#raw + slow + eye contact.. that was the question right?

[sareenthedreamer]

Make me Forget...

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Smut, Erotica, Sex, riding, cream pie, massage, mating press, virginity loss

“Make me forget….”

“...for just one night. Please.”

Those were the words out of Toshinori’s mouth as he stood at your door. It was midnight and the rain was coming down in droves, his hair dripping. In his desperate state of mind, he didn’t even bother to bring an umbrella.

It was difficult to see him like this: his face twisted with internal agony from a life of loneliness, of duty and always putting others above his own desires. His beautiful blue eyes were devoid of the passion and determination that typically sparked there, replaced with a sullen hollowness that wrenched the heart to see.

His mind was swirling with a maelstrom of emotions. Watching the world he worked so hard to build crumble before him. The crushing loneliness of a solitary life in a world he had given everything for and yet it still wasn’t enough. The gloomy darkness of this night was consuming him.

You weren’t surprised that he came to you, but you were touched. Always around each other, your feelings for him weren’t a secret – you just didn’t act on them. A life loving him from afar was better than a life without him.

As you usher him in out of the rain, his eyes flick to yours. The look in them is one of raw vulnerability, a shell of the man he once was. Slipping off his soaked-through jacket, you hand him a towel as he stands in your entry way, scattering fat droplets of rainwater over the hardwood flooring and into the satin robe wrapped tightly around you. A brief shiver runs through him, but it wasn’t from the cold. There is an electric tension from something deep and unspoken.

His movements were slow, crushed by the remnants of a life he once knew. Running the towel through his hair absentmindedly, your soft voice cut through the heavy tension in the air. He may be an aged man, but he was still new to intimacy.

“Are you sure? You want to forget everything for just one night… with me?”

He freezes, the towel against his neck as he stands there; a conflicted expression across his face. His mouth opens, then closes as he struggles to find the right words before he finally speaks in a hoarse whisper.

“Please.”

The look of heartache in his eye brings a physical pain to your chest. You love this man. Despite having dreamed of a moment like this, believing it would never happen, you wished it had been under better circumstances.

Grasping his large hand in yours, you guide him to your room. Standing at the end of your bed you help him remove his rain-soaked clothing, setting them aside to be placed in the dryer. There were no need for words, the silence between you was comfortable. He stops you when you reach for his belt, his large hands covering your own while his eyes search yours to reveal the complicated swirl of fear and longing behind them.

Wriggling free one hand from his, you cup his cheek with gentle affection.

“You have to get out of the wet clothes.”

He lets out a brief chuff of laughter before unbuckling his belt himself, prompting you to raise a brow, smirking at his response. It is only a few moments before he stands before you, naked and nervous; his vulnerability is palpable.

It amuses you when he straightens his posture, like he is trying to impress you. The scars across his body serve as quiet reminders of an extraordinary life tinged with sadness. With a slow hand, you pull the tie around your waist, letting it fall to the ground to reveal your bare form. His eyes widen slightly and for the briefest moment you see his carefully constructed facade waver to reveal a man who has been starved of intimacy his entire life.

You gesture towards the bed, instructing him to lay on his stomach. In his broken state of mind, he doesn’t question it and crawls onto the bed, his head cradled by a soft pillow. Climbing onto the bed with slow movements to straddle his bottom, he stiffens from the unexpected contact from your most intimate parts against him. As your hands move over his neck and shoulders in a firm but gentle manner, he begins to relax.

An involuntary groan escapes him when you begin to dutifully work to remove as much tension as possible from his back. Your body shifts, pressing against him with soft purpose, hands moving with purpose lower across his body. With a brief pause over his bottom, your fingers gently glide over him before kneading the area.

You can’t stop the smile spreading across your lips from the surprised grunts coming from him, finding yourself aroused by his sounds. He buries his face into the pillow in an attempt to hide the flush creeping across his face, twisted in both embarrassment and pleasure.

The groans being prompted by your hands continue as you travel down to his toes and back up again, finally ending where you began. Being extraordinarily gentle, you lean down to plant kisses over his neck and shoulders; your breasts pressed deliciously against his back. His body freezes at the unexpectedness of the feeling, uncertain how to respond.

Your hands slide down his sides, gently pushing him to his back as you give him room to move. Despite his apprehension, he rolls over without hesitation, blinking at you as you straddle him again. It would be impossible to miss the storm of emotions flooding him at this moment, his breaths causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall. His beautiful blue irises were eclipsed by his dilated pupils staring back at you.

You hold yourself over him, nipples barely touching his chest as you lean in to kiss him softly. Parting his lips, his tongue meets yours in a clumsy but earnest kiss that could quite possibly be his first. His hands come to rest around your waist with an air of possessiveness he has never before shown. Breaking the kiss, you tug on his lower lip before progressing down his jawline to his earlobe, nibbling along the way. As you leave little love bites down his neck you hear him groan quietly while arching his neck to give you better access, leaving him with a memory for tomorrow. Your hands massage down his sides while you pepper his chest and abdomen with feather-light kisses. Lowering yourself further down the bed, your eyes flick up to meet his as you feel movement from him – he has propped himself up on his elbows to watch you. There is both anticipation and nervousness in his gaze while you continue your descent.

A quiet whimper falls from his lips when you reach his pubic bone, a feeling of exposed vulnerability and excitement welling up inside of him. Meeting his eyes once again you smirk with an air of seduction, your breath ghosting over his erection.

“Please,” he breathes, his hips twitching slightly at the sensation.

A tongue flickers from between your lips to tentatively lick the pre -cum from the head of his cock, causing his hips to jerk involuntarily. The sound of his gasp is nothing short of glorious, his hands desperately grasping the sheets beneath him. You blow gently where you just licked, causing his cock to sway and bob deliciously before you completely envelope his cock in your warm, wet mouth. His back arches off the bed, hands finding their way to your hair.

Your mouth moves slowly at first and then more quickly, increasing the intensity of your suction while one of your hands carefully massages his sack.

He groans, a deep and guttural sound, his hips moving with shallow thrusts. You can see his chest move with his hard, quick breaths while his eyes continue to watch your every move. You have one goal and that’s to make him forget tonight; to overwhelm his senses with a pleasure he has never felt.

With a loud “pop,” your lips come off of his cock. Slowly you crawl up the bed, straddling his hips to allow your wet pussy to rub up and down his hard shaft. There is a look of awe on his face, hands holding you firmly over him as the sight of you hovering above him, flushed and wanting threatens to undo him completely.

“Toshi,” you breathe, desire written all over your face. You would do anything for this man. Lifting yourself to position him at your entrance, you gently lower yourself onto his innocent cock to envelope him tightly with your warm wetness.

“Ahh.. Fuck..” he whispers, completely mesmerized by the sight of your fluid motion, head thrown back in a pant and rotating your hips against him. You find yourself pleasantly surprised when he leans up to place subtle kisses along your neck. With his thumbs he circles your nipples, cupping your breasts.

“You feel.. so.. good,” he groans against you as his movements become more urgent. His eyes follow one of your hands that snakes between your own folds as you pleasure yourself. The sight prompts him to reach down, sliding his fingers between yours to join in the needy strokes against your clit.

“Let me help.” His voice is heavy with desire. Your own breathing becomes a ragged frenzy, moaning between panting gasps as he watches the raw intensity in your eyes and the way you tremble, tightening around his dick.

“That’s it,” he encourages softly, his fingers working beside your own to drive you closer to the edge. That was all it took for your pussy to clench around his virgin cock, loudly crying out for him. Your impaled cunt jerks involuntarily around his shaft.

Watching you come apart is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. The sound of his name spoken with so much desire is enough to bring about his own trembling release; his arms wrapped around you to pull you flush against him while burying his face in your neck as you throb around him, whimpering desperately through your climax

You grin at him, seeing him smirk in response as his breathing slowly returns to normal. You lean in to kiss him intimately, his hands now running through your hair. With his still hard cock buried inside of you, he breaks the kiss to whisper against you. You couldn’t help but be a bit impressed by his persisting erection.

“You know, I’ve never felt like this before. You make me want to stay inside of you forever.”

“My feelings for you are no secret. You can have me any time you want me.”

“I want to make love to you every day,” he admits before searching your eyes as he adds, “I want you to be mine.”

A true smile graced your lips as he uttered the words you had longed to hear for so long.

“My heart was already yours to begin with.”

You lifted yourself off of his still hard cock knowing the emptiness you felt within you would be fleeting. Wanting to see his desire and passion take control, you laid down and beckoned him between your legs, watching his lust-filled eyes taking in your spread form with an unyielding desire. His cock still slick from being within you, he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Ah, Ah, Ah. Stop and just feel the moment,” you instruct, having him lean forward to press his body intimately against you. Taking both hands and lacing the fingers with your own, you guide him to pin you with his hands on either side of your head. Leaning forward with a look of lust in your eyes, you playfully lick his lips with the tip of your tongue.

“You are driving me crazy,” he murmurs with desire and adoration.

“It’s called anticipation,” you tell him coyly. “Kiss me.”

Not one to disappoint, he leans down to give you a slow lingering kiss. You were a little impressed to feel his tongue part your lips, exploring your mouth with gentle flicks and swirls of his own. His lips slowly withdraw to nuzzle your neck, murmuring against your skin, “You’re making me lose my gentlemanly manners.”

“Good,” you chuckle, an impish grin spread across your face like the Cheshire cat. For the first time in his life, he is allowing himself to be driven by pure desire and you can’t deny how arousing it is.

You are taken over by lust as he places you into a mating press, his large hands pushing your thighs close to your head. His cock head bobs down between your pussy lips, causing you to hold your breath in anticipated euphoria.

“Please,” you beg, the sensual atmosphere of the moment making you lose any semblance of control. You gently push your hips into him, prompting him to growl when he sees his own milky fluid coating your inner thighs. Your eyes flutter a moment as he begins to drive your puffy lips apart again, breaths coming more shallow this time. You had waited years for this opportunity knowing it may never actually happen.

“Toshi,” the words are murmured breathlessly. “I-,” your sentence is replaced by your lips opening into an “O” shape as he begins to penetrate you in earnest. His name sounds so desperate and sweet from your lips. He can’t stop watching the sight of his head slipping out with a plop, then pushing forward again, his own seed mixed with your wetness being shoved back into you.

You lose yourself in the sensations, exposing your neck while your hands grasp tightly at the sheets. He leans down to suck and swirl one of your firm nipples in his mouth, continuing to pump himself deeper inside as your body is dominated by his.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer when you tense and tilt back in pleasure beneath him. His breaths come in heavy huffs, watching you intently.

“Ohh!” you cry, his hips moving sensually against you in a steady rhythm. The enjoyment from seeing you lose control like this is evident on his face, coming in to swallow your moans with tender kisses while you tremble. His angle shifts to hit a deeper area, causing your eyes to widen.

“Is that good?” His voice is husky and strained with effort.

“Yes,” you breathe, brimming with soft sensual desire.

He watches your breasts bounce with each snap of his hip against your own.

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he growls softly, watching as you follow his command. The action causes you to wrap around him tighter, another orgasm rising inside of you while his hips stutter at your body’s response.

“Kiss me while we cum together,” you tell him erotically.

His lips devour yours, tongues caressing each other as need and passion collide with each thrust. Your muscles convulse tightly around him, an intense orgasm crushing into you while your hips grind and jerk erratically. The movements cause his own release, filling you as he continues to keep his pace to ride out your orgasm with you in one of the most intense climaxes you have ever had.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you close to his chest, your body trembling in his arms with spent satisfaction. He plants a kiss to your neck, smiling against your skin.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and breathless from exertion.

“I have never been better.”

“Me either,” he admits with a chuckle. There is a contented satisfaction in his voice that he has never felt before.

With love in your eyes, you look at him with hope that this will change both of your lives.

