#dom/sub dynamics

[2neaky]

.⟡ ֺ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘔𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦? 𓂂 ˚.

Part 1

MDNI (seriously) -> dom/sub dynamics, m*sturbation (male), edg*ng, denied/controlled *rgasm(s), minor feet pl*y, p in v s*x, dubious consent, technically forced penetration, rough s*x, mindless f*cking, cr*ampie, talking through it, male sub, female softdom, unnamed female character, descriptive language, use of nicknames (baby, Mama, & Papa)

He’s trying to stay on the right path. Be good for her while she’s gone.

Just before she left, she squeezed a couple more drops out of him. Right in the middle of their kitchen, on her knees, before him.

At the time, only about thirty minutes separated then and the first time she used him, back in the bedroom. Between then, he was sure he could recover. But that last session, before her departure, knocked him off his game. 

It’s been almost forty minutes since she left. It still hasn’t gone down.

He’s tried distractions: making a snack, watching a show, checking his socials. No distraction was distracting enough.

Because no matter what he does, she’s at the back of his mind. She’s always at the back of his mind.

Sunken into the couch, he stares down at his phone, watching her Instagram story. 

She’s at one of those influencer events. It’s far from her first one, the life of a content creator and all.

Her hair pulled back shows off her beautiful face, and how amazing she did her makeup. She’s so good at doing it. It makes him proud that she’s able to get paid off of doing something she loves. 

God, he’s so proud of her.

She’s all dressed up, too. In his humble opinion, this is her best look. It tops every one she’s ever done (but, that’s what he says about every new outfit she puts together). 

A black, lace-y jumpsuit from Outcast is her choice of outfit. It shows off too much, and not enough at the same time.

The top squeezes her boobs together so nicely. She used her favorite body oil tonight—the scent wafts off of her when she’s near—causing the nearest light source to bounce off of her supple skin. 

And her ass—watching her leave was the best and worst thing to see. Her body had him by the throat with every step she took.

For a while, after she left, all he could think about was the last time they had sex; how she had him keep still while she fucked him, reverse cowgirl. Just making him take it.

He wasn’t mad about that at all.

He had perfect memory of the way her ass clapped over him while her pussy swallowed every inch. 

Sensation and sight alike made him feel like he was losing his grip on reality. And even then, he knew he couldn’t finish that way. He had to see her face.

That beautiful face that was just below him almost an hour ago, coaxing a few more drops out of him. All for her lips to shine. He could’ve finished right then and there—busted all over her face, ruin her perfect makeup. 

But he couldn’t do that to her. She wouldn’t allow it. That was the only thing stopping him.

Speaking of allowing … she’s not home. Who’s going to stop him now that she’s gone?

He stares at his phone, thumb holding down on the screen so as to not let the story post end. It’s only her in the Uber ride. The flash bounces off of her beat face, highlighting her lips.

Her glossy lips.

So pretty, he thinks to himself.

The gentle pass of his hand over his front makes his breath hitch. He starts the post over from the beginning.

As he watches, he wipes his hand down his front again, the heel of his palm pressing just a little bit harder.

His grasp on the phone grows shakier by the second. Gentle passes turn into more as he feels on his dick through the thin sweats.

The friction is just what he needed, and it’s making him dumb. His eyes threaten to roll back until the whites of them are all that show.

His lips part, mouth open wide enough for any sound to slip through. He swallows thickly, pushing himself up higher on the couch. 

When his hips stutter or his stomach dips inward out of sensitivity, he keeps going. His heart is beating so fast, he can hardly hear.

What if she comes home soon? What if she walks in on him getting off?

It wouldn’t be the first time. But, it’ll be different. She might get mad, think that he’s trying to finish in secret. Then she’ll give him a real punishment.

Probably deny him of a release for even longer. She might even make him wear the ring. Or … she’ll do what she’s been plotting to do for a while now: sounding—

He twitches in his pants, head falling back against the couch cushions. He squeezes himself harder.

“Mmh—”

Picking his head up, he sees the small wet spot in his sweats. 

“Shit—” He sits up straighter.

He didn’t finish … but he was close. Too close.

Weakly, he pulls himself together. Pocketing his phone and fixing his pants, he makes his way to their bedroom.

Their bed is where he takes his new spot. Without another thought, he tugs his pants down. A wave of relief crashes over him as he finally frees his dick.

The cool air kisses his skin, making him hiss softly. His lower lip is caught between his teeth and he looks down at his “problem” in contemplation.

He’s not even sure what to do. It’s not like he’s trying to actually finish. He just … wants a little bit of relief. He won’t let it get too far, of course not.

But, he’s already so sensitive. 

In the pocket of his sweats, his phone buzzes with a message, cutting his train of thought short. It makes him freeze. Blinking out of his daze, he rushes to pull it from his pocket.

❤️ — I miss you

It’s her, he knew it. 

The message almost makes him breathless. With a quick swallow, he collects himself before typing back.

However, before he can send a message, he receives one instead. It’s an image of her posing in the venue’s bathroom. She’s so fucking cute, so pretty. Her smile is big and joyful, like she’s truly having fun.

And he’s glad, really.

But … he hates that he has to ruin this innocent moment. Because, unfortunately, her joy only turns him on.

You — I miss you so much

You — You’re so pretty

❤️ — Ty Papa <33

There’s the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at her replies. While doing so, his other hand busies itself, rubbing up and down his thigh. 

A message bubble with bouncing ellipses appears on her side of their chat. It doesn’t for stay too long. 

You — I miss you so much

↳ ❤️ — How much do you miss me?

His chest fills with air as he prepares to make a deep sigh. God, why is she doing this to him?

❤️ — How much do you miss me?

↳ You — A lot

You — Thinking abt you since you left

He looks straight past his phone at his dick. It’s heavy against his thigh, pulsing against the warm skin. He wets his lips and looks back at the phone, just in time for another message to come through. 

You — A lot

↳ ❤️ — Show me

He could moan out. She knows him too well.

His hand slides around the underside of his dick. He tries not to squeeze too hard. 

Before getting with his girlfriend, he’s never been too eager to take nudes. Of course, he’s snapped a couple before, but those were an in-the-moment kind of thing. Not much thought was put into them.

However, since being with her, he’s taken more than enough pictures, videos, and audio messages to last a lifetime. 

It’s caused him to pay a bit more attention to the details of things. For instance, the angles he chooses and the lighting. It has to be perfect, damn near artistic—the way she likes it. 

So, when he snaps the photo and sends it, he expects nothing but praise from her. He awaits her response with bated breath. Three dots appear on his screen. 

You — [Attachment] 

↳❤️ — I should be the one calling you pretty

❤️ — Hope you’ve been following the rules

You — Yes

You — I always listen to you

He knows she’ll like that one. As much as she likes to believe that she can read him so well, that she can push his buttons so easily, he can do the same. They’ve been together for too long, now.

The dots disappear and reappear about twice. She’s thinking.

He tries to stifle a smile.

❤️ — So touch yourself

❤️ — I wanna hear it too

Does this woman know how much he loves her? 

He doesn’t think twice about opening his camera.

The soft, warm light of her vanity gives the video perfect lighting. Not too dark or too bright.

At first he only shows himself off, giving her a good view of his dick. After a couple of seconds, his hand slips away.

Without being held up, he’s hangs heavy, too hard to stand freely. Just a little, he makes it slowly bounce for the camera.

He wraps his hand back around it, pulls a shaky exchange from him. She’d have to have the volume all the way up to hear that. The slow pumps start as he drags a loose fist over himself.

“Mmh … Missed you, Mama,” he breathes out.

His eyes fall closed. That picture she sent is clear in his mind.

“You look so good tonight.” A soft groan was interlaced with his words.

His fist tightens as his strokes get harder.

“So pretty … Wish you stayed home with me—“

Thick droplets of precum dribble down his length. They don’t get to linger, as he rubs it into his skin. The creamy sound it makes is surely picked up by his phone’s mic. 

In the camera, his skin is shiny and smooth. The light sheen over it highlights every vein that lines his dick.

“F-fuck,” he whispers with a shiver, eyes barely rolling back. “Shit, I just …” He sniffs. “Just wanna … wanna f-finish in you—“

He stops abruptly to grip himself at the base. His balls jump and his dick twitches as he stops himself before a big orgasm.

“Fuck … augh—fuck,” he pants. Lazily, he slaps his dick, watching it bob stiffly. “Tell me … just tell me you want me to cum.”

He holds himself at the base again, feeling a strong pulse. He can barely keep his head up or his eyes open.

“Tell me … please, baby.”

He’s breathing heavy behind that camera. After he had practically begged for her, he cuts the video off and sends it without another thought.

As he waits for her response, he throws his phone down. He tosses an arm over his eyes, shutting out any light as he tries to calm his racing heart.

His phone buzzes only a minute after.

❤️ — My poor baby💔

❤️ — I think you need the ring 

❤️ — That was too close

He groans out, though he can’t pretend that the idea of it doesn’t make his dick twitch.

❤️ — I think you need the ring 

↳ You — I need you .

He stares at the screen for minutes. Her bubble doesn’t even appear in the chat. The longer he waits, the more disappointment creeps into his heart.

What’s taking her so long?

He wants to groan, whine—double text, even. As he picks up his phone to do so, it buzzes with one last message.

You — I need you . 

↳❤️ — I’ll be home soon

The sound of the door closing is what wakes him up. Lazily he pulls himself out of bed.

The soft clatter of movement in the kitchen teases his ears as he heads towards it. He rubs one of his eyes, shaking himself of sleep.

Pulling his hand away, he finally sees her—the light of his life—at the kitchen island. She must’ve just put down her bags on the counter. She’s half bent over, reaching down for something.

“Hey, baby.” Fatigue is laced with her smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

He hums, lids still heavy. “A lil’ bit, yeah. S’cool, though. I was waiting on you.”

“Awe,” she chuckles.

Though, her smile falls shortly after as she blows out a sigh, giving up to stand straight. Both her hands brace the countertop.

“Could you help me take these off?”

She kicks out a leg from behind the island so he can see her heel-clad foot.

He nods. Pushing forward, he moves to the island as she rounds it herself. Just when they meet each other halfway, she throws her arms around his shoulders and pushes up onto her tippy-toes.

He meets her halfway for three-quick smooches, both of them too tired to do anything more than that.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against her lips.

“Mmh, missed you, too,” she smiles.

Finally, she pulls away to sit at the first bar stool in the row. 

“How was the party?” He stands before her, picking up one of her legs.

“It was fun,” she says simply, watching as he holds her gently by the ankle to unbuckle the strap of her heel.

“Yeah?” He’s focused, his big hands unloosing the skinny, delicate material.

“Mhm … but, I wish you were there with me.”

He glances up just to see the playful pout on her lips. He does a half-hearted laugh. “You didn’t invite me.”

Not too long after does he get her shoe off.

“I know, it was no plus-ones allowed.”

He begins to massage the soft, reddened sole of her foot.

“Feels so good,” she groans as he presses his thumb right between the junction of her big toe and the others.

“They give you anything?”

“Yeah, um—“ she hisses, almost pulling her leg back after he had pushed his thumb too deep. It felt so good it almost caught her off guard.

“My bad,” he frowns, voice soft with regret.

But the sound she had made stirred something within him, even through his fatigue.

She gives him an understanding smile. “They gave me some perfume and … m-makeup.” 

The hitch in her breath and the way her face twitches gives him something to live for.

“Show it to me later?”

She nods as he carefully places her leg down to pick up the other foot.

This time when he takes off her shoe, he’s quieter. He pays the thud of her heel against the ground, no mind. He isn’t so quick to massage her foot, either.

Holding it, he takes the time to notice the fine details of it. Like the faint indents the straps made in her skin, and the square-shaped acrylic on her toes. 

The nails are decorated in gemmed French tips, rhinestones glistening underneath the kitchen light. They’re so pretty. He’s always loved how she keeps them done.

This time, when he massages her foot, he’s sure to take his time. He kneads the muscles with care, caressing the back of her foot as he does so.

All the while, she takes in his silence. It’s obvious that he’s focused on the task at hand, too focused. And very likely for his own reasons, too.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she uses her other foot to rub the inner-calf of his left leg.

“What’d you do while I was gone?”

A quick glance at her face is enough to catch the phantom smirk on her lips. He recenters his focus back on her foot, kneading a particularly tough spot.

“Oh—“ 

The tiniest moan slips out of her mouth.

“Y’know what I was doing.”

When she finally looks up, his gaze has her nailed to the seat. She swallows, remaining silent.

He looks back down at her foot and gently raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft sole. Gently, he puts her foot back down.

“M’done,” he mumbles, looking elsewhere as he weakly adjusts his pants.

Outstretching her arms wide, she wears her best puppy-dog eyes. “Take me to bed?” 

Without an answer, he gently grabs at her thighs, pulling her off the stool and picking her up. Immediately, she wraps her legs around him and throws her arms over his shoulders.

