#BUT ANYWAYS MWAH MWAH MWAHS U GUYS

[bcdwclves]

wuv u guys.

i hope y'all are doin' good. ❤️

[spearxwind]

>> CERCERION, GRIEF OF THE STORM <<

[hungharrington]

ok this is filth adjacent but would u ever write a lil blurb or fic about Steve with a gf whose super insecure about her stretch marks and body? And May be she doesn't want to disappoint Steve bc his exes seem prettier

would i ever! i love these type of requests i love ppl getting a little bit of respite and comfort through fic esp in smut! i hope this makes u feel even a little bit hotter babe <3 1.6k, afab!reader, and just filth adjacent sry! MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve's mouth is on your neck, his tongue hot where it teases against your skin, and his hands are searching your body with a lustful fervor.

Your head tips back. It's so easy to let him in, let him slide his body closer to yours, to get more of whatever he's giving. The hot press of his mouth on your neck feels damn good enough to make your blood sing—and heat travel between your thighs, wetness beginning to pool.

You want to rub your thighs together, if only for a little relief. Steve's toned thigh between them prevents it. You scrunch his polo between your hands instead, trying to wrestle the courage to slip your hands beneath it.

You're lying back on his bed, propped up lightly by the pile of pillows the two of you had stacked when the evening had begun. The television at the end of the bed runs a film idly in the background, completely unnoticed by this point.

"How we doin'?" Steve's voice rumbles out, barely parting his lips from your skin before he's swooping back in to nip at it again. The bastard.

Your hands flex again, finally mustering the nerve to dive beneath the fabric of his shirt. Steve's warm. You feel the muscles of his tummy shudder as you skim your fingers across it, a pleasurable shiver running down your spine at the trail of hair you can feel leading into his pants. Steve's breath hitches, close to your ear.

He nudges your jaw with his nose lovingly, planting another row of sloppy, wet kisses down the expanse of your neck.

"Hmm," He hums, questioningly. "Still doing good?"

You realise you hadn't exactly answered him and something glows in your chest at his insistent checks. Extremely reluctantly, you manage to drag your hands away from his torso, shifting them up to subtly nudge his face out the curve of your neck.

Steve's eyes dart up to your face as he pulls himself back, his expression turning dopey the moment your hands cup his jaw. His cheeks are flushed ruby and his hair has been mussed in all his steamy motions. He looks fucking delicious.

You kiss him — surging up to connect your mouths, warmth exploding in your chest and trickling down, down when Steve responds with a revere hunger. His plush lips scrape against yours filthily, his tongue always so perfectly teasing. You're gasping for air when you pull away.

"So good," You say breathily, finally answering the question.

Steve takes a moment longer to register what you've said—but that dopey look crosses his face the moment he does.

He plants his hands on the bed and shifts his weight back, sitting back on his heels. His thigh is still situated right between yours and you have to shove down the lustful urge to grind against it, lazy pleasure still pooling low in your gut. Though you're pretty sure Steve wouldn't oppose the idea.

Chest heaving lightly, you watch as Steve reaches for the edges of his polo and tugs upwards. It comes off in one smooth motion and you're rewarded with a fine sight. You're pretty sure your mouth actually waters in response. Tan chest, scattered moles, the smattering of hair. Oh god, you want to lick him.

Something in your face must give away your train of thought because Steve laughs. He leans back down, one hand moving to your waist, and nuzzles his nose against yours. He steals a kiss from your lips.

"See somethin' you like?" He says, the smirk evident in his tone. You feel like you might vibrate out of your skin.

"Shut up," You aim for fiesty and fall far, far short. You sound on the verge of a whine when you say, "You know I do."

Steve grins wider. His hand on your waist tucks under your shirt seamlessly, his thumb drawing maddening circles into the skin. Your breath catches, even as your arousal hikes.

"What about you?" He whispers the question between his kisses as he mouths along your jaw again, finding that same damn spot on your neck again. It'll be violet coloured by the morning. "Do I get to see something I'll like?"

He's asking permission. It takes a long moment to realise that—too distracted between the touch of his fingertips skating across your skin and the addicting feel of his lips against your pulse.

You nod without thinking.

Steve pulls your shirt up no more than a few inches before your brain catches back up. Your hand moves abruptly, grabbing his hand and yanking it and your shirt back down in a split second.

Steve's halting in an instant, pulling back from working lovebites on your neck to see what he's done wrong. There's a string of spit connecting his lips to your neck.

Steve frowns in concern, shifting his hand up wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, as he makes an effort to put a little distance between you.

"You okay?" He asks. You're still holding his wrist, which is still holding the edge of your shirt. "What happened?"

Your mouth opens uselessly and closes. You know precisely why you had stopped him and now you're facing up with the fact you have to tell him, lest Steve believe you're actually having second thoughts over being with him.

