#create: wordless
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WORLDLESS | Noname Studies (2023)
#gamingedit#dailygaming#indiegameedit#worldless#i played this at egx last year and it was so good#excited its finally out#played a little bit and just oof#chefs kiss#create: gifs#create: wordless#media: games#game: worldless
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brat (sex columnist!harry x best friend!y/n)
in which y/n is best friends with harry, a sex columnist, who needs a little help answering a reader's question.
word count: 3k
content warnings: SMUT!!!! (mean dom/bratty sub dynamic, dirty talk, pussy spanking, paddling, sir kink, degradation, slight edging, fingering)
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m really not.”
“No, but you are.”
“It would be for work and work only—”
“I don’t care.”
Harry sighs as he lifts a hand to run it through his curly hair. The noisy puff of air is filled with unsaid annoyance and Y/N tries her best not to roll her eyes at her best friend’s stubbornness, instead focusing on toying with the bracelet around her wrist. Instead of replying, he quickly runs his fingertips over the trackpad on his laptop so it glows back to life.
“Can you at least hear me out?” he asks, his tone teetering on a polite plea, “You know writing about sex is my job. How am I supposed to help this person out when I can’t even offer a fair answer?”
Y/N crosses her arms and shrugs and Harry wishes he could reach across the couch and push them to her sides.
“What makes you think I have any experience being a sub, anyway?” she fires back, keeping her eyes glued on the TV in front of them.
They're currently binging the newest season of The Bachelor, but Harry was more so using the dialogue and Y/N’s periodic gasps as background noise. For the past year or so, he’s held down a job at an online publication as a sex columnist. He loves it — people write in anonymously, asking him questions about everything from premature ejaculation to open relationships. Under the pen name H.E. Bell, he gets paid to write lengthy, thoughtful responses, helping his readers with approaching whatever sexual issue they’re facing. And this week, his editor really wants him to address a particular question about a dominant and submissive relationship.
The thing is, though, is the letter comes from a sub. And Harry’s a dom.
A mean one, at that.
So while Y/N’s diving into a pint of her favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (Phish Food, obviously), and Harry’s trying his best — and miserably failing — to place himself in the shoes of his submissive reader, he knows what he has to do.
“I hate to tell you, but you scream submissive,” Harry replies, pushing his laptop off of the couch and onto the coffee table. “Don’t even try to deny it. Just… just hear me out. Please. My deadline’s tomorrow afternoon.”
Y/N lets out an irritated huff as she grabs the TV remote and presses pause. Silently, she sits back against the couch, facing her best friend, and shoots him a displeased expression; a wordless allowance to speak.
“I’m a dom and I’ve literally always been that way. You’re a sub, through-and-through. This person is asking about situations pertaining to experience as a submissive, and I can’t really provide them with the advice that they’re looking for since I’ve never been in that headspace.”
Y/N shrugs carelessly. She’s unbothered by his frank analysis of her subordinate behavior — it’s not exactly surprising that Harry, the sex columnist, is able to identify a sub, dom, or switch from 10 miles away. But that doesn’t mean she has to get dragged into his research, or whatever the hell he was trying to play it off as.
“Why don’t you just skip the question, then?” Y/N asks. “If you don’t have the right resources to offer an answer—”
“My editor thinks it’ll bring in a lot of page views,” he says, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His eyebrows draw together some, creating a small worried wrinkle between them. “Listen, I’ll fuck off if you’re totally uncomfortable with helping me, but you’re my best friend and I don’t know who else I could ask with this short of a timeframe.”
She sighs and brings her knees up to her chest.
“Fine. Read me the question.”
A grin breaks out on Harry’s face as he grabs his laptop. He taps on the trackpad a few times as he brings the email up on the screen, eyes scanning over his bright inbox.
“Okay, here’s what they said,” he clears his throat and Y/N really does roll her eyes this time, “Dear H.E.— I’ve been in a sexual relationship with my dominant for three months. Up until now, we’ve clicked really well. The chemistry is great and we always mesh really well both during scenes and aftercare. But lately, I’m worried I’ve been a little too bratty. For context, I’m a bratty sub with an attitude, but my dom knew that going into this. I fear that they’ll grow tired of my nonsense and insistent disobedience, but when I’m in my subspace or engaging in a scene with them, it’s hard for me to pull away from it. What should I do? Do you have any advice for what I can do as a sub to best help my dom?”
Y/N’s plucking at her bottom lip as Harry glances up from his computer. Blinking, she thinks for a moment before crafting a response.
“Well, it sounds like the sub needs to communicate their feelings to their dom. There seems to be a lot of insecurity.” she says. He hums, nodding his head as he types a few words on his keyboard.
“Yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, “They said it’s hard for them not to be in that bratty headspace, though.”
She shrugs, “I mean, if you’re a bratty sub, you’re a bratty sub. That’s just who you are.”
“Do you think there are any punishments that would work, then?”
“You’re the dom, shouldn’t you be able to answer that question?”
“I guess,” he replies, running his palm over the short bit of facial hair that’s grown on his chin in the past few days. “Spanking, edging, overstimulation, types of shibari, I guess…”
Y/N’s thighs squeeze involuntarily.
“...I just don’t know what works best.” he finishes his sentence, halting the tapping of his fingertips over the keyboard. “What do you think?”
She forces a swallow to coat her dry throat. “It depends.” she pushes out.
“Well, what works for you?”
She thinks for a moment. It’s been a minute since she’s been in a proper dominant/submissive dynamic — the last few times she’s had sex have all been one night stands and quick flings, all of which don’t allow enough time to learn about hard limits, punishments, and safe words. Her brain has to float back to a year ago, when she was sleeping with Reese, a soft dom who tried his best to tame her bratty nature but came back empty every time. He was good — the sex was good, but she wanted — no, needed — more.
“I don’t think I’ve ever really had a dominant… achieve that, I guess,” she mumbles thoughtfully. “I mean, I know what I like, as far as punishments go. But it’s not really about what the submissive likes, is it?”
“No,” Harry agrees. He hums as he opens up a second tab and she watches as he types the words “punishments for submissives” into the search engine. She sniffles and attempts to disregard the way her core instantly clenches.
He’s silent as he reads through a few lists, occasionally jotting down some notes into his Google doc. Y/N swallows noisily when he glances back up at her, this time prepared with an apparent list of proposed consequences.
“Okay, can you just tell me which ones you think most submissives would be fine with?”
She nods.
“Withgoing underwear in public?”
“Mhm.”
“Pussy spanking?”
“Yeah.”
“Nipple wax play?”
“Depends on the sub’s pain tolerance, but um… yeah.”
“Paddling?”
“I actually haven’t done that one before.”
Harry’s eyebrows raise.
“No?”
She shakes her head. “None of my doms have ever had one.”
“Doesn’t sound like they were proper doms, then.”
“They’ve all been on the softer side,” Y/N explains shyly. “But… yeah. I guess it’s always something I’ve wanted to try.”
“Is it?”
She can tell by the way his eyes have darkened, that there’s something wicked stirring in that brain of his. She knows she can put a stop to this now if she wants — he’s her best friend and he wouldn’t care if she ended the conversation here and now.
But she doesn’t.
Not for a second.
So instead she nods. And she’s completely unsurprised by the next sentence that falls from his lips.
“Do you want to try it now?”
By now, Y/N’s brain is all fuzzy and melty, so she doesn’t even think before she’s nodding her head eagerly. Harry chuckles and closes his laptop, shuffling onto his knees to lean forward and pluck at her bottom lip. A smirk curves at his mouth as she leans into his touch.
“Getting quite desperate on me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, cradling her cheek into his palm. “Get naked for me then and I’ll go get the paddle. No touching while I’m gone.”
Her stomach flips at the domineering tone in his voice. All too quickly, they’ve fallen into their most intimate roles, and Harry’s carrying himself to his bedroom as Y/N continues sitting there, all gooey-eyed and foggy. And maybe he should have expected it when he returns back to the living room a few moments later to see her sprawled out across the length of the couch, her bralette and underwear still on with her fingers tucked beneath the waistband of the fabric.
“Kitten,” Harry all but growls, making Y/N shiver at the pet name, “Are you already disobeying me?”
She hums as she watches him through half-lidded eyes, soft fingertips petting at her pearled clit. His eyes glimpse down at the tented material and he instantly sets the dark red paddle down on the carpeted floor, kneeling between her legs.
“What’s your color?” he breathes, locking a hand around her ankle. Her pussy quivers just from the simple grasp.
“Green,” she answers, “I’ll tell you if anything changes. Safe word is licorice.”
Harry nods, allowing his large hands to float up her legs. They reach the gusset of her sodden underwear and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, snapping the fabric against her swollen pussy.
“Take your hand out of your panties now and I won’t smack your pussy until she’s raw.”
Y/N doesn’t move. In fact, he thinks her circling fingers only quicken.
“I’ll give you one last warning,” he grits out, squeezing the flesh of her thighs, “I’m not a nice dominant. You won’t be able to walk if you keep going against me.”
But of course, her hand stays glued to the bundle of nerves. Instead, she breathes out a sultry response: “Think I could cum like this, having you watch me.”
In a moment, her cotton underwear is being ripped from her body and thrown aside. He’s swift in his movements as he collects her wrists in his palm, squeezing them harshly and throwing them up, high above her body. She gasps, noisy and wet.
“I don’t fuck around with brats like you for a reason.”
The first spank he issues to her puffy pussy is quick and fleeting, hardly offering a lick of pain. He’s eager to find where her pain threshold lies; if she’s all talk or if she can take the full force of his large palm. By the time he lands the sixth one, her skin now reddening beneath his smacks, he thinks he’s found it and he admits, he’s relatively impressed.
“Aw, did that one hurt?” Harry mocks, watching as her face twists in an expression of discomfort. “That’s because punishments are meant to be mean. You’re not supposed to enjoy them, little brat. You’ve had it too easy, hm?”
“H-haven’t,” she stutters out, wincing as he delivers a seventh, “I’m good, sir, I swear—”
“Oh, bull-fuckin’-shit,” he retorts. “You’re a silly little brat is what you are.”
“‘m not—”
Smack—
“You are.”
She whines until he reaches the tenth one. She’s a wiggly mess of sniffles and whimpers and he shushes her, brushing a thumb over her clit. She gasps lowly and he laughs.
“On your belly.”
This time, Y/N doesn’t defy him and Harry is admittedly surprised. She buries her face in the throw pillow and he rolls his eyes at the theatrics. Before picking the paddle up off the floor, his blunt fingertips scratch at her scalp, gentle and kind as they trail down to the nape of her neck.
“What’s your color, kitten?” he asks softly, rubbing a docile palm over her bare ass.
“Green, sir.”
“Do you still want to try the paddle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, “We’ll start with five and then see where you’re at. You know what to say if you want me to stop, right?”
“Red or licorice, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Since it’s her first time, he decides to ease her into it. He uses only a smidgen of his strength to smack the paddle against the thick of her cheek, watching as the wood ricochets. Her skin jiggles in response and he swallows, noting the way her nails already dig into the couch.
The second and third are just as light but he adds a bit more pressure to the fourth and fifth. When he’s finished, he rubs over the flush skin, slow and intentional.
“How was that?” he asks.
“Good,” she replies, her voice slightly muffled from the pillow, “I can take more.”
A hand quickly finds its way to the back of her neck and her eyes instantly widen. He shifts her head, smushing her cheek into the soft fabric so her voice is no longer dulled.
“Need to hear you loud and clear,” Harry says. “And now you’ll count for me.”
When the oak paddle makes contact with her ass for the sixth time, she grits her teeth but still calls out the number. She follows suit for the next five and, while it’s painful and harsh in the most uncomfortable of ways, she’d be lying if she said her skin didn’t feel like it was on fire. She’s burning for him, feeling her arousal leak down between the apex of her thighs with every last spank.
“Good job, kitten,” Harry announces, dropping the paddle at the end of the set. “You did good, hm? Did the bratty girl learn her lesson?”
Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in a pout when his soft palms begin to soothe her aching bum. He instantly takes notice, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion.
“Can’t give you anymore tonight, kitten. It was only your first time.”
Instead of replying, she simply shakes her head.
“Use your words. I’m not a mindreader, brat.”
Swallowing, she lifts her head up slightly, only enough to give her a peek of Harry’s concerned expression.
“W-wanna cum,” she mumbles, blinking at him, “Will you make me cum, sir?”
And instead of immediately getting what she wants, Harry does the unthinkable.
He rolls his eyes.
“You act like a slutty brat all night, begging to get paddled, and now you want me to make you cum?”
She nods, ashamed and embarrassed.
“What the fuck makes you think you deserve that?”
“I-I took my spankings and paddlings without complaining. And I didn’t disobey you a-after that.”
“But you did defy me to begin with, didn’t you?” he pushes, weaving his hand into the hair at the back of her head. His fist tightens and he lifts her head so her neck cranes back. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now you want to cum.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But not only do you want to cum— you want me to make you cum.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine then,” he decides, sitting down and leaning back against the couch cushions. “Come here. Straddle me.”