With an ease that has much more of an effect on her than it should, he hoists her up higher on his body. Their noses almost brush as he bounces her. Her lips are parted and her eyes are low as she focuses on his face only.

As he holds her, right above his waist, all he can think about is slamming her down on his dick. It’ll be so easy. If only she’d let him.

God, she doesn’t know what she does to him. She just doesn’t know.

His lower stomach swoops as he stares up into her low eyes. They practically suck him in, consuming all of his attention—he doesn’t even notice the tiny smirk on her lips.

Or maybe she does.

“Bed, Kenny,” she reminds.

He stalls, eyes flicking between hers. And then his senses come back to him and he’s shuffling towards the bedroom. His hands slowly make their way from the underside of her thighs to her ass, gripping soft fat. 

When they finally reach, he rests her gently on the messy sheets, earning a sigh straight from her lips.

She turns onto her stomach. “So glad—to be home,” she stretches, raising her ass as the arch in her back deepens. It’s a smooth, downward slope into to her shoulders. The way her ass spreads, stretching out the lace is just too good of a sight.

She moves slow, like the pull of a bow. Though, the arrow is released quick, and her body collapses like a bag of bricks into the sheets. The soft impact makes the fat of her ass jiggle slightly, and of course he stares.

“Just undress me,” he hears her say, her small chuckle is muffled by her folded arms.

Her legs hang over the edge of the bed, and she makes no attempt to correct herself. And refusing to ruin her peace, he simply moves over them.

A single knee digs into the mattress beside her hip while his next foot remains planted on the hardwood flooring. With a strong arm, he holds himself above her body, hovering as he reaches for the zipper at the top of her back.

Carefully, he plucks up the black metal and drags it down. The back of her jumpsuit is pulled open, parting further and further and the zipper reaches closer to the end of its track.

The smooth, shiny skin of her back is bared to him. With the inked flowers decorating the dark skin and the blur of leftover sleep still in his eyes, he has to concentrate to find the shallow ditches of skin right above her ass.

“Mmh—you’re so good t’me, Kenji.” She turns her head, the bottom half of her face still obscured by her arms. But, those siren eyes leer at him, batting at him with luxurious lashes.

He swallows, feeling just a bit of control slipping from him.

In an attempt to reel it back in, he pulls back to stand up, his knee still implanted in the mattress and effectively leaving his leg straddling one of her sides.

Blowing out, she slowly turns her body. Lying on her back, she peers up at him, seemingly oblivious to the way her boobs spill out of the suit now that it’s unzipped and loose.

His eyes immediately fall to her nipples. He’s got no shame about it. He’s dying to get one in his mouth.

“Pull it off,” she says gently.

His hands shake when they pull the lacey garment down her top half. When he gets to her legs, he finds himself gravitating closer to her body. 

That body oil she used earlier wafts off of her as he reveals more of her skin. The material stretches wide around her hips. His face is close to the triangle of skin her panties hide. He pauses, glancing up to see her staring back at him, watching closely.

He licks at his drying lips and continues.

When the jumpsuit is finally off, he throws it down on the floor somewhere behind him. It’s none of his concern anymore.

“Thank you, Kenji.”

He thinks she going to ask him to take her underwear off next. It’s something she’d do. And he’s waiting on it. Silently begging her for it.

She can tell by his demeanor. His body is tightly coiled, waiting for the chance to spring into action.

So she makes him wait, just a little bit. 

His hands press into the sides of his legs, desperate to keep busy. A tiny breath of amusement leaves through her nose.

“You want me to take it off?”

She actually smiles, almost laughing.

“Sure.”

Slowly, she lifts her knees to her chest and he’s moving without hesitation.

The thin fabric is rolled down her hips, up her thighs, and down her calves. When he discards of that too, her legs remain bent, toes pointed on their own accord.

He doesn’t look anywhere else but the plump set of lips squeezed between fat thighs. The pressure pushes her labia out, and he’s never been more entranced.

Without thinking, his hands land on the underside of her thighs. Fingers spread, feeling against smooth, supple skin. He pushes his hands up and up until they hook underneath her knees. He parts her legs. 

Her pussy opens up like a flower to show off a heated pink center. The prettiest flower he’s ever seen, a deep brown on the outside.

“Ken,” she says affectionately.

He blinks slowly. It’s a fight against himself to tear his eyes away from her cunt to look into her eyes. A fight he loses.

“Huh?”

“My clothes,” she reminds.

“A-ahuh…”

He’s still looking, seeing how her pussy winks back at him.

“Kenny…”

He pushes her legs further apart. Another clench. Her clit just barely pokes out from under its hood, waiting for his tongue to drop on its head.

His hips get closer to her. He licks his lips again.

“Kenji.”

Her tone tears his attention away from between her legs. He finally looks her in the eyes.

“You’re just gonna leave me like this?” Her voice is softer now, like she isn’t really all that concerned with such a fate. 

“My bad…” His eyes slowly sink right back to their previous spot. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, not even hearing himself.

“You hungry?”

It takes him a second to catch the joke. But he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even laugh.

“A little.”

His hands grip the undersides of her knees just a bit tighter. She clenches just from the action.

Her eyes leave his face falling to the real star of the show: the outline of his dick through the pants. It’s too big to be ignored.

And she finds herself regretting this challenge again. Tired isn’t even the word, but she can’t lie, tired sex sounds really good right now.

Maybe they don’t have to really do it. She trusts herself not to mess up, just as long as she keeps him in line.

“Take it out.”

“Mh—what?”

“Take it out.”

He looks into her eyes, her words finally getting through to him. She sees the sobering look pass over his face.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

He snatches a hand out from under her knee to wrestle the hem of his sweats down his hips and thighs.

It’s almost like she watches it happen in slow-motion—how his dick bounces as it’s freed from its cloth-prison. So thick and heavy, it hangs between his legs. 

She almost moans when he grabs himself, doing a weak drag of his fist over it. 

His eyes are on his target. His heart is beating out of his chest with the thought of plunging headfirst into her oasis. It’s been so long, too long.

He shivers, squeezing the tip.

“I don’t want it.”

His gaze cuts to her face. It almost hurt her to lie like that. She had to keep strong.

“Just wanna feel you.” She can see the frustration in the twitch of his brows. But he keeps quiet. “Just don’t put it in.”

Whatever tension was visible on his face seems to melt away.

Dragging her closer, his body lights afire. Her ass is pressed to the front of his thighs. He’s dizzy as he takes himself in hand, giving one last tug before laying his dick against her.

He exhales with relief. She’s so warm, he shivers again. And she can feel his pulse against her clit. Her pussy flutters. He’s so heavy against her, a weight she’s missed. She aches to feel it inside of her.

He does a slow drag of his fist down his length, stopping just before the head. Then, he lifts it, not too far. 

She gasps softly with the light taps against her clit. Her legs twitch. But he leans more weight onto his arm, pushing her leg further back.

The taps get heavier, harder. The pudge of her pussy jiggles as he smacks her with his thickness.

A low hiss leaves him. “Ssshiiit…”

She swallows. “S-stop playing, Kenji.”

He does one last smack, particularly harder than the others. But, he keeps his hold on himself, pressing down as he does a slow, heavy glide through her lips.

Her hips stutter as he rolls over her clit. The entire length slides against her, all the way down to his balls. When he gets that far, he keeps his hips pressed to hers, watching how his dick lays against her tummy. 

Her belly button is hidden from view, and they’re both reminded of how deep he can get whenever he’s in it.

“I still can’t put it in?”

She shakes her head, eyes lower than before. Her chest is frozen as she stops breathing.

“Why?”

“‘Cause…”

“‘Cause what?” He’s staring intently at where they collide.

“‘Cause … I don’t want it.”

He licks his lips. “Mhm.”

He pulls his hips back and she feels like she can finally breathe again. 

“Hold me?” she asks.

He buffers for a moment before ultimately lowering himself. Once again, his dick slides tortuously against her lips as he presses his chest to hers.

Shorter arms fall around his neck and just as he had let go of her leg, both tighten around his waist. His hips are heavy against hers, pressing his dick between her lips.

“Mmh,” she moans out, eyes falling closed as she moves her hips against him.

He’s between her legs, weighing into her pussy and pressed against her stomach. It all leaves her dizzy. She almost tells him to put it in.

Almost.

She keeps her mouth shut…

Until he starts kissing on her neck. 

Her lips part as she starts gulping down air.

His hips starts to move in short, inch-by-inch strokes. They’re weak, but it’s enough for right now.

“K-Kenny—“ She gasps.

“C’mon, baby,” he says against her neck. His hands hook underneath her knees again, holding her open as his strokes get stronger and longer. “C’mon,” he whines. “Just the tip … please?”

She’s breathless as she shakes her head against him.

He kisses his teeth but doesn’t stop nor pull away. “You playin’ … you playin’ and you know it,” he rasps. “I won’t even move. C’mon, please?”

“N-no, Kenji.” Her voice waivers.

“Please, baby. Please—”

She gasps as his tip catches against her hole for the longest second of her life, teasing intrusion.

“Won’t move, I promise,” he moans in her neck. His hands grip her legs tighter. “Just want you to feel it … just the tip.”

His voice is breathy, full of desperation.

As he rests over her clit, he circles his hips and her back arches.

“Ohh, fuck,” she whines softly.

“Won’t even cum, just wanna feel you around me, baby … c’mon.”

His thoughtless babbling is running her crazy. She feels like she can’t breathe.

“Know it’s wet f’me. She misses me.” He drags his hips against her harder now. The collision of their hips is loud as he slams against her. 

She’s getting wetter, he can hear it. He can feel it.

“He misses you, too, baby,” he pants. “Misses you so … so bad—“

His hips freeze. He twitches against her. And she’s quiet as her wetness trickles against him.

“She’s leaking.” His voice is wrecked. “Lemme plug her.”

With a whimper, she shakes her head.

He lifts his head to look at her face. It’s clinched as she tries to hold back. He presses his lips to hers and she goes thoughtless as he kisses her all soft and slow. The soft smacks of their lips gets her wetter.

“Lemme give her what she wants,” he says against her lips. “C’mon.”

Her brain is mush, she can hardly see straight. And he takes advantage of her haze.

Twin gasps leave them, both melting into moans as his tip breaks past her lips and plunges into her walls.

“Ken—“

His hands leave from her legs. They pulls her arms from around his neck to push them onto the bed. He laces his fingers inbetween her own.

“S’good, right?”

She moans.

“Know you missed it,” he groans. His hips tremble as they hold back. “Missed all this dick…”

She flutters around him, desperate to pull more of him in. And she’s so tight, so wet.

“I-I’ma give it to her—“

A loud moan rips from her as he pushes all the way in, hard and sharp.

“K-Kenji!“

“I’m sorry, baby,” he pants. “M’sorry. Can’t stop myself. I can’t … can’t—“

He cuts himself off as he pulls out halfway, just to slide back in. His hands squeeze hers tighter as she tries to pull them away.

All of his weight he puts on her, trapping her beneath him as she drives his hips into her.

“M’sorry,” he moans out, not even pulling out at this point. He only ruts into her, knocking his dick against what feels like her cervix.

“K-ken!”

“Fuck, s’good … it’s s-so good!”

Mindlessly, he fucks into her, only chasing after his own pleasure. His eyes roll back into his head as he gets lost in the way she squeezes him so tight and floods around him.

“W-waaait—I—“

She’s creaming around him. Her pussy’s so sloppy, it squidges. 

“Don’t hold it,” he grunts, knocking into her harder. “Cum on my shit, cum on it, baby. S’yours! All yours…”

Her body trembles with overstimulation. But, he doesn’t stop, still rolling his hips. 

“Oh, fuck… Oh fuck!” His moans get louder as he feels his own orgasm approaching quickly.

Her body withers beneath his, only able to accept what’s being given to it. It overdoses on him, cream becomes squirt. She splashes around him, drowning him. 

And it triggers him; Ribbons of his cum splash against her cervix. All of the buildup from these last few weeks, he empties into her. And it’s so much, he feels like he’s going to pass out. She can only moan out as he fills her.

He’s pulsing in her and she’s clenching around him. They’re both lost in the throes of their orgasms.

Her limbs are heavy with fatigue (and the weight of his body against hers). It takes several minutes for them to return to a state of function.

When he finally pulls out, he watches his cum ooze from her stretched hole. And it just keeps going.

“Fuck,” he groans, so turned on by the sight of her filled with his release. It puts him in a trance, watching his nut decorate her pussy. 

When he can finally pull his attention away, he looks down at himself. His dick and inner thighs are full of their release.

“This shit so messy,” he says, still holding her open.

“Didn’t … listen,” she mumbles, weakly kicking at him.

“I know,” he pants. “I’ll take the punishment … I don’t care.” He swallows, his throat feeling dry.

