#the indiscretion

[moroniccats]

It gets me every time just how PROUD Watson is to be Holmes’ partner. He’s constantly talking about how he knows Holmes better than anyone, and can recognize his mood and mannerisms no matter how subtle. How he’s trusted with information that the public will never know, because HE WAS THERE AT HIS SIDE. How he takes pleasure in just being there, admiring Holmes, and in being as useful to him as possible.

[cary-elwes]

[skymallnine]

I don’t know the DS9 deep lore yet, so forgive me if this is old news and/or contradicted in canon. The ship Garak talks about destroying in The Wire — it’s implied to be the Ravinok, right?

Mystery ship contained Cardassians + Bajorans + daughter of a prominent official (Ziyal)

Mystery ship was ordered to depart by Gul Dukat

At the time of The Wire, there were no known survivors of the Ravinok; wreckage wasn’t found until 2 seasons later in Indiscretion

The Central Command claims the Ravinok was destroyed by Bajorans making an escape attempt. Could be true. Could be a coverup for someone deliberately destroying the ship; lots of people/factions would be interested in taking out Ziyal.

Either way, it’s the official story. If some of those Bajorans were recently under interrogation, I imagine the blame would naturally fall on whoever let them go.

Now, admittedly there are multiple details that don’t fit the Ravinok, like the passenger count and the fact that Garak refers to the ship as a shuttle.

But hey, he’s got to lie about some stuff.

[celebrityfanfictionblog]

The Trade Secretary's Indiscretion

Featuring Sir Liam Fox

In the sweltering July of 2017, Sir Liam Fox, then serving as Secretary of State for International Trade, found himself in the thick of a political season. Yet, his thoughts were far from trade agreements as he met Thomas Jones, a 31-year-old lobbyist whose towering 6'1" frame and stocky, athletic build reminded him of none other than his former best man and flat mate, Adam Werritty.

The rendezvous was set under the guise of discussing policy, but the real agenda was clear from the moment Thomas’s deep blue eyes met Liam's. After a brief, formal exchange at a public venue, they retreated to Liam's London flat, a place kept secret from his wife, Dr. Jesme Baird, intended for the solitude of a 'second home' funded by the taxpayer.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Clothes were shed with urgency, littering the floor like autumn leaves. Naked on the bed, their bodies contrasted sharply; Liam, at 5'8" with an average build, next to Thomas's more imposing figure.

Thomas took his time, his mouth exploring every inch of Liam’s body before settling on his lips. Their kiss was slow, deep, and languid, tongues mingling in a dance that mirrored the rhythm of their hips. Thomas's hands roamed, one cupping Liam's cheek while the other slid down to grasp his ass, kneading the flesh with a possessive grip.

They moved from kisses to more; Thomas’s mouth found Liam’s, engaging in a fervent exchange of oral pleasure until both were panting for more.

Fox, now lost in the throes of a taboo desire, felt the sweat bead down his back as Thomas Jones, his muscular frame a stark contrast to Liam's more modest build, maneuvered him onto all fours. The scent of arousal was thick between them, a heady mix of musk and cologne, as Thomas positioned himself at Liam's entrance, his hard length throbbing with need. He paused, taking in the sight of Liam's ass, the skin smooth and inviting. With a firm grip on Liam's hips, Thomas slapped one cheek, watching it jiggle slightly, asserting dominance in this clandestine affair.

Thomas paused, his cock pressing against Liam, teasing the entrance with gentle, circular motions. Liam moaned, his body trembling in anticipation. With a slow, deliberate thrust, Thomas entered him, and Liam felt every inch. The sensation was overwhelming, a combination of fullness and friction that made his toes curl.

"Fuck, you're tight," Thomas growled, his voice low and husky, as he began to move, each thrust causing Liam to moan, the sound echoing off the walls of the flat.

Thomas moved with a pace that was almost torturous in its slowness, each thrust drawn out to savor the feel of Liam's heat around him. Thomas's hand reached around, finding Liam’s cock, hard and leaking, and began to stroke him in time with his thrusts. For the next twenty minutes, Thomas took Liam with a fervor that left no room for gentleness. The rhythm was primal, animalistic. Thomas's balls slapped against Liam with each deep penetration, the sound obscene in the quiet of the room. Thomas's whispers were like velvet, "You feel so good, Liam," his breath hot against Liam’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.