It's just... you've probably spent far too many hours in the mirror. You've seen it from every angle. Seen it in every lighting. You can't quite ever seem to make your body look good.

You don't look like any of the girls Steve's been with in the past.

Comparison is killer, you're aware of this, but infuriatingly you just can't seem to stop. You think of what Steve will see the moment he gets your shirt off, what he'll realise, and your hand tightens around his wrist subconsciously. Your throat tightens up too.

Steve's face melts into a softer expression, eyes big. "Hey, hey, it's totally fine if you said one thing and- and you realise that you didn't mean it, it's okay."

Words continue to evade you and humiliatingly, it feels more likely that tears will escape you before any explanation will. He's being so nice.

"But..." Steve continues, his tone wary as if aware he's treading on uneven ground. "You seemed like you were into it. Like, comfortable, I mean. Then it was like a flip switched and you froze."

"I-" You finally find your voice. You clear your throat as you try to find the right words, breaking Steve's intense gaze to study the ceiling.

This is worse. This has got to be worse that just Steve taking your shirt off and being disappointed because— because you're goddamn building up to it. Your eyes screw shut and you decide it's better to rip the band-aid off.

"I'm just," You can't quite keep the quiver out of your voice. "I'm not like- like girls you've dated before."

Steve makes a noise of confusion and it's enough to force your eyes open. You glance down, taking in Steve's adorably furrowed brow.

"Okay...?" He says, clearly still a bit confused.

"I mean, Steve," You say, voice a little steadier. Your hand around his wrist finally remembers to relax.

You release the hold on him and tuck your hand under your shirt discretely, covering the skin of your stomach you know is warped with stretch marks. "I don't look like the girls you've dated before. My- my body is different."

The wrinkle between Steve's brow shifts, moving from confused to something a little harsher.

"So?"

You blink. Of all the possibilities that you had run, not one of them had ended with Steve saying that.

"So?" You echo meekly. "So... so you might be like, I don't know, disappointed or think—mfh"

The words get smushed beneath Steve's fervent kiss, stealing one kiss off your lips and all your words with it. You blink up at him again, all your endless arguments of why Steve would be so disappointed suddenly silenced.

Steve grins, evidently pleased with his reaction.

Tentatively, moving slowly so you could intervene if you wished, he drags his hand along the sheets and onto your hip again. This time, however, he pushes the fabric of your shirt up and doesn't pause til it's bunched up, most of your torso on show.

Your nerves gather, gnawing at the edges of your chest. You can't bring yourself to move the hand that's trying to hide part of you, even if a dozen other stretch marks are visible now.

Then Steve leans down and he kisses your skin, right in the middle of your tummy.

"I think," He says, lips dragging across your skin and setting it aflame. He's looking up at your through his lashes, your gazes locked, his eyes dark. Another kiss, this time longer, with just a flash of tongue. "You're hot shit."

Instinct makes you want to scoff. But Steve says it so seriously that you almost believe him off the bat. Believe that he believes that.

He lowers himself onto his elbows, letting both of his large hands settle onto your waist, fingers pressing into the skin lightly. You shiver at the feeling and start to consider the possibility that he actually does think that.

"And I will gladly," He punctuates the word with another kiss, this one evolving into a soft, sensual lick up towards your breasts which peak lustfully in response. Your breath hitches. "Spend all the time needed if you need some convincing of that."

His hands move, sliding down til he's gently knocking yours aside, big warms hands spread across your hips. His thumbs are moving, drawing soft motions down, you realise, towards your waistband. Your pulse jumps between your legs, the heat in your body uncaring about the brief interruption.

Steve kisses your tummy again, further down this time. You acutely realise you've got Steve Harrington between your thighs, looking up at you with darkened eyes and promising filthy things with his fingers. Or mouth. Both if you're lucky.

"So," Steve murmurs, voice raspy and low. His thumbs slip beneath your waistband, just an inch. "You gonna let me convince you?"

You're feeling pretty damn lucky.

[rottengurlz]

"my jugular misses your teeth." 🩸

a collab with @kashisun 🔪

[peachesfrompluto]

"First of all, the name's not 'Zippy'!"

present for my dear friend of their human design of Blurr (TFA) 💙

[theloveinc]

katsuki is such a deep sleeper but once you move to leave the bed suddenly he’s up

asking slurred questions: “w’s wrong? cant sleep?” while trying to grab you and get you back into bed

you just answer “‘m gettin water katsuki lemme go” all groany trying to get out of his hold

he doesn’t let go easy but once he does he follows you through the house into the kitchen. you get yourself a nice cold water bottle with condensation around it(AGGHHH) and drink. like the creep he is he stares at you but you can’t notice bc he’s wrapped himself around your back. you offer his some water and he downs the rest(greedy loser). then you both go back to bed, which katsuki decides to pull you in close and never let go(even if you die of thirst)

anyway love you caitie❤️❤️

All that intense hero training and a whole. entire. war. just for him to be able to go from dead-to-the-world and Snoring to ... ready to run a mile after you around the house..........