She forces herself onto her knees and ignores the way her ass and pussy both sting from her punishments. Right now, all she can focus on is her buzzing clit and its need for attention.
She does as she’s told and splits her thighs to fit his own legs between them. Almost instantly, he cups a hand beneath her mouth and glares at her expectantly.
“Spit, brat. Are you dumb?”
She shakes her head, allowing saliva to pool behind her lips before spitting it into his palm. With his eyes staring into hers, he lowers his spit-slick hand down to her mound and pushes a finger inside of her. Immediately, she clenches around it, her eyes threatening to flutter shut.
“Keep them open,” he instructs, “Jesus, your cunt is already milking me.”
She swallows and forces herself to maintain eye contact with the man sitting before her. He’s merciless in his ministrations, especially when he nestles a second, then a third finger and curls them up to her most sensitive spot. Her hands form tight fists as she grinds against his hand, moaning loudly when his thumb reaches her clit.
“What a desperate little pussy,” he murmurs, speeding up the tight circles over the swollen bundle of nerves, “You like getting stretched out, don’t you? Say it.”
“I-I love when you stretch me out, sir.”
“Of course you do,” he smirks viciously, “Is your cunt gonna cum like this?”
“Y-yes, sir—”
“Ask for permission first, kitty.”
“Please sir, can I cum? P-please?”
She’s whimpery and mewling as she bounces helplessly on his fingers, the ribbon in her lower stomach threatening to unravel at any given moment. He hums, stilling the digits inside of her.
“Hold it.”
“Sir—”
“Hold it, brat.”
Her pussy clenches around him but she does. She restrains herself until he finally allows the ribbon to come undone, a slew of whines and curses sounding from her plush lips as she does.
It feels like it goes on forever but when the pleasure finally ceases, she collapses into his chest. Harry gently pulls his fingers from her center and wraps an arm around her waist, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze.
He lets her stay like that for a bit and, maybe selfishly, he enjoys having her limp, exhausted body so close to his.
“Gotta clean you up and rub some salve on your bum,” he finally manages out, ducking down to whisper the words in her ear.
Tiredly, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder. “Five more minutes?”
He swallows.
He doesn’t think she’s in her subspace, but he knows she’s sleepy and fuzzy from the mix of pain and pleasure he just instilled on her body.
And so for that, he’ll give her five more minutes.
Six, if she’s lucky.
#writing#harry styles#bffrry#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles imagine#harry styles smut#harry styles fic#harry styles filth#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles smutty fanfic#harry's house#hs4#harry's house album#fine line#one direction#harry styles fic rec#harry styles angst#harry styles drabble
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Spiderverse men when they’re sexually frustrated
Rating: 18+
Peter B Parker
-He’s the best at hiding it, he gets quieter. And when he does speak his on brand dry deflections get notably bitchier. Before you porn was how he got off. It was a means to an end, there wasn’t anything sexy he found. He just needed a release then he’d go about his day.
-But you, you are sexy. With you it’s a delicious spiral of physical and emotional intimacy only you two shared. And when he wanted more he needed more.
-His pants would get tighter just being in the same room as you, his eyes would fall to his favorite parts of you to grab onto during the act. He’d press his touch to linger longer on your skin. Peter would tenderly dry hump you when you’d let him get that close. Sending every wordless signal in the book that he wants you, he needs you.
-If that doesn’t send the message, he’ll cheekily say hes got something to show you in your bedroom. Tenderly leashing his grip onto your hend as he leads you. Once that doors closed. He kisses you with a fervent hunger.
-Violently rubbing his fingers against your skin, aggressively hammering his hips into yours. Eating away at your lips, and in between gasps he’d say.
“Jesus baby, you gonna tease me without even trying?…do you have any idea what this body does to me…?”
Miguel O’Hara
-This man isn’t the least bit subtle, it would just take him a while to realize. He’s not a man who lets his guard down easily. Even when he’s in a committed physical and emotional relationship. His baggage often intersects between every milestone of your relationship.
-However when the itch in his mind and dick isn’t scratched for enough. He acts, he gets grabby. Massaging the flush of your ass and even getting hold of your pussy. He doesn’t need to ask when his fingers do all the talking for him.
-If you playfully deny him, he’ll get even angrier. Lashing out more at the spider society members, refusing to eat or drink. Zeroing in on his work praying the audio cues of his holographic computers can drown out the scream of sexual fantasies his head is playing. How desperately he needs you more than sleep and air.
-When you do finally let him hit, foreplay is the name of the game. He just needs to satiate the surface level lust of his fangs tasting the flesh of your throat. Your whimpering and cries for his cock when you denied him earlier.
-Its his payback time as what you done to him he does back ten fold. Denying you his length exploring your insides. Even to the point of you crying, he’d laugh as he humps you with the same fervor he preforms during sex.
“What happened?…thought you didn’t want this…thought my cock rearranging your insides as my tongue takes control of your mouth wasn’t what you needed? Beg for it more and I’ll consider it…”
Hobie Brown
-Hobies in tune with himself, he knows the burning sensations weaved into his muscles for your touch is cause you two haven’t had much alone time lately. Even if you’re casual, he could go out and fuck someone else whose down. It wouldn’t be the same.
-Like his hands tightened around his cock, crafting friction with his violently shifting grip. His length has a mind of its own, it belongs to you and only you.
-He doesn’t sexually initiate usually, he lets you take the lead in the bedroom department. It’s not all about him and he takes no risks in potentially coercing you into sex. So weeks could pass when nothing happens between you too. And he’s trying to jerk himself off every other night.
-But when you finally go down on your knees, trying to undo his jean zipper. Is when he can finally relent. Tenderly combing his hand into your hair, massaging your scalp as you choke on his cock. He has to resist not giving out right when he feels your tongue on his foreskin.
-Your blowjobs are a thing of art, he creates new rips in his sheets by the violence of his fingernails digging into the fabric. Cause of how good the inside of your mouth feels around him.
“Christ love, Jesus Christ….you’re too good…fuck too good.”
#18+#miguel ohara#spider punk#Spider-Man 2099#Spider-Man#peter b parker x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#Hobie brown x reader#Peter B Parker x reader#hobie brown x reader#headcanons#spiderverse hcs#spiderverse#hcs#hobie brown#Peter B Parker#miguel O’Hara
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Be Your Own Teacher
Disclaimer: I know I follow the law of consciousness/nondualism but I need you to hear me out. I know I used to follow Neville Goddard's and Edward Art's teachings but I have evolved and changed even though I still hold a lot of respect for them.
Words are all an illusion: awareness, consciousness, imagination, etc....they are not real. We are something that is indescribable, nameless, and formless. We transcend beyond such concepts and words, even "nondualism, law of consciousness (aka law of assumption), law of attraction, etc." We are IT the ultimate wordless intelligence. Words such as "consciousness" and "nondualism" etc are the closest things that describe who and what we are in our core beings but not even these words can truly describe what we are. The main goal of my page is for every single one of you to transcend all "concepts," "teachers," "methods," and "teachings." So many of you put teachers such as Neville Goddard, Edward Art, Sammy Ingram, and even bloggers on a pedestal and that isn't good. It isn't good because you are giving your power away to other people, as the creators and ultimate operant powers of your own reality. This isn't Neville's, Sammy's, Edward's, or even my reality. IT IS YOUR REALITY! There is no such thing as an "ultimate truth" or "method" for manifesting/reality shifting, as the ultimate creator of your reality you decide every single aspect of your reality, not Neville, Sammy, Edward, etc...Stop listening to people to find an "ultimate truth" or "method" don't even listen to me or other bloggers on this community, find your own truth as the creator of your reality. There is literally no "objective truth" everything is subjective based on your beliefs and whatever you are conscious of. There is no "right" or "wrong" way to do anything, it all boils down to YOU and what you decide is "right" or "wrong" because you are the creator of your reality. You can listen to other teachers but don't solely rely on them, only take what you resonate with most and leave the rest. I will never tell you if you are doing anything "wrong" or "right" or what you can or can't manifest because it all boils down to you and whatever you decide. YOU ARE YOUR OWN TEACHER, CONCEPT, METHOD, ETC BECAUSE YOU ARE THE OPERANT CREATOR OF YOUR REALITY SO ONLY DO WHAT FEELS RIGHT TO YOU. DO NOT LISTEN TO ANYONE ELSE WHO TRIES TO TELL YOU WHAT TO DO BECAUSE THIS IS YOUR REALITY, NOT THERE'S! Everything is consciousness, and we are all One Consciousness, so whatever you create as consciousness is "right" no matter what, because everything comes from us as Consciousness and as Consciousness everything is possible. We are limitless and infinite, there are no such thing as "can't" or "impossible." For example: you want to affirm and persist to manifest? Script? Visualise? Believe in the 3D vs 4D (or not)? Do the raven method to reality shift? Want to snap your fingers and just reality shift on command like that? Guess what you can do all of those things because you are CONSCIOUS of the fact that you can do it since we are all Consciousness as our truest Being. Don't listen to anyone else, not me, Neville, Edward, Sammy, etc who tells you otherwise because this is your reality to decide everything and anything, not us. Be your own teacher, concept, method, etc.
#reality shifting#shifting#manifestation#manifesting#shiftblr#law of assumption#loassumption#loa tumblr#loablr#law of consciousness#non dualism#nonduality#nondualism#non duality
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To Danny, Jason feels like a ghost, but he has no core.
AKA, something straight out of his nightmares.
So, when they meet for the first time (whether it’s just passing each other in the street, visiting the same library or having one save the other) Danny immediately cries out in Ghost.
Mourning, Apologies, Too Late, Helplessness, Grief.
It’s wordless, yet understood perfectly. And after Danny does that, he takes in the fact that Jason is still here. He hasn’t faded. So he bursts into other noises- Chirps and whistles and warbles, all tinged with static at the edges.
Sick? Hurt? Relax, Safe, Not Alone, Will Help.
Finally, he drags Jason through the nearest portal to the Ghost Zone, on his way to go find Frostbite.
This whole time, Jason is practically frozen. This kid he just met knew he died, was heartbroken over it even though they never knew each other, but now was promising to help him, to not leave him behind?
(The pit was quiet. It had been working so hard to create a Core, after all, but it wasn’t like ambient ectoplasm. It was all it could do to keep its host going. But now? Now it could breathe, and it could finally do its job.)
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#ghost king danny#dp x dc prompt#red hood#batman#red hood is to Danny what zombies are to us#which is really ironic#but also extremely literal#Danny ghost-adopts Jason while Jason living-adopts Danny
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I Want Nothing More
Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader
Y'all that leg drives me nuts. Got stuck for at least five minutes just watching gifs of it. Here, go just as insane as me
This fic isn't explicit but there is mature content so have fun
Warnings: making out, grinding, swearing, references to voyeurism
Word Count: 682
Main Masterlist
Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist
AO3
Tag List Form
Astarion pushes you to lay back in the dirt. Just beneath the surface lay old bones and hungry maggots, and an empty coffin. The thrill of leaving his old self behind, down there, while the new man he became thrived above, free. Free to live unshackled. Free to find peace with himself. Free to love, for once in his gods-forsaken life.
He smiled down at you, a lightness in his chest he hasn't felt in much too long. He crawls over you, eyes never straying from yours. And you so easily accept him, wrapping an arm around him and tangling your fingers in his hair. It's addicting. His eyes fall shut as he finally meets your lips.
It's a kiss unlike any other you've shared before. It was not practiced. It was not hot and heavy. It was soft, almost reverent. He sighed quietly into it, taking his time experiencing you. How you followed the pace he set. How you didn't tug him closer without him leaning in first. You tasted like the best wine humanity could ever - and would ever - create.
He positioned himself fully above you, laying you completely back against the ground. He pressed his knee forward, hooking your leg over his hip. You sighed so sweetly when he did, tugging lightly at his hair as he pressed his pelvis to yours. There were far too many clothes between you, but he was lost in everything else. Sex could wait a moment longer - he just wanted this.
His tongue glided along your lip, asking for more. And you gave it to him in a heartbeat. You always did that; always gave so much of yourself to others, even when you owed them nothing. When he first met you, it was perfect, because it meant manipulating you would be even easier. But then, he worried. He couldn't tell, then, where or when the worry arose - it just did. He'd feared you'd be taken advantage of by every miscreant with a vaguely tragic backstory - ironic, considering his intentions at the time. And now, even after everything, you still gave up your everything. For him.
You slid your hand to his lower back, right near his hip. A quiet sign to show you wanted this for as long as he did. His wordless worship was over. He wanted this. He wanted to at least try, if nothing else. A life anew, where he no longer seduced people to the terrible fate Cazador planned for them. A life anew where Cazador could no longer harm him ever again.
He pressed further into you until you were groaning. Your leg over his wrapped around his hip, and you pressed the heel of your foot against his ass, trying to draw him even closer. He obliged as best he could by arching his body against yours. Chest to chest. Feeling you along his entire body was wonderful in a way he couldn't pin down. He pulled away from your mouth to trail kisses languidly along your jaw, behind your ear, down your neck - anywhere he could reach.
