#lemon rating

[acradelius]

Could a request an NSFW fic of the junker boys reacting to the reader getting a tramp stamp of their names tattooed on them?

"Oo, A Tramp Stamp You Say?~"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairings: Mako Rutledge (Roadhog) x Reader, Jamison Fawkes (Junkrat) x Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Tramp Stamps, Slight Possessiveness, Implied! Ownership Kink, Spanking, Doggy Style Position, Nickname Usage, Slight Aggressiveness, Cum On Body

Word Count: 1,131 Words

Author's Note: I have never wanted a tramp stamp till now

[ MAKO / ROADHOG ]

There are some things that need to be taken into consideration whenever thinking about getting something as permanent as a tattoo, especially when the theme revolves around Mako. First, how long has the relationship with Mako been going on for? If the relationship isn’t much of a serious one or hasn’t been going on for quite some time now, then he most likely would be against (Y/N) getting a tattoo that revolves around him on themself. Next, he would like to discuss the detailing of the tattoo that (Y/N) is wanting to get. He’ll admit that he’s not wanting to control what (Y/N) can or cannot get, it’s their body anyways, he just doesn’t want to cause harm to (Y/N) if someone was to recognize aspects of the tattoo that are related to him. If the detailing focuses more on his “Roadhog” persona, then he’s not as worried about it as the people know more of “Roadhog” and that he’s not an individual to be fucked around with. Yet, if the detailing focuses more on his own person, “Mako”, he’d be a bit more concerned as there’s still some individuals from his past that still have a grudge.

Whenever Mako finally comes home from his extended work mission, about two to three weeks after (Y/N) having gotten the tattoo, he’s quite curious as to what the tattoo might consist of seeing that (Y/N) would deny sending him pictures of it, stating that they would prefer to see his reaction. He’s able to catch a glimpse of color, raising an eyebrow at the placement of the tattoo, before walking towards (Y/N) who was bent over to draw themself a bath and rested his hands upon their hips. It’s then that he’s finally given permission to view the tattoo, chuckling as he gently tugs down their pants and lets them fall to the floor. Initially his first reaction is silence, thumb brushing across the tattoo as Mako takes the sight of it in. Observing the tattoo, the centerpiece of it is quite identical to the tattoo that he has upon his stomach, but instead of “Wild Hog Power” the wording had been replaced with “Mako’s Little Piggy”. On each side happens to be his scrap gun, along with his hook and chain being shot from the guns to complete the tattoo.

It’s not long after that he’s dragged (Y/N) into the bed, their ass up in the air all while their face is buried into the mattress to muffle the moans leaving their lips. Mako’s thrusts are painstakingly slow as he continues to look down at the tramp-stamp, thumb brushing across it as his intrusive thoughts begin to kick in. “You like everyone knowing who you belong to, Little Piggy?~ Letting everyone know that you’re Daddy Pig’s little whore?~ Walking around with his mark~” His thrusting pace increases, one hand gripping tightly onto (Y/N)’s hip all while the other one trails across the tattoo down to their asshole and then back again. He starts with spanking, chuckling and groaning at watching (Y/N) squirm and jolt at the impact, all while continuing to back themself against Mako’s cock. “Hmm~ How about we leave some more markings for everyone to see who you belong to?~ Let’s see how long it’ll take for all those Junkers to realize you belong to me forever now~”

[ JAMISON / JUNKRAT ]

While Jamison is an individual that’s somewhat familiar with getting and having tattoos, seeing that he’s got a various amount of them himself, he doesn’t really understand what a tramp stamp is till (Y/N) is able to explain it to him. When he finally processes the idea of a tramp stamp, and with you bending over to show him where exactly it would be placed at, he becomes all excited and bouncy. He spends the next couple of minutes with (Y/N) in front of a body length mirror, having them pose as he tries to imagine them with a tramp stamp. Yet, when it’s mentioned that (Y/N) wants to have the tramp stamp detailed around Jamison, this man almost cums in his shorts right then and there. Despite that Jamison isn’t the brightest person around he knows that getting something about another person, especially your significant other, is a major sign for a relationship. He doesn’t have a ring to propose to (Y/N) right then and there so he proposes the idea of the both of them going and getting tramp stamps together. 

Brainstorming and trying to visualize ideas ends up taking a vast majority of their downtime or free time whenever not being on work missions or having to deal with Junkers trying to steal their stuff. There’s a good amount of the time that Jamison will just go ahead and blurt out whatever idea decides to pop within his mind, seeing that if he doesn’t get it out into the open right then and there that he will most likely forget what he was thinking about. “Hey, Firecracker! How about I add that toothpaste that you use? Or! Or, how about that delicious sandwich you made for me for lunch some time ago!” It takes some time for (Y/N) to get him to realize that not everything about your partner needs to be on a tattoo, just some of the most important aspects.

