched onto his neck and collarbones in between your moans, intently sucking at his tender flesh, desperate to taste him, to leave remnants of your physical love, strewed across his body. Desperate to savour every inch of him.

"An odd couple, baby. B-But you take me so fucking well—"

"Mhmm—"

"There's no going back now, Princess..."

credit for divider - @/prettypixels-love

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 15/10/2024 Oscar Piastri- Begging

Plot: You’re always so needy when it comes to Oscar, and he just loves to hear how much you want him, again and again, and again.

Warnings: Kinktober, smut, needy begging, humping, p in v 18+ Minors DNI

Oscar was gone, and you couldn’t handle the fact that you hadn’t seen him in over four days. You knew you said you were too busy with things back home but once you say pictures of him in Singapore, you were looking online for the cheapest one way ticket there.

You were desperate for him, so much so that you hadn’t even told him that you were coming. So when you turned up to his hotel room at 10pm at night knocking on his door he was more than shocked.

“Baby? What the hell are you doing here” he whisper shouts at you looking down the corridor to make sure this wasn’t some kind of mass prank McLaren had pulled on him and they had some mega tech they hadn’t showered him just yet.

“I needed to see you, missed you” you answer, a soft look on your face as you held eye contact with him. He pulled you into his room, closing and locking the door behind you as you led him further into the bedroom.

“You missed me?”he teases and you can’t help but nod, a smile at the edge of your mouth.

“Please Osc, need you” you beg looking up at him with those sweet eyes of yours be just couldn’t say no to.

“How baby, how’d you need me?” He asks, pulling you on top of him as he lays down on the bed.

“You know how Osc please” you say again, your eyes a little wild.

“Mmmm I don’t think I do, why don’t you show me?” He asks with a bite of his lips, teasing look in his eyes that kind of just makes you want to slap him but your so needy right now that all you can think about it getting some pressure on your clit.

He’s wearing jeans.

You move so your straddling one of his thighs, starting to roll your hips up and down, the fabric of his jeans giving a feeling to your clit that was satisfying. You mouth dropped open as your hips moved up and down, trying to figure out the best angles while Oscar’s hand came down to help guide you.

His large hand, helped move your hip back and forth, but eventually it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough going on to make you have that feeling you oh so needed. It wasn’t enough to make that coil in your stomach unleash.

“Oscar” you cry out looking at him eyes as frantic as your hips, trying to get more from dry humping his thigh.

“What is it sweet girl?” He asks looking at you, you were too frustrated with not being able to reach your own high that you couldn’t see the smirk or teasing look in his eyes.

“Need more from you, please! Wanna feel you, need you inside me please okay Osc” you whine above him, but he just keeps you moving on his thigh.

“Fuck I love when you beg for it. Do it again” he says kissing along your cheek, not daring to encase your lips as you as him again. No - not ask, beg.

“Please Osc, need you. Need you so bad” you cry out, just as a feeling comes, but goes just as quickly as it did, tears streaming down your face.

“Okay baby, stop there and I’ll do what you want” he asks and you do immediately knowing he’ll prolong this is you don’t.

“Such a good girl aren’t you” he smiles. Kissing your lips, making you moan into him, as you lean forward tangling your hands in his hair. He strips himself off enough that his dick it out, before flipping the lair if you round so he’s hovering over the top of you.

“What do you want?” He asks one more time, just wanting to hear your cute whiny and broken lust filled voice.

“You inside me. Needa feel you Osc. Always stretch me so good” you moan, and he pulls your panties to the sides, before his cock slips perfectly into your soaking fold. You can feel all the glorious textures of him slip and slide against your walls as he teases you with his tip before pushing the whole way in.

When he bottoms out in you, a sigh comes from both your mouths. Oscar knew how much you needed him, you’d made that obvious but right now he needed you just as bad.

His hips snapped in and out of you, holding your left boob and playing with it as the other one held him up which was gripping in the sheets of the hotel bed.

“Please fuck omg please” you beg and Oscar moans at how needy you are. It was something he could listen to forever on a recording or in person. It was like listening to his favourite song on repeat.

He keeps thrusting in and out, hitting the deepest bits inside you at an angle that has your head thrown back in the pillow and your hands gripping the sheets, your toes curling at the pressure.

“Please Osc, lemme cum” you cry out, your eyes opening just to look at him. His cheeks were a little red and a sheen of sweat lay across his forehead dampening his curtains.

“I dunno baby…” he teases but it comes out a little panted.