"What if we get caught?" you whisper, but you show no signs of discomfort at the thought. He could feel your heart racing. How scandalous of you.
He chuckled against your skin. "I almost wouldn't mind that," he admitted with a smirk. "Letting them watch as I fuck you on my grave."
A low sound, only audible to his sensitive ears and proximity to your chest, told him just how much you loved the idea as well. Seeing him so happy and excited to be "reborn" turned you on. He deserved this joy.
You tug at his hair again, pulling him away from your neck so you can cup his cheek and look him in the eye. Your pupils are already blown with lust, and he's certain his are, too. "Are you sure you want this?"
He smiles. He leans down to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. Your eyes don't leave him as he does, studying him. "My love," he breathes, "I want nothing more."
---
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#fanfic#fanfiction#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate astarion#baldur's gate tav#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate tav#bg3 astarion#bg3 tav#gn reader#x gn reader#gender neutral reader#x gender neutral reader#spicy content
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— 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 ; 𝐡. 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: his skin was soft beneath your fingertips…
𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: howl’s moving castle | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: howl pendragon/gn!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 0.92k.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: handjobs, petnames, gn reader, sub howl, dom reader.
— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!
soft sighs of pleasure ring through the room as rain pelts against the nearby window. warm hands, so lithe and pretty and well-manicured, fist in silk sheets as the knot in the tummy of the man they belong to begins to draw tighter as ecstasy approaches.
“o-oh — oh, oh-!” he whines, his hips bucking up slightly into the warmth of your touch. “yes — just l-like that!”
his desperate cries are music to your ears — you’d spent several hours in his bed at this point, playing the ever-talented musician to the ravishing instrument that was his body. your fingers had danced across his skin so perfectly, pressing and scratching and caressing the spots you knew to be the most sensitive to you, and the noises the actions had earned you were worth more than gold.
even now your knowledgeable hands toy with the hot, hardened length of his cock, your fingers curled in a loose fist to jerk at his most sensitive flesh while your thumb teases his tip with the expertise of a seasoned whore. short-shrill cries and deep groans accompany his desperate pleas for you to let him finish, and you smile as you overlook the mess of a man that you had created.
you’d always found him more beautiful this way than any other, no matter how handsome he may have been in his coat and suits; no, him on his back for you while crying out your name to the walls of your shared bedroom as you lapped up his release despite his sensitivity was always much preferred.
“howl, my darling,” you murmur softly, and he lets out a wordless whine and forces his head up from where he’d had it thrown back against his pillows with his hair fanned out around it like a halo in order to look at you through tear-lined eyes. “cum for me.”
he throws his head back again now as the words hit him, his back arching up off the bed beautifully as his orgasm rolls over him. a long, drawn-out cry of your name leaves his lips and the tears he’d been fighting off finally fall. a wicked part of you relishes the look of them rolling down his cheeks; whenever you had time to fully take him apart this way, you always strove to bring him to tears in one way or another. unfortunately for both of you, he was usually far too busy to take days like today off to spend with you, much less spend hours of his time with you pulling him apart and putting him back together again.
you gaze up at his ecstasy-ridden form through hooded eyes from your place between his spread legs, watching the way his chest heaved and his mouth fell open as he called your name. a smile lifts the corners of your lips upwards as you watch him fall apart, your eyes shining as the arch of his back softens as he slowly comes back down to lie flat against the bed. his chest still rises and falls dramatically with each heavy breath, and his taut stomach shines with the thick, pearlescent wetness of his release. his thighs tremble, and his hips rut upwards ever so gently — the motions are more twitches than any manner of thrusts, and they amuse you to no end as his breathing goes staggered as he comes down this time from his high. he’d been coasting the waves of pleasure for nearly forty seconds now — not an all time high by any means, but still quite impressive.
“easy, darling, that was a big one,” you coo softly, your voice a mixture of comfort and teasing mockery. he whines in mock annoyance, casting an arm over his eyes to block out the sight of your playful smile.
“don’t be mean to me!” he complains, his voice still breathy and light. you just chuckle, climbing up the length of his body before stopping to carefully straddle him, none of your weight on him as you pull his arm from where it lay on his face so you could look down at him.
your eyes meet, and you find yourself drowning in the deep depths of blue that gazed up at you, still misty with arousal and sparkling with curiosity. “beautiful,” you find yourself murmuring, and his cheeks pinken slightly.
“i know i am,” he says in mock pride, feigning whatever haughtiness he could in order to avoid you teasing him more for letting such a simple compliment get to him — he was a vain creature, after all, he knew that better than anyone.
“you can’t fool me, sweetling,” you purr instead, making his eyes widen ever so slightly and his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard when you lean down over him. your noses are almost touching, and there’s a wisdom in your eyes that he can’t deny — your knowledge of his thoughts, his habits, and everything that made him himself shines back at him, and he curls his toes a little instinctively as a familiar heat once again curls in his belly.
you lift a hand and brush the backs of your knuckles across his jawline, and he melts into you like the finest honey does so into a fresh cup of tea; the wizard beneath you was putty in your hands as usual, and ready for another round once again.
“t-take me,” he stutters through a sighs, “please. use me again, treat me like your plaything — y/n, i need it.”
you smile.
“as you wish.”
𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.
#howl pendragon x reader#howl x reader#howl pendragon smut#howl pendragon x you#howl x you#howl’s moving castle x reader#howl’s moving castle x you
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mosaic of us
Pairing: plaga!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
Word count: 6k
Tags/warnings: smut; no y/n; infected Leon (las plagas); p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; rough sex; creampie; manhandling; Leon's a menace and this is yet another pure filth
Summary: Hidden in the village, Leon's condition keeps deteriorating; somehow, his kiss seems to ignite something deep inside you. Something primal — savage in its roots.
A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. R is for rough sex.
I sincerely apologize for this mess. Divider is mine.
masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
You notice the veins around his eyes growing more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. It’s as if something inside him is struggling to break free from its confines, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.
The glow of the sun filters through the gaps in the wooden walls of the shed, illuminating the space with a warm, golden light. You stand there, hidden away from the villagers (who managed to overrun you not even an hour ago), as a gentle breeze weaves through the nearby trees. It's a sweet melody that accompanies the soft whispers of the diary's pages, its newfound freshness almost palpable as you trace your fingers along its surface.
The air still carries the scent of damp wood and earth, with a hint of mustiness. The shed’s been abandoned for too long, left to the mercy of the elements. Like a forgotten tomb, filled with the memories of a long-departed soul. Neglected in its wake.
Reading page after page – each with intriguing materials hidden inside its folds, you let the ink come alive, painting vivid pictures of his observations.
July 10, 2004
Today marks another day of failed attempts at finding a cure for the outbreak in this village. The scarce resources and limited materials available make it even more challenging to uncover a solution. However, after much experimentation and observation, I finally managed to identify the mode of transmission – horizontal transmission. The virus can replicate its DNA and spread throu–
The shadow of a figure looms over the creaky door, pulling your gaze away from the passage. Your hand slinks towards the gun holster on your thigh, fingers tapping the handle with precision, safety off. You stare at the door, alert like a hawk on the prowl.
With a soft thud, the diary shuts; your senses stir in anticipation as the door opens. The hinges groan under the weight of the door. Recognizing the person entering, an exhale leaves your lips.
Leon's silhouette is backlit by the dimming light, creating a halo effect around his head. His large frame takes up almost the whole space of the door, blocking out any remaining slivers of sunlight that had managed to seep through the cracks.
He swiftly shuts the door behind him, sealing off the outside world like a fortress protecting its treasure. With practised ease, he places a chair underneath the handle, securing it.
"Shit," you cuss as you snap the safety back on the gun, "don’t try sneakin’ up on me like that again, Leon."
Leon's eyes flicker up, scanning your tense frame, alert for any signs of aggression. He nods, a wordless apology for startling you, and steps towards you with a cautious gait.
Restarting the reading, you skip through the rest of the page, flicking to the next one.
–indicates that the virus' spread is heavily influenced by the host's behavior and their relationship with the recipient.
As Leon shuffles past, the air is infused with the heady aroma of his shirt, like the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. The mustiness of its faded blue is mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne, reminiscent of the crisp bite of a green apple. He runs a hand across his smooth-shaven face, the coolness of his skin a temporary relief from the relentless fever burning inside him.
Today's findings have shed new light on the behavior of the virus. My latest analysis has revealed that the virus has a peculiar ability to alter the composition of the host's saliva. Strikingly, I discovered that infected individuals have elevated levels of–
Your eyes dart across the page, scanning the words with lightning speed. The words blur together as you scan through them with lightning speed, eager to reach the end of the entry in hopes to find a way to help Leon.
The implications of these findings are tantalizing, and suggest that the virus may be manipulating the behavior of its hosts to facilitate its own spread.
"What’re you readin’," Leon asks, stepping to your side with the knife holster dangling from his grip like a coiled snake.
The close proximity of him allows your arm to brush against his chest, the solid mass of muscle beneath his shirt a somewhat comforting presence in the chaos you’ve found yourself in. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it gently like a reassuring pat on the back as his eyes dart towards the diary.
You don’t hesitate to show it to him, its cover slightly worn and creased from your constant handling.
"It’s some kind of a diary," you watch as Leon flips through the pages, occasionally pausing to read it, "found it in one of the houses. It’s written by–I think–a scientist who was here; Doctor Javier García."
Leon's fingers trace the faded lines, the foreign letters, as if absorbing the knowledge contained within, yet the puzzled expression on his face tells you otherwise. The rustling of pages sounds like a whisper in the quiet room as he flips through them.
"It’s in Spanish," he grumbles with a tinge of frustration, his voice breaking the tranquil atmosphere. He hands the open diary back to you before rubbing his eyes wearily.
You can't help but notice the subtle movement of dark veins around his eyes, like ink spreading across a page. They're barely perceptible, but the sight still sends a twinge of unease through you.
"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, remember? Your Spanish is shit."
Leon emits a faint chuckle, so quiet that even in the closeness of your positions, it's barely audible. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through the mass of light hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. Exertion fills the air around you as he moves.
"Right," taking a step back, the soles of his shoes crunch against the first floor. You sneak a peek at his arms; the veins, network of obsidian tributaries, ripple just beneath the surface of his skin, "Right."
"Did you find out Baby Eagle’s position?" you inquire, your voice echoing through the empty space.
Leon shakes his head, causing the pushed-back hair to fall back over his face, before he speaks again in a soft, hushed tone, "No; got a call from Luis. They’re hiding in the castle." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and you strain to hear him.
Speaking of Luis–
Looking back at the book in your hand, you remember the last passage. The first thing you read when you were left alone in this shed.
"About Luis," you murmur, your fingers deftly flipping through the pages until you reach the last inked page. Leon’s eyes follow your hands as you open the page, the words there shaky, the paper wrinkled and smudged with ink. It's like a relic from another time, something that has weathered the storm of time and come out the other side. Written in a hurry; but it’s there as you read it out loud, slowly translating the foreign language:
September 18, 2004
Today, another scientist arrived in this remote village. After a brief conversation about my project, he evaded my queries about his presence here. He divulged information about a private island facility and expressed a keen interest in developing a cure for the virus. However, I couldn't help but sense an underlying malice in his intentions towards the virus. I intend to find out more about this man.
Your eyes scan the smudged ink of another passage, attempting to make sense of the faded words, but it’s no use.
Back facing Leon, you speak, "That’s gotta be Luis, right?," voice filled with suspicion, "Two weeks ago, this García met Luis and now he’s gone. His personal belongings are all here - don't you think that's a little suspicious?"
A low groan interrupts your train of thought, causing you to furrow your brow.
"Leon?"
You turn around and watch as Leon stands a mere footstep before you. Palm resting on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, you feel your heartbeat pick up; the veins now spreading like poison ivy, creating an intriguing mosaic. The ebony tendrils slither over his skin, covering his neck and sneaking inside the folds of his dirty shirt.
Another guttural growl emanates from his throat, so animalistic and raw that it sends shivers down your spine. Your hand instinctively reaches for Leon's blade, which was left on the table moments ago, while your other hand grips the wooden surface to steady yourself.
"Leon," you repeat in hopes to reach the man’s attention, "what’s wrong?"
Your attempts to reach him prove futile; you stand patiently, gaze firmly following his every movement–with a precise step, you stroll in front of him. Another guttural sound finds its way out of Leon as he moves his hands to his temples, pushing against the thin skin as if he could alleviate a headache.
As you watch, the veins around his eyes grow more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. Something inside him seems to be struggling to break free, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.
"Leon!"
You take a step back as he lunges forward, his movements erratic and uncontrolled.
Anticipating a strike, you raise the knife, its point aimed at Leon’s upper body. Your heart jackhammer in your chest, you brace yourself for the attack; muscles coiled and ready for defence. But before you can make a move, Leon's hand is already on your wrist, his grip vice-like as he twists the blade away from you. You gasp in pain, feeling the sharp sting of the metal cutting into your skin.
