#that this article has it’s finger on the pulse on

[barbituratecongestion]

“[…] According to my colleague Bilge Ebiri, the same thing happened at the film’s premiere at the Venice Film Festival: “Wild applause, screaming.” It’s the kind of interlude that does make you want to cheer from the sheer delight of it, and when Hit Man plays at the New York Film Festival in a few weeks, chances are good it’ll get a similar reaction. By then, though, it’s bound to feel bittersweet. Netflix recently bought the film for a hefty $20 million, meaning that, while it will probably get one of those pro forma theatrical releases the streaming giant gives to its artier titles, the vast majority of people won’t hear about its existence until it’s an option on the home screen and will watch it in their living rooms instead of with a crowd. You can still applaud while alone on your sofa, I guess, but why would you?”

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — 𝐌.𝐒.

SUMMARY ʚɞ Moments where Matt shows you how much he's gonna miss you before tour.

CW ʚɞ Smut, fluff, and angst. Crying, needy sex, raw sex, creampie, p n v, kissing, teasing, begging, and more.

PAIRING ʚɞ Reader x Matt Sturniolo

A/N: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. This is pretty long, but half of it is smut (very emotional intimacy)

With love and big tits, Rose ➜ navigation

Tour. Sad yet exciting. 

You’re thrilled for your boyfriend, but you’re also a little depressed. He’s gonna be gone for so long, a busy schedule that will make calling a difficult task between different time zones and all the other chaos. 

Matt knows he’s gonna miss you. He’s enthralled by the idea of traveling around with Nick and Chris, but he’s less than happy about the thought of leaving you. 

The last day before he leaves, he shows you how much he’s really gonna miss you. 

01: Really Gonna Miss You.

“Baby,” Matt husks, trying to kiss lightly on the side of your neck as he spoons you from behind. 

You hazily grumble in response. Matt bites on his lower lip, nuzzling the tip of his nose beneath your ear as he hums against you. 

“Wanna go get breakfast?” he offers. Your eyes peek open. He feels his cheeks flush with a soft smile as you gleam over at him. 

The slight nod you offer makes his heart fill with a feathery warmth, his hand on your lower stomach massaging slightly as he places another delicate kiss on the side of your neck. 

“Hmmm, good,” he purrs, his breath fanning behind your ear making your body twinge with delight, “-gonna take you on a full adventure today. Makeup for all the missed time before and after the tour, alright?” 

Even though you’ve just woken up, you still feel like you’re dreaming. He’s just so sweet—so passionate and kind. You can’t help but clutch your hand on top of his, squeezing as he pulls you even closer. 

A slight laugh purses through your lips as you attempt to get up. Matt is reluctant to let you out of his hold, but eventually allows you to move, following you as you get ready. 

He gets dressed after you, making sure to coordinate his outfit to yours. The sight of him holding up articles of clothing against your outfit to match the colors perfectly makes your heart pulse in your chest. 

You’re really gonna miss him. 

Matt notices your face falling as you sit on the bed, waiting for him to finish getting dressed. He has jeans on, the shirt still laying on the duvet, but he doesn’t care. 

“Hey,” he coos, standing in front of you, cupping your face in his hands as he gleams down at you with a soft worry. “-what’s up, sweetheart?” he asks. 

Your lips twitch with sadness. Staring up towards the ceiling, you blink profusely, shaking your head as you feel his fingers glide delicately over your cheeks. 

Matt kneels down, guiding your eyes to his as he holds your face with a gentle grip. Your lip wobbles as you stare at him, the thought of him being so far away starting to really sink in. 

“What’s going on?” he questions, his voice soft yet deliberate. 

Your heart clenches in your chest, a lump in your throat making it harder to breathe as you choke out the words, “I…just—’m really gonna miss you.” 

Matt’s face falls as he sees a singular tear stride down your cheek. It takes all of his effort to keep his own emotions at bay, wanting to comfort you and make sure you’re happy with the little time you two have left together before he leaves. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he soothes, his knees shuffling across the ground as he moves closer to you. 

Matt drops his hands from your face, letting them slide down your arms before he clutches your hands on his own, resting the tangled fingers on top of your knees as he stares up at you with pure devotion. 

“-’m sorry, I’m—I’m trying not to think about it—”

He interrupts your stumbling words, clutching your hands tighter as he leans down, pressing soft kisses along each of your knuckles.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, pushing the back of your palm against his cheek. The feeling of his light stubble tickling into your skin makes your gut flutter with comfort. You take a deep breath, watching as he starts to kiss along your hands, his lips warm and gentle.

“I’m gonna miss you too. So much.” 

His voice is strained. You can’t help but feel your eyes fog with more tears, embracing the moment as you think of the painful thought of waking up alone. 

02: The Day of Dates.

After brunch, Matt refused to let the adventures end there. It’s been an eventful day, the sun barely above the horizon as you sit in his car, looking over the cliffside as the smell of McDonalds floods the car. 

Your face flushes as you feel him staring at you. All the food left you feeling full, but he left you feeling complete. 

Shifting, you adjust in the passenger seat, the feeling of his hand clasped around your thigh squeezing lightly. 

He really loves to touch you. It’s always been a big part of how he shows his love, and you have no complaints. However, today has been different. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off of you for even a millisecond. 

“You’re so beautiful.” he compliments, leaving over the center console to press a kiss to your cheek. The gentle touch of his lips leaves your stomach fluttering, your lips pursing together into  a tight line as you keep your gaze trained on the cotton candy sky through the front windshield. 

“Matt, you’re supposed to be watching the sunset.” you remark, biting on your lower lip as you feel one of his hands callus beneath your chin, pulling your gaze towards him. 

God. 

The look in his eyes makes you feel like you're melting. Your chest hitches with a sharp breath, your eyes softly falling shut as you feel his lips press against your own. 

No matter how many times you kiss him, it’s always the same feeling—sensations of pure bliss paired with a passionate comfort. 

Matt pulls back, smiling as he watches you slowly blink your eyes open towards him. “I don’t care about the sunset,” he purrs, leaning his forehead against your own as you feel the tip of his nose graze yours, “-not as much as I care about you.” 

03: Home. 

Coming home created more desperation. The day is over, your last day is practically gone. 

Matt’s lips are needy. His tongue plunders into your mouth with a romantic yearning. 

Hungrily, he kisses down your neck, his lips wandering around your breasts and down your stomach. “Can’t-” his lips grasp for air as he whispers against your skin, kissing you relentlessly as if he needs it more than air. “-get.” kiss. “-enough of you.” kiss. kiss. kiss. 

Your mouth draws open as you feel his length slide against your dripping cunt. Clothes had been discarded long ago, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you. 

He’s always loved foreplay and making out, but this is more than that, this is pure longing—absolute desperation.

Every second feels like hours. The sensation of a wet slick dripping from your heat is painfully apparent. Matt is selfish taking his time with you, trying to absorb every single sound leaving your lips as if he’s trying to remember this forever. 

“Matt, I—I need you.” you plea, your chest rising and falling with gasping breaths as you clutch onto his biceps while he hovers above you. 

“Hmmm, just,” he nips lightly on your nipple, his hand sliding up and down your waist, “-a little longer. Need this, baby. Need it so bad.” he groans. 

A sharp whine erupts from the back of your throat as you feel his throbbing length slide over your clit. Your body automatically chases the friction, a deep moan vibrating from his lips as you grind your hip against him. 

“Stay still.” he directs, his voice firm but gentle. You can’t help but shake your head vigorously, the ache between your legs unbearable as you repeat the motions. “Fuck.” he seethes, grasping tightly onto your waist, trying to keep you in place. 

Tears are bubbling on your lower lash line. Matt’s ears perk at the sound of a real cry falling from your lips, looking up and sparing a sympathetic frown as he watches a tear cascade down your cheek. 

“Oh, baby…” he coos, wiping the wetness off your face before placing a gentle peck to your lips. Matt looks into your eyes, sinking his hips to glide against your sobbing pussy as he watches your eyes roll with relief. 

“Matt, please.” you cry, your nails piercing into his arms as he readjusts himself slowly. 

“Need me to fuck you now, hm?” he asks, gliding his cock through your wetness as you vigorously nod your head. “Been teasin’ you too much, huh?” he tuts, slowly starting to push the tip of his length against your entrance, mocking your facial expression as your mouth drops into a perfect ‘O.’ 

“Please, please, please—oh!” you gasp, your chest hitching as your body freezes. 

The sensation of his length gliding into your hole making every pore on your skin burn, the stretch of his thick, veiny cock making you let out a broken moan. 

“That’s it, baby, c’mon, take it all for me,” he coos, hovering back on top of you as he pets his fingers over your cheek, slightly pulling out to let your slick coat his length before gliding right back in. “God,” he groans, his head falling into the crook of your neck as your walls clutch around his member tightly. 

He starts to gently rock his hips, his shoulders broadening with pride as he hears satisfied noises erupt from your lips. 

“Matt, it—I—mmmm,” you moan, completely at a loss for words as he ruts into you deeply, using precision to make sure he hits the perfect spot that makes your body tense with each thrust. 

Your sticky walls are grasping around his length so tightly that it’s hard to focus on anything but trying not to cum. Matt accidentally lets his instincts take over, a loud scream falling from your lips at a particularly hard thrust. 

“Sorry, I’m—’m sorry, fuck,” he groans, rocking himself in and out of you, completely lost in the way you feel—the way you sound. “-you feel so good.” he purrs. 

Your gut is twisted in knots. Every part of your body is pulsing with pleasure, words hard to find as you feel his movements speed up a little more, never losing any depth as he plunges his cock inside of you with deliberate intent. 

“Matt, I–it’s—close, baby, close,” you squeal, your breath stuck in your throat as his thick cock hits right where you need him to. 

“C’mon, you—you got it,” he praises, hissing as you start to convulse around his length. 

Your body is shaking, your face contorted with utter bliss as hot waves of euphoria crash over you. Matt feels his balls tighten, his high dangerously close as he tries to ride you through your own orgasm. 

“Sweetheart, gotta—need—’m gonna cum, where do you—” 

Matt is cut off as your legs wrap around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into his lower back. He whimpers, trying to hold off, crying out as you hold him in place even tighter. 

Usually, you don’t let him finish inside of you, but right now you need it. You need it deep, hard, and raw. 

You need to be full. 

“Inside, Matt. Please.” 

Your voice is strained from all the overstimulation. Matt’s hips are tensing, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he leans against your shoulder, struggling to keep himself propped up. 

“Are you sure, baby?” he asks, getting cut off by an elongated moan as he feels your walls pulse around him. 

“I need it. Need you to fill me up—”

The words barely leave your mouth. Matt can’t help but lose any restraint, allowing himself to let go as the warmth of his cum erupts deep inside of you. 

Your hands tangle in his hair. He lets his body fall limp on top of you, his lungs burning as he gasps for air. 

And then the sad thought crashes over you again. 

He’s leaving tomorrow. Tonight is all you have. 

Matt slowly retracts his softening dick, trying to not stare as he watches his cum drip from your swollen pussy lips. You laugh as he nearly drools, his eyes trained on the sight as he stands up. 

“Sorry.” he blushes, rushing to get a damp cloth. 

The second he leaves, you feel a wave of defeat. 

You’re not ready to wake up alone, you’re not ready to feel so far from him. 

Matt comes back quickly, apologizing under his breath as he cleans you up with a damp cloth. He notices the sad look on your face as he tries to hand you your underwear, knowing you usually like to at least have panties on when sleeping. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, throwing the article of clothing back onto the ground carelessly as you hold an arm open for him. 

Matt slides on his back, resting against the pillows as you practically lay on top of him. “Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, feeling the dampness of your tears leak onto his neck, pulling you impossibly closer as you sniffle. 

“I—I…gonna—’m gonna miss you.” you stammer, choking on tears as you clutch onto him closer. 

His face furrows, his eyes fogging with an overflowing warmth as he loses his ability to hold his own tears back. 

“I’m gonna miss you too. So much.” he whispers. 

Matt continues to hold you in his arms. The two of you both fight off sleep as you try to take advantage of every minute you have left together. Random jokes, reminiscent memories…anything and everything is talked about under the moon until the sun starts to peek out into the sky. 

He’s exhausted. Waking up, he shuts off his alarm as quickly as possible, sighing in relief as he sees you still sound asleep. But he doesn’t regret it. In fact, he knows this night will keep him going when he starts to miss you really badly. 

He knows it’s gonna be okay as long as he’s coming home to you.

[peachiejeongin]

Mind-Numbing Melody | Bang Chan

Synopsis: Chan has been unmotivated lately when it comes to producing; however, he comes across a melodic idea that he just cannot resist. He just needs your help to fulfill it.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, Slight Fluff

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Recommended), dom!Bang Chan, sub!reader, pet names (pretty girl, darling, good girl, etc.), biting, marking, fingering, slight edging, teasing, begging, unprotective penetrative sex (please use protection), Chan uses reader's moans in a song

Notice: Hello, my darlings! I know it has been weeks since the release of SKZHOP, but Railway has been driving me absolutely bonkers, so enjoy this fiction I wrote when I discovered you could hear Chan moaning in the background of the song :,D

Divider By: @anitalenia

Smut under the cut!

The studio was steeped in a familiar glow, its dim lighting wrapping around stacks of forgotten notes, tangled cords, and empty coffee cups that lined the console like weary sentinels. Chan hunched over the keyboard, fingers tapping an irregular, impatient rhythm. It had been days, weeks even, of this same cycle—blank stares at a blank screen, fleeting sparks of inspiration that fizzled out as quickly as they arrived.

The room smelled faintly of espresso and something sharper, a sort of musk as if Chan's frustration was materializing into a smell. The scent was Chan's constant companion these days, a reminder that no matter how hard he pushed, the music would remain just out of reach.

You watched him from the warm leather couch in the corner, your legs curled beneath you as your phone rested forgotten on your lap. He was quiet, but not in the comforting way he usually was. This silence was heavy, nearly oppressive.

"You're going to burn a hole into that screen," you finally said, your voice teasing but soft, careful not to break him entirely out of whatever fragile trance he was in.

Chan glanced over his shoulder at you, a faint, tired smile curving his lips upwards in a manner that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Maybe I can burn some inspiration into it," he murmured, turning back to the keyboard. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that let you know how sore it was from hours of tensing.

He absentmindedly clicked through the tabs open on his browser, hoping something would reignite his motivation. A playlist was open on his monitor, softly blaring tracks from artists he admired; most of them were songs that sparked awe and envy in an equal measure. But it was the headline of an article on trends in modern music that caught his eyes, words he had previously skimmed earlier in the day: "Personal Touch: The Rise of Intimacy in Music Production."

He had not thought much of it at the time, dismissing it as another gimmick. Now, in the late-night haze of desperation and coffee-stained reality, the concept felt like a thread to cling to. The idea of creating something raw, something undeniably intimate, grew in his mind. When he looked at you, lounging on that couch as if you were a calm in the storm, an idea began to crystalize.

You caught his gaze, brows furrowing slightly in concern as you noticed the shift in his expression—an intense focus, almost predatory, like he had just discovered something precious.

"What?" you asked, nerves and curiosity blending in your tone.

Chan stood slowly, the chair rolling back with a low creak. When he crossed the room, every step deliberate, your heart began to beat just a bit faster. He dropped to one knee in front of you, the studio's ambient light casting shadows against the defined angles of his jawline. His fingers found your thighs, resting there lightly at first, then gripping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"I need your help," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through you.

"With what, my love?" You tilted your head, trying to read the intent behind his lustful, dark eyes.

"There's this idea I have," he began, thumb absently stroking the fabric of your sweatpants. "I read this article—something about artists using intimate sounds from their partners in songs. Breaths, moans, everything. I can't stop thinking about how you would sound in one of my songs." His gaze dropped to where his fingers rested against your thighs, almost reverent in a way.

"Your voice, the way you sound when it's just us...I think it could be the spark I'm missing."

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea was audacious, bordering on the verge of scandalous, yet it held an allure you could not deny. You imagined it— your moans hidden between beats and chords only you could notice.

"You're serious?" you questioned, voice barely reaching above a whisper. Chan nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a certain vulnerability that made your heart clench.

"I've been so stuck, but the thought of creating something with you that's so raw and real...it just feels right."

You swallowed, the weight of his request pressing down on you in the best possible way. The trust, the intimacy—it was more than you had ever imagined sharing with Chan, moreso the audience that would be tuning into the song.

"Okay," you agreed softly, the word containing every ounce of trust and anticipation you felt.

Chan's lips curved into a slow, sincere smile, and he leaned foreward to press a kiss against your forehead. It was warm, lingering, a promise as much as it was a kiss.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," he mumbled as he pulled away.

Before you could reply, he captured your lips with his, a kiss that was at first gentle, exploratory; it then deepened into something that made the studio air feel heavy, electric. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you melted into him, a symphony in the making.

This kiss grew hungrier, if that was possible, your hands tangling roughly into Chan's hair as he remained steady on your thighs. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the soft gasp it elicited made him groan against your mouth.

"Just like that, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse as his lips brushed against yours.

Chan pulled away from you briefly, striding to his computer and clicking open an audio-recording tab; the faint glow of the monitor casted a faint shadow on the walls. You repositioned yourself as he opened the taper, falling back onto the cushions; he made his way back over to you, climbing over top of you on the couch, his hands tracing an agonizingly slow path up your sides.

