#you know i need a whole separate tag for the intimacy of their fingers tangling together

[elwenyere]

I have not stopped spiritually swooning and emotionally weeping over this since I saw the sketch. My friend: it is more gorgeous than anything I could possibly have imagined, and I am grateful beyond words. You give us more to see. <3<3<3

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” Cody admitted. His hand tightened around Obi-Wan’s: he didn’t mean the footwork.

“A good partner makes a great difference.”

Obi-Wan turned his cheek into the weathered ridge of Cody’s knuckles: a roll of sensation, like the deck pitching with a wave. Cody didn’t think he was talking about footwork either.

for @elwenyere’s pirate AU | dream version and sketch under the cut

[oftenderweapons]

Where, when and how - maknae line

Pairing: maknae line member x reader 

Wordcount: 1.0k words

Genre: smut, fluff, (Taehyung’s contains a fair bit of angst)

Rating: 18+

Hello lovelies! Since quarantine is separating many lovers all around the world I thought about how the boys would handle being away from their girlfriend. It’s obviously smutty. Every piece is about 1000 words each.

Trigger warning: swearing; smut, hinted and sometimes pretty descriptive, really it depends. LOADS OF SEX TOYS (it was supposed to be a sex-toy themed thingy because yay!self-love and yes, you can use them together with your significant other too), some mild bdsm here and there, praise kink (you know where it comes from), swearing and alcohol (nothing extreme, just tipsy), masturbation and that should be pretty much everything. Also, nipple piercing? Tae is frustrated, Jimin is the bratties brat to ever brat (takes one to know one LOL) and Koo is a switch (and by switch I mean he’s shy but nasty, and I still don’t know what’s his trigger).

You can find the hyung line here

Pssst--- here is my masterlist---

Jimin

You loved listening to Jimin, especially when he came home in the evening and told you about his day. You loved chitchatting while preparing dinner, you loved having his head on your lap, his fingers intertwined with yours, your free hand caressing his scalp and handcombing his hair. You loved his tenderness, his voice growing sleepy as it got late. You loved climbing in bed and feeling his hand snake around your waist from behind you, naturally and innocently palming your breast as he fell asleep.

You were listening to his voice through the speakers of your phone, video calling each other as you made dinner and he had a brunch together with the boys in Paris. Last night it had been their last concert of the European Tour and soon they would be heading back to Seoul, even though their schedule included a couple weeks in the US before actually returning to their motherland. He wasn’t yet allowed to tell you their plans but supposedly they had to meet a coreographer and visit a couple studios.

It was extraordinarily hilarious to watch him talk as he filled his mouth with continental breakfast, sickeningly sweet apple juice and pain brioche and bacon endlessly flowing around him. Every now and then he interrupted himself to reply to the boys, who sometimes appeared behind him, sleepy, a bit groggy and absolutely exhausted. Suga was propped on his elbows against the countertop, his eyes closing again as he waited for coffee, Namjoon, with a disgusted expression hugged the sugar bowl to his chest and poured a worrying amount of sweetener in his oversized cup of coffee. JK, his shirt sweaty, was drinking a smoothie after his morning workout. Taehyung was nowhere to be seen, but knowing him, he was probably still sleeping.

“Jin hyung yesterday had a flimsy shirt. I think we have never seen that much skin of him! It was so windy!!!” Jimin said, imitating the shirt lifting, his teasing voice all out while his eyes disappeared in a big smile.

You had held on pretty fairly for the whole tour, always taking twenty minutes to have a chat almost every day. You had visited him mid-tour in New York for a couple days, but otherwise you had endured the distance with a tight-lipped smile.

But right now you felt your heart chipping slightly, tears coming to your eyes. You promptly swiped them away.

Jimin, always so attuned to your emotions, noticed it right away. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s the onions!” You smiled and quickly went back to your cooking. But he knew. Seventeen more days until he could see you again. And hold you. And lose himself in you again. He wasn’t bold enough for steamy video calls like Tae. And it’s not like those could provide the kind of emotional support that made him crave for intimacy and reassured him after it. But still, he wanted you to know.

So that night, after making his suitcase, he entered a website he had been tiptoeing around for a while and started exploring, sometimes with shame tinting his cheeks, sometimes with curiosity capturing his stare, sometimes with desire warming his loins. After a thorough analysis of every single category, he checked the basket and proceeded to shipping and payment.

A couple days later you awoke to pictures flooding your twitter feed, your beautiful boyfriend and his six band mates walking out of the LAX airport, Jimin wearing a flowing, quite see-through sky blue shirt embroidered in lilies, his delirious ballerina legs clad in his usual skinny black jeans. Blonde and gracious, lips pouty and pink, sunglasses on, he waved at the crowd and disappeared inside a grey van with a flirty grin. You barely held in a moan. And the long time without any kind of intimacy was most definitely getting to your head. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your panties, almost ready to give up on your intention of waiting for Jimin to come back and get you wild. But right in that moment your doorbell rang and you quickly donned a robe to answer the door. As you saw the delivery boy from the security cam, your first thought was that you had not ordered anything and out of suspicion you properly got dressed. But when he got to your apartment’s door he mentioned the name of the sender and everything made sense, though you hadn’t quite expected a surprise. You thanked him and got inside, package in hand, straight to the kitchen where you grabbed a knife and tore the seal. It was quite heavy and big, and the tag name was not recognisable. With increased curiosity, you opened the lid and saw a small envelope. It had been typed but it seemed to be signed under Jimin’s safe name, Your angel fairy.

“There are things you promised me and things I promised you for when I come back. But there is just one thing we both promised to each other for eternity. And that is Love. Every single object in here is only aimed at that. For a loving heartfelt and gentle as a cherry. For a loving playful and childlike like tickles. For a loving sparkling like twin falling stars. For a loving loyal and enthralling like chains of gold. For a loving sturdy and stinging as wood and leather. For a loving precious like a gem. And finally for a loving eternal as the darkness of the night. To my beloved,

From your angel fairy.”

He had really splurged on this.

You bit your lip in anticipation and tried to guess who was who. Because for those seven types of loving there were seven corresponding items. The first one had to be the massage candles. You once had told him you wanted to try and massage him with those and probably cherries were his fragrance of choice.

The second must have been the tickler, the delicate white feathers perfectly matching Jimin’s personality and taste. Twin falling stars was a bit trickier but at the bottom of the box you found a smaller elegant box containing a delicate chain with two star-shaped, sparkly nipple clamps, which you absolutely adored.

The chains of gold must have been the fine jewellery harness designed to wrap around your neck, snake down between your breasts and loosely hang around your waist in multiple strings.

The wood and leather must have been the double sided paddle, one softened with some padding and leather, the other nothing but unforgiving hardwood. A corner of your mind went back to that time he had brought your large wooden hair-brush on top of your bed and asked you if you wanted to try it on him, you remembered how you had curled a hand around his cheek, comforting and reassuring him, praising him, showing that there was nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. The bright red colour of his behind the morning after, your worried expression and his face hiding in your neck when he told you not to worry because he had enjoyed every second of it.

That loving, precious like a gem, could be nothing but the buttplug, which you had confessed you wanted to try on yourself during your last escapade in New York. You looked forward to that.

And finally the darkness of the night - the blindfold. Black and silken.

“A little bird told me you received a package... How do you like it?” There it was, Jimin’s text. You couldn’t wait for that little brat to come back home.

Taehyung

Brazil was beautiful. A beautiful hot mess. He felt sweat in his every nook and cranny, the humidity sticking to his skin even though it was almost midnight. As he got out of the shower he looked at himself in the mirror. He still felt messy.

He also felt like calling you. Right then and there.

He felt like being at home and walking in your shared room naked and getting head from you. With the windows open and some night breeze flowing in.

“Thinking about you.” He simply texted.

“Just out of a meeting. Can’t wait to head home.” You replied. “But I still have a lot to do.”

“I miss you in my bed.”

“Do you, now?” You were half walking half texting, waiting to get your lunch.

“I need you to get rid of some steam...”

“Tonight, promise.” As your order was ready, you quickly proceeded to eat.

Taehyung didn’t reply. He was tired and you were busy.

He collapsed in bed shortly after putting down his phone.

His sleep was troubled, he woke up tangled in the sheets, his leg thrown over a mountain of pillows and his hips were agonisingly pressing against the humid white cotton. Again, he felt sweaty. And turned on. He felt compressed. Like a clown inside a box that jumps out when you open it. He wondered what it would take for his box to be opened.

When he woke up he saw your “good morning” text, replied quickly before rinsing his face and hitting the gym in the hotel. He overworked himself in hope it could get the thought of you out of his head. Instead, every exercise had him thinking about new ways to fuck you, a stronger, healthier body meaning nothing but much more force and more experimental and effective angles. Jungkook and Jimin obviously noticed, while Namjoon and Jin kept obliviously running on the treadmill.

“You think he’s angry?” Asked Jungkook.

“Just repressed. We should tell the girls to warn his girlfriend. Maybe we should have her come meet him.”

“The trip is long and she’s gonna be jet-lagged out of her mind. Let’s just tell the girls and have the two of them figure it out.”

Jungkook told his girlfriend through text: “Can you tell Tae’s girlfriend to call him? He’s getting sour.”

“Told her. She said she on it. Luv you. Later.” Jungkook blushed thinking about his plans for later that night and then moved on with his exercises.

Taehyung kept bench pressing like he wanted to lift the whole world with his two bare shouders.

At around four pm, his phone far away from him to keep him from doing something stupid, Taehyung was stage rehearsing, his voice rougher and angrier than ever, his whole body craving for release and intimacy. At this point Yoongi too had noticed, giving a small side glance to Jimin, who shook his shoulders in hopelessness.

As he grew more and more insufferable, Namjoon saw it was almost six pm and called for a break, immediately nearing Taehyung and taking him aside for a while.

“What’s wrong.” Namjoon didn’t approach the matter softly.

Taehyung took a pause. Namjoon was almost tempted to call Jimin. Maybe he knew how to deal with this. Maybe he was too rough, too direct or too logical rather than emotional, he could —

“I miss her, hyung.” Taehyung said. Namjoon exhaled heavily. He knew how that felt. “I miss her and we call each other every day, we text, but it’s so bad. I miss everything about her. I thought it was a crush and that it would be easy. After all we’ve been dating for a couple months and...” Namjoon waited, his eyes fixed on Tae. “But I think I’m in love. It’s like, here.” He pressed his fist between his ribs and his stomach. “And I’m so tense, all the time. At night it’s even worse. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Namjoon waited as if to let him speak, but apparently he was done. “Do you want to call her? Take the rest of the day off and we go on without you?”