He pulled Liam back onto him, ensuring he felt every inch, every vein of Thomas's cock. Liam, overwhelmed by the sensations, pushed back, meeting Thomas thrust for thrust, their bodies slick with sweat and desire.

"Harder," Liam gasped, his voice a mix of command and plea. Thomas complied, his movements becoming more forceful, his other hand now reaching around to tweak Liam’s nipples, adding another layer of sensation.

The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, punctuated by Liam's cries and Thomas's grunts.

Suddenly, Thomas flipped Liam over, wanting to see his face contorted in pleasure. He entered Liam again, missionary style, watching as Liam's eyes rolled back when Thomas hit that sweet spot inside him.

Liam’s legs were splayed wide, his feet hooked over Thomas's back, pulling him closer, deeper. The pace gradually intensified, but the sensuality never waned. Thomas’s hand found Liam’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, his thumb spreading the beads of precum over the head. Liam was lost in the sensation, his body an instrument played by Thomas's expert touch.

Thomas leaned down, capturing Liam's lips in a bruising kiss, their tongues clashing as he fucked him with abandon. As Thomas rocked into him, his lips found Liam's neck, kissing, sucking, leaving marks that spoke of their secret. Liam's hands roamed Thomas's back, nails leaving red trails, urging him deeper. Their bodies moved in sync, a slow, sensual dance of push and pull, the sound of wet skin against skin a symphony in the quiet room. As Thomas neared his climax, Liam, caught in the throes of ecstasy, begged for more, his legs spread wide, inviting Thomas deeper.

As Liam's orgasm built, his prostate being relentlessly stimulated, he felt his balls tighten. His cock, with pre-cum dripping down its length, was a testament to his arousal. Thomas, sensing the urgency, intensified his thrusts, angling to hit that spot inside Liam that would send him over the edge.

With a loud cry, Liam called out, "Adam!" in the heat of passion, his body convulsing as he came, painting his chest and stomach with his seed, the sheets gripped tight in his fists.

The intense contractions of Liam's climax around Thomas's cock were too much. With one final, deep thrust, Thomas released, filling Liam with his own heat, his grunts a clear testament to his release, ensuring Liam knew he was being claimed in this moment of vulnerability.

"Take it all," he hissed, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release.

As they lay there, the aftermath of their actions settling around them like dust, the reality of their choices began to seep in, mingling with the sweat and the scent of sex in the air of that secretive, taxpayer-funded flat.

This narrative is purely fictional, crafted for entertainment purposes, and does not reflect any real events, personalities, or their actions.

[bagheerita]

Absolutely brutal. She took no prisoners.

(Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, s4e5 "Indiscretion")

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Indiscretion Advised: A Harry Potter Infidelity Fest

Indiscretion Advised: A Harry Potter Infidelity Fest 2024:

happy in the haze of a drunken hour by Anonymous - E, one-shot - She once called it a dance, this thing she had with Draco: a Viennese waltz, or an Argentine tango, or a pas de deux in a ballet — dizzying and breathtaking, exhausting to its core — yet extremely beautiful, and graceful, and exciting to watch. They were performers on a stage, dancing a carefully choreographed routine of late work nights and orchestrated lies, and it was always a sold-out show. Reality was supremely more convoluted – in truth, they weren’t dancing prodigies or prima ballerinas, they were co-workers who cheated on their partners on the regular, and what they were doing was a great disservice to performers everywhere.

A fire I can’t put out by Anonymous - E, one-shot - The question sat on her. Each night, as she stared at the expanse of bed between her and Viktor, before rolling over onto her side and quietly crying that she'd gone another day without answering it. The question was hers. But the voice, this time, was not. Draco met her gaze, and he asked. “Are you happy?”

Darling, can I be your favorite? by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione finds herself sexually frustrated at work and sends a letter to get the help she needs but the letter is intercepted. Was it a case of mistaken identity or was the cheating intentional?

AU PAIR AFFAIR by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Draco is contractually obligated to stay married to Astoria to keep his son. The only problem is he's in love with their au pair, Hermione. If he's found having an affair, he could lose everything. Can they keep their hands to themselves?

at all costs by Anonymous - E, WIP - Down on her luck, Hermione joins a dating app with Harry's encouragement. She just needed a few extra dollars. She never expected to find herself drawn to the mysterious and charismatic man on the other side of the screen. Meanwhile, Draco finds himself stuck in an unhappy marriage, luckily there's a girl to keep him company.