“Osc, don’t be mean. F-fuck” you moan out lurching foreword as Oscar picks up the pace.

“F-fuck Osc, please I can’t hold it” you beg your eyes screwed shut as you try concentrating on not letting that building feeling leave.

“Such a good girl. Go on cum for me” he says looking over at you, as he keeps going until he can feel your tighten and start to shake around him. Your hand comes up to his shoulder for some support.

The tightening around him felt incredible like usual, and he almost couldn’t pull out because there was a vice grip almost pulling him back in. It was so tight that the cum was pretty much dribbling out as he pulled out and released onto your stomach. Your still breathing, trying to come down from your high when you feel the hot white liquid hit you.

“I needed you so bad baby” you say as you nuzzle into his neck. Trying not to turn over to avoid getting cum on the sheets, you were now far to exhausted from the flight.

“I know sweetheart, you did so well for me. I love when your needy” he sighs, placing a kiss on the top of you head before leaving into the hotel bathroom to get a flannel to help clean you off.

Making that trip was definitely a good shout.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[the-californicationist]

The Green Light

Price/FReader - somnophilia, cnc

MDNI/18+

AO3 - Comments/Reblogs lovingly appreciated

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

John had been on four planes, three trains, two boats, and a goddamn moped to make it back home tonight, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a real bed. He could feel all of his bones individually, and they all ached in their own unique ways. He was bruised, limping, and wearing a shiner on one eye, battered to the point of agony. But still, despite his emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion; all he could think about was what color panties you had on.

It had started as a joke. You’d been watching some television show where the characters used the red-light, green-light system for getting down and dirty, and you’d suggested wearing bright green panties for when you wanted John to wake you up with his cock. Jokes turned into flirting, and flirting turned into an online purchase, and now, you were able to call him to action while you were fast asleep.

He’d been hesitant at first, but after you pinky promised that you’d tell him to stop if you wanted him to stop, he agreed to try it out. When he’d packed his bags to go back to his duty, you’d tucked one of your brand new green thongs into the side pocket, leaving him a clear message for when he came back. Now, as he walked in the house, he would kill to see those bright green frills tucked beneath his sheets, and he was hungry to taste your warm hole with his tongue.

John shed his gear bag and jacket at the door. He desperately needed a shower, but he was too eager, too needy. He made his way directly to your bedroom and peered into the dark. You were sound asleep, half in and half out of the duvet, making soft snuffling sounds against his pillow. You wanted to know the moment that he was home safe. So, there you were, sprawled and waiting for him.

He shucked off his pants and shirt, making himself naked in front of your sleeping form. John was already growing harder, and with each deep, sleepy breath, he hungered more and more to get a taste of your body. His eyes raked over your scantily clad form. The blanket was covering too much of you to tell him what you were wearing, but he knew it wasn't much. Your neck was bare down to your back, and your shapely calves led up to juicy, unclothed thighs. With a careful hand, John slowly tugged the blanket up over your ass, and he prayed to any god who would listen that your panties were garishly green.

The sigh that left his lungs struggled to escape, constricted by his gasping throat as he saw that you were clad in a neon green, crotchless bodysuit. It was so over the top, and such a departure from your cozy, comfy persona that he knew you’d picked it out on purpose, just for him, just for his return.

You snored a little and readjusted yourself, causing Price to step back, not wanting to wake you. But, as you did, the duvet slipped off of you and John could read the words you’d written in black sharpie before you’d gone to bed. Across your belly, just above your panty line, you’d scrawled, “Welcome home!” and added hearts leading down to your freshly shaven pussy.

John felt all of the blood in his enormous body rush to where it was needed: his heavy, throbbing cock.

Your center was uncovered in the crotchless outfit, and your folds gleamed in the dim light of the bedroom. You were wet, perhaps by your own hand earlier in the night, and John bent down to get a closer look. Gingerly, he used his fingers to gently press apart your lips, finding your core warm and ready for him. He let his thick digits slide into position, and he began to slowly massage lazy, easy circles into your walls.

Goddamn you were pliant. Your body’s willingness to cede to his heavy petting made him groan deeply, catching himself so he wouldn’t wake you up. As he pushed his fingers into you, your muscles eased. Usually, they were tight and tense, eager to come and excited to feel his presence. But now, you were asleep, ignorant of his work in your conscious mind, and only your body was available to communicate with him.