She doesn’t say anything. Just as long as he knows.

taglist: @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @thegoatedaries @nova2kss @thecoochiefairy

banners by @/adornedwithlight

[gravid-transluna]

Standing in line for an expensive theatre performance, her hand clasping mine tightly. She’s elegant in her black dress, her makeup flawless. Her thighs tense and widen. She presses her trembling lips together to avoid a moan.

“It’s like I can’t not push,” she hisses.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry but the tickets were just so expensive. It would feel like a waste.”

She grunts. Her knees dip, tenting her dress slightly. “Wanna squat.”

“Not in those heels!”

The line flows like molasses. She gasps suddenly, eyes blown wide.

“I just… pushed.”

Subtly, without even looking, I slip my hand under her dress to feel the wet bulge of her distended crotch against her tights. She shudders.

“It’s okay, love. Just… hold it until intermission, ‘kay?”

[aventurineswife]

hi so a while ago when your requests were closed I sent aout a request so since they're open now I going to send the request again but if you don't want to do it that's perfectly fine also sorry in advance if you don't right for requests that have already been sent I just didn't see anywhere that we couldn't resend requests that were already sent

So may I request a sagau dom furina kissing and pinning down sub fem reader only to be interrupted by the other characters stumbling upon the two and now everyone is jealous of furina lol

“Let Them Watch”

Summary: After mysteriously waking up inside Teyvat, you find yourself pinned beneath the ever-dramatic Hydro Archon, Furina—who isn’t shy about showing just how much she’s longed for you. But your stolen moment is quickly interrupted when half of Fontaine’s cast bursts into the room and catches her in the act. Now with Neuvillette, Clorinde, Wriothesley, Navia, Lyney, Lynette, Freminet, and Arlecchino watching (and very jealous), tensions rise, claims are made, and the war for your affection begins.

Tags: Furina x Female!Reader, SAGAU, Dom/Sub Dynamics (light), Possessive Furina, Teasing & Fluff, Jealousy, Love Triangle/Reverse Harem Elements, Fourth Wall Breaks, Humor, Pining, Protective/Obsessive Behavior, Suggestive.

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Jealous/Possessive Behavior (in a playful, exaggerated fantasy tone), Breaking the Fourth Wall, Overwhelming Attention from multiple characters (reverse harem energy), Mild Language & Flirting, Slight Power Imbalance (Reader is pinned and flustered; consent is still clear).

You weren’t sure how you ended up here.

One moment, you were simply playing Genshin Impact, farming artifacts like usual. The next, you woke up face-to-face with Furina—the Hydro Archon herself—except she wasn’t just in the game.

She was staring at you like a starved woman at a feast.

“Ma déesse,” she purred, fingers trailing along your cheek, “Do you have any idea what you do to us? To me?”

Your back pressed against the cold marble of the Opera Epiclese floor, her lips brushing so close to yours that it made your breath hitch. She had you caged between her arms, her hair cascading down like a silken curtain, blue eyes glowing with intensity.

“W-what?” you managed, dazed and blinking. “Us?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t know,” she smirked, tilting your chin up. “We’ve watched you. Felt your touch through the screen, guiding our every move. And yet you stayed... just beyond our reach. But now—now you’re here. You’re mine.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as her lips finally found yours—soft, needy, possessive. Her hand slid to your waist, gripping tightly as if she could anchor you to her very soul.

Then—

CRASH.

A door slammed open. Footsteps. Gasps.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

“Furina?!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me—”

“No way…”

“…This is ridiculous.”

“…Unbelievable.”

“I was this close to getting to her first.”

“...Mon dieu.”

You froze. Furina didn’t even flinch.

She turned her head slowly, still atop you, as eight very distinct personalities barged in:

Neuvillette, expression unreadable but ears flushed, arms folded.

Clorinde, visibly thrown off, fists clenched at her sides.

Wriothesley, jaw tight, teeth gritted as he stared at Furina’s hand on your hip.

Navia, eyes wide, voice somewhere between offended and heartbroken.

Lyney, hand over his heart like a stage betrayal.

Lynette, sipping tea like she had seen this coming all along.

Freminet, half-hiding behind his diving helmet, too red to function.

And Arlecchino, who stood with her arms crossed and a dangerous smirk, eyeing the situation like she was seconds from doing something reckless.

Furina did not move. In fact, she tightened her grip on you and pressed her lips just below your ear.

“Mine,” she declared, clear as crystal.

A beat of stunned silence.

“Did she just—” Lyney started, stunned.

“—Claim her like a treasure chest?” Navia finished, voice cracking.

Clorinde narrowed her eyes. “Unprofessional. But… strategic.”

Neuvillette sighed, rubbing his temples. “She’s impossible when she’s possessive.”

Wriothesley crossed his arms and stepped forward. “You seriously think this is fair?”

“Oh?” Furina raised an elegant brow, her gaze sharp and victorious. “Is there a law against loving her properly? Or are you just upset I got to her first?”

“Properly?” Arlecchino chuckled darkly. “You haven’t even made her scream yet.”

Your soul nearly left your body.

Furina’s eyes gleamed with challenge. “You want to hear her scream? Give me five more seconds.”

“Furina!!” you hissed, mortified.

Lynette blinked slowly. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Freminet’s helmet fogged up.

Lyney practically collapsed into a dramatic bow. “Truly, the gods have favorites. And heartbreak tastes like Hydro.”

As the voices escalated—threats, protests, teasing, and longing glances—Furina simply tilted your chin up again and whispered with maddening sweetness, “Let them fight. Let them ache. You’re mine, ma chérie. You’ve always been.”

And as her lips brushed yours again, you felt it—

Not just the heat of her touch, but the burning stares of every other character in Fontaine behind her.

You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into.

But you knew one thing for certain:

This war of hearts had only just begun.

[levanswrites]

Masterlist / troubled cure, for a troubled mind (e.m.)

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: Friday night, you came to him looking for something to ease the pressure.

And Eddie knows he shouldn't want this. Not like this, not with you.

Because there’s something sacred in the way you’re breaking.

And he’s never been gentle with holy things.

warnings: heavy mutual pining, yearning, hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff, underage drug use, friends to lovers, underlying dom/sub dynamics, eventual smut, guilt/shame, religious imagery, soft eddie

(*denotes smut)

Ⅰ. troubled cure, for a troubled mind - “It’s called E. This is what you were asking about, right?”

Ⅱ. the things behind the sun - “I would always rather be happy than dignified.”

Ⅲ. look out, she'll pull you in* - “I’m proud of you.”

Ⅳ. mine's a tale that can't be told - “So this is… Dungeons and Dragons, huh?”

[animasola86]

SMUT DRABBLES*: Toy

A/N: Another snippet of a smut scene, *a little more than a drabble, but oh well, it kept evolving. Again, you can imagine any character here! This time, we have some oral sex, deepthroating, masturbation, edging and a little dom/sub dynamic.

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! // WORDS: 689 // AO3

He's given her a toy to practice with.

It's big, looks like his cock, can be suctioned to surfaces. It's intimidating.

She's kneeling in front of it, imagines she's sitting between his legs, arms folded behind her back. Eyes closed, tongue extended, exploring the stiff ridges, round edges, hard, cold material. Not the same.

It's better when it's covered in her saliva, warmer, but it's not him, doesn't twitch and throb, there are no groans and grunts, no hand gripping her hair, guiding her head, forcing it deeper.

It's all her. She sucks on it, hollows her cheeks, slurping it into her mouth, tongue flicking around it. Eyes closed, imagining him, remembering his scent, his taste, his dominating presence.

She pushes her head down on it. It's so rigid, too hard, unyielding. She forces on, tongue flat against it, lips strained, back of her throat. Her body jerks when she gags around it, coughs, splutters, keeps going. Eyes watering, can't breathe, imagines his big hands on her head, pushing down.

It's in her throat, she's dizzy, there's so much spit, no precum, only her. No air. She holds it, hears his voice in her memory. “Good girl.” Back and forth, head bobbing, tip on her tongue, tip in her throat, up and down, in and out.

There's no release, no thick creamy cum filling her mouth, dripping down her throat, filling her belly. Just spit and tears. She practices until she almost faints, fighting the gag reflex, getting better, wanting to make him proud.

She's drenched once she's done, sweat, spit, tears, arousal. When she forces herself to stop, she falls over, hands between her trembling thighs. Fingers not enough. The toy is off the wall and slips into her with ease. She's shaking, can barely hold it, wants him to hold it, push it in and out, mercilessly, ignoring her whines. Forcing her to the edge.

“Not yet, baby girl.”

His voice is in her head, so close, so warm. She fights the pleasure trying to devour her, pulls it out, pants, pushes it back in, always close. She's whimpering, crying and sobbing, pleading with her eyes squeezed shut.

“You may come.”

Relief. Release. Exploding pleasure, body convulsing, hips off the ground, thighs pressed together, shaking, gasping, coming so hard she's seeing stars. The toy is forced back in.

“Again.” She obeys, keeps going, pushing further. All for him, through tears and hand cramps and body spasms. Mouth wide open, gasping for air, for reprieve.

Her head is being lifted, supported by strong hands, his scent fills her nostrils, something warm on her face, bent back, neck tilted, upside down. Warm and heavy and soft. Him.

“Keep going.” Fingers cramping around the toy, imitating his cock, and the real thing slips into her gaping mouth, straight into her throat. She doesn't gag, doesn't open her eyes, feels her throat bulging, feels full on both ends. Content, satisfied. Sucks around him as he moves his hips against her face, in and out, tip on her tongue, tip squished in her tight throat.

“Gag.” She does, body convulsing, cunt clenching, spit and precum in her mouth. She's so dizzy. “Good girl.”

The reward comes with a groan, a grunt, a jerk of his hips, tightening balls slapping against her nose. Release. The toy is forced out, muscles tense, fluttering, her hands and thighs wet, a muffled, helpless moan from her stuffed throat. She can taste him as he fills her mouth, rewards her for her effort. Warm, sticky, thick, slipping down her aching throat, gulp, gulp, gulp.

The pressure is gone, he remains, his taste on her tongue, heavy in her belly. His hand on her sweaty face, caressing, wiping away the remnants of her devotion, a thumb pressing against her quivering lip.

“Such a good girl,” he says, and she smiles softly, tiredly, eyelids too heavy to open. “Now turn around. We gotta practice on the other hole today.”

A deep shiver, instant tension, anticipation. She scrambles to her feet, turns, positions herself, presents, ready for more practice. For him.

“Yes, sir.”

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

MORE SMUT DRABBLES:

A Steamy Shower

Car Inspection

Sleepy

Tension Relief

[burntheedges]

hold me like water

Marcus Moreno x f!reader | 2.9k | 18+ | ao3

summary: Marcus is a ball of nerves, just waiting for you to come home.

a/n: this is my late submission to @wannab-urs' Dom that Middle Aged Man Campaign! Sorry again for being late. I had something different planned originally but this week it turned out what I needed was something a bit softer. Maybe you could use something a bit softer, too? Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing and Gin for taking a look. 🧡 (also yes, I'm still behind on replies, but I will catch up. love y'all)

tags/warnings: dom!reader, sub!Marcus, established relationship, established dom/sub dynamics, bathing together, acts of service?, subspace, a very intense handjob, restraining (with your body), (1) bite, referenced orgasm control, pet/dynamic names (from reader: baby, baby, my man; from Marcus: love), I named Miracle Guy Rob just for fun

...

Marcus is fidgeting again. He can’t seem to make himself stop. There’s a buzzing under his skin, a tension he can’t seem to shake.

She’s been away for 10 days, and he’s not sure how he’s going to make it to 12.

Two more days, he tells himself as he wakes up his computer and finds too many emails – and decisions – waiting for him. Barely 60 hours, he bargains as he doesn’t let himself pour a third cup of coffee, knowing it’ll just keep him awake. Only two more nights alone, he promises himself as he takes off his shoes in his empty house, too quiet with her out of town and Missy at school. 

“Less than 48 hours,” he answers when his phone rings.

“Hello to you, too, babe,” she laughs, and Marcus feels something inside of him settle at the sound of her voice. The buzzing under his skin quiets to a low hum. 

Soon.

…

You want to groan aloud as you step off the third – and final – plane, ready to be done with travel for a long while. You’re tired and all you’ve thought about since you stepped foot into the first airport this morning, hours ago, was getting home. To him.

Two weeks is far too long to go without the man you love.

You make your way to baggage claim and let your mind wander to the anticipation of being home. You picture it – walking in the front door to find Marcus waiting for you, arms open, expression soft. You smile to yourself as you step off the escalator.

When you turn, you almost freeze at the unexpected sight that greets you. A smile grows across your face as you rush forward.

Marcus is standing by the baggage claim area, grinning. He looks as handsome as ever and like home and you’ve never been so happy to see anyone in your life.