Every movement and every touch was unhurried, deliberate as though he was tuning you, finding the exact pitch that made you hum beneath his touch. His fingers danced over your skin, like he was learning the contours of an instrument. The press of his lips ignited sparks at every point of contact.

"Channie," you whispered as you intertwined one of his warm hands with yours; he stroked your cheek gently, smiling ever so lovingly at you.

"Relax for me," he purred before nipping his teeth at your neck ever so slightly. The motion caused you to shiver, your breath hitching in your throat as his lips travel from your neck slowly to your chest. There, he sucked small markings into your skin until purple and red adorned your chest. Welts became present due to his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before Chan moved to fiddle with the hem of your top.

"Are you alright with taking this further?" Chan questioned, assuring that he had your full consent before going farther.

"Yes," you breathed out, the words nearly getting stuck in your throat; your gaze flickers to the computer screen, watching as the speakers picked up each noise, the audio receptor's lines expanding with each recipient.

With your approval, Chan stripped you of your top, agonizingly slow albeit, his fingers moving their way to the clasp of your bra. He managed to undo the latch in one, swift motion, and before giving you time to think, his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned as the warmth from his mouth and the wetness of his tongue sucked, kissed, and bit at your nipple, his tongue gliding over the sensitive region. His hands caressed your hips slowly before the right one moved up to attend to the neglected breast; his fingers rolled the bud, pinching, flicking and eliciting beautiful sounds from you.

"Don't hold back" Chan breathed out. "I want to hear everything."

At this point, your body was burning, both from Chan's actions and from the awareness that this was all going to be on tape; you felt a coating of arousal pool up at your core, causing you to rub your clothed thighs together in attempts to gain some sort of friction. Chan noticed the action almost instantly, grinding his hips slightly into yours; you sighed almost out of relief as you felt his own arousal poking through the black fabric of his loose shorts.

Chan lifts off of you, his hands reaching for the bottom of his hoodie; however, you stopped him, your hands mirroring his actions. You wanted to strip him, wanted to be the one to revel in revealing his perfection. Chan sighed out of contenment as you lifted the sweatshirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process and discarding the article somewhere on the studio floor.

Ridding the hoodie revealed a toned torso, with glimmering, slightly-tanned abs sparkling in the glow of the studio. You instinctually moved your hands to lay upon his chest, just as you had done so many times before, sliding your palms down his body smoothly and causing him to shiver. He positioned his body back above you, leaning over your smaller frame.

"Let me take care of you, Love," he lightly growled out as he moved his hands down to hook under the waistband of your pants, flicking his gaze to meet yours for approval. You nodded repeatedly, causing Chan to giggle as he slid your pants and underwear down, throwing the clothing alongside his hoodie.

He relished at your arousal, his eyes looking blown out before any sexual act had been committed.

"Look at you, Darling," he whispered, sliding a fingers through your wetness and causing you to whine. "Always so pretty for me."

Before you could comprehend his words, your mind increasingly numbing at his actions, Chan inserted his pointer fingers, pumping the digit in and out of you slowly. The contact elicited a string of hearty, genuine moans from you; admittedly, you were louder than you usually were during sex. You were not sure if it was because of the arousal of being recorded or if you just felt particularly frustrated that day.

Whatever it was, the sounds escaping you were particularly tumultuous, and Chan thought the octave was perfect for what he wanted to accomplish.

Chan inserted his middle finger minutes after his first digit, his pace quickening along with the speed of your whines. He maneuvered his hands, reaching to where his thumb could brush against your clit and allowing you to feel as if you were on cloud nine. You repeatedly clenched around him, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you slowly but surely; however, Chan removed his fingers before you could reach the finish line, which earned a loud, aggravated whine from you.

"Channie!" you groaned, your pussy clenching around nothing as you bucked your hips up instinctively, attempting to receive any type of contact, even the slightest motion, that would bring you to your end.

"Why?"

"Adds an element of fun," Chan responded, his lips quirked into a smug smirk, "both to the music and to our little moments."

"I can't wait anymore, Chan," you whimpered out in response, making your boyfriend tsk at you appraisingly before he slid off his own bottoms.

He quickly lined his cock up with your entrance, rubbing through your folds teasingly; he complimented the prior action poking at the hole.

"Are you ready, Darling?" he questioned.

"Yes!" you yelped out, positioning your legs to wrap around Chan's torso.

"Beg for it, then," he commanded, causing your eyes to widen and your cheeks to flush from embarassment.

"This wasn't apart of the plan," you quietly mewled as Chan halted his teasing motions.

"Mm, maybe not, but I know what gets a reaction out of you," Chan admitted leaning down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning your ears. "I gotta make sure this melody encapsulates as much of your perfection as possible. So, baby girl, if you want the same thing, I suggest you get to begging."

You let out an annoyed huff, your lips pursing into a sheepish pout as you reluctantly did as demanded of you.

"Please, Channie," you pleaded, your arms gripping his shoulders. "I need you so bad please. Please, please, please, baby." Chan chuckled lightly at your beseeching as he placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Good girl," he praised gently.

With that, he gently pushed himself inside of you. You both gasped at the feeling; Chan's length filled you completely, causing you to tingle with excitement as the familiar stretch swiftly morphed from pain into pleasure.

You gave Chan the go-ahead to move, and he held your hips tightly as he thrusted in and out of you; his lips parted, making their way to kiss and nip at your skin, the tips of his canines lightly poking you.

"You always feel so amazing, my love," he moaned out; you simply sighed in pleasure, clenching yourself around him as you melted into his stature. Rushes of pleasure shot throughout your body as Chan tighlty gripped onto your hips, his nails causing indents in your flesh.

The knot tightening in your stomach returns throughout Chan's thrusts, and you are unable to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor from gentle to hazy. All you know is that it feels good and that you are losing yourself within his darkened gaze.

"Chan, oh my," you moan out, your voice high pitched and hoarse.

"You like that, Darling?" Chan questions as your noises pick up in pace. "Keep moaning for me. You're doing so well."

"'M close," you whimper out, holding onto Chan for dear life. Chan mandhandles your body upwards, still holding onto you in the new positions and burying his head in the crook of your neck.

"Cum for me then, Love," he commands; as soon as he gives the approval , your orgasm hits. Your brain becomes like mush, and your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure rocks through you.

You feel Chan halt in his movements and he slowly pulls out of you, allowing himself to finish on your stomach before laying beside you.

"Still with me?" he questions, pulling you into his arms.

"Mhm," you mumble, just barely able to hear his words. You feel tired all of a sudden, tangling your hands in Chan's hair, albeit much lighter this time.

"You did so good, Baby," Chan praised, holding you tightly against him. "Wait until you hear how beautiful you sound."

A week had passed since that night in the studio. You had not been allowed to hear the song yet, as Chan insisted it was, "not ready." His process was meticulous, almost obsessive, and though your curiosity burned, you let him do his thing.

Now, you were back in the studio, perched on the same couch where it had all happened. Chan stood by the mixing console, his headphones draped around his neck, a spark of nervous energy buzzing in his movements.

“It’s done,” he said, running a tired hand through his hair.

You shifted in your seat, heart thudding with anticipation.

“You’re making it sound like I should be scared,” you teased, though the slight tremble in your words told him part of you was nervous.

He shot you a lopsided grin, approaching you and sitting beside you on the couch. Strangely, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“You don’t have to listen if you’re not ready," he explained, his tone laced with a sense of reluctance. "It’s...intimate.” The way his voice dipped sensually on the last word made your pulse quicken and you instantly shook your head.

“No, I want to hear it,” you declined his offer, your words uttered softly. "Play it, please."

He nodded, a faint smile present as he slid his headphones over your ears and pressed play on the monitor. The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment. As the first notes filled your ears, everything else slowly faded away.

The song started softly; it was a deep, pulsing rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, layered with delicate chords that swept over you like a whisper. Then, beneath the music, you heard it.

You.

It was a faint gasp, so quiet it almost blended into the background vocals, followed by the softest of moans mixed into the melody. The sounds sent a rush of heat to your cheeks as your mind flashed back to that night, to Chan’s hands, his lips, and the way he had coaxed those very sounds from you.

Your breath caught as the track built, the sensual undertones unmistakable. Every layer of the song felt personal, your breaths and your voice intertwined with the raw intensity of Chan's production. It was not overtly explicit, but the sensuality was undeniable, a secret language only the two of you could speak woven into the music.

When the track ended, you pulled the headphones off and stared at him, your mouth slightly agape.

“Chan...” You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the headphones at him. “That’s me.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes searched yours for any sign of disapproval.

“It’s us,” he corrected. “I wanted it to feel sincere, like it replicated us to a tee.”

Your cheeks burned, contrasting the thrill that coursed through your veins. Chan scooted closer, leaning in front of you so his face was mere inches away from yours.

“You’re my muse,” he told you simply. “Every sound, every breath—it’s you. You inspire me.”

You shook your head, laughing softly.

“If people hear this-”

“They won’t know it’s you, if they even notice it's there,” he reassured, his voice gentle. “It’s subtle. Just for us.”

Your lips parted, still processing, but before you could say anything else, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin.

"You don't hate it, do you?"

“Hate it?” you echoed, shaking your head on denial. “I could never hate anything you create. The song is absolutely beautiful. It’s just...”

“Just?”

“...Really hot,” you admitted, biting your lip.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because it’s the most personal thing I’ve ever made, and I want it to be for you as much as it is for me or for the fans.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Well,” you began, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “if you ever need more inspiration..” Your voice trailed off as your fiddled with the chain of his necklace, your forehead still pressed gently against his. Chan grinned, his fingers tightening on your waist.

“Don’t tempt me, y/n.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[suksatoru]

—more than a good lover.

↪ it didn't matter what the world thought of him—as long as he had you.

pairing: sae itoshi x fem!reader

despite being a man of few words, sae itoshi is a good lover.

the few pictures of him outside of the field are usually with you. he's a private person, rarely going out unless it's for dinner dates or for meetings concerning him. so when an article posted by a reporter (one known for having the hottest gossip on celebrities and athletes) calls him a bad husband, he's hurt. he doesn't want to admit that his feelings are genuinely wounded from such an accusation, but at the end of the day—he's human too.

the media seems to forget that too often.

sae really does try with you, because he really does love you. those gossip columns don't know anything—he shouldn't care so much, and he never has. but this take hit him on a personal level. his relationship with you was special, and for it to be spoken about so horribly, so casually, is a rude slap to the face.

he's reading the article on a long flight late at night while you're sleeping right beside him, blissfully unaware. your head is resting on his shoulder, and he keeps one hand intertwined with yours and resting in his lap while his other is scrolling through the comments. they were all agreeing with the reporter—some of them saying they felt bad you got stuck with such an emotionless player, or how he seemed way too busy to give you any attention.

there's a voice in the back of his head telling him to turn off his phone, to ignore these people who don't know anything about you two and to get some much needed sleep—

so that's just what he does.

the media really is stupid if they think sae itoshi doesn't love you.

don't they know his favorite past time is kissing the inside of your wrists? the gentle thrum of your pulse beneath his lips is his favorite melody in the whole world. the sound of a roaring crowd after winning a match doesn't even hold a candle to the calm serenity he feels at the sound of your heartbeat.

can't they see how he falls asleep every night in your arms? with his face pressed against your chest, bangs un-styled and heart kept safely in the palm of your hands—you're the only person able to see such a side of him, and it would stay that way forever.

marriage isn't a small thing. when sae itoshi proposed, he did it with the intention of spending the rest of his life with you. he did it because he trusted you with his heart more than he trusted himself with it.

sae is a man of few words, and even though your wedding consisted of only a few close family and friends—there wasn't a single person in the venue who wasn't brought to near tears with his vows. they were honest, raw like an uncut gemstone.

and he knows you love him just the same. with you pressed against his side, coming with him and leaving behind everything to travel the world to support his ambitions—he knows you do.

he's more than a good lover. the media is so lukewarm—it's the first thought that comes to his mind when the jet you two were on finally lands.

"you're staring," you grin cheekily, finally awake and splaying your hand over the muscle of his thigh as your finger taps rhythmically against it.

sae blinks slowly. the pilot is saying something on the intercom about needing another ten minutes to unload the jet before the two of you could get off—but the world turns to nothing but pure static when sae looks at you.

he looks at the diamond ring adorning your finger, he looks at your sleepy smile, and he looks at your intertwined hands—

yeah. the rest of the world can think whatever it wants, he knows your thoughts and feelings are the only ones he actually gives a fuck about.

"am i not allowed to stare at the love of my life?"

sae itoshi was a man of few words. they were blunt and never sugar coated, so when he refers to you as the love of his life—he means it.

you hum, watching a rare smile grace his handsome face as you lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. he looks a thousand times more adorable in your eyes with his bangs down, and you take a second to stare at him before quickly snuggling back into his side

he takes a glance at the sunset taking place right outside the plane window, moving to wrap his arms around your shoulder and pressing a chaste kiss right behind your ear before speaking

"i hope our future kids get your smile."

"huh?!"

"you heard me."

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Husband x Pregnant Reader ~

Requests are open!

• You and your husband has been married for 3 years and you have a happy marriage that your life couldn't get any better

• Until one day you realise your period has been late a few weeks. You take a pregnancy test and found out you guys are gonna become parents.

• You told yan about your pregnancy and now you are the happiest couple in world. You always thought yan husband is very protective? Well get ready darling because this man is gonna get double protective and stress out about every single thing till the baby is born.

• Yan Husband who hires the most famous, experienced and expensive gynecologist in city.

• Buys every pregnancy book available and remembers every single thing mentioned in it

• Food cravings? My love he would go buy anything even at middle of night. But you wanted from that specific shop? Well then he is going to make owner open the shop and make food for you at the middle of night no in between.

• Makes the most nutritious breakfast, lunch, dinner by himself. Makes you eat fruits, homemade smoothies that even professional fitness coaches plan is colourless compared to his.

• Reads so many pregnancy articles, cases and watches video. The only thing remaining now is getting a medical degree which he thinks upon to get just in case which you have to put a stop on.

• Constantly checking your blood pressure, sugar levels, pulse that he has become personal doctor of yours.

• Going with you on walks, doing yoga together.

• Buys all the baby stuff with the most safety guarantee even if the price is ridiculous. When it comes to you and baby nothing is expensive.

• Takes leave from work or work from home throughout your pregnancy. Won't let you go out of his sight.

• Won't even let you lift a finger and you are thinking about continuing job? THAT'S JUST STRAIGHT UP NO.

• Baby proofs that whole house. Always looking up at nutritious recipes for pregnant ladies on internet.

• Buys everything that he finds adorable and spending unnecessarily very high that you have to sit him down and explain the budget but still doesn't listen.

• Wants Baby to look like you because you are the most beautiful person in this world for him.

• Attends every doctor's appointment with you like a ritual and bores doctor to death with his constant questions about your pregnancy. Don't be surprised if you find him talking to doctor and asking a question at two in night.

• Talks and kisses to your baby bump everyday and mostly talk about you to baby telling how much lucky he is to have you and how much he loves you both.

• Has multiple panick attacks through out your pregnancy just thinking about you and baby's safety.

• When your water broke and the contraction begins he is just a centimetre away from having a heart attack.

• When you are under going labour threatens doctor that if anything happens to you or the baby the doctor will become a dead body.

Requests are open!

Read more yandere fics:

[twice-in-a-blue-moon]

when solomon has sex with you for the first time, he makes sure to absolutely worship your body. during the first kiss scene with him, he said he's been waiting for a chance to do it. so with this, he's going to make sure his patience will pay off. not an inch of your skin will be unloved by him. it may have taken so long, but the end result will be perfect as the two of you are satisfied, love growing by the second

(Ooh, thank you for the food, anon!! Solomon's first kiss scene will forever have my heart) Reader is GN! :)

Minors DNI!

"Why don't you come just a little closer?"

You shift a little closer until there's no space between you two on the bed, and his lips are back on yours. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, softly rubbing his thumb along to solidify in his mind that you are here and that this is happening.

Somehow, miraculously, he finally got you alone...and you want him too.

Though he fears he'll get too eager and move too fast for your liking, leading to crossing a boundary or scaring you away. So, he's careful, treating you as if you were glass, slow to do anything more than kiss you like this. Truthfully, he could just do this all night and he'd still be over the moon. But he can't deny in his heart the need for more.

His hand on your jaw slowly slides down your neck, simply letting his fingertips brush against the sensitive skin. It's warm, and he can feel your pulse thrumming just beneath. He wonders how it would feel against his lips.

Solomon reluctantly pulls away from your lips, leaning down to instead kiss along the column of your neck. It elicits a soft gasp, and he feels giddy that he can get such a cute response from you. It only serves him to want to hear more. A secondary motive.

With each article of clothing he removes from your body, he falls deeper in love as he sees his person bared completely to him. It signifies the trust you've built together. And he'll do everything to never lose it - a promise he quietly makes to himself.

From your neck, he lavishes kisses along your collarbones, down both of your arms, your shallowly rising and falling chest, your soft stomach, all the way down to your naval. Any further is iffy territory and he wants explicit permission before he does anything more.

Through a husky tone, he asks, "is this okay? Can I continue?"

Your approval and reassurance are resounding. The weight of worry eases a little, but he's still tentative to continue. He wants you to feel good. He wants this first time with you to be perfect. He can't help it, he's an ancient sorcerer in love for the first time in a very long time...if ever.