He’s unable to focus his attention onto anything else whenever he catches sight of (Y/N)’s tramp stamp, a devious smirk forming on his face of how they have a mark of him now, a sign to show all those other Junkers that (Y/N) is his - no, belongs to him. Only ever will Jamison will be the one to view it within the positions that they’re both in: (Y/N) having their ass up in the air, swaying it from side to side, all while making sure to take Jamison’s cock like a good Firecracker they are~ His fingers trace the shapes around the rip tire that served as the centerpiece for the tramp stamp, then at the “Jamison Fawkes” that was circling around the rip tire itself. Just having seen his name now permanently on (Y/N) skin was enough to send shivers throughout his body, causing him to quicken the pace of his thrusts. His fingers would then trace the dotted lines showing the trajectory of his bombs, giggling softly as they had mini cartoony explosions behind them. It’s all enough to cause him to cum, but instead of cumming inside like he normally does, he proceeds to pull his cock out of (Y/N) and cum all over their tramp stamp, giggling like a mad man. “Mm, Firecracker~ It’s a good reminder of who you belong to~”

[ratedc]

happy cabinet man gets fucking murdered day !!!!!!

[bitteninthebuns]

[tuituipupu]

eets verï nice morning todaaaaay ☺🫶 ~ and uh 🤔 i first i drink vanilla oat drink... 😍🥛 yeees 😌 and then i drink lemon dessert 😛🍋 tis is verï guud and frank of course need eat 🫡🦩

also, i opened mine 🥹 ÖÖ 🤔 taste verï guud 😋 i happy 😍☺ happy 😍☺

🫨😵‍💫😵 ‼ AUGHH ‼ 🫨😵‍💫😵

omigod... 😩 i verï sad 😢😭

BART THEN - 😤☝

i remember 🤭 in feenland 🇫🇮💓 we have 5 sec rule 🖐🤫 and now me and my stomach 🫄 are verï happee 🥳😊😋

[brainrotexe]

Wriolette/Neuvithesley | ao3 fanfic | smut | 2.3k 🔞

Intoxicated by brainrotexe

[nim-lock]

tbh the thing that compelled me to post these today is because I said I would earlier (thereby creating an obligation with a time limit)

bunch of adult content doodles that can be viewed on twitter. Be an adult to view :> Cheers

[Stick figure drawing of Dream from Sandman saying “NSFW”. Underneath are three cropped images of Dream in dubious amounts of clothing.]

[kd-heart]

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Calliope/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Calliope (The Sandman) Additional Tags: Podfic, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, multivoice podfic, Europodfriends 2023, Fluff and Smut, Possessive Sex, daydreams as foreplay Summary:

Upon their return from a date night, Dream is a touch overwhelmed by the envy of others.

[A multivoice recording of a fic by @softest-punk​, read by @robinfai​, @kd-heart​, @thriceandonce​ and podfic_lover]

[histrionicscribbler]

nobody will ever understand me like my spotify on repeat playlist does

[shih-coulda-had-it]

So what would we get if we asked for steamy Torino art? Would it be Censorship Nana or Censorship AfO? Or even Censorship Toshi? (I'm just trying to be funny, don't mind me)

obviously the repression comes through. goodness, boss, censorship torino is one sticker for all situations.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Thirteen

It's that time again...

Rating: Mature, 18+, lemon, etc

Word Count: 5,000

Warnings: mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a bar after hours, threats, ongoing references to sex as terms of a business agreement, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv sex, themes of intimacy.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You rolled over, pressing your face into the arm you had folded across the soft surface of your pillow. The split second of wakefulness disappeared as you dropped back into sleep, but that had been enough to notice it: your mind was working on something. 

It was unexpected. You hadn’t gone to sleep with a specific problem in mind and your bedtime routine had been utterly normal. The Haven was quiet for the evening, remarkably so. You were all set to go to The Last Drop the following day and make your regular payment to Silco. 

It was time to turn onto your side. Your body had demanded the movement, breaking into the hazy half-dreams you had been experiencing to let you know. The change in position brought the constant workings of your thoughts to the forefront, but they weren’t ready yet. Your brain needed more time to work before delivering a solution. 

Something was definitely happening, something your waking mind had missed. This had happened before. You tried to relax into sleep while your unconscious mind worked on whatever problem it had identified, but it was a struggle. Every time you rolled over, you woke up. Every time one dream ended, you found yourself blinking up at the darkened ceiling before dissolving into the next one. 

It seemed like it was both a moment and an eternity later when your mind presented the final thought to you: your next payment to Silco was scheduled for that day. You had already known that, but you also had a full day of meetings scheduled, starting at roughly nine in the morning and running until almost midnight. You had forgotten the date you had scheduled all of the meetings to take place… at least, your waking mind had.

You were out of bed and on your feet faster than your brain could calculate, and you had to wait a moment before you could start haphazardly throwing clothes on. If you hadn’t been late to your previous meeting, you would feel more confident contacting Silco for a delay on your payment, but something told you he would be even less understanding now than he had been then. 