You drop your carry-on next to his feet just before you throw your arms around his shoulders. His arms wrap tightly around your waist as you fall into each other.

“Babe,” you say, smiling. “I thought you couldn’t pick me up.”

Marcus’ face is buried in your shoulder and you feel him nuzzle into your neck. He sighs. “I canceled my meetings. Couldn’t wait another minute.” He squeezes you tighter and you press a soothing kiss into his hair.

“Missed you too, babe.” You let yourself sink into his arms until you hear the announcement that the bags from your flight are arriving on the belt. You pull back slowly. “Come on – all I’ve been thinking about today is being home with you.”

When you finally meet his eyes and really look at him, though, your breath catches. That’s your Marcus, you know him better than you’ve ever known anyone. You can read him like a book. And right now he looks like he hasn’t rested or slept at all in two weeks. You haven’t seen dark circles like these since the time Missy got the flu and scared everyone, a couple of years before she went to college. Before you lived together. You think back to what he said – he couldn’t wait another minute – and you feel your heart start to beat a little faster.

“Marcus? You didn’t tell me–”

He smiles, rueful. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You step closer, mindful of the crowd moving around you. “Hey. Baby, no. You’re mine to worry about. Right?” Your voice dips a bit lower, and you see him shiver in response. 

“Right,” he agrees, and when you meet his eyes again the emotions in them tug at your chest. He sighs. “I haven’t been sleeping well. And work…” he trails off and shrugs. “Rob was out because the baby was sick, and it was a lot. And fuck, I just missed you so much.” He smiles but it looks more sad than anything and it hurts to look at. You need to get him home. All you want is to get this man home where you can take care of him. You know just what he needs, and just what you need, and the knowledge settles in your chest, warming you. You cup his face in your hand and the way he leans into it tells you just how right you are. 

When you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips you hear the low noise he makes in the back of his throat and you know. We need to hurry. 

“Come on,” you say, reaching down and lacing your fingers together as you step away. He grabs your bag and starts to walk with you. “We need to get you home, baby.”

He nods, already looking more at ease as he lets you lead him forward. “Yes, love.”

…

You keep a firm grip on Marcus’ thigh the entire drive home. He tells you more about what really happened at work while you were gone, and you can feel him opening up to you like a flower in the sun as he lets you start to take care of him. By the time you pull up at the house, the tension in his spine has started to disappear.

After you turn off the car you scan him with a careful eye. His shoulders are looser, his expression more open. Good.

“Marcus. My handsome, wonderful man. I’m going to take care of you. Alright, baby?” He nods, and you smile as you run your fingers through his hair gently. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. But you can’t hide things from me, not like this.”

He nods again, and you can see the regret in the lines of his face. “I won’t. I’m sorry, love.”

You hum, thoughtful. “This was my first long trip in a while. We’ll do better, prepare better, if it happens again. Together. Ok?”

Marcus smiles softly. “Ok.”

“Alright.” You can hear the change in your voice, and you know Marcus hears it, too, when he straightens slightly in his seat. “Now, I want you to take my bags inside and then head up to our closet. Go inside and take off those clothes and find something more comfortable. Don’t put them on yet – take your time, and meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes.”

Marcus lets out a deep breath that seems to lift the weight of the time you’ve been away off his shoulders. “Yes, love,” he breathes, and you smile as he immediately starts to do as you said.

You step out of the car and hurry to the door – you only have ten minutes.

By the time Marcus steps inside the bathroom holding his softest clothes and wearing nothing but his underwear, you’re ready for him. You’ve filled the large bath with hot water and oils in the scents you know he likes best. The lights are low, the towels are ready, and you stopped by the kitchen for water and snacks. You’re sitting on the edge of the tub, still dressed, waiting.

“Put those down, baby, and come here.”

He does, and then moves to stand in front of you. You let your eyes trail over his bare chest and legs, appreciative as always. You know he can see it in your expression when you meet his eyes again. He’s flushed, looking pleased.

You stand, slowly, and gesture him closer. “Help me undress,” you say, voice low. “I need to wash off all that travel.”

He quirks a small smile at your words, and you know he’s remembering all the times you’ve said that before, here in this room with him.

“Of course, love,” he murmurs, already moving to do as you asked. He doesn’t rush. He lets his fingertips brush against you as he slowly undresses you, and you sink into the sensation of being there with him.

Soon enough you’re standing bare before him, and his appreciation is obvious. It makes you smile, and he blushes. 

You step into the bath, Marcus’ hand immediately coming up to steady you. As soon as you’re situated against the wall, you gesture him forward. He kneels next to the tub, so quickly you feel warmth growing in your chest. You reach out to brush your fingers across his cheek and he turns into the gesture, making you smile again.

“Help me wash.”

He nods, and you can see him sinking into the familiar motions. He reaches for the soap and a cloth and begins eagerly. You have done this together so many times, you move together easily. He lifts your arm and you turn towards him, watching as he carefully and attentively washes every bit of you that he can reach. He’s so focused on his task that it becomes almost meditative, and you can see him starting to slip into that space you know he needs, held completely within your control. His body begins to forget his stress – his shoulders relax more with every movement. Every gentle pass of the cloth relaxes you, lets you sink deeper into the moment you’re building together. 

Eventually Marcus guides you to stand and, after paying the same attentiveness to your legs that he did to the rest of you, moves to drain the tub. It refills quickly, and as it does you hold out your hand to him.

“Join me,” you say, and he does. You sink into the fresh hot water again and lean against the wall of the tub. You guide him to lean back against you, between your legs. The warmth of him is so familiar, and so missed, you can’t help but wrap yourself around him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder and you feel the remaining tension start to leach out of him into the hot water that surrounds you. You nuzzle behind his ear and smile when you feel him shiver in response. “Thank you, baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss behind his ear. “You’re so good at that.”

He stretches a bit, pleased, but you can tell he’s amused. “At bathing?”

“Yes,” you agree, sincerely, “but particularly at doing as I ask. My wonderful man.” Marcus relaxes further into you at that, and you smile again. “Now, hands on the side of the tub, please,” you say, and he immediately complies. “Rest your hands comfortably, no need to stretch. Good?” He nods and you notice his eyes have fallen closed. Good. “Keep them there, baby. Until I say.” 

“Yes, love,” he murmurs, and you hear in his voice that he has let go of everything outside of this room. He’s just yours, now, and you’ll take care of him.

You run your hands lightly down his sides and watch his sharp intake of breath. You hum as you trail your fingertips up his chest, tracing swirling designs across his skin under the hot water. “I missed you,” you say, lips brushing against his ear. His grip tightens around the edge of the tub. “I missed talking with you, and waking up next to you, and sleeping by you at night,” you continue as your hands press more firmly against his chest and arms. You can see his interest, which had flagged a bit as he washed you so attentively, start to grow again under the water. “I missed taking care of you,” you whisper, wrapping your left arm around his upper chest firmly and squeezing. “And I missed how perfectly you fall apart under my hands... My handsome man.” He moans, softly, and you slide your right hand down, smoothly, right to where you both want it. 

You wrap your hand around his cock, gently, and begin to tease at his length. He’s already hard, and you feel his breath catch at your touch.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” You pump his cock slowly as you ask.

He shakes his head before burying his face in your neck.

“No? I told you you could.” You’d known, though, that he wouldn’t.

“No,” he says, and his voice is low and soft. “I didn’t want… not without you.”

You smile and press a kiss into his hair. “My sweet man. I don’t want you to neglect yourself.”

His hips twitch forward as you move your hand smoothly down and back up, teasing around the head. Your pace is so slow it’s barely a pace at all, and you know the anticipation will send him falling steadily downwards and inwards until he’s limp in your arms.

“I wanted you,” he gasps, and you wrap your arm tighter around his chest. “It’s always better with you.” You admire the strength in his arms and his back as he wrestles against himself, keeping his hands firmly in place on the sides of the bath. It’s beautiful.

You file away a thought about how to handle this, if you have another long trip – phone sex, probably. And the thought sends a tingle of anticipation down your spine.

“I always want you, baby,” you murmur, squeezing a bit tighter and moving just a bit faster. He twitches gratifyingly in your grip. “Now let me take care of you, hmm? You can let go, now. I’ve got you.”

Marcus sighs and somehow curls even more snugly into your arms. You start a slow and steady pace and feel his heart rate increase in his chest. 

“That’s it,” you whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss just in front of it. “My handsome man, relax for me, hmm?” You move just a bit faster and feel his hips thrust forward. “You’re so beautiful like this, baby. So perfect for me.” When you twist your hand around the head of his cock, Marcus whines, softly, and you smile. “You love me so well, Marcus,” you say, softly, and he gasps. “You’re so good, baby. So good for me.”

You move your hand faster, grip his cock tighter, and the sound he lets out is almost like a sob. He has a vice-like grip on the sides of the tub and you wrap your legs around his, holding him down and in place. Marcus’ chest begins to rise and fall more swiftly with his unsteady breaths and the water of the bath moves choppily around you. 

You press a soft line of kisses up his neck. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, baby,” you say, voice firm. “Now.” You bite down on his shoulder, and with a sharp exhale, he does.

Marcus’ body goes tense as he moans your name, and you feel his release overcome him completely. You pump your fist two, three more times, and then he goes completely boneless in your arms.

You release his cock, wrapping both arms around his chest, pressing soft kisses all along his neck and shoulders. “Yes, Marcus,” you praise, “that was so beautiful, baby. You did so well.”

He says your name again, softly, and you tighten your arms around him. You know he’ll need a few minutes to come back, to swim back upwards through the pleasure and relaxation and release. “I’ve got you, baby.” Your voice is low, meant just for him. “Take your time.”

You whisper and murmur soft praises to him as he drifts, and you feel his arms twitch as he starts to come back to himself. The water is still warm, but you know you’ll need to get out soon. Slowly, you release your hold on him and smooth your hands along his arms. You carefully encourage his hands to let go of the sides of the tub, gently massaging his palms as he does. 

When he sits up slightly and turns to look at you, you smile. “Hello there,” you greet him, and he smiles back.

This Marcus is so different from the one who met you at the airport. He looks well-rested, with all the cares of the world lifted from his shoulders. His brow is soft, his eyes warm as he looks at you. The soft smile that plays at his mouth is so handsome it takes your breath away.

“Hello, love,” he says, and leans in to kiss you. “Welcome home,” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile.

“Thank you,” you say between kisses. “Next time, we won’t let it get that bad, hmm? And you’ll talk to me. And tell me the truth.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, love. I promise. I got so lost in my own head. All I could do was wait for you to come back.”

You run your hand through his hair gently, before bringing it down to rest against his cheek. “We’ll talk about it later, alright? But I think I know how I want you to show me just how sorry you are.” You let a bit of teasing enter your voice, but you know he knows you’re serious.

He leans into your hand. “Anything, love,” he breathes, and his desperation to please you makes you smile again.

“Well, baby,” you tighten your grip on his hair and smile when he gasps and leans into it. “I’m going to go lay on the bed, and you’re going to dry off and meet me there.” You kiss him and nip softly at his bottom lip. “And then you’re going to make me come with your mouth as many times as I want until I tell you to stop.”

He shudders in expectation and smiles. “Yes, love,” he breathes. He watches, wide eyes tracking your every move as you stand from the tub. “Please.”You smile and lead him towards the bedroom. My perfect man.

...

a/n: thoughts? lol

[gravid-transluna]

Two Birthdays

words: 4111

content: lactation, milking, clothing birth, birth denial, fpreg

Part One

A birthday is a special day. Her friend’s twenty-first should have been Mari’s only focus. However, Mari had been distracted the entire day as they spent time at the resort’s expansive pool and spa. It hadn’t been so bad at first. Her friend’s mom, Noemi, was nearly a week overdue with her second child, and though she had started the day in modest clothes—a maternity sundress draping her huge, full swell, navel protruding starkly, pressing downward from her middle—, the afternoon sun had continued to shine down on them, forcing Noemi to shed her dress, pulling it up her belly and over her head.

Mari’s face had flushed and she’d turned away, ashamed and furious at herself for her own thoughts, but she’d already seen the nakedness of Noemi’s belly, taut at the seams and painfully overdue, hanging low over her hips and melting into her otherwise small, slim frame. Sweat had shimmered, bright, on the stretched, striped skin. A dark linea nigra ran down her middle to her navel. Her belly button was hard and round like a stone. Underneath, she only wore a white two-piece bikini, and her breasts, once small and subtle, hung swollen in her top, nipples and areolae visible.

Mari’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering every time Noemi lifted her slender hands to cup her swell, or when she rose from the sunbathing to reapply sunscreen and Mari saw her from the back; though she still tried to step with her usual grace and poise, her gait was wide, baby obviously dropped between her narrow hips, reducing her to a waddle.

It was a very uncomfortable day to be a lesbian with a fetish that especially appealed on an older woman.

This wasn’t the worst of it, though.