“She’s sleeping right now. Fucking time zones. And if I call her, it will get worse.”

Namjoon knew. The wanting, the longing. It just intensifies.

Namjoon checked his phone. “Okay. Rehearsal’s almost over anyways. You just need to survive a couple more songs, then we’re gonna take a night just the seven of us, yeah?”

Taehyung nodded.

“Also, schedule a video call. We’ll be in London in four days and time difference will be easier.” He patted his shoulder. “And please, get laid. Or you can take it out on the stage tomorrow. Army will go feral if they see you like this.”

Taehyung chuckled.

“Do we have anything scheduled tomorrow morning?”

“Concert tomorrow night so no schedule until 11. Jin, JK and I are hitting the gym at nine, if you wanna join.”

“We‘ll see.” Tae smiled. He felt better.

Rehearsal ended up okay after that, Taehyung in a more playful mood. As soon as he got to his phone he saw one of your texts, he was tempted opening it right away, but he waited when he saw it was a lengthy voice note.

He arrived in his hotel room and hit the shower straight away. He was supposed to meet the others in half an hour, and he knew if he laid down and listened to your text he would get distracted and call you. As he got out of the shower he got dressed and sat on the bed, his phone tempting him. Damn it. He opened the text.

“Taehyung-“ A heavy breath. “I’ve been missing you.” Your voice was soft and delicate, almost sleepy. “It’s five am and I can’t sleep.” A raspy moan followed and he had to rewind the text and turn up the volume. Moan confirmed. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Your hands on me, everywhere. The way you kissed me before you left.” This time the moaning was clearer and louder. “Every time I touch myself I feel like my fingers aren’t long or strong enough compared to yours.” Tae felt that comment in his bones. He would be late to dinner anyway. From his phone you emitted a small whimper. “Good, the way you went down on me. I’ve tried toys that could possibly substitute you as long as you’re away but no toy could ever look at me like you did that night, with your mouth latched on my clit and your hand grasping my thighs.” He could almost taste you. God, that night had been indecent to say the least. “I can’t wait to have you back. I’m gonna have you laid out in bed, spread wide on top of the sheets and I’m gonna ride you until I can‘t even remember how much I missed you.”

Now Taehyung moaned himself. He texted you. It was nine am in Seoul, that meant you were at work, that meant you’d be worked up all day long.

“I’m free tomorrow morning. That is tonight, to you. I wanna see that nasty shit you’ve been up to with my wanna-be substitute. Maybe if you’re good enough I’m gonna send you a little something too. But you’ll have to earn it.”

He was already going to send you a golden necklace with a vibrating pendant anyway.

Jungkook

He didn’t let himself think about you much. Just ten minutes in the shower. Sometimes eight were enough, it just depended on how turned on he was. Even though your trip to Australia was making things difficult, you still managed to see each other every day or so. Sometimes you just had dinner with a screen in front of each other, chatting about your day. Sometimes you called after dinner, a glass of wine, some laughter, the boys coming in every now and then to say hi and ask how you were doing. Other times it was strictly the two of you, your soft voice reassuring him as he confessed how he was feeling. This distance had seriously improved your communication, especially since there was no way to use body language to express feelings and emotions. You reminded him daily that you love him, always telling him before you closed the call. He told you daily about what was going on and how he felt about it. He really hoped you would keep being so talkative when you came back. Most importantly, he hoped you would keep praising him. Sometimes he did exactly what you wanted so that you would praise him. He realised that the more he expressed how he felt, the more loving and praising you grew.

Your stay in Australia was supposed to last a little more than five weeks. Three weeks had gone by quickly, always busy with paperwork or work appointments. However, lately you had started missing Jungkook a little bit too severely. You knew he was shy and you would never press him into doing anything he didn’t hint at you. So when one night, after a glass of wine too many, he started talking about how much he missed your body, you replied encouragingly, leading him on.

“What do you miss about it?”

“You know. Waking up beside you. Feeling you next to me early in the morning.”

“I miss that too. Starting the day without you in the shower is difficult,” you teased, pushing it a little.

He blushed a little. “Do you miss that too?”

“I miss all of that. Do you?” You filled your glass once more. Maybe it would help you loosen up a little.

“You know I do.” He mirrored your gesture and took a sip.

“It feels good when you say it,” you answered, undoing a button of your blouse.

“I miss your body a lot. Even though I don’t usually think about it. It gets worse,” he said, eyes were glued to your fingers.

“I’m happy that you told me. It makes me feel like I’m not alone in this.”

“You are not alone. But I wish I was there.” He was going to evaporate.

You took a deep breath.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“Kiss you. Straight away. I’d hold you so tight I’d almost suffocate you.” He didn’t hesitate one second before answering your question. But then he took a long pause. “I would pick you up, wrap your legs around my waist. Lay you down on the bed. Kiss you harder.”

You licked your lips. “Have you been hitting the gym more often lately?”

He was a little bit confused by your question but he nodded.

“It shows. You look stronger. Makes me wonder how good it will be when we do it again.”

His mouth hung open. “I—“

“Use your words, sweetie.”

His situation got even worse as he blushed for the nickname. And then his whole demeanour did a 180. “Forget the bed. I think I’m gonna slam you against the wall. You’d be wearing a skirt and it would be so easy to slip inside you.”

You worded the next sentence carefully. If you pushed it too much, he would emotionally ball up like a hedgehog and shut you out. “Would you have me against the wall?”

“Fuck you standing? Yes, babe.” He pressed his tongue against his cheek, then clenched his jaw. His hand was laying on his thigh, slipping slowly to his crotch. Nothing you were going to notice since his camera was on his face and part of his chest.

“But you know I’m heavy, right?”

“You’re not that heavy. I can pick you up if I want to. And lately you’ve been looking thinner. I hope you’re eating. I love feeling you up,” he purred.

“I’ve been working out too. I have to get you out of my head.”

“What do you need to get out of your head?”

“All the things I want from you.” You needed him to push you a little.

“What do you want?”

“I want you inside me.”

“Yeah, and? Come on, babe, use your words.” His smile was borderline sadistic as he used your own words against you.

“Messy, sweaty. I don’t care if it hurts. I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll be feeling it for days afterwards.”

He moaned a little at that. How tight you would feel around him... He realised it was the right moment to tell you. “I got us something.”

“What?”

“It’s supposed to arrive by the time you’re here.”

“Really? What is it?”

He took a deep breath and then he started spitting out words at an alarming rate.

“The other day at the gym there was this couple doing something like couple yoga or something, and she was hanging from a hammock of sort and I couldn’t help but think about how intimate it was and how much I wanted to do that with you and I got us a swing.”

“You what?” You brought the glass to your lips again. Smiling.

“I got us a swing.”

“What kind of swing, baby?”

“That kind of swing. I saw it in a... video, sometime ago, and I remembered it and I wanna use it with you. If you want to, I mean, we don’t have to—” He babbled adorably.

“What if I want to?”

He inhaled and took a sip of wine.

“I can’t wait to use it with you. I keep imagining the sound of you slamming against me. I’ll moan for you so loud and lovely that everyone will know you’re loving me nice and good. You’re amazing, Koo.”

He basked in your compliment. “Come back home soon. Otherwise I’ll have to come and get you. Cuff you to my own wrist and bring you back to my side, where you belong.”

“Can’t wait to put my hands on you. My mouth,” you murmured, one more button coming undone.

“You can’t right now, but if you take off your shirt maybe you might convince me to take the first plane to Sydney.” 

His hand had already undone his belt and he was almost going to undo the button of his jeans when you said, “do you think I could convince you if I told you I’m not wearing a bra right now?”

He looked shocked. “You should show me.”

You quickly undid your blouse and let it hang open. That’s when he noticed something glittering.

“Is it...”

“I thought I could use the time away to get it done, so it can properly heal.”

Right there, on your right nipple you let the small piercing show.

“You’re so getting fucked when you come back. First I’ll get my tongue on that and you know exactly where it’s gonna go next.”

You grinned devilishly. “Good, because it’s all I’ve been thinking of.”

[thirstyforbishiesimagines]

I feel the need. A need for Ethan x Reader x Eugene

Hope this piece satisfies your need 😉 😏

I’ve been dying to complete this one for AGES! It’s finally done! 😅

Also tagging @alloveroliver-ash! I remember you were keen on reading this one!

Enjoy, lovelies!! 😘 😘

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N.B. All Characters in this fic are aged up (18+)

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The Teacher’s Lounge - Ethan x Reader x Eugene

* image from LucyDreams, Dangerous Fellows

Word Count: 1,702 [ edited ]

NSFW

Warning: Smut . Minor M/M . Ass Play / Anal . Profanity (18+)

.

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“Man…! I. Am. FAMISHED!!”

Eugene stretched out his arms with a heavy groan before linking his fingers together, cupping them at the base of his head. With a spring in his step, he followed after his dark-haired friend down the lengthy corridor - eagerly eyeing him with curiosity.

“Hey, Ethan? There’s definitely food there, right?”

The blonde rubbed his hands together with excitement at the prospect of finding something delectable to fill his grumbling belly.

Ethan maintained his gaze in the direction of their destination — his nonchalant expression giving nothing away.

“Yeah…”

.

The moonlight bounced off your feminine curves as you waited patiently on a sofa in the teacher’s lounge. Feeling poised and provocative, you had one hand resting underneath your head as the other toyed with the hem of the fine fabric of your lace panties; the only item of clothing that covered your most intimate body part.

The door finally slid open and you greeted the two men with a vibrant smile — one of them completely taken aback by your delicious form.

“Hi, Eugene~”

The hooded male stood there with his mouth agape, unable to look away from your beautiful figure. He always thought that you were utterly breathtaking; however, seeing you unexpectedly naked before him took him by surprise.

Ethan placed his hands on Eugene’s shoulders and nudged him through the doorway, locking it behind him in the process.

Licking your lips, you beamed at them. Your eyelids narrowed into a sultry gaze as you gestured the men to come forward, “Hungry?”

Without hesitation, Ethan prowled towards you - carnal gems blazing with desire. His athletic physique towered over you before capturing your eager lips with fervent need. He maneuvered himself on top, fitting perfectly between your legs. Ethan began moving his pelvis up against your core and you mewled with delight, digging your fingernails into his back - consumed with unadulterated pleasure.

Eugene watched his friends embrace in a heated dance. Hips gyrating, tongues tangling, soft groans of lust-filled the entirety of the room. He could feel himself harden with arousal as his amber orbs remained fixated on your sensual movements. The melody of your wanton moans sent a shiver up his spine, beckoning him to seize the role as the conductor to such sweet music.