The ground feels gritty beneath your feet as you struggle to maintain your balance, trying to free yourself from Leon's grasp. But the man seems to be in complete control, his movements fluid and effortless. Your heart races faster as you realize the danger you're in. This man could easily overpower you, could easily harm you if he wanted to.
A pained gasp leaves your tightening throat as Leon’s hot breath fans over your face. And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.
It’s messy. Needy.
Wet.
Taken by surprise, your mind races; struggling to make sense of what’s happening. The taste of his lips is familiar, certainly not the first time he kissed you. But never like that – and never when infected.
You can taste the slight tinge of mint on his tongue as it sneaks inside your mouth. His hands, strong and calloused, grip your jaw, tilting your head as his hips back you against the table. Leon’s body easily keeps yours restrained, his body heat almost scorching you. You can feel his every move, every twitch of a muscle, every shiver that runs down his spine. It's like being consumed by a wild, untamed force that you can't resist.
The dominance in his behavior, the way he takes control and leaves you powerless and vulnerable; it all makes your mind fuzzy. A blank canvas.
For a moment, everything fades away–
–until the realization hits you.
He’s infected.
Pressing your palms firmly against his chest, your body freezes momentarily upon feeling the taut muscles of his breastplates before you push with all your might. He barely budges. Yet, when your lips momentarily separate, you manage to call out to him one more time, "Leon!"
His eyes open. Now clear, back to the blue as a tranquil ocean on a sunny day, the agitated storm within them subsided. He looks back at you.
"I’m so sorry," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. You can see the fatigue etched into his features, the bags under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As he meets your gaze, his eyes plead for your understanding.
The sound of his groan echoes in your ears as you watch him crumble before you, his once-strong body now appearing weak. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of what has just transpired. The dust swirls around him, adding to the already chaotic scene. You can feel your heart racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you try to catch your breath.
"Fuck, Leon," you hurry towards him.
You kneel beside him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His lips, bruised and swollen, part lightly as he takes a laboured breath. You can see the pain etched on his features, the lines on his forehead deepening with each passing second.
Minutes flow as you sit by Leon’s side, watching the dark veins fade slowly as he regains his strength. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the rest of his gear lying on the table alongside your gun. You take in the sight of him, his rugged features softened in the moonlight. His hair, disheveled and covered in dust, frames his face like a wild mane, adding to his already striking appearance.
You reach out to brush a strand away from his forehead, your fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, tracing the areas recently covered in ebony veins.
As you sit there, the sounds of the night surround you–the chirping of crickets, the whispering of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze washes over you, the scent of earth and foliage filling your nostrils. You take a deep breath, the freshness of the air soothing your nerves.
But despite the calming surroundings, the sensation within you is like a storm raging inside, the winds tossing and turning your thoughts. Your body feels like a furnace, burning with a heat that can't be quenched. Heart beating faster, the thumping becoming almost unbearable as your body begins to ache with a deep, pulsing desire.
You try to shake it off, thinking it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your system, but the sensation only intensifies. Focusing on the sounds of the night, hoping they’ll calm down the tempest within; but even the gentle rustling of trees sounds like a deafening roar. The once refreshing gust that swept over you now feels like a tantalizing stroke, sending your nerves alight.
Confusion sets in as you start to feel an uncontrollable need for Leon, a hunger that you can't explain. You try to push it away, but the urge grows stronger with each passing moment until it consumes you completely. You begin to tremble, feeling as if you're on the brink of losing control.
You look down at Leon, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. The urge like a vine, coiling around your body, tightening its grip with every passing second.
Hand reaching towards Leon’s, your fingers skim over his naked palm, the gloves previously protecting his hands now discarded on the table. His skin is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that consumes your own body. Just as you’re about to give in to the fear, a twitch in Leon's hand catches your attention. His fingers curl around yours, gripping them tightly. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a deep shade of blue that glistens in the moonlight.
"You had me worried there for a moment," you say with a tight-lipped smile, elbows resting on your knees, fingers digging into the naked flesh there.
You feel like you’re burning. Hot coals pressed into your skin.
You take in his appearance, the way his hair’s matted and sticking to his forehead. Sweat beads on his skin, a testament to the fever that has been plaguing him. His skin’s still pale, but his eyes are no longer clouded with ferocity. They seem clear, focused, and alert.
"I’m sorry," he murmurs again, but this time his voice is stronger, more resolute, "I don’t know what that was."
"Don’t be," you reply gently. You try to comfort him with your words, hoping to ease his troubled mind.
"Let’s just find you a cure."
He nods before sitting up, his movements slow and deliberate. He looks fragile, like a delicate flower that might break with the slightest breeze.
"How long was I out?"
You let out a shaky breath, relieved that he's awake. "Not long," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze returns to him, studying his features with an intensity that you can't explain. The sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw tenses as he speaks, the curve of his lips. You try to push the thoughts away, but they persist, like a buzzing fly that won't leave you alone.
"You good to get up?"
"Yeah," Leon exhales.
Dusting the dirt off your knees, you get up and reach out, helping him prop himself up, his body leaning against yours. The heat from his skin seeps into yours, soothing the burning that has been coursing through your veins–
–which doesn’t go unnoticed.
"You’re burning up," he notes. His knuckles lightly press onto the side of your neck, against the jugular vein. Heart thumping, you swallow as you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs only intensify the longer Leon’s hand remains on your throat.
"Your heart rate’s elevated," his hand finally leaves your skin, "something’s wrong."
With a firm grasp on your upper arm and without much struggle from your side, he beckons you onto the table decorated with all your gear. Skin pricklening with sensation as he guides you onto the table – it’s old wooden surface creaking slightly underneath your weish as you settle onto its surface, feeling the rough wood groan underneath your palms.
The firm press of his hands on your ribcage is like a spark to a fuse, igniting a flame within you. The heat spreads throughout your body, intensifying with each passing moment. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the wave of desire that threatens to consume you.
"I’m alright," you assure him, trying to maintain your composure; yet you allow him his hands to roam over your body as if you were actually hurt.
Leon's eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering. His sharp gaze betrayed his concern, a worry etched into the creases of his forehead. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that he was only looking out for you.
As you gaze at him, you notice the veins slowly returning to his skin; slowly faded over, the pinkish hue underneath his eyes seems to conceal them, but only from afar. Up close, you can see the delicate tracery of veins pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin.
"Are you sure?"
There’s worry evident in his voice as he rests his palms next to yours, enclosing you in his arms.
The weight of his touch’s comforting your heating body.
Your hand moves like a feather, tracing the intricate network of veins spreading across the contours of his face; his eyes flicker down, on your legs, as you stay mesmerized (and slowly being consumed by the raw power of your desire) by the way the veins seems to gain color, fill into the same darkness they were before, underneath your touch. As if they were following your lead.
Leon’s breath quickens as you continue. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the growing tide of desire that threatens to overwhelm you, but it's no use.
Leon's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as the color regains its sickly yellow tone, thin black veins dancing inside his irises like ink on paper. You can see the concern there, the worry that something might be wrong, but you also see something else. Something that sends a thrill through you despite the situation. He's looking at you like he wants you, like he's been waiting for this moment for ages.
The air thinkens with a palpable tension as you both hold each other’s gaze, lost in the charged atmosphere between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the electricity in the air, the way your heart races in your chest.
"I’m fine," a faint breath leaves your parted lips when your thumb reaches the slightly wider black vein leading towards his lower lip.
Everything after that seems like a haze. As if you’re observing from afar. Watching a play unfold from the balcony. Detached.
Your lips lock with Leon’s with a wild, raw passion.
It’s fervent.
Intense and fueled by a primal yearning that’s been brewing inside you ever since he kissed you a mere hour ago. Your hands grip Leon’s shoulders, steadying yourself against the mass of muscle standing between your legs.
His kisses are searing – cardinal, almost animalistic and completely uncontrolled; fueled by crude desire that seems to consume him fully. He kisses you with reckless abandon, as if he can't get enough of you. His lips are hot and wet against yours, his breath ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he presses himself against you. It's like he's trying to meld his body with yours, to become one with you, and the sheer intensity of it all is almost too much to bear.
Leon’s hand roam over your body with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Guttural, deep grunts reverberate through your body.
Hands reaching between your bodies, you tug at the shirt covering his torso – the fabric slides over his head like a curtain revealing a work of art. Taut muscles and veins ripple beneath his skin; your eyes pierce into his chest, the mosaic of black veins creating a network of rivers.
As you trace your fingertips over his skin, every nerve ending seems to come alive, humming with a primal energy that electrifies your senses. The heat emanating from his body is like a flame, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room; his skin’s like silk, soft to the touch, but strong and sturdy underneath.
The scent of sweat and musk fills your nostrils, overwhelming and intoxicating, pulling you in even closer to him. It's like a drug, addicting and heady, and you can't seem to get enough of it. As you run your hands over his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch, you can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his in the most sensuous way.
Your shirt soon follows Leon's, falling to the ground in a heap as you find yourself back in the kiss. It's like a symphony of tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and frenzied moans, each one building on the last until you're both lost in a wild, primal dance.
"Fuck–"
Everything seems brumous.
A cloud of haze covering your brain.
Feeling the wetness pool between your legs, heart beating heavy and strong against your ribcage, Leon’s name escapes your mouth as his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake; the scrape of his teeth against your skin, nails digging into the flesh of your hips.
As Leon's fingers trace the contours of your curves, the sound of your ragged breaths fills the room, intermingling with the sound of his own. You find yourself lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers seem to know exactly where to go, where to press, where to tease.
Your bodies collide with a force that leaves you gasping for air. Like the collision of two stars, sending shockwaves through the universe.
Unbridled desire. Wild, untamed dance of bodies.
No longer two separate beings, but a single entity, fused together in a frenzy of passion.
Leon's hands move with a speed and precision that makes your head spin, as he undresses you with an urgency that feels primal. His lips, soft yet insistent, cover yours in a heady, dizzying kiss that leaves you breathless.
It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and all-consuming–
–addicting.
The room spins as you lose yourself in the frenzy of desire. Every touch, every kiss, every breath ignites a fire deep within you, a hunger that can only be sated by this man before you.
His fingers find your cunt–wet, completely soaked as if you’ve already being fucked; yet he hasn’t even touched you.
"Jesus Christ," Leon groans upon the feeling of your slick walls enveloping his fingers, "you’re already soaked."
Head tilted back, your hips buck into his hand as he traces the length of your cunt, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. Pain shoots up your body, spreading like venom. It's almost too much, the intensity of it all, but you find yourself craving more, unable to resist the addictive pull that Leon has over you.
Sweet as poison.
A plague.
The tension in your muscles melts away with each inch of Leon’s fingers sinking inside you; a groan escapes your lips as sense of release washes over you; the tension in your body melts away, like ice thawing under a warm sun. Eyes closed, you focus on the sensation of Leon’s fingers pushing deeper, stretching you in a way that feels both strange and satisfying.
Your mind is clouded with a dizzying cocktail of lust and desire as Leon takes control, his touch igniting a fierce hunger that you can't ignore.
Your hand grips his hair, feeling the strands slipping between your fingers like silk. You pull him towards you, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His eyes meet yours, and you see the intensity in them, a hunger that matches your own.
"Fuck me, Leon—"
The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think. Your body has taken over, consumed by a desire that you can no longer control.
—you just can't help yourself anymore.
As Leon strips down, piece by piece, you find yourself drawn to the way his body moves with such fluidity. Your eyes take in every inch of him, from the rippling muscles to the way the light dances across his skin. Leon’s body completely covered by the system of ebony veins, your eyes following the lines for a second.
It's as if his body was made to be admired, and you find yourself doing just that.
The vulnerability of the moment is not lost on you, and the thrill of it all sends a jolt of excitement racing through your veins. Here you are, both of you completely naked, with nothing to hide. It's as if you've shed your layers of clothing and your inhibitions along with it, leaving only raw desire in its wake. The air between you is charged, electrified with anticipation and lust, and you can't wait to explore every inch of him.
Leon follows your order. Hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, your legs spread wider to accomodate his hips. Your eyes fixate on the thick, pulsating vein that runs along his length, now pitch black in color; like a lightning strike, surrounded by smaller ebony veins.
With each pump of his hand, the bulging head glistens with precum, taunting your hungry cunt.
His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as the tip brushes against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and a hint of mischief, as he teases your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His hips move forward, the tip disappearing inside you, stretching you wide with a delicious ache.
His arm reaches forward; guiding you down to lie onto the rough surface of the wooden table as he slowly splits you apart. The bark of the table scratches against your skin, adding an edge to the pleasure that courses through your body.
Once fully buried inside you, he stills.
Only momentarily.
As he sinks deeper, Leon's hand finds your collarbone, securing his grip. The roughness of his thumb grazes the sensitive skin of your throat as his hand sneaks underneath your knee to bring your legs higher – wrapping them around the narrow of his waist, you urge him deeper while wrapping your fingers around his forearm, feeling the muscles tense, veins darken.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into Leon's eyes, now obscured by the black veins that writhe across the blue irises. The intensity of his gaze burns through you, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch.