Mari first noticed it when Noemi reached across the table for her drink.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Of course!” Mari squeaked.

Then Noemi’s face changed. Her reaching hand flew to her belly, and Mari followed it to see visible tensing, muscles clenched on either side, misshapen around her huge baby.

“Oh!” she said. There was something in her face now. Surprise, but also a slight urgency.

“Ms. Noemi?” Mari asked. “Are—are you okay?”

“Mm,” Noemi said, and took her glass. “I’m fine. Thank you, Mari.”

This happened multiple times throughout the day, and every time she saw that mound tense then sag, muscles relaxing, Mari’s pussy pounded badly, pulsing.

She stayed in the shade, sipping nothing but cold water with ice while her friend and the others ordered drinks at the pool bar.

After about another hour of this, Mari couldn’t take it. She left and walked to the restrooms and found a stall. Inside it she immediately yanked her bikini bottom down her legs and pressed her fingers to her clit. Her pussy throbbed for release, dripping and clenching. She began to masturbate standing over the toilet, imagining closing her lips around one of Noemi’s stiff, milk-heavy nipples.

Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck. Her pussy began to pulsate under her slick fingers. Her thighs shook as she came.

“Shit,” Mari said aloud, then she wiped herself down and pulled her bikini bottom back up and exited the stall, washing the slick from her hands in the sink.

Suddenly the restroom door was flung open. Mari jumped guiltily, then her eyes widened in shock as Noemi raced past her, not even noticing her at the sink, bowed over her low belly, a hand clamped to her crotch. She ran into the handicap stall and slammed the door shut. It was quiet for a moment. Then—

“Ohhhhhh.”

A muted, breathless moan and a loud splashing sound.

Mari stood frozen. She heard a small gasping from the other side of the stall door, and approached hesitantly. She rapped a timid knuckle on the door and the gasps stopped.

“U-um, Ms. Noemi? Are you okay?”

There was silence. Then, “Yes, just some Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m sorry if I startled you, Mari.”

Noemi’s voice sounded strained, so uncharacteristic of her usually soft, modulated tone.

Mari hesitated. “Are you sure? Do you need any help?”

More silence. The stall door unlocked from the inside. Mari pushed it open and her heart thumped in her chest at the sight inside.

Noemi was standing over the toilet, thighs wide apart, knees slightly bent. Her bikini bottom and legs were soaked with fluids. Her belly, somehow, appeared to hang even lower, navel pointed almost to the floor now with weight and fullness. Her face was sweaty, cheeks flushed, short dark hair clinging damply to her forehead.

“Oh my god, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “Your water broke, didn’t it?”

Noemi’s face tightened and she pressed her lips together, nodding and closing her eyes. She clutched reflexively at the orb between her thighs as it flexed, hardening, muscles like iron. Her brow wrinkled and she grunted as though she couldn’t stand the pressure anymore.

“Mari,” she gasped. “I need you to step out, please. I’m—I think I need to—relieve myself.”

Mari shook her head. “I think it’s the baby! Are you feeling like pushing?”

“Ughh.” Noemi’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Yes. I need to push.”

“Oh my—“ Mari trailed off. “We’ve gotta call you an ambulance.”

Suddenly the contraction released Noemi. Her belly slackened. She collapsed onto the toilet seat, thighs spread wide to accommodate her massive stomach. She panted, chest heaving.

“No,” she said. “It will ruin the party.”

“But—“

“Please.” Noemi’s eyes softened, and Mari perceived her desperation clearly. “You’re one of my daughter’s more mature friends. I don’t want to embarrass her or cause a scene, and I need your help.”

Mari gulped. “What can I do?”

Noemi sighed. “Thank you. I just need to last until the party is over.”

The restroom door opened and someone walked in.

“Ms. Noemi? Are you in there?” The voice was a little slurred, tipsy from afternoon drinking.

Noemi composed herself and raised her voice. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“O-o-okay. Haven’t popped yet, have you?”

Noemi managed a weak laugh. “Holding it in.”

For now, Mari thought.

They waited until they heard the door close. Then Noemi said, “Could you—I need you to—” was she—blushing? “I can’t go back out covered in my waters.”

“O-oh,” Mari said, and she was suddenly aware of the distinct odor coming off of Noemi, the scent of her fluids, fecund and thick, the musk of a woman close to birthing. Noemi stood as Mari grabbed a wad of toilet paper and began to dab her formerly lean thighs, thickened over the course of her pregnancy.

“And–” She was really blushing now, Mari marveled. “I’d do it myself but–I can no longer reach around my stomach.”

Happy to. Mari drew her fingers around Noemi’s hips, noting the slight intake of breath as her thumbs brushed swollen underbelly. She hooked her bikini bottom and exposed her fleshy pregnancy pussy, damp and swampy, and the odor was stronger now. Mari breathed.

Then, “you have to close your legs.”

“Mm, trying.” Noemi struggled, the baby lodged in her pelvis making it almost impossible to pinch her knees shut. Her eyes widened. “Oh no…”

Her belly hitched and went hard. Her knees immediately buckled, thighs wide again.

“I need to push,” she said. She groaned as she began to bear down. The sides of her belly sucked in with the force of her pushing.

“No! Ms. Noemi, you have to hold it in, remember?” Mari said.

“Hnnnnfgh,” Noemi groaned. She tried to resist. “Hooh-hooh, god. I need to push.”

Mari, not knowing how to help, planted her palms on Noemi’s belly and rubbed the hot, furious skin. It burned under her palms, fevered. She could feel the desperate convulsions of Noemi’s strong internal muscles as they worked to expel her baby against her efforts.

“Oh,” Noemi grunted.

“Sorry!”

“No! No–ouugh–please. Don’t stop.”

Noemi closed her eyes and raised her chin, swaying back and forth as Mari stroked the tight, oblong surface. Experimentally, she flicked her thumb across Noemi’s bulging navel, and Noemi shivered.

The contraction ended, leaving Noemi worn and restless, her baby’s head burrowed deeper into her birth canal, fuller even, than she’d been before her labor. Mari removed her hands from Noemi’s belly, and Noemi appeared embarrassed, almost bashful.

“I wish–hah–you didn’t have to see me like this, much less care for me in such a compromising–ugh–condition. Modesty is hard enough to maintain when it comes to pregnancy.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mari said honestly.

Startled and disarmed, Noemi looked at her. It could have been the heat flush, or she could have been blushing again.

Part Two

They exited the restroom together and for the next hour, Noemi mingled near the pool bar, a drink in hand, and endured the powerful, relentless contractions. Mari stood beside her, and the first time another contraction struck she saw Noemi double over, muscles banding her belly, legs widening instinctively.

“Oh,” she whispered. “OH. I’m pushinnng-hnnngh.”

“No, you’re not,” Mari hissed back. “You can do this.” She placed a covert hand on Noemi’s curved back, massaging it gently, already accustomed to touching Noemi’s exposed, laboring body.

Noemi straightened, and painstakingly closed her legs as much as she could, attempting to hold her baby firm in her canal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her grunts diminished into effortful pants.

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“Good,” Noemi moaned under her breath. “Good. I’m feeling like pushing all the time now, even when the contraction’s gone. There’s so much pressure, right between my legs.”

Another contraction that hour had Noemi leaning heavily on Mari for support, her obtrusive belly pushing into Mari’s own flat tummy, making Mari wonder at the sensation of such a packed, heavy womb. She could feel the steely stretched muscles rippling against her. The skin contact moved heat from Mari’s stomach to between her legs, and again her pussy was beating, quick and warm like a pulse. She worried that she was leaking through her bikini bottom now, dizzied by arousal. Then Noemi moaned in her ear, arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Mari felt a wetness drip down her inner thigh.

“Aye, go get your mom!”

“Should she be drinking in that state?”

Luckily, everyone was too drunk at this point to think much about it.

Contractions were gripping Noemi mercilessly now, with barely any pause or respite, and she was barely holding on every time, fighting her body, her deep primal instinct to bear down against the baby in her canal. Every time Mari anchored her, caressing her hard belly, urging her gently, just hang on a little while longer. The last contraction left Noemi senseless with pain and need, foggy-headed. Her legs were permanently spread now, stance ridiculously wide.

“Oh, dear…” she breathed, and Mari followed her gaze to her front. Two wet spots had formed in her bikini top, nipples standing straight through the fabric.

“Ms. Noemi,” Mari said, summoning her courage. She looked Noemi in the eye. “Let me help you.”

Noemi let herself be led to the restrooms again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, everything about her so full and aching.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said. “I can, ah, expel the milk on my own.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Noemi was blushing hard now, appearing almost drunk in her labored state. She allowed Mari to sit her down on the toilet. Mari gently teased the white bikini top from her breasts, and Noemi shivered, curling her toes at just the light brush of fabric against her sensitive nipples. Her dark areolas spread over her breasts, and around them blue veins ran through soft, tan skin. Her nipples jutted stiffly, heavy and laden, beaded at the tips with milk.

Mari set the flat of her hand against one and marveled as more milk beaded at the surface and then began to drip down the swell of Noemi’s breast and onto the long shelf of her belly. Noemi hissed, a sharp intake of air.

“Okay?”

Noemi nodded, unable to speak. Keep going.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Mari said. She sat on Noemi’s lap and clamped her mouth around her nipple, cupping her other breast in her hand. Milk spurted from both breasts in tiny forceful streams. Noemi clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a sharp noise of pleasure and release, her back arching, other hand raised, opening and closing in the air. Mari suckled, feeling Noemi squirm under her, and lowered her free hand between her own legs, strumming her clit. Suddenly Noemi’s belly went hard again and she threw back her head to moan loudly, and Mari couldn’t tell whether from ecstasy or agony or a thrilling mixture of both.

“Oh, oh—Mari, please don’t—don’t stop. Fuck.”

Mari continued to suckle and the hand groping Noemi’s breast slid to her swell instead, tracing her linea nigra. There was no give to the surface, drum-tight, and Mari could feel Noemi’s belly seize violently, driving her baby down in a deep, involuntary push. Noemi’s moan lowered, guttural with sudden pushing, and Mari instantly took her lips away from Noemi’s breast. The milk stream diminished to dribble, her breasts not even close to being drained. Noemi squirmed at the sudden lapse.

“No pushing, remember?” Mari had settled well into a dominant role, playing out her ultimate fantasy, Noemi utterly receptive, responding to her every demand.

She breathed, slowly, and her hard belly relaxed somewhat.

“Good,” Mari said.

Noemi shuddered. “Yes, just—please. Continue.”

Mari smiled and said something she’d always wanted to say to Noemi: “Good girl.” The faint marks in the corners of her mouth, the maturity in her maternal hips, the refined elegance of her fingers—it was all subversive.

“I’ve never—never been called that by anyone,” Noemi panted. “Especially not someone no twenty years my junior.”

Mari bent her head again and Noemi’s lips tightened in preparation. She latched back onto her nipple, milk gushing into her mouth, and began to thumb Noemi’s stony pointed navel, her entire belly an erogenous zone at this point, her navel the sensory peak. Noemi nearly shrieked, delirious, and beneath her thighs Mari felt her hips bucking, building not only toward delivery now, but a climax. Mari continued to masturbate herself furiously, working her mouth at the same time, sinking her teeth lightly into Noemi’s breast, just enough to leave light, red marks. Noemi’s thighs began to quake with tremors and Mari’s pussy squeezed tight, clit bared—she gasped against Noemi’s soft chest at the same time that Noemi’s lips parted in a perfect O. Then they both trembled through watery orgasms.

Noemi looked at her with glassy eyes, hazy. She leaned in, lips soft and open and receptive for a kiss—then stopped, delicate features twisting into a grimace, and released a thunderous groan, lifting her bottom off the toilet seat with the force of her pushing. Her eyes went wide. Mari could tell something had changed. She was feeling something, deep inside of herself.

She tried to articulate the sensation. “Guh—the baby, it’s—mmmm, it’s right between—the baby’s in my vagina!”

Mari looked at her. She was desperate, out of control, her face flushed and beaded with sweat, moist short hair clinging to her forehead. Her contracting belly, lower than ever.

Mari leaned forward and rammed a kiss onto her lips, and made her taste her own milk.

Part Three

Mari rose from Noemi’s lap. Her tortured spasming belly hung so low at this point that even when she raised herself from the toilet seat Mari still couldn’t see her pussy, just the creases where her extreme underbelly sank into the flesh of her hips, and the tiny white string of her bikini bottom wrapping them, dragged by the heavy downward sag. Noemi was already trying to push again, nothing else in her mind except the baby now coming out of her. Legs planted wide, firmly squatted. It didn’t seem like she could even straighten up at this point, so heavy and low with the head. She grunted loudly, frantic in her efforts to pull her bikini bottom down her thighs and alleviate the immense pressure in her bottom. Sweat poured from her slick skin. She was obviously in the final stages of labor, and like she had been twenty-one years ago, she was consumed by the need to birth her baby.