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze and strode towards the sofa — determination lit within his stare.

“Okay, okay…!” He grabbed onto Ethan’s jacket and hauled him off you.

Ethan willingly sat back, a tiny smirk on his handsome face as he allowed his friend to take control.

Eugene hovered over you, cupping your jawline. He gently grazed his lips upon your own, tickling them as he spoke, “Did you miss me, (Y/N)?”

Captivated by the fire burning in his brilliant eyes, you answered him with a breathy, “Yes…”

Before you knew it, he was all over you. Kissing you with intense passion as he threw off his jacket with haste. You were at his mercy, moaning lewdly into his mouth. His tongue laced with your own, dancing together salaciously… a dance that you had desperately yearned for over the past few days.

Deciding that things should progress further, Ethan knelt down behind Eugene and pressed up against his ass. Rocking his hips at a steady pace, Ethan roamed his large hands on either side of the blonde’s thighs. The pressure of his touch soon made its way to the bulge beneath the young man’s trousers and Eugene huffed lustfully, relishing in the pleasure that the other male was giving him.

Eugene suddenly broke away from your embrace, panting laboriously as Ethan swiftly unzipped his pants and began to work his palm all over Eugene’s rigid cock - the pumping motion mimicking his own thrusts.

Aroused by the sight of his gratified expression, you ran your tongue over Eugene’s lips before turning over onto on your hands and knees.

With your pussy in full view, both men gave each other a knowing look and repositioned themselves. Eugene remained behind you as he proceeded to remove the rest of his attire. Ethan freed himself from the confinement of his pants and stood before your parted lips.

Quivering with excitement, you flicked your saliva-coated tongue along the slit of his tip before taking him whole. You sucked enthusiastically, tasting the saltiness of his essence as Ethan began to face-fuck you with hard snaps of his hips. He inhaled through his teeth and grasped a fist full your hair, thrusting deeper into your avid mouth — asserting his dominance… and you loved every bit of it.

“Mmm…AH!”

A muffled mewl slips past your lips as you felt a gentle nip over your unclad sex.

Eugene had slid your panties halfway down your thighs and licked a stripe from your clit to your well-lubricated entrance. He teased your cunt with light strokes of his tongue before grabbing either side of your hips and burying his face into your wetness.

Goosebumps scattered all over your bare skin, your senses overwhelmed by the two men pleasuring you on either end of your body. You could feel the heat within your core inch closer and closer to your release until Eugene unexpectedly plunged his length into your pussy.

The corner of Ethan’s lips curled up into a smug grin as he watched his friend immerse himself in heady passion, attempting to match his rhythmic grind.

“Come for me, (Y/N). I want to feel you clench around my cock…”

Eugene’s demand sent you into a frenzy and you no longer had control of your body.

The intensity of your orgasm halted both men as they allowed you to indulge in the sweet ecstasy that electrified your entire body. You were tingling all over with satisfaction as your vaginal walls pulsated around Eugene — drool trickling down your chin.

“Let me taste her.”

Once more, you were flipped onto your back, writhing against Ethan’s ravenous tongue as he stretched your legs out wide. He lapped in between your slick folds — devouring you with expertise. Eugene’s warm lips encased your nipple, feverishly licking and sucking the pert nub. He kept one hand wrapped around his girth, stroking casually as he watched Ethan lavish your cunt in a rapacious manner.

Feeling your legs tremble within his grasp, Ethan flickered his tongue over your slit before driving it deep within your hole. You could barely voice your delight as Eugene stifled your moans with his two digits, languidly finger-fucking your avid mouth — purposely quieting your salacious tune.

Both men were relentless — striving to reach the peak of your climax for the second time.

Panting with unbridled joy, you felt your body temperature rise and that familiar sensation blooming within your core as your pussy ached for a more sizeable type of penetration. As much as you didn’t want the men to stop, you regretfully pulled away from their touch.

Biting down on your lower lip, you eyed your lovers with a hooded gaze; tousling your hair so it could fall seductively over to one side. As if reading your lascivious thoughts, Ethan stripped off the rest of his clothes and sat up against the sofa — his firm cock, erect and on show. Arms draped around his neck, you straddled him with ease before peering over your shoulder, enticing Eugene to join in.

“Greedy girl… Do you want me too?” The golden-hair male chuckled and knelt down on the floor behind you, acknowledging you with a mischievous smile. “Then lift that ass up for me, (Y/N)…”

Obeying his command, you jutted your derrière towards his gorgeous face while keeping Ethan inside you. Ethan glided his callous hands down your torso before cupping either side of your ass cheeks, separating them apart and exposing you entirely.

“Nnhhgg…”

The lewdness of your mewl made both men groan, sensuously. Ethan guided your hips back and forth as you rode his dick, while Eugene prepped your asshole — licking and fingering it, meticulously. You slowed your pace down and steadied your breathing, attempting to relax your muscles. Satisfied, Eugene stood up and lined the head of his cock to your ass.

Resting your head on your arm, you sighed into Ethan’s ear as you felt pressure teasing at your most taboo entrance.

“You ready, (Y/N)?”

Double penetration had been on your mind all afternoon and you couldn’t help but mewl a gratified “Yess!” as Eugene inched himself into the tightness of your anus. The initial pain was all too familiar as he stretched your anal walls with his thickness. You arms fell on either side of Ethan onto the sofa and you sank teeth into his shoulder, prompting a gritted hiss from the man as you tried to suppress a loud, lustful moan.

The blonde’s unhurried thrusts soon became pleasurable and you were panting breathlessly into the crook of Ethan’s neck. Squeezing your ass cheeks, Ethan kept you in place as he slammed his length into the moistness of your cunt — in sync with Eugene’s movements.

“Ooohh… Fuuuck…”

The delicious sensation of having both these beautiful men fuck you simultaneously was blissfully dizzying. You felt fulfillment… complete, as it had been too long since you had any moment of intimacy together.

Desperately seeking your release, Ethan and Eugene quickened their pace; growling, grunting and grinding as their animalistic urges took control. Glistening beads of sweat dripped down your heated body and it wasn’t long until euphoria consumed you once more.

As you screamed with ecstasy, both men followed suit with their own, filling you up to the brim with the warmth of their climax.

The three of you collapsed into a heap, basking in the aftermath of your erotic tango.

Ethan relaxed onto the sofa, his head resting on the armchair. You slinked yourself on top of his chiseled form, panting heavily… still floating down from your orgasmic high. Eugene slumped back down onto the floor, sitting upright. He tipped his head back, shooting you a boyishly-cute smile and you kissed your lover’s lips, adoringly.

Closing your eyes, you all embraced the peacefulness of the room until Eugene perked his head up - raising an eyebrow towards Ethan.

“So… where’s the food?”

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x mod bambi

[rhetoricalrogue]

OTP Question Meme

I was tagged by @bimollymauks thank you!

Answering with my new Zoe/Mason Wayhaven pairing and also my favorite OC OTP, mine and @alittlestarling‘s Roz/Vincent

Leaving this as an open tag, so whoever would like to join in, please do!  Fingers crossed that my Read More cut works, as this is LONG.

DISAGREEMENTS.

Who is more likely to raise their voice?

Z/M: both, tbh. Zoe yells when she’s angry

R/V: depending on the situation, both, though Vincent goes deathly quiet when he’s truly upset.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

Z/M: neither. Zoe’s abandonment issues kick in like woah and it’s a line that Mason never crosses.

R/V: Vincent, but it’s not leave-leave, it’s more “I need some air, I’ll be back later” to deescalate an argument before someone says something hurtful they don’t mean. 

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

Z/M: N/A

R/V: Vincent, but he’s back in an hour or so after he’s cooled down.

Who trashes the house?

Z/M: not the house, but Zoe’s been known to vent her frustrations by throwing rocks into nearby bodies of water and scream if she’s at like Anger Level 11 on a 1-10 scale.

R/V: neither. Vincent would probably want to flip a table, but he doesn’t because he’d ultimately be the one to clean it up afterwards.

Do either of them get physical?

Z/M: Coming to blows? No. Shoving Mason out of her way (if he hasn’t already left yet) so she could storm out? Probably, but she retreats into her Touch Me Not mode, so that would only be if she felt cornered.

R/V: Absolutely not.

How often do they argue/disagree?

Z/M: rarely. They bicker and snark more than hold true arguments.

R/V: only when one feels the other is putting themselves in danger. They’ve grown up together for practically their entire lives, they’re pretty much of a same mind on many issues.

Who is the first to apologize?

Z/M: Zoe. “I’m sorry I was being an asshole” is a regular statement.

R/V: Vincent. He hates being at odds with Roz and is miserable if he can’t apologize and make things right between them.

SEX.

Who is on top?

Z/M: either/or with Zoe barely creeping in on top more.

R/V: Vincent, but he loves it when Roz takes initiative.

Who is on bottom?

Z/M: either/or, depending on the mood

R/V: Roz, but it’s a 50-50 split

Any kinks?

Z/M: Yep

R/V: Absolutely. You know, it’s the quiet ones that surprise you.

Who has the strangest desires?

There’s nothing too strange for either pairing. Both are open for experimentation and the “try it once to see if we like it” mindset, but it’s also not like “is the NSA agent looking at my search history blushing?” variety either. 

Who’s dominant in bed?

Equal opportunity for both pairings! 

Is head ever in the equation?

Z/M: Yes. Zoe texted Mason after not hearing from him for a few days with “Hey, I froze my ass off giving you a blowjob in the woods last week, answer your phone.”

R/V: Yes. It’s nice that it worked out that Vincent loves to give and Roz is enthusiastic about receiving.

If so, who is better at performing it?

Z/M: Mason, though he doesn’t complain at all when Zoe offers.

R/V: Vincent, since he’s had more practice during his “have casual sex with anyone with a pulse to get over Feelings” phase of pining over Roz.

Ever had sex in public?

Z/M: a few times

R/V: they’re Circle mages. It’s easier to name a place they haven’t had sex in, especially in the Sweethearts AU.

Who moans the most?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: They’re both quiet by default, but when they have the opportunity to be a couple out in the open? Vincent. 

Who leaves the most marks?

Z/M: Mason, purely because he heals up faster than either of them would like

R/V: Roz. It was a surprise to them both when they found out biting was a big turn-on for Vincent, so she uses it often. 

Who is the more experienced of the two?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: Vincent

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

Z/M: fuck, though they have some “oh shit, this got Emotional and I am NOT prepared to deal with this, WHAT DO I DO?” moments later on

R/V: make love

How long do they usually last?

Z/M: hot and heavy quickies to release all the pent up energy from the constant flirting banter they keep up, then a slower second round

R/V: quick and rushed during the day, but multiple slower sessions when they can be alone

Rough or soft?