So, slowly, he ventures onward to where he sees the obvious impact he's had on you tonight. His talented silver tongue makes you squirm on the bed, your hands tangling in his soft locks as his name tumbles out of your mouth like a prayer. The taste of your sweet arousal is something he fears he could get addicted to.

Solomon can feel his own arousal growing past anything he's ever experienced before. He didn't know he had the capacity to feel so needy for someone else. Good lord, just what are you doing to him?

Once he feels he's prepped and pleasured you enough with his tongue and dexterous fingers, he pulls away to finally undress and bare himself to you. His eyes shift away nervously as he feels you studying his body now. He knows his skin is marred from centuries of living; the countless pact marks, scars he doesn't remember the stories of, and burns from experiments gone wrong. He's never felt self-conscious like this before, but it's another product of what you do to him.

When you sit up on the bed, crawling to him to brush your fingers along his skin, it takes his breath away. You aren't afraid to explore him. Tracing his pact marks, kissing his imperfections, never once showing disgust like he might've thought.

No, only care.

Solomon gently chases you back down onto the bed, crawling over your excited form with smiles and giggles exchanged in the otherwise quiet room. Once again, he gets your staunch permission before continuing. And once again, you reassure him that this is what you want. Any lingering doubt subsides, and with that, he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly slides in, letting you adjust once he's fully settled within you.

"D-Deus meus..."

His forehead rests against yours as his breathing turns ragged, reveling in how goddamn good you feel around him. It takes all of him to be patient, but he waits for your signal, and once he has it, he doesn't hesitate to start moving.

His hips snap against yours in deep, measured thrusts. Passionate kisses are shared, soft moans and grunts fill your ears, and his hands never once stop exploring your body. The love he gave it earlier wasn't nearly enough.

There's no rush. It's not frantic - it's not even desperate. It's slow and intimate as he guarantees you both feel good in this one moment of solitude.

Solomon isn't even thinking about afterwards or what those brothers might say. He's fully entranced by you. He makes love to you as if it's the last time he ever will.

Soon he brings you both to a mind-shattering orgasm. His body shudders above yours as he buries his face in your neck. The way you clench around him makes him consider asking for a second round. Though, he wants to take a break more - to love and care for you as needed. As carefully as he can, he pulls out, already missing being enveloped by you and your sweet body. The second his fatigued self hits the bed, you instantly cuddle up to him, locking him in place for the foreseeable future.

To say he's a little shocked is an understatement. Sure, you both just shared a moment of passion and pleasure, but there was still some part of him that wondered if you really wanted him. For you to take the initiative to cuddle up to him in the afterglow touches his heart. Solomon wraps his arms around you, humming at the shared warmth between your sweaty bodies and shielding you from the world outside of this room.

Tonight you're his. And he knows he'll always be yours.

[humanpurposes]

The Way You Taste

The lines between friendship and 'more' are becoming difficult to define with you and Aemond. You don't know what's holding you back, but lately you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

modern!vampire!Aemond x reader

Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, blood play, creepy stuff (tis the season), mentions of murder and violence

Words: 3.8k

A/n: Happy Halloween/Halloween Eve 😼🖤 (depending on your timezone)

You can’t shake this feeling lately, like someone is watching you.

The season doesn’t help. The clocks went back a few days ago and the new cycle of daylight has thrown you off your axis. The mornings are bright but the night comes quicker. You watched the sun fade from the window in your office and by 4pm it was dark. Insanity.

Sure, you can wear your big coat and a scarf to fight off the cold but your limbs still feel shaky and unsure. And it still feels like there are eyes on you everywhere you go; work; the coffee shop round the corner; the supermarket; the gym; your own unassuming flat on the quiet side of Queen’s Park.

Dany’s obsessed with the news stories, always sending you videos and articles with the latest updates and theories. It began about a month ago when a student was found behind some bins in a service yard off Silk Street with a knife in her neck. She was only eighteen, from a small town in Dorne, eager to get a degree and start her life. She had been out with her flatmates at a well known pub in a busy part of town, went outside for a smoke and that was it. According to the police she might have had a chance if someone had found her. Instead she was left to bleed out for hours.

There have been three deaths in total, the student, a 30-something-year-old regular at the club Seven Heavens, and a bartender at Falling Star. Dany thinks the culprit must be some insane conservative with a twisted sense of morals and decency, determined to punish those who actually live their lives– or so she’s seen online.

You don’t know who the culprit is, you don’t really want to think about it. You can’t stop noticing every face you pass on the street, on the bus, on your way into the office, and you wonder, could they be a killer?

Your hands tremble and fumble with the keys to your front door. The key is funny, you have to sort of push it and pull it as you twist it, but the door opens and you scurry inside. The keys are tossed into their usual dish, your coat and scarf thrown on their hooks, shoes off, bag set down on the floor carefully so you don’t smash your laptop. 

You should lock the door. You will lock the door but your head is pulsing and the cold weather has left your throat dry. You need tea, or water. Maybe you could treat yourself to both. 

There are exactly three rooms in your flat. Bedroom, bathroom and the rest of it. The sight of your sofa covered in papers and notebooks fills you with dread but you move on to the kitchen and clear a space on the counter, setting out a glass and a mug. Teabag in the mug. Water in the glass. Water in the kettle. Fuck, the dishes are piling up. 

Your finger is an inch away from the switch on the kettle when your phone rings. The noise is faint, coming from the hallway because it’s in your coat pocket. So you go back around the counter, past the sofa and into the hallway. The ringtone sounds sharper the closer you get and once you’ve got the phone in your hand the name Aemond Targaryen appears on the screen.

Your heart lurches. You let the phone ring for another second before you answer in an airy voice, “hi.”

There’s a soft hum on the other side. “Hello, you. Did you get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good day?”

You have to stop yourself from making a sound of exasperation. There’s only so much you can enjoy about a job when you give everything and get seemingly nothing back. “Fine. Long. Emails.”

Aemond hums. Maybe it’s meant to be sympathy but you have this same problem with Dany, the disappointment when they don’t hear what they want to. 

Dany had been the one to introduce the two of you around the end of August. Aemond is a cousin of her’s and at the time had just moved to King’s Landing from Oldtown. She didn’t know him particularly well, but said he got on with her brother, Viserys, which didn’t paint the best image in your mind. But then you met him and right away you knew he was unlike any other man you’d ever met. He was striking; tall, perfect posture, long silver hair, perfectly fitted suit. And his voice, gentle yet chilling. Hypnotic. 

He asked for your number the second time you met and you had given it to him on the basis that an exchange of numbers wasn’t a commitment. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe he just wanted to be friendly. Sometime over the last two months, ‘friendly’ became text conversations into the early morning hours, became phone calls, became coffees and dinner.

“Is everything okay, Aemond?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You’ve wandered back into the living room. All the clutter makes you anxious. “Need to clean up a bit, get myself some food.”

“Can I come over?”

“Oh, um, I’d rather you didn’t, my place is a mess.”

“Come over to mine, then. I’ll make you dinner.”

You catch your lip between your teeth. 

You and Aemond had gone for dinner last Saturday night. He told you to wear something nice, picked you up in a cab and took you to a steak restaurant where you knew you could barely afford a side dish, let alone a main. He told you to order whatever you wanted, picked expensive wines to go with the food, insisted you get a dessert, and covered the whole bill.

He saw you home. It would have been a shame to end the night before 9pm, so you invited him in. You showed Aemond around, not that your place is spectacular, but he liked what you did with the bedroom, the plants and the postcards on the wall. In the living room you picked out a bottle of cheap white wine from the fridge. Harmless fun, surely.

All self restraint was gone. You were half delirious and cosying up to him on the sofa, telling him about your job, your shitty boss, your obnoxious coworkers. If you had your way you’d start your own blog or magazine, or disappear to a coastal town and write a novel, but that wouldn’t pay off your student loans or pay for a place to live. 

You told him about Dany’s new friends. She had her own startup with her family’s money behind her, and it was doing well but she didn’t have time for anything else. She was unreachable during the week, and every weekend she had started hanging out with her employees. Your chats are filled with photos she's sent you of pints and drunk selfies in clubs. And she never invites you.

But Aemond was there, the only person in weeks who had made any sort of effort to see you. You held his face in your hands and told him how beautiful his lips were.

Then he kissed you.

That took you by surprise. He moved you into his lap, trailed his hands along your legs to the hem of your dress, and all the while your lips moved together so perfectly. You wanted it to happen, more than you had allowed yourself to admit, but you hadn’t expected it. You pulled away and so did he. Something didn’t feel right. Something was holding you back.

He’s Dany’s cousin, you told yourself. 

“It’s alright,” you say, moving your bag to the sofa, paper and pens shifting around it. “Shit– I’ve got some work to do.”

“On a Friday night?”

It wouldn’t be so unbelievable, you staying in on a Friday, but Aemond has a way of picking up on the smallest of details. Maybe there’s a give in your voice. Maybe you’re breathing too heavily– now you’re thinking about it and you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“I’m fine, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

You can hardly think over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. And gods, you feel so guilty. Why do you feel so guilty? “It’s just that now’s not a good time.”

“Now as in, right now?”

Now as in this moment. Today. This year. Until you feel that you’re ready, only, you don’t know when you’ll be ready.

“Aemond, you know I think you’re wonderful, I mean, I hope you know that. And I… appreciated dinner last weekend. I just…”

There’s a flow of breath through the speaker, a slow exhale that sets your nerves alight. Aemond has a way of tapping his fingers when he’s impatient or when he’s thinking. You picture him drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I thought I was being rather direct in what I wanted. I hate to think I’ve imposed,” he says. 

It’s hard not to overthink this kind of thing, after a lifetime of drunk flirting, harmless fun, no strings attached, “not looking for a relationship” and men keeping their options open. Aemond is intelligent and generous. He has an eye for detail, a way of reading you, and a self assuredness that means he can breeze through life effortlessly.

He’s perfect, and you’re not. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Aemond is silent. No breathing, no sign of life. It’s like that for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. And finally he says. “I understand perfectly.” 

“I really am sorry,” you say, but the white noise of the call is dead. 

You finally make yourself that cup of tea. Dany calls and you don’t want to answer. But you do. She’s on her way to the pub. 

“It’s Jon’s birthday and we’re going to Falling Star!”

You don’t want to hate her for being around other people, but why can’t she do it without rubbing it in your face? “Enjoy. And don’t die,” you say.

“I’m too pretty to be murdered,” she says. A slew of true crime documentaries and faces in newspapers would say otherwise, but by then she’s already hung up.

The rest of your evening is a peaceful one. You don’t pay much attention to the dating show you put on the TV, more interested in an algorithm of videos, cats making funny noises, a man shoving his wife’s face into their wedding cake, a tribute to the three victims of the Silk Street murders– no new news there, new economic policies, fantasy book recommendations…

You check your messages. Dany’s just sent you a photo of her pint.

You scroll a little further down and hover your thumb over your chat with Aemond, but you don’t open it.

Nothing in particular wakes you. Still half asleep, you’re aware of your body, the exposed parts of skin against the fabric of your bedsheets, the rise and fall of your chest. Instinct tells you it’s a few hours after midnight. There are no strange noises, no sources of light, just the cold air beyond the duvet, pulled up to your chin.

Then it starts to slip away. 

Your hands struggle to catch up with your mind. You think about grabbing the edge and tugging against whatever is trying to pull it off you, but you can’t. The fabric slips through your limp fingers, dragging over your body until there’s no weight on top of you. Your limbs are frozen in place, curled over on one side, dressed in an old t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Your skin crawls at a silent breeze, but you can feel it again, eyes on you.

Then there are fingers, stroking along your bare legs, closing around your ankles. 

Your eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness and you can see that the bedroom door is wide open. Without looking, you feel an awareness about the room, a presence looming at the foot of the bed. It pulls on your legs, dragging you further down the bed, positioning you flat on your back.

Even in the dead of night, the gleam of silver hair is undeniable.

“Aemond?”

His gaze meets yours. He smiles and starts to pull at the buttons on his shirt– trust Aemond to show up in a dream wearing a shirt and slacks.

The haze of sleep lulls your mind and sharpens your senses. You run your hands up your thighs, admiring every inch of his skin as it’s revealed to you.

Shirt discarded, his hands come to his belt and linger on the buckle. He hums and it infuriates you how even the slightest of sounds makes you desperate for him. But the belt stays where it is, so do the slacks. 

His palms fall to the mattress and he crawls towards you like an animal. You’ve rarely seen that side of him in real life, maybe that night when you kissed, the way he groaned against your mouth and grazed his teeth over your lips…

His hands are on either side of your head. The colour of his eyes and the line of his scar are difficult to make out in the dark. His body leans against yours, slowly pressing his weight on top of you, making a home for his hips between your legs. You don’t just let him do it, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer as your hips start to rock. 

He leans down, placing a firm, slow kiss against your lips. You try to follow him as he pulls away, but he moves down to kiss your neck, then the base of your throat.

“You can’t lie to me,” he mutters against your skin, “I know what you need.”

He lifts your t-shirt enough to expose your breasts, taking one into his hand and squeezing, just to the precipice of pain. You’re already moaning when he takes the other nipple into his mouth, bruising and licking and sucking. 

With every moment that passes you feel the control slipping, his and yours. Perfect, sweet, refined Aemond, gripping his fingertips into your flesh like claws, restless and grinding himself against you. You thread your hands through his hair, surfaces of bone, chin and forehead, fall against each other. 

Aemond slips further still. He trails his lips along your sternum and your stomach, positioning his face between your legs. There’s no more pretence. He parts your thighs with his palms, pulling your underwear down your legs before he runs a single finger through your folds. You feel how effortless it is, how wet you are for him.

Until his finger is replaced by his tongue in slow, agonising licks. His eyes are on you, but the rest of him is obscured by your own body. You rock against him to chase the feeling, keeping a hand on his head to keep him where you need him. 

It’s like a silent conversation. He takes your queues, responds to your moans and the way your jaw slacks when he finds the right spot.

You watch his shoulder shift and feel the pressure of his finger at your entrance. He doesn’t push it in, not yet.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

He hums against your cunt and you feel it in the rest of your body, an echo through your bones and your blood.

He wants you to beg.

“Aemond, please,”

He slips inside you and you’re weightless. 

The noises you make aren’t conscious. You feel the air flowing through your lungs, the sound in your throat, panting and moaning as he nudges against the flesh inside you. 

It rises and rises until the pleasure tears through you. Aemond holds you in place with a palm splayed on your stomach, unrelenting, working you through the high.

“Aemond,” you whimper, “I can’t take it,”

He pulls away from you, and still gasping for air he comes to his knees on the bed, hovering over you. “You taste too fucking good,” he says.

You’re still writhing in the afterglow when he reaches for something in his back pocket. The shape of it is obscured in the darkness but you can see how he’s holding it, like he’s holding up a pen. It doesn’t even occur to you that it could be anything dangerous. 

“Are you going to let me have another taste?”

You should say yes, that’s how these things go, play along and see where you end up.

He leans over you again, on one hand. You watch the way his hair falls, the way he draws his tongue over his lips. 

It happens too quickly for you to make any kind of protest. Aemond puts the object into your face and there’s a stinging sensation on your lower lip. By the time he has pulled away you feel a liquid pearling at the cut he’s made, wet and warm. 

“What… what the fuck?” you utter.

Aemond surges back into you, a man starved, kissing your bloodied lips. His tongue delves into your mouth and you can taste it, the sweetness of your own arousal, the metallic tang of your own blood.

“Too good,” Aemond growls under his breath, “too fucking good,”

You meet him with hunger of your own and feel his mouth break into a smile.

“See? I knew you wanted this,” he says as his hand curls around your neck, “desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body is screaming for another release. You rake your nails down his back, press your chest up and into him.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Aemond.”

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

You pause. There’s hardly any space between you, the tips of your noses are the slightest move from touching. You see the stains on Aemond’s lips, the darkness in his expression.

“I’m not ready,” you say.

Aemond huffs to himself, you’re unsure if it's amusement or disbelief. He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by your wrists to pull you up. He doesn’t let go. His hands are so much bigger than yours, curling around your forearms. “I could give you everything, do you know that?”

You feel yourself frown.

“Why aren’t you ready? What’s stopping you?”

There are so many imperfections in your life. People like Aemond and Dany, they make life look easy because it is easy for them. If they work it’s something to fill the time. 

Your eyes are starting to sting. “I– I have things I need to focus on. I can’t get caught up in this, I can’t distract myself.”

Aemond’s mouth curls into a small smile, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.” He brings one of your wrists to his lips, placing a delicate skin against it, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?"

It’s an enchanting idea, a life outside of a job that makes you miserable, untethered to a friend you can feel is drifting away…

You feel your head nodding.

“Good girl,” Aemond mutters.

You expect him to kiss you again, or lay you down on the bed and fuck you. Instead he reaches for something beside him. The knife.

You flinch away and get as far as the headboard. Aemond still has one hand on your wrist and pulls you back in. 

He takes the blade to his chest and makes a shallow cut down his skin. Your insides turn and tighten at the sight, unable to decide if you’re terrified or fascinated. 

You know what he wants you to do. That’s always the way with dreams, somehow you just know what you need to, even if what’s happening in front of you doesn’t make sense. 

You lean forwards, bracing yourself against his firm torso, tongue out, licking along the cut. His blood pools and burns on your tongue. It’s bitter and sweet, and you relish it.

Aemond moans, cradling your head in his hand.

He pulls on your hair to tilt your chin up. His face is full of admiration and you preen at the praise.