So, it did. Your body loosened you, relaxing your walls. It made your groin swell, filling it with blood. It sent him your wetness, letting him know all of his desires were welcome in you. He put his mouth to your clit, suckling on you as gently as he could, daring to taste your sweetness as he fingered you in your sleep. As you became slick enough to fuck in earnest on his hand, he created the most outrageous noises, sticky and milky, playing in your come with greedy joy, licking you over and over again, until he could feel you trembling beneath his mouth. You moaned, and he slowed his efforts, trying to determine if you were truly asleep. You went back to your deep breathing, and John decided it was now or never.

He mounted you like an animal, looming over you like a predator does to its prey, his huge shoulders and triceps bulging as he situated himself on the mattress. His breathing had become labored, and as he dipped the head of his cock into your pulsing hole, he let out a long, ragged sigh of relief.

You moaned again, involuntarily squeezing your walls around him, reacting in the way nature intended, shameless and bold in your sleeping want. You felt like heaven, like the most comforting embrace. And for a man weary with pain, being cradled by you in the soft petals of your flower was like being magically healed. He felt the plump head of his cock drag itself along your core, slipping through your relaxed wetness easily, searching for the bottom of your warm pool, sinking into you like a stone in a still pond, crashing through the silky embrace of your body.

John aimed to fuck you so slowly that you wouldn’t wake up until the very end. He wanted to see how far he could go, and he needed to show you how surely he trusted you. This was something you’d needed from him, and now that he knew how your body would react to his work, he hungered for it, too.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy you when you were awake and participating. You were excellent in bed, and you made him feel overcome with ecstasy nearly every time you fucked each other. But, there was something so innocent and honest about your sleeping form. Your unconscious body couldn’t hold itself back. If it was hungry for him, he would know it. Your body would feed itself to him; the ultimate submission. The responsibility and trust you’d given him was immense, and the honor of it felt better than any medal he’d ever pinned to his uniform.

He fucked you a little faster, making an effort not to distract you from your slumber, and he noticed your body was positively flooding your pussy with lubrication. You were about to come, he realized, and he watched, wide-eyed, as it happened.

Your body didn’t tense as it normally did. Instead, you rode your orgasm like a low wave, gently riding across the roiling, tumbling sea that was bursting within you. You nearly wet yourself from the outpouring of your slick, soaking John’s cock and matting the dense hair around his base. You were whimpering sweetly for him in an ancient tongue, one that society had suppressed. It was so natural to hear, and so pure. John reveled in you like Bacchus, slaking his thirst with your come, unable to sate his hedonism with just one taste. He wanted it all.

He tried to hold it together, but he heard himself whimpering above you, struggling to keep himself from following you into the pleasure-filled abyss.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered below his breath. He felt himself wanting to scream out your name, to wake you, to call you to join him in this joyful work, but he buried it somewhere deep in his throat, grunting darkly for you instead with each and every thrust.

Then, you moaned more intensely, and he knew you were stirring awake. He wanted to slow down, to lull you back to sleep, but his body was no longer under his command. It thrust him into you, loose like a hound off-leash, rushing and pounding with a singular purpose.

“John?” You whispered, trying to understand what was happening to you.

“Fuck, m’sorry, love,” he moaned, the words slurred and malformed, “Couldn’t wait. Had to have you. Right fuckin’ now.”

Your mind fed you all the pleasure you’d been missing, slamming into your brain all at once, and he felt the result. You bared down on him harder than you’d ever done before, your pussy clenching around his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move. The wet, supple friction that slipped across his hard rod was just what he needed to come, and you wrenched it from him, stealing it with your unimaginable fury of pleasure.

He gasped, unable to control his reactions,

“Oh! Oh, fuck! I’m… I’m gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You couldn’t say anything; you were blinded by your climax, feeling the waves of euphoria crash into you over and over, washing you in deep, a rapturous sea. John’s cock was so deep within you, making you feel so full, and since he had made you so soft and ready for him, your pleasure hit you as hard as it could.

As he filled you, you heard him beg for something he couldn’t name,

“Please, love… Fuck. Fuck. Bloody hell, please. Please…”

“Come in me, John,” you coaxed him, angling your hips so he could sink himself deeper into your center, “I want to feel you come in me. Please.”

He turned you onto your side and repositioned himself so that he could fuck you as your big spoon, wrapping you in his arms and locking you in place, trapping you against him as he bucked. As he did, he clutched at you cruelly, trying to channel all of his reserved energy into a last-moment’s effort. Now that you were awake, he could slam himself into you with abandon, and you felt him lose control of his movements. He was shaking your whole body, making your bones shudder beneath his huge weight, crafting sticky, popping, slapping noises as he slammed skin into glorious skin.