Z/M: both

R/V: both, but more often soft

Is protection used?

Yes to both pairings

Does it ever get boring?

Yes and no to both. The whole intimacy thing where you can carry on a conversation or “oh hey, I remembered what I meant to tell you earlier” starts happening and sometimes sex is more scratching an itch than the whole soulful event. Then again, there’s those times when someone moves or does something different and “okay, so I didn’t know THAT was something we liked. Let’s do that again.” (idk, I have a lot of Feelings about couples and sex, see the sexlaughterhonesty posts @thesecondseal​ has)

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

Z/M: in an abandoned building Zoe used to go hang out in when she wanted to be alone as a teen

R/V: extremely late night rendezvous in Skyhold’s library. May or may not have happened in the same nook Dorian likes to frequent. Also may or may not have been 100% sure Solas was asleep downstairs.

FAMILY.

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

Z/M: no. Zoe’s afraid of becoming her mother and focusing more on her work than her child and she never wants anyone to have to experience that.

R/V: yes. It’s an option that was never available to them before, but once it’s an avenue that they can actually think about, they would love to become parents.

If so, how many children do they want/have?

Z/M: none

R/V: they wind up with five, all named after flowers

AFFECTION.

Who likes to cuddle?

Z/M: *bangs pots and pans together* TOUCH STARVED PAIRING TOUCH STARVED PAIRING TOUCH STARVED PAIRING

R/V: both. They’re both very touchy-feely by nature and always seem to gravitate towards the other when they’re doing something in the same room

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

Z/M: Mason, but it’s not like Zoe’s arguing either

R/V: Roz

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?

Z/M: both

R/V: Vincent

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

Z/M: for a while before an arm falls asleep and they need to move positions/one of them gets too hot

R/V: for pretty much forever, except in the summertime. They’re both walking furnaces (Vincent says Roz is like a tiny space heater) so it makes for uncomfortable hot weather snuggles

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

Z/M: Hanging out together outside and enjoying the quiet/scenery, especially at night

R/V: gardening

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

Z/M: in bed or on the sofa

R/V: wherever, whenever

SLEEPING.

Who snores?

Z/M: neither

R/V: Vincent, but very lightly. more of a slight rumble ever so often

If both do, who snores the loudest?

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

Z/M: separately. Bed sharing = commitment and this is supposed to be no strings fun

R/V: share a bed. Skyhold’s is the largest bed they’ve ever slept in, so there’s a lot of giggling and “I have crossed oceans of bedsheets to find you” jokes at first.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

Z/M: N/A

R/V: starts cuddled together with Roz’s head on Vincent’s shoulder, but they move a lot during the night, sharing Big Spoon duties. Even if they wake up with both of them on their backs, they either have a foot touching a leg or holding hands.

What do they wear to bed?

Z/M: underwear & a t-shirt or nothing at all

R/V: dedicated PJs. Roz: nightgown/chemise or one of Vincent’s shirts, Vincent: sleep pants

Are either of them insomniacs?

Z/M: Zoe when something’s bothering her. Since Mason doesn’t technically need a lot of sleep, he doesn’t consider himself one.

R/V: Vincent, especially in the Sweethearts AU. Nightmares from his time conscripted into the Orlesian army keep him awake and afraid to sleep. 

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

Z/M: no

R/V: yes, in both powdered and potion form, though Vincent rarely uses them since he hates how sluggish he feels the next day (and they rarely give him dreamless sleep anyway)

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

Z/M: both

R/V: tangle of limbs

Who wakes up with bed hair?

Z/M: both, though Zoe tends to sleep with her hair in a braid most nights, so it’s not as bad as Mason’s

R/V: both, and it’s a tie as to who has the worse bed head most mornings

Who wakes up first?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: Vincent. He’s an early bird up before dawn and she’s more of a later morning riser

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

Z/M: breakfast is normally coffee at home with a croissant from the bakery for her, so Mason usually turns on the coffeemaker when he stays over or before he leaves in the morning

R/V: either, but usually Vincent since he’s awake before her

What is their favourite sleeping position?

Z/M: they claim they’re both knives, but Zoe is a Big Spoon who likes to wrap her leg over Mason’s hip

R/V: snuggled up with Roz’s head on Vincent’s shoulder/chest, but they wind up with Vincent curled around her (and with a mouthful of hair) or Roz doing the turtle backpack/jetpack when they do spoon.

Do they set an alarm each night?

Z/M: Zoe needs at least two alarms, but did away with one of them when Mason nearly threw her phone out of the room after it blared right in his ear.

R/V: both of them have pretty good internal alarm clocks and wake up at the same time every morning

Who has nightmares?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: both, but probably more on Vincent’s side

Can a television be found in their bedroom?

No for both

Who has ridiculous dreams?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: Roz, maybe

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: Vincent, purely because he’s taller

Who makes the bed?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: either, whoever winds up doing it first

What time is bed time?

Z/M: 11 to midnight, but she’s usually asleep closer to one in the morning, even without Mason showing up

R/V: either anywhere between 8 and 11 or so late it’s considered early because they’re both working and one of them manages to drag the other into bed. There is no in-between.

Any routines/rituals before bed?

Z/M: usual tooth brushing, changing clothes, Zoe’s half-assed attempt at a nighttime skincare routine. Zoe usually spends some time brushing her hair out since it’s been in a ponytail during the day and brushing tends to soothe the all day pull on her scalp.

R/V: tea by the fireplace, changing clothes, putting aside work. Roz likes to braid her hair before going to bed and sometimes Vincent will ask if he can brush it and braid it for her since the act is calming for both of them

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Z/M: Zoe. Do not talk to her before her first cup of coffee.

R/V: Roz. Vincent is an automatic Ray of Sunshine first rattle out of the box and it’s a good thing she loves him as much as she does or else she may have killed him years ago.

WORK.

Who is the busiest?

Z/M: it’s a pretty equal amount

R/V: either, depending on which AU we’re talking about and who’s Inquisitor (*trips and a thousand AUs spill out of my pockets*)

Who rakes in the highest income?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: *insert “You people are getting paid?” meme here*

Are any of them unemployed?

No

Who takes the most sick days?

None of them are likely to take sick days, unless they’re truly sick, and they’re all pretty healthy people aside from one or two seasonal colds per year

What are their jobs?

Z/M: Zoe’s Wayhaven’s detective and human liaison to the Agency. Mason is with Unit Bravo

R/V: one of them is the Inquisitor and the other is a companion/former Circle mage, depending on the AU. Vincent was ranked higher than Roz as an Enchanter pre-Inquisition  

Who sucks up to their boss?

None of them

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

Z/M: Zoe, but it’s rare

R/V: both are punctual 

Who stresses the most?

Z/M: both are cool as a cucumber on the outside, but internalize their stress, so who knows

R/V: Roz

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

They all like their jobs!

Are they financially stable?

Z/M: yes, though Zoe really, really wishes she made enough to afford a new car

R/V: Yes.

HOME.

Who does the washing?

Z/M: the dishwasher. They take turns loading/unloading it

R/V: Roz does the washing, Vincent does the drying and putting away

Who takes out the trash?

Z/M: either

R/V: Vincent

Who does the ironing?

Z/M: Zoe, but only her clothes. Mason, but only his clothes.

R/V: Roz

Who does the cooking?

Z/M: is picking up or calling in for takeout considered “cooking”?

R/V: they like to cook together

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

Z/M: “Mason, it was ONE. Fucking. Time.” Zoe set the fire alarm off while trying to be domestic and Mason won’t let her live it down.

R/V: neither, they’re both pretty decent cooks

Who is messier?

Z/M: Maybe Zoe, she’s neat but she leaves things out sometimes just to irk Mason

R/V: both are pretty neat and don’t really make messes without straightening things up

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?

Z/M: neither

R/V: neither

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

Z/M: both, but it eventually gets picked up

R/V: both, if they’re really tired. Otherwise, there’s a hamper.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?

None of them

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

Z/M: neither

R/V: (Modern AU) neither, but sometimes keys are misplaced even though they have a dish on a hall table right when you walk in. 

Who answers the telephone?

Z/M: depends on who’s calling. Bobby gets an automatic ignore and deleted voicemail.

R/V: (Modern AU) they answer their own phones, but will hand the other their cell to answer if the other person is away from where it’s at.

Who mows the lawn?

Z/M: Zoe lives in an apartment with landscaping management included in the rent. Mason doesn’t know who mows the Warehouse’s lawn, but it sure isn’t him.

R/V: (Modern AU) Vincent will go over to mow Roz’s rental house lawn (and probably sneak in a few plants from the nursery he owns into her flowerbeds)  

Who does the vacuuming?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: Roz

Who does the groceries?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: both

Who takes the longest to shower?

Z/M: Zoe, purely because she has thick, thick hair almost down to her waist that is a chore and a half to shampoo/condition

R/V: either, depending on who decided to sneak into the shower with the other

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: depends on the day. Shaving usually takes Vincent a longer time since he’s careful of his facial scars, but Roz has the same hair issues that Zoe has, so it’s pretty much a tie.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Is money a problem?

Z/M: No, but Zoe thinks that it would be nice to invest in her motorcycle or a new car

R/V: No. No matter the AU, Vincent’s technically a trust fund baby with wealthy parents willing to help out.

How many cars do they own?

Z/M: Zoe: beaten up silver hatchback that’s seen better days and is held together with spit and a mechanic’s prayer, WiP motorcycle she’s restoring. Mason: Agency SUV

R/V: two sensible, mid-priced cars, both pre-owned and paid for

What’s their song?

Z/M: Ghost - Au/Ra

R/V: Work Song - Hozier

Do they live in the city or in the country?

Z/M: they live in (Zoe)/on the outskirts of (Mason) Wayhaven

R/V: in the country, near Wycome post-Inquisition to be close to Vincent’s parents

Do they own their home or do they rent?

Z/M: Rents an apartment/lives in the Agency-owned Warehouse

R/V: (Modern AU) Vincent: rents out an apartment, Roz: rents a house

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

Yes for both

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Z/M: work, hanging out with friends

R/V: work, friends, mentoring young mages

Where did they first meet?

Z/M: met when Zoe shot Adam (she was sorry about it later), but made a bad first impression on the other when Rebecca formally introduced them

R/V: Vincent was five, going on six years old when the Templars brought in a new girl his age. He was sad when he saw her crying and decided to be her friend. 

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: Vincent

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?

Z/M: neither. Zoe would like to have nice things, but she’s not going to be a showoff with them if/when she gets them

R/V: neither

Any mental issues?