With a fierce growl, he ruts against you. Wild.
Leon’s a primal force, a beast unleashed, and you revel in the raw, savage power of his movements. His grip on your collarbone is almost painful, but you crave the sensation, the way it anchors you to the earth as he pounds into you with abandon.
Like an animal focused on breeding; there’s nothing but pure ferocity in the way his hips snaps against you–
– and you welcome it. Meeting his thrust.
The rough bark of the wooden table digs into your skin, but you barely register the pain as waves of pleasure wash over you.
Letting him absolute ravage you. Bring you to the brink of ecstasy way too soon. The smooth, velvety skin of his cock slides in and out of you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil of pleasure winding tighter until it's all you can do to hold on.
The sight of him, his eyes dark and wild, the veins snaking across his skin like living things, only serves to stoke the fire inside you Moans mix with guttural noises; grunt, growls. Everything mixes together in one dance of primal breed.
Cock-drunk.
Fucked stupid.
That’s how you’d described the feeling when his thumb presses against the front of your throat, hooks underneath the necklace he gave you to your first anniversary.
String of curses, incoherent sentences and something vaguely resembling your name leaves Leon’s lips, painted over with black veins, eyes wide open and staring straight at you. His hand moves to toy with your clit; yet just the single flick, the rough touch uncoils the tightness inside your abdomen. Mouth open, back arched, a silent scream pushes itself out your throat.
But Leon doesn’t stop. The way your walls flutter, squeeze his cock only add to the primarity of it all. Securing his hand behind your neck, he lifts your body up, lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss as his thrusts increase.
A pathetic whine leaves your lips when he pulls back completely. Hands gripping your sides, you gasp when he single-handedly turns you around. Pain shoots through your body as he slams back inside you in one single thrust.
The table creaks and groans beneath the weight of your bodies as Leon relentlessly pounds into you.
His hips meet the flesh of your ass every time his cock kisses your womb – at least that’s how deep he feels. The air thick with the scent of sex, you groan when Leon’s hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his snapping hips to meet his thrust.
Slick with sweat, you can feel his body heat radiating against your own.
You reach one hand behind you in a feeble attempt to feel him underneath your palms. Nails digging into the wood, your fingers manage to sneak into his hair; grabbing a fistful, you force his face towards yours.
The muscles in your neck strain painfully as you tilt your head to the side to connect your lips in a teeth-clashing kiss – all while Leon’s hand sneak to tease your oversensitive clit while the other covers your hand on the table.
Meeting his thrusts, you stay in rhythm as you feel your high approaching again. Spreading your legs more apart, arching your back, the new angle allows Leon to hit deeper. To split you apart.
"Fuck!"
The pain mixes with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy.
"Oh my god–"
His teeth sink into your flesh, the stinging ache sends you over the edge. It feels almost as if he managed to break the skin atop. With each thrust, it felt like he was hammering against the tight seal of her womb, trying to break through it with sheer force.
The room echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he relentlessly pounds into you. His cock feels like a battering ram, delivering a punishing blow with every thrust. You can feel the impact reverberate through your body, causing you to shudder and gasp for air. It's as if he's trying to breach the walls of your very being, to leave his mark on you in the most primal and intimate way possible.
"Fuck; Leon–’m gonna cum–gonna–"
You feel your cunt pulce around him, like a drumbeat racing against his teeth sinking into your delicate skin. A surge of ecstasy floods your veins, a heady cocktail of pleasure and victory that weighs heavily on your mind like an anchor.
You arch your back, pushing against his chest and whispering his name into the frosty night air as his thrusts become unsteady.
Leon's tongue traces the bite mark he left on you, hands gripping you tightly as he drives himself deeper into your slick heat. His groans mix with the sound of flesh smacking together, his balls slapping against your wetness with each thrust. You cry out as he sends you spiraling into another wave of pleasure.
As he moves inside you, you can feel every inch of him. His muscles ripple against your skin and his breath is hot on your neck. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you closer and deeper onto him.
You convulse around him, your body responding to his every touch. His groans intensify, as he thrusts even harder into you, giving into the raw passion between you. He pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his warmth.
"Fuck!"
As he moans out your name, his lips trace a path across your skin leaving a trail of wetness. You can feel the heat emanating from his hands as he grips you tightly, branding you with his touch. His body trembles as he savors the last remnants of pleasure, and the evidence of his desire stains your insides like a lustrous sheen of polished marble.
He’s branded you inside and out.
Infected you with his venom.
Your skin is hypersensitive to his touch, as if each nerve is its own entity, firing off signals that jolt through your entire body. The dull ache of pleasure and pain radiates from the points where he grips you, leaving you feeling like a canvas painted in shades of blue and purple–
–and black.
As his weight presses down on you, you feel a dull ache spread through your body, every nerve ending alive and sensitized from his touch. You can still feel the ghostly imprint of his fingers on your skin, branding you with his touch.
His forehead is hot against your shoulder, the dampness of his breath tickling your skin as he rides out the last waves of his release. Each thrust feels like a punch to your gut, leaving you reeling and gasping for air.
The sticky wetness between your thighs is a testament to his desire, a reminder of how deeply he claimed you as his own. You feel the pulse of his spent cock still buried inside you.
Your gaze follows the lines of black veins snaking up his forearm, a stark contrast to his now pinkish skin. You watch as they slowly fade from sight, disappearing like a memory slipping away. Each movement feels heavy, weighted down by the aftermath of his passion.
After a while, Leon finally withdraws from you, a pang of loss echoes through your body, leaving you empty and longing for more of his touch. The heat of his body lingers on yours, branding you with his mark and making it hard to differentiate where his skin ends and yours begins.
You close your eyes, still feeling the ghostly touch of his lips and fingers on your skin, as if he's imprinted himself upon you forever. The room is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a reminder of the raw passion that just transpired.
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy x y/n#moni writes#resident evil imagine#leon kennedy imagine#leon s kennedy imagine#leon s kennedy fanfiction#leon kennedy fanfic#resident evil fanfic#smut#leon kennedy smut#resident evil 4#residentevil4remake#resident evil 4 remake#plaga leon kennedy#las plagas leon kennedy
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HELLO!!!!!! i was wondering if u could do maybe a little somethin about dumbification with michael afton.... like i feel like he would make u feel so tiny and dumb HEHEHEHWHJW
Hiya, my second ever Michael thing, I hope it's okay.
Thank you for the req!
Smut, dumbification, size kink below the cut.
Michael was really too modest. Either that or he simply had no idea what he did to you, the sight of him and his cock between your legs made you dumb. Simple. Wordless. The vocabulary to tell him how much you wanted that thick dick buried inside you was severely lacking, leaving you to only gesture, lifting your hips up to show him how your pretty little hole was ready for him.
"God... fuck. You look so good like that." He mumbled, pumping his cock in his hand, unable to resist the sight before him. Placing a large hand at the top of your thigh, keeping you spread as he neared your entrance. The size of him made you want to whimper, not fearful that he would be rough, but rather ignorant. He just had no idea of the size of him and how he stretched you wide to accommodate him. No idea that it filled you up so well and that you felt empty without him.
He guided his tip to your hole, teasing you without really realising it. He was just mesmerised at how your hips rose against him. Desperate to feel him against you.
"Mikey... please." You can hardly whisper, your voice fluttering, already so eager to see the bulge that his length would create in your stomach. You reach forward to grab at him, pulling his arms whilst he pressed inside you. A moan escaping your lips at the delicious stretch. Almost as soon as he fully sheathed himself, he pulled back, quick to set a fast pace that had you practically drooling. It was insane, the shape of him rising in your belly, and you could only look down at it, then back up to his face, twisted from how tight your walls felt around him.
#fnaf#michael afton#michael afton x reader#michael afton x you#gn reader#michael afton smut#fnaf smut
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she will destroy you.
pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader
music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski
word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)
summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.
warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish
an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
“Shit.”
A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.
we’ll talk abt this when u get home
see u after ur party i guess
A shit fucking day.
You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.
You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.
You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.
A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.
The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor.
Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body.
You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.
She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,
“Workplace injury?”
Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.
“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.
“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”
Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.
“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”
Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.
You need to do something, something to get things back under control.
“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.
She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.
“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”
You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.
The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.
Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.
You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.
The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.
Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..
Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.
Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.
Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable.
The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.
You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.
She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration.
Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.
“I expected you here before me.”
She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”
Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.
“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”
She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”
It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.
Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.
A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.
i told u to leave me alone
jesus christ
A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.
Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.
The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.
Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.
You hesitate.
What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.
You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.
Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.
She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.
“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“
“Are you coming? Or not?”
Your palms itch, you swallow.
What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.
Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.
She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance.
A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.
She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.
Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.
Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Get rid of them.”
You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall.
Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.
Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.
Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.
You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.
Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.
You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.
The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.
Damn it all.
“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”
You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.
“Fuck it.”
Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating.
She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.
She usually didn’t like it when you begged.
Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.
Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”
A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.
Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.
Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her.
“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”
It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.
Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun.
You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.
You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.
The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.
She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.
“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”
#i'm gonna get back to cowboy!ellie i swear#i have so many people in my inbox begging for her I HEAR U!!#i just needed a change of pace bc writers block yk#idk what it is w me and mean women but cowboy!ellie is also going to be a bit mean i fear#also i was going to write this w ellie as the gf but i couldn't fit it in#but it is implied!!#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#abby tlou#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson#abby anderson x y/n#abby anderson x you#tlou abby#abby x reader#abby the last of us
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⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + cum
character: vox
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, snowballing (cum eating), cum play, a hint of implied blood, fem!reader
words: 735
when vox cums, he cums in thick dollops of teal cream.
when vox cums, he cums so much that it oozes out of your hole—past the tight seal of his shaft, cock still buried deep inside of you, to trickle down your thighs and ass in the prettiest streaks of shimmering streams, staining your skin in strokes of him.
when vox cums, he forces you to stay fucking put while he watches, eyes glowing with a bright voracity, as it dries to a hard glaze, large hands wrapped around your thighs so tightly his claws pierce your flesh—cute little pricks that weep thin ribbons of scarlet—legs folded to your chest and knees nudging your chin, muscles gone stiff and achy from being held in one position for so long.
when vox cums, you beg him to feed it to you; sweet stringy whines that drip in a steady stream of drool from your raw lips, precious pleads that have him wedging his large head between your thighs and impelling them to spread wider, your muscles trembling beneath the strain. his long tongue unfurls from his mouth, slow and steady, drizzling buzzing webs of glimmering saliva across the intimate flesh at the apex of your legs.
he appreciates the calculated mess for a breath before he finally shoves his tongue inside your cunt, massive muscle extending to brush against your cervix with a sweet kitten lick, eliciting a squeal mangled by a giggle, hips squirming beneath his grasp. a growl vibrates against your hole—a wordless warning to hold still, to be good—tongue held motionless for a moment, tip pressed snugly to the sensitive mound of tissue as he waits for you to obey (which, you do, instantly, because of course you do).
he takes his time with it, meticulous as he is with all things in his life, his tongue diligent and careful as it delves into your cunt, hooked and hungry. it wiggles, rubs, scours and then curls, skillfully scooping the substance from your body, cum cupped in his tongue like it’s fucking precious.
then he’s giving you what you want, tongue busting past your lips and into your mouth, dragging along your own and depositing his cum in thick strokes. he takes a moment to admire it on your tongue—vibrant cyan, glowing gently against slick pink—before he allows you to swallow it, gaze heavy as your throat bobs with the dense gulp.
when vox cums, he kisses you with such ferocious vigour that his screen bruises your nose, glass pressed hard against your face, fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw keeping you still, keeping you trapped, his tongue popping with tiny glints of electricity as it stuffs your throat full, spilling growls and grunts and airy little moans into your mouth.
when vox cums, his spit cracks and fizzles with sparks of energy, little jolts that seep into those tangles of thin vessels beneath your tongue and zip through your veins, leaving your blood frothing and humming for more, your eager mouth siphoning more of the viscous saliva onto your tongue as it twines around his own and sucks it clean. a responding chuckle flows into your mouth, vox mumbling out an affectionate so greedy against your lips, his tongue still tied up in your own.
when vox cums, he cums fucking hard, bolts juddering through his body as his hips slow to an uneven stutter and then finally still. electric aftershocks ripple his skin as his moans hitch viciously in his chest, stammering in time with the blocky distortions glitching on his face, fragment pixels clashing against one another, splintering into different colours.
when vox cums, it looks so fucking pretty splattered across his navy skin—art created by your conjoined pleasure, crystal aquamarine smattering smooth planes of sleek muscle gliding gently beneath his skin with each of his ragged breaths, with every tense of his stomach as another silky rope stains his flesh, a perfect contrast. and he can’t help but laugh when you ask, oh-so-obediently, if you can lick it up, gazing at him with twinkling eyes, the melody soft and tender on his tongue as his thumb skims across your cheek—along the curve then tracing the edge of your jaw, glowing eyes dimmed and leaden with love as they follow the trajectory of his touch, murmuring out a syrupy of course you can, sweetheart.