He moves your head down, to the bulge in his slacks. With his other hand he undoes his belt and you pull it away eagerly. He seems pleased at that and makes quick work of freeing his cock.

You delight at the sight of him, watching his hand work himself to hardness, precum glistening at the tip, and take him into your willing mouth. His sighs of pleasure spurn you on, your own arousal rising in your belly. 

Aemond’s grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, “my perfect girl,”

Until he decides he’s had enough. You hardly comprehend it as he draws you away from his cock, turns you around and positions you on your stomach.

You gasp as he enters you, the sweet sting of stretching around his cock. It’s worth it when he reaches so deep inside of you. You can hear him gritting his teeth as he moans, like he’s torn between desire and restraint. 

And you wish you could watch him while he fucks you, moving in and out of you, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass, the blood dripping down his chest– you can still taste it.

Aemond’s hair tickles against your skin as he leans down, keeping his brutal pace. “Mine,” he misses against your ear, “you’re fucking mine.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, soft and simmering as he fucks you through it.

You press your fingertips into the mattress, basking in the heat of your skin, the dampness of sweat, the taste of blood on your lips…

When you open your eyes again daylight seeps through a gap in the curtains. You’re still on your front, still in your t-shirt. You move your hand between your legs and find a damp patch on your panties. 

Your legs and your arms are aching. You feel feverish, hot and cold, restless in your own skin. It’s that time of year, you suppose, flu season.

You can’t stop thinking about that dream. It almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it, Aemond sneaking into your room, and the blood– the blood. 

It would make sense to be disgusted by it, but you’re not. You feel a sort of pressure ghosting against your lips and your tongue. You imagine the sight of him, his toned torso, offering his very lifeforce to you, and tasting yours.

“Mine,” he said. 

You drag yourself out of the bed. Everything hurts. Even setting out a clean t-shirt and sweatpants exhausts you. Worst of all is the hunger starting to appear in your stomach, the kind that twists and churns.

Maybe a shower will put your head right. It’s amazing how many problems can be solved by warm water. You move in slow, sluggish steps to the bathroom. With the water running, you turn to the sink and reach for your toothbrush, catching sight of your reflection.

Something about your face feels different, and you’re not sure it’s a bad thing. You can’t pinpoint it, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful.

There is one thing though, a scab on your lower lip, right where Aemond had cut you in the dream.

“I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.”

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[rootedinrevisions]

The Rough Side of Hangman's Girl

SUMMARY: You’ve always been the quiet one, the kind of girl who prefers soft laughter to loud crowds, and gentle touches over wild passions. But Jake “Hangman” Seresin has a way of drawing out the side of you no one else gets to see. When he steps into your world, he doesn’t just turn your life upside down—he pushes you beyond every boundary you thought you had. Now, with his intense gaze and unyielding hold, you find yourself craving every rough touch, every whispered command.

A/N: Thank you to the person who send me the DM about this request! This one was so fun to write! I really hope you like it and I did your request justice.

Also the way Glen/Jake is biting his lip in this GIF does something to me so I had to include it!

PROMPT: "Don't be gentle with me-I like it when you're rough."

WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, P in V sex, spanking.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The door shut softly behind you, and you barely had a second to breathe before Jake had you pressed against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of your head, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, grounding you and sending your pulse racing all at once. His mouth met yours, warm and teasing, before his lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses along your skin with unhurried confidence.

His lips skimmed over a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you felt the heat bloom across your cheeks.

A quiet hum escaped you, and you felt Jake’s lips curve into a smirk against your skin. “Jake…” you whispered, the request barely audible, but he heard it. “Bite me.”

He froze for a second, pulling back just enough to catch your eye, his eyebrows raising in surprise. That trademark smirk spread across his face as he took you in, a low chuckle escaping him.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, sweetheart,” he drawled, the endearment roughened by a hint of mischief. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your eyes met his, emboldened by his reaction. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “I like it when you’re…rough.”

Jake’s gaze darkened, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he considered your words, his smile turning wicked. “My sweet girl has a dirty side, hmm?” He teased, pressing closer. His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, I can give you exactly what you want.”

His hands moved to your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he lifted you slightly, pressing you tighter against the wall.

He leaned in, his lips grazing yours as his voice softened to a rough whisper. “But remember you asked for this.”

Jake’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he lifted you, carrying you down the hallway to your bedroom, his stride confident and purposeful. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart pounding with anticipation as you looked up at him. There was a smoldering intensity in his eyes you hadn’t seen before–something darker, an edge to his usual smirk that made your pulse race even faster.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder, guiding you in and setting you down just beside the bed. His fingers were immediately at your waist, slipping under the fabric of your top, pulling it up over your head in one swift motion. There was no hesitation in his movements, no teasing pace–he was stripping away every article of clothing with a sense of urgency, his touch rougher than usual, more intense.

“Turn around for me,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as he pressed a hand against your back, guiding you to face away from him.

You felt a thrill shoot through you as you did what he asked, your breath hitching when his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with a rough pull, taking everything with them until you were bare under his gaze.

“Get on the bed,” he said, voice gruffer than usual.

His hand rested on your lower back, urging you forward until you were positioned on all fours. The air was thick with anticipation, and just as you settled, you felt his fingers thread into your hair, tugging firmly as he leaned over you, his breath warm against your ear. 

“Head down,” he murmured, the quiet dominance in his tone making you shiver. His grip tightened as he pushed your head down to the comforter, his other hand settling on your hip, holding you firmly in place. “And keep that pretty little ass up for me tonight,” he added, his voice laced with a roughened edge that made warmth spread through you instantly.

The weight of his hand, the way he held you down, his voice steady and unyielding–it was already too much, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, unable to hide the effect he was having on you.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, catching the subtle movement. “We’ve only just started.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking some relief from the tension that was building faster than you could contain. Jake’s amused chuckle resonated in the quiet, his tone edged with a kind of pride and surprise.

Without hesitation, he placed a knee on the bed, leaning in. His hand rested on your hip as he pushed your legs apart again, his knee pressing gently yet firmly, guiding you until you were as exposed and vulnerable as he wanted.

“Keep them like that,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine .”Or there’ll be consequences. Understood?”

A breathless nod was all you could manage, your face turned into the comforter, heat spreading over your skin. But before you could prepare yourself, you felt the sharp, sudden sting of his hand landing across you, and a gasp escaped your lips, followed by an involuntary moan that hung in the air. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the thrill mingling with a hint of a surprise that you couldn’t hide.

“Oh, now that’s something, isn’t it?” Jake murmured, his tone dripping with amusement as he ran his hand over the spot where his hand had landed, lingering to savor the reaction he’d pulled from you. “My sweet girl likes being spanked, hmm?”

The words made your breath hitch, and just as you felt your body start to melt into his touch, another sharp smack landed, this time harder. Another moan escaped, unbidden, and you felt his fingers spread possessively over your skin, his touch heavy with control and satisfaction.

He leaned in close, his voice a rough whisper as his hand stayed firmly in place. “Keep that up, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re begging for,” he teased, the promise in his voice making you shiver as you instinctively pressed back into his hand, craving more of the intensity he was unraveling in you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice a low, raspy drawl. “Didn’t think my sweet girl who blushed when I kissed her would be into this…but you’re loving it, aren’t you?”

He traced his hand slowly down the curve of your back, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake as he took his time, letting every inch of his touch ignite something deeper. As his fingers reached your thighs, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing them together again, the ache building so intensely that you couldn’t help it.

But Jake was quick, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart once more.

“Oh no, darlin’,” he whispered, the authority in his voice like nothing you’d heard from him before. “You keep those pretty legs open for me, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, breathless, and his lips brushed against your neck, warm and teasing, before he took hold of your hip, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive grip. You could feel the firmness of his body behind you, every inch of him taut and ready, the anticipation was overwhelming.

One hand was still on your hip, he let his other hand drift lower, fingers trailing through your folds, which had you quivering, aching for more. His thumb pressed down on your clit, testing you and the faintest pressure was enough to send a jolt through you.

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured with a satisfied chuckle, his tone full of dark promise. “Practically dripping, and I haven’t even gotten inside you yet.”

And then, he took it a step further–he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his movements more unrestrained, less careful than usual, his body pressed firmly into yours. His hand slid up to your shoulder, gripping it just tight enough to hold you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. 

“Hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with both desire and restraining. “Cause I’m not holding back this time.”

With that, he guided his tip against your folds, taking his time as he ran it up and down, letting the anticipation build until you could barely take it anymore. His touch was rough and demanding, and you were more than ready, practically melting into him as he finally, slowly, pushed himself inside you, savoring every reaction, every gasp, as he showed you exactly what you’d been craving.

Jake’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a roughness he’d never shown before like he couldn’t help himself. Every thrust was harder than the last, his movements quick and relentless, sending a wave of pleasure through you that left you gasping, clinging to the sheets for support. His rhythm had lost its usual restraint, each motion fueled by something you’d never felt from him before. And it left you breathless, lost in sensation.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand came down on you again, a swift, sharp smack that sent a shockwave of heat through you. A moan escaped before you could stop it, louder than before, your body instinctively arching into his touch. 

The sound seemed to fuel him, and he chuckled, low and rough, clearly reveling in how unabashedly you were responding. “God, I love how loud you’re being for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Didn’t know my sweet girl could get so worked up.”

His hand slid along your skin before coming down again with another smack, drawing another moan from you, your voice catching as you felt the sharp warmth spread over your skin.

With each sound you made, he seemed to grow more unrestrained, his hands gripping you together, his pace unrelenting as he moved, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as though he wanted to pull every last gasp and moan from you.

The pressure of his hands on your hips was almost overwhelming, holding you so firmly that you knew you’d feel his touch lingering on you long after that night.

“You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his movements never slowing. “Making me think you were all innocent. But here you are, moaning like you were made for this.”

The combination of his words and his movements left you teetering on the edge, your body completely in sync with his rhythm, every rough touch and commanding word pulling you further under his spell. And as he kept moving, kept pushing you closer and closer, you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop yourself fro giving in completely to the way he was taking you apart, thrust by thrust, with no intention of stopping until he’d made you his in every possible way.

Jake could feel you tightening around him, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge. Your body was trembling beneath him, and the way you were clenching told him you were almost there. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to push you over the edge, needed to hear you scream his name.

“Get up on your elbows,” he commanded, his voice harsh but laced with desire. You obeyed without hesitation, your body responding instantly to his words. The new angle was almost too much–his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back into him, and suddenly the depth of his thrusts was hitting you in all the right ways. You gasped, your head falling back, and your back arched as his cock slammed into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake cursed under his breath, his hands moving to your hips to help guide you, pulling you back into him with each stroke. He loved how you felt around him, how responsive you were, how loud you were–everything about this moment sent him spiraling. “God, you’re so fucking loud. I love it. Don’t stop…don’t stop making those noises for me.”

You could barely hold onto the sheets, the overwhelming pleasure radiating through your body, the new angle pushing him right to that spot inside of you that made your entire body seize. His words, his voice, everything about the way he was fucking you–faster, harder–was enough to send you crashing toward the edge.

“Let go for me, baby,” Jake growled, his voice rough with hunger. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

That did it. A shock of pleasure surged through you, your body spasming as you cried out his name, the wave of ecstasy washing over you, pulling you under completely. You felt him jerk inside of you, his breath ragged as he pushed you through it, holding you tight as your body quivered with aftershocks. You moaned his name again, your voice breathless, as the final release hit you both at the same time.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as you both finished, your bodies trembling, chest heaving as you collapsed together onto the comforter. 

Neither of you could catch your breath at first, the room heavy with the sound of your labored breathing. His hand brushed a strand of hair from your face as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a grounding force after the intense release.

“That was…goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice rough, but there was a softness behind it now, a gentleness as he ran his hand over your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath, unable to form words just yet. He smiled, his lips brushing over your forehead as you both laid there, tangled up in each other, feeling the afterglow of everything that had just happened.

“Good,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter, feeling the contentment between you both settle in. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[frantic-fiction]

Payback 18+

(Pic: northernolddragon) I cropped it

Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x f!Tav

Summary: Astarion goes too far and embarrasses Tav in front of the party. She decides she wants a bit of revenge.

Warning: Smut, MDNI, slight Dom!reader, slight Sub!Astarion, Dom/Sub switch (kinda?), delayed orgasm, Oral sex m and f receiving, PnV sex,

Word Count: 3.8k (I'm a gremlin who just can't help myself)

Masterlist

That fucking asshole. How dare he? You slammed open the door, the handle hitting the wall with a resounding smack. Locking it behind you, you kick off your shoes, stumble over your feet, and rip off your dress. You begin throwing off every other accessory and remaining article of clothing until you are completely bare and breathing heavily. You sigh, frustrated, and pull on a pair of trousers and an old, tattered shirt. Anger pulses through your veins, and embarrassment burns deep in your chest. Falling onto the bed, you drop your face into your hands and pull at the ends of your hair.

Astarion went too far this time. Usually, you loved his sassy comments and sarcastic humor. You were typically the first to laugh when he jests and pokes fun at you and the other party members. But how can you laugh when his lighthearted jokes turn to dirty secrets? When he's telling your friends out in a crowded pub intimate details from your sex life.

You should have known it was a bad idea to have Astarion feed from you while there was liquor coursing through your veins. But he was curious and very convincing. It didn't take long before you were offering him your wrist. Neither of you really thought the alcohol would affect Astarion, and you didn't expect Astarion to be such a fucking ass when intoxicated. 

He teased you and shared private moments all night, and you wanted to hate him. Moreover, you wanted him to be sorry. Beg for forgiveness and mean it. But Astarion is a prideful man and has a stupidly hard time giving out apologies. He's improved, especially with you, but you don't want a simple sorry. You want payback, a little revenge, or as close to it as possible.

A sudden, devilish thought crosses your mind, and you know how you're going to get just that. Quickly, you jump up and move to set your plan in motion. You clean up the room, erasing your angry tantrum from before, and strip down naked once more. You dig around Astarion's pack and pull out his white-laced shirt. And then you wait for him. 

It takes just under an hour of waiting. You filled the time with one of the books you picked up the other day. But just as you go to flip another page, the door handle twists, catching on the lock. You’re on your feet and at the door before Astarion can attempt to unlock it. The palm of your hand hits the door hard, and you're holding it close. 

"Why should I let you in?" Your tone lace with venom.

"Darling," Astarion sighs, a tinge of exhaustion undertoned in his words, his voice no longer holding that annoying drunken slur. "Must we do this?"

"You weren't very nice to me tonight." You lean your back against the door, crossing your arms. “I have half a mind to make you bunk with someone else.”

His head falls against the wood, pushing lightly against your back. "If you let me in, I promise I'll make it up to you." It felt like he was breathing these words sinfully into your ear. 

You flip the lock and open the door. "Say you're sorry."

"Is that really what you want?" He purrs, his eyes darkening and pressing into your space. "I much prefer physical apologies."

Astarion pulls you into a lustful kiss, his hand snaking up your shirt and massaging your breast. He bites your lip, and when you gasp, he licks into your mouth. He traces his fingers over your hip bone and pulls you close.

"Wearing my shirt with no underwear?” He nips your bottom lip, and you shudder. “I don't think you're as mad as you say, my sweet."

You smile sharply and pull him further into the room. Reclaiming his lips, you start pulling at his shirt, exposing Astarion's pale skin. He's kissing down your neck, tugging your shirt aside to lather his tongue over your shoulder. His fangs tease your skin, and you moan. Trailing your fingertips down his stomach, you undo his pants, tugging it down. Astarion steps out, leaving him in a pair of tight briefs, an outline of his swelling cock evident against the straining fabric. He pushes the trousers to the side, and the two of you fall onto the bed in a heap.

"Who says this is for you?" you say coyly, forcing his head to the side and biting hard at his throat.

"Hells,"

"Maybe I was going to take care of myself tonight." You kiss his cheek "Take a bath, have some wine," you bring your lips to his ear. "Touch myself." You tease his ear between your teeth. His grip tightens on you. "I don't need you to please myself, Astarion."

Astarion groans deep in his chest and runs his hands up your thighs to the swell of your ass. He grinds you down onto his half-hard cock. "But here we are." 

"But here we are." You mimic, smiling smugly, relishing how Astarion so confidently believes he holds all the cards.

He kisses you again, and you let him. You could easily get lost in the wet dance of lips and the delicious silent promises of more to come. Give in and just let Astarion consume you. But no, you are far more excited with what's to come. 

"I want to taste you." You moan needily- dragging your teeth down his chest. Maybe you were playing it up, but it seemed to work. You circle his nipple with your tongue, and Astarion lets out a deep groan, nails digging into the plush flesh of your ass.

"Don't let me stop you, my love," 

You tug his cock out and squeeze him softly; he's stiff and aching and instinctually bucks up into your palm. Licking over his nipple, you begin to suck. A trickle of precum starts to fall, and you collect it, beginning to stroke slowly. Kissing down his stomach, you reach his pelvic bone. You look up, meeting Astarion's intense gaze. His mouth is agape, his chest moving in harsh breaths. One hand is reaching up, gripping the headboard in an ironclad grip. You softly press a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth. 

"Fuck," He hissed through clenched teeth, "Gods, I love your mouth." 

Urged on by his response, you take more of him in his mouth and begin to move at a slow pace sucking and bobbing your head. Astarion's hands grabbed your shoulder and softly stroked up your neck to the back of your head. He didn't force the pace, just gently held your head, rubbing his thumb softly behind your ear.