Even if all you gotta do is pee, too... you're coming back to bed all groggy eyed to find his wide open, like he was just sitting there, making sure you were going to the bathroom and Nothing Else. Cuz you're right, if it's water, then he's right there beside you the whole time and drinking the whole thing on the way back upstairs (that is, after you manage to get him to let go of your wrist and stop all the get back in bed-ing...for someone who complains about your whining, he's surprisingly? Unsurprisingly? no better).

Please, please, please, for his sake, just keep a full water cup by the side of your bed and make sure to use the bathroom right before laying down, too (even if he's whining about how long you take then also) just so you can stayed wrapped up with him for the max amount of time possible🥺🥺🥺 Doesn't that seem like the best solution?

(^^ don't tell him I snitched, but bakugo told me to write that last bit, btw)

Love u more, anon!!🩷🩷🩷

[hazardsoflove]

truly if we’re mutuals i hope u know i cherish u with my entire being even if we’ve never/barely spoken and became mutuals like a day ago or we talk all the time and have been mutuals for years. i love u

[balls-on-my-face]

when u and ur long distance low maintenance long term casual girlfriend accidentally break ur no pda rule

[thunderc1an]

damn! 2022 - 2023

[riftiee]

the Warden

..

This is my first time ever trying a ‘painting’ style in digital art, so please go easy on me :,) i may come back to it and tweak it a bit later, too, tbh.

[itsjaywalkers]

offering u some jegulus pirates of the caribbean au (except not exactly but u do get one of the scenes from the first movie) || 3677 words || no cws apart from james being a menace and regulus praying for his downfall (while also being lowkey attracted to him very much against his will)

“But he saved my life!” Regulus insists, starting to feel a little desperate, eyes jumping from his father, to Commodore Lucius, to the stranger who had jumped into the sea to stop him from drowning. 

“Yes, Regulus, we heard you the first time,” his father sighs, barely hiding the roll of his eyes. It’s enough to make some heat flood into Regulus’ cheeks, and he has to repress the urge to pout, or even worse, stomp his foot. “But, son, come on. Look at the state of him. You’d have to be incredibly naive to not realise he isn’t a good man.” 

“I resent that,”  the stranger pipes in, grabbing everyone’s attention. Not like the soldiers’ has been anywhere else since they stormed in. “Why, Governor, appearances can be deceiving.” 

Regulus cringes slightly, and it’s not because of his wet clothes, or the cold already seeping into his bones, despite having his father’s, Orion, coat over his shoulders. Or, well, not entirely because of that. 

The scold twisting his father’s harsh features is enough to make him want to curl into himself, or at the very least, take a step back. Regulus has been the target of that specific expression more times than he can count, even though he always does his best to remain out of the spotlight. Always seen, but never heard. That’s how his parents prefer him. The only way they can somehow tolerate him. 

He’s not his brother, after all, as everyone seems so set on reminding him. Sirius might be brash, and insolent, and sometimes border on rebellious, but he’s the perfect leader. Loved and respected by all. Everyone adores him, even their parents, despite barely being capable of it, and Regulus can’t say he blames them.

Maybe that’s why he’s speaking up now, trying to do the right thing for once, even though every part of him fought against the mere idea. Regulus thinks Sirius will be proud of him, as soon as he returns from his trip and Regulus tells him all about it.

He can’t help but wish he was here with him. Everything feels less scary when his older brother is at his side. 

Before his father has the chance to open his mouth, possibly to obliterate the kind stranger that risked his life to save Regulus’, Lucius steps forward, a blonde, nearly white eyebrow arched at the unknown man. 

“Deceiving, you say?” he repeats in a drawl, nose turned up in what can only be disgust. Really, Regulus can’t understand what his cousin sees in him. “I suppose we should at least give you the benefit of the doubt.” Lucius gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I believe thanks are in order, then.”

Lucius extends one arm, if a bit begrudgingly, offering his hand to the stranger. Regulus’ eyes widen a little at the gesture, and he can feel his father glaring at Lucius’ back with such ferocity it almost makes him shiver. 

Regulus can’t say he blames him. Lucius isn’t disobeying direct orders, mostly because Orion hasn’t said anything concrete, but it comes way too close for comfort. 

The stranger eyes the hand with clear wariness, but he still grins and nods a little, before reaching out to give Lucius’ hand a firm shake. 

They’ve barely made contact with each other when Lucius grips the stranger harshly, pulling him closer and raising the sleeve of his undershirt up, revealing a branded ‘P’ on his forearm. Regulus can’t quite repress the tiny gasp that escapes his lips.