Mari stood, watching in the sticky panties she’d just masturbated herself hard in, pussy still convulsing. She could see the light red teeth marks ringing Noemi’s areola. She had marked her. Noemi was hers. And yet, she wasn’t paying any mind to the girl who had suckled her to orgasm. Her only focus was pushing her baby out into her bikini, and once she did that she would become a mother again. Mari felt insecure, possessive. Would things return to the way they had been before? Noemi never noticing her, never giving her the attention she had craved. Suddenly, Mari reached for Noemi’s fingers at the hem of her bikini.

“Ms. Noemi.” Her voice was a firm reprimand. “I thought you wanted me to help you. I can’t help you if you push your baby out right now.”

Noemi could barely talk at this point. “Have—to—PUSH.” Mari still felt that awe, seeing such an articulate, modest woman reduced to animalistic instinct. She groaned, bearing down more, and her groan tightened as the baby was driven deeper into her bottom.

Mari circled her, tracing her fingers lightly from Noemi’s contraction-wracked torpedo belly to her curving bent back. Standing behind her now, she took Noemi’s delicate wrists in her hands and moved them away from the bikini bottom. Then she bent to see Noemi’s squatted thighs and bottom, and between her cheeks the wetted white bikini was beginning to tent outward. Mari gently rolled the bikini down to Noemi’s widespread knees. The pregnancy pussy she had just seen hours ago was now unrecognizably swollen and bulged with a startlingly huge head, yet her lips had barely parted. Mari wasn’t even sure if Noemi could birth something so big. Between Noemi’s thighs she could see her brown hanging belly harden again, the contractions now relentless, forcing Noemi into constant pushing.

As she watched, Noemi’s pussy bulged more and reddened. Her lips slowly began to part, distending—until Mari clapped her hand over the head. Noemi’s hot pussy strained against her palm, but Mari didn’t permit the head to progress any further. She heard Noemi’s strangled sob of frustration.

“It’s okay,” Mari cooed. “If you can’t hold it in, I can for you.”

Gently, she slipped the bikini bottom back up Noemi’s thighs and pulled it firmly over her hips, wedging the baby tight in her pussy. It yielded a little, but certainly not enough for Noemi to deliver the head. Noemi gasped at the feeling of the fabric against her sensitive, tender opening.

Mari then redid Noemi’s top, tying it in the back.

“There,” she appraised Noemi, trembling and gasping, filled completely with her baby. “I think you’re ready to go back out. People are probably getting suspicious of us.”

“Okay,” Noemi closed her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi!” Mari’s eyes lit up. “Hold it in for me.”

It was evening now. A lot of people had deserted, and those who stayed were trashed, too inebriated to notice Mari step out with Noemi in tow. They didn’t notice that Noemi only walked in a squatted position now, knees bent, legs far apart. They didn’t notice the sweat beading her forehead, or the flush of her cheeks. They didn’t notice her hanging belly, constantly constricting with contractions and hard unceasing pushes. And they certainly didn’t notice the conspicuous bulge straining her bikini bottom, dripping fluids from between her thighs.

Nobody assumed such a composed woman would be bent under the thumb of a girl twenty years younger than her, crowning into her bikini right there at the poolside.

Noemi staggered to a wicker pool chair, and slowly lowered herself with Mari’s help, only to yelp and cringe away when her bulged bottom made contact with the seat.

“Here—“ Mari said. “Try to sit back instead.”

Noemi sat with her back arched, legs open to the poolside, so that the head rested in her pussy without being crammed between her and the chair. She was already pushing, her knuckles white, gripping the arm rests so hard, Mari thought they might snap in her grasp. Her toes curled. Liquid pattered the deck beneath the chair, a puddle spreading under her. The head parted her more. She seemed unable to spread her legs wide enough, grunting and pushing and stretching. Even when she paused, it no longer slid back in, kept her lips taut and spread.

She pushed. The head no longer moved. The fabric trapped it snugly. She pushed again. Hard. Nothing. She pushed and pushed, caught in endless contractions and pushes. Mari heard her name panted, again and again, as she circled the head over the fabric with light fingers. Satisfaction stirred her.

Noemi was hers.

Finally, Noemi clambered heavily from her seat. She dropped into a deep squat on the deck and threw her head back, interrupting her silent pushes with a strained moan as she bore down once again, pained for leverage, obeying her instinctual need for a position change despite her unyielding clothes. Mari heard her joints pop; her forty-something body was at its limit.

It was time. They both sensed it.

Mari leaned in. Her breath shivered Noemi’s ear. “Are you ready, Noemi?” she whispered, forgoing the “Ms” title for the first time.

Noemi nodded. Once.

Mari paused. “Are you sure?”

Noemi nodded vigorously as she heaved with another push.

“Come on, then.”

The party was over. Nobody was left except for Noemi’s daughter, who had been laying passed out in a reclining chair since noon.

The pool water was cool on Mari’s skin as she waded down the steps. She discarded her bikini as she went, and the cold pricked up her bare nipples. Noemi breathed a deep sigh as she waded in herself. The water enveloped her thighs, her heavy submerging belly, and finally her splayed breasts as she sank. Mari swam up behind her and hugged her around the circumference of her gravid belly. She pressed herself to the curve of Noemi’s back, naked skin touching as they drifted for a second. Only a second, though. Soon it was over and Noemi was placing her head back, into Mari’s shoulder, and pushing. Mari’s hands traveled to Noemi’s bikini bottom and—

“Push for me,” she breathed, and pulled it down.

Noemi shouted loudly and groaned her baby into Mari’s hand. Her vaginal lips stretched, forming an angry fervent oval around the massive head. She groaned, forceful in her efforts. Her thighs gaped open in the water. Her pussy was a slick, round, red circle now, straining and slipping around the head. Her groans were almost inhuman, overwhelmed with need and desire and basic instinct. Mari felt the head inch out with Noemi’s powerful pushes, and admired its size and width. This was coming from Noemi, coming through her, creaking her aged bones and spreading her in a way she hadn’t been since her youth.

Her belly raised and then dropped with a final push, the drawn muscles of her uterus convulsing, and she shrieked. The head reached its widest point. Eyes, nose, ears, she opened around each feature. For a moment her lips whitened, pale around the head. Then a pop, a burst, a release. Noemi shuddered. Her legs jerked in the water and opaque amniotic fluids spilled from her.

“Uggghhh.”

“You did it,” Mari said. She marveled at Noemi’s motherly drive as she caressed the head hanging from Noemi’s pussy. “Just the shoulders now.”

“Ohhhh,” Noemi brought her hand between her legs, holding Mari’s as they both cupped the head. “My baby,” she panted. “My baby….”

“Let’s meet her together,” Mari whispered.

Noemi arched in the pool, belly and breasts and upturned nipples raising above the water. With a sweet, quiet groan, she gave birth into Mari’s waiting hands.

Noemi sat beside the pool on the reclining chair, her stomach sagging in her lap, ruined by a dark linea nigra. Her short hair plastered her forehead. Her attention was on the baby suckling at her milky breast. She looked up when Mari trotted to her with spare towels, and smiled tiredly.

Mari leaned down and wrapped her in the towel, and kissed her on the cheek.

“So,” Noemi said. “How do we tell my other daughter?”

[aventurineswife]

Tame Me With Your Touch

Synopsis: Dominant actions you take that make them weak.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Established Relationship, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fluff, Romance, Domesticity, Suggestive Content, Manipulation (Psychological), Light Angst, Affectionate Dominance, Emotional Vulnerability, Gentle Domination.

Warnings: Mild Suggestive Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Power Imbalance (in some dynamics), Trauma-Informed Content, Mentions of Survivor's Guilt, Mature Themes, Mentions of Past Betrayals (for Aventurine).

When you take charge without a word, simply commanding attention with your gaze, it renders Aventurine speechless. His normally flawless verbal maneuvers crumble under the weight of your silent dominance, and it sends a thrill through him. That unspoken control makes him weak in the knees, craving to be led and yet always testing the limits.

Aventurine thrives on games, strategy, and calculated moves, but when you take the lead in a slow, methodical way that keeps him on edge, it pushes his boundaries. Whether in a playful debate or a more intimate moment, he’s left paralyzed by your unwavering patience, waiting for your next move with a mixture of eagerness and dread.

Aventurine, often consumed by his schemes and distractions, feels a rush of gratitude and admiration when you handle the mundane details of life—whether it’s cleaning up after him or arranging things just the way he likes it. It shows a level of care he rarely sees, and it makes him feel small in the best way, humbled by your attentiveness.

When you gently but firmly grab his wrist or guide him somewhere with a confident hand, it brings a shiver to his spine. The subtle dominance in your touch renders him helpless, causing his heart to race. It’s not just about physical control; it’s the way your touch signifies a deeper, invisible authority he can’t escape.

When you subtly tease him about his calculating nature, calling out his manipulations in a playful yet dominant tone, it makes him weak in the knees. His usual witty comebacks fall flat as he’s left grappling with the fact that you can read him so effortlessly. It makes him crave your attention even more, wondering how much you really know.

Aventurine is used to being the one pulling the strings, but when you give him a simple order, delivered with the right tone—cool, composed, and unwavering—it leaves him weak and longing for more. Your voice has the power to shift his focus from his complex plans to your singular will, making him surrender without even realizing it.

Sunday’s ethereal, kind demeanor shatters when you issue a quiet but firm command, making him aware of your authority in a way that he never expected. His usual calm and understanding face softens with submission, and his wings tremble slightly, betraying his need to yield to your control. It catches him off guard every time.

You often reassure him with small, gentle acts of affection, like cupping his face or pulling him into your embrace when he's weighed down by his ideals. These quiet displays of care make him feel safe, and the subtle dominance in your actions leaves him weak with longing for a more intimate, grounded connection with you.

When you take the lead in intimacy, gently guiding him and setting the pace, his usually introspective and hesitant nature crumbles. He finds himself lost in the feelings you evoke, utterly consumed by your certainty in contrast to his doubts. It’s the perfect balance of strength and tenderness, leaving him craving more.

Sometimes, it’s the moments when you don’t say anything at all but simply place your hand on his shoulder, guiding him without a word. It makes him feel both cherished and, at the same time, like he is under your complete control—weakening him with the undeniable security you provide.

Sunday enjoys intellectual pursuits, but when you challenge him subtly, pushing him to confront uncomfortable truths or rethink his ideals, it has a powerful effect on him. His usual detached demeanor cracks, and he becomes lost in your presence, feeling both intellectually stimulated and emotionally vulnerable.

Despite being the protector, there are moments when you take on the role of being his shield. Whether it’s through actions or words, you defend him fiercely, and it makes him feel both safe and tenderly cared for. The soft way you assert your dominance in these moments leaves him weak in the knees, torn between admiration and an overwhelming desire to reciprocate.

When you counter his intellectual arguments with sharp wit and an air of effortless confidence, Ratio finds himself momentarily disarmed. His usual arrogance and self-assurance falter, and he’s left reeling by your ability to keep up with him intellectually while subtly maintaining control. It makes him weak in the knees, yearning for your approval and validation.

Despite his brilliance, Ratio isn’t used to others seeing through his carefully constructed façade. When you observe his emotions and call him out with gentle, knowing words, it breaks him down. The vulnerability he tries to hide leaves him weak and introspective, especially when your dominant understanding of his inner world makes him feel seen in ways he rarely allows.

When you take charge in the bedroom, guiding him with gentle yet firm motions, Ratio is overwhelmed by your dominance. His usually calculated demeanor slips away under your confident direction, making him crave more of your control in every aspect of your relationship.

When you lock your eyes onto him, speaking in a calm, commanding voice, he can’t help but focus entirely on you. His brilliant mind can’t escape the weight of your attention, and he is helpless in the face of your unwavering presence. It weakens him in the best possible way, leaving him feeling like a student once more.

Ratio’s confidence is rattled when you assert your dominance in a protective manner, whether it’s defending him in a conversation or physically positioning yourself between him and danger. He’s used to being the intellectual powerhouse, but your assertive protection makes him feel both cherished and vulnerable.

When you lead without saying much—simply guiding the conversation or situation with subtle gestures and a calm voice—Ratio is drawn to your silent strength. Your ability to control a room with nothing more than your presence has him weak in the knees, leaving him in awe of your quiet, unshakable authority.

[levanswrites]

look out, she'll pull you in

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: It’s always like this, after. That strange weightlessness—clean, practiced release. Exactly how they set it up.

And yet—there’s a buzz under his skin he can’t quiet shake.

It should be enough.