"That's it, Darling. So good to me."

Heat rushes through your body, the praise going straight to your core. You hum and begin to bob your head faster. Sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks, you trail your hand down his tensed thigh and cup his balls. You roll him in your hands, and Astarion moans, thrusting into your mouth. You gag and grab his hips, holding him down with your weight.

He's close. His eyes are unfocused, trying desperately to stay on you; he's letting out breathless gasps and attempting to buck up into your mouth, seeking more for you to give. That's when you pull off of him entirely and squeeze his cock tightly.

Astarion lets out a needy whine, sits up, and instantly meets your eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. 

"Apologize!"

"What?" Astarion says, dazed and still lost in the loss of stimulation. Then it dawns on him, and he realizes what's happening. "Naughty little-"

You give him one stroke, and Astarion chokes. "Apologize for embarrassing me tonight."

"My sweet, I was intoxicated; it's not really my fault." He's trying to give off an air of indifference, but you know him better. Astarion was moments away from crumbling.

"I was just as drunk, and I wasn't telling everyone about our sex life." You lick over the tip and begin to stoke him slowly. "Apologize, and I might just let you fuck me."

He moans deeply, thrusting up into your fist. "I-ng shit, I'm sorry, you were upset with my words tonight."

"Nope, try again." You stop completely and meet his eyes. "You have to mean it."

"Please! My love, I'm sorry." His voice cracks. He's practically whimpering; he brings his fist to his mouth and bites down to keep a semblance of control. 

"That's closer, but what you said still hurts, so I want you to make it up to me." You move up his body and kiss him. "Do you want to make it up to me?"

"Yes! Anything!" He sounds so desperate. You don't think you've ever felt so aroused. You clench instinctually against nothing, seeking friction that's not there.

"I want you to beg. I want you to beg to fuck me, handsome" You scratch your nails teasingly down the broad of Astarion's chest. "I want everyone to hear how - how did you put it, love? 'desperate and needy' you are for me."

He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, eyes blackened from arousal, and a smile stretches his lips."I like this side of you, Darling."

 Astarion captures your lips, and you're on your back before you can comprehend what's happening. "My sweet, please, I need to touch you." His voice is louder than it needs to be. 

"Do you?" You purr, hooking your leg over his hip. 

"Yes!" He moans out, rutting against your dripping cunt. "Please, I need you!"

You brush your hand through Astarions hair and pull him down for a kiss. "Then be a good boy and touch me." 

Astarion doesn't need to be told twice to tug up your shirt. You let him pull it off and throw it across the room. He starts to trail sloppy, wet kisses down the column of your neck. A rough hand grabs your breast, and nimble fingers pinch your nipple. You sigh and thrust your hips up when Astarions mouth finds your other nipple and rolls the peak softly between his teeth before sucking hard.

"Astarion," you moan, caressing any available skin of his you can reach. "So good to me."

He grunts at the praise and moves down your stomach, leaving kitten licks and sharp nips in his wake. His hands are trailing down your sides and stop to grip your hips in a firm hold. He pulls you down the bed, and you let out a little yelp. Astarion meets your half-lidded gaze and bites at the fat of your thigh, lapping up the droplets of blood that bead up to the surface. 

"The sweetest treat," Astarion moans, throwing your leg over his shoulder, trailing his nose down your thigh to the spot you want him most. But I'm still famished. I need more, please."

"Don't let me stop you, handsome." You smirked, mimicking his previous words. Your breath was catching, and you felt just as desperate as Astarion.

You let out a gargled mewl when Astarion trails one long agonizing lick up the length of your cunt. He never breaks eye contact; you bite your lip and grip one of your breasts, fisting the other into the bedsheet.

Astarion consumes you like he'll never be able to again. Desperate, messy, and with no care for the thinness of the walls. You gasp and instinctually try to clamp your legs close. His cold hands hold your hips apart, only allowing pathetic gyrates of your hips. The room is filled with filthy wet slurps and needy moans as Astarion tears you apart.

"Faster, Star. Don't you dare stop," you demand, grinding against his face, shivering when his pointed nose teases your clit. "Such a good boy."

His moan quakes through your cunt, and you throw your head back into the pillow, arching your back slightly. Astarion's fingers push into you and match the ragged pace of his mouth. Your hand finds his soft curls again and holds him in place, pulling gently at the roots. Astarion could break away anytime, but he seems to like it because you feel him grind down against the bed. 

"No, no, pretty boy." You tsk, pulling his hair harsher. He grunts against you, sucking harder at your clit. "You don't get to come until you’re forgiven."

Astarion pulls away from your clit, chin glistening with your juices. His fingers are still pumping into you. "You cruel women." He practically whines breathlessly.

"You're- shit- you're making up for your naughty behavior, remember?" The coil is tightening in your stomach, your body hot, and your breath shaky. "Now be good and make me come."

He smiles wickedly and resumes his ministrations. He curls his fingers up and presses against the spot that has you gasping in silent cries. His mouth finds your clit again and laps his tongue against it. He's relentless, and your legs are trembling. The pleasure is building, the flame licking through your veins. 

"m close, Star,"

He doesn't stop or voice any cheeky comments he would typically make. He just pumps his fingers faster and sucks and lavishes his tongue harder against your cunt. You feel your body tightening, and you grab for anything to hold on to; one hand is still in Astarion's hair, but your other hand grabs his shoulder, digging your nails into his flesh. Astarion scrapes his fangs playfully against your clit, and that's all you need to fall apart. 

You're moaning and screaming his name and mumbling incoherent praises into the air. Black spots seem to cloud over your vision, and all your muscles tighten at once. Astarion drags you through your orgasm, slowing his fingers and moving to soft kitten licks. It takes you a moment to return to yourself, and you are out of breath and covered in sweat. Looking down, you see Astarion. He's staring at you, licking his lips, collecting every drop of you. His face is full of affection and untenable arousal.

"Am I forgiven?"

You surge forward and tackle him into an uncoordinated kiss. You maneuver him around until his back is against the headboard, and you are seated comfortably in his lap. Your tongue tangled with his, the tangy sweetness of your release mingling in the dance. Pulling back, you catch his lip tugging playfully.

"Hmm… I don't know," You smirk, grabbing his neglected cock and giving it a few languid strokes. 

"Darling, please!" He begs, head falling back, exposing his neck to your greedy mouth. 

You press your mouth to the hollow of his throat and suck until you're sure there will be a noticeable mark tomorrow. "I guess you have been such a good boy." Circling your thumb over his tip, you swipe his cock through your folds, coating him in your arousal. 

"Yes, I've been so good." His voice chokes, and he clenches his jaw, desperately trying to seek more friction. Hells, he was so incredibly sexy like this.

"And I think a good boy deserves a reward. Wouldn't you agree, Star?" The rush you feel at his desperation, his neediness for you and only you, has your confidence surging. 

"Yes! Please!"

You line him up with your hole and sit down painfully slow. Two groans of pleasure join together in the room as you seat yourself to the hilt. Astarion grabs your hips in a death grip, releasing an almost painful hiss through his teeth. For a moment, you don't move; feel the stretch and the completeness he gives you. Meeting his eyes, you place your hands on his shoulders and raise on your haunches. You pull up almost off him completely before lowering at the same brutally slow pace.

"Gods, you're so tight." Astarion groans, head falling against your arm. 

He uses the grip on your hips to help set a steady pace that has both of you dissolve into a moaning, blubbering mess. You clench around him and run your hand up his neck to the back of his head, pulling him to your chest. Astarion is quick to resume lavishing your breast with messy kisses, surely littering you with bites and bruises that will linger for days to come. 

You would have loved to drag this out. Punish Astarion for hours until he was nothing but a mumbling, blushing pussy-drunk mess. But you were growing impatient, and the delicious feeling of Astarion's cock filling you was clouding your more devious thoughts. Grinding your hips down hard onto his cock had Astarion gasping into your chest. 

You cupped his jaw and captured his mouth before whispering seductively into his ear. "You've been forgiven. Now I want you to fuck me hard."

A deep groan rumbled through Astarion's chest, and he did just that. You're suddenly on your back, and his tongue is in your mouth. The slow pace was thrown out the window to a brutal pounding that tore the breath from your lungs.

"A-astarion, fuck” You roll your hips to match his pace. 

You're not going to last much longer; you don't think you've ever been more aroused, and seeing how pent-up Astarion is, having been teased along for too long. You know he's just as close. You grab his hand and pull it down your body to where you want it most. He grunts huskily in your ear and rubs harshly at your bundle of nerves. Throwing one of your legs over Astarion's hip, you adjust your body, and his thrusts find a new angle that presses against that beautiful spot inside of you. 

Astarion’s other hand, can’t seem to stay still, moving up and down your body, trying to pay equal attention to all of your soft skin. He’s squeezing your hip, tickling your side, cupping your breast, and moving back down to repeat all over again. He’s peppering kisses over your forehead and cheeks, biting your kiss-swollen lips, running his nose along yours. It’s overwhelming and not enough, but it is always with him. Astarion moves to your neck and sucks at his favorite spot, the place he feeds most frequently from, silently begging for a taste. 

"Mhm," you nod, words no longer forming on your tongue. 

Astarion's fangs pierce your skin, and the familiar icy cold floods your veins. You cry out as he greedily drinks from your body. Your blood seems to turn Astarion feral. He grabs your other leg to join the other in a link behind his back. Astarion grinds you into the mattress, brutally pumping in and out of you. All your body can do is wrap your arms around his neck, smoothing your hands over his body, and hold on. The only sounds that echo in the darkroom are the slick, obscene sounds of skin sliding against skin and needy moans and desperate whimpers. 

You can't tell if you're lightheaded because of the pleasure Astarion is giving you or the blood that he's consuming from your neck. It's probably both, but right now, you only care that he keeps going because that lovely burning heat is returning and boiling in your stomach. 

"I'm so close," you whimper.

This has Astarion finally pulling away from your neck. He looks deeply into your eyes, his pace never faltering. There's a trickle of your blood running down his chin, and you reach up to catch it. You push your thumb into his mouth, and without breaking your gaze, Astarion licks it clean. He grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours above your head. His hand somehow seems to move faster against your clit, and you are moments away from coming undone. On the ledge but seemingly hanging by your fingertips.

"S-so am I, darling." He manages to stutter out, and you pull him down for a kiss. It is desperate and needy, and the taste of your blood, sharp and metallic, mingles with his spit. "Come for me, love; let me feel you."

Those words, always commanded with such affection, had an immediate effect. You clench around him like a vice, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. You sigh his name into his mouth and cup his face with your spare hand as if the moment you come down from this high Astarion might no longer be real. 

Astarion's pace falters, and he clumsily thrusts. Once, twice, three more times before burying deep into your cunt and coming hard with a deep groan. While you're still amid your ecstasy, you are still mesmerized by Astarion coming undone before you. The way his jaw clicks shut and he squeezes his eyes closed. The tightening of his hand on your body, gripping hard enough to bruise, not that you minded. The stuttering minute juts of his hips as he rides out the last of his orgasm. And finally, watching Astarion's body turn to jelly, bones and muscles collapsing under his weight as he falls onto you, head finding your chest.

You run your hand through his curls, scratching his scalp. Astarion purrs softly and kisses your chest, running delicate fingers up your side. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the inside of your wrist. 

Astarion rolls off of you and moves from the bed. You whine at the loss of fullness but make no other protest. A tiredness has settled deep in your bones; you don't think you could move if you wanted to. 

Thankfully, Astarion was quick to return. In his hands was a cup of water and a wet cloth. Smiling softly, you take the glass from him and take a long gulp. Handing it back, he places it on the nightstand and rejoins you in bed. Astarion delicately cleans you off, kissing your neck when you wince from oversensitivity. After that was taken care of, he discards the used cloth and pulls you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head and tightening his hold on you. You hum softly and nuzzle into his chest. 

"I am sorry," he says, fingertips drawing nonsense patterns on your back. You glance up to meet his gaze, and he pushes some of your hair out of your eyes. "I'm truly sorry I hurt you, my love. I didn't mean to." 

You give him a tender smile, "Thank you, Star," you kiss the chest just above his heart and whisper, lips brushing against his skin. "I love you."

"And I love you."

Next Day: You giggle over your glass of juice, watching a very disgruntled Astarion from across the room. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were sharp. His bare forearms crossed over his chest. He was slouched down in his chair, looking like he would rather be anywhere else than in his current situation.

Gale was sitting in front of the vampire, a dusty tome placed on the table between him. You could barely hear the wizard's words as he vainly tried to teach Astarion a simple silencing spell. Gale was trying to help, given the very vocal display Astarion gave last night. And you couldn’t be more pleased at Astarion’s predicament. 

Astarion's ears twitch and his head snap in your direction to give you a pointed glare. He's only given more of your laughter in response.

Fine I'll admit it, I like a needy Astarion, sue me. But you got to agree that drunk Astarion would be a fucking menace.

Anyways let me know what ya thought. Talking with you guys is a highlight of my day.

Taglist: @heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr

Want to be added? DM me.

[concretejunglefm]

in reference to this post. ignore my technically difficulty and answering this ask privately and prematurely (not unlike virgin!noah) for you 💕

CW: smut including unprotected sex (p in v), size kink, spit kink, slight dirty talk, pinned wrists, slight choking, Noah has a big dick.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Noah is big. Much bigger than you had imagined. The kind of big that would make smut writers exaggerate when they describe it as being ‘too big to fit both hands around’, except in your case, that was true—in terms of length. The girth, your fingertips barely touched together, and to be honest, that only made you feel a bit intimidated.

This is your first time witnessing him in all his glory. Your hands trace the intricate tattoos along his chest, your fingertips barely brushing against his stomach before descending lower and grazing along his shaft.

To your surprise, it’s Noah who positions a pillow beneath your lower back, having learned about this technique from reading various articles about sex and female pleasure. You might have assumed he spent his free time watching porn, but no, your nerdy little virgin spent his time watching unrealistic hentai and reading articles about enhancing your pleasure.

He sits up on his knees between your spread thighs, watching your touch along his shaft before leaning in to kiss your exposed skin. His head dips down towards your chest and your fingers tighten around his shaft, squeezing him with each deliberate stroke. Your back arches towards him as his mouth reaches your breast, feeling his mouth and tongue tease over the hardened peaks of your nipples, eliciting a moan from you.

Your body pulses with pleasure, the anticipation growing as your arousal spreads between your thighs and his fingers descend, teasing over your folds, eliciting another moan from you. “I think you need to be wetter,” you hear his voice, pulling you back from the haze of lust you’ve fallen into. However, any response you make is silenced when, from beneath hooded eyes, you see him dipping down to spit against your cunt. Your thighs tremble, and your hand tightens around his cock as you clench around nothing, yearning and craving it to be him.

“Stop teasing me,” you murmur, expressing your irritation at him making you wait. You understand his reasons; Noah is more concerned with your pleasure than his own. He wants to prolong the experience and take his time. However, your impatience is getting the better of you, and finally, he succumbs to both yours and his own desires.

“Oh god, you’re so big!” You arch your hips, gasping with every inch that slides into you, the stretch of him being nothing short of delicious. Even though the slight discomfort is something you know will eventually subside, it’s a delightful kind of pain in the meantime, one that sends pleasure rippling through you, and your walls tightening, trying to pull him deeper.

You notice the pride in Noah as he acknowledges your comment, a shy look on his face as if he never believed it about himself. He’s bigger than you’ve ever experienced, and when you feel how deep he’s sunk, there’s only confirmation in that. You feel fuller than ever, certain you’d see him bulging in your stomach if you looked down, but you don’t because you can’t take your eyes off him.

Your hands cradle his face as you pull him to look down at you and focus. “Look at me,” you softly coo, your hips raising as you try to urge him to move inside you. “Fuck me, baby please?”

“You feel so tight, and I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice trembles, a mix of nerves and arousal, and you can’t quite tell which. The way his cock throbs inside you, however, makes you think it’s the latter.

“And it feels so good. Please?” You bat your lashes, your voice dropping to a soft plea as your fingers glide through his long hair, trying to coax him. “You can start slow.”

He does, his hips drawing back and pushing forward in a gentle rolling motion as he listens to the rhythm of your breathing, a moan escaping your lips each time he buries himself deep enough to meet your hips.

“That’s it, just like that,” you whisper, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel his attempts to find his rhythm.

His head comes down and buries against the side of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses. It makes you weak, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin as you shiver beneath him, his larger frame firmly pinning you beneath him.

Grunts of his own start to follow, blending with your moans and filling the room as his hips slowly snap and you feel him pursuing his own pleasure as you squeeze around him.

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging and pulling while you softly praise him beneath your breath and you hear his own faint whispered, needy sounds as he descends deeper into pleasure.

Your impatience has paid off.

Suddenly, his hips snap forcefully, causing you to bounce slightly up the bed. His tattooed hand swiftly grasps your wrists, pinning them both above your head as he holds you firmly in place and he presses his forehead to yours, his hair cascading around you, curtaining you in with him. It feels as if the rest of the world has vanished, leaving only the two of you in this room, consumed by your pleasure. The heat in your stomach grows as he drives himself deeply into you, his thick cock easily filling you. With each thrust, he knocks the breath out of you, almost unapologetically, and your moans transform into cries of pleasure, unable to contain yourself.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he whimpers, and you realize he’s actually whimpering because of you. It makes you shiver and squeeze tighter around him, his hips bucking more erratically, pushing you into the pillows that are holding you up, perfectly positioned just for him. “So fucking tight, so fucking pretty for me, you’re all for me. All mine.” There’s a growl in his voice that sounds possessive, and you feel it between your thighs, making your clit throb.