Lucius’ smile becomes wider, sharper, as he watches the suddenly sheepish stranger with no little amount of satisfaction. “Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?

Regulus grimaces at the word almost at the same time as the stranger winces. He didn’t give it too much thought at first, because he had swallowed a lot of water, and had been too busy coughing it all out to properly notice, but he supposes the man’s attire kind of gives him away. 

He wears a red bandanna around his forehead, keeping messy black curls off his face, and many strands of his hair seem to be adorned with beads and colourful trinkets. His hazel eyes seem to possess a mischievous glint in them, and Regulus thinks that, under different circumstances, he might’ve found it charming, considering it sort of reminds him of Sirius. He also sports a short, but definitely unkempt beard all around his mouth. 

He takes a peek at his father’s face, and it doesn’t startle Regulus, discovering him looking so smug. 

His words aren’t unexpected, either, but they still fill him with dread.

“Hang him,” Orion orders swiftly, almost bored, and the stranger clicks his tongue, more inconvenienced than scared. 

Lucius lets out a low chuckle. “Keep your guns on him,” he tells his men, without even bothering to check if they’ll listen. They always do, anyway. “And someone fetch me some irons!”

He raises the sleeve a little higher, and Regulus manages to catch sight of ink on brown skin, something that he’s sure resembles a bird, before Lucius is pulling down the cotton once more. 

“James Potter, is it?” he questions blandly, nose wrinkling in distaste. 

“Captain James Potter,” the pirate corrects a bit sharply, lips stretching into another one of those charming smiles. “Sir,” he adds forcibly, almost as an afterthought. 

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t see a ship, captain.” Lucius makes a show of looking around, some of his men laughing under their breaths. 

The pirate’s, James’, smile never falters. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it don’t exist.” 

Lucius gives him an incredibly flat stare, but James doesn’t wilt under it, doesn’t even react, really, and instead continues to hold the Commodore’s gaze. 

“Quite sad that I can’t even tell if you’re lying to me or just yourself.” Lucius shakes his head softly. 

James opens his mouth, presumably about to retort, when a sudden uproar between the soldiers draws his attention. Even Regulus’ fathers turns around, seeking the origin of all the fuss, and finally putting some distance between him and Regulus. 

“Commodore!” One of Lucius’ men exclaims, everyone around him making way for him hastily. “I found—I found the pirate’s things!” 

Lucius doesn’t take his eyes off James, not even for a single second, but he raises both eyebrows, clearly pleased by this information. When the soldier finally reaches them, Lucius doesn’t waste a single moment and begins to search through the pirate’s belongings, taking some pleasure in the way James’ expression twitches at the action. 

Regulus’ body leans forward almost unconsciously, and he feels a bit embarrassed by how curious he is about this whole scene. If his father weren’t so distracted, he would’ve scolded him by now. 

“A gun with no additional shots,” Lucius murmurs dryly, eyes fleeting from the weapon on the soldier’s arms to James. “A rusty sword and a hat. What a pathetic excuse of a pirate.”

James raises a hand, and the men flanking him go tense all over, squinting their eyes at him. 

“And yet you have heard of me,” he points out with an easy smile, which, well, it’s not untrue. 

Lucius levels him with an unimpressed glare, while James continues grinning widely. Regulus is as stiff as most of Lucius’ men, unsure of what’s gonna happen next, of how long they’re gonna keep throwing jabs at each other until either of them snaps.

Apparently, Lucius has already had enough, because he grabs James by the wrist once again, even more forcibly than before, and starts dragging him away. His men part to let him pass like it’s second-nature, and Regulus can see Lucius is headed to the other side of the crowd, where one of the soldiers is holding some irons. 

Regulus moves before he has the chance to think about it. 

He runs after Lucius and James, ignoring the startled looks all the men give him, and pretending he doesn’t hear his father call his name in outrage, or the noise of his steps as he follows a moment later. 

The heavy coat falls from his shoulders at some point during his little race, and he can only hope that either his father or one of the soldiers manages to take a hold of it before it touches the floor. The punishment for dirtying one of Orion’s coats might not be the worst his father has done to him, but it won’t be fun regardless.

Regulus has never been as athletic, or as strong, as his brother, but he’s fast and nimble, so he manages to slip in between Lucius and the man holding the irons, halting the advance. Lucius stops, James almost crashing into his back and sending them both tumbling.

“Regulus—” he starts, careful but with an edge in his tone.

“Pirate or not, this man saved my life,” Regulus cuts him off, panting a little but making sure to raise his chin proudly, like his mother has always taught him. 

Lucius blinks at him, before exhaling loudly through his nose. He pulls James from behind him, and with a firm move of his head, the man with the irons rushes from behind Regulus, getting ahold of James quickly and binding his wrists together. Regulus watches for a second before whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes at Lucius. 