It used to be.

warnings: 18+, BDSM, impact play, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, implied FWB, kissing, hurt/comfort, intense pining, angst, guilt/internal struggle, praise kink (?), religious motifs, eddie's pov

(note: the fwb relationship is between eddie and a female OC. there is no rivalry or love triangle dynamics w/ reader.)

word count: 3.5k

a/n: ooof this one hurts y'all. title by black sabbath. this can be read as a standalone piece. read prev chapters here: pt. 1 / pt. 2 / series masterlist

It’s Tuesday night again at the Hideout. 

Red vinyl squeaks as he jumps onto the barstool—a high-pitched whine bleeding into a scratchy cry as he swivels, elbows thudding onto the sticky varnish. 

“Hey, V.” Eddie props his face in both hands—fingers splayed, digging into his cheeks—and grins. 

“Full house tonight, huh? How many people did you have to turn back?”

The place is near-empty. Three bodies, max. Two, if you don’t count the one snoring into the table by the jukebox.

Vanessa smirks without looking, polishing a glass with a rag. Her sleeve lifts, and a patch of ink slips into view—a black serpent winding up her wrist, its head disappearing beneath a black Melvins shirt.  

“You want a drink?”

His rings drum loudly against chipped Formica.

“Whiskey?”

Not his usual. But he must look worse than he feels, because she doesn’t question it—just pours. And not the cheap stuff, either.

He downs it in two gulps.

“Jesus. That bummed about the turnout?”

“No, it’s, uh…” He clicks his teeth. The swallow burns on the way down. “Something else.”  

Her brow arches. A silver hoop piercing moves with it, catching the neon’s sickly glow.

And there’s something so intimidatingly disarming about her stare, because the words start slipping before he can stop them. 

“V, you ever…” He sighs, rubbing over the faded scar on his brow. “Do you ever want something you know you can’t have?”

She lets out a low, sardonic bark of a laugh. 

“Every damn day, Munson.” She waves vaguely at the bar—cracked wallpaper curling at the edges, flickering neon casting blue shadows over chipped beer signs and sticky tabletops.  

He turns in his stool. 

“Hm. Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” She sighs, ducking behind the bar, bottles clinking. Comes back, nails tapping—deep red, sharp as knives.

“A ’69 Pontiac Firebird. And a place in New York with a fire escape.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the earnestness.

“Huh.” He echoes, huffing out a breath. “So then… what do you do?”

She shrugs, reaching for the glass she’d been polishing.

“Settle for a busted Chevy Nova. Share a closet with three roommates who steal my shit.” 

Her mouth twists in a bitter smile. 

“But I get to live upstairs from the record store, so. Owner lets me get first crack at the new releases.”

“Huh.” He nods, fingers back to drumming the table. His gaze drifts to a scatter of peanut shells down the bar—cracked, hollow.

“Hey, uh… are you free tonight?”

She doesn’t look at him right away.

Her hands still on the glass, her smile pulling tight, edged with something unreadable.

Then Gareth calls from the corner, and her eyes flit over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Looks like you’re up, Munson.”

And just like that, she’s moving again—back to cleaning glasses, sorting bottles.

Conversation closed.

He doesn’t even need to look for her after.

She’s already waiting by the alley, cigarette balanced between pale fingers, smoke curling in the cool night air.

“Your place or mine?"

It’s usually at his place.

Vanessa’s got too many roommates, and with Wayne gone most nights, it just makes sense.

His neighbors don’t mind—as long as he keeps the metal low.

He hopes they don’t know that the music’s playing to drown out the screams.

The belt cracks again—sharp, clean.

A line of red blooms across Vex’s thighs—thin, bright like a wire of light. Like it’s been waiting beneath her skin all along. 

She doesn’t scream this time. Just exhales. 

Spine quivering like a bow pulled taut—arms bound overhead, face buried in his pillow.

Another stripe, harder this time. 

A choked gasp slips out, caught in the crook of her elbow.

Then—laughter, loud and sharp as glass.

“Color?” Eddie’s voice cuts low, his chest rising slow, steady.

She’s panting now, but her smile is all teeth.

“What do you think?”

He huffs—soft, amused—then leans down fast.

Grips the base of her skull, fingers buried in sweat-damp hair, and pulls.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Ah—green.” She swallows, still smiling. “Green.” 

His palm finds the space between her shoulder blades. Presses down.

She folds with a groan that sounds like relief.

The belt coils once more around his fist.

Another strike, harder still. 

She twitches, swears under her breath. 

Again. 

And again. 

Rhythm. Ritual.

Each blow lifts her breath like a tide.

He’s learned the cadence of it—how she rides the edge like a current, lets the pain carry her somewhere deeper.

Permission to swim. To float.

Moans slip into curses, curses dissolve into laughter—breathless, blissed, half-drunk on it.

Eventually, he slows. Lets the belt slip from his fingers and unties her with gentle fingers.

The shift in pressure always makes her twitch. 

She sighs, rolling her wrists as they bloom—pale to pink to flushed red.

“Shit,” Her voice is hoarse. “You’re getting good with that belt.”

Not the biggest fan of aftercare, Vex. 

But Eddie always asks.

“You want anything? Blanket? Snack?”

He dips closer, breath tickling the hollow of her ear.

“Holy water?”

A smear of red glows against his pillow.

“Just water, you dork.”

He presses his lips to her shoulder—habit, not tenderness—then pushes to his feet, stretching. 

The hallway is cooler. Quieter.

His steps feel light. His head, lighter still. 

It’s always like this, after. That strange weightlessness—clean, practiced release. 

Exactly how they set it up.

And yet—there’s a buzz under his skin he can’t quiet shake. 

A low hum, like shorted wire.

The kitchen light stutters above the sink, and it grates him more than usual.

It should be enough.

It used to be.

And maybe if he wasn’t thinking about all that—still flushed from the scene, bent over the sink filling a glass, Sabbath pounding through the wall—then maybe he would’ve paused when the knock came at his door.

Soft. Hesitant. 

Not the usual slap of Hank from two trailers down, coming to bitch about the volume or bum a cigarette.

But he doesn’t give it a second thought, muttering a curse as he pads barefoot toward the door, still shirtless, and yanks it open with a loud breath.

“Yeah, Hank, sorry about the musi—”

It’s not Hank. 

It’s you.

You, framed in porch light.  

Your eyes drift to the side, and he catches the shimmer of something wet at your cheekbone.

“Hi.”

Your voice catches on the word. Barely a breath.  

His brain short-circuits, trying to process the shape of you—blotchy cheeks, swollen lids. Something trembling just beneath your skin.

He’s out of the trailer before he can think. One barefoot step down.

“Hey…” 

Your eyes dart past him toward the living room, then back. 

“Sorry, is—” You swallow. “Is now a bad time?”

And it is. Christ, it is. 

His mind stumbles to the bedroom, the sweat still cooling on the back of his neck.

But when your eyes lift to his—wet, fragile, lit like glass in the porch light—he doesn’t even blink.

“No.” He shakes his head once. Then again. “No, not at all.”

Another step down, and he tucks his chin, trying to search your face. 

Your name slips out like a prayer.

“…are you okay?”

Your eyes flicker, something jagged and crystalline clinging to the rim. 

“Yeah, yeah.” A sniff. “I’m fine, I just…” 

A whimper catches in your throat—high and thread-thin—and it cuts straight through him. 

You turn your head, shielding your face as something slips from your eye.

“I’m sorry, I should…” You scrub your cheek with the back of your sleeve, hard enough to make him wince. “I-I should go.”

He doesn’t think. Just moves.

Down the last step. Across the space between.

“Wait, hey—do you wanna come in?” 

It’s only once you’re inside—arms folded tight, eyes on the floor—that it hits him.

He turns, heart in his throat. Forces a smile. 

“Uh—gimme one sec, kay?”

He bolts down the hall, tearing open the bedroom door—slams it shut behind him.

Vex is mid-puff, barefoot, wearing nothing but her band tee and a cigarette between her lips. 

“Vex—fuck.” He hisses, breathless. “You need to go.” 

She glances up from his vinyl collection, brow cocked. The silver hoop catches the light. 

“What, no goodnight kiss?”

“I’ll explain later, just—” He gestures toward the living room like the place is on fire.  

She doesn’t argue. Just takes one last drag and flicks the rest into a beer can with a hiss.

Slips into the rest of her clothes and goes to move toward the door. 

He grimaces, shifting just enough to step into her path. 

His eyes flick past her shoulder, to the window beside his bed—cracked open, screen warped. 

The realization sinks in her eyes, too slow. 

“You’re not serious.”

“I’ll owe you. Promise. Just—please.”

She opens her mouth to argue, then stops. Shoots him a look that would’ve scared him senseless not long ago.

She sighs, raking a rough hand through her hair. Rope marks flash on her wrist and it makes him want to crawl out of his skin. 

He doesn’t watch her leave. Just stares at his own reflection in the mirror, dead ahead, guilt thick and bitter in his mouth.

It’s worse than he thought.

No shirt. Hair plastered to his forehead. A deep flush staining his chest.

He reeks of something that shouldn’t be remembered in the same space you’re crying in.

It sobers him, just enough. 

“Fuck.” 

A quick spray of something on his nightstand. Throws on a shirt—maybe clean, maybe inside out. 

He slams the music off and stumbles back out with all the grace of a wounded animal. 

“Sorry,” he calls out, forcing a crooked smile. “That boombox is possessed, I swear.” 

He detours through the kitchen, stumbling over the sink to finish filling the glass he abandoned.

When he turns, you’re still there, on the edge of his couch. Wrists tucked into your sleeves, shoulders tense.

Perched—like a memory.

If he blinks, you’ll be gone.

You take the glass from him with trembling fingers.

His eyes flick to the empty spot on the couch beside you—and he sinks to the floor instead.

Cross-legged, elbows on his knees. His fingers find a loose thread in the carpet, start picking at it. Anything to keep them busy. 

Silence lingers, stretched thin.

Then, finally, you speak, lips still wet from the rim of the glass.

“I’m sorry I just… showed up. I should’ve called, or something.”

He shakes his head, brows tugged tight. “Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, lips pressed flat like you’re holding something in—then it slips out anyway. 

“I broke up with him.”  

A beat. Then a laugh—fractured, watery. 

You wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I broke up with him, and I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

You exhale like it hurts to breathe. 

“I just…” You swallow. “I didn’t know where else to go. All my friends are his, so…”

He nods once. Heavy. Useless.

“Yeah.”

And he feels like a fucking idiot for not having something more profound to say. For not knowing how to carry this for you.

The silence closes in again.

Then—

He clears his throat. 

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

You glance over, a little wary.

He wets his lips, a breath stalling in his throat. 

“I think you’re the most metal person I know.”

You blink, the crease between your brows softening with something uncertain.

“What?”   

“When you told him off, in the cafeteria? Just like, boom—walked out of there, book in one hand, flipping him the bird with the other.” 

He lets the memory hang there a moment, warm like stage lights through dust.

“If you ask me? Pre-tty fucking metal.”

You huff a laugh—quiet, surprised.  

And for a second, he breathes a little easier. 

“Don’t downplay that.” He smiles, quick and quiet. His eyes flick to yours, then dart away to the carpet. 

“What you did, that shit’s hard. Standing up to someone who… makes you feel small.”

He taps the floor with a ringed finger, eyes fixed on a red thread that refuses to come loose. 

Still not looking at you. 

His jaw shifts, the words snagging in his throat—and for a second, he thinks he might not say anything at all.

It’s selfish. 

And somewhere, in the depth of his guilt-gnarled stomach, it feels like crossing a line. 

Then, with a breath:

“I’m proud of you.”

When he lifts his gaze, you’re staring back at him like you’ve never seen him before.

And something in you flickers—tight and bright, just for a second.

Then your lips twist. A smile that never fully lands.

“You don’t even know me.”

His breath halts at that.

Because he does. 

He does know you.

Not the surface glitter—not the parties, the stories, the careful mask you’ve worn since sophomore year.

Third grade. You were his reading partner for two months. Helped him sound out ‘different’ without laughing once, even when he swapped the ‘r’s and ‘f’s and turned it into something else entirely. Threw an eraser at Danny Caldwell’s head when he snorted from the next table.

Fifth grade. You won the spelling bee. Then, when you thought no one was looking, slipped your trophy ribbon to Jamie Peters while he cried over second place.

Eighth grade. You stood up in the middle of algebra when Mr. Donnelly said ‘Let’s have one of the boys walk us through this one.’ Asked him, clear as anything: ‘Why not one of the girls?’

Eddie doesn’t remember what Mr. Donnelly said back. 

But he remembers the look on your face when someone in the back snickered and muttered bitch.

How you didn’t flinch.

How you turned the page in your textbook and didn’t speak again for the rest of the week.

That was the last class he took with you. 

After that, you shot straight past him—AP this, honors that. Too smart for him to end up in the same room again.

But he still saw you.

In the halls. 

At assemblies. 

At your table across the cafeteria, surrounded by people who laughed all the time and never listened.

You, with silence like armor. Quiet like power.

He knows you. 

But Eddie doesn’t argue back.  