[cuntphoric]

itching to write but these goddamn spencer reid edits are holding me back

[screampied]

oh my godddd I need choso with a breeding kink

choso and his breeding kink ★

warnings. fem! reader, breeding kink, unprotected, p i v, praise, whiny pussydrunk choso, manhandling, mdni.

you let choso shoot into you raw once, just once and he becomes addicted immediately,

it drives him wild, the feeling of goopy amounts of viscous cum pouring into you every few seconds makes his mouth water tremendously with shaky hands glued to your hips, a sweetened mewl slides out of his lips. “ohh, ‘m c-cummin’ again,” and he dryly laughs to hide his whiny moan that were trying to escape from his compressing lips. despite his voice faltering on its own, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. you lay underneath him, an ankle of yours rubbing down his back. you felt his tense muscles and its warmth grazing against your skin. “mhm, ‘s good for me—more please,” he pleads, leaning in to suck against your neck. a few strands of his hair that was naturally down tickles against your cheek. speaking of strands, a few strands stick against his own forehead as he slows his pace. it’s so much dribbling into you before a little trail of his syrupy seed starts to run its way down your left thigh. “i- i’m gonna get you pregnant, baby. i jus’ wanna make a mess out of you. make a mess outta my pretty girl.”

“you love saying that, hm?” you stroke his cheek, panting breaths departing from your lips before you arch forward.

choso was infertile—being a half human half curse, you weren’t sure if he could actually even get you pregnant but he’s always dreamt of the idea. the thought of you walking around with a rounded, swollen tummy has him nearly drooling into your collarbone. baring a fang into the crook of your neck, his sucking intensifies—you’re so full. he only gives you a silent nod, nibbling his teeth into your skin as he’s still got you stuffed full of cock. “how many babies this time?”

“m- maybe um,” he breaks away to stare into your eyes once more.

choso was sweating, a nice glossing sheet of sweat paints against his flushed face before he gulps at your direct eye contact. prying your thighs open just a bit more to stare at the volumes of cum spilling out of your cunt and onto the sheets, he sighs. “wanna give you twins.”

“. . . oh,” you tease, feeling his warm weight press against your entire body. the heat of each body makes his cravings escalate further. he wants you so bad. choso knew you were teasing from your tone alone but still, he furrowed his darkened brows.

as his dick curls into your gummy, gripping walls that forevermore clung onto him tightly, he whines. “oh? oh— what? is that not enough?”

“i was thinking more like . . five, baby,” you whisper against his ear.

whilst you’re still laid flat against your back, feeling his smooth tempo pick up again, a moan almost drags out of your throat. choso always knew how to make you feel good, vice versa. your breaths were so quickened irregular, it’s as if you’d return from a midnight job. with the back of your foot playfully slides down his stiff back muscles, you cup his chin. “maybe six . . or seven, eight . . ”

“s-so basically, you want an entire family,” he whimpers, a mere smile forming onto his lips.

within a few positions, it was safe to say choso was already pussy-drunk. you had him right where you wanted, and once he saw your nod at his question, he only moans into your neck. “okay, i’ll try. gonna try my best for you,” and a flat palm of his circles against your bare stomach. “and this pretty tummy. ‘s gonna be so full when ‘m done.”

choso was a man who never went back on his word.

he says he’s gonna breed you and that’s exactly what he does—

there was simply no sugarcoating it. it’s been about a plethora of positions and as promised, you were filled to the utmost brim with his cum. choso loves more than anything to have you in missionary. he wants to hold your face as he’s fucking his cum back into you.

a pout spreads against his lips as he feels the slippery slope of his own seed pour its way out of your cunt. he wants you to savor it. it drives him mad—with your legs wrapping around his waist, the desire to give you more of him only increases.

“ugh, ‘s good. you’re gonna be so full. take more, pretty please. saved so much for you,” and he’s just babbling.

it’s cute—he’s whimpering sweet nothings against your skin as he’s languidly swinging his hips into your very core. it’s sloppy, yet it feels almost blissful—each time he finishes inside it literally takes his breath away. chills roam all through his spine as he’s dumping such velvety amounts of cum into you. choso bites his lip at the sudden waves of electricity coursing through his veins. he has a bit of a short circuit and it’s cute. with blow irises, he gasps before making a cute attempt to kiss you, but in reality he’s just sucking on your bottom lip. “take it, t- take it, gimme a baby.”

and his words were raspy, yet his tone was whiny. his head’s spinning but he wants more. choso’s so in love, in love with love, in love with you.

“kiss me, ‘cho.” you mewl out breathlessly, moving a few strands out of his face. once he heard you said that, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

a thumb of yours massage against the bridge of his nose, tickling against the scar before you drag him into your lips. choso loudly moans into your mouth as his thrusts become more precise and slow. you glue against him so good that it’s just carnally lustful..

his hips twitch against your own as he’s shoving his own spilling cum right into your cunt. you’re sopping already, a few creamy droplets already start to rundown your thighs as you cling onto him tightly.

“mhm, i love you. i love you s’much, gonna be such a good mommy,” he whines, resuming to babble between kisses.

mwah after mwah . .

with hooded eyes, and a sheepish little grin, he gazes at your after glow. so pretty, saliva cobwebs string out of your mouth as he breaks away only to kiss you again. a hand still rubs against your tummy before it’s his turn to cup your chin. “p- princess,” he breathes in a raspy way. a tongue swipes its way against your bottom lip. his dick was still inside, idle and not moving—yet it’s just plugging feverish excess amounts of cum into you.

“yes baby.” you stare right back into his eyes, a thumb gliding against his flushed cheeks.

“i- i love you,” he whines, his heart melting from the softness of your touch. you bring a hand of his towards your mouth to kiss it. “i love you but- but ‘m not done. need to fill you some more,” and you gasp once he flips you over, making you get on all fours. “i wanna love you more, especially from behind, h-heh.”

[skyguytoast]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄....

warning: some of the headcanons are explict, +18.

a/n: hii again, i guess writing headcanons allow me to pour out my thoughts about this movie, hope you enjoy and if you fell like comment or reblog, this literally makes my day😻😻

• Sam would never openly admit he was in love—not at first. Instead, he’d annoy you just to get a reaction. A poke to your ribs, flicking a paper ball at your head, pulling your hair lightly when you weren’t paying attention. He thrived off of your exasperated looks and playful shoves, convincing himself it was just fun. But deep down, it scared the hell out of him—this thing he was feeling, this pull toward you he couldn’t ignore. • When Sam finally admitted his feelings to himself, he didn’t waste time hiding them from you. No grand gestures, no cheesy romance movie confessions—just raw honesty. One night, while you sat together, he fidgeted with his rings before finally muttering, "I think about you all the time. And I don’t know what to do about it." His voice was quiet, but his eyes held nothing but sincerity. • Your first kiss wasn’t planned—it just happened. You leaned in to kiss his cheek, and at the last second, he turned his head, your lips colliding in an accidental but electric moment. You froze, staring at each other for what felt like forever, before his hand found your face, adjusting the angle—then he kissed you for real, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing every second. • Sam never officially asked you to be his girlfriend —he just assumed you were. You liked each other, you spent all your time together, so why did you need labels? But when he noticed how much it would mean to you, he actually tried. He showed up at your place, awkwardly holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and grumbled, "So... do you, uh, wanna make this official or something?" • Sam wasn’t big on PDA, but he always made sure you felt his presence. A hand resting on your back, fingers hooked into your belt loops, a casual arm around your waist when he pulled you close. Sitting together, his hand would absentmindedly rest on your thigh, tracing tiny circles with his thumb. It was never too much—just enough to remind you that you were his. • Behind closed doors, though? Sam was needy. He always had to be touching you—arms wrapped around your waist, head resting in your lap, kissing your temple as he pulled you against his chest. At night, he’d curl up behind you, pressing sleepy kisses to the back of your neck before muttering, "You’re stuck with me, you know that?" like some sort of half-assed love confession. • He made you a playlist, and it was the closest thing to a love letter you’d ever get from him. The songs were scrawled onto the back of a CD cover, his handwriting messy but unmistakable. You skimmed the tracklist and smirked. "'Can’t Take My Eyes Off You'?" you teased. "Didn’t take you for a Frankie Valli guy." He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "You like it, don’t you?" • Even though he’d never say it outright, Sam loved how you listened to him. When he rambled about obscure bands, the evolution of punk, or why a specific 1979 guitar riff was way better than its 1980s version, you actually listened. You asked questions, nodded at the right moments, and even remembered random facts he told you weeks ago. It made something in his chest go tight. • You had a habit of stealing his sweatshirts and t-shirts, and even though he grumbled, he secretly loved it. Seeing you in his oversized hoodie, drowning in his scent, made something primal in him soften. One day, he crossed his arms and smirked, "So, uh… think I could borrow my sweatshirt back? Or are you just gonna take over my whole closet?" • Sam wasn’t the type to talk about the future, but in quiet moments, he let it slip. Like when you were sprawled across his bed, talking about nothing, and he absentmindedly murmured, "You know, I’d go anywhere with you." Or when he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered, "I don’t know how you put up with me, but I hope you never stop." Because even if he didn’t say the words I love you all the time, you felt it in every little thing he did.

+𝟏𝟖 (𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒)

• You were Sam's first time. Before you, he had only known the fleeting pleasure of his own hand and imagination. He had touched himself countless times, stroking his hardening cock until thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. But nothing could have prepared him for the ethereal, overwhelming sensation of being inside your tight, wet heat. Your body was his new temple, and he wanted to worship every inch of it. With each thrust, each deep stroke, Sam felt a primal connection, a claiming that transcended the physical. You were his now, in a way he had never belonged to anyone before.

• Sam whines and whimper whenever you give him a blowjob. When your luscious lips wrap around the head of his cock, Sam is helpless to keep quiet. Guttural moans and whimpers tear from his throat, his back arching off the bed as he fists the sheets for support. Tears of overwhelming sensation prick the corners of his eyes, his vision blurring as you take him deeper, your nose pressing against his pelvis. The wet heat of your mouth, the flick of your tongue, the gentle suction - it's all too much, yet not enough. Sam's balls tighten, his cock pulsing and throbbing against your tongue as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth, to fuck your face until he paints your throat with his release.

• Sam adores being at the mercy of your desires, in the delicious agony of giving up control. He loves the feeling of your body moving above him, your breasts bouncing hypnotically as you ride him with wild abandon. The sight of you taking your pleasure from him, using him for your own satisfaction, is the ultimate turn-on. Sam's hands roam your body, squeezing the globes of your ass, thumbing your nipples, mapping every dip and curve. He wants to learn you by touch alone, to commit your body to memory. As you chase your orgasm, Sam loses himself in the erotic dance of your coupling, drunk on the sensation of being so deeply, thoroughly fucked.

• But Sam also knows how to take charge when you need him to, to give you what you crave. He pins your wrists above your head, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he holds you down, immobilizing you completely. His hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that rocks the bed and shakes the headboard against the wall. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, of your desperate moans and his whining grunts. Sam's blue eyes darken with lust and possession, his gaze boring into yours as he marks your body with his touch, his teeth, his cock.

• In the missionary position, Sam braces himself above you, his arms trembling with the effort of holding back, wanting to prolong the moment. As he feels his climax approaching, Sam buries his face between your perfect breasts, motorboating your cleavage and breathing in your intoxicating scent. He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, determined to mark you as his. As his orgasm builds, Sam's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, no doubt leaving bruises behind. With a whimper that's part pleasure, part pain, Sam hilts inside you one last time as he comes, his cock pulsing and jerking, flooding your womb with his hot, thick seed. His face remains buried in your cleavage as his body shaking with the force of his release. In that moment, Sam knows he would do anything, anything at all, to keep you by his side, to hold onto this feeling of utter completion and belonging. You are his, and he is yours, and nothing will ever tear you apart.

[bloody-night]

Sloppy (toppy)

Ororon x male reader

little one shot as a small gift for my return

Ororon gulped at the question. “Have you ever given head?”