The room was dark, and only the combination of a semi-reflective clock face and an obnoxious neon sign outside of your window allowed you to see the time: nearly 5:30 in the morning. With any luck, the Last Drop would be closed by the time you arrived, but Silco would still be around for you to speak with. You had never asked where he went during the day, and you didn’t have the slightest idea where to start looking for him.

You rushed out of the Haven’s side door, keeping your head down and your steps quick on your way, but it was still almost six by the time you reached the Last Drop. The lights were off and no music thudded through the courtyard in front of the building. Only the giant eye over the entrance was still glowing, though you could see some light through the windows. 

When the doors opened under your hands, you breathed a sigh of relief. If they had been locked, you may have truly been out of options. 

The inside of the Last Drop was nearly empty, as expected. The bartender looked tired, but he still glanced up at you with a weary resignation. “We’re closed for the night.”

He was a young man, wearing remnants of makeup around his eyes that had likely been smeared under his fingers. His clothes were wrinkled and you could see a notepad on the bar in front of him, covered in lines of numbers. You felt a surge of compassion for him. It was a little on the early side for you, but incredibly late for someone who worked in a bar. 

So you kept your voice light as you replied, “‘Night’ may be a little generous. The sun will be up soon. I’m here to see-”

“Never mind,” he told you, turning away. “I know who you are. But the boss is done for the night, too. You’re out of luck.” 

The panic rose in your throat, sharp and hot and burning acid. “Wait, please! I have to-”

“I can’t do anything for you,” he repeated. You could see the irritation and impatience on his face, but buried in that expression was fear. He was - like most people - afraid of Silco. Afraid of what would happen to him if he crossed a line and angered the head chem-baron. 

You wished you could sympathize, but you knew exactly how he felt. In fact, your situation was probably more precarious than his, and you were willing to push. 

Fortunately, you were saved from figuring out a way to do that by the sound of something heavy clattering against a table. You turned, instantly on-edge as you scanned the bar’s deserted seating area. 

To your surprise, you caught sight of a blue-haired girl sitting in one of the booths. “Jinx?”

She flinched slightly, but beamed the next moment. “That’s me!”

Jinx was toying with something, the same thing that had made the loud noise a moment before. It was bulky and metallic, though its surface was covered almost completely by hand-drawn designs in a variety of eye-watering colors. It took entirely too long for you to realize that it was a grenade.

“So I see,” you told her, bemusedly. “What are you doing here? Especially so late?” 

“Got stuck,” she said simply, waving the grenade at you. “This isn’t working the way I need it to. Sometimes, doing something different is enough to shake a new idea out, ya know?”

“I can relate.” You eyed her. It had been roughly six months since the first time you had met Jinx and you admittedly didn’t know her very well, but she didn’t look so great. 

Jinx was a slender girl, not quite a teenager yet, but she was much closer than she had been the first time you met her. She looked at least a little taller now, though it was hard to judge when she was sitting slouched over the way she was. The thing that concerned you the most was the way her face looked. She was pale and drawn, dark circles under her eyes and a dark bruise on one corner of her jaw. 

Your first thought was to wonder if Silco was mistreating her. Living conditions in the Undercity were dire, but Silco had money for food. Jinx was verging on skinny. That, combined with the tiredness on her face and the nasty bruise made you wonder…

Of course, you had dismissed the thought a moment later. Unless something dramatic had happened between Silco and his daughter in the past six months, abuse or neglect didn’t seem likely or even possible. It had taken precisely one interaction for you to realize how deeply Silco cared about Jinx. 

“You know,” you said carefully, “sometimes, I get my best ideas when I’m sleeping.”

“Yeah?” she asked dryly. “That why you’re here so late?”

“Ironically, yes. I need to see y-” You paused awkwardly, horribly, as you remember Silco’s threat that he would end your agreement if he ever found out you had spoken to Jinx a second time. Of course, you were well past that. Still, you didn’t want to push your luck and it somehow felt worse to directly mention Silco’s relation to Jinx. “...you know, Silco.”

Jinx was amused by that, a wide grin breaking out across her face. With her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Don’t worry. I know he’s my dad.”

“Yeah.” If you’d only had Jinx’s self-assurance when you were that age… 

Your thoughts were thoroughly interrupted by footsteps approaching from behind you, paired with a sharp voice. “Hey, I told you: there’s nothing I can do to help you. The boss is done for the night. Get out.”