Finally, he stuttered in his pounding, and your pussy stretched with the tell-tale throb of his heavy cock as it pulsed from dumping rope after rope of cream into your hole. You could feel it filling you, hot and thick. His eyes were clenched shut, unable to face the unearthly passion you had wrought together.

“Welcome home, baby,” you kissed his hand gently, running your nails along his heavy forearm, earning yourself another tremulous groan.

He smiled at you, riding out his high in your dripping hole,

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

[misscammiedawn]

Legitimacy vs Selection Bias in Hypnosis

This has been on our mind a lot recently. It's mostly been sparked by the recent Mindless Banter podcast run by @theleeallure @enscenic and @hypno-sandwich where the three hosts spoke about how they dislike academic models of hypnosis and a recent post by @h-sleepingirl discussing why they herald hypnotic education.

One thing that is always going to be true about the advocates of our kink who have been involved with the community for a long time is that we are going to be experienced and capable hypnotists and/or hypnotees.

Likewise those who join and find themselves brought in to the fold tend to self-select; if a person is not able to find any success or joy in hypnosis because it's not working or they do not gel with the styles taught and practiced then they will not hang around.

This means that we have a functioning ecosystem of people who know the lingo, who are primed to react as they should and tend to have things work for them.

Which is great! It makes it so much easier to work out when everyone is on the same page.

But it also creates an insular community.

I've written before on why the insular nature of our community worries me.

One of the lines I wrote in that post was this

One of the big differences between the online erotic hypnosis community and the NGH (National Guild of Hypnotists) who rue our existence is that we do not require legitimacy to function when they themselves exist in a half-truth state where when receiving both of my certifications it was impressed that we needed to perform an uneasy dance of providing services without practicing medicine because hypnotherapy is not licensed psychology in the same was that chiropractors are not performing medicine.

Legitimacy is the idea of taking what we do, what we are, what we believe and what we practice and trying to make it valid to those outside of the community. It's performing studies, it's building a framework of hard rules, it's about pretending that we understand how the brain works beyond the anecdotal evidence that we witness it every day within our corners and communities.

Fact is, hypnosis is a malleable and belief-based practice that rests right in the middle between faith and science. As mentioned in the above linked post, trance can be detected on an EEG:

Source

Our last post on this topic just spoke about accepting that we exist in a soft science where what we believe, how we approach our beliefs and what ideas we allow to take root in our minds will have a firm impact on how the minds of the hypnotists and hypnotees we interact with.

Today I want to talk about why keeping the education and the science involved in the conversation is important.

Because, like the Mindless Banter crew, I have reached the point of my career in hypnoplay where should Dawn wish to induce a trance she need only find a partner, lay out what will happen and perform. The rest of it just happens.

Once you reach a level of confidence and community, it pretty much takes care of itself. The interaction between a hypnotist and a person who has never experienced trance before and the interaction between a hypnotist and an enthusiast will play out differently.

What I mean by this is if Dawn is approached in DM by someone who wants a session she will be able to pick up a number of tells without even noticing it on their confidence and experience. Someone shy, unsure and untrained will not dive straight in. Which makes the encounter less likely and even if it does happen it comes from the power dynamic of a teacher and student rather than two enthusiasts going to town.

This is normal and it's not a bad thing. It just means that the typical educator in the hypnokink community is typically aware of the "weight class" of their hypnotees which paints their expectations of how things will go and allows for a line between the way hypnosis is taught in 101 and how it is practiced in enthusiast circles.

It's why Progressive Muscle Relaxation is something which gets scoffed at a lot in our circles. The typical enthusiast does not need to spend 20 minutes on an induction when their typical partner is someone they can hold the shoulders of, stare at with intent and give permission for the hypnotee to drop.

That isn't to say that experienced hypnotists only play with experienced hypnotees. It just means that the majority of the play from those who educate does not match the material that we teach to beginners. Not a bad thing.

But it does breed this divide I mentioned. Between the experience of those who do this all the time and what is "academic".

So, besides helping new people into the community or playing in pure theoretical space, why must we keep the academic approach involved?

Well, first... the science does inform what we do. Yes, a lot of this is based on belief but there is a large amount of the science which is just fact no matter what we do. The neuroplasticity of traumatized brains is a topic we type about a lot given our dissociative disorder. I mentioned in my Dissociative Disorders and Hypnosis post that there are multiple studies that there's a higher hypnotic suggestibility in those with conditions that include dissociation as a symptom. The fact that this was being taught in a 101 class was why I made that post to begin with.