In the Middle of the Night by Anonymous - E, one-shot - If he didn’t already know she was awake, he does now. “Open your eyes,” rasps a familiar voice and she can’t help but obey. The only light in the room is the moonlight, and she notices the way it mirrors him: both light and dark, gleaming with a magnetic pull that has her almost weeping from the need she has to be held down and thoroughly fucked by him.

Filthy by Anonymous - E, one-shot - When Malfoy arrives at the Ministry Gala in Goyle Manor, he looks forward to dragging Hermione into a dark corner of the manor and letting her have her wicked way with him. But when he finds out she has yet again brought a new boyfriend, he has finally had enough and decides to tell her that their affair is over once and for all.

Happiest Place On Earth by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Disney is a place for families. It's the Happiest Place on Earth, so nothing can go wrong-- right?

As The Lady Wishes by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Today is my wedding day. I’m Hermione Granger, and I’m the bride.

Again by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione plans on throwing Harry the best stag party ever. But the Gryffindors’ adventure in New Orleans has some unexpected guests who bring some complicated feelings with them.

Ronnie Doesn't Know by Anonymous - T, one-shot - “Ronnie doesn't know that Hermione and me Do it in my dorm every Monday She tells him she's in class, but she doesn't go Still, she's on her knees, and Ronnie doesn't know” Or the one where Ron discovers Hermione has been cheating on him with Draco Malfoy.

[armed-with-a-waffle-iron]

Dick Grayson considers Helena Bertinelli one of his "greatest friends"🥰

Batman #694

[aacetrainer]

Random DND character idea: cleric with separation anxiety. They cannot go anywhere their god cannot see them

[the-sunshine-dims]

everytime i think more about fable i am just, heartbroken

fable knew where isla was the whole time, never had that question in his mind because he was the one who cast her into the end without her mind, he stayed in the house for years with her sons pretending he'd done nothing

he knew exactly where isla was, it was never something he just happened to stumble across, and so he knew either he'd kill enderian, or hed be killed, though the former was probably always more likely especially to his ego'd mind,

it was never even for isla

when he did leave icarus and rae, he wasnt going to find isla, it was never for isla, not really, if he did even try to convince himself otherways, he left two kids, one who he called his own, who grew dependent on him,

his hatred of enderian has always been so much stronger then his love for icarus, either of the siblings, but icarus he lies about

his hate will always be stronger then his care and icarus just keeps searching for it, now able to 'problem-solve' because hey, if enough of those fable hates die, become a null problem, maybe they'll prove they deserve that scarce love, earn it

[play-my-game]

[seijorhi]

hi rhi!! oh my god violent delights was SOOO good 😭 the way reader quietly accepted her fate but also seemed to have some part of her almost WANTING that fate with hajime?!

at the end did hajime know that reader didn’t willingly stop writing him letters and that the psychiatrists and their parents had told her that he was dead? im assuming he had an inkling bc he mentioned not believing the psychiatrists saying that the reader was the one who had cut him off!!

and now how would it go with their parents? reader doesn’t really talk to their parents but im assuming from the horrific murders they would want to reach out more…?

ty my love!!

it's a cruel kind of wish fulfilment. all she ever wanted was to have hajime back and now she has exactly that. there's no take-backs just because he's a rabid, possessive psycho with a sister complex. hajime's not going anywhere (she wouldn't be able to bear losing him again).

as for whether he put it together, he suspects as much. once he's calmed down a bit, slaked a little of that fury and furore burying himself inside her, they'll talk about it. he still wants to hear the words coming out her mouth; she didn't stop, she didn't forget, she didn't know. it broke her too.

and then, naturally, he's gonna pay their dear old parents a visit, and he's not really in the talking mood.

also i think you're giving them too much credit. they're not completely unfeeling, but they're not good people. they were happy to lie to their daughter knowing it caused her so much pain because it suited their agenda. they didn't lift a finger to stop her bullying, and blamed her for her own inability to cut hajime out of her life and forget/move on like they had.

[cary-elwes]

[wulfhalls]

But what if... what if daeron is gonna look like alicent with brown hair and those gorgeous big brown eyes... what then...