“Regulus,” the Commodore tries once more, infusing his voice with something that’s too curt to be considered patient. “I admire your kindness. I truly do. But one good deed is not enough to redeem someone of an entire lifetime of wickedness, and I can assure you, this man does not deserve your mercy.”

Regulus bites his lower lip, eyes pleading at Lucius’ impassive face. “But—”

“You foolish, insolent, little—” his father hisses, fingers curling around his forearm and gripping harshly. 

Orion begins to pull, attempting to get him away from both Lucius and James, and probably drag him back to the house so he can scold him properly. Maybe even punish him. 

Regulus resists, planting his feet firmly on the ground even as his father’s gaze turns furious. He hears Lucius let out an irritated huff at the display, but it doesn’t last long, because one moment Regulus is struggling against his father’s ruthless grip, and the next one there’s a heavy chain around his neck, and a warm, hard body pressed against his back.  

Someone gasps. Or perhaps everyone does. They lean forward, automatically reaching for Regulus, because most of these soldiers have known him and his family for years. They’ve been trained to protect him, to keep him safe. 

Even his father is staring at him in what can only be terror, eyes wide and lips parted, hands twitching with the need to grab him, push him away from who’s holding him captive. 

Regulus inhales shakily. Breathing is a bit difficult, with the chain digging into his neck, but he can manage. He’s staring back at Lucius, at his father, at every single man who’s surrounding him and watching him with anxious eyes. The horror he can see in their faces isn’t helping Regulus to keep calm.

The soldier standing closest to Lucius reaches for his weapon, the noise he makes being the first sound to break the sudden silence. 

“Don’t shoot!” Lucius snarls, taking a step forward and raising a stiff arm. However, the movement leads to James using his irons to choke Regulus further, and Lucius freezes up as soon as Regulus lets out a grunt. 

“Never expected such a posh little boy to be so keen on defending my honour,” James whispers into his ear, loosening his hold but just barely. “But I’m grateful.”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, a spark of irritation lighting up inside his belly. It’s not enough to erase his fear, but it helps to distract him a little. 

Of course the one time he finally decides to speak up and do some good, this happens.

“And you, Commodore,” James goes on, raising his voice and infusing it with cheer. “I knew you’d warm up to me.”

Lucius clenches his jaw, hands curling into fists at his sides, but he keeps still and doesn’t dare breathe a single word. 

“Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d love to have my effects back. Please.”

It takes a beat, men glancing at each other a bit unsurely, but when James urges Lucius again with a “Commodore!”, the warning clear in his tone, he finally moves. Lucius turns around and grabs James’ belongings quite aggressively, pointedly ignoring the way James huffs. 

Regulus doesn’t even get a moment to relax, because as he watches Lucius moving towards them, arms filled with James’ effects, a warm breath hits him on the side of the neck, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Do you have a name, darlin’?” James asks quietly, lips grazing the lobe of his ear with every word. 

A wave of heat rushes through Regulus, and he isn’t sure if he’s more angry or embarrassed at his body’s reaction. 

“Regulus,” he responds through gritted teeth. “Regulus Black.”

“Regulus,” James repeats in a drawl, and Regulus can feel his smile against his skin. He tries to tilt his head to the side, get some space, but there’s no use. The pirate won’t let him go anywhere until he gets what he wants. “Well, then. If you’d be so kind, Regulus.”

He can’t help but frown a little, attempting to look back and find some answers, when Lucius steps right in front of him. He’s giving him James’ belongings before he can even blink, and they’re all very lucky Regulus has such good reflexes. 

The moment all the weapons and the belt and the stupid hat are all in his arms, James pulls on the irons and forces him to turn around until they’re facing each other. He has both hands bound and around the back of Regulus’ neck, and they’re standing so close they’re basically breathing into each other’s mouths. The realisation makes Regulus’ heart stutter and his stomach twist uncomfortably, so he tries to move away. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for him to go, and it only ends with James smirking smugly at him, before nodding pointedly at his things.

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line and narrows his eyes at the pirate, quite satisfied at the fact that they’re basically the same height and he can’t look down on him. Not like he needs to, considering the expression he’s sporting.

Oh, he absolutely hates this. He hates that he risked everything to defend a bloody pirate. He hates that he’s being threatened and held hostage and humiliated. He hates that this is only gonna make him look weaker than he already does. He hates that Sirius isn’t here. And more than anything, he hates James Potter.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus gets to work. He starts with the weapons, uncomfortable with how they feel in his hands, how heavy and how cold. He itches to get rid of them. 

“Make sure to be nice, yeah, darlin’?” James whispers the moment Regulus begins to fasten the belt holding the sword around his waist. 