Somehow, the problem had seemed almost salvageable as you spoke with Jinx, but it flooded back full-force as you turned to plead with the bartender and his smudged makeup. “Please, you don’t understand-”

“No, you don’t understand. The boss doesn’t like to be interrupted, especially not by random people off the street.” The bartender’s eyes slid until he was looking past you at Jinx. “How about this? If I tell him who you were so interested in talking to, he’ll probably set up a special meeting you won’t be able to miss-”

“Shut up, Chuck!” Jinx ordered, sliding out of the booth. You had a moment to realize that she was indeed taller than she had been when you had first met her, then you were distracted by her sudden, apparent fury. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck? Do you? I’ll even give you a hint, Chuck: Days. And talking with her is the only thing that’s managed to help so far. Get it? Now walk away or I’ll make sure you’re my test subject when it’s ready.”

The bartender’s mouth had gone slack at Jinx’s tirade. As she delivered her final threat, his eyes darted to the grenade in her hand. And when she thrust that hand out toward him, his mouth snapped shut as he walked out from behind the bar and left The Last Drop entirely.

In the stillness of the now empty bar, Jinx turned to you, already wearing an expectant look. It seemed like a bad idea to ask anything too prying, so you settled for, “So his name is Chuck?”

“Of course it is!” she said instantly, so brightly that you sincerely doubted his name was Chuck. But she was smiling again, so you went along with it. “Now, you need to see my dad?”

“I really, really do.” The fervency in your tone may have been a bit much to put on a kid, but you were feeling a little desperate by that point. 

“And you promise you’re not a prostitute?” Your mouth fell open at the unexpected renewal of Jinx’s suspicions on that point, but the girl gave a wicked cackle. “I’m just messin’ with ya! Come on.” 

You couldn’t exactly ask questions since she had already taken off toward the back room of The Last Drop, but you certainly had plenty. 

Those questions only compounded when Jinx took you through a circuitous route that seemed to be working in a very jagged circle. You never saw the same doorways twice, though, so you trailed along gamely behind her and hoped it wasn’t an incredibly complex trick meant to trap you in the middle of some twisted labyrinth. 

Your journey ended when you followed Jinx up a set of creaking stairs. The top of the staircase featured a tiny landing, complete with a small shelf built into the wall. The shelf had a squat, rather ugly vase sitting on it. You might have chosen to put a light there instead, but it wasn’t your room. In fact, you weren’t even sure it was Silco’s. If nothing else, the vase didn’t seem to be his style.

“Okay, knock normally twice, pause for one second, then four quick knocks and tap twice on the vase.”

You were still processing that when Jinx hopped up on the sagging bannister. She waved at you as she pushed off with her feet and slid down faster than you could believe.

With the instructions still fresh in your mind, you knocked twice on the door, carefully let a full second pass, knocked four times so close together that it sounded like you had used both hands, then tapped the vase twice. The vase turned out to be secured to the shelf, which was good. In your nervousness, you had hit it a little too hard and would have been in danger of knocking it off completely. 

When the sharp sound from your knuckles against the glass had faded, you took a deep breath and gingerly turned the doorknob. The room was dark, a complete inky void with one exception - the glowing orange point of an unnatural eye. 

You felt like you were frozen, pinned in place by that unblinking gaze, but that apparently wasn’t true. Somehow, you shifted just enough to let some light pass you into the room, illuminating Silco more fully. 

He was in bed. A distant part of your mind registered that Silco apparently had a bedroom in The Last Drop, but it wasn’t your major focus. He was leaning up to stare at the door, leaning on one elbow to support himself. His other hand was sitting at a strange angle, and you registered why as you saw the shine. He was holding a knife, no doubt retrieved from some well-concealed place in easy reach of the bed. 

Silco didn’t strike you as the type to be unprepared, even in sleep. 

“Well?” he asked irritably. “Now that you’ve interrupted my rest, do you intend to stand there? Dawn is coming.”

You wordlessly stepped into the room, letting the door close behind you. When you turned to be sure it closed - and to lock it if Silco wanted - you were only mildly surprised to find that the door itself, the handle, and the entire frame blended perfectly into the wall of the room. A hidden door made sense for someone whose power put him in consistently dangerous positions, but it still delighted the child in you. You’d always had a weakness for secrets. 

Since there was nothing for you to lock, you turned back to Silco. Thankfully, your vision had adjusted to the darkness, because there was no illumination. Silco shouldn’t have worried at all about the dawn, since he didn’t have a window. 

Silco had stowed the knife somewhere, but he was watching you with a hard stare that felt equally threatening. You stopped short as he said, “I told you to stay away from my daughter.”

“You did,” you agreed, feeling your heart rate increase. There was no use in arguing with that point, but maybe it would have been wiser to try. “To be fair, I didn’t approach her.”

There didn’t seem to be a way to argue that, since Silco sighed and raked fingers from his forehead back to the nape of his neck. His hair was more disheveled than you had ever seen it, and something about the mussed strands was making you feel distinctly twitchy. But you had to see if he was going to murder you horribly before you could think of doing something about that.

“Tell me what happened,” Silco ordered. “I was expecting you this afternoon.”