Z/M: Zoe’s abandonment feelings/anger with her mother

R/V: PTSD for both of them, Vincent’s insomnia 

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

Z/M: both, since they’re both light on their feet and agile. They do check to see if the other is okay, even if they’re smirking while they do it

R/V: neither, they help the other up and ask if they’re okay, but don’t overly worry about it unless it was a bad fall or there was an underlying reason they tripped in the first place, like being exhausted.

Who’s terrified of bugs?

Z/M: neither

R/V: neither, unless you count giant spiders and whatnot as bugs. Then both.

Who kills the spiders around the house?

Z/M: either, though Mason is more likely to find a cup in the middle of the room with a “DO NOT OPEN” sticky note on top if it’s a big spider

R/V: either, and they usually try to scoop them up and release outside. 

Do they have any fears for their future?

Z/M: Aside from the whole immortality vs. human lifespan thing, they try not to dwell on things. The future is uncertain and it’s better to enjoy the present.

R/V: so many, but they’re in it together and can deal with whatever gets thrown at them.

Their favourite place?

Z/M: the Warehouse’s rooftop

R/V: Skyhold’s gardens

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

Z/M: Mason, maybe?

R/V: Vincent

Who pays the bills?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: Vincent

Who’s the tallest?

Z/M: Mason. He’s 6′0″ and Zoe’s 5′9″

R/V: Vincent. He’s 6′1″ and Roz’s 5′1″ (my favorite tol and smol, tbh)

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

Z/M: Mason

R/V: Roz

Who wanders around in their underwear?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: Roz

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

Z/M: Zoe

R/V: both

What do they tease each other about?

Z/M: both of them being grumps with no filters. Mason about Zoe nearly burning her apartment down making a grilled cheese sandwich that one time. (”It wasn’t THAT bad!”)

R/V: I don’t really know! I mean, they do tease the other, but a lot of it is in-jokes and maybe Roz being a small ball of fury at times? *shrugs into the abyss*

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

Z/M: neither. They tend to wear mostly the same dark colored clothing and stuff that’s not likely to stand out and get them noticed

R/V: neither. Vincent thinks Roz is beautiful in anything she wears and Roz likes the fact that Vincent’s pants are snug around his butt and his shirts emphasize his broad shoulders.

Who crushed first?

Z/M: Zoe, in that “stupid hot Agent, he makes me SO MAD...oh no, I think he’s hot. FUCK.” way.

R/V: Vincent P I N E S over Roz for Y E A R S but doesn’t do anything because she’s his best and dearest friend and telling her how he feels would risk ruining that friendship since there’s just NO WAY AT ALL she would EVER feel the same for him...

Any alcohol or substance related problems?

Z/M: none. Both will drink socially, but nothing more serious than a few drinks and a minor buzz. They both have a smoking problem, but Mason tends to cut back because of Zoe and Zoe has a rule of never smoking at work. She eventually cuts back in her off hours because of Mason, but will light up when she’s stressed or upset, mostly with things centering on Rebecca.

R/V: none

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?

Z/M: neither. Zoe doesn’t like to get more than a pleasant buzz where the edges are a little hazy but nothing past that

R/V: Vincent. He’s a horrible lightweight who can’t hold his liquor. Two drinks in and he’s all “WHOMST wants to see me naked???” Forget about tequila making his clothes come off, ANY booze and he’s stripping.

Who swears the most?

Z/M: both

R/V: Roz, though Vincent keeps a good internal swearing streak going every now and then.

[daisymakesstuff]

NSFW Alphabet- Ximena x MC

Happy Ximena day!! 

We don’t have any info on past romantic relationships for Ximena so I’m just assuming she’s some sort of wlw for this prompt because she was the LI we all deserved and never got. I put these under a read more because most of them are smutty, as the title suggests.

MC goes by the Choices default name of Ellie Wheeler

There are two NSFW Alphabets so I cherry picked from this one and this one and combined a few prompts into one response. 

Tagged: @desiree-0816 @client-327 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Ellie still has her head thrown back, eyes closed and basking in the afterglow when Ximena kisses her way back up Ellie’s body. They’re light, affectionate kisses, far more chaste than the trip down. Ximena coaxes Ellie with gentle pressure to shift over so Ximena can tangle them up together under the sheets.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

  B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ximena’s arms are an expertly crafted work of art, from the sweat she has put into building their strength to the hours spent designing the ink on her arms. Her favorite place to put them is on Ellie’s hips. Together they dance to oldies in the garage, and Ximena’s new favorite sound is the way Ellie giggles with joy when Ximena dips her at the end of Fly Me to the Moon.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

She’s got Ellie up on the hood of a brand new BMW X5 M50i, legs spread and skirt pushed up haphazardly. The voices of the crew carry from the kitchen, laughing and jovial and distracted. Ximena’s fingers on her hips keep Ellie in place when she comes with a cry. Ximena’s mouth glistens when she pulls away, grinning up at Ellie through her lashes as she carefully licks her lips.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

“Oh! I’ve been looking for this!” MC pulls a pastel blouse out from the back of Ximena’s closet. “How did it end up here?”

“Oh,” Ximena tries to dismiss it “it must have been there for a while.” Too bad she’s not one to dismiss anything.

“Ximennaa?” Ellie prods, in her sweetest most innocent voice that is not at all teasing in any way. Turns out neither of them are good actors.

“Well…it was back when we’d just gotten forever and you left your shirt here and I—” Ximena pointedly looks away, and Ellie can see the blush creeping up on her cheeks.

E= Edgeplay (Similar to ‘Kinks’ except it’s a lot riskier than usual kinks (knifeplay, breathplay, etc.).

Ximena is used to people taking her at face value. They think she tops. They think she’s kinky—because she’s tall or has tattoos—but the Mercy Park Crew know she’s a woman who rejects handshakes for hugs, and Ellie Wheeler knows that the closest she gets to any sort of  edgeplay is edging.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

When Ellie straddles Ximena’s thigh it feels a lot like a cupcake is trying to dom her,  Ximena strategically leaves this part out of their conversations, but watching Ellie take what she wants is the hottest thing she’s ever seen.

G=Got Caught – (How they react when they get caught having sex.)

It is one of those days where they only make it to the bedroom because they are both too polite to make out in front of their friends. Ximena kicks off her pants, and has to sling her arm around Ellie to keep her from faceplanting when she tries to do the same.  It’s only a few seconds until they’re kissing again, hands between each other’s thighs, trying to find a rhythm the both find gratifying. Then, the door opens. Ximena pulls away at the sound, but there’s no way for them to cover up. A distinctly Colt-like silhouette is in the doorway.

“Ximena—” He closes the door and tries to back away, but it’s too late.  

“WERE YOU RAISED IN A BARN!?” Ximena shouts. Colt can feel her expression through the door. He doesn’t need to see it. “You knock on doors, Colt! You knock!”

  H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) & X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Ximena is no porn-star. She’s never felt dying her hair would be worth the maintenance. She keeps herself trimmed, but not bare.  Her inner lips are dark at the edges and peak out like ruffles between her thighs. Ellie thinks she’s perfect.   

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) & P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Exposing herself physically means dealing with the emotions that come with that. For her, there is no way to separate sex from intimacy. The first time Ximena and Ellie have sex, it’s with more than just lust between them. They felt the need to be together in a way they hadn’t been before, to get even closer in their relationship. It’s no longer their first time anymore, but Ximena touches Ellie with love and affection just the same.

Usually, she works Ellie up nice and slow. Ximena likes to take her time and savor how beautiful is. Equally, she enjoys leaning into Ellie’s affectionate and enthusiastic touch. Something so pure is rare in a life like hers. They have their days though, where everything between them is rough and frantic with need. Ximena is sure Ellie knows just how much she loves her in those moments, too.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation is a stress reliever for Ximena. She fingers herself after particularly intense days, working her thumb in circles over her clit until she pushes herself over the edge. The ecstasy eases her adrenaline crash.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) & S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) & V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

“C-close,” Ximena pants,  pulling lightly on Ellie’s hair. Ellie slows, but doesn’t stop, shifting the movements of her tongue often enough so Ximena can’t get the build up she really needs. Another draw of Ellie’s tongue has her letting out a moan. Thankfully, both of them are quiet enough that the neighbors haven’t yet felt the need to complain.   “Ellie… Ellie please.” Wait…“Are you— is that the alphabet?”

Ellie peers up from between Ximena’s thighs. “Yes?” she answers innocently. Ximena snorts with laughter, and Ellie’s eyes darken with desire once again. “Are you ready for a third round?”

Ximena’s fingers curl in Ellie’s hair. “Please.”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) & U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ximena prefers not to be interrupted, and to have enough space for both of them to be comfortable and able to move around. Usually, that means the bedroom, but they’ve gotten creative on several occasions.

Since the Colt Incident, Ximena’s new favorite way to tease Ellie is to get her worked up, and then make her wait while Ximena locks the door wherever they are. Really though, it’s Ximena who likes to be teased.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When Ximena gets up in the morning, she finds the bed empty. She pads out to the kitchenette in their motel. Ellie is up on her tippy toes reaching for the box of cereal on the upper shelf of the cabinet. Her t-shirt lifts, revealing just a sliver of the smooth skin on Ellie’s hip, and then Ximena spots the two bowls on the counter for them. Ellie doesn’t make it to her cereal for another hour. Other nights, when Ellie gets particularly wiggly in her sleep, she ends up with her clothes askew, the bottom sheet tangled around her, and at least one breast nearly out of its shirt. Ximena always makes sure to wake her up with kisses on those days, and unwrap her from the sheets like a present.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)  & R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If Ximena didn’t like to take risks she wouldn’t have joined the Mercy Park Crew. That said, she gets most of her thrills in car heists and illegal street races. She can be an enforcer when she needs to. At 6’4” she towers over even most men. She can, and has, beaten men nearly to death with her bare hands. But that’s not who she wants to be, and it’s not who she wants to be with Ellie either.

 Anything that might really hurt either of them— or is too messy— is off the table, but that won’t stop her from getting creative with new sensations and angles.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Before their relationship began, Ximena didn’t have much experience, though still more than Ellie. It was their encouragement and eagerness for each other that got them through the early days, and now they’re both proficient in what the other likes.

Ellie asks one time, if Ximena preferred giving or receiving oral. Ximena loves them both for different reasons. It’s easy for her to compare which sensations she prefers on her own body, but how it she supposed to compare the kind of pleasure she gets from making Ellie gasp and grind her hips into her mouth, to the pleasure she gets when Ellie uses her tongue to show Ximena just how much she loves her?