“T-that’s a bit vulgar.” He responded, gulping nervously, looking everywhere but you. It was noticeable he was shy, not even shy, just extremely nervous and embarrassed at the moment. “But have you?” You asked again, quirking a brow and taking in the details of the now heavily flustered Ororon.

He shook his head, lips pursing into a fine line as he didn’t know what to say next. “I’ll teach you if you’re up to it..” You suggested, hand going up to caress your boyfriend’s cheek.

“I- uh… are you sure?” He asked, finally glancing at you. “Yea, I’ll lead and tell you what to do.” You spoke, smiling softly before leaning in. You stopped, “unless you aren’t ready… I can wait.” You assured. “N-no no!” He stuttered, eyes flickering to glance away before back at you. “I.. I want to, I wanna be a good boyfriend and learn to…to please you.” He paused, before licking his lips and continuing. “Even if it means learning new things.” He whispered, smiling bashfully at you.

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. “If you’re not comfortable, we can stop whenever.” You said, Ororon giving you a small nod in response.

Your lips clashed with his, you could feel how nervous he was. “Just relax.” You whispered, hand trailing to hold his waist. You held him close, his stiff yet trembling body pressing up against yours. His lips trying to match your rhythm.

You both made out fairly well, excusing his shaky lips, he did well.

Now he was on his knees in front of you, both his hands resting on his lap as you looked down on him. You had inserted your thumb inside his mouth, later telling him to suck. Here he was now, sucking your thumb eagerly. His red face looking uncertainness, he looked cute. You pulled your hand away, now waiting for him to continue.

He gulped, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping your pants, before pulling them off slowly. “Take your time.” You assured, petting his head and pointy ears. Ororon sighed and nodded, later reaching your underwear.

His ears flicked as he saw how big you were, even with a bulge. Your cock was leaking with attention, begging for anything, you constrained yourself, being patient for your boyfriend.

Ororon pulled your underwear off, noticing how your cock sprang upward, twitching with anticipation. He sighed and took it in his hands, stroking it gently. “Do whatever you’d like for now.” You spoke, hand resting on his head as you regained neutral, feeling how soft Ororon’s hands were as they gently held your cock.

“Don’t be afraid to squeeze a bit.”

Your partner continued to stroke your cock, seeing how the foreskin would move with each stroke. He huffed softly, squeezing a bit, earning a small twitch from you.

After a few minutes, Ororon would quicken his pace, and tightness. Now you were grunting, the raw skin to skin contact was hurting a bit. “U-use your mouth, baby, you can use your mouth.” You panted, groaning as he’d let go. “O-oh, right..” He stuttered, nodding.

His thumb circled your tip, spreading some pre around it. Ororon opened his mouth, making you shiver at his hot breath hitting your dick.

His lips closed around it, before you felt him using his tongue to lick around the tip. Your hand went behind his neck, caressing it a bit before pushing him forward, forcing him to go down on you. “Breathe baby,” you assured, pushing him slowly, hearing how he’d slightly choke. “Just relax.”

You had pushed him enough that his nose touched your happy trail, feeling how he breathed heavily. His eyes pricking with tears, he felt your cock so deep in his throat, it’s a miracle he can breathe. After a while he started moving his head, slurping your cock up and down.

Unfortunately, it was painfully slow, presumably so he can breathe comfortably. Both your hands made their way to his face, seemingly caressing it. You couldn’t help but love how cute he looked with his mouth full of your cock. “I’m sorry baby, but I’m just so riled up.” You whispered, seeing how he quirked his brow in question.

Your hands held his head, before moving it, fucking his mouth. Ororon choked, his hands going to claw your lower back. You grunted, moaning as to how tight his throat was. “R-relax baby… I’m near.” You assured, hips thrusting quickly inside.

Your cock twitched, pulsing as it was ready to release. “C-coming..” you warned, before slamming balls deep inside his mouth. Ororon breathed heavily against your pubes, nails digging into your skin as he felt your hot ropes of cum stain his throat. His reflexes swallowing the cum down.

As you finished, you pulled out, panting quietly. “I-I’m sorry my dear…” you said, seeing how shocked in a state Ororon was in. He coughed slightly, wiping his mouth the back of his gloved hand. “I-it’s alright.” He whispered, voice slightly raspy, eyes stained with tears. His face was incredibly red, perhaps never been treated like that.

“You tasted good… though.” He whispered, licking his lips.

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day One: In His Hands

Logan x Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: MDNI,  18+ ONLY, Set during 2000s X-men, Knife play (Ft. Claws), smut  Synopsis: With Logan deep inside you he can't help but wonder how perfect you would look with his running down your body. WC: 973

A/N: The big day is finally here! The first day of Kinktober😍 Again, this is my first year participating so bare with me as I get into the groove of things! Happy reading my little spooky loves <3

| Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Two |

The night was quiet, the room bathed in a soft, amber glow from the dim lighting, casting long shadows on the walls. It was a stolen moment, one that you and Logan had grasped out of the chaos that seemed to swirl around the mansion. The world outside was full of danger, uncertainty, and mutants constantly fighting to find their place in it. But here, right now, none of that mattered.

Logan's breath was hot against your neck, his body pressed intimately against yours. Every sensation was magnified—the way his muscles flexed under your touch, the low growl in his throat as he kissed you deeply, passionately. His lips moved over yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands gripping you firmly as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart from you even for a second.

You gasped softly as he thrust deeper, your body arching into his, the heat between you palpable. The bed creaked beneath the weight of your entwined bodies, the only sounds filling the room were your mingled breaths and the quiet groans that escaped between kisses.

His hand found its way to your face, rough yet tender, cupping your jaw as he broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with lust but also something deeper—affection, maybe even love, though he’d never say it outright. The connection you shared with him was unlike anything else, raw and untamed, just like him.

"Do you trust me?" His voice was gravelly, rougher than usual, a low rumble that vibrated through you, heightening the tension between your bodies. His question, though simple, was loaded with meaning.

Your heart raced, the intensity of the moment heightened by the weight of his words. You nodded, breathless. "Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, though not from fear—never fear with him. It was the thrill, the anticipation of whatever Logan had in mind.

Without breaking eye contact, Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. You watched as he lifted his right hand, the familiar metallic sound filling the air as his claws unsheathed with a sharp snikt. They gleamed in the soft light, deadly, dangerous, yet somehow beautiful. He lowered his hand to your body, and the cool metal of his claws hovered just above your skin, sending a new kind of shiver coursing through you.

Logan dragged his claws slowly down your body, not cutting, just grazing the surface with the barest of touches. You could feel the cold steel as it glided over your heated skin, the contrast making every nerve come alive. He was careful, deliberate, watching you closely, his gaze as intense as the sharp edge of his claws.

You couldn't look away, your breath hitching with every gentle scrape. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt before—a perfect balance of danger and trust. You knew he would never hurt you, not Logan. Not your Logan.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper filled with admiration, almost reverence. His eyes roamed over your body, following the path of his claws. "You look perfect like this."

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, a low heat pooling deep inside. You could feel his gaze burning into you, devouring every inch of you as he admired the way your body responded to him. He let the claws trace the curve of your side, your hips, down to your thigh, never breaking the skin, but leaving a tingling trail of sensation in their wake.

Your eyes stayed locked on his claws, watching the way they moved, the sheer control he had over them—over you. It was intoxicating, the power he held, but the trust you had in him made it even more thrilling.

Logan growled softly, his lips curling into a smirk as he took in the way your body trembled under his touch. "You like that, don't you?" His voice was teasing, though there was an edge to it, his own desire barely restrained.

You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Yes," you whispered again, unable to form any other words.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Good." Then, in one swift movement, he sheathed his claws and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him, his lips crashing onto yours with renewed fervor.

Logan kissed you like he was claiming you, his hands roaming your body now without the claws, but with the same intensity, the same focus. He thrust deeper, his pace quickening, and the room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, your moans mingling with his low growls as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body moved with his, perfectly in sync, every touch, every kiss fueling the fire between you. You could feel the tension building, the sensation of his earlier touch still lingering on your skin, making everything more intense, more urgent.

And then, with a final thrust and a guttural growl, you both came undone, the world outside disappearing as the pleasure washed over you in waves. You clung to him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you rode out the climax together.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound was the soft panting of your breaths as you both came down from the intense moment. Logan's arms remained around you, holding you close, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he nuzzled you softly.

"You're something else," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough but filled with warmth, his affection for you evident in every word.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you stroked his hair, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours. "So are you, Lo." 

Tags: @strawbearymishake @comicbookslut @arthurcerverogf @lovemaildumpsterfire @serendippindots @nyxoneiros @peachtxa @omgurhot @chaoticweirdogeek @5soscrack @harleycao @pinkanonwriting

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪɢɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴀʀᴋ…"

Word count: 5,000.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

RELEASE — 13. Her.

Their lips met with an increasing frequency, each kiss more insistent than the last, like an unquenchable flame demanded to be further stoked. Yet, just as the desire to surrender swelled like a tide ready to break, he would always pull back, extinguishing the moment. The frustration coiled tightly in her chest, a painful knot that throbbed with each missed connection.

She found herself adrift in uncertainty, grappling with the reasons behind his withdrawal. It gnawed at her, this need to understand and break through the obstacle that held them in this painful limbo. He seemed to revel in her company as much as she did, then a shadow would flicker across his expression, and he would retreat, an unseen force compelling him to do so. 

Was she simply too demanding? The thought lingered. Perhaps her expectations were the invisible walls. 

Usually, in those instances, she said nothing. Instead, she offered him a gentle kiss on the forehead before turning away, her back facing him. She would close her eyes, desperately trying to block out the unrelieved pressure that would keep her on edge as the night wore on and inevitably shadow her thoughts the following day. 

For him, that did not seem sufficient; he had begun to evade contact even in sleep, placing a pillow between them as if it could somehow contain the tempest of emotions swirling in the air. He believed himself subtle in this maneuver, convinced that she remained oblivious in her slumber. On more than one occasion, that act had elicited an amused chuckle from her. 

One particular night, they had surrendered to kisses that left their lips red and swollen, their breaths ragged and their hearts racing. Driven by desire, she attempted to slide her leg over his hip, seeking a more intimate contact, but he pulled away once more, maintaining that chivalrous gentleness that she so longed to shatter.

For her, it was a titanic effort to hold back. Her entire body, rebellious and restless, screamed for resolution, a warmth coursed through her from head to toe.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as she distanced herself, feeling the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them. He, with his eyes closed and jaw clenched, buried his head in the pillow.

“What troubles you?” she inquired, barely breaking the stillness. “What is it that holds you back?” It was the first time she dared to voice that question.

He was rigid beneath her touch; she could feel the strain under her hand as she gently cupped his face, coaxing him to meet her gaze. He obeyed reluctantly.

“What holds me back is the certainty that if I continue, I shall not be able to stop” he confessed, each word laced with raw sincerity. Her breath caught in her lungs.

Though she wanted to dismiss it, she knew he was right; someone had to be the anchor, the steady force that kept them afloat. Her mind, intoxicated by desire, struggled to think clearly, and she realized that if they didn’t find a way to slow down, they could plunge into an abyss that would ruin the delicate order they were meant to uphold. But, gods, how she longed to abandon all caution and lose herself completely in him.

She merely nodded, her throat tight and parched. In the depths of her thoughts, she mused that if he wished to stem the tide, his words didn’t quite fulfill their intention. For that night, she couldn’t shake the dream of persuading him to surrender fully and to intertwine so completely that there was no trace of where one ended and the other began.

The corridors of the castle hummed with frenetic activity, buzzing with a level of commotion far beyond the ordinary. The upcoming celebration in honor of the King had ignited a whirlwind of anticipation and hustle. Servants scurried about, their footsteps a rhythmic clatter on the stone floors, while emissaries from the most powerful lords mingled, their conversations filled with hushed politics

She moved with a determined stride, her mind set on a single destination: finding the one person she knew could offer the guidance she needed in these… delicate matters. Their interactions since their arrival had been fleeting, limited to brief exchanges during meals—a great contrast to the time they used to spend together in Dragonstone, where constant proximity was the norm.