So you told him everything - your surprise schedule conflict, the unhelpful bartender, Jinx’s offer to bring you to her dad. You briefly mentioned Jinx’s claim that talking to you had helped her work on her grenade, but you didn’t belabor the point. You didn’t know how true it was, especially since you hadn’t discussed anything that remotely concerned engineering or explosives. Not that you would have been much help with either of those topics.

By the time you finished with your explanation, Silco was sitting up fully. He had propped a pillow behind his back to cushion himself from the headboard. His legs were resting straight out in front of him, slightly splayed and bent at the knees. He looked… casual. It was strange to see from someone who typically seemed so tightly buttoned. 

It was only then that you realized he was wearing only a loose pair of pants, sitting bare-chested in front of you. Your mouth went dry and you could only hope the darkness hid the way your eyes had locked on his torso.

Your gaze was so intent that you jumped when he lifted an arm to beckon in your direction. He did seem to have seen that, if you were to guess by the smirk that lifted one corner of his mouth. Still, you took a step, then another, then another, until you were standing beside the bed. 

Silco was actually a bit shorter than you like this, and it felt strange to look down at him. That didn’t curb any of the imperiousness in his voice as said, “Strip.”

The clothes you had thrown on before rushing out of The Haven were casual and comfortable. Shucking them off almost took less time than it had taken for Silco to issue his command. He still, of course, found time to talk. 

“In the future, I would like you to contact me if there are issues with the timing of our meeting,” he informed you. “Though we decided against postponement last time you did so, it does not excuse your apparent refusal to do so a second time.”

You nodded, feeling slightly abashed. Realistically, you could very well have waited until one of The Haven’s guards was awake and sent them to deliver a message to Silco. He would have (probably) understood. It was difficult to tell with him, sometimes.

Before you could respond - though what would you realistically have replied with, an apology? - Silco spoke again. His voice sounded different then, and it took you a moment to recognize the difference in tone as mingled warmth, pride, and arousal. 

“However, I cannot fault you for your initial reaction. I appreciate the fact that you were so distraught at the idea of missing our meeting that you rushed here without a second thought. In fact,” he caught at your wrist, towing you closer with that strength you had always found such a surprise for his wiry frame, “I think that kind of loyalty deserves a reward…”

He didn’t toss you onto the bed. It wasn’t his style. But the slow, inexorable pull was just as exciting. You wanted this, wanted it very badly, but the illusion of the lack of choice tricked your brain into dropping any guilt stemming from your connection with the city’s most notorious chem baron. (The same guilt seemed to get less and less noticeable every time you met with Silco, but that was a new source of guilt in itself.)

The important thing was that your half-hearted tug against his grip only made Silco bare his teeth in a grinning half-smile. He didn’t release you once you had knelt on the mattress, nor when you had laid down on its surface. No, Silco kept his hands on you, arranging your limbs until you were sprawled under him. 

Your legs were carefully parted, allowing space for him between them. Realistically, you knew what was likely to happen, but you could hardly breathe with the anticipation of it. As Silco started moving steadily toward the apex of your thighs, your moan was half-excitement and half-relief.

As he slotted himself between your legs, eyes bouncing greedily between your face and your core, you watched the light of his orange eye with an unexpected sense of nervousness. Silco was intense in his office, but now you were in his room. The intimacy of it all struck you for the first time. He had allowed you into his private spaces when he easily could have ordered you away or killed you outright. Now your head was resting on his pillow as he parted your folds with something that approached glee. 

Silco didn’t give you the chance to think much more about his room… or anything else. As his mouth delved toward your core, your thoughts were fully absorbed by him and the way he was making you feel. 

He didn’t ease into things - starting off with a thrust of his stiffened tongue into your channel. You made a surprised little noise for him, one that turned abruptly louder as he gave a pleased hum and the vibrations went through you. 

His fingers, the ones that had started by spreading you open for his mouth, didn’t stay still for long. They petted and stroked, pinched and speared. When Silco turned his mouth to other things, they took his place inside of you, opening you up for things to come. A pinky drifted downward to your rear, pressing on that ring of muscle. The digit never breached you but the light pressure was enough to keep you on-edge.

You arched and cried out when Silco’s lips closed around your clit. Within the pressured cavern of his mouth, his tongue teased that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were squirming under him. With his hands busy and his mouth occupied, Silco pinned you down with his shoulders against your thighs. The gentle, barely-there scrape of his teeth against you was enough of a warning that you forced yourself to lay still beneath him. 

At least, you tried to. Silco was demanding, pulling every bit of pleasure from you with a lack of mercy that left you feeling raw. It didn’t help that you were flat on your back, fully under his power, and surrounded by the scent and heat of him. Just the feeling of being overwhelmed by this man made you writhe and squirm and beg beneath him, pretty pleas falling from your lips faster than you could ever hope to push them away.

“Come, my pet,” Silco ordered, moving the minimum amount to make his command audible. “Fall apart for me.”