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Ximena rubs her nose up against Ellie’s in an Eskimo kiss. Colt dutifully pretends he doesn’t see anything, for now. Ellie takes the opportunity to nibble teasingly on Ximena’s ear.

“Do you think…maybe we forgot something back in our room?” Ellie whispers, breath hot on Ximena’s ear. The words go straight to her groin, but Ximena shakes her head softly. She has never been one for quickies, not often. If there’s not enough time for actual sex, it almost always means they have somewhere important they need to be.

“No, I think we have everything.” Ximena’s voice deepens, “but, I’ll make sure to do a thorough inventory when we get back.” T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Thieves moves from crew to crew on a regular basis. Her whole life fits in a duffle bag, and sex toys haven’t earned their spot in it yet.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

After a long, lazy morning makeout, Ximena finally goes to get out of bed. Ellie is not having it. She wraps her arms around Ximena’s neck, and her legs around Ximena’s waist, assuming her body weight will keep Ximena in place. Instead, Ximena just braces her with one arm and lifts them both of the bed together. Ellie squeaks with surprise and delight, pulling Ximena in for a deep kiss. It’s not long before Ellie is grinding her hips forward, desperate for friction. Ximena can feel how wet Ellie is against her ribs. Ellie loves that Ximena is so strong.  Good thing Ximena likes showing off for her.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Once their sexual relationship starts, Ximena likes to turn Ellie into a puddle at least twice a week. Before that, when she was single, once a week was usually enough to satisfy herself. There were plenty of beautiful cars to keep her mind and her hands occupied

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ximena is full of energy, even more so than Ellie. She’s both a morning and a night-sex person, depending on what they get up to. A good orgasm is one of her favorite ways to start the day, but a couple of rounds before bed helps her drift off a lot easier. 

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

Because I am nothing if not an entirely raging narcissist, the last headcanon I wrote inspired me to revisit my redheaded OC and expand Ignis’ portion of it into a longer fic. At roughly 6700 words, it might be a little on the lengthy side for readers who like their smut in shorter, more consumable quantities, but at the very least I can guarantee approximately 70% of it is high quality genital-mashing.

Also, because we’ve established that I am indeed a raging narcissist, I drew a picture that you might’ve seen floating around these parts as supplemental material to help my followers visualize the naughty scene I’ve set. I’ve copypasted the fic in its entirety below the cut, but you can follow the link I’ve included to my AO3 account if you prefer getting your rocks off over there. While comments and constructive criticism are not necessary, they are more than welcome and always appreciated. Happy reading!

Idiotically NSFW

They have a routine, the strategist and the redhead; she waits in the shadows of his apartment landing near midnight, listening for the audible click of his front door unlocking to signal that the coast is clear; he greets her with a chaste peck on the cheek and a steaming cup of Ebony when she finally tiptoes inside; they seat themselves around the living room and chat politely for thirty minutes or so, about this and that and all sorts of mundane things, until they both silently acknowledge the real reason why she is here and discard their clothes in the hall on their way to the bedroom.

It’s a comfortable routine, something she has to look forward to after a long day at the Citadel, something that hasn’t changed in the weeks and months since she’d involved herself with the strategist. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee always succeeds at putting her mind at ease, as does the deep vibrato of his voice when he mutters the latest complaint against his royal charge. Even the slight narrowing of his eyes indicating his desire for intimacy is customary, for Ignis Scientia is nothing if not entirely consistent in his mannerisms, and the redhead knows the only expectation either one of them will have for the evening is just how long it takes for her to cry out his name.

Which is why it’s decidedly unexpected when she sees him pushing a large rectangular box across the coffee table in her direction. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” he says, in the clipped accent they both share. “Of sorts.”

She peers down warily at the violet ribbon wrapped around the package before turning a dubious eye on him. “For me? I scarcely would’ve taken you for the charitable type.”

“More for me, actually. Although it would be an added bonus if it was to your liking.” He takes a sip from his Ebony, and then nods toward the box. “Go on—see if it suits your tastes.”

She hesitates, somewhat puzzled by this curious break in their habitualness, but concedes to his request and tugs on the end of the ribbon. Once she’s removed the lid, she is met with a plethora of tissue paper; it takes her a few moments to unearth what lies beneath, and she laughs aloud when she finally recognizes the shimmer of satin and lace textiles. “Really, Ignis? Unmentionables?”

“They can’t really be considered unmentionables once you’ve mentioned them, now can they?”

The way the corners of his lips turn upward into a faint smirk is both utterly endearing and entirely exacerbating, and she resists the urge to sigh. “And what, precisely, do you expect me to do with these?”

“Wear them, I would hope. Preferably for me, but I obviously can’t stop you from entertaining lesser fools.”

She pegs him with a tart glance before returning her attention to the contents of the package; a pair of sheer black stockings is nestled between a matching garter-and-panty set, and she catches a glimpse of indigo silk beneath the lacy undergarments.

She then withdraws the purple article from the box and holds it up teasingly. “Your fashion sensibilities are certainly predictable. Did you purchase this from the same tailor who designs your dress shirts?”

The boned corset in her hands is indeed crafted from a similar Coeurl-print pattern the strategist favors in his own wardrobe, although this evening he is sporting a dark button-up shirt and necktie, likely due to a late night council meeting. “Not quite,” he replies. “I picked it up from the department store yesterday when I was with Noctis.”

She is almost positive he delights in the look of horror that crosses her features. “With the prince? What in Astrals were you thinking?”

“Come now, I’m more discreet than that.” He crosses one knee over the other and swirls his mug around demurely. “Umbra showed up just as Noct was buying new tube socks, and he asked me to bugger off for a bit. I took the liberty to make my purchases and was back before he could finish dotting his I’s with little hearts.”

“And you weren’t the least bit worried about being caught browsing the ladies intimate apparel section? Not concerned with any… assumptions the cashier might’ve made about you?”

The strategist shrugs. “Not at all. Even if someone were to suspect I was buying lingerie for myself, the whole Citadel knows I have nicer legs than anyone.” He then tosses her a wink. “Your included.”

She has half a mind to swipe her foot across the sensitive part of his shins, but the sight of multiple zeroes printed on the label affixed to the corset derails her malevolent intentions. “Goodness,” she breathes, and draws the label closer to confirm her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs, draining the last of his beverage before setting his empty cup aside. “I merely wanted to ensure durable enough construction that wouldn’t fall apart immediately after putting it on. And besides—if you’d rejected my offerings outright without the tags, I’d be a few hundred credits lighter and nothing but aching testicles to show for it.”

She drops the corset back into the box with the other items and replaces the lid. “You could’ve always worn them yourself. Or perhaps your legs aren’t as shapely as you think?”

It’s admittedly one of her favorite aspects of entertaining the strategist, this delightful battle of wits; she cocks a mischievous eyebrow in his direction, poised and ready to counter his incoming barb with a pointed one of her own. But his green orbs soften behind his spectacles, and he surprises her—just as he did when he set the package in front of her moments ago—by reaching across the table and taking her hand in his own.

“I’d rather like to see you wear them,” he says quietly. “Won’t you consider humoring this stuffy chamberlain just for one evening?”

For a split second, the walls guarding her mind draw up; it was rather unlike him, the stoic personality he most often was, to reveal any signs of weakness around her, and the details of their arrangement never explicitly addressed the specifics pertaining to unusual fetishes or lewd requests. But his proposal wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a lover—nor even particularly lewd, when the she really thought about it—and the earnestness in his eyes curbs her skepticism.

So she draws herself up from her seat without another word, the box of unmentionables tucked under one arm and her gaze trained on him as she strolls off in the direction of the master bedroom. When he’s out of her line of sight, she enters the on-suite bathroom and closes the door behind her; she then sets the package down on the marbled vanity beside the sink and removes the lid once more.

She hefts the bodice from the box and holds it against her torso, and her nose wrinkles as she stares at her reflection in the mirror. The redhead may have been the object of considerable desire within the walls of the royal palace, but she can’t even remember the last time she’d agreed to compress her organs for the sake of beauty. She wonders if perhaps the strategist is growing bored with her, dressing her up like a plaything in a final effort to coax the last remaining vestiges of attraction he still harbors for her, until she remembers that there are far more economical ways of getting one’s rocks off than dropping a few hundred Crown City credits on couture underwear.

She eventually discards the wardrobe she wore to his apartment and sets to work. The panties, stockings, and garter are straightforward enough, but the corset bindings are packaged separately from the bodice, and when she unravels them she finds herself tangled up in several meters of cording. She may be an expert at lacing a pair of combat boots, but ladies shape wear proves to be another beast entirely; it takes her ten minutes to thread the binding through the narrow grommets enough for her to squeeze herself into the overly complex garment.

When she moves to adjust it, however, she is left with an excessive amount of binding in both her hands; what the purpose was of having six feet of rope when she only needed two to hang herself with eludes her entirely, and she spends yet another ten minutes trying to figure out why only the bottom half of the bodice will tighten when she pulls on the end of the cords.

“Need a hand?”

She snaps her head around, and her eyes lock on to the lanky figure leaning against the threshold. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to recognize you haven’t the slightest clue how to lace a corset properly.” The strategist moves into the bathroom and stops behind her, gliding his fingers gently across her neck as he shifts her long tresses to one side. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

The tightening around her ribs eases abruptly, and her spine begins to tingle when she feels his warm breath on her shoulder. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people like that,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear you open the door.”

“I’ve made a career out of sneaking up on people. Are you really surprised?”

“Hm. I suppose not.”

His hands move quickly, tugging on the binding and rethreading them from the bottom up. When he reaches the grommets centered near her waist, he picks up the other end of the cording and begins lacing them through alternating holes from the top down. She studies his face in the reflection of the mirror while he works, his bespectacled features furrowed with the same razor-keen focus he would dedicate to any other task, imperative or otherwise; she has witnessed his awesome powers of concentration before, whether he is channeling the celestial magic of the crystal the sovereigns of Lucis have bestowed upon him, or taking notes in a boring council meeting, or even—nay, especially—when he is making love to her in the earliest hours of twilight.

“There’s a method behind lacing a corset,” he explains, tying off the ends of the cord at the two lowest grommets and tugging on the excess binding looped at her waist. “Pull on these ones”—he clutches at the bottom strands—“and it tightens the lower half. Pull on these ones”—his grip switches to the top strands—“and it tightens the upper half. Makes it easier to distribute the tension more evenly.”

As the compression surrounding her ribcage equalizes, the redhead surmises she learns something new about him every day; how he takes his coffee, what section of the newspaper he prefers to read first, how deep the rabbit hole of his perverted psyche actually goes. “You seem to be quite the authority on corsetry.”