I would like to see it!!! the last kingdom movie twink my ultimate the hightower genes won dream cast (also wouldn't it be neat if that was the main reason they send daeron away from alicent in the first place? fear of talk of bastardry? while rhaenyra got to keep her clearly Not Fathered By Her Husband children with her? would add a whole different delicious layer. id ALSO be fuelling my gwayne u are the father agenda that's sooo very real in my head)

[celebrityfanfictionblog]

A Royal Indiscretion at Sandringham

The Saloon at Sandringham House on the Sandringham Estate in Norfolk, eastern England, was a sanctuary of aristocratic elegance on March 3, 2025. Britain’s King Charles III welcomed Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau after a day of diplomatic discussions, retreating to a private drawing room where the air was thick with unspoken tension.

Charles, at 5'10" with a slim to average build, bore the marks of his 76 years: a slight paunch, sparse gray chest hair, and legs with muscle definition softened by age, showing visible veins and slight swelling. His thinning silver-white hair was styled short with a side part, his blue eyes sharp yet reserved, and his fair complexion, with a ruddy undertone, showed wrinkles, age spots, and sagging skin. His slender “sausage fingers,” adorned with a wedding ring and signet ring on his left pinky, were a distinctive trait. He wore a dark gray suit, a white dress shirt, a light purple tie, a white pocket square, and dark brown suede tasseled loafers with dark socks.

Justin Trudeau, at 6'2", had a lean, athletic build, his brown hair swept back in a tousled style, and blue eyes that sparkled with charm. His fair complexion and warm smile reflected his Scottish and French Canadian heritage. He wore a medium gray suit, a white dress shirt, a dark blue tie, dark dress shoes, and dark blue socks, with a red wristband on his left wrist and a wedding ring on his left hand.

Charles sat in a high-backed armchair, legs crossed, sipping Scotch, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Trudeau stood by the window, gazing at the estate’s gardens, the tension between them palpable. “Beautiful place, Your Majesty,” Justin said, turning with a smile that held a hint of mischief. “Reminds me of the Laurentians—wild, but tamed.”

Charles set his glass down on the small table, his voice low and measured. “Thank you, Justin. It’s been a refuge for me. Though I suspect you didn’t come all this way just to admire the scenery.”

Trudeau chuckled, stepping closer, his height casting a shadow over the king. “No, I suppose not.” He paused, his blue eyes locking onto Charles’s. “I’ve always admired your… resolve. It’s inspiring.”

The air thickened with unspoken intent. Charles tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d like to show me just how inspired you are.”

It was a dare, and Justin didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees before Charles, his hands resting on the king’s thighs, feeling the lean muscle beneath the tailored fabric. Charles leaned back, unbuttoning his suit jacket as Justin’s fingers deftly unzipped his trousers. The dark gray fabric parted, revealing Charles’s 7-inch cut cock—thick and veined, already half-hard, framed by a sparse patch of gray pubic hair. Justin’s breath hitched, his own 6.5-inch cock stirring in his suit pants, but his focus was entirely on the king.

“Christ, you’re… regal everywhere,” Justin murmured, his voice husky with desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing the flushed tip, tasting the faint salt of precum that beaded there. Charles exhaled sharply, his slim hands gripping the armrests as Justin’s warm, wet mouth closed around him. The prime minister started slow, his tongue flicking delicately over the sensitive head, teasing the slit and coaxing more precum onto his palate. He savored the velvety texture of Charles’s shaft, the musky scent of the king filling his senses as he swirled his tongue around the ridge, tracing every contour.

“Bloody hell,” Charles rasped, his refined accent fraying at the edges. “You’ve got a talent for this, haven’t you?”

Justin grinned around the cock, his lips stretching as he took him deeper—3 inches, then 4, then 5—until the head nudged the back of his throat. He bobbed his head with deliberate slowness, letting spit slick the way, the wet slurping sounds mingling with the crackle of the fire. Charles’s hips twitched, urging him on, and Justin hummed softly, the vibration sending a jolt through the king’s body.

“Take it all, Justin,” Charles commanded, his voice firm despite the tremor of arousal. Justin obeyed, relaxing his throat and sliding down until his nose pressed into the gray pubic hair, the full 7 inches buried deep. He gagged slightly, his blue eyes watering, but held it, breathing through his nose as Charles groaned—a low, primal sound that echoed in the opulent room. Justin’s tongue pressed flat against the underside, feeling the thick vein pulse as he held the king in his throat, his lips stretched tight around the base.