And then his mouth slanted over your slit once more, delving deep and inevitable as he ripped your orgasm from you with a ferocity that left you breathless - though you still found the air to cry out for him. 

When your pleasure had finally peaked and you fell into the post-orgasm lull - every muscle shuddering - Silco continued working his tongue over you. It wasn’t enough to push you fully into overstimulation, just enough to remind you that you were at his mercy. 

Silco pulled away from you, your legs fell from where they had been wrapped around him. Instead, he crawled up the length of your body, licking and touching all the while. Somewhere in the rush, he had managed to kick away his loose pajama pants, leaving every bit of him brushing every bit of you. You were slack with pleasure, but you still managed an arch of your spine as Silco pressed his length through your slick folds - not entering you, but ensuring you knew he was ready for you. 

“I will never tire of the noises you make for me,” Silco whispered, leaning down to tease the line of your neck with his lips. That was all well and good, but when he paused to suck a mark into your skin, your hips rose of their own accord. 

“Silco, please,” you begged, shocked at how quickly your need had risen up after being sated so completely. “Fuck me.”

Silco repositioned himself so he could peer down at you, one brow lifted high. “Such language from a well-known and renowned philanthropist! We expect better manners from the people of Zaun.”

“Silco…” you trailed, trying not to let it turn into a whimper. You weren’t entirely successful. 

“I suppose you did say please…” Silco mused. 

You nodded, trying to subvocally encourage him to keep going, but he rolled off of you instead. A litany of complaints rose to your lips, but you held them back for one simple reason: he had pulled you with him. 

The two of you were lying on your sides, staring at each other in the nest of body-warmed blankets that wreathed Silco’s bed. He pulled you close, then closer, positioning one of your knees up and over his hip. That opened you to him, not quite spreading you wide, but enough that the coolness of the room felt like a shock to your overheated core. 

Silco wasted no time, holding you in place with one hand on your hip and the other snaking along your spine until he could cup the nape of your neck. Then his length was spearing up into you and you stopped caring so much about where anyone’s hands were. 

He hissed at the feeling of your body’s grip on him, baring his chipped teeth in a silent snarl. When he had sunk as deep as he could get, Silco paused, giving both of you a moment to experience the way your inner muscles were working around him, and the way he was throbbing inside of you. 

Rather than employing his driving sprint toward the proverbial finish line, Silco seemed more content than usual to take his time. The lazy push and pull of his hips between your thighs left you surging up and pushing down in time, meeting him at the apex of each stroke. Still, the motion managed to be steady and metered rather than frantic. 

And the pace wasn’t the only unusual thing about the experience. No, Silco seemed to be insisting on eye contact. The first time you had looked away, unable to bear the directness of his gaze locked on yours, Silco’s hand had traveled from your neck to your chin. After he had levered you back into looking at him, he gritted out, “Eyes on me, pet.”

The rumors around the Undercity were that Silco’s orange iris was a result of getting an acid or toxin in his eye. You had always chalked that up to ridiculous superstition, egged on by Silco’s employees as an easy way of increasing his credibility among potential challengers.

But just then, you felt like that eye was eating into your very soul. It didn’t seem so impossible, not when you were locked in Silco’s embrace with the orange fire of his ruined eye casting the only light in the room. As soon as you had seen that startling glow set against the backdrop of his darkened room, you couldn’t have looked away even if he would have let you. 

Silco stared at you for the remainder of your session. He watched as he thrust deeply into you, watched as you made a desperate noise for him, watched as he made a desperate noise in return. His gaze stayed on you as his fingers drifted downward to toy with your clit. Those eyes went half-lidded, heavy with pleasure as you tightened around him, but you could see the way they were still locked on you. 

It was impossible to say whether the eye contact was pushing you closer to the edge, but you certainly felt as if your skin was burning with the intensity of it all. Silco’s hand on your hip tightened and loosened, flexing almost as if he was kneading your skin. You flexed under his touch, your leg drawing further up along his side. 

And then he pushed inside of you again. The new placement of your knee left Silco driving into that incredibly sensitive place in your core. If the look on his face - intrigued, eager, and self-satisfied - was any indication, Silco knew exactly what was happening. A few more pumps inside of you and a shaky circle traced around your clit and you were left gasping as another orgasm slammed you into space.

Shaking, pleading, struggling for air… yet you had no trouble keeping your eyes locked on Silco’s face. His mismatched eyes became an anchor for you, the only thing that helped you keep your balance in the overwhelming tide of pleasure. 

As far as you could remember, you had never orgasmed while holding eye contact with someone. At least, not in a way that even approached this level of intensity. It felt like Silco was drinking you in with the way his gaze was fixed on you. Even when he withdrew and spilled into the pajama pants he had left lying nearby, his attention was utterly focused on you. 

You made some kind of noise as Silco settled on his side next to you. It was one of surprise, but you tried to play it off as if you had started to say something. Even then, it seemed like a bad idea to show any sign of vulnerability to Silco. 