“All yours…” you repeat back with a softer tone, while he tightens his grip around your wrists.

“You like how it feels being fucked by my big cock?”

If your eyes weren’t already in the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure, they would be now, because the way he sounds, the way he’s letting himself go, is driving you closer to the edge.

“Y—Yes…” you stutter out between moans, feeling his mouth on yours, feeding the sound into his before experiencing the sharp bite of his teeth against your lower lip and him tugging.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you relish the way he asserts his dominance in this moment, finding his confidence in doing so.

Naturally, you comply, and your eyes flutter open as you gaze up at him before he locks his gaze with yours. With a swift motion, he spits directly into your mouth, sending a moan escaping your lips.

Before you can swallow, he captures your mouth once more in a passionate kiss. This time, his tongue gently caresses yours, spreading his saliva throughout your mouth, both sharing it, his groans intensifying with his pleasure.

Beneath him, you tremble on the edge of your climax. Suddenly, the release of your wrists is met with a grip around your throat, sending you into a vision of stars. You swear you cum around him on the spot the moment he tightens his grip, his long, slender fingers closing around the column of your neck, resulting in a head rush that intensifies your pleasure.

As soon as you feel the sensation, it’s abruptly taken away, accompanied by the feeling of his thrusts coming to a sudden halt. When you open your eyes, you find yourself gazing up at a concerned Noah, your own eyes widening in pleading. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice suddenly softens and warms, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter with how caring and concerned he is.

“Noah, please, you’re not just… keep going, please? It feels so good. I’m about to cum.” Were you about to cum? Are you still? You feel it teetering close, and your walls continuously squeeze around him, trying to keep him buried deep and hold him there, savoring the way he twitches and throbs with his own impending release.

“Please…” you practically whimper, and you notice a flickering of something dark in his eyes.

“Yeah? Are you going to cum for me? Are you going to cum all over my cock?”

And God yes, you are, you think, especially as his hand is once again around your throat, applying enough pressure to have you teetering in that heightened sense of pleasure as his hips snap back against yours, thrusting into you with such force that you swear you feel him against your cervix.

When you do cum, it’s accompanied by an intense, blinding heat that engulfs every inch of your body, causing you to tighten around him and arch your back as he thrusts himself deeply into you. The warmth spreads throughout you as he spills into you with his own loud moans. Your bodies tremble together, clinging to each other in any way possible, holding one another through the comedown.

Despite the already spreading soreness and knowing how it’ll be come the morning time, you can’t help but want to do it all over again.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @i-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades 

[p0orbaby]

I’d Probably Still Adore You with Your Hands Around My Neck

summary: leah has a secret

warnings: SMUT 18+, sub!dom, bottom!leah

a/n: your request is my command

word count: 1.6k

-

It starts with a look. A subtle one, really, just a quick flick of Leah’s eyes, down and up, like she’s checking to see if you noticed. But you always notice.

You’re observant like that. Like a hawk, or maybe more like a cat, because there’s something inherently smug about the way you register these things. It’s how you caught on to Leah’s little secret in the first place.

You’re in the kitchen, and she’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through something utterly boring on her phone. Probably an article about defensive strategies or how to perfect her backspin. You’re chopping vegetables, slowly, because you’ve caught on to the fact that Leah has a thing for watching you use knives. It’s not the sharp objects themselves that do it; it’s the way you’re so confident with them, the way you handle everything with this casual precision that borders on reckless but never actually is. You’re good with your hands, and she knows it. Really knows it.

You catch her peeking at you again and decide to test the waters. “Leah, can you pass me the olive oil?”

A simple request. Nothing too loaded. But you notice the way she hesitates before reaching for the bottle. You wait, pretending not to care, but your ears are pricked for any sign of the shift.

She hands you the oil, and you make a point of brushing your fingers against hers when you take it. Just to see what happens.

She shivers.

You almost laugh out loud, but you’re not cruel. Not too cruel, anyway. Instead, you give her a small, almost imperceptible smile, a reward for being such a good sport, and turn back to your chopping.

“So,” you say casually, “anything exciting happening today?”

She grunts, which is her standard answer for “not really, but I don’t want to talk about it.” You wonder, as you slide the knife through the tomato, if she even knows what’s happening. If she notices that with every slice of the blade, she’s slipping further into that place where she’s not entirely in control anymore.

It’s a subtle descent, like someone drifting off to sleep, and you’re more than happy to nudge her along.

“Why don’t you come over here,” you suggest, your voice still light, breezy, as if you’re not luring her into anything at all. “Keep me company”

She pushes off the counter and walks over, stopping just behind you. Close, but not too close. Always so careful, your Leah. Always so measured.

But when you turn around, leaning against the island with the knife still in hand, you see that look again. That flash of something dark and needy that she tries so hard to keep under wraps. You can’t help yourself; you press in closer, until your chest is almost brushing hers, until you can feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

“You seem tense,” you murmur, pretending to inspect her face for any signs of stress. “Rough day?”

Leah swallows hard, but she doesn’t move back. “Just the usual,” she says, her voice low. A little too low.

You set the knife down and grab a piece of cucumber from the cutting board, holding it up to her lips. “Here,” you say, like you’re being the kindest girlfriend in the world. “Eat”

She hesitates again, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She’s calculating, analysing, trying to figure out if this is a trap. But she doesn’t want to disappoint you, so she opens her mouth, and you slide the cucumber between her lips.

Her eyes flutter shut, just for a second, and you have to suppress a grin. She’s such a sucker for this. You’re not sure if it’s the authority in your voice or the way you’re feeding her like she’s some pampered pet, but either way, it’s working.

You take another slice, holding it up again. “Good girl,” you whisper, and this time, her eyes snap open with a look that makes your pulse multiply. There it is, the crack in her armor, the thing she’s trying so hard to hide but can’t.

She chews and swallows, her throat bobbing, and you wonder how far you can push this. How much she’ll let you get away with before she snaps. You’ve been doing this for a while now, playing these little games, but it’s still a thrill to see how much she’s willing to surrender.

You set the cucumber down and grab her hips, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you. “I think you need to relax,” you say, and she nods, almost imperceptibly, like she’s too scared to actually agree out loud.

You lean in, your lips brushing her ear. “Bedroom,” you whisper, and she shudders against you.

She hesitates again, just for a second, before she turns and walks toward the bedroom. You follow, taking your time, watching the way her shoulders tense and relax with every step. She’s trying to play it cool, but you know better. You’ve got her exactly where you want her.

By the time you reach the bedroom, she’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She looks so small like this, so different from the commanding presence she usually carries herself with.

You cross the room and stand in front of her, your hands sliding up her arms, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Lie back,” you say, and she does, her breath hitching as her back hits the mattress.

You climb onto the bed, straddling her hips, and you can feel the way her body reacts to the weight of you on top of her. Her hands twitch at her sides, like she’s not sure what to do with them.

“Hands above your head,” you instruct, and she complies, her fingers gripping the pillow behind her. She’s always so eager to please, so ready to follow orders, and it’s almost too easy to get her like this. Almost.

You lean down, your lips brushing hers, and you feel her body tense beneath you. She’s waiting, anticipating, and you let the moment stretch out, let her feel the weight of your control before you finally press your lips against hers.

She kisses you back with a desperation that makes you ache, her mouth opening under yours, her tongue sliding against yours like she’s trying to tell you something without words. And maybe she is, maybe this is her way of saying she needs this, that she’s been craving this, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

You pull back, just enough to break the kiss, and you watch the way her chest rises and falls, the way her breath comes in short, shallow gasps. She’s already so worked up, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.

You slide your hands down her body, feeling the way her muscles jump under your touch. “You’re so tense,” you murmur, your fingers trailing over her ribs, her stomach. “You need to calm down”

She nods, her eyes wide and dark, and you can see the way she’s fighting to keep herself together, to not lose it completely. But you’re not going to make it easy for her. Not tonight.

You slide your hand lower, slipping under the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps as your fingers brush against her. She’s already wet, and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that spreads across your face.

“So needy,” you tease, and she lets out a soft whimper, her hips bucking up against your hand.

You take your time, dragging your fingers through her slick heat, feeling the way she shudders beneath you. You can tell she’s trying to hold back, to not give in too quickly, but you’re not having that.

“Don’t hold back,” you say, your voice firm. “Let me hear you”

She whimpers again, louder this time, and you reward her by sliding two fingers inside her, feeling the way she clenches around you. She’s so tight, so hot, and it’s all you can do to not lose yourself in the sensation of her.

You start to move your fingers, slow and steady, and you watch the way her eyes flutter shut, the way her mouth falls open in a silent moan. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and vulnerable, and it makes your heart race to know that you’re the one who gets to see her like this, who gets to make her feel this way.

You pick up the pace, your thumb circling her clit, and she’s panting now, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She’s close, you can feel it, and you lean down, pressing your lips to her ear.

“Come for me,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

She cries out, her body going rigid under you as she comes apart, and you keep moving your fingers, drawing out her pleasure until she’s trembling, her whole body shaking with the force of it.

You finally slow down, easing her through the aftershocks, and you pull your hand away, feeling a surge of satisfaction as you watch her chest heave with the effort of catching her breath.

You slide off her, lying down beside her, and you pull her into your arms, feeling the way she finally relaxes against you, her body melting into yours.

She’s still shaking a little, and you press a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering soothing words in her ear as she comes down from her high.

You can feel the way she’s clinging to you, like she’s afraid to let go, and it makes your heart swell with affection for her.

“Good girl,” you murmur, and she sighs, her breath warm against your skin. “You did so well”

She doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles closer to you, and you can feel the way her body is still humming with the afterglow of her orgasm.

[hitomisuzuya]

Aventurine x fem!reader. Smut. Masturbation. Vivid sexual fantasies. Fingering. Squirting. Blowjob.

@chiscaralight kindly asked I write for Aventurine. It's almost 6am, and this is probably going to sound like a bunch of high nonsense. I really need this man😭 This isn't what I originally intended to write.

Aventurine's mind races when he masturbates. He just can't help himself today. It was bad enough that he had the sudden, uncontrollable urge to seek relief during work hours. But, there were a lot of factors working against him.

There had been a certain sway to your hips when you walked. The perfume you wore assaulted his senses. When you walked, the pleats in your little skirt bounced, giving the slightest whispered hint of a garter belt adorning your thigh.

Sighing, Aventurine leaned back in his chair, giving the atmosphere time to quiet down. Made sure everyone, including you, was out on lunch. His bewitching eyes closed, his hand hovering over his twitching dick.

One of the things that he has been forefront of his mind picturing what you would look like on your knees, with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. Looking up at him with a look in your eyes that said there isn't anything you would rather be doing than sucking his cock.

You would be letting out the prettiest, muffled noises, drooling on his cock as he pushed it into your throat. He rested his head back on the head rest of his office chair, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his aching cock. He left his gloves on for extra friction.

He couldn't take too long and risk getting caught.

His gloved fingers stroked his cock. Thinking of how your throat would feel convulsing on it as you gagged, his fingers tightening in your hair to hold your head in place as he thrust into your throat. Your tongue would lap and curl around his cock, a muffled mewl of bliss vibrating on his length as it emptied in your mouth.

Aventurine couldn't stop the lilting moans that started to sound from him. He rutted into his hand, hissing and squirming in his chair, his cock pulsing in his hand.

His mind drifted to thinking of sitting you on his desk, and telling you to be good girl and wait for him while he finished working. His fingers would be idly playing and fingering your pussy. "Shh, shh, it's okay, sweet heart," He'd croon as your juices soaked onto his hand, your hips bucking to nudge his fingers into your sweet spot as he relentlessly scissored your walls apart. Whimpers to please let you cum would spill from your pretty mouth. "Just hang tight," He purred, laughing amused as you suddenly squirted on his fingers, "And wait for me," The pace of his fingers would never relent, overstimulating you as he continued to finger you like you never squirted on his fingers to begin with.

Aventurine massaged his thumb over the head of his leaking cock.

Or maybe he would be a bit cruel.

Aventurine fisted his cock with little regard to how much time was passing. He was too wrapped in thoughts of playing with your pussy, and denying you every opportunity to cum. Leave your pussy puffy and abused, your clit throbbing and walls clenching around nothing. He would purposely stay and work late to make you more needy for him.

His cock pulsed steadily in his hand, the cusps of orgasm building as he thought of taking you back to his penthouse. Stripping you with hushed promises to replace any articles of clothing he tore off. Putting you on all fours, pressing your face into the soft pillows and fucking you from behind.

You wouldn't be able to think, the feral pace with which he fucked you barely gave you any time to adjust as he cock squelched lewd and loud in and out of your sloppy hole.

Aventurine let out a loud, lilting cry as cum spurted into his hand. Relief instantly encompassed his body. He sat there panting quietly for a few moments before cleaning himself up.

No sooner had he done so, you, his sweet little secretary, the object of his fantasies had just returned from lunch.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tender Cuts

Gwayne comes home battered and beaten, and so you kiss his busted lip and tend to his wounds.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions of injury/blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, softhours, typos, etc.

A/N: i cant help myself. the unholy unspeakable things i want to do to this man... and yet here i am offering you some fluff

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings

Gwayne watches the way I undo his armor. He sighs and straightens from his chair, turning to the vanity mirror, "I am uninjured."

"And so you say, yet on your lips therein lies the lie you offer, husband," I retort as I finally remove the final piece of steel upon his form.

I bend over as he sighs once more. His tired eyes remain on my face as I unbutton his top. He places his hands on his thighs as he spreads them, "I am not gravely injured."

I forfeit a response and continue to touch him with care, as not to accidentally cause his unexposed injuries any more irritation. By the time I have his top unbottoned, Gwyane removes it along with his undershirt before I can do so. He stands and takes my hands. His eyes are more awake now as he places my palms on his bare chest, "inspect me yourself if you distrust me so."

His tone pinches my heart. "It's not that I distrust you, love," I rub his shoulders, "it's just that you've grown numb to your pain, and I do not wish any ailment to sneak up on you."

Gwayne's eyes slowly shut as I rub his arms then caress the sides of his firm belly. "So?" he grumbles, "shall I rid myself of my pants?"

My expression perks, "you might as well."

He opens his eyes and furrows his brows.

"I will bathe you myself."

Gwayne does not protest, save perhaps for a few more sighs as he rids himself of his last articles of clothing and steps into the preprepared tub. I waste no time and drag a stool to the side, eager to get him clean. He melts into my touch as I scrub his skin.

I splash his arm a few times before moving onto his chest. The room is silent, apart for the sound of sloshing water. Gwayne's head feels heavy, I can tell. I rub his shoulders to encourage him to relax.

"You don't have to mother me, you know."

I tilt my head as I find one of the freckles on his sternum, "I am a mother. You should know, you were there when it happened."

"You mothered my children, not I." He rests his arms on the sides of the tub.

I lift my gaze. His eyes look heavy.

For a moment, my husband is not he, but a child abandoned. I look upon his tired face and recall the soft confessions he'd whispered as I laid in his arms, confessions of his loneliness, his longing. He recounted all the memories of his mother that remained with him. He vented out his hurt over his father who he grew without.

I knit my brows and put down the sponge in my hand, "do you not want my touch?"

He drops his head then grabs my wrist, "I do not want you to worry." Gwayne pushes closer to me. The water around him splashes. He leans on the rim by my side and kisses my pulse. He repeats softer, "I do not want you to worry."

I press my lips into a line and brush his hair back with my free hand, "oh, my love," I sigh, "unfortunately, I worry regardless."

He rests his head upon my hand when I caress his cheek. I comb my fingers through his hair as much as it will allow me in its matted state. He closes his eyes. I trace the shape of his nose with my palm.

Gwayne has never said it out loud, but I know that sometimes he feels undeserving of the attention I so freely shower him in. The wounds of his younger self that never quite healed make the affections he's so craved quite hard to take in.

"My sweet boy," I whisper, gently rubbing his lips, "let me do this for you."

His blue eyes slowly open. They are shrouded with red exhaustion. He finally relents, eyes closing again as he leans back and offers himself completely to me.

I decide to wash his hair for a change, and as I do so, I sing a folk song from the Reach. He rests his head on the tub, sinking slightly into the water as he allows himself to relax.

I only stop singing when he mutters something unintelligible. I lean towards him, "what was that, my love?"

His lips barely move, "thank you."

A soft smile finds me.

"I love you."

I immediately press my lips into his. I make sure to do so delicately, so not to disturb him or the cut on his lower lip. I look at his face for a few moments before pulling back, "I love you too."

I continue singing from where I left off.

[hihomeghere]

Lessons | Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Summary : Arthur and you have a moment during your reading lesson. Follows along with the series Baptized by Fire but can be read as a one shot.

Word Count : 1.8k

Warnings/Tags : Pure smut, cockwarming, unprotected piv, Reader reads from The picture of Dorian Gray, Arthur is a soft!dom, Reader is a bit of a brat. Charles is mentioned but not there. Arthur Morgan x reader, charthur x reader, minors dni

Divider by @saradika

Your eyes ran over the letters, your lips moving as you breathily sounded out the words. 