Upon reaching the room, she noticed the door slightly ajar. Even so, she announced her presence, feeling a slight flutter of nervous anticipation in her stomach.

Baela, hearing the knock, spun around with a beaming smile. “Sister, how great it is to see you!” she exclaimed. She was dressed in her riding attire, adjusting her leather gloves. “I was just about to take Moondancer for a little flight. She has been so restless since we arrived. Come join me! We need to escape this madness for a bit” she added with a laugh.

“Yes, I would love to” she replied, though her tone carried a touch of seriousness. Clearing her throat, she added, “However, I came here to talk to you about something.”

Baela’s curiosity was immediately piqued. Her eyebrows shot up in interest as she motioned for her to enter. The door closed softly behind her as she made her way to one of the room’s armchairs. Baela soon joined her, her demeanor shifting to a more serious, concerned expression.

Before she could ask any questions, she blurted out the words in an excited rush, her voice rising higher than was prudent: “I am with a man.”

Baela’s eyes widened in astonishment, her face lighting up with a gleam of excitement. She sprang to her feet, her energy bubbling over. “This calls for wine!” she declared, heading towards the door with the same determination one might use to conquer a battlefield.

Upon returning, she tossed her gloves disdainfully, letting them fall into the floor and sank back into her chair, taking her hands into her own. Her hands reached out and clasped hers, her eyes alight with eager curiosity. “Pray, tell me everything” she implored. An alleviated chuckle escaped her lips as she nestled into the intimate atmosphere.

“Who is he? A lord? A knight? Or perhaps a mysterious stranger?” She couldn’t help but smile at the hunger for details. “Is it… casual?”

“He is courting me.” 

“Then he must be someone of significance” Baela exclaimed. “Do not leave me in suspense. Who is he? At least provide me with a clue. Is he from court?”

“It is quite complicated” she murmured, wrestling to withhold too much information.

Baela frowned, her tone shifting to one of persuasion, as if she were unearthing a buried treasure. “Complicated? You cannot drop such a bombshell and then just remain silent. Do I know him?”

The directness of the question made her bite her lip, caught between the impulse to confide and her loyalty to Aemond, who had requested discretion. The truth burned in her chest, eager to be released, but breaking his trust was a boundary she was unwilling to cross.

“He wishes to keep it a secret, at least for the time being.”

Her eyes watched every small gesture attentively, searching for a clue, anything that might betray her. “Come now, you are not going to keep this from me, are you?” Baela exhaled with playful exasperation, her fingers drumming impatiently. “This is torturous.”

“I cannot, Baela” she insisted, pleading for understanding, even as her smile betrayed her longing to share. “I promised not to.”

“Oh, by the Gods.” Baela reclined dramatically against the back of the chair, feigning frustration, though her face still shone with excitement. “What if I were to uncover it myself? You know I excel at these things” she said with a confident grin, certain that she would unravel the puzzle sooner or later.

“Then that would not be my fault.” She let out a small laugh, well aware of her sister’s determination. “But everything in its own time.”

“At least tell me this. Does he treat you well? Does he make you happy?” 

She took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of those memories to envelop her. “Yes, Baela. He treats me wonderfully, and yes, he makes me happy. Truly happy.”

“That sounds magnificent” Baela responded, gently. “And what was it you wished to discuss specifically?” she sought, taking on a knowing mischief.

She bit her lower lip, feeling a rosy flush creep onto her cheeks at the mere thought. “Well,” she began, intertwining her hands and playing with her fingers, searching for a way to start without giving too much away, “I have been spending a few nights in his company” she confessed, drifting into a dreamy tone.

“Do not tell me you have shared a bed with him?” Baela looked at her, her mouth slightly agape, a glint in her eyes. “This is getting better and better!”

Suddenly, firm knocks echoed, and Baela dashed toward it, almost running with the speed of someone unwilling to miss a single word. The tray waiting at the threshold was deftly received. “Do not stop speaking!” she exclaimed, as she closed the door.

With swift and assured movements, she placed the tray on the table beside them, the delicate clink of crystal glasses punctuating the air as she filled them with white wine, their favored choice. “I have long awaited this moment” she remarked, her laughter filling the room.

Her words rang true, and were far from exaggeration. In the past, Baela had queried numerous times about those certain topics, but she had never been able to provide the satisfying answers she was hoping for. Even on more than one occasion, Baela had introduced her to various lords. Although they seemed kind, none managed to awaken in her an interest beyond courtesy.

“The truth is, he is a gentleman, Baela, truly” she asserted. “And while I am grateful for it, I find myself immensely frustrated” she added, lowering her voice slightly as she savored a sip of wine, the liquid emboldening her spirit. “I am at a loss as to how to encourage him to relax. We have only kissed, as he will not even allow me to touch him.”

“Well, I understand that it can be quite complicated to halt once you have begun” Baela replied, leaning forward with keen interest. “Sometimes, a touch of patience and a dash of cunning can lead you further than you might expect.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, charged with a new energy as she continued, her tone blending wisdom with a frolicsome charm, as if she were sharing an enchanting secret. “However, it is not always necessary to delve to the depths right away. There are many ways to explore the waters before taking that final leap. Although I am certain your mysterious man is aware of that. Perhaps he simply wishes to proceed with caution, or he is waiting for your signal.”

“I doubt that is the case, for he must be just as unfamiliar with this as I am.” She recognized the unlikelihood of him seeking counsel, given his reserved nature. As Baela regarded her with a sidelong glance, as if demanding more insight, she continued. “He has awaited for me, just as I have for him.”

“Has he?” Baela mused, brimming with astonishment. “That is a rare find indeed. Men typically do not place the same significance on the first time as we do” she remarked, amazed. A smile blossomed on her face, pleased to have further confirmation of his exceptional nature.

“He is unlike any of the others” she asserted, confidence radiating from her as thoughts of Aemond illuminated her features.

Baela returned the smile, her look warm with affection. “You deserve someone like that” she said earnestly. “Now, would you care to know more, or can you guess what occupies my thoughts?” she teased, pouring more wine into their glasses, the golden liquid sparkling in the light.

She let out a soft laugh, relishing the thrilling direction their conversation was taking. “I can surmise a few things, but I suspect you will guide me better than my imagination” she replied.

With a twinkle in her eye, Baela began to outline a series of possibilities that had never crossed her mind. Each word she spoke drew her in deeper, and as the hours slipped away, they delved into the topic with fervor. Their lunch transformed into a delightful symphony of laughter and wine, with Baela sharing her insights and past escapades, imparting wisdom she had gathered along the way.

“I understand now why you fought so fiercely to prevent Daemon from cutting off that cook’s hand” she said, recalling a past incident.

“It would have been a crime to lose those hands” Baela burst into laughter at the memory, biting her lip with a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “But back to you. Do you wish to go further with him, or would you prefer to wait?” 

“Unlike him, I cannot think so coldly” she responded with a soft chuckle. “If it were up to me, we would have crossed that bridge the very day I arrived. The only thing restraining me back is, well, the consequences that follow.”

“In that case, I shall tell you that as long as you take the proper precautions, there is no reason not to indulge yourself” Baela explained. Noticing the confusion on her face, she continued, “We live in a world where men hold precedence, deemed superior and untouchable. They can enjoy and not face repercussions or lose their prestige.” Her pitch grew sharper with discontent.

She listened, surprised by the depth. She had never reflected so deeply on such matters before.

“There are truths that neither the maesters nor the septas dare to share with us” Baela continued, her tone energetic. “Because if we yield to temptation, just as they do, we shall bear a lifetime mark. We will be branded, lose our worth, and be judged mercilessly. Is that not a dreadful injustice?” She nodded fervently, her frown reflecting their shared indignation.

Then Baela smiled, relaxing a bit as she said, “Well, I apologize, I can be rather passionate about these topics at times.”

“There are ways to avoid such fates—tricks discovered by and for women to prevent unwanted consequences and to enjoy ourselves just as they do” Baela continued, in a conspiratorial whisper. “You must pay heed to the signs of your body and the cycles of your moon. You see, it is crucial that,” she paused briefly, allowing her words to linger in the air, fostering understanding without the need for explicit explanation, “that must occur outside. And if, in the heat of the moment, things spiral out of control, there are certain teas one can consume to ensure no remnants remain.”

Her advice was clear and precise. Then, a new doubt crept into her mind. “The septa always claims that before a wedding, a maester will… examine us to ensure we are still pure.”

Baela frowned for a moment, her expression thoughtful before she replied, “Yes, that is true. But do not fret too much, it is not as common as it once was” she reassured her. “If it comes to it, you can always claim you lost it while riding, no one would be able to verify such a tale” she added with a roguish grin. She nodded, appreciating the logic and irony behind her words.

“Is it as painful as they say it is?” she questioned, feeling a twinge of apprehension.

“That is merely a rumor, spread by those wishing to scare us into submission, to deter us from pursuing our desires. I am certain of it” Baela said, dismantling her fears with confidence. “Or perhaps by someone who has not been with a partner who knows how to treat them. Personally, I did not suffer at all. It all hinges on preparation.”

“Thank you for this, I truly needed it.”

Baela threw her arms around her, rocking her back and forth. “Thank you” she said between giggles, “you cannot fathom how long I have been waiting for us to finally speak about this.”

“Let us toast!” Baela exclaimed, raising her glass with enthusiasm. “To us, to you two.”

After the evening's revelry, she staggered towards her room, each step feeling heavier under the weight of the wine. As she reached her chambers, she crumpled onto the bed, her body sinking into the softness with a sigh of relief. As her head met the pillow, an unrelenting tide of fatigue swept over her, pulling her into the depths of slumber with a fierce, unyielding force. And, in the realm of her dreams, Aemond appeared once more as the central figure, just like he always did.

The next night, after a dinner that seemed to stretch endlessly, she sought solace in a soothing bath to calm her frayed nerves. Lyra, her ever-loyal companion, moved with practiced ease, adding a few drops of fragrant rose oil to the steaming water and tenderly massaging the lather into her hair. 

As the steam curled around them with the delicate scent, the room filled with a determination, as calming as invigorating. She longed to unleash every detail of her conversation with Baela and the recent developments with Aemond, but she was well aware that such revelations would compel her lady-in-waiting to remain vigilantly at her side until dawn. Lyra’s watchful presence, akin to that of a protective elder sister, would ensure that no indiscretions slipped through the cracks.

She couldn’t fault Lyra for her vigilant demeanor; her innate caution was a virtue she greatly valued. It was the tether that kept her grounded in moments of temptation. Yet, in that moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to cast aside prudence, to indulge in reckless abandon, and to surrender to her impulses, regardless of where they might lead.

Once she bid farewell to Lyra, she secured the door, as if the simple act could seal away any swirling fears. With a flutter of anticipation in her chest, she prepared to change her attire. She stipped off her usual comfortable nightgown, replacing it with a more revealing garment that clung to her figure like a second skin, each seam accentuating her curves. Her still-damp hair cascaded in soft waves over her chest, leaving glistening trails of moisture on the fabric, creating an almost translucent effect that hinted at the secrets hidden beneath.

As she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, a gesture of satisfaction appeared on her face. She mused that if Aemond could withstand her tonight, his strength of will would surely merit accolades, destined to be celebrated as a remarkable triumph.

A soft knock at the back door made her heart skip a beat, quickening with the anticipation she had nurtured throughout the day. She wrapped herself in a cloak, concealing her figure like a precious gift, enhancing the element of surprise. Besides, she knew he wouldn’t allow her to traverse the halls without it.

The previous day and part of this one had been spent apart from him, and she hoped that the distance would work in her favor, making him yearn for her in her absence, allowing desire to blossom with the wait.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, she opened the door. Aemond’s expression upon seeing her was enough to affirm her choice, relief washing over him, illuminating his face as if she were his guiding beacon. He took her hand gently, and she allowed him to lead her.