“That- That was… incredible,” you admitted eventually. 

“I quite agree,” Silco said, resting his head on his pillow. As his natural eye began to close, you turned, intent on leaving him to rest. 

To your utter shock, his hand latched around your waist, tugging until you fell backwards. When you were lying with your back to Silco, he moved slightly closer and let out a sigh. “In fact, I’m afraid I must insist that you stay here.”

“...Stay?” you repeated, voice faint in the darkness. 

“At least for a short while.”

You cleared your throat, hoping to sound cheerfully nonchalant as you replied, “I was actually counting on you showing me the way out of here. I think I might end up dying in the labyrinth, otherwise.”

“When the sun rises, you may leave,” Silco decreed. His hand - painted deep gray against the blackness of his room - gestured toward a door across from the bed, half-hidden behind a shallow wall. “That door will take you back into my office.”

“Oh.”

Silco seemed to read something in your brief response, and his voice was careful when he said, “Unless you really do not wish to stay.”

Silco was a ruthless murderer. He was a chem baron, one who manufactured Shimmer with the aim to addict an entire city. He was violent and rude, and had been extorting you for the better part of a year. And yet… he sounded so uncertain of himself and his invitation, you couldn’t bear to turn him down. 

Instead, you did your best to relax. “I’ll stay. But only until dawn. If I’m out much later than that, the people at the Haven will start to get suspicious.”

“Until dawn, then,” Silco agreed. 

In the quiet hush of the darkened room, your wakefulness began to fade. With your interrupted rest and the physical exertion of the evening, sleep was chasing you faster than you could run. Just before you dropped off, you felt something brush the nape of your neck. It could have been one of Silco’s fingertips or it could have been a pair of lips…

Either way, the touch was almost unbearably tender.

---

Author's Note - Quick reminder that this story is set between acts 1 and 2 of Arcane. Because of that, Jinx is younger than in the majority of the show, and is still somewhere between Powder and Jinx.

Sorry for posting this a little late! Hope you enjoyed it anyway.

I don't offer a taglist for mature works, but you can find other fics on my masterlists (desktop or mobile).

[hazbinhotelho]

Praising Past the Skies

Summary: The second fanfic I wrote for the stolitz Big Bang, based on the prompt: [E] blitzø has a secret(??) praise kink (Thank you to @catvapes on twitter!)

Warnings: this fic is pretty soft, but it still has BDSM and Stolas literally tying Blitzø down so he can praise him.

You can read the fic on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49586830

Thank you to @zarnzarn for this event, I had fun! :)

[acradelius]

hi! could you do a dom, giving moira and sub, receiving fem reader? i love how you write her :) maybe some action in her office/lab with a strap too ? tysm!

"Let's See How Well You Handle This One, Coinín~"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Moira O'Deorain x Female! Reader

Rating: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: MDNI, Implied Non-Established/Possibly "Secretive" Relationship, Scientist / Scientist Assistance Relationship, Female x Female Relationship, Female Pronouns For Reader, Dominant! Female x Submissive! Female, "Mean, Punishing"! Moira, Possessive! Moira If You Squint, Strap-on Usage - Giving! Moira/Receiving! Reader, Clit Teasing, Nipple Play, Silicone P in V, Orgasm, Teasing With Cock-warming.

Word Count: 768 Words

Notes: This piece is technically considered to be a sequel part to this piece: "Quite The Punishment, Isn't It?"

If you'd like to be tagged for all posts, for certain fandom posts, or certain character posts then feel free to message me!

Those neat stacks of paper of research from the laboratory assistants that had taken quite some time to go through and essentially grade were now a disheveled mess amongst the floor, yet, Moira didn’t necessarily care for that at this moment. Why would Moira need to worry about some feeble papers about research that she was probably already aware about when she has something better presented in front of her? Despite that she was completely flustered, her skin slightly flushed from the situation at hand, that (Y/N) still looked absolutely stunning laying bare naked on Moira’s desk, clothes tossed aside on the floor to be forgotten about for the time being. “You did such a job well done, my dear Coinín~ While I would state that I’m surprised that you made it through the presentation without completely losing yourself to the immense please, you’ve been alongside me for quite some time now, so possibly you’re growing familiar to the punishments that I put you through~”

Moira could essentially state anything that she wants in that moment, but (Y/N)’s too preoccupied with the sight in front of herself despite laying on the desk to actually give a response. Especially since it was finally there for (Y/N) to actually view, for her to actually get to touch and experience with, that special gift that Moira had been hinting at for the last couple of weeks now. A custom made strapon. Being seven inches in length and three inches in width, colored with swirls of a glittering gold and an enigmatic purple from the tip down to the base of the cock. How it’s snuggly strapped onto Moira’s hips to rest against her pelvic, and how it just naturally blends in with Moira’s persona and aesthetic. Even for a moment (Y/N) swears that she could even see the cock throbbing, but it could be the arousal that was overtaking her mind.