“T-the body sins once,” You stuttered, your body ablaze. The words start to meld together, tears blurring your vision as you squirmed on Arthur’s lap. “And has- has-“

“C’mon sweetheart, you can do it.” His hot breath fanned against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. His thick cock splitting you open, tearing you apart at the very seams. ”Such a smart girl.”

“Fuck Arthur-“ You whined, raising your hips slightly before his hand came down hard on your bare ass.

“Eyes on the page.” He warned, nipping at your throat. Your literacy had thoroughly improved the last couple of months, you were actually quite proud of yourself. Perhaps a bit too proud. 

You had quickly moved from reading the small articles in the newspaper, to reading the chapter books on the shelves. 

Honestly, you didn’t think you required these lessons anymore. You had thrown a bit of a fit this morning when Arthur had called you over. 

He had raised his eyebrows at you when you had whined like a small child, saying you didn’t need to have a lesson today. You should have known you were in trouble when that crooked grin spread across his lips. 

He had raised his hands in an almost yielding way.

“Alright sweetheart.” He started, stalking over to you from across the room. His hands settled on your hips as you crossed your arms, pouting. “You only gotta read… five pages today. How does that sound?” He asked. You should have known it was too good to be true. Normally he would make you read at least ten pages out loud. 

You bit your lip, a low whine leaving your lips. “I can’t.” 

“Yes you can sweetheart, yer such a good girl, just keep reading.” You could feel his cock pulse against your velvet walls. His syrupy words doing very little to ease the ache that continued to build. 

“Done with it’s sin,” You said, grasping the table with white knuckles. He hummed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “F-for action-“ You were nearly there, you just had to finish this page. 

You had happily agreed before learning Arthur's condition. Raising your brows as he sat down at the table, flicking his belt open.

“What are you doing?” You asked, heat starting to pool in your belly as he raised his hips, shuffling his pants down his thighs. Your mouth ran dry as he pulled himself out of his union suit. His cock sprung up against his belly, thick and weeping.

“Nothing sweetheart, just come take a seat.” He hummed, patting his thigh. You swallowed thickly, your legs moving on their own as you crossed across the room. You moved to sit down on his lap, when he stopped you. “Take off your bloomers.” He said, his eyes nearly black from how blown his pupils were. 

“Arthur-“

“You wanna read ten?” He asked, raising a brow as he stroked his cock. You shook your head, your eyes drawn down to the motion of his hand. 

“Then take them off.” Your fingers moved under your skirt, slipping under the elastic band. You pulled them down to the floor, stepping out of the fabric. “Come sit.” 

“Is a mode of purification.” You bit down on your lip, muffling the moan that crawled up your throat. His hand rubbed up against your bare cheek, his hand squeezing the warm flesh. 

“Mmhm, such a smart girl.” His words rumbled up his chest, his cock pulsing inside you. You knew his eyes weren’t on the page, you could have been speaking nonsense and he would have agreed. You couldn’t understand how he could sit here, pretending like he wasn’t buried to the hilt inside you. 

You whined at his praise, shifting your hips to try and subtly ease the ache inside you. His grip turned ironclad as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass. 

“You gotta be a good girl.” His breath brushed against your ear, a shiver running down your spine, “Or I won’t reward ya.” He warned, raising his hips just enough for his cock to rub up against your walls. Nudging that sweet spot inside you. 

“I’ll be good.” You promised, your eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“Then keep reading.” He said, nipping at your earlobe. His warm baritone voice only worsening the ache between your thighs. 

“Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret.” His hand crawled up your thigh, pausing only when you stopped speaking. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it-“ You cut yourself off with a gasp as his calloused thumb found your clit, pressing against the small bud. “Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself,” Slowly, very slowly, he started to circle the bundle of nerves. “Arthur-“ Pleasure shot down your legs, your toes curling.

“Don’t think that’s in the book, sweetheart.” He cooed, pressing down harder on your clit.

“with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.” The words turned into nothing more than blurred lines as you teetered on the edge of pleasure. Your body pulled taut like the string of a bow. “I’m gonna-“

He pulled his hand away, his touch soft as he rubbed your thigh. “Can’t have that happen now, can we?” You whined, your head falling back against his shoulder.

“Arthur!” You huffed, gripping the table. 

“C’mon now, you’re nearly there.”

“I was nearly there!” You huffed, wanting to stomp your feet at how damn pent up you were.

“We can sit here all day, imagine what Charles will think with how damn stubborn you’ve been?” You scoffed, shooting him a glare over your shoulder. 

“Charles wouldn’t want you teasing me like this.”

“Well he ain’t here to save you now is he?” He asked, leaning back against the chair, “Now you gonna read?” You clenched your jaw, huffing as you turned your attention back to the page. You wet your lips, your heart rate descending back to normal. 

You were nearly halfway done when Arthur began to move, his thrusts languid. “For nearly ten minutes he stood there, motionless, with parted lips, and eyes strangely bright.” Your words were clipped, trying your best not to give Arthur the satisfaction of knowing he was absolutely destroying you. “He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh influences were at work within him. Yet they seemed to him to have come really from him-self. The few words that Basil's friend had said to him- Ah!” Arthur’s hips snapped against yours, gone was his unhurried pace. 

“Keep going.” He huffed, his breath puffing against your shoulder. 

“Words spoken by chance, no doubt, and with willful paradox in them—had touched some secret chord that had never been touched before,” His thumb returned to your clit, stealing the breath out of your lungs. Your legs started to tremble, unable to help how you jolted on his lap.

Who gave a shit about Dorian Gray and his stupid picture. The only thought that filled your head was Arthur. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

His need got the better of him, growling against your shoulder he shot up. Holding you against him as he leaned you over the table, not leaving your heat for a moment. The book went skidding across the table, your cheek pressed against the wood surface.

“Fuck me- can’t- can’t control myself round you.” He huffed, the sound of skin against skin filled the cabin. His balls slapping against your clit with each harsh thrust. 

“Oh god!” You cried out, lightning buzzed in your veins, running through your whole body. His pace was near animalistic as he panted behind you.

“You close?” He hummed, his hand coming down against your backside in a satisfying slap. You cried out, tears pricking your eyes, but not from the pain. Your body buzzed under him as you teetered on the edge of pure pleasure.

“Arthur-“ You prayed he heard the desperation in your strangled plea, as you fought to hold together. 

“I wanna feel you soak me sweetheart.” That was permission enough. You let go, your eyes rolling back into your head as a broken sob left your lips. Falling off the cliff as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you. You clenched down around him, your back bowing into his chest. “Always so tight- like you’re made for me- made for us.” He hissed, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises in his wake. The table creaked under the weight of the two of you, the legs scraping against the floor. He pulled out briefly, before he spun you around. Moving your pliant body onto your back. He grabbed one of your legs, pulling it up against his chest. Your foot nearly against his head as he pushed back inside. The change in angle let him go deeper, feeling him in your guts. You whined, your hands scrambling for purchase. Sweat dotted his brow, his teeth grit as he slammed into you. 

“Gonna fill you up- that’s what you want- isn’t it?” He growled, his eyes never leaving yours. You nodded, your head lolling up and down.

“Yes! Yes please!” You cried, boneless under him. He was unable to stop the ragged gasp that left his hips, his brows pinching together as his hips stuttered. The coarse hair at the base of his dick rubbed against your puffy abused clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. He kept his pelvis pressed up against yours, his hair falling into his eyes as he hung his head. Panting as you both came down from your respective highs. 

“Goddamn.” He chuckled breathlessly, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours as he pulled out. Shivering as he left the warm heat of your core. He collapsed back in the chair, but you could still feel his eyes on you. Slowly, you felt his cum start to drip out of you. You whined as he gathered it on his finger, pressing it back inside you. “Gotta keep it where it belongs.” He mumbled, watching as his pearly spend covered his fingers. You chuckled breathlessly, raising your head to look down at him. He grabbed a nearby cloth, gently wiping off your core and thighs.

“You know,” You started, a small smile spreading across your lips as he met your eyes. His cheeks and ears tinted red, an almost shameful look on his face. “I wouldn’t mind a few more lessons like that, Mr. Morgan.”

@photo1030 , @emerald-ranch  @highlandhour , @buffkirby2020 , @esquilone , @cyb3rsx , @whalecage , @idekraeven , @calcarius445 , @heloixe

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[lotusdrops-world]

Under the Sway of Steel

An outlaw with a silver tongue. A spy with blood on her hands. One desperate train ride. One reckless kiss. In a world of lies and smoke, sometimes the only thing worth holding onto is each other.

wc: 4.9k

Rating: Explicit (mdni)

cross posted on ao3

tags: Sylus x reader, Reader-Insert, Action & Romance, Outlaws, Trains, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings , Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Sexual Overstimulation, Creampie

It was night when you slipped onto the train, the wind biting cold and your boots heavy with dust. The platform was dimly lit, cloaked in that inky blue between twilight and darkness. Steam hissed from the engine like a dragon exhaling its final breath, the roar of iron wheels slicing through the quiet town. You moved like a shadow, blending in with the weary souls boarding late.

Second-class passenger car. You took your seat near the middle, leather gloves still streaked with trail dust, the scent of grit and gunpowder clinging to your coat like perfume. You kept your head low, a folded newspaper, your makeshift shield. Its front page screamed about the mayor’s latest “victory” against crime—a neatly packaged story of civic heroism to save his falling image, complete with a photograph of the mayor shaking hands with the sheriff.

You scoffed softly under your breath.

Lies.

It was your tip, your groundwork, your careful whispers in the right ears that led to last week’s gang bust. Not the mayor, with his gold-plated revolver and manicured image. You’d been the one bleeding in alleyways, digging through secrets like grave dirt. No press. No praise. Just the ghost in the long coat who left justice in her wake.

You exposed the gang for takedown, but instead of the truth coming out, the mayor took credit—and used it for his image. But what doesn't make sense to you is that most people weren't buying it— according to the rumors you've heard. Some guesses said that it was propaganda, or to make it up to save the city's name, because of the damage that the previous corrupt mayor has done.

Your eyes drifted to a smaller article beneath the fold.

Wanted.

The sketch was rough—charcoal lines and smudged shading—but unmistakable. Tall. Silver-haired. Crimson-eyed. Described like a crow in the night, prying in places he didn’t belong. Sylus. His name was whispered in saloons and shouted in bounty offices. A thief with a taste for blood. A ghost story made flesh. A storm in cowboy boots.

The train rattled forward, groaning as it left the station behind. Most of the other passengers were quiet, huddled into themselves. One man nursed a flask and muttered card numbers to himself, another flipped pages without really reading. No one looked twice at you.

Then—

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of boots on wood. Steady, deliberate, unhurried. A man walked down the aisle like he owned the place—like time bent to his stride. His silhouette was broad beneath his worn brown coat, and a black crow feather twitched from the chest strap as he moved.

He stopped right in front of you.

And sat down.

Right across from you. Sprawled lazily like he hadn’t just wandered into his own wanted poster. One leg draped over the other, arms resting over the seat like a man who had nowhere better to be. You didn’t lift your head, but your fingers twitched slightly around the newspaper. Heartbeat ticked up. You didn’t need to look to know.

But you did.

Your eyes slid past the headline. Past the sketch. And there it was—just a glimpse. A streak of silver slipping free beneath the brim of his hat, catching the lamplight like moonlight on a blade.

“Taking a good look, darlin’?”

His voice was smooth whiskey over gravel. Amused. Dangerous.

You gritted your teeth, pulse jumping at the way he said it—like he already knew you, like he’d found a secret you didn’t know you had.

“You didn’t excuse yourself before sitting down,” you said flatly, finally meeting his gaze.

Crimson eyes met yours. Slow smirk. Sharp cheekbones and jaw. That outlaw charm twisted around something darker—something feral.

“I was in a hurry,” he said.

But his tone said otherwise. He was watching you like you were the only interesting thing in the train.

“In a hurry?” you asked, eyes narrowed. “Funny. You don’t seem the type.”

His grin widened—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Then, suddenly—

Bang!

The train’s door at the far end slammed open.

“THIS WAY!” a voice shouted, followed by the stomp of heavy boots.

You turned your head instinctively—uniforms. Deputies. Moving fast.

Then everything moved faster.

Sylus was up in a flash, grabbing your wrist with a grip like steel.

“Come on.”

“What—hey!” Your paper scattered as he yanked you from your seat.

Gasps echoed from passengers as you were dragged down the car, coat billowing behind you, boots thudding against the floor. You heard shouts—orders barked—but you didn’t look back.

“Can ya jump high?” he asked, breathless, excitement glowing in his eyes.

“What?!”

“Jump! We’re going on another train!”

He grinned like a lunatic. Like this was fun.

“You’re insane!” you shouted over the wind.

But he didn’t answer. He just ran faster, yanking you toward the back of the train like the devil was in pursuit.

You reached the last car. Wind howled through the window frame. The night outside was black velvet laced with smoke and speed. Ahead of you, another train—a freight, by the look of it—rattled along the opposite track. Close. Too close.

“Why and where the hell are you taking me?” you demanded.

He turned to you, breath fogging between you. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply. “And I don’t let go of a pretty girl when I see one.”

You blinked. “Huh?!”

Before you could process it, he stepped behind you, hands firm on your waist.

“You first.”

“I’m not going with you!”

“They’re almost here.”

You turned—saw the barrel of a gun.

“He ran with a girl in a black coat! Follow them!”

Great, just your luck.

You looked back. The other train loomed closer. Seconds left.

“If I die,” you growled, “I swear I’ll haunt you.”

“You won’t, darlin’,” he murmured. “You’re used to this. I know who you work for.”

Your blood froze. As if everything went in slow motion, and muffled.

How the fuck does he know that?

But there was no time. No choice.

You jumped.

Air screamed in your ears, your coat flailing like wings. You hit the edge of the other train hard, knuckles catching the rail, breath knocked from your lungs. You dangled, heels scrabbling against steel.

Then he followed. Jumping right after you, his hand now wrapped around yours, hauling you up with a strength that defied his lean build.

“I swear I’m going to kill you!” you yelled.

“I knew you could do it,” he said, laughing as he pulled the door open and shoved you inside.

Warmth hits you like a slap. Dim lantern light. Empty car. Dust and silence.

You stumbled, knees giving out as you caught yourself on the nearest seat.

“Are you sick in the head?!”

“Maybe,” he said, voice sing-song, watching you with a wolf’s grin.

You stood, breathing hard, fury bubbling hot in your chest. “How do you know who I work for?”

He stepped closer. “Those gloves. That coat. And those sharp look in your eyes? Civilian my ass. You’ve got the scent of smoke and secrets all over you. Word is someone’s been slipping the mayor’s enemies real pretty intel. Tell me, darlin’—how deep are your pockets?”

Your eyes narrowed.

As if he sees right through you. Not just the gloves or the coat—but the silence between your words. The way you watch, and vanish. Sylus isn’t just guessing—he’s reading. To him, it’s obvious: your groundwork has been moving in the dark, feeding the city scraps of truth. Maybe not with intent to ruin the mayor—but that’s the effect. You’re bleeding intel into the cracks of the enemy's system, and he knows it. Know you’re no civilian. Knows you’re the reason the mayor’s shine is starting to dull.

He leaned in.

“And I’m impressed, darlin’.”

Your hand twitched toward your belt—too late. He saw it, stepped in, crowding your space.

“...Then why the hell did you drag me into this?”

“Because I want you,” he said, voice suddenly rough. “And not just in the way you’re thinkin’.”

Your heart tugged. It was the quiet scream in your chest, a desperate need to feel something real before everything around you fell apart. It was the certainty that if you didn’t seize this moment, you'd regret it for the rest of your life.

“You don’t play their game—you burn the damn board. I’ve been watching. And damn if I didn’t want to in the second I saw what you could do.”

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just desire—it was claiming. You felt it like a hand sliding up your spine.

“...And you’ve got blood on your hands, yeah. But it ain’t poisoned you. Not like the rest of us.”

His voice was low, jagged, like he’d laid bare a truth that only now made sense to you. He wasn’t just another man out for what he could take. He wasn’t even just an enemy. He was something far more dangerous—and somehow, you couldn’t look away.

You had been looking for something. Something real. All this time, you’d told yourself that your life—this dangerous, broken path—didn’t leave room for feelings. You had no space for desire, for connection. It was easier that way. Less messy. But when his eyes locked with yours, and that claim lingered between you, you felt it—your need, finally waking up after years of dormancy.

The tension was thick and heavy. His breathing fanned your face. And just like you, he smelled like gunpowder and sin. When Sylus slightly tilted his head, you grabbed his collar and crashed your mouth against his. Like you were starving for it.

The kiss hit hard—no warning, no build-up, just need. It was messy and molten, tongues clashing, teeth catching on lips. You bit down and he groaned into your mouth like it had been ripped straight from his chest. His hands found your waist, fingers greedy through your coat, pulling you closer like he couldn't stand even an inch between you.

You backed up, dragging him with you, boots stumbling over the metal grates of the train car. His body followed like instinct, breathless and burning, until you hit the door to the last compartment. You kicked it shut with the heel of your boot.

He spun you, tried to press you to the wall, but you moved faster. Twisting. Catching him off balance. Shoving him back so he hit the wall with a dull thud. The surprised little sound he made was satisfying as hell.

“Take that off,” you said lowly, your voice stripped down to nothing but command and fire.