Once inside, and after closing the door, the stillness embraced them, as if all the words he might have spoken were left outside. She slowly removed the cloak in front of the window, allowing the moonlight to caress her skin. For a few moments, her eyes wandered over the vast night landscape, feeling the heat of Aemond's attention on her back. A confident smile tugged at her lips, but she masked it before turning to face him.

He was watching her, utterly absorbed. Letting the cloak fall gracefully onto the armchair, she advanced toward him with measured, deliberate steps, her stare locked on him. Her face wore a calm expression that belied the bubbling excitement within, waiting for the perfect moment to overflow.

When she stood before him, Aemond lifted his gaze, appraising her body with a burning intensity that placed a blush across his own cheeks. She was entranced by the warmth spreading through his skin, as if his emotions were laid bare before her—vulnerable and sincere.

Without uttering a word, she turned away and glided toward the bed, presenting her back to him once more. She settled in the center, extending her legs to one side, partially veiled by the delicate fabric, leaning on one arm.

He followed her, moving carefully until he positioned himself beside her. She watched him, quiet, allowing the tension to fill the space between them, tangible and warm.

“Are you upset with me?” Aemond’s voice emerged as an unexpected whisper, laden with uncertainty that contrasted with the confidence his presence always exuded. She furrowed her brow slightly, taken aback by the inquiry, her confusion evident in the slight tilt of her head.

“Why would I be?” she replied, with confusion and tenderness, wanting to understand the root of his fears.

He opened his mouth, but words did not immediately follow, creating a hesitant silence. After a brief pause, he finally expressed, “You have not wanted to see me all of yesterday, nor this afternoon.” There was a trace of fragility in him, and she felt a sharp pang of guilt for having kept him waiting, her heart constricting with remorse. She resolved to set aside any notion of repeating the plan.

She hurried to shake her head, offering a small smile that aimed to reassure him. “I spent the other day with Baela; as soon as I arrived in my room, I collapsed from exhaustion. Today, I was with my family, but do not believe that you were not on my mind” she explained, and he nodded slowly, relief easing his features.

She extended her free hand and gently caressed his face, her fingers brushing his skin with love. Aemond closed his eyes at the touch, leaning his cheek into her palm and seeking solace in her warmth. “I have missed you” he confessed.

“I have missed you as well” she replied, her smile reflecting the sincerity of her words. 

“I feared I caused you discomfort with what I said the other night” he added in a subdued tone, as if alarmed about having ventured onto forbidden ground; yet, those very boundaries he feared were precisely what she yearned to blur within his arms.

“That did not cause me discomfort.” A cheeky smile curling on her lips, the spark in her semblant showing her true feelings. “In fact, it was quite the contrary.”

Aemond regarded her with a flicker of surprise and relief as she continued, her tone seemingly indifferent yet heavy with intention. “Yesterday, when I spoke with Baela, I asked her some questions.” There was an undertone in her words, an unspoken invitation to explore the topic that now hung tantalizingly between them, waiting to be uncovered.

The fitted dress she wore restricted her movements, so, without breaking eye contact, she directed her hands to the hem, slowly lifting it. Her thumb and index finger grasped the silk, while the rest of her fingers glided over her skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Aemond’s intense look returned, shedding any remnants of vulnerability, as if her actions had reignited his desire in an instant.

“Questions?” He seemed torn, wanting to focus on her conversation, but his eyes roamed to the mesmerizing play of her hand, capturing every subtle movement.

She slid her hand over her knee, then paused when the dress creased against her thighs. “I thought she could guide us.” Aemond's eye locked onto hers, concern passing through his face. “I did not mention your name” she clarified. He nodded gently, returning to the observation of her legs, this time with deliberate intent. A slight smile graced her lips, reveling in the attention. “She told me a few things.”

“What did she say?” he wondered, unable to tear his mind from the exposed skin that beckoned for touch.

“That there are certain pleasures we can explore before taking the big step” she breathed, letting her words hang in the air like a fragrant invitation. “But if we so desired, we could let ourselves go.”

She sat up, leaning toward him, parting her legs. Sliding one over his, she settled herself atop him, wrapping her arms around him. Her face nestled against the crook of his neck, her warm breath caressing his ear.

“And I have been thinking about this, about us, repeatedly” she confessed, her fingers tangling gently in his long hair while the other hand traced the taut muscles in his back. “I do not want you to stop” she uttered. “Do you want to stop?” Her voice a blend of uncertainty and desire that made him shiver. His answer came swiftly, charged with raw emotion: he shook her head, breathing heavily, as if on the brink of diving into the void.

Just as their lips were about to meet, Aemond sliced through the quiet like a dagger, rough and filled with deep sorrow. “Wait.”

She froze at his hesitation, the moment stretching taut between them. With a compassionate softness, she said, “We do not have to continue if you are not ready.”

He rested his forehead against her shoulder, hiding his face as his body slumped inward, a silent testament to his isolation. The sense of confinement was palpable, as though he were ensnared in a labyrinth with no escape.

“Aemond, what is it?” A murmur, an attempt to clear the clouds of uncertainty surrounding him. Yet he remained silent, as if each potential answer would only deepen his anguish. “Would you prefer me to leave?” She tried to offer space and time.

“No” he murmured, his voice muffled and low, softened by his hidden head. “I am afraid.”

“I am a little scared as well” she admitted, her fear transforming into empathy. She tried to lighten the weight that he carried with a small soft laugh.

“Not of that” Hh corrected, almost inaudible, and the air thickened, as if a silent storm was brewing. “I must tell you something” he finally said, the urgency in his tone making her grasp the magnitude of what was to come. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she nodded, her fingers brushing his neck with a delicacy that sought not to rush him.

After an eternity of hush, Aemond lifted his head, his face a silent plea for understanding. His expression was a painful portrait of fear and desolation. His troubled eye met hers, and that was enough for her to move her hands to his face, feeling a wave of concern crash over her.

“You can trust me” she reassured him, a soothing promise of the safe space between them.

“I” he began, trembling, “I have laid with another woman.” The words slipped from his lips like a sigh, a feather descending slowly through the air. Yet, despite the soft delivery, they fell on her with the force of a thunderclap.

She remained motionless for a moment, her hands still on his face, as if trying to steady herself amid the crumbling world crumbled around her. Her heart, once beating with feverish intensity, faltered and stopped for an unbearable instant. Confusion engulfed her, as if a dense, opaque fog had descended, darkening the truth she thought she knew and held dear.

“What... what are you saying?” Her voice a fragile thread, disbelief etched into her eyes.

The realization hit her like a physical blow, and once it settled in her mind, a chilling clarity turned the warmth she had felt into unfeeling ice. The cold spread from her core to the tips of her fingers. Her breathing grew erratic, each heartbeat a drum resonating with the fury of her emotions, and her denial was evident in every involuntary tremor of her body, every shake of her head. 

“No, that cannot be true” she murmured, as though saying the denial aloud would somehow make his words less real. She sprang to her feet, desperate to flee the new reality.

“Wait” he called out, reaching for her hand, but she recoiled with a speed that seemed to accelerate with each passing heartbeat.

“Did you... were you with someone else?” she demanded, the words escaping her lips like a strangled cry, full of deep disappointment. The chasm that opened between them felt insurmountable, a void threatening to swallow everything they had.

“I can explain.” With his face twisted in a grimace of desperation, he tried to approach her again, but she moved farther away, her rejection clear and emphatic.

“Do not dare touch me” she warned, choking with a mix of anger and sadness as she frantically searched for her shoes. Her body trembled, not solely from the cold.

“I did not wish for it to happen” he explained.

She let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Did she force you?” she spat rhetorically, disbelief biting through her tone. She quickly donned her shoes and made her way to the door, unwilling to listen to another word.

The certainty that the separation had been a sharing agony was crumbling in the face of the fact that he had been there, savoring the company and touch of another woman, while she had languished alone. Her breathing grew more labored, the storm of pain and rage becoming an uncontrollable tempest beyond her control.

“Please, stay” he begged, desperation in his manner as he reached out to grasp the remnants of what was slipping away. “Let me explain.”

But she didn’t heed his pleas. With hurried strides and a heart fractured into a mosaic of pain, she moved towards the back door, each step widening the rupture between them. He trailed behind, his desperate calls fading into a distant echo as she reached her room. With a resounding thud, she slammed the door, plunging him into the darkness, left alone with nothing but his supposed regrets.

@callsignwidow @helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @squidscottjeans @fossface @truly-abysmal @congenialcat @that-girl-named-alex @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark

The next one is the best I have written so far, I can't wait to upload it 🥹

[lucvangogh]

"I shouldn't..."

Aaron Hotchner x gn! Reader

Warnings: none? Just some soft kissing, nothing more

The rain lashed against the windows of the small apartment in Quantico. You sat on the couch, a file on your lap, but your thoughts were far from the current case. Instead, they revolved around your boss – Aaron Hotchner. The man was a legend at the BAU, a brilliant investigator, yet closed off, distant. And yet, you had managed to catch a glimpse behind his facade.

It had developed slowly – accidental touches, glances that lingered too long, conversations that became more personal than they should have. And then there was that moment two nights ago, when you had stayed late at the office after a particularly brutal case. He had sat beside you, silent, only a glass of Scotch between you. At some point, he had leaned closer, his gaze dropping to your lips – but then he had pulled away, reestablishing the distance. Since then, everything had been different. Tenser. More charged.

A knock pulled you from your thoughts. You flinched, looking toward the door. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood up and opened it.

"Hotch?" Your voice was rough, surprised. He stood in the doorway, his shirt slightly damp from the rain, his tie loosened. His gaze rested on you, dark, intense.

"We need to talk." His voice was calm but carried an undertone you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed and stepped aside to let him in.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he stood before you, his presence overwhelming. "Since that night…" he began, but then shook his head as if searching for the right words. You felt the tension in the air, almost tangible. Your eyes traced his features, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists as if he were fighting an internal battle.

"I know," you interrupted softly, stepping closer. "It changed something."

He let out a quiet laugh, but it sounded hoarse, almost pained. "I can’t afford to let something like this happen. Not in my job, not with you."

"But you want it." It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His silence was answer enough. Growing bolder, you lifted a hand and gently touched his cheek. He flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a heavy breath.

And then it happened.

With a quiet growl, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you against him. His lips met yours with an urgency that made everything else fade away. The file slipped to the floor, your hands grasping at his shirt as he pressed you against the wall.

It was raw, uncontrolled, a release for all the pent-up tension. His fingers dug into your skin as his lips left heated trails along your jaw and neck. "Tell me if I need to stop," he murmured roughly, his breath hot against your skin.

But stopping was the last thing you wanted.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, the air thick with need and unspoken words. Hotch's grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you impossibly closer, his body solid and warm against yours. His breath was ragged as he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your back.

“I shouldn’t…” he murmured, voice laden with conflict. Yet, even as he said it, his hands refused to let go. You could feel the war inside him, the struggle between his ironclad control and the undeniable pull between you both.

“You always do what you should, Hotch,” you whispered, tilting his chin so his dark eyes met yours. “What do you want?”

His breath hitched, and for a split second, he hesitated. Then, something in him snapped. His lips crashed against yours once more, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pressing you flush against him. His body was tense, coiled like a wire about to snap, and you felt the barely restrained hunger simmering beneath the surface.

Moving together, you stumbled toward the couch, never breaking contact. Hotch guided you down with practiced ease, settling above you as his fingers explored, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your hands slipped beneath his damp shirt, mapping the hard planes of muscle, feeling his breath hitch at the sensation.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured against your lips, his smirk almost teasing, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his desire.

“You’re the one who knocked on my door,” you countered, tracing your fingers along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath your touch. “So, what now?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Now,” he murmured, voice husky with promise, “I stop thinking.”