He secures the loops of the binding into a snug knot; then he slips a hand around her waist, drawing her close and touching his lips to her ear. “I like my presents wrapped as much as anyone.”

Her eyelids flutter shut when she feels his arousal pressing against the small of her back. “Seems a shame to go through the trouble of putting everything on, only to take it all off again.”

“Who said anything about taking it off?”

Finally, she turns to face him. “You’re going to have to,” she says, gesturing to the panties that are trapped firmly between her stockings and garter belt. “Unless you plan on fucking me through my underwear somehow.”

Neither one of them was in the habit of employing vulgar language with any regularity; they both had reputations at the Citadel to uphold, and at times it seemed like they were the last two remaining consummate professionals amidst the likes of bawdier individuals like Gladiolus Amicitia and Libertus Ostium. Still, the occasional use of more… colorful vocabulary held a certain measure of gravity, and indeed her expletive has its desired effect; his cheek twitches as he takes a step toward her, and she can see the fire of lust flaring behind his emerald eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” he asks.

It’s rather unbecoming of her to bait him like that, and she knows it; he may be The Strategist, but he’s still just a man, and it was hardly fair of her to tease his ardor without giving any serious thought of following through with her insinuation.

But then she’s reminded of all the times he’s held the upper hand and delayed her gratification to agonizing lengths, and there was something about wearing a corset and thigh-highs that is making her feel empowered besides; she meets his gaze with a wicked one of her own, and reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck. “Since you managed to persuade me into donning this little outfit of yours,” she purrs, “I was wondering if I might make an inquiry of my own.”

His jaw clenches in visible restraint as she slips the tie out from under his collar. “But of course.”

“How much do you trust me?”

His gaze then drifts to the knot she is suddenly tightening around his right hand. “About as much as I trust anyone fettering my wrist with my own necktie, I suppose.”

When she is content with the strength of her makeshift shackle, she guides him to lean his lower back against the vanity countertop. “It’s just that you have a tendency to make sure my needs are met without ever giving any thought to your own. I find that rather troublesome.”

His face betrays the faintest hint of apprehension as she snakes the long end of the tie around the back of the sink faucet. “I’m certainly not feeling neglected, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Be that as it may, there’s a notable disparity between my efforts and yours. I was hoping to rectify that particular oversight.”

Only when she attempts to seize his unfettered wrist does he finally interrupt her machinations. “While I wholly appreciate your concern,” he says, raising his left hand away from her and out of reach, “I’m not sure if this is the best solution to an imaginary problem.”

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching her leap futilely after her target, so she levels him with a steely gaze instead. “Afraid of turning the wheel over to someone else, for once?”

“No, but in my experience, bondage without the advantage of forethought rarely ever goes as planned.”

The hairs on the back of her neck tingle in mild irritation; she drops the end of the necktie on the vanity and lowers her voice to nearly a whisper. “I never ask you for anything, Ignis. You’re the one who leaves your front door unlocked every night, not me.”

The words left unspoken linger like a specter in the tiled room; she had no way of predicting from the start where exactly this dalliance of theirs would take her, but she’d done all she could to play by the rules, her rules, the ones that explicitly stated this was merely an agreement between two consenting individuals, where they could express themselves privately in ways they otherwise could not. She certainly would never have been able to envision herself clad in nylon and expensive silk with her buttocks on full display, at the behest of a man who had cooked for her and shared his bed and had even engaged with her in the occasional lover’s spat, and who for all of Eos felt like a loyal and doting husband in everything but name.

He adjusts his spectacles across the bridge of his nose, and she can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing her desire to please him against his need to always be in control. After a moment, he heaves a long-suffering sigh and extends his left wrist in her direction. “I suppose we ought to agree upon a safe word.”

She can’t quite conceal the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and moves to secure his outstretched hand with the remaining slack of the necktie. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. The worst that could happen is you uproot your faucet.”

“And send a geyser flooding through the apartment?” He shakes his head woefully. “My renter’s insurance would positively skyrocket.”

When she is finished tethering his wrists to the polished brass fixture behind his back, and is confident he won’t be able to immediately break loose the instant her mouth meets any sensitive flesh, she traces her fingers lightly across his smooth cheeks and draws him close. “I’ll try not to be the reason for any permanent water damage,” she says, as the distance between their lips vanishes, “but I can’t make any promises.”

It’s a wholly unique experience, kissing the strategist whilst his arms are bound; his hands are usually everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, caressing her breasts, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to massage her aching nub. But the tables have suddenly turned, the onus of his pleasure firmly in the palm of her own hands, and she almost doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she isn’t having to clutch at the walls just to hold herself upright under his devilish ministrations.

Almost.

His shirt is still buttoned and, without the present use of his limbs, it might’ve remained that way for a while longer if her desire to undress him hadn’t been entirely innate. But since the instinct to strip the clothes right off his back was as involuntary as breathing, she doesn’t even need to break their kiss for her fingers to find and unfasten the top three closures; two more, and she’s drinking in the flavor of Ebony and spiced cologne as she explores his tongue; the final two, and she’s parting his tunic like the curtains of a window and pressing her body tightly against his warm chest.

His mouth drifts across her cheek and follows the outline of her jaw, but his lips stop just shy of her left earlobe when his restraints prevent him from leaning in any farther. “I hope you don’t intend to imprison me like this for too terribly long,” he says.

His shoulders flex under the hand she is gliding over his collarbone, presumably testing the durability of the tie against the strength of his own wrists. She then trails her fingers down his abdomen, encircling his navel once before untucking the hem of his shirt from his waistband. “I loathe to disappoint you, but I’m only just getting started.”

A curious noise bubbles out of his throat just then, scarcely audible enough for her to hear, but sounding halfway between a frustrated whine and a carnal growl. The expression settling in across his features conveys a more telling tale; his lips are parted and his jaw is set, and he lowers his chin to his chest when she presses the palm of her hand against the bulging in his trousers. Her other hand is snaked around his neck and gripping at the base of his scalp—just the way she knows he likes it, because of course she knows, because tugging on his tawny hair only served to urge his arousal onward in the past.

But he can’t do anything about it like he could before, since the tie fettering his wrists has held up remarkably well thus far; he conveys his annoyance at being shackled against his will by biting gently on her lower lip. The hand she has resting on his groin moves to tackle his belt buckle, and she releases the zipper of his trousers with deft fingers before pulling away from him and dropping to her knees. The strategist didn’t spend several hundred credits on intimate apparel just to view the evening’s entertainment from the nosebleed section, however, so the redhead makes sure her posture is such that the lacy undergarment dividing her backside is suitably conspicuous from his birds-eye perspective.

“I just had a thought,” he says suddenly. “The bathroom’s not exactly the most hygienic place for this kind of activity. Perhaps we should move into the bedroom?”

“And spoil my fun? I think not.” She glances up and cocks a teasing eyebrow at him. “Besides—knowing you, you probably sterilized every square inch of this apartment with industrial strength bleach before I arrived.”

“Regardless if that were true, the floor tiles can’t possibly be comfortable on your kneecaps.”

She then threads her fingers beneath the waistband of his fitted boxer briefs and tosses him a wink. “Itching for release, are we? I’m getting there.”

He doesn’t get the chance to counter her argument before she is tugging down on the garment and liberating him from the constricting fabric. For a brief moment, her pride swells at the sight of his warm and rigid flesh; any and all doubts she had about boring him are quickly forgotten upon seeing his erection standing at full attention. She wraps her fingers tentatively around the base of his shaft and slips the other hand beneath the hem of his shirt, tickling his hip; her eyes lock onto his for half a heartbeat, long enough to enjoy his expression of pleasure mingled with sheer torture when she finally takes him into her mouth.

“Be reasonable,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t expect me to remain upright in this position if you continue like this.”

She subdues his protests by drawing him in closer; a silent gasp escapes his lips when the head of his shaft meets the back of her throat, and she can feel his right leg quiver slightly through his trousers. She drops the hand she has at his waist and squeezes his thigh to ease his trembling, withdrawing from him briefly to focus her attention on the sensitive tip. As she traces circles around it with her tongue, she catches a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her peripheral vision; his eyes are closed, his forehead furrowed in concentration—or is it dread?—and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

She hears a soft clank when she returns him fully back into her mouth, and glances up to see his shoulders working against his restraints. “Please consider reneging on your proposal,” he whispers, his eyes still firmly shut. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take before I break something.”

But she doesn’t consider reneging on anything, not even for a nanosecond, because it’s not often she has the chance to witness the strategist at his most exposed, and the look of pure, naked vulnerability on his face has lit a fire in her belly that is quickly turning into a roaring blaze. Instead, she redoubles her efforts and encompasses him nearly to the point of choking herself on his flesh-and-blood sword; the trembling in his thigh has grown more pronounced, and the muscles of his bare abdomen twitch furiously with every flick of her tongue. His spectacles have shifted and are creeping down the bridge of his nose, so he throws his head back and grits his teeth to stifle the cry of ecstasy clawing its way up his throat.

She is employing every tool at her disposal to please him now—she’s appropriated the fingers of her right hand into a makeshift cock ring, trapping his member between her thumb and forefinger to prevent the flow of blood from exiting the tissue of his shaft, while the ones on her left gently massage the delicate part of his scrotum. Her slow oral ministrations have given way to a more rigorous pace, and the copious amount of saliva that is currently coating his loins provides a suitably slick lubricant with which to prime her throat. She takes him in deeper, but he doesn’t thrust against her; if anything, he appears to be yielding away from her, and for a moment she wonders whether his reticence is a result of her accidentally nicking him with her teeth.

But then she hears the sound of ragged gasps rattling around in his lungs, and is alerted to other signs of his imminent climax approaching; his flavor on her tongue has changed slightly and the temperature of his skin has risen, and the base of his shaft is pulsating as his body prepares to conclude its natural cycle. Maintaining a steady rhythm is key, she knows, so she reaches for the pockets of his trousers and clutches at his hips—partly to balance herself from her increasingly vigorous movements, and partly to ensure the strategist has no way of escaping the inevitable.

She would’ve patted herself on the back for her near-record time it took to bring him to orgasm, had her hands otherwise not been occupied; the sound of his breath catching in his throat is drowned out by the clank clank clank of his wrists wrenching violently against the gilded faucet. “Darling, I—I can’t—”

She has but a moment to decide which way the next few seconds will go. Hold fast, and her throat might reject his milky offerings; withdraw, and he’ll spill his seed all over her expensive corset. It’s his own damned fault for spending such a ludicrous amount of money on lingerie, she thinks, but she’s far too pragmatic to allow fine silk to be ruined over a few teaspoons of semen; in the end, she takes her chances and silently prays her body won’t betray her.