Regulus wants nothing more than to curse him out, but he settles with wrapping the damn thing extra tight, eyes never leaving James’ and watching as he winces momentarily, before giving Regulus a lazy smile. 

“Careful,” James warns, but it’s teasing. Mocking. “You don’t wanna damage the goods.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes before he grabs the gun and what looks like a sash. He attaches the gun to the belt and then puts the sash over James’ shoulder, noticing that he can’t tie it properly on his current position. Biting the inside of his cheek but refusing to show anything on his face, he presses their chests together and his hands travel to James’ back. 

Regulus focuses on the task at hand, but it proves to be harder than expected, with the way James chooses to return the embrace to the best of his abilities. As if Regulus is doing this willingly, or something. 

James leans into him, until his cheek is touching Regulus’, nose digging into his curls and nuzzling there like they’re—like they’re actually—

Regulus finishes the knot alarmingly fast, his whole face burning, especially when he remembers his father is bearing witness to this whole scene. 

Fortunately, there’s only one thing left and it’s that ridiculous hat, so he puts it hastily on James’ head, more than ready to get this torture done and over with. But as soon as it sits on dark curls, Regulus notices it’s crooked, and he’s reaching out once again a second later, righting the damn thing until it’s good, until James looks every bit the pirate that he is. 

The smile he receives in return almost blinds him, and Regulus is averting his gaze even before James turns him back around. 

The disgust on his father’s face isn’t surprising, but it still stings. Although, not as much as the disappointment does. 

“Good job, love,” James murmurs, just for him, and Regulus makes an active effort to not visibly react. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Regulus cocks his head back just enough for their eyes to meet. “You’re despicable,” he spits, hands trembling with barely contained rage. 

“So much hatred coming from such a pretty mouth.” James clicks his tongue, but his grin widens. “I saved your life, you saved mine. Now we’re square, yeah?”

He opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, when James lowers the irons around Regulus’ neck enough to grab his gun and then press the barrel of it against Regulus’ temple. 

His blood runs cold and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a spark of something inside his gut, and then goosebumps break everywhere on his skin, heat rushing to every point of contact between him and James. 

Regulus knows he’s not going to shoot. And yet, a tiny, buried part of him sort of wants him to. 

“Gentlemen,” James exclaims, that fake cheer returning to his voice. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to bid you all farewell. Try not to miss me too much, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“You better pray we won’t, pirate,” Lucius snarls, stepping forward at the same time James steps back, still holding onto Regulus.

“Is that a threat, Commodore?”

“It’s a promise.”

James chuckles, and Regulus can feel it rumble against his back. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll be able to keep it.”

He takes another step back, dragging Regulus with him, but the barrel of the gun isn’t touching his head anymore, and he notices James loosening the irons slightly. He must be about to make his escape, and Regulus thinks he should feel relieved about being freed, but he’s too busy being furious at the fact that James is going to get away with this.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be seeing you again, darlin’,” James says into Regulus’ ear. 

“If you ever dare to go near me again, I’ll kill you myself,” Regulus replies lowly, resisting the urge to turn his head away from James’ filthy mouth.

The pirate hums, and then presses his lips into Regulus’ skin, right under his ear, and it makes him jump, a choked off noise slipping past his mouth. 

For a terrifying moment, he thinks James is kissing him, but the gesture stays as a simple contact. It’s probably just another one of his attempts to anger him, to make a fool out of him, and Regulus loathes that it’s working.

“Looking forward to it,” James mumbles into his throat, and Regulus has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood to keep another sound from coming out.

And then, just like that, James is gone. Regulus is still recovering from his words, and the not-really kiss, when the chain disappears from around his neck, the body wrapped around him vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. 

Lucius and the rest of his men rush after James, running past Regulus without giving him a second glance, but when he turns around, eyes desperately searching, he can’t see anything apart from a sea of uniformed soldiers. 

Regulus doesn’t stop thinking about what happened all day, not even when his father grabs him by the arm and hauls him home. Or when he screams at him for half an hour, and then sends him straight to bed without dinner. It all feels a bit like he’s in a dream, or a trance, and watching everything from outside. 

Nothing seems real anymore. Not since James spoke into his skin while pressing the barrel of his gun to Regulus’ skull.

He isn’t sure of how or when, but one thing is very clear: Regulus is getting revenge. He won’t rest until he sees that bloody pirate behind bars.

[amphirrhvx]

hope everybody is having a great PRIDE MONNNTHHH!! 🌈✨

[spearxwind]

{ [...] Some leviathans have been observed using their threat displays to hunt, dazzling their prey into sensory shock before striking. And isn't it mesmerizing? You can't look away. You can't look away. You can't look away. }

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 17 - Edging

pairing: ethan hunt x f!reader

cw: fwb to lovers?, mentions of drinking, drunk sex (kind of), brief description of injuries, imf agent!reader, edging, nipple licking, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, overstimulation, crying, cum marking

word count: 1613

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

–

Ethan was not typically one to tease. It was nice sometimes, but for the most part, he just liked to please you. There was nothing more satisfying than to see you unravel for him from start to finish.