And with that, he surrendered. To the moment. To you.

The hours blurred together, the world outside forgotten. The storm raged beyond the windows, but inside, the air was thick with heat, whispered confessions, and the kind of desperation that only comes from years of restraint finally unraveling.

When you awoke, the early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Hotch’s sleeping form beside you. His expression was softer now, peaceful in a way you rarely saw. You let yourself watch him for a moment, memorizing the rare vulnerability etched across his face.

But reality had a way of creeping back in.

A soft vibration on the nightstand drew your attention—his phone. Duty calling. And just like that, the spell was broken.

Hotch stirred beside you, his brows furrowing as his eyes fluttered open. He took one look at the phone, then at you. The weight of what had happened settled between you both, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

“We should talk,” he said, his voice rough from sleep.

You exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. We should.”

But whether the night had changed everything or nothing at all, you weren’t sure yet.

Author's note:

I hope no-one comes for me cause that's the first story I've ever written 😩 English ain't my mother tongue so keep them mistakes to yourself 💀 also I know it could have been a little more spicier, but I didn't want it tou sound weird or cringe so I just skipped it for now. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

[lunarw0rks]

i NEED mean!dom!soaps reaction to reader using their safeword for the first time. idc what the reason is, maybe he’s being meaner than usual or reader is overwhelmed, but i’m begging for it please

cw: safeword use, rough sex, mean!dom!soap, aftercare, hurt/comfort

soap gets lost in the moment. it's one of the few sins he's guilty of during sex. you're usually feeling ecstasy, no questions asked. but not always. sometimes he gets lost in the sensations, the power — lost in you.

tonight was one of those nights.

none of the blame landed on him or you. it just didn't feel right. his large hands on your hips as he drills into you. you faced the wall, palms pressed against it as you fought to maintain balance. your knees had long gone weak, trembling and buckling under his touch.

"my dirty girl. fuckin' amazing, aren't you?" instead of hitting all your weak spots, his tip was doing nothing more than causing discomfort. it wasn't anything johnny was doing; your body was simply too exhausted to enjoy it.

the final straw was the hand in your hair, giving it a tug, then whatever degrade he whispered into your ear. as good as it once felt, you needed to breathe. "red, johnny. red." you croaked, repeating yourself in case he wouldn't hear. after all, your throat was raw and dry.

all tension in your arched back released at once, the fist in your hair unclamped and placed on your shoulder instead. through his pants, he muttered an are ye alright? and a few apologies.

"shite, let me— hang on—" slowly, he pulled out of you, alleviating the strain in your core. the muscles relaxed but remained irritated and sore from their abuse. once he withdrew, the hand on your shoulder turned you around. before your weak knees could give up entirely, you found your head in his chest.

his strong arms kept you upright, running over the bite marks on your back and shoulder. you shuttered, unsure of its origin being sensitivity or guilt. never once, did he make it seem like you had to do anything, unless playful. that's the whole reason for the color system, isn't it?

yellow; slow down or go gentle. and red; unused until now— meaning stop. that, he did. instantly. so, why did it feel this way? it had to be nerves. perhaps, your anxieties about disappointing him.

tenderly and firmly, he forced eye contact with you. "don't you dare apologize, bonnie. see? we're done with that. no more, eh?" he staggered to the couch only a few feet away, allowing your full, limp weight atop him.

noticing the state of your shivering thighs, he hooked them around his waist manually, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. "if 's somethin' you don't want me to do again, i'd rather ye tell me." up and down, his hand sailed across your back, effectively soothing your overwhelm.

but it wasn't. you can and had handled him like that before, and he knew it. tonight just wasn't the night — simple as that.

his voice remained authoritative, but his demeanor was the exact opposite of his dominant role. "listen to me," instead of forcing you to look this time, he let you remain slumped against him.

"you never do somethin' you don't want to, don't bloody care how into it i am. did the right thing, didn't you? 'm proud of you."

[aeferfckr]

dropping this fluffy modernau-esque drabble before i release the asshole aether agenda☺️

nsfw. wet dreams. communication. cunnulingus.

boyfriend!aether when he had a dream about you last night, of the both of your wedding night. more specifically, what you two were doing on the wedding night.

boyfriend!aether who's dick twitches in his sleep as he dreams about you sitting on his face, your weight completely on his face, and how you grind on his mouth so fluidly.

boyfriend!aether who wakes up from that very dream with a hard on and a wet spot on his shorts. he seriously couldn't of cummed from a wet dream? right beside you for that matter

boyfriend!aether who regrets looking at your sleeping form: your lips slightly parted, your eyes resting so prettily, and how your chest peaks through the flimsy shirt that you were wearing. he couldn't have disturbed your peaceful sleep for something as embarrassing as a wet dream. so he tip-toed out of the bed into your shared bathroom to take care of his little problem.

boyfriend!aether 's mind continued to replay his dream like a popular song in a grocery store, every feeling, sensation, and emotion he felt in that moment recreated so vividly.

boyfriend!aether whose dick was driving him insane.

boyfriend!aether who finally mustered the courage to have your very first sex talk. it was awkward at first, definitely, as he could see you acerting eye contact and twiddling your fingers together.

boyfriend!aether and you established what exactly should happen whilst getting intimate: do you have any turn-on's? do you have any turn offspring? what should we use as our safe words? is there something that you look forward to when having sex? usual questions along that night

boyfriend!aether whose heart jumped at your voice, admitting the very same things that he has done. you were utterly infatuated with him, of course your mind would drift to more mature topics regarding him.

boyfriend!aether who finally gets the chance to bear himself to you, to make you feel euphoric, to make you feel loved. of course, he starts off slow. his lips trace and suck at the area of your neck, occasionally leaving darkened marks in his path.

boyfriend!aether who leans up to stare into your eyes, his eyes were as calming as ever as he leaned down to kiss you once more. his hands roam down to your chest before squeezing the supple flesh, playing with the buds that peaked from his touch and swallowing the soft sighs that slipped from your mouth

boyfriend!aether who raises his head once more to suck on the very bud he was rolling with his fingers. you cover your mouth to suppress your moans, but your hand ends up getting removed by your pouting lover.

boyfriend!aether who loved to hear your voice so much, who loved to listen to you talk about different topics and how gentle affirmations fell from you oh so sweetly, so why would you hide your moans from him? embarrassed? don't you worry, aether will try his very best to make your pleasure outweigh your embarrassment. and with your 'go ahead', he finally goes down on you.

boyfriend!aether who moans as soon as his lips reach your heat. the smell was so musty, so raw, just how he imagined it to be, dare he say, even better. he draws his tongue from your hole to where you needed him the most.

boyfriend!aether who suckles on your tip while tracing his fingers over your hole. the other hand roamed your skin and left goosebumps in its path.

boyfriend!aether who muses to himself about the volume of your noises: how earlier it was muffled sighs and now it was open-mouthed whines. your back arched off of the bed and your hand in his hair.

boyfriend!aether who swells with pride at the fact that he's making you feel this way, making you feel so good. so good to bring you to your high with a sweet noise of pure sin.

boyfriend!aether who laps up your juices as quickly as he could, daring not to let any go to waste.

© aeferfckr \\ mlist.

[arcadia-smith]

TW: SA, alcohol.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's prayer.

Part 5

The weight of his words settled between you like a storm that had yet to break. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—because what could you say?

Simon inhaled sharply, his shoulders rising with the weight of words he wanted to say but couldn’t. He had faced death more times than he could count, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this. For watching you slip further and further away, unraveling right before his eyes.

You turned your head, blinking away the tears that refused to stop, your body curling in on itself. His voice was softer when he finally spoke again, but no less firm. "I’m not disgusted by you." He ran a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. "I—Christ, I don’t even know how to do this, love."

Your breath hitched, and for the first time since stepping back into this house, you really looked at him. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the tension locked in his frame, the way his fingers twitched—Simon Riley, the unshakable Ghost, was unraveling too.

"You promised it would be easy," you whispered, the accusation laced with something fragile, something broken.

His head dropped, his hands clasping together between his knees. "I know." He swallowed, voice hoarse. "I know, and I—" He stopped, jaw clenching before he forced himself to meet your gaze again. "I would trade places with you if I could." The rawness in his voice made your stomach twist. "Every single bloody second of it."

The confession settled between you, heavy and unrelenting. You searched his face, looking for something—what, you didn’t know. An answer? A way to make sense of the storm inside you? But all you found was the same pain you carried, reflected back at you in the dark depths of his eyes.

Simon wasn’t just watching you suffer. He was suffering, too.

"You can’t," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "You can’t trade places with me, Simon." Your fingers curled against your palms, nails biting into skin. "I wish you could. God, I wish you could." A bitter laugh escaped you, the sound foreign and broken. "But it was me. I was the one strapped to that damn room. I was the one who—" Your voice caught, breath stuttering. You couldn't say it. The memories burned too hot, too raw.

You exhaled shakily. "I don't know how to come back from this."

His hand twitched where it rested between his knees, but he didn't reach for you, didn’t push. "Then we figure it out," he murmured. "Together."

The word together made your throat tighten.

"You still want that?" It slipped out before you could stop it, and the moment it did, shame crashed over you. But it was there now, laid bare between you. The ugly truth of it.

Simon stared at you like you had just spoken absolute madness. "What the hell kind of question is that?" His voice was rough, edged with something that almost sounded like hurt. "I married you, didn’t I?" His hands finally moved then, rubbing over his face before resting on his thighs. "I asked you to go on that mission. I promised it would be easy." His throat bobbed. "It wasn’t. And now you think—what? That I don’t want you anymore?" His voice cracked on the last word, and it nearly shattered you.

The sincerity in his words made your chest ache. You wanted to believe him. You did believe him. But believing wasn’t the same as knowing how to move forward.

Still, your fingers twitched at your side, like they wanted to reach for him.

Simon noticed.

He didn’t push, didn’t rush. But slowly—so slowly—it was his hand that moved this time. His fingers ghosted over yours, the contact so light it barely existed.

It didn’t send you spiraling. It didn’t hurt.

You closed your eyes. Breathed.

You let his touch linger, warmth seeping into your skin before you pulled away. Sinking deeper into the sofa, you exhaled shakily, as if trying to steady something unraveling inside you. A slow shake of your head, then you pushed yourself to your feet.

Simon's gaze clung to you, heavy and unreadable, as you drifted from the living room. The bedroom swallowed you whole, the quiet pressing in like a second skin.

The night stretched long and merciless. Half the bottle of painkillers sat emptied on the nightstand, a desperate attempt to numb more than just the aching in your bones. But the storm inside your head refused to quiet.

The moment your eyes shut, you were there again. That godforsaken room. The cold bite of the floor seeping into your flesh.

And him.

You could feel his touch, phantom hands that never truly left you. The way he ripped through you, breaking and branding all at once.

His hands. The ones that ruined you, that stole the air from your lungs and rewrote your body’s language against your will. A brutal contradiction— your body betrayed you in ways your mind never forgave. Every nerve screamed in revolt, but deep down, something—something primal, something unbidden—curled and twisted in shame.

***

"That's right, scream for me." Arabic murmurs reached your ears as the darkness came over.

A particularly vicious thrust had you bite down on your lip so hard you could taste the blood, nails digging into his shoulders as you clawed at him in desperation. 

He pulled back just enough to admire the sight of your stretched, reddened flesh before slamming back inside with renewed vigor.

Your traitorous body responded, clenching around the invading cock as if trying to milk it for more.

***

The cold floor met your bare feet with a jolt, but you barely felt it. Your body moved on instinct, carrying you to the kitchen, to the one thing that might quiet the noise in your head.

Fingers trembling, you dug through the cupboard, shoving past half-empty boxes and forgotten bottles until you found it—dark glass, untouched, a relic from a night long past. Captain Price had gifted it to Simon when Mia was born, a silent nod of respect, of brotherhood. Simon had never cracked it open, no matter how many times you’d teased him, no matter how often you’d nudged him to just have a taste.