It’s not so much the flavor that catches her off guard, but the heat; for a man christened after fire incarnate, it ought not to have surprised her to discover his seed ran as hot as his libido. She presses her eyes shut out of fear for how her mouth will react to the intrusion, but—mercifully—her gag reflex remains dormant, so she relaxes into him and allows the warm fluid to pool on her tongue. He tastes slightly bitter, but not overly so, certainly no more than a slightly unripened apple, and when last of his pelvic convulsions finally slow to a standstill, she finds she has very little trouble containing the bounty of her efforts.

He is slumped against the vanity when she rises to her feet, his head angled forward and his spectacles displaced halfway down his nose. She isn’t sure if the way his nostrils are flaring is simply due to exhaustion, or whether it is a more foreboding sign; she takes a tentative step toward him and places a gentle hand on his chest. “Is everything… all right?”

“Please untie me.”

He doesn’t look up when he says it, and the redhead surmises it’s about the most animated reaction she can anticipate from a man who practically sharpens his teeth on his rookie lance pupils without even breaking a sweat. She reaches behind his back and fumbles with the end of the tie, half-expecting him to recover his dignity and march out of the bathroom the instant his left wrist is freed; he remains stagnant against the marbled countertop instead, moving only to return his spectacles to their proper place across his nose.

The heat of the moment is quickly dissipating with his ominously silent mood, and she frowns. “Are you angry with me?”

He finally glances up at her, his head tilted to one side, his eyes betraying nothing. “No.”

Her frown deepens. She’s seen the strategist grow aloof in the aftermath of their relations before, but there is something wholly distant in his expression she can’t quite put her finger on. “Then what is it?”

The necktie is still knotted around his right wrist, and it trails after him as he reaches out to caress her cheek. “Come here. I want to hold you.”

A queer sensation trickles down her spine; a few harmless pet names and bending the hours of their arrangement was one thing, but he was far too steeped in his devotion to the crown to show affection outside the confines of intimacy beyond the occasional peck on the cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

The corners of his mouth curve upward faintly, and his hand falls to her waist and draws her close. Her eyebrows are knitted at this unusual display of tenderness, but she nestles herself between his legs—his erection is still hard as a rock, she notes—and leans to rest her chin on his shoulder.

He then snakes his arms around the small of her back and buries his face in her red locks. “You look magnificent,” he says quietly.

Her throat tightens, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stifle the feelings that are threatening to manifest themselves into tears; she’ll never have him the way she wants him, not entirely, and not because of their duties to the kingdom of Lucis, but because she knows deep down that the Six did not breath life into a man of his talents without a having a greater calling for him in mind.

His hand glides up her spine and stops at her neck, brushing her hair away from her shoulders as he touches his lips to the soft skin beneath her ear. Her own hands tighten around his chest, and she leans into his embrace; there will be plenty of time to fret about divine destinies later, and the gentle nibbles he is trailing along her jawline are admittedly working wonders to take her mind off of the hypothetical.

So she nuzzles her nose against his feathery temple and breathes in his scent; her ministrations from earlier must have been more laborious on his resolve than she first realized, because she is only just now noticing the light sheen of perspiration that dots his forehead. He finally pushes away from the vanity and draws himself up to his full height, guiding her hips with strong hands to the bit of marble countertop he just vacated, and braces his arms on either side of her to corral her in place.

“Darling,” she whispers, as he rakes his teeth across her collarbone, “you don’t have to continue for my sake. You must be utterly exhausted.”

“What was it you said earlier?” His hand finds the waistband of her panties and slithers beneath them. “Ah, yes—‘I’m only just getting started.’”

She snorts softly against his neck, but her amusement at his cheeky turn of phrase is short lived when he presses his long fingers inside of her. Then her beguilement is all but forgotten, and replaced by the singular desire to feel his warmth fill her entirely; she locks one ankle around the back of his knee and grinds her pelvis against his hand, and her insistence is rewarded when he massages his thumb across her sensitive hood.

His mouth returns to her face and he brushes his lips lightly against her own; she has little time for his chaste and gentle probing, however, and chases hungrily after his tongue instead. She is unable to stop the whine of disapproval from bubbling out of her throat when his hand disappears from between her thighs, but the strategist has a plan—just like he always does—and it requires the use of both hands to grip at her hips in order to lift her onto the edge of the vanity.

At the back of her mind, she can’t quite help chuckling quietly to herself at how ludicrous they must look in that moment; his necktie is dangling off of his right wrist like a wet noodle, his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned, his trousers and briefs halfway down his buttocks as he claws at the infinitesimally small strip of fabric separating his cock infuriatingly from her cunt. In truth, though, the redhead lives for moments like this, when their guards are down and their humanity is on full display, because even though he addresses her with cool and cordial formality at the Citadel, she knows the strategist has the same needs and desires of any other hot-blooded man that has fire coursing through his veins.

He shifts her weight in an attempt to displace the lacy accouterment, but it remains firmly wedged in her backside. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you had just let me take off my stockings,” she laughs.

“Remove my favorite accessory?” His spectacles lurch as his face crumples into a scowl. “Not on your life.”

Finally, he manages to push the stretchy fabric aside adequately enough to gain access to her warm folds. Her hand is already between his legs and gripping his shaft, her urgency to end this lustful torment as great as his; he clutches at her thigh to steady himself before he is plunging his searing heat inside of her like a pike impaling a fleshy target.

The air in her lungs all but evaporates, and her fingernails dig into the thickest part of his shoulders. His reaction is more subtle—not even the faintest cry of rapture escapes his lips—but she can feel his body shudder slightly when the full circumference of his girth meets the edge of her resistance. For a long moment, neither one of them moves, and the only discernible noise coming from the bathroom is the sound of their hearts beating furiously inside both their ribcages; then he is withdrawing from her, slowly, gently, agonizingly, returning his lips to the crook of her neck and nibbling at the baby soft skin there, before driving his hips forward again and resuming his occupancy fully inside of her.

How he is still so hard is beyond her, but she doesn’t protest or complain; if anything, the way the elastic of her wayward panties is capturing her nub between the base of his shaft is a miraculous serendipity that sends chills firing down her spine. The strategist notices this little development as well, she realizes, which really shouldn’t have surprised her in the least—it was his job to extract knowledge from the most trivial pieces of evidence, after all—but her eyes widen just the same when she feels him angle himself against the garment for a snugger fit.

Is he competing with me? she wonders. Was this all just a wanton race to see who could bring the other one to climax the fastest? She would’ve admonish him if she’d had authority over her own voice, but the only thing she is able to utter in that moment is an unintelligible moan of pleasure. And it doesn’t really matter anyway, because the familiar pressure spreading throughout her lower belly is growing stronger with each passing thrust of his hips; her hands glide down the back of his dress shirt, unconsciously and autonomously, and clutch at his buttocks as her resolve frays like a quickly unraveling thread.

She can no longer see his face, because he is resting his chin on her shoulder now—bracing it, really—as he moves between her legs with methodical precision. But she can hear his breath shortening, his exhales breaking in time with the heart she feels thumping inside his chest. Her own pulse is screaming in her ears, but she ignores it in favor of focusing her attention solely on the sensation of his warmth grinding against the most tender part of her sex. When she closes her eyes, she can almost visualize her climax hovering on the edge of her consciousness; her nub throbs every time he eases away from her, only to glow like a star on the cusp of going supernova when the pressure resumes.

Two more thrusts and her vision begins to swim; another three, and the scales are tipping rapidly out of her favor; one final push, and she’s reached the point of no return. “Ignis,” she whispers, the thread disintegrating, the star finally exploding. “Ignis—”

He tightens his grip on her thigh, although whether it’s to balance himself or merely to calm the violent tremors ripping through her body, she isn’t sure. Each wave of her orgasm takes with it a piece of her voice, until her loud cries of ecstasy finally fall silent and she is gasping desperately for air like a dying Lucian carp. Her fingers are suctioned to his lower back like barnacles, as are her legs that have captured his slender waist in a vice grip, and she holds him close for what seems like an eternity as the spots of light dancing across her vision slowly fade.

“Drat.”

The strategist’s benign obscenity returns her to the here and now, and she finally loosens her grip over him. She then glances up at his face, only to see him staring down between her legs; when she follows his gaze, she sees the fabric of her undergarment clutched in his hand, tattered and ripped at the side seam.

“So much for quality,” he mutters. “I’d have thought for the money I paid, it would’ve held up at least a little better than that.”

A small smile touches her lips, and she traces her fingers lightly over his cheek. “I’m not quite sure lace is rated for this kind of strenuous activity.”

“Indeed.” He releases the scrap of fabric and readjusts his spectacles once more. “I suppose I’ll just have to take my business elsewhere next time.”

He then withdraws from her and helps her down off the vanity. She has to hold the two torn sides of her panties at her hip just to preserve her dignity, although considering he had himself buried to the testicles in her sex moments before, she supposes there isn’t much modesty left to be lost between them. He returns his own equipment to his briefs and zips up his trousers, but he leaves his shirt unbuttoned, and his necktie is still wrapped around his wrist; she is tempted to make a wry quip about his unusual lack of fastidiousness, but she knows his persnickety side will eventually spur him to cover himself, so she simply enjoys the sight of his taut abdominals on display for her viewing pleasure for as long as she can.

She then reaches for the binding of her corset to ease the tension in her compressed organs, until another thought suddenly occurs to her and stays her hand. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” she asks.

He is already at the threshold of the doorway, no doubt longing to excuse himself and his mild germaphopbia from lingering in the bathroom any longer. “Not at all. Don’t feel compelled to stay in that outfit, though—I’m sure your spleen is begging for mercy.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get use to it.” She releases the torn ends of her ruined underwear and lets them fall to the floor. “Besides—for what you paid, you ought to get a bit more of your money’s worth out of it.”

One quizzical eyebrow rises above his spectacles. “What precisely did you have in mind?”

They won’t always have this routine, the strategist and the redhead; the Empire was building garrisons across Lucis at that very instant, and the Astrals would undoubtedly intervene in her happiness once they finally revealed the celestial plans they had in store for the prince’s most loyal advisor. There were times when the reality of their fragile agreement cut through her heart like a cold dagger, its icy tendrils suffocating her with the same lethal proficiency Ignis Scientia reserved only for enemies of the crown.

But this was not one of those times, and their illusion of normalcy remains intact if only for a brief moment longer. “I don’t believe our arrangement forbids any party from brewing a pot of Ebony without wearing appropriate undergarments,” she says, as she struts past him and out of the bathroom. “How about another cuppa?”