#vox x reader#vox smut#vox x you#vox x y/n#vox headcanons#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x reader#inky.vox#inky.hazbin
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All to You
ೀ Older!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader
Summary: A soft morning with Leon (or not).
Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is in their 20s), oral (m&f receiving), pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel), accidentally made him c(h)orny here.
A/N: I was imagining id!Leon here but any older version of him works too! And also watch me disappear from the face of the earth after posting this. Feedbacks are appreciated!
Sabrina Claudio- All to you
The room was bathed in a gentle, pleasant glow as the dawn's first rays slowly peaked through the drapes. Lying there, nestled in a sea of cotton sheets, you slowly became aware of a presence next to you: your lover, Leon. As your eyes landed on his serene face, which was illuminated by the soft morning light, a happy smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. It was rare to see him in this state, as usually his face would always be in a scowl.
His chest moved up and down in a rhythm that seemed to harmonize with the very essence of the room. You reached out and lightly touched his cheeks, caressing them with care as his eyelashes created delicate shadows on them.
The small elements in your shared bedroom made it come to life: a vase of flowers on your bedside table that Leon brought home to you last night, whose fragrance blended with the aroma of your freshly washed bed sheets. A quiet sigh escaped from your lips as you shifted slightly and snuggled deeper under the covers.
You were awestruck by the openness and closeness of it all as you quietly observed him. The time seemed to stand still, and the world outside the window ceased to exist as both of you were trapped in a cocoon of shared dreams and early morning tranquility. Your heart was overflowing with affection and appreciation for the moment, and you pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead, his skin warm against your lips.
Your simple gesture made him rouse from his dreams; the feeling of grogginess disappeared in a fleeting moment as he felt the sensation of your feather-like kisses gracing his forehead. His eyelashes fluttered open, and his eyes were met with your warm gaze. From his forehead to his cheeks—and you didn’t forget his stubble jaw—your soft kisses followed a line of murmured promises, leaving a lingering warmth in his wake.
As Leon recognized what was happening—a lovely, dreamy awakening planned by the one who held his heart (you)—a gentle, dawning smile curved his lips. "Morning," he mumbled in a drowsy tone, having just stirred from slumber.
“Good morning, my love.”
You continued to press kisses on him; each gentle lip press conveyed stories of love and devotion that words could never express. The gentleness of your lips held a symphony of feelings—love, adoration, and a quiet vow to treasure every second both of you spent together.
As your lips continued their gentle exploration, his heart swelled with softness and gratitude for this stolen moment of intimacy. His whole life, he experienced pain and agony, but in this moment, he felt loved and cherished by you. By the sheer force of the affection that came from your lips, the lazy fog that had lingered in his mind was lifted.
"Someone is feeling affectionate today." Leon chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm and loving embrace. "I can’t help it; you looked adorable in the morning." It was Leon’s turn to launch a gentle assault of kisses on your face as he cradled it with his free hand. Fingers, warm and tender, traced the contours of your cheek. His touch was a silent reassurance, a wordless declaration of his presence and devotion to you too. "Only you would think I’m adorable, sweetheart." He hummed as the corner of his lips lifted into a smirk.
You let out a soft chuckle. "I’m glad I’m the only one who thinks that; I don’t want anyone else to steal you away from me." There was a hint of possessiveness and playfulness in your tone. "Don’t worry, sweetheart," His gaze locked with yours with a magnetic pull. "I am all yours, like you are mine." With a breathless pause, both of your lips met in a dance of longing and desire.
His rough hand trailed down underneath your shirt, which made you mumble into the kiss. This gave him the opportunity to intertwine his tongue with yours in a language only both of you understood. One of your hands found solace in running through his dirty blonde locks, the silky strands—thanks to your shampoo—gliding between your fingers.
Leon’s body responds eagerly to your touch, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his own hands exploring the curves of your body. The loose fabric of your shirt provided little resistance as his fingertips brushed against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine.
You broke away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your lips. “So, breakfast?” Your words hung in the air, a mix of desire and playfulness dancing in your voice. “Oh, I have a better idea than breakfast.” He replied with a smirk on his face, his voice low and husky. “Let me taste you, angel.”
Your thighs squeezed in anticipation and excitement as his words filled the air. Biting your bottom lip, you nodded and tried to remove the cover before Leon interrupted you. “No, no baby. I want you to sit on my face.” A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked into your eyes.
His hands found their way to your hips, tugging the waistband of your underwear down. His touch sent another shiver down your spine. He lay on his back as he helped you straddle yourself above his eager face, your underwear long gone near the bedside. You lowered yourself onto his waiting mouth, feeling the warmth and wetness of his tongue as he began to explore you. The stubble on his jaw pricked your thighs, but you did not care as it added to the sensation.
His lips and tongue worked in sync, expertly pleasuring you, with each flick and swirl of his tongue driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. He let out a groan underneath you as you gripped his hair and brought his face closer to your core. You were a moaning mess as you rode his face, his hands gripping your hips firmly, which will surely leave a mark or two.
You surrendered yourself fully to the pleasure he provided, unable to contain your moans as they filled the room with the sound of his lips smacking and sucking against your slick folds, lapping up the essence like a dog. It was as if he had tapped into his most primal instincts, with his desire to taste and consume you evident in every motion.
As your orgasm finally washed over you, your body trembled with release. However, that did not stop Leon from continuing with his ministrations, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible—he puts your pleasure above his anytime of the day because he gets himself off by that. Only when your body was sated and trembling did he finally stop with his assault, a satisfied smile playing on his face. "Thanks for the breakfast, baby," he murmured against your thighs as he gave them a soft peck, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire.
His lips glistened with your own arousal, a visual reminder of the pleasure he had just bestowed upon you. Seeing him in that state made your desire still burn within you. With a coy smile, you leaned down closer, your breath hot against his ear. "My turn to taste you."
Suddenly, a tinge of dominance took hold of you. With a sensual yet comforting touch, you trailed your fingers along his bare chest, relishing the warmth of his skin. You could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your touch.
With a mixture of hunger and reverence, you gently tugged on the waistband of his boxers, freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. It stood proudly before you. You took a moment to appreciate the sight—him as a whole, the way his face is flushed, and his hair cascading on the pillow.
Seeing him in that state fueled your arousal, matching the rhythm of your intimate connection. Eyes hazy with desire, you finally took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. Pleasure surged through his veins, and his body responded eagerly to your skilled mouth. His hands found their way into your hair, gently guiding your movement.
Your mouth moved with a rhythm that drove him to the edge, exploring every inch of his length. The intense pleasure from your mouth and the way your touch grazed his inner thighs, his need to release growing with each passing moment.
"That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so good." He let out a loud groan as his body became tensed.
The way he praised you made your actions intensify, each movement becoming fervent to please him and make him feel good. It didn’t take long for him to spill himself into your mouth; the sensation was overwhelming and electrifying.
As he caught his breath, he leaned toward you, capturing your lips with his. His hands roamed your body, his touch possessive yet gentle as he explored every inch of your trembling form. Breaking away from the kiss with a low moan, he stared into your eyes, full of love and admiration. "Waffles or pancakes?" A soft chuckle escaped your lips in response to his question, "Waffles.”
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Y/N talking to their audience: “*Sigh* Nothings happened yet we’ve been here for hours!! …..Pfft- Hey you guys, how about we try a challenge to pass the time? If you guys give me 50 subs in an hour I’ll decide to give your favourite camera person Tobi a kiss on the cheek!”
Tobi overhearing Y/N: :) !!!!
Y/N: “Hehe it’d be funny if that actually happened right? I’ve never gotten that many subs during a stream ever- WOAH!!” Suddenly Y/N receives 500 subs all at once
Y/N: “Oh- Oh my god!! Tobi look at what just happened this is insane!!!”
Tobi patiently waiting for their kiss: :) :) :)
"Seven...eight... nine... Hey Tobi - How many did you see upstairs again?"
The camera man holds three fingers up.
"That makes twelve.... Dang it." Nudging a rotting rocking chair with your foot, you join Tobi's side on the floor as they fiddles with their camera seemingly unordered by the predicament you were now in.
Tonight was supposed to be your big break. According to leads, if you counted the number of doors in this house aloud a thirteen door would appear as a gate to the word beyond your own and its inhabitants would snatch mortals foolish enough to seek its knowledge. With your trust cameraman at your side - you weren't worried about a thing, but to your disappointment no ghost or demons had come to drag you kicking and screaming beyond the veil.
Truth be told, Tobi had found this doorway hours before the scheduled stream. They'd torn it to chips and now used it to light the fireplace keeping you warm they also had the time to clean out before you arrived. In their eyes, things were better this way. The natural moonlight created the perfect scene to film you in as did most lights. They had already filled the remaining storage on one memory card and well into the next. To them - this had been one of the best hunts you had by fair.
Sighing, you sit up face the live camera. "Sorry, guys. Really thought we had something tonight. If you're disappointed by the lack of quality content - I can always give Tobi a kiss on the cheek....if they'd be comfortable with it.
And it was about to get even better.
The comments flood in like the racing waters of a broken dam.
"I'm sure they would."
"Who couldn't want a kiss from you?"
"Kiss. Kiss. Kiss."
"That's just the excitement they we need."
"Look at how excited they are. Don't play with their heartstrings like that, Y/n?"
You glance over at Tobi who was sitting with their hands folded in their lap and freshly groomed. They wave, fixing their coat sleeve as it falls, and adjusts their camera to capture you both in frame as you turn back.
"Alright, then... Hm, let's make a challenge of it - if we reach fifty subs in...."
" :) had donated 100 subs."
"Palemoonlight :) has gifted 250 subs."
"Three hundred already!? G-guys, I haven't even -"
"Trustycameraperson :) has donated 500 subs."
"Pleasekissmealready :) :) has donated a 1,000 subs."
"Okay, okay I get it!" You scoot over to Tobi and take both of their hands, wordless asking for the go ahead. They nod furiously, almost flinging their baseball cap off their head. They adjust it as you lean in and press a soft kiss to their cheek, reaching an arm around their neck to stable yourself. Their cool skin ignites beneath the touch of your warm skin. The light on their camera blocks rapidly before fizzing out as the fire within the furnace lick its brick walls and bellow from its grates. You pull away as embers jump at the blanket you sat on, stopping them out before the flames spread.
"Whoa! Something must've fell in there. You alright, Tobi?"
The moonlight reveals the goofy grin Tobi wears. They shouldn't be greedy, but the night is so beautiful and young - just like you.
"Foreverurs :) donated 1 sub - how many more for a kiss on the lips? :)"
#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere insert#yandere blurb#yandere oc#yandere headcanons#yandere drabble#soft yandere#Tobi my oc#yandere teratophilia#yandere fluff
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Some pre-relationship steddie cuddle time
There were a lot of nights when Steve had trouble sleeping, and this one was no exception. But the steady rhythm of Eddie’s breathing right beside him had a calming effect on him nonetheless. It still amazed Steve sometimes, that they were both here alive and well, that they had all made it out of that lion’s den more or less in one piece. They had the wounds to prove it - both physical and mental ones - but they were here.
Eddie turned around to his side, shuffling closer to Steve, and Steve simply couldn’t help himself: he reached out a hand, gently resting it on the exposed skin of Eddie’s upper arm above the blanket, to feel the warmth his body was emitting and to remind himself that Eddie was indeed still alive, even though his eyes were closed.
Eddie stirred at the touch and murmured something unintelligible; for a moment, Steve worried he woke him, but Eddie didn’t open his eyes while he repositioned himself, his limbs heavy with sleep. Steve’s breath caught when Eddie rolled even closer towards him and nuzzled his head against Steve’s chest, lifting an arm to drape it over Steve’s stomach like Steve’s whole upper body was his own personal pillow.
He couldn’t help but smile at the sight: Eddie’s face was still relaxed, clearly somewhere far away in a peaceful dream, and he was drooling a little bit from the corner of his mouth. There was an almost childlike vulnerability to it, a softness that tugged at Steve’s heartstrings and made him feel strangely soothed. It was comforting to see Eddie like this, with his guard down in this peaceful cocoon they had somehow created together.
Steve let his own hand, that was still resting on Eddie’s upper arm, slide further down Eddie’s back until he was properly holding him. In response to his touch, Eddie shuffled just the tiniest bit closer, until his curls were brushing against Steve’s cheek and nose. It tickled, but Steve didn’t mind: the scent of cigarettes that never completely washed away from Eddie’s hair managed to wrap him even further into this sleepy sense of connection between them. Almost unconsciously, a contented sigh escaped his lips, which caused Eddie to produce another incomprehensible little sound, as if the two of them were sharing an only half-awake wordless conversation that no one but them would understand.
Steve didn’t avert his gaze from Eddie’s face, his eyes completely adjusted to the near-darkness of the room after the hours he had spent staring at the ceiling. He watched Eddie’s mouth fall open a little bit further, all the muscles in his face completely relaxed, until a stray curl fell over his face and against his lips, causing him to huff and shake his head in a quick, agitated motion.