Price wasn’t one for the cheap stuff.

The cork twisted free with a soft pop, the scent of aged whiskey curling into your lungs, sharp and heady. For a moment, you hesitated. Then, you tipped the bottle back, swallowing deep, hoping for warmth, for oblivion.

It hit like fire. Too much, too fast.

Your stomach twisted in protest, a violent revolt against your desperation. You barely made it to the sink before you were choking it back up, your body purging what your mind had been so eager to drown.

The bitter burn of whiskey still clung to your lips as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. The cool tile pressed against your legs as you slid down, curling in on yourself, the bottle clutched tight in your fingers like an anchor. A sob tore free from your throat—raw, broken, the kind that left wounds on its way out.

You barely had the strength to lift the bottle again before heavy footsteps filled the silence.

Simon.

You didn’t look at him as he crouched beside you. The weight of his presence settled around you like a heavy storm cloud, thick with something unspoken. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t pry. Just waited.

The silence stretched, pressing against your ribs, until the words clawed their way out of you.

“My body responded to him…” you whispered, barely more than a breath, but loud enough to shatter everything between you.

You felt his stillness before you dared to look. As if the air itself had gone tight around him. The weight of shame pressed deeper into your chest. Your body—you—had betrayed him.

And you didn’t know if he could ever forgive you for it.

Simon didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just watched you, but his gaze was distant, his mind somewhere neither of you could reach.

Then, without a word, he shifted. Slow. Careful. Lowering himself until his back pressed against the cupboard, his shoulder brushing against yours. Solid. Steady.

The warmth of him seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, an unspoken reminder that he was here. That he wasn’t running.

His hand reached for the bottle, fingers curling around the glass. You didn’t fight it. Didn’t resist as he pulled it from your grasp and set it aside, the soft clink of glass against tile barely registering in the thick silence between you.

And still, he said nothing.

But he stayed.

Part 6

[sophrosynesworld]

And for now, that was enough.

*Warning: this is takes place inside of the waiting room of Central Hospital after a deadly villain attack. This small story isn't necessarily graphic, but may be triggering to those who don't like the mention of blood, violence, or gore.*

“Have you heard anything?” Mina rushed across the hospital floor, her eyes swollen and red from hours of crying. Her movements were frantic, almost desperate. Kirishima was right behind her, his face covered with worry while gently resting his hand on her shoulder. As soon as Mina reached me, she threw herself into my arms and buried her face into the crook of my neck, her sobs loud and heart-wrenching.

“They took him into surgery.” My voice was barely a whisper, trembling as I spoke. I made eye contact with Kirishima, pleading with him to help me. He softly reached for Mina’s forearm and pulled her into his chest.

I sank into my chair, my hands trembling too much to push my hair away. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me with uncontrollable tremors.

Blood—his blood—stained my arms, a horrific reminder of the bloodbath we had just left. The metallic scent clung to my skin, making my stomach churn. Memories of the attack flooded my mind: the deafening explosions, the villain’s malicious grin, and then... him, throwing himself in front of me, taking the hit.

I could still hear my own screams, raw and desperate, as I watched him fall. He had exposed himself to the enemy, using his body as a shield to protect me. Even now, the thought sent a shiver down my spine. He couldn’t die. Not after everything. Not after he had saved me.

Kirishima tightened his grip on Mina, his eyes meeting mine over her shaking shoulders. “He’s strong,” Kirishima said, his voice firm but gentle, trying to reassure both Mina and himself. “He’s going to make it.”

And so, we waited. The three of us sat in the sterile, fluorescent-lit waiting room, the silence punctuated by the steady ring of the hospitals phone and the occasional murmur of distant conversations. We tried our best to keep our minds occupied, focusing on the task of locating the rest of our classmates and then informing them about Kaminari’s condition. The minutes stretched into hours, each second ticking by with excruciating slowness.

Gradually, our classmates arrived, their faces pale and strained. Each one rushed in with frantic, repeated questions, their voices tinged with panic. “Is he okay?” “What happened?” “Have they said anything?” Each wave was a reminder of our helplessness.

The lack of news brought a strange sort of comfort. Every moment without an update meant he was still alive, still fighting. If the doctors weren’t standing in front of us with grim faces and solemn words, it meant he wasn’t dead. It meant he was battling for his life back there on that operating table, surrounded by the best medical professionals we could hope for.

I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. The waiting room’s plastic chairs felt cold and unforgiving, the fluorescent lights too harsh. The smell of antiseptic overwhelming.

My mind wandered, replaying every agonizing moment in vivid detail. His blood had stained the ground, pooling beneath him. How much blood could someone lose? I had never realized that a human body could contain so much blood. But it does, and I had witnessed it firsthand.

Jiro sat next to me, her pain evident and more profound than my own. I reach for her thin, trembling hand and place it in mine, offering a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Her eyes met mine briefly before trailing down to my blood-soaked costume. A mixture of fear and worry spread across her face.

"It's not his blood," I lied, my voice steady despite the growing nausea inside me. The guilt remained with me, but at least a relieved breath escaped her lips. I don't have any reason to worry her more with the truth.

The hours dragged on, each one stretching into an eternity as exhaustion weighed heavily on us. Mina had eventually cried herself to sleep, her head resting on Kirishima's lap. Eijiro absently stroked her hair, his eyes never leaving the door to the operating room. Bakugo, Midoriya, and Todoroki sat near the doorway, a low but passionate conversation brewing between the three of them.

Finally, the door swung open, and a doctor in scrubs stepped into the waiting room. His face was calm but serious, with deep lines of fatigue etched around his eyes. He paused, his eyes scanning the room with a measured gaze before settling on us. We immediately stood up, our hearts pounding in unison, the air thick with anticipation and dread. The soft hum of the hospital machinery seemed to fade into the background as we focused entirely on the doctor, waiting for the words that could change everything.

"How is he?" Jiro asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The doctor took a deep breath, glancing over his paperwork one more time.

“He’s is stable for now. The surgery was complicated, but he pulled through. He’s a fighter.” He paused, letting the relief wash over us. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s got a good chance. We’ll be monitoring him closely over the next 24 hours.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Tears of gratitude sprang to my eyes as I felt the weight of the world lift slightly off my shoulders. He was alive. He was fighting. And for now, that was enough.

[whimsicalpolitical]

heyyy I really love your writing! Was wondering if you could write number 12 or 13 with Ross from the smut prompts list? Tyyyy! 💕💕💕

Thank you so much anon!! I chose 13 ‘being snowed in together and fucking in front of the fireplace’

18+ MDNI

────────────────────────

The snowstorm has been relentless, and now you're snowed in, unable to leave as planned. You sit on the plush sofa, staring out the window at the swirling white chaos, feeling a mix of frustration and awe at the raw power of nature.

Ross has already checked your supplies and reassured you that you have enough food and firewood to last for several days if needed. Now, he kneels by the stone hearth, arranging logs and kindling with practiced ease.

You watch him as he places a blanket in front of the fire place, in his lumber jack coat, completely unbothered by the weather.

“When do you think we can hit the road?” You ask, keeping your eyes on your handsome boyfriend.

“S’ a good question, wouldn’t count on leaving anytime soon, love.”

You huff out loud, making Ross turn around to look at your pouting face, raising his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“I love this cabin, I do,” you mean it, “but it’s getting colder and I have things to do at home.”

Ross chuckles softly as he strikes a match and sets the kindling ablaze. "I know but we have to make the best out of this, can’t just drive through this massive pile of snow out there.”

The fire crackles to life, casting a golden glow that begins to fill the room with warmth. You pull your knees to your chest, trying to conserve heat, but the chill seems to seep into your bones.

“Still cold,” you complain and Ross rolls his eyes, giving you a dorky smile.

“I reckon you wait, d’you know why?” You shake your head, “ ‘cause I just lit the fire.”

“Funny,” you sound angry and you are. You’re slowly getting sick of the cold.

“C’mon now, could be worse,” he’s sitting on the blanket, his spread thighs inviting you. “Spent nearly two weeks here, can pull off another day, no?”

“I guess,” you don’t sound convinced because you’re not, but Ross is right.

Ross isn’t satisfied with your answer, he keeps looking at you, staring a hole into you and it drives you insane.

“Stop,” you say, you’re face heating up.

“What?” He asks offended, throwing his hands into the air, laughing, “you’re pissed off at everything.”

“No but you’re looking light you’re plotting something,” you huff, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

He grins, his eyes sparkling, “maybe I am.”

“Hmm,” you hum, resting your head on your knees.

Ross chuckles leaning back on his hands, “come on, love, you’re making this more miserable than it has to be.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not freezing to death.” You narrow your eyes at him, but his playful expression makes it hard to stay frustrated.

“Oh, I’m freezing alright,” he says, “but I’m not whining about it.”

“Whining?” You scoff.

“Yeah, whining,” his smile is widening, “anything I can do to lighten the mood?”

“Give me a kiss,” it’s almost a plead, wanting his skin on yours, radiating his warmth on to you.

He smirks, patting a spot next to him, “come here then.”

The look in Ross's eyes, the mixture of teasing and genuine affection, finally makes you cave. You crawl over to him and, instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Before you can do anything else, his lips are on yours, soft and warm. The kiss starts slow, a gentle meeting of lips, but soon deepens, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that surprises you.

He feels you start to melt on top of him. He looks up at you hungrily under his lashes before he's closing the distance between you again, his hands snaking up your back to pull you closer as he presses his lips firmly to yours.

You gasp at the first contact, your hands hurriedly coming up to his hair, kissing him hungrily. He tastes just like you remember and his beard tickles just the same.

He lets out a deep groan as he feels your hands in his hair, his body practically trembling under your touch as he kisses you deeply. He lets one hand slip up your spine to the back of your neck to keep you close, the other trailing down to your waist as his tongue slips forward to press hot and insistent against your bottom lip until your mouth opens for him, your tongues meeting as you tug on his hair.

“Warm me up?” you sigh, hips thrusting against his in need, making his mind go absolutely hazy and a deep groan coming from his mouth as he feels you rubbing so wantonly against him.

“Of course,” his head is tilting to trail kisses and bites down the side of your neck, humming contently when your head tilts backwards to feel more of his kisses.

His teeth are gently nipping at your skin as he moves to the sensitive spot behind your ear. You can't help but whimper, feeling his cock growing harder against you as you roll your hips against him, what makes him let out a deep groan, his head tilting back and his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth falls open around the low sound.

“Fuck,” he says gruffly, letting his hands trail up from your waist to your sides, feeling your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. You kiss his jaw and neck. He feels like he's starting to lose his mind at the feeling of you grinding against him, his breath shuddering out in a groan as he feels his body start to shake.

"Slow down," he moans, his chest rising and falling faster and faster with the way you're moving against him. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to keep himself together, his hands starting to clench around your sides.

“Feels too good though,” you cry out, feeling your stomach tightening at the constant rubbing of your panties against your clit. “You feel so good.”

"Yeah? feels good?" he shudders out, his eyes flickering behind his closed lids as his head falls back even further against the chair.

He suddenly holds on to your hips as tightly as he can so he can lay you on your back, rescuing himself from an embarrassing fast orgasm.

You whine at the loss of the friction, “Ross.”

“I know, love,” his lips find your neck again, rutting up into you again, “let’s do it properly hm?”

His hands find his belt and he pulls both his pants and boxers down, stroking his length in small movements.

You replace his hand with yours as he pulls your pants down as well. You both leave everything other on because it’s too cold and although the fire and the contact is helping, it wouldn’t after you would be done.

“You alright, love?”

“Yes, yes, just please,” you nod, Ross guides his cock through your folds to smear your slick before he slowly slides into you. Your head falls back as you gasped at the intrusion of his cock, the stretch just perfect.

“Don’t have to beg with me,” he keeps his pace slow at first, steadying himself with his hand resting above your head. He pushes your thighs apart and you wrap them around his waist, letting out a soft moan as you melt into the pleasure.