It was different tonight, however, after a few drinks with the team for a well-deserved post-mission celebration. Ethan’s body was aching; he’d taken the hardest hits, as he usually does. The difference about this particular mission, though, was that it was you by his side. Until the very end. You’d limped back to the safe house together, arms around one another, blood still dripping from the various cuts and lashes on your bodies. None of it mattered anymore, though. None of the cuts and bruises and aching pains could take away from the fondness between you and Ethan, the way your relationship—which had started as just a simple dancing among your feelings for one another—blossomed immediately after you helped him save the fucking world. 

You’d been sleeping with one another. Not frequently; the nature of your jobs did not allow that, but at any chance you both had. You kissed, too. Passionately, fervently, like lovers do. But there wasn’t any sort of label, nothing to go by in terms of what you were to one another. You guess you could still just call him your co-worker, who you substantially had feelings for and occasionally made love to. 

Tonight, though, as you fall into bed together, tipsy and giggly, there’s something very different. You’re not quite sure what it is. 

Ethan’s hands aren’t as gentle as usual, his touch eager and almost demanding. His mouth is sweet from the alcohol you’d been drinking, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. 

“Can I try something?” he husks in between kisses.

“Mhm,” is all you mumble against his lips, entranced by the alcohol in your system, his mouth on yours, and his warmth.

He pulls apart, grins, an excited little glint in his eyes. He momentarily looks around, and then visibly gets an idea.

“Can you hang onto the headboard?” he asks softly, guiding you up the mattress. 

You scoot up the best you can until your head hits the pillows, relaxing your body as Ethan settles above you. His hands immediately roam, reaching for your clothes. You aid him in taking them off, and then eagerly reach for his own when you’re completely stripped. He stops you, moves your hands away with a small smile, and takes them off himself. Slips off his jacket, his t-shirt, and then wriggles out of his jeans. 

You giggle, amused, and do your part in holding onto the headboard instead. You’re wondering what it is he’ll do, the uncertainty thrilling. Sex with Ethan was always the same stupor of hot, hungry passion. Lips numbing, tiring each other out. Usually not many words exchanged. It’s different tonight. Your connection to one another feels deeper, more trustful.

Ethan has always respected you. Even the first time you had sex, it was always about you and what you needed. It wasn’t just a need to blow off some steam, to finally give in to the tension; it was his infatuation with you. He was instantly obsessed with pleasing you, and it remained that way every time you had sex. He wasn’t gentle by any means, but he wasn’t rough, either. It was the perfect passionate pace every time. It was like making love. 

The way his arms wrap around your legs to pull you to him is not at all like the usual. You squeal in surprise at his strength, and watch as he brings your core to his middle. Your legs momentarily wrap around his waist as he leans down above you, mouth closing around one of your hardened nipples. He kisses and sucks, eliciting a high pitched moan out of you. One hand comes off the headboard to cup the back of his head as he sloppily kisses at your chest, moving onto your other breast, to your sternum, and back and forth.

You relish in the pleasure that courses through your body, eyes closed, a little smile on your face. Even more so when Ethan’s hand slips in between your bodies to touch your slick center. 

“Ethan,” you gasp out, the thickness of his fingers slipping through your folds.

The pleasure builds up quicker than you can process, your breathing getting heavier against the top of his head as his tongue swirls against your nipple. You squirm when his thumb swipes over your clit, body jerking at the sudden contact, eyes widening. 

It continues to build, your body tensing more and more, and you’re sure you’re seconds away from cumming when Ethan suddenly pulls back. Mouth off, hand off. 

“Fuck,” you whine breathlessly, lifting your head in surprise as he backs away just enough so that your legs untangle from his waist. “I was just about to—what’s wrong?”

He grins, hands still lingering on your legs. “What do you mean?” 

The pleasure floats around in your body, diminishing. Ethan settles on his stomach, spreading your legs apart to face your dripping cunt. You gasp as he places soft, tender kisses to your inner thighs, traveling as close to your center as he can and then trailing them the other way, teasing. 

You realize what he’s doing. 

It’s almost dizzying. Just the thought of getting to do this with him. 

When his mouth slots against you, your entire body goes slack. You try not to thrust against his face, but the orgasm you almost had just a minute ago is still lingering, still on the verge of spilling. Your grip on the headboard tightens. 

Ethan’s mouth is gentle, but you can feel the tip of his finger prodding at your hole. When it slips inside just a little, he pulls back, lips shiny and parted. “Can you hold it for me? Just a little?”

Fuck. 