Justin pulled back slowly, dragging his lips along the shaft, letting his teeth graze ever so slightly to draw a hiss from Charles. He plunged down again, faster this time, setting a steady rhythm. His tongue swirled around the head each time he came up, flicking the slit with precision, coaxing more precum to mix with his saliva. The taste was heady—salty, bitter, and distinctly Charles—and Justin drank it down greedily, his own cock straining against his trousers.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Charles muttered, his polished demeanor crumbling as he gripped his purple tie like a lifeline. “Suck it harder, Prime Minister.”

Justin complied, hollowing his cheeks and sucking with greedy intensity, the suction pulling a guttural moan from Charles. His hands slid up the king’s thighs, feeling the lean muscle tense beneath his touch, then moved to cup Charles’s balls—tight and heavy, dusted with gray hair. He rolled them gently in his palm, tugging lightly, feeling them draw up as Charles’s arousal peaked. Justin’s tongue worked relentlessly, lapping at the frenulum, then swirling around the head before diving back down, deep-throating with practiced ease. He alternated his pace—slow and teasing, then fast and sloppy—spit dribbling down his chin as he worked the king’s cock with fervor.

“Goddamn—don’t stop,” Charles growled, his hips bucking, fucking Justin’s mouth with short, sharp thrusts. The room filled with lewd sounds—wet smacks of lips on skin, muffled moans, the creak of the armchair under Charles’s shifting weight. Justin glanced up, catching Charles’s flushed face, those blue eyes half-lidded with lust, his ears pink at the tips, his silver-white hair slightly disheveled. It spurred him on. He deep-throated again, his throat constricting around the king’s cock as he hummed, the vibration pushing Charles closer to the edge.

“Justin—I’m—” Charles warned, his voice breaking, his “sausage fingers” tangling in Justin’s tousled brown hair. Justin didn’t pull off. He sucked harder, his tongue pressing against the pulsing vein, and Charles came with a strangled shout. The first thick spurt hit the back of Justin’s throat, hot and bitter, followed by a second and third, each pulse flooding his mouth with the royal load. Justin swallowed eagerly, gulping down every drop, feeling the heat slide down his gullet as Charles shuddered above him. A final dribble coated his tongue, and he pulled off with a soft, wet pop, licking his lips clean, a string of spit and cum briefly connecting his mouth to the king’s softening cock before it snapped.

Charles slumped back in the armchair, chest heaving, his cock resting against his thigh, slick with spit and a faint sheen of cum. “Good Lord,” he panted, adjusting his tie with shaky hands, his ruddy complexion now a deep flush. “You’ve outdone yourself, Prime Minister.”

Justin rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the red wristband catching the firelight. “Happy to serve, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice rough but playful, a smug glint in his blue eyes. He straightened his suit, smoothing the medium gray fabric, his own arousal still evident but unaddressed.

Charles tucked himself away, rebuttoning his jacket, his composure slowly returning. “Let’s keep this between us, shall we?” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at the wedding ring on his pinky. “Diplomacy has its perks.”

Justin nodded, stepping back toward the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the glass. “Always a pleasure, Charles.”

The fire crackled on, the secret sealed in the quiet opulence of Sandringham, the air still heavy with the scent of Scotch and sex.

[skloobles]

please excuse me while i ponder bunnyville's political system. mostly based on me just having watched raucous caucus.

i'm fully of the belief that the mayor of bunnyville is just a ceremonial position put in to keep the public from rioting. especially considering there isn't any legislature (that we're shown anyway) and decisions are CLEARLY made without any oversight (see community service and charity).

there's elements of democracy there (like the punishment referendum in community service) but at the end of the day secretary octopus is the one who's in control until she resigns or dies or something like that. also if i were secretary octopus i'd think twice about handing power to modchi idk

also do candidates just REGISTER to run for mayor without needing signatures or anything like that?? political participation must be really low for there only to be 3 candidates

more on this - are political parties banned or do they just not exist? because all 3 candidates in the race ran as independents (probably). perhaps there's a sole legal state party that controls everything we just don't see. maybe mayoral candidates just aren't allowed to have any political affiliation. but tbf in such an image-dominated culture the lack of parties in the mayoral election kinda makes sense.

just some thoughts

[theorderofthetriad]

it's amazing how a single scene can make you go from "literally never considered this ship" to "i need a pegging fic more than i need air" on the turn of a dime