Just rubs over the ring on his index and smiles.

“Yeah, I guess not.” 

And the silence stretches again, thick and fragile. He tries to let it breathe. 

Yet inside, the greed twists sharper. 

Not just the kind that lives in his gut. The kind that lives in his hands. 

The kind that aches to be trusted.

He watches your fingers curl in your lap. Hears the subtle shift in your breathing. 

The way your knees bounce once, twice—a soft tremor barely contained. 

And Eddie—  

God, he wants to crawl forward. Press his forehead against your thighs and just breathe.

He wants to kiss your knees. 

Your silence. Your pulse.

Worship everything that trembles.

But he stays.

Legs folded under him like penance.  

Fingers picking at the seam of his jeans. 

over and over, a nervous rhythm, a silent prayer.

And then—

Your hands.

Soft against his jaw, lifting him before he even knows he’s rising. 

Before he can blink, you’re leaning down from the couch.

He’s still on the floor when your lips find his. 

A chaste thing, like a memory.

A quick press—with his eyes still open—then gone.

Your breath ghosts against his mouth, the faintest stir of wind before a storm.

Then—

You come back all at once. 

Not soft. Not curious. 

Like your whole body is trying to crawl inside his skin. 

Hands clutching the sides of his face—desperate, shaking—knees hitting the floor in front of him with a muted thud—

And it’s rough.

It’s raw.

It’s grief. 

He tastes panic, and loneliness, and relief—salted with desperation and whatever’s left of your tears.

You kiss him like maybe it’ll empty some of it out.

Like maybe he can hold what you can’t carry anymore. 

And Eddie—he takes it.

Hands sliding to your back as you collapse in—breaths stuttering against his lips, fingers curling in his hair—like you could disappear into him if you tried hard enough.

He fumbles to catch you, to steady the gravity of you. Hands splayed over your back, heart hammering. Knows he should stop, even with his brain scrambled, but—

It’s you.

And he’s never known how to say no to you.

And then, suddenly—

You pull back.

Like a bandage ripped off while the wound’s still bleeding. 

You gasp against his mouth, apology breaking in your throat.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have—”

Eddie blinks, like he’s just now come back into his body.

“That was so fucking stupid, I don’t know why I—” You rake both hands through your hair, frantic. “You were just being nice and I, I made it weird, jesus, I always—”

“—Hey.” He leans forward, voice low. Drops his hand from your back but catches your wrist.

Your pulse flickers, warm, beneath his thumb. 

“Stop. Don’t do that.”

Your breath stutters, and your throat flexes once, hard.

A tiny, involuntary thing—but it rocks through him like a storm.

The tremor in your bottom lip as you press it closed. 

The way you swallow at his command. 

And something deep and quiet surges up in him—hot and wrong and familiar.

Like a stray blade of light in the dark, slipping through his mind and almost making it to his hands. 

That part of him, buried so deep it barely has a name—never safe in a place like Hawkins, where boys like him are freaks just for existing—stirs, roaring.

He wants—no, aches—to run his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip.

To touch, to soothe, to take. To hold your pain like it’s sacred. 

To tell you to open for him—

He blinks, fast. Like he’s waking up.

Fuck.

His stomach twists. Sharp and sick.

God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

You're crying, and he’s thinking about—

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his mouth like he can wipe the thought clean. “I—”

You're still watching him. Breathing uneven, eyes too wide.

“I just…” He shakes his head, voice faltering. Tries again. “I don’t wanna, like, take advantage of you. While you’re still…”

Your face crumples. Lips parted, like the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“No, you're not, at all. I kissed you—”

“I know.” He nods, quick. Regret already blooming. 

Thoughts spiraling like wildfire—trying to write it off as projection, as fantasy, as a chemical spill in his brain. A residue from what he was doing just minutes ago, mere steps away—the aftermath of a night that should’ve stayed separate.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” you whisper. “Like I was using you, or—god, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…”

You trail off. Bite the inside of your cheek before you try again. 

“I think, I think I wanted…”

He exhales—a shaky, uneven thing.

His heart’s still sprinting. His hands ache.

There’s too much in him—burning, clashing, clawing its way out.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says, voice low. He wonders if you’ll ever understand. 

“I get it.” 

He drops your wrist, finally. 

His hand hovers, empty for a while, before closing into a fist at his side.

“I just…” He stares down at the floor, and realizes he’s kneeling. 

“You’re going through something, and I didn’t wanna be—”

He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

“I didn’t wanna make it worse.”

You nod. Slow. Swallowing again.

But your eyes don’t leave his.

“You didn’t.”

Then, softer—

“I wanted to. That’s why I kissed you.” 

His head snaps up. Stunned.

Every nerve in his body is screaming.

And then, because he can’t not, he laughs. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You almost smile.  

“I mean it.” you whisper.

And he knows.

He believes you.

That’s the cruelest part of it all.

Because there’s something sacred in the way you’re breaking.

And he’s never been gentle with holy things.

You leave with a hug, murmuring a thanks, though he can’t quite grasp what for.

He thinks about offering to drive you. But you came in your own car this time—your dad’s.

And truthfully, his hands are still trembling. He’s not sure he could make it out of the trailer park without wrapping himself around a pole.

So he stays.

Rooted in the spot you left him—hands loose in his lap, breath caught somewhere beneath his ribs.

He stares at the carpet.

At the ghost of your knees, your breath, your weight.

Then he leans forward, pressing his palm flat into the floor like he could still warm the place where you were. 

Wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting things he shouldn’t.

He hopes Hell is loud, and the metal’s good.

a/n: if you're coming from parts 1 and 2, i hope this side of eddie didn't throw you for a loop. it's a dynamic i've been trying to build (subtly?) between eddie and reader. lmk what you think! reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

update: read the next part here!

read prev chapters here: pt. 1 / pt. 2 / series masterlist

[steddieunderdogfics]

Steve Harrington: Accidental Dominant by Stevieschrodinger

@stevieschrodinger

Rating: E

27,801 words, 12/12 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington in Denial. Steve Harrington Has a Sexuality Crisis, Dom Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, Restraints, Anal Fingering, dont use that as lube, Sex Toys, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, demi steve harrington, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, First Time Together

Summary:

“Oh, nah, I’ve known for ages.”

Eddie’s mouth flaps like a fish, clearly shocked, which Steve is deeply satisfied by, “you’ve known for...you know? You knew? You already know? How do you know?” Eddie’s surprise is genuinely comical, and nice to see since it’s almost over done and that’s more like usual Eddie.

Steve sighs, “it really, really wasn’t hard to work out. You are not a subtle guy Eddie-”

“And what the hell does that mean?” Eddie snaps back, clearly affronted.

Steve stands straight, and without missing a beat lifts his shirt up to his armpits. Eddie’s eyes immediately, hungrily, rake over the newly exposed skin. Steve waves a hand in front of his own torso like a magician revealing the trick, and Eddie turns bright pink and starts sputtering, “that’s not- I mean- you can’t-” but he’s glaring at the floor, chagrined and caught out, and he knows it.

This is a MOD rec as a part of our Fic Fridays.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[hello-nichya-here]

Idk why there are so many dom zuko sub azula fics i mean zuko IS NOT a dom specially not with AZULA let's bfr

She would never be submissive to ZUKO of all people, and even if she did it would be at HER own terms and she'd still be bossing him around!

Oh, honey... even if Zuko were to ever be a sub, he'd still be a brat (much like Azula). That boy, and his dynamic with his sister, is all about fighting for control, and he does not stop until he gets it. Boy literally said he wanted to put her in her place.

If you think Azula would never submit to Zuko, the person she consistently shows more kindness towards and that is now FIRE LORD (after defeating her in battle) you just don't understand how she ticks.

And yes, if she were to submit to him, it'd be on her own terms - but the reverse is also true. That's the whole point of their little power struggle. It's not just about "winning", it's about making the other go "...I actually like when you're in charge." The fight is more about foreplay than it is about actually trying to turn the tables on their sibling.

[pomagrantesandmarigolds]

my partner is so sweet.

they cant voluntarily curse because of how sweet and timid they are.

as soon as they get just a bit angry and curse at something, i wanna pull them by their hair and punish them in our room.

sucking my dick as i tell them how bad they've been

''such a naughty puppy cursing at the loud noise, thats not what good puppies do now is it?,,

as i roll my hips deeper into their mouth, watching those pretty eyes droop from the fact they have never done this before

them left all hard afterward because they were too greedy giving me pleasure to take any for themself.

how cute

[gravid-transluna]

Two semesters ago I’d had her pressed to her dorm bed, her thighs curling as I squeezed into her. Put a baby in me, she’d begged. Then shuddered, groaning into the pillow as hot spurts gushed into her.

Now she’s pacing our dormitory. A portable fan creaks and rotates on the night stand. She’s soaked in sweat, having already shed her undershorts. Even now and then she pauses and squats down, placing her hands on her knees, and bellows as she bears down deeply into her bottom.

“It’s not coming,” she gasps. “Why isn’t it coming?”

I don’t tell her to call someone, a campus doctor, maybe. I’m content to just watch as her body slowly expels her tremendous load.

An hour later she’s screaming into the pillow, back arched, belly hanging low between her spread thighs. And between them, a huge head fills her opening, stretching it into a taut circle.

“It needs to come out,” she sobs. “I need to push so fucking badly.”

I tell her the only thing I can tell her.

“Babe, you need to hurry. Dorm inspections are in the morning.”

[steddieunderdogfics]

For the DnD theme, Critical Hit by Aidaronan https://archiveofourown.org/works/40800273

A fantastic Eddie voice, especially as he's slowly losing his mind about how good at DnD Steve is, and a Steve who is self aware, hot shit, and ever so slightly dorky- a killer combination

Critical Hit by AidaRonan

@aidaronan

Rating: Explicit

7,102 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Steve Harrington Plays Dungeons & Dragons, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Dom/sub, hints of hurt/comfort, Spanking, Nerd sex, Guitars, Shotgunning, Begging, Blow Jobs, pre-season 4, Pre-Canon, Steve kisses Eddie's rings, Orders, Praise Kink, Steve is already well-aware that he's bi, steve has a crush, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, no beta we die like papa, Subspace

Summary:

Steve shows up to play DnD. Eddie decides Steve can stay. IF 'King Steve' recognizes the real lord and master of Hellfire.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Dungeons & Dragons Fics.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[maladaptiveobsession]

kinktober (2024) day 1 - pegging

pegging: a sexual act in which one anally penetrates another with a strap-on

contains: reader with vagina, gn reader, male kylar, dom/sub dynamics, sadomascochism, slapping, spanking, degradation, pegging, painal

synopsis: kylar and you try out the new strap-on he picked out; aka kylar being a slut for painal and degredation

words: 457

Pounding into Kylar’s hips, you’re finding the strap-on to be well worth the eighty quid it cost. You had taken him to that adult shop down on Elk Street the day earlier, being so gracious to let him pick the toy you’d be ruining his hole with. The masochist chose the most intimidating figure out of them all; eight inches and nearly as thick as his arm. With his ass up and face buried into the bed, you wondered if he regretted it.

Kneading his dark hair between your fingers, you roughly pulled his head back. Drool, snot, and tears dripped down his face, his eyes glued to the back of his head and his tongue falling stupidly outside of his mouth.

“Look at you, all stupid for me. Disgusting slut.” He trembles at your words, only responding with whimpers and moans.

“You like being treated like this, don’t you? You like being treated like my personal toy to break and ruin? Answer me, slut.” You order him, harshly spanking his behind, eliciting a groan from Kylar. Slapping his face, you demand for him to use his words.

“Yes! Yes! I do! I do!” He obediently replies, voice raw from screaming underneath you for so long. His eyes flit up to yours for a brief moment, searching for approval.

“Did I give you permission to look at me?” You slap him again.

“Keep those disgusting eyes off me, you hear?” You force his face back into the sheets, leaning over him to abuse even deeper depths. His ass burns with each thrust, your pelvis crashing painfully against his rear. It hurts so bad, but he doesn’t want you to stop. He just wants your attention, even if that means you rearranging his insides and degrading him. He loves this side of you, so cruel and unforgiving; this side of you that only gets to see. He’ll take anything you have to give him, it’s his to have! Only you can treat him this way, only you can abuse him so. He’s yours! Only yours!

Pleasure crashes through his mind, his seed spilling onto the sheets below. You can feel him tremble and shake beneath you, slowing your pace as he rides out his high. Caressing his hair and body, you sing soft praises.

“Good boy, such a good boy. You did so well for me. I think you deserve a treat, hm?”

You slide out from his weeping hole, guide him onto his back and then remove the strap-on entirely. Teasingly slow, you position your glistening pussy just above his face. He gapes below you, panting in anticipation, hands hovering, waiting for permission to touch.

“You wanted a taste, didn’t you? Get to work.”

Minors Do Not Interact; MDNI