Careful not to startle Eddie awake, Steve moved to catch the unruly curl between his fingers and cautiously brushed it aside, making Eddie smile in his sleep and bury his face further into Steve’s chest.
Prompted by the calmness emitted by Eddie, Steve finally let his tired eyes fall shut. He started to align his breathing with Eddie’s, letting his stomach rise and fall in the same deep, steady rhythm. Eventually, it helped him to drift off, cradled in the reassuring warmth of Eddie’s body pressed against his own.
XXX
He woke up when the grounding weight of Eddie’s head got lifted off his chest. His eyes fluttered open to be met with the image of a smiling Eddie looking at him. It was a different smile than his usual bold, challenging grin - there was almost something sheepish about it.
‘How did this happen?’ Eddie asked while rubbing a finger over his eyelid, clearly meaning the way the two of them were still all tangled up in each other. He wasn’t making any effort to move himself away from Steve just yet, however. His voice sounded husky and the look in his eyes was still drowsy.
‘No idea,’ Steve lied smoothly, trying to blink the sleep away from his own eyes. He could barely believe that it was already light outside, that he had apparently slept for hours on end for a change.
‘Sorry, man,’ Eddie murmured. He finally looked fully awake, causing him to start disentangling his warm body from Steve’s - but Steve still hadn’t yet shaken the sleep off of himself enough to feel self-conscious about wanting Eddie close to him, so he tightened the arm that was still wrapped around Eddie’s torso.
‘Stay,’ he mumbled. ‘’S cozy.’
Eddie uttered a soft chuckle, relaxed his muscles again, and dropped his head back on Steve’s chest. ‘Yeah, it is cozy,’ he agreed in a quiet voice. ‘I like the sound of your heartbeat.’
And while Eddie kept absentmindedly tracing abstract patterns over the hem of Steve’s shirt and across the fading scar around his neck with his index finger, it was surprisingly easy for Steve to let himself doze off again, clinging to that blissful space between sleeping and waking, until the sun had been up for hours.
#have some cwp (cuddles without plot)#this is very different from what i usually write so i hope it turned out okay#just needed my boys to be soft#don't mind me rambling about stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#fruity ficlet
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[SUGGESTIVE POST]
So I just wanna talk about one of my fun little nsfw experiments I've now done a few times with my subjects.
Turns out that a lot of them seem to enjoy edging, so during one session, on the spot, I decided to create a little game.
The first thing I did was to establish a "Barking Loop". It went:
1. Bark
2. When you Bark, you feel reminded of who you're Barking for.
3. When you think of Master, you feel so grateful and subservient to me.
4. When you think of Master, you hear me command you to Bark again.
This makes every Bark powerful and lead to an endless loop of Barking in their mind (or texting to me). I reinforce the loop over and over and over again until they're a wordless, barking mess. I assign this loop the trigger "Bark Loop", then bring them back up.
Next, once up, I use the trigger once for them to feel how powerful it is, and reinforce the idea that it eats up all of their thoughts even when fighting against it, then I bring them back up again.
Once more, I use the Bark Loop, but specifically calling it a "Weak Bark Loop", and telling them they can fight against it if they stay focused on it as much as they can. Any time their focus wavers, the loops eats that focus up and gets stronger and harder to resist.
I keep talking to them in order to distract them, having fun seeing their words eventually devolve into a mess of barking, before letting them know that there is actually a way to fight against it: whenever they edge, they very very slowly start to get their focus back.
Any time they edge, they think of me, dedicating all of their pleasure to my sake. It makes them all horny and stupid, but it takes control away from the barking, allowing them to speak to me.
Then, I force them to reply to me with, "Yes, Master." to some question with perfect grammar, forcing them to edge to get back to that point. They always mess it up a few times, it's adorable, and every time they do I make the loop stronger.
And then, finally, I give one more suggestion: if they cum, they get too exhausted to resist the loop, and their mind is trapped in Puppy Space for the next hour, feeling desperately horny and needing to edge, all while thinking of me.
If they do edge enough, they can escape having won, but they're so constantly surrounded by temptation that only one subject has ever won, and that was after cumming once and me bringing them back up for fun to try again.
By the end of just one of these sessions, the subject ends up ridiculously suggestible to me. I need to be careful because just one Bark Loop trigger can make them turn into a mess. Even with strong safeties installed, they seem unable to fight against it on their own.
Or, maybe they just don't want to.
Oh, and for any of my subjects reading this that have the Bark Loop command installed,
Wake Up.
Don't want any pups getting lost without my permission.
Anyways, I hope this post inspires you, pups and hypnotists alike.
#owlette#hypnosis#puppy space#puppy sub#puppyposting#dogposting#puppy brain#dog brain#dumb puppy#text hypnosis#edge kink
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Ocean Eyes: Chapter 3 (Orm Marius x Reader)
Masterlist Ao3
Ocean Eyes Masterlink
Summary:
[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]
The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short.
But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands. You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour.
After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue.
OR:
You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock
Wordcount: 4422
A/N: I think this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written - enjoy :D
We stan soft Orm in this house
The gentle warmth of the morning sun seeps through your bedroom, coaxing you from the depths of sleep. As you slowly open your eyes, the soft hues of sunlight bathe the room in a warm glow. A sense of tranquillity washes over you, lingering from the peaceful slumber.
Your awareness gradually returns, and you become conscious of Orm lying beside you. He rests on his stomach, his strong arm draped protectively over your torso. His rhythmic, soothing breaths harmonise with the quiet ambience.
The weight of Orm’s arm is a comforting presence, a reassuring anchor that grounds you in the moment. The warmth emanating from him makes you want to bury yourself in his embrace and never get up again.
In the soft morning light, Orm’s features are bathed in a warm, golden hue. His messy hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo of glowing strands. The shadows play delicately on his sculpted face, accentuating his contours.
The serene expression on his slumbering face adds a touch of vulnerability, softening the regal demeanour you’ve come to associate with him. A tranquil beauty transcends the ordinary as he rests, entirely at ease in the quiet dawn, making the moment feel almost ethereal.
You cast a lingering gaze over Orm’s broad back, your eyes delicately tracing the silhouette of his muscular frame. The morning light plays upon the defined lines and curves, accentuating the strength and grace interwoven beneath his skin.
As you follow his back’s subtle rise and fall, your eyes linger on the ripple of muscles. The play of shadows and highlights emphasises the sculpted form, creating an almost artistic display.
In the soft glow, faint scars on Orm’s back catch your attention for the first time. Their gleam suggests age, like echoes from a past that he’s carried for decades - etched into his skin.
You contemplate the origin of those scars. They don’t appear to be mere remnants of accidental falls; instead, they carry the subtle suggestion of intentional harm inflicted by someone or something. Your heart breaks a bit as you imagine someone beating him - repeatedly.
Your finger hovers over one of the scars, a silent acknowledgement of the untold stories. Even in his sleep, you want to convey that you’re here for him, a wordless reassurance that whatever the past holds, you’re here in his present.
The thought stays in your mind as you quietly continue to observe him. The peaceful sight of him, the warmth he brings, makes you realise that this is a scene you could happily wake up to every day.
You’re caught in a quiet reverie, and as your eyes linger, you notice a subtle shift and one of Orm’s eyes opens. His gaze meets yours, and a sleepy smile plays on his lips.
Now softened by the dawn’s glow, the vibrant hue of his eyes shines almost like a teal colour and seems to hold traces of warmth and depth. The sunlight weaves a subtle dance in his gaze, creating an ethereal play of colours that adds to the quiet beauty of the moment.
It’s as if the first light of day has infused a silent radiance into the intensity of his eyes, making them a captivating sight to behold.
In the peaceful tranquillity of the morning, Orm leans over with practised grace, his bare torso exposed, to brush his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
As he pulls back, a raspy whisper escapes his lips, carrying the weight of the night’s shared moments.
“Good morning,” his voice, textured and rough, resonates through the quiet space.
A warm smile graces your lips as you reciprocate, whispering a soft “Good morning“ in response to Orm’s greeting.
You snuggle into his comforting embrace, and he responds by tightening his hold around you. The warmth of his body against yours creates a cocoon of security, a haven where time seems to stand still.
You can feel his chest’s rhythmic rise and fall as he breathes, the soft sounds of the morning filling the room. The quiet ambience is punctuated only by the distant sounds of waves and seagulls, reminding you of the ocean that brought you together.
In this moment, you appreciate the simple joy of sharing a morning with someone special. As you cuddle into Orm, you exchange a contented smile, savouring the quiet beauty of this situation.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he says, his eyes avoiding direct contact with yours.
You hush Orm’s apology with a gentle touch, reassuring him that everything is alright. “You don’t have to apologise,” you say softly, meeting his gaze with understanding. “We all have moments, and I’m here for you.”
Orm’s gratitude is palpable, reflected in the tenderness of his smile. His eyes hold a genuine appreciation, and you sense a silent acknowledgement of the support you’ve offered. Smiling back, you convey that you’re there for him, ready to accept whatever he’s comfortable sharing and respecting the boundaries he sets.
As your fingers gently trace patterns on Orm’s chest, his blue eyes remain fixed on you, following your every movement. The contours of his muscles unfold beneath your touch, the play of light accentuating the sculpted landscape of his warm skin.
Breaking the stillness, you inquire, “Do you have any plans for today?”
Your fingers cease their delicate dance, and instead, you rest your hand flat on Orm’s chest, feeling the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
Orm pauses for a moment, considering the question. His response is measured and open, “No specific plans. I’m here for whatever you’d like to do.”
A subtle smile plays on his lips as he continues to watch you as if your presence alone is enough to fill his day with purpose.
Your smile widens as you respond, “How about I show you around the surroundings? We could take a walk on the beach, and if you’re up for it, maybe we could even take the boat for a spin.”
Orm’s eyes light up with genuine interest, and he nods, “That sounds like a delightful plan.”
“Well then, sleepyhead,” you tease, placing a quick, playful kiss on Orm’s lips, “Time to rise and shine.”
With a grin, you make your way out of bed, if not somewhat disgruntled, to leave the warm embrace of his arms.
You realise your upper body is still bare, but you don’t feel the need to frantically cover up because he’s just normal about it and doesn’t make any weird comments.
Orm chuckles at your playful tone and the brief kiss, his eyes following you before standing up, too.
As he stretches, the sinewy contours of his muscles seem to dance beneath his skin, casting alluring shadows in the morning light, accentuating the definition of his chest.
The soft glow bathes him in a warm aura, enhancing the natural allure of his bare form.
Your eyes linger on the details - the subtle rise and fall of his chest with every breath, the way the light gently kisses his skin, and how his body moves. It’s a fleeting moment that etches itself into your memory.
You snap out of your trace to stop ogling Orm and grab some clothes.
“Alright, I’m going to hop in the shower. Be right back,” you say with a playful smile as you go to the bathroom.
You enter the small room. The walls are painted in calming shades of blue and adorned with various seashells and vibrant plants.
After placing the new clothes on the closed toilet lid, you undress and throw the worn stuff in the laundry basket.
Inside the shower, the warm water embraces you, its soothing touch complemented by the refreshing scent of your favourite shower gel and shampoo. The flowery and sweet fragrance wafts through the air.
You take a moment to breathe and think as you let the water wash away the remnants of sleep. Thoughts of the handsome man waiting for you cross your mind. You are looking forward to spending more time with him - he has something about him that feels just right. Like he just fits.
When you’re done, you turn off the water and step onto the plush bath mat, droplets of water glistening on your skin. You towel off, the soft fabric absorbing the moisture and dress in your new clothes.
You exit the bathroom and return to the bedroom, finding Orm standing by the window, his gaze fixed on the sea.
You notice that he hasn’t dressed yet; he remains in his shorts, and his hair carries the tousled charm of sleep. The soft light in the room casts a gentle glow on his bare torso, subtly illuminating the defined lines of his muscles.
You approach Orm with a gentle smile. His blue eyes, still fixed on the sea’s expanse, reflect the morning sky’s hues, capturing the soft glow of dawn.
When you reach him, you offer a gentle greeting. “Hey there, enjoying the view?“ you say, your voice a tender undertone in the quiet room. His gaze shifts from the sea to meet yours.
“You can use the shower now if you’d like,” you suggest, gesturing toward the bathroom and continuing with a grin, “Feel free to use my shower products if you don’t mind smelling like me all day.”
Orm chuckles at your remark, his gaze open and warm as he remains still. The intensity of his eyes makes your cheeks flush.
Feeling a bit shy under his scrutiny, you stammer again, “Um, shower?”
He nods slowly, the subtle curve of a smile playing on his lips - he enjoyed that he was able to fluster you.
Orm walks over to you and leans in, planting a quick, gentle peck on your lips. Breath catches in your throat at the unexpected gesture, and the touch of his lips leaves a lingering warmth as he gathers his clothes and strides purposefully towards the bathroom.
You watch as Orm enters the room, expecting him to close the door behind him. Surprisingly, the door remains ajar, and you can see him standing inside, looking a bit lost.
His eyes survey the bathroom, and you notice a hint of uncertainty in his expression as he furrows his brow, particularly when his gaze settles on the shower.