From my Mind Makes It Real post I mentioned that we need to be aware of the truths to keep ourselves in check. We should always be wondering "am I wrong?" about everything and the moment one lets go of the academic framework and commits to the loose ethos of "it just works" you lose a little bit of that footing and external perspective. We're an insular community and there's an element of "the popular ideas win out", not to stress a point too much but the whole hatred of the progressive muscle relaxation induction is a good example of this. I know a few community leaders who reflexively rant any time they hear it. These people have the ability to control the con schedule. They teach classes and part of their lesson is their personal disdain for that approach. This goes into the minds of those who were taught by that person and becomes part of the internal dogma. Suddenly you have a situation where a minority of people in the community need to defend the PMR.

I do not actually care too much about PMR but it really is one of the most accessible entry level trances and the disdain for it is a little gatekeepy, if I am being honest. I don't think any individual means for it to be something they keep out of the community but enough individuals following a trend creates a community concept, a widely held belief.

And hypnosis is entirely about widely held beliefs. Thus it is now a fact that PMR is boring and ineffective and there's more fun ways to do trance. That is an example, hopefully one that is understandable to an audience who are also into hypnokink (apologies to my non-hypnosis Tumblr followers, I hope if you're reading this you enjoy this peak into a little internet sub-culture).

Which brings me to legitimacy.

Do we really need it?

Hypnosis is both science and fantasy. A person attending a hypnokink convention could treat hypnosis with the technical skill and care that one would approach as ropeplay, learning all of the different terms and all of the safety procedures and treating it as a psychological version of what can be physically observed.

But you may also have someone who treats hypnosis as roleplay and improv with a framework not too dissimilar from a tabletop sourcebook for D/s shenanigans that they can learn and play within much the same as a D&D player can switch to World of Darkness. I guarantee there are a large number of people in the hypnosis community who do this and they're not wrong for doing it.

But as I mentioned above. Hypnosis is a scientifically observable phenomenon and it is dangerous if abused. Heaven knows I know that more than most. One must not believe in the dangers for them to be real. An immature hypnotist is a danger to a hypnotee regardless of if they think they are roleplaying or performing edgeplay. And the same is true for a hypnotee, too. If one believes it's all roleplay then their limits and safety will be at a different level than someone who is aware of the risks.

One need only look to the dark corners of our community where covert hypnosis is practiced eagerly, recruitment is a game and personality erasure is an aesthetic to know that there are uncomfortably large swaths who are practicing hypnosis from the perspective of fantasy. I do not want to pull out the news articles about how Disney Deer brainwashing ruined people's lives again.

The good news is that within the educator/convention going portion of the community we do teach this stuff. We do make everything clear. We're not currently in a community where academic approaches are shrugged off.

But it makes me uncomfortable when experienced educators in the community forget how far their words reach and dismiss the academic for the sake of "what works".

We do not need to seek legitimacy for the eyes of those outside of the community. We do not Demand To Be Taken Seriously. We have a community where people are welcome to join or not join. We do not need external legitimacy.

But we need internal legitimacy.

We need the people who practice within our care to know that they're practicing with dangerous tools that can and will mess a person up if treated without proper care.

Safety and education require we keep room for the academic and seek to legitimize what we do or those who look at hypnosis as pure fantasy will not be able to recognize the risk.

At least, that's my opinion.

-

For more of our ramblings on hypnosis and the hypnosis community, please check out our Hypnokink Writing tag for other bits of education and commentary like this <3

[squeakitties]

“oh i know squeakitties she made prunsel” or “oh i know squeakitties she draws rubber tf pokemon fetish art” in equal measure

I wish to be as free as you, and be able to share my internet creations and my kinks under the same online identity. and to not be immediately whitelisted from any fandom or community I interact with if Im open about my kinks (even on private or seperate accounts), but as proven by a lot of other artists in spaces I frequent for my stuff, I fear my kinks are somehow less socially acceptable than rubbermon tf.

Or maybe I'm just scared of being like Pyrocynical and unable to be taken seriously anymore.

at the end of the day i chose to stop giving a shit and make my sexuality and kinks a fundamental aspect of my online persona. and with the whole blacklisting thing, there’s gonna be an omnipresent panopticon of people who monitor your shit nomatter what. im not abt to fold for people whose approval means less than dirt to me. shrugs. people are assholes for no reason and im above them.