“H-hold it?” you repeat, feeling him stretch you on his finger. “What do you mean?”

“Try not to cum. Can you do that?” he asks tenderly.

Just his request almost sends you over the edge, but you nod. You grimace when he leans in to swipe his tongue over your clit, the feeling almost too much to hold onto. 

The good thing about having had sex with Ethan multiple times before, is that he grew incredibly accustomed to your body, what reactions he could get out of you, when you were close to cumming. That’s why, when he feels your body tense, and you’re sure you’re really not gonna make it, he pulls back again. 

A frustrated cry comes out of you, loud and whiny. Your fingers slide into his hair, pulling slightly in impatience. 

“First time you do this to me,” you pant, your breathing erratic.

“Just wanted to try something new,” he murmurs against your inner thigh. He presses a firm kiss there, and then sits up. 

Your hand returns to the headboard again, and you watch with hungry eyes as Ethan grasps himself in his fist, cheeks flushed. It’s earth-shattering when he leans in and pushes inside of you. You feel your legs shake, your toes curl, as he sinks in with ease. 

Ethan doesn’t prolong it. He gets right to it; languid strokes at first, and then he increases his pace the more your expression calls for it. It’s still a challenge to hold on but you do it just because he asked. Above you, Ethan admires the pleasure painted on your face. He looks dazed, too, enthralled by how tight you feel around him. 

Your cries get louder as it gets harder and harder to hang on, mixed with the sharp sounds of skin on skin. Ethan suddenly pulls out the moment he feels you clench around him, getting a sob out of you.

Tears well in your eyes. “Ethan—fuck—please,” you plead, sniffling.

He cups your face, leans in to kiss you sweetly. He distracts you for a minute, mouth moving yours gently, and then slips inside of you again. 

It happens a few more times. You lose count after the second time, too intoxicated and overwhelmed with pleasure to even grasp anything but the sudden loss; how you get right to your breaking point and he knows exactly when to pull back. It’s so unlike him. It kind of makes this whole thing hotter, if you didn’t have the very sickening, very urgent need to cum once and for all. In the moment, you’re sure you’ve never needed anything more.

You nearly scream out when it finally tips over the edge. The pleasure crashes against you like a wave, wringing your body against the mattress. Ethan holds onto you, lets you thrash underneath him. He presses kisses to your face as you feel it, his thrusts momentarily slowing to let you breathe. He’s chasing his own high, however, and soon enough resumes his movement. He fucks you through your orgasm, sloppy and untamed, sensitivity immediately clouding your senses. Tears slip down your cheeks as his pace quickens, until it soon crashes for him too. 

He pulls out instantly, spilling his cum all over your abdomen, and his fist. 

Tired and sore, he immediately slumps beside you, trying to catch his breath. Your head rolls over onto his shoulder. 

He glances at you, floating in his high. His brows furrow; he touches your face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

You wipe at your cheeks. Waves of pleasure continue to swim through you, your body glowing in ecstasy. “No.. that was great, actually.” 

He breathes out, smiling.

You lean your head back against him, sighing happily. “Where did that come from, though?”

[talksosweet]

btw guys i did end up making it to 200 followers today everyone cheer 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[joshdiaz]

Taveeta Szymanowicz as Theresa Baptiste in Teen Wolf, Season 1

Theresa is not superstitious. It's easy not to be, in a small boring town like hers, until it isn't anymore. Scott McCall makes first line, Allison Argent blows into town, and suddenly everything is topsy turvy.

There is, first of all, the devastation of watching her crush get a girlfriend. She knows she doesn't have a claim on Scott, obviously, but that's kind of the worst part; even if she'd made a move, it wouldn't have mattered. When she got hit with a lacrosse ball last year during their shared practice, he'd run to help her, and a year later, she still couldn't stop thinking about it; Scott, on the other hand, was always helping someone do something, and probably hadn't thought about it since. She wasn't rooting for the guy to be unhappy, obviously, but pining had been a lot easier when no one else noticed him.

There is also the unfortunate fact that Theresa, generally, seems to be noticing a lot more these days. It's hard to accept that the rash of attacks in her town are really animals when she keeps seeing flashes of men with teeth. It's hard to focus when her thigh itches even though there's no scab there. It's hard to enjoy school dances when she has the deep, deep feeling that something is wrong. It's hard to talk to her friends when none of them are seeing what she's seeing and it's hard to figure out what she knows about what's going on when she has gaps in her memory. She'd read once that brains will sometimes do that to protect you, but she doesn't feel safer.

But it doesn't matter. Men don't have sharp teeth and she doesn't have any marks on her body and superstitions don't mean anything. This will pass, as it always does, and Beacon Hills will be boring again.

If Lydia Martin hadn't almost bled out on the lacrosse field the night of the formal, she might've been able to believe that.

@nolanhollogay