Shrugging off the momentary confusion, you shake your head and turn away, attributing his behaviour to being lost in thought - nothing more and nothing less. Maybe he has a different shower at home and was just caught off guard by yours?
The sound of running water from the shower soon reaches your ears, and you decide to leave Orm to his own devices while you make some breakfast for the both of you. You hope you have something he likes.
_____
The aroma of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen as you expertly crack eggs into a bowl. You decided to make some eggs and bacon - since he ate bacon yesterday and seemed to be okay with it.
As the bacon sizzles in the pan, you contemplate adding a touch of sweetness to the breakfast. Pancakes seem like the perfect addition, so you gather the necessary ingredients as the coffee machine’s low hum punctuates the air.
As you whisk the pancake batter, you find yourself wondering if Orm enjoys pancakes. You really hope he does - at this point, you just gamble.
You decide also to add some fruit to the table. You skillfully slice apples, bananas, and a few berries, arranging them in a colourful array on a plate.
The kitchen is now filled with a delightful medley of scents – the savoury aroma of bacon and eggs, the sweet fragrance of pancakes, and the refreshing notes of freshly cut fruit.
As you ponder over the selection on the table, thinking if anything is missing, Orm enters the kitchen.
His hair is wet and spikey, standing up in all directions. There are damp patches on his shirt and boxer shorts that catch your attention, leaving you to wonder if he took the time to dry himself properly.
A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you meet his gaze, a mix of amusement and something more tender in his eyes. You quickly divert your attention back to the spread on the table, hoping to hide your flustered state - he looks so domestic it’s adorable.
“Oh, what’s all that?” he asks, his eyes curiously wandering over the table.
“I..,” you blush and gesture towards the spread on the table, “made breakfast. I didn’t know what you like, so I just made... everything .”
Orm’s eyes scan the table with genuine curiosity, and then they return to you. You notice how they gleam, expressing happiness. His cheeks carry a slight flush - he blushed at your gesture.
Jesus Christ, almighty - he’s so sweet right now. It’s as if he can’t fathom that someone went through the trouble of preparing a breakfast just for him.
Orm’s smile widens, displaying a toothy grin. “Thank you.”
“Thank me later - you don’t even know if it tastes good yet,” you joke, “sit down.”
You both settle at the table, and you take a moment to point out the various dishes you’ve prepared, explaining each one with enthusiasm.
“Oh, do you want some coffee?” you inquire, reaching for the coffee pot.
“I … have never drunk coffee before,” Orm confesses.
You’re genuinely surprised by this revelation. It would be one thing if he doesn’t like coffee, but to have never even tried it? He probably just worded that wrong and tried it years ago and didn’t like it, you think,
“You want to try?” you suggest, “It’s a good roast.”
“Sure, why not,” he smiles at you.
You pour him a cup, and the rich aroma fills the air as you hand it to him, anticipating his reaction to his first sip of coffee.
As Orm takes a cautious sip, you watch him.
However, the initial reaction isn’t what you expected.
The first sip seems to catch him off guard, and his eyes widen, and he instinctively places a hand over his mouth, attempting to suppress the instinct to spit out the unexpected taste.
The lines on his forehead crease in mild discomfort, and you can almost feel the internal struggle. His eyebrows knit together as he attempts to discern the unfamiliar flavours assaulting his tongue. There’s a flicker of surprise, quickly followed by a trace of disgust that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
It’s evident that the flavour does not sit well with him.
In a quick and decisive motion, Orm gulps down the sip of coffee, shaking his head in mild disbelief. A faint cough escapes him, and you catch a glimpse of the almost involuntary shudder that courses through his frame.
You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “Not a fan of coffee, huh?”
Orm sheepishly shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Definitely not my preferred drink.”
You both share a laugh as he places the cup back on the table, opting for a different choice among the array of delicious breakfast items you’ve prepared.
As Orm starts to eat, his initial coffee misadventure is quickly forgotten.
His eyes close briefly, and a delighted smile spreads across his face. The morning light accentuates the play of emotions on his face, casting a warm glow that enhances the moment.
“Wow, this is amazing!” he exclaims, his genuine enthusiasm filling the room. Each bite seems to bring him newfound joy, and you can’t help but appreciate the way his blue eyes light up when he’s genuinely happy. The hues dance with the reflections of the soft light, creating a captivating and vivid display.
“I didn’t expect such a feast,” he continues, savouring the various dishes.
His expressions of delight make the effort you put into the breakfast all the more worthwhile.
You chuckle at his reaction, pleased that he enjoys it. “I’m glad you like it.”
Orm nods in agreement, continuing to savour each bite. “This is... beyond my expectations.”
It’s adorable, really. How much he is enjoying this and how happy he is - you guess that no one has ever cooked him breakfast. Or maybe even gone out of their way to do something like that for him. The realisation tugs at your heartstrings, making you appreciate these simple moments even more.
“I’ll happily do it again someday,” you say, a slight blush colouring your cheeks at the sincerity of your words.
Orm pauses, his gaze fixed on you, and he reaches over to gently take your hand. “Maybe I can help you next time?”
You can’t help but break into a wide grin, your eyes shining with excitement. “Absolutely!”
_____
“Are you ready to head out?” you ask Orm after finishing up breakfast and cleaning. He was great company, even insisting on helping with the dishes - adamant about not letting you tackle them alone.
He nods, a genuine smile lighting up his features and reaching his eyes.
You gesture for him to follow you, and together, you make your way out of the house through the terrace door.
As you step out, you’re greeted by the breathtaking sight of the morning sun having already risen, casting its warm glow across the sky and the vast expanse of the ocean below you.
The sky is painted in hues of pink, orange, and blue, creating a serene and picturesque canvas. The gentle waves of the ocean reflect the sunlight, creating a mesmerising dance of light on the water. The air is crisp and carries the scent of the sea.
You take a deep breath and look at Orm.
The gentle breeze tousles his hair, and there’s a sense of calm and contentment in his demeanour as he takes in the fresh sea air. You can’t help but admire the sight before you. Swallowing dryly, you find yourself captivated by the way he looks against the backdrop of the morning sun, a moment etched in your memory.
Orm blinks and turns to you, catching your gaze fixed on him. A playful glint lights up his eyes, and a subtle smile plays on his lips.
You clear your throat, “Well then, let’s go.”
As you make your way down the stairs to the beach, Orm follows closely behind, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a sense of wonder.
“This is why I bought the house, you know,” you tell him, “It’s so quiet here.”
Orm nods appreciatively, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. “It’s a beautiful place. I can see why you’d want to be here.”
You continue walking along the shoreline, the rhythmic sound of waves accompanying your conversation.
You notice a shimmer in the sand under the morning sun, and you instinctively bend down to investigate. As you sift through the grains, your fingers brush against something smooth and cool. Pulling it out, you find a small piece of sea glass, its surface catching the sunlight.
“Oh, wow,” you hold it up, showing it to Orm. “Look at this.”
Orm gives a disapproving scoff, his eyes narrowing at the piece of sea glass in your hand.
“That’s just trash,” he remarks with a touch of disdain in his voice, his gaze focused on the glinting object. “It’s pollution in the oceans, harming the natural beauty.” As he speaks, you notice a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, reflecting his concern for the environment.
He seems to view the sea glass not as a treasure but as a reminder of the impact humans have on the sea.
You hold the sea glass to the sunlight, letting it catch the morning rays.
“I know what you mean, and I share your commitment to preserving the oceans,” you begin, your voice calm and measured. “But sea glass is unique. It begins as discarded glass, broken and abandoned in the sea. The constant ebb and flow of the waves polish and shape it, turning it into something beautiful.”
As you speak, you notice a hint of curiosity in Orm’s eyes, prompting you to continue. “It’s a reminder of the resilience of nature, how it can take something thrown away and transform it into a treasure. People collect sea glass for its unique beauty, each piece telling a story of its own. Some see it as a symbol of hope and renewal.”
You meet Orm’s eyes and then shift your attention back to the sea glass. The radiant blue hue of the glass is strikingly similar to the colour of Orm’s eyes.
You lick your lips and smile, holding up the sea glass beside Orm’s head to compare the shades of blue between the glass and his eyes.
In the sunlight, his eyes possess a deep, intense azure with specs of cobalt dancing within, reminiscent of the vast ocean, while the sea glass reflects the brilliance of the sun in a gleaming, bright and vibrant cerulean.
The shades align so perfectly that for a moment, it seems as if the sea glass and Orm’s eyes share the exact same captivating colour.
A furrow forms on Orm’s brow, his gaze shifting between the sea glass and your actions, a hint of curiosity and perhaps amusement in his expression.
You lower your hand, gently cradling the sea glass in your palm.
“It looks just like his eyes,” you murmur to yourself in a quiet voice as if the realisation carries a more profound significance. The uncanny resemblance between the sea glass and Orm’s eyes strikes you, resonating as a symbolic link to his deep connection with the ocean.
You look at the glass and then back at Orm, a smile playing on your lips. “I think I’ll keep this. It reminds me so much of you,” you confess.
Orm arches an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Oh?”
You hold it up beside his face again as if to show him. “The colour. It’s the same shade as your eyes. That incredibly beautiful, deep blue.”
He chuckles, a warm, loving smile forming on his lips.
Mumbling more to yourself than to him as you tuck the sea glass into your pocket, you add, “Beautiful and unique.”
Orm blinks, a subtle blush colouring his neck and cheeks.
His movements are gentle and deliberate as he reaches out, his large hands cupping your face with a tender touch. His eyes, deep pools of blue, lock onto yours, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that goes beyond words.
Feeling the heat of Orm’s hands on your face, you reciprocate by placing your hands on his chest.
The warmth he radiates envelops you, and a subtle electric charge courses beneath your skin as he softly caresses your cheek while maintaining eye contact.
Lowering his head, Orm’s lips meet yours in a tender kiss.
The touch is soft and deliberate, and you respond with equal warmth. His lips are warm and soft against yours, and there’s a conscious, unhurried quality to the way he kisses you.
Every touch seems to send a jolt through your entire being. Each soft press of his lips makes your skin prickle with anticipation, creating a symphony of sensations that resonate deep within. The warmth of his touch ignites a subtle fire, and your heart responds with an accelerated beat.
Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers grazing over the defined muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of his touch and the subtle scent that surrounds him create an intimate atmosphere, cocooning you both in that moment.
Orm’s hands, initially cradling your face, move with a delicate purpose. One hand trails down to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, while the other rests on the small of your back, pulling you even closer to his thick frame. You melt into his touch, the strength of his embrace providing a sense of security and warmth.
There’s a softness in the way he kisses you, a tenderness that speaks volumes. The world outside seems to fade away as you get lost in the sensation, savouring each gentle press of his lips. The kiss is a careful exploration, a moment where time seems to slow down.
As the kiss gently concludes, you and Orm find yourselves still entwined in the embrace, the lingering warmth of the moment enveloping you.
You’re left with a sweet aftertaste, a lingering warmth that echoes in the space between you. Every fibre of your being is alive with the resonance of this connection.
You look into each other’s eyes, the intensity reflected in the depth of your gazes. The sun’s golden rays, now slightly lower in the sky, cast a warm, honeyed glow upon the water, transforming it into a canvas of liquid gold.
Orm’s hair frames his face in unruly waves, and his eyes, still vibrant with the earlier intensity, now carry a softened glow. The sunlight plays upon the azure hue, creating a captivating dance of light and shadow in the depths of his gaze. You notice the subtle variations of blue in his eyes, ranging from the lightest cerulean to the deepest navy, each shade telling a story of its own.
In the background, the gentle lapping of the waves provides a soothing soundtrack to the intimate moment.
As if attuned to an invisible current, Orm leans in, placing his forehead against yours.
With your eyes fluttering closed again, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, a comforting rhythm that matches the cadence of your own breath.
Orm’s arms, firm and secure, pull you even closer to his frame, and you feel yourself melting into his touch. His hands find a comfortable place at your waist.
The closeness intensifies the sensation of his presence, making every point of contact between your bodies an electric current that sends delightful shivers down your spine. His warmth is a comforting embrace, and the scent of saltwater and a hint of him linger in the air.
With your eyes still closed, you feel his breath, warm and steady, against your skin.
Each touch and caress makes your skin prickle with a delightful awareness. The world beyond the embrace seems distant, irrelevant, as if time itself has granted you this sacred interlude.
As you stand there, forehead to forehead, the ambient sounds of the sea surround you like a protective shield. The soft lull of the waves, the distant cries of seagulls, and the gentle rustle of the breeze through Orm’s hair weave together into a melodic tapestry that encapsulates the magic of the moment.
#patrick wilson#aquaman#fanfiction#orm marius#orm marius x reader#prince orm#aquaman 2#ocean master#patrick wilson x reader#patrick wilson smut#orm marius smut#aquaman smut#ocean master x reader#aquaman and the lost kingdom#arthur curry#aatlk#dceu#king orm#aquaman orm x reader#orm x you#orm x reader#aquaman orm#aquaman the lost kingdom
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