Ross kisses down your jaw and ghosts his lips over your collarbone. You use your legs to pull him further into you, whining when he pushes so much deeper into your cunt. "want more?”

You can’t say anything besides a breathed out ‘yes’ and he’s already holding your leg up, allowing him to fuck you even deeper. You feel every inch of Ross inside of you, as he slides in and out, repeat.

His other hand reaches down to toy with your clit, and you shudder. “Ross, so perfect fuck.”

“I’m close,” you sigh. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“Jesus,” Ross curses, seemingly out of nowhere, but you know by now that it turns him on like crazy. His need for praise always had you curious, and using it in bed just makes you feel all the more powerful.

“Gonna cum-,” he leans in to press his lips to yours again, driving his hips into you at a punishing pace, and you’re gushing as he flicks at your clit in all the right ways. You moan as your orgasm washes over you, electrifies you, till every bone in your body feels like jelly. He lets out a groan as his hips stutter, emptying inside of you. His warmth floods into you, the coldness leaving the room completely.

“Love you,” you say, kissing him again, “love you, love you.” You repeat over which makes him laugh.

“Not so bothered now anymore,” he refers to your attitude from earlier, “I love you.”

He pulls out of you and quickly puts on his and your pants before laying down next to you, pulling you on top of him, in front of the fire.

[callmearcturus]

sup i'm watching rogue nation and just analyzing physicality

i did this with fallout before, time for my fave

sue me but i do really like the IMF plant that ethan immediately imprints on at the start of Rogue Nation, the very slow way he approaches as they poke each other about music history, it's measured and its not direct, he's moving at angles. "Do you know why they called him Shadow?" "Because he had a very light touch." That feels like the call-and-answer to confirm he's IMF, but they immediately are vibing so strongly that it could just be a conversation. It's cute! it's also just fun for me to compare Oldthan versus Twinkthan, bc younger Ethan never felt approachable, he felt like an intruder to be handled. Older Ethan either knows how to turn that default intimidation off or it's not his default anymore.

When Lane makes Ethan watch, there is a completely unmasked rawness in Ethan's face as he realizes this plant he could have probably lingered around the shop to talk music with is about to die and it's a staged act specifically for him. She didn't do anything except be someone to hurt Ethan with. It's kind of an interesting play with the idea of fridging? That is explicitly what is happening here, it's a manipulation on Ethan, and he knows it, and yet it's going to work, it's a hook Lane makes him swallow.

ZOOM IN ON ETHAN'S EYES. like goddamn. McQ. /whistles

WHY DOES EVERY INTERROGATOR IN THIS SERIES HAVE LIL VIALS OF INTIMIDATION?

i am O B S E S S E D with the omnidirectional horniness of the Bone Doctor. there is an almost effete weirdness to him, he has super odd gestures. given how few lines he has, he still has a ton of interesting lil moments, like the putting his finger in his mouth to remove his ring, and the wink when he steals benji and the very off little judgy face when he unmasks benji later. dude is doing a lot, i see why TC and McQ were like "actually he's not gonna die in this scene, we changed our minds, we love the bone doctor"

ethan sees the omnidirectional horniness and sluts it up in response obvsly

FUCKING VAULTING UP THE POLE LIKE A LUNATIC

Punct pointed out that, like, presumably this was Ethan's escape plan the whole time, he doesn't do it until Ilsa is in danger, ergo he could have done it at any time, he was just hanging out to get some info from his torturers first. why the fuck is he like this. also that arm strength is truly 100% batshit

the fucking barefoot combat is so funny to me. yes obvsly both of them are barefoot for this, its a Shared Intimacy. we now know that in the original plan, Ilsa was in those fucking heels for this sequence until TC was like "take em off" so my question is was ethan in shoes before that? because if I was a weirdly astute actor-producer who understood the inherent symbolism of that motif, i would also make sure my character was barefoot to establish that thread of vulnerable connection to one of my two love interests.

lmao behind ethan in the phone booth is an ad for "unhurried massage and domination" its an ad for my fic actually

its small but the way ethan does not know where the fuck to go for a solid moment after everything's gone tits-up is nice. he has no plan, he doesn't know what his next step is. and he's been shot.

also Benji's interrogation scene is delightful

There is that moment of eye contact across the room that's like "well, here we are again" with these two, who have been covering for Ethan this whole time

and RIGHT before Benji starts lying out his ass with grace and poise, there's just this tiny smile of acknowledgement on Brandt's face, it's like two frames before the cut happens, but it just speaks to how Brandt is fully aware that Benji is going to pull this off like he does every fucking week

Rogue Nation really is Benji's movie, full stop

also he is so genuinely happy to be going to the opera. like, he's an IMF ghost, he should be ultra suspicious of winning a sweepstakes to get tickets in the mail, but he doesn't care, his job is miserable and he loves theatre so much he'll take the win

[katebishopofearth]

Whatever You Need [an our flag means death fanfic]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Ship: Blackbonnet Characters: Edward Teach | Stede Bonnet Rating: T Other tags: angst | hurt/comfort | post-s02ep6: calypso's birthday

Whatever You Need

Afterwards – after crashing lips and tangling limbs and coming undone and becoming complete together – all is quiet. The purple fireworks that illuminated the sky and their cabin have gone out, and the room is dim. The only source of light comes from the stars sprinkled across the sky, and the ship sways in the ocean’s gentle embrace.

His head is resting on Stede’s chest, their fingers are laced together, Stede’s other hand is running through his long hair, and Ed feels more at peace than he has in months, years. In his whole life. They are warm under the blanket, his belly is full of good food and rum, and the orgasm he just had has him soft down to his bones. This is everything that chases away the demons, everything that makes life worth living for.

And yet… there’s something bothering him, like an itch on the sole of his foot just when he’s about to fall asleep. He lets go of Stede’s hand – feels the other man’s head shift to look down at him but ignores the gaze – and reaches out to the burn mark that mars Stede’s left shoulder. He doesn’t make contact with it, doesn’t want to cause Stede any more pain, and traces a slow curve with his finger around edge of the wound. Its twin sits on Ed’s right shoulder, another scar forming among many, but on Stede’s skin, this single singe stands out like an accusation, another reminder of the good, pure, fine things that Ed has brought to smouldering ruin.

His finger goes round and round the rawness, deliberate strokes gaining speed and momentum like the whirlpool forming in his mind, threatening to drag him under with the gravitational pull of his own guilt. He feels himself spiralling, slipping out of control, unable to resist the crushing knowledge that he has been the cause of Stede’s pain, Stede’s suffering –

Stede catches his hand and stops it in his tracks. “Ed.” His voice is impossibly gentle but firm, just like his hold on his hand. He pulls Ed back from the vortex, back to the surface. He tears his gaze away from the awful burn mark to meet Stede’s eyes. Glowing with bliss, as though a lilac spark of the fireworks were still captured in them, and looking at Ed like he was something beautiful.

“Are you alright?” His forehead creases with concern. “You’re miles away.”

Ed struggles to form words, his mind half soup from sex, half briny seawater from the depths.

A shade of self-consciousness creeps into Stede’s voice and he whispers, “It wasn’t… awful, was it?”

“Why did you do it?” The words slip out of Ed’s mouth before he realises he’s spoken aloud. They sound distant, as though he eavesdropped them through a crack in a doorway. “Why did you kill him?”

Stede’s face shifts, a storm cloud passes across his light. His arm tightens around Ed’s body, holding him closer, and Ed returns the embrace just as fiercely, both needing to be comforting and wanting to be comforted by his touch. A myriad of emotions – shame and horror and shock and anger and sadness – play across Stede’s wonderfully expressive face, everything bared for Ed to see. It’s his turn to be at a loss for words now, and he tries several times before he manages, “I couldn’t let him live.” His voice is low, simmering with anger. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a darkness that, Ed thinks morosely, has never been there before.

Stede’s thumb finds the burn mark on Ed’s shoulder, and he caresses it with a tenderness that contradicts the tension in the rest of his body. The touch stings, but not unpleasantly. “Not after what he did to you… not after what he said about you.”

Ed’s heart shatters and the pieces lodge in his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. He’s ordered men maimed and killed for him, and his crew had done it without question, and on a handful of occasions Izzy has bared his steel against some slight or other. But no one has ever defended his honour like that. As though he has any honour worth defending.

But Stede did. Threw away his innocence, stained his hands with the kind of blood that Ed’s would never be clean of. He’s done horrible things to horrible people – he’s killed and pillaged and burned – but this is far worse, Ed knows with terrible clarity. He’s snuffed out the light in the one good, pure thing in this world, and dragged Stede into the shadows with him.

“Was it worth it?” Ed’s voice is raspy. “Taking someone’s life? Losing that part of yourself?” What he means, but can’t say, is was I worth it?

[keep reading on AO3]

[unbloomingmoonflower]

𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕴'𝖒 𝕱𝖚𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖀𝖕

𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙'𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝖒𝖊

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was ritual for him to arrive to the small apartment belonging to one of his biggest secrets. One of the things about this neighborhood is that the neighbors never asked questions. After all, he barely saw them.

He felt the pulse of the music as his hand touched the doorknob. She had told him that it was going to be open and unlocked for when he arrived. He turned the knob and opened the door to step inside.

Sapphire eyes didn't have to scan far for the one he was looking for.

Dabi only shut the door as the heavy guitar, bass, and drums reverberated in his ears. His eyes followed the indigo-haired woman dancing in the middle of the living room. Her eyes were open, but he recognized the look in them. It was rare to see her dancing, when she almost never did it.

He wondered if she was manic right now.

Dabi moved toward her, not breathing a word, and when she did a slow spin, his hands reached out to grasp her by the hips. Her dark eyes lifted to gaze up at him, focus coming back into them. "...Dabi," she breathed out.

"You're out of it, little Bunny," he replied, not once breaking eye contact. He turned her easily in his arms, his fingers digging into the cotton fabric of the tiny shorts she wore.

After taking in her appearance fully, Dabi saw Bunny's disheveled, indigo hair, the tight, small clothes she normally wouldn't wear, smudges of paint on her fingertips.

The villain gently pushed Bunny toward the couch, easing her onto her back as he climbed on top of her. Bunny's arms banded around his neck to pull him down closer, so that their lips crashed together in a messy kiss. Dabi's fingers nearly tore into the shorts, keeping Bunny still. Her fingers, however, were already at his jacket, tugging at it with an impatient whine against his lips.

Who was he to deny her? Tease her, maybe, but not deny.

To anyone else, it would have been quite fucked up: Dabi indulging in Bunny's mania instead of reprimanding her for not taking proper care of herself. Yet Dabi knew intimately well of Bunny's psyche. Who was he to judge her when she accepted him for every fucked up thing?

"There are times where I'm not me," she had said once and he never forgot that. Especially in moments like this.

The haze was contagious; the focus was no longer sharp. It was the sweetest, beautifully dangerous release on the now where their bodies were moving in unison. Deep inside of her, Dabi hissed against Bunny's neck as her nails dug into the healthy portions of his skin, dragging them down to the edge where his ruined skin was stapled together. His own fingers dug their own, angry streaks into her skin, leaving every mark outside and in.

This was them to their absolute raw, hidden away from the eyes of the society that created villains like him and victims like her. Only, they weren't even those labels here, in Bunny's apartment with the door locked tight. There was no judgment, no fear. Only two people who would never say they were in love, but they could never stay away from each other.

An addiction. An overdose. A dangerous game. Two fucked up people getting high off of each other.

Dabi's grip on Bunny tightened to the point of pain, to the point of drawing blood, as they both hit the nirvana of their addiction, the name of her drug--his name--a scream from her lips. Her nails left equally furious red trails down his back as she went lax beneath him.

Dabi trailed his teeth along the column of Bunny's neck, leaving dark marks on the exposed skin. Words didn't need to be expressed between them; their actions were always more than enough.

This was their high.