He blinked—maybe caught off guard—but then his mouth curved, that cocky little outlaw smirk returning as he shrugged off his jacket with a slow, deliberate drag. Leather hit the floor with a soft thump. His shirt hung loose, collar undone from the chaos of your kiss. You could already see the rise and fall of his chest, a long scar slicing just under his ribs like a white-hot memory.

You reached into your pocket. Fingers closed around silk. Your scarf.

It slipped out like temptation, like sin made cloth. You held it up for him to see, catching the flicker in his eyes—the heat, the curiosity, the submission he didn’t want to name yet.

“You dragged me here and think you’re the one who gets to control things here?” No. Not yet, at least.”

The act of tying him up wasn’t just physical—it was symbolic. You needed him there, restrained, at your mercy, because in that second, you felt like you had nothing left to lose. He was a man on the run, a fugitive with a bounty on his head, and yet here he was—standing in front of you, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. You had been the one running, hiding, living in the shadows for so long. But now, in this moment, he was the one in your grasp.

You pushed his arms above his head. He didn’t resist. His wrists met the metal rail of the luggage rack, and with practiced ease, you wrapped the scarf around them—tight, but not cruel. A little give. Just enough for him to feel it. To fight it, if he really wanted to.

But he didn’t.

His chest rose and fell faster now, exposed and glorious. He was all rough edges and muscle, bruises you hadn’t left yet, and a pulse that told you he was already halfway gone.

You kissed him again—rougher this time. Teeth grazing skin, breath hot. You tasted sweat, adrenaline, something wild. Your hands roamed, dragging down the plane of his chest, nails just sharp enough to make him hiss and arch into the touch. His head fell back with a soft gasp.

You cupped him through his pants. His cock was hard—aching and desperate under your palm.

“Please,” he groaned.

That voice—wrecked already. But you didn’t ease up. Making him whimper, chest heaving.

“I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just—please—”

That voice cracked open like thunder across dry earth.

You leaned in, lips brushing his throat.

“Be a good boy,” you whispered against his throat.

His breath caught, and he was huffing like a dog in heat.

You unzipped him slowly, deliberately, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your hand around him. The first long stroke wrung a sound from him that made you want to swallow it whole. He was beautiful like this—panting, bound, head tipped back against the wall, wrists flexing helplessly in silk.

“You like that?” you purred.

He nodded, choked. “Y-yeah.”

“Say it.”

“I like it—fuck—I like it when you touch me. I’m yours f’ tonight.”

The words made your stomach clench. You kissed his jaw, then lower, down the column of his throat, nipping at the skin just to feel him twitch. Your hand kept moving, steady and firm. His hips tried to jerk forward, but you pressed your free hand to his stomach, holding him in place.

Just when his moans turned into whimpers, just when his thighs started to tremble—you stopped.

He cried out, frantic. “N-no, please…”

You smiled, slow and cruel. “Not yet.”

“Please,” he begged, eyes glassy. “I need it. I’ve been good. I was so good.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, then dragged your lips to his ear. “I know. That’s why I’m gonna ruin you.”

You started again—slow this time, maddening. He whimpered into your shoulder, body shivering. “Gonna cum—please—let me cum for you…”

“Now,” you whispered.

He came hard, his whole body shaking, moaning into your neck. You kissed his nape through it, kept your hand moving while he gasped and twitched, oversensitive and gorgeous. His wrists pulled at the scarf, but he didn’t ask to be freed. Not yet.

You didn’t stop.

He whimpered. “Too much—sensitive—please—”

You just grinned. “One more.” You knelt down, then you took him into your mouth, softly. Almost reverently.

He choked on a sound that barely resembled a word. His whole body jolted, back arching off the wall, legs twitching. He tasted like desperation, like salt and sin, like something carved out of want. You hollow your cheeks around his cock, slow and cruel, letting him feel every flick of your tongue, every ripple of sensation like it was being etched into him.

“F-fuck—darlin’—” His voice cracked. “Too much- Oh gods. Fuck...Gonna—please—”

You looked up through your lashes, lips stretched around him, and moaned. The sound went straight through him like lightning. He came again—shaking, wrecked—like you’d stolen the last of his breath.

But you didn’t pull away.

You swallowed him like a promise. Felt him twitch in your mouth, overly sensitive and beautifully helpless, his hips jerking despite himself.

He whimpered, voice a broken thing. “I can’t—I—darlin'”

You let him go slowly, trailing your tongue along his length as if savoring the taste of surrender.

He was breathless, wrung out, and still hardening again under your hand. The sight alone made a heat pool between your thighs.

“Lemme touch you, darlin’” he whined raspily. “Please. Wanna taste you— ugh, wanna make you feel good too. Worship that body of yours.”

The truth was, you’d been playing a dangerous game. Keeping him tied up had been a power move. A reminder that you were in control. But now? The rawness in his voice, the way he needed you, pushed you to the edge. He wasn’t just begging anymore. He was offering something. something real. Something that felt like more than just lust. It was surrender. He was offering himself.

You leaned back just far enough to look into his face. His crimson eyes were blown wide, raw with desperation. Wild. Worshipful. The heat in his gaze was enough to make the air around you feel thick, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something deeper. Something vulnerable.

You reached up and untied the scarf slowly, letting it unravel from his wrists like a gift being unwrapped. He didn’t hesitate. As soon as he was free, he caught you around the waist, pulling you in with a growl.

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, coat falling from your shoulders as he lowered you to the padded bench. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, shoving your dress up, dragging his mouth down the inside of your legs.

Then higher, where your slicked cunt was on full display for him. For him to devour and ravish. Without wasting any second, his tongue finds your slit, like a man starved and finally finding the feast he’d been searching for.

“God, you taste—fuck—” he muttered, his voice a low growl, the sound of it almost a prayer, as if every flick of his tongue was pulling him deeper into some dark, forgotten place. He was dazed, wild, and drunk on the feel of you.

You moaned roughly, and your body arched into his mouth, every inch of you trembling like a string pulled too tight, your fingers weaving through his silver hair, guiding him with a frantic urgency. Your thighs locked around his head, a desperate need pulling you closer, deeper into the heat of him, your world narrowing to the pulse of his touch, the burn of it consuming you from the inside out.

“Mhhmf— already had my eyes on you from the start," he murmured into your wet cunt, his voice low, dazed, and soaked in desire. “I won’t let go of you now.”

You moaned in response. The roaring engine faded into the background, and only the sound of him lapping your pussy filled your senses. His warm tongue flickered around your folds, pulling back to spit on it, admiring the dripping wetness, and diving back into your abused core once more.

Just when you were on the brink of shattering, when every inch of you seemed to be unraveling beneath his touch, he pulled away. The loss of him was almost painful, the cool air rushing to fill the space he’d left behind. You gasped, chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of your pulse, your body still humming with the ghost of his touch.

He didn’t move far, though. He crawled over you, his eyes burning with an intensity that could have set the whole world aflame. The hunger in them wasn’t just desire—it was something darker, something ancient, like he was claiming a piece of you, body and soul. His hands bracketed your sides, holding you in place as he hovered above you, the air thick with the tension between you.

“You tied me up,” he said low and rough, “now I’m not holdin’ back.”

And he didn’t.

Sylus gave his cock a few strokes, it was hard and dripping with precum. Before he slid into you, he dragged his veiny cock to your puffy folds, with a lazy smile plastered on his face. Then, he slid into you deep and hard, the stretch sudden, perfect. Your mouth fell open with a gasp. His hands gripped your hips, holding you down as he set a brutal rhythm, thrust after thrust crashing into you like a storm.

You clawed his back, head thrown back against the seat, moaning his name like a prayer.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was a war.

“Say my name,” he growled against your throat.

“Sylus,” you gasped. “God, Sylus—”

With that, he drove deeper, harder, and the world spun on its axis. Your voice cracked, torn between pleasure and the desperate need for more. Your whole body arched, instinctively clutching at him as though you were about to fall apart without his touch. His lips found yours again, urgent and messy, as if he couldn’t get enough of you—tongue slipping past, tasting, tasting, chasing every last breath of you.

He hit deeper, rougher, and your voice broke. Your whole body arched, clutching at him like you’d drown without him. He kissed you again—sloppy and desperate, tongue pushing past your lips like he was still chasing every last taste of you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, anchoring him inside you, dragging him even deeper. The train swayed around you, loud and fast, but all you could feel was him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he pounded into you relentlessly. “Ya sure know how to make a guy forget himself.”

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through you, and with every breath, every pulse, the only thing you could hear was the frantic beat of your hearts. You pulled him closer, desperate for more, every shift of his body against yours setting off a spark, igniting the dark corners of your mind. His voice was everything now—every rough syllable, every growl, every desperate plea.

And all you could do was pull him deeper, deeper into the only place that felt real.

Sylus' breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, lips brushing softly over your ear. His voice was low, rough, coated with desire but still laced with that signature cocky edge.

"...Can I come inside you, darlin'?" he murmured, his tone more of a heated question than a command. His eyes were dark with longing, but there was that spark of mischief still dancing in his gaze. "Please…please, tell me you want it too."

The rational part of your brain screamed at you. reminding you of the consequences. Of the risks. Of what might come after this, the mess you’d be in if you let yourself fall too far, too fast.

But then you looked into his crimson eyes, saw the raw hunger there, and everything else blurred into the background. The mission, the rules, the things you should be thinking about—all of it faded.

"Yes," you breathed, voice low and steady, filled with the hunger you could no longer hide. "...I want it. I want all of it."

His body trembled above you, his breath hot and erratic, and as the tension between you both reached its breaking point, the world seemed to disappear.

The moment he gave into it, when he came inside you—it was like the final push over the edge. A slow, intoxicating flood that left you breathless, overwhelmed. Every inch of him, every pulse of release, felt like it was marking something deep inside you.

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you fought to focus, the feeling of him spilling inside you sending shivers all the way down your spine. It was reckless. Dangerous. The kind of choice that would make your heart race later when you could think again.

But in this moment, all you could feel was him. His release was like a brand—leaving you dizzy, raw, and full in a way you didn’t know you needed.

It wasn’t just physical. It was a claim, a collision of worlds. His and yours. One you couldn’t take back, no matter how reckless, how messy it would be tomorrow.

When it ended, you were both wrecked. Sweaty, bruised, breathless.

You lay tangled together on the floor of the compartment, half-dressed, bodies still humming. His arm curled under your head, cradling you, as if holding you to him meant something more than just a fleeting moment. His fingers lazily traced the delicate line of your collarbone, the touch so gentle it almost felt like a caress for the soul, not just the skin.

“You’re somethin’ else,” Sylus said, his voice hoarse and rough, like he’d just come from the edge of something wild and unrestrained. His lips brushed against your temple, a soft, tender kiss that lingered longer than it had any right to. It was the kind of kiss you might expect from someone who was savoring the last taste of something unforgettable.

"So are you," you murmured, your words barely audible, your throat still tight from the rush of it all. You could barely make sense of it, this overwhelming feeling of having him, of being with him, of the mess you’d both made of your lives in the span of hours.

He exhaled, the sound warm against your skin. “We’ll lie low tonight. I know a place just off the tracks, past the ridge. Fire, blankets, no one to bother us. Ain’t just talkin’ about tonight, y’know. I’m not lettin’ you vanish into smoke again. Not if I can help it.”

There was something raw in his voice now, unguarded. Not just a flirt, not just a thief with charm—this was the man underneath. The one who’d bled too much, lost too much, but still reached for something warm in the dark.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added. “But if you do—I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The idea of escaping, of finding some small corner of peace where you didn’t have to think about the chaos that was always just around the corner, sounded perfect. His plan was simple, but in the haze of afterglow and exhaustion, it felt like salvation. You let your eyes flutter closed, still too tired to move, too content to care about anything else.

You opened your eyes, and stared at him for a moment, the flicker of the lantern catching on the edge of his silver hair, the cut of his jaw, the honesty in his eyes. It would’ve been easier to laugh it off. To turn away. To remind him what kind of world you both lived in—one where loyalty got people killed, and promises were just prettier ways of lying. But instead, you reached for his hand, and laced your fingers with his.

“Then don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He froze, like those words hit deeper than a bullet ever could.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve been walking through fire for so long, I forgot what it felt like to want to stay.”

Sylus exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath this whole time. He brought your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles, slow and reverent.

“Then let’s stop runnin’, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Even if it’s just for tonight.”

You let yourself lean into his chest, let the rhythm of his heart drown out the rest of the world.

For once, you weren’t the ghost in the coat or the whisper in the shadows.

"Guess I’ve finally found somethin’ worth stickin’ around for," he said, the words coming out like a confession, even though it sounded like he was still half-smirking.

And for the first time in a long while, your mind didn’t drift back to the mayor, or the dirty work. No shadowy figures or dark plans pulling at the edges of your thoughts. It was just the present. The weight of his arm around you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling steadily beneath your head, grounding you in a way you hadn't known you craved.

For once, there was no war in your chest, no fierce battle of duty versus desire, no echo of the chaos you’d spent your life tangled in. The violent, relentless pull between the work you’d chosen and the part of you that had always longed for something more—something real—faded into the background, lost to the simplicity of the moment.

It was just the steel beneath you—the rumbling pulse of the train tracks, the thrum of metal and motion that had always carried you forward. The scent of smoke in your hair, a reminder of the fire that seemed to follow you everywhere you went, the same fire that now wrapped itself around you like a blanket.

And there was him. The outlaw beside you, the man who had walked into your life like a storm and shaken it to its very core. He held you like you were the only thing in the world worth saving. Not the mission. Not the blood-stained war you’d been fighting. Just you. And for once, there was no need to prove anything. No walls to keep up. Just him, with his wild grin and his outlaw heart, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. And for once, you let yourself believe it. Just for a little while.

[awkward-fink]

Sleep Positions with Them. (I)

Price: - He lays on his back, one arm around your body, holding you securely to his side in a gentle but firm hold. - only wears sleep shorts and his dogtags to bed. His thighs are too thick for normal sleeping pants and he gets way too warm in those anyway. Also he loves that he can feel your skin on his when you tangle your legs with his own. - loves when you are draped half over him, your fingers curled into his chest hair, one hand of his covering yours. One of his fingers is laying on your pulse point, feeling the steady thrumm while his thumb lazily traces over your knuckles. - he doesnt need a blanket. And you dont either. He is a living furnace, even in winter you are always cosy warm.

Ghost: - curled around you, holding onto you tightly. - always sleeps closest to the door, its instinct, dont question it. - on bad nights he will sleep on top of you, his head firmly positioned on top of your chest, ear firmly pressed against the spot where your heart beats underneath layers of skin and flesh. Its his most favorite lullaby. - would sleep in his tactical gear if you hadnt forbidden it, so he wears a long shirt and long sleeping pants to bed. - will wake when you move or twitch and check if everything is alright before falling back to sleep - forget going to the loo in the middle of the night alone. What if you fall? Or stub your toe? And he isnt there to protect you from the corner of the shower? No way. He is sleepily stumbling right after you, only alert enough to fall into bed after you and curl around you, again. - only needs a light blanket when sleeping with you, because you are clingy (as if he is not!). And needs a weighted blanket on nights when you are away on business.

Soap: - no fixed sleeping position. He starfishes, noodles around, and planks on the bed. All at once. Though, he never pushes you out of the bed, again. Once was one time too many and the *Look* you gave him after that scared him for life. - falls asleep with you in his arms as the big spoon. wakes up in a double spiral, flat salto mortale with you on top of him, his legs wrapped around you like a monkey. And no one knows where the blankets have gone to! - would sleep naked but you wont allow it, on every night. He starts with a boxershort and a shirt and wakes up with one article of clothing missing. - is a sleep kisser. Kisses your fingers, your shoulders, your chest and if he is lucky, your mouth in his sleep. Also cant get enough contact. - loves when you card your hands through his hair when he had a bad day, or a nightmare. Calms him down real quick. If you speak gaelic, he will literally start drooling in his sleep - all the blankets and then no blankets - nights with Soap are wild. In more ways than one.

Gaz: - has a strict routine before coming to bed - loves to have you at his side when falling asleep, your head on his shoulder and his nose buried in your hair. Its calming for him. - sleeps like the dead. Or a stone. Or a field of stones. You could play hardcore metal with screeching violins and that man will only twitch a finger. - *has* to have contact with you while sleeping. Doesnt matter if its a hand, a foot, a leg or even your head, NEEDS contact. If there is no contact, he will wiggle in the bed to search for you, and he will be asleep while doing that - has a whoe ass pyjama, which looks like a suite or at least fitting together like those checkered Ones made out of cotton. Filthily comfy and wont let you burrow them. - Needs at least two blankets and you to rest in comfort. - Listen! Has the most wild dreams and will talk to you in his sleep, wont remember anything in the morning though

Bonus! Roach: - loves to sleep with you in the bed - has a blanket only for you, and a pillow and even wants you to sleep in his shirt. - you understand, that he can fall asleep better if he can have something smelling of you, when you are not with him - loves to curl his fingers around yours, watching you sleep, your legs tangled and your foreheads touching. - lazily signs one handed against the palm of your hand, silly little things, his feelings, sweet nothings, just wants to feel you. - has the best sleep when your breaths mingle, your hands intertwined, his leg hooked around yours. - loves to wake up and the first thing he sees is you. (has literal heart eyes!) - has one oversized blanket for you both to share - loves to kiss you lazily, lips just brushing over yours chastely until you both fall asleep. Holds one of your hands to his heart if he can get away with it - wears a very ol shirt and some old shorts to bed