There’s a brief moment where she proceeds to close her eyes in a moment of pleasure that courses throughout her body as Moira teasingly brushes the tip of the silicone cock against (Y/N)’s clit, chuckling softly. “Such an easy one to tease, such an easy one to please, aren’t you my dear Coinín?~” Watching as (Y/N)’s thighs twitch, clenching together slightly whenever that brief overwhelming rush washes over her body. Moira’s fingers trailing across (Y/N)’s skin, leaving lingering trails of an arousing fire, stopping amongst the various imperfections upon her skin as moreso a sign of reassurance that Moira loved (Y/N)’s body no matter how it looked. Gentle pinching and pulling at her nipples until they begin to perk and harden. Such a beautiful canvas waiting to be made into something more personal by Moira herself~

“More, please, Moira!~ F-Fuck, feels so good!~” (Y/N) manages to speak the words in between relentless moans and desperate whines, all those noises leaving her due to Moira’s rough, fast paced thrusts. Moira doesn’t mind that her thrusting is causing the desk to scrape against the floor, creating a loud scratching noise to echo throughout the air and scuff up the floor, she’ll get that fixed later. How (Y/N)’s fingers are tightly gripping the sides of the desk so much that they’re turning white, a feeble attempt to keep herself positioned on the desk despite moving quotes often from the force. A shiver courses throughout (Y/N)’s body at the additional sensations of Moira entangling her fingers within (Y/N)’s hair and firmly giving a yank followed by her other hand harshly smacking (Y/N)’s ass, a grin forming on her lips as the handprint, begins to form bright red and slightly irritated. 

 “Fuck!-” It’s quick to overcome and cause haywire to all of (Y/N)’s senses, the intense orgasm that finally unravels within (Y/N). How her body begins to tremble against Moira’s while her cunt flutters and proceeds to clench and unclench around Moira’s cock. Closing her eyes, (Y/N) lays her head amongst the desk as shaky breaths make way from her lips, basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. Only Moira knows how to give her pleasure beyond what she could imagine, and therefore, Moira is the only one that (Y/N) strives to be with, especially in moments as intimate as this one. “Such a job well done, (Y/N)~ Giving me excellent results as always~ Now, my dear Coinín, let’s see how long you can last keeping my cock warm while I grade the rest of these papers~”

[morethansalad]

Vegan Blueberry Grilled Cheese with Mint Pesto

[renlyslittlerose]

Rating: T

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Tags:  5+1 Things / Established Relationship / Fluff / POV Ahsoka Tano / Obikin as experienced by Ahsoka / She's a lil oblivious at the start but she gets there eventually

Summary: Skywalker and Kenobi had a bond. Ahsoka had heard people talking - little rumours here and there that fluttered throughout the temple hallways, sinking into the thoughts of both the naive and the curious - about just how close they were to one another, but she'd never seen anything unusual. They were just close; there was nothing more to it.

Or;

Five times Ahsoka is oblivious to how close Obi-Wan and Anakin are, and the one time she picks up on it.

[brainrotexe]

Wriothesley x Gn!Reader (Smut) 🔞

600 words

Tags: ⛓ pwp, free use mentions, rope bondage, rough sex, marks, bruises, biting, wriothesley's a bit possessive of you, light BDSM, mentions of you/others (the whole prison is [consensually] passing you around... but wrio wants you all to himself)

Wriothesley x Reader:

Routinely fucking an inmate was not on the list of things Wriothesley expected to do as the duke. But it was inevitable.

You practically begged for it.

Apparently, when you were in the overworld, you were used to a certain level of sexual activity. An extremely high level, from what Wriothesley had observed. You never seemed to tire, always wanted more, willing to fuck anyone. And even if it was a bad idea….

Wriothesley gave you what you asked for.

He pushed into your tight walls, into that familiar soft heat, his tie having been stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet. You talked excessively during sex, even when it wasn’t necessary, dirty phrases and pet names on your lips that made Wriothesley’s cheeks too hot to handle. It was easier to fuck you without thinking too hard about it if you stayed quiet.

Besides, you liked being tied up. Really liked it.

You were staring into Wriothesley’s eyes now, arms restrained behind your back in thin red rope, bites and bruises along your skin from all the prisoners you’d begged to fuck you far rougher than most would. Some of them belonged to Wriothesley, the ones around your neck, visible for all to see – know that the duke had gotten hold of you first, even if they all had a taste, too.

Most nights you two fucked alone. But sometimes you let the others line up, laid flat over a table, waiting as they came one by one and fucked you, filled your wet hole with cum, left you a dripping, mindless mess.

Wriothesley would scoop you up after and drag you to the showers, clean you off, make you suck him off as thanks for the aftercare.

It was depraved. Far from anything Wriothesley had thought of doing before. But you made it so easy to not feel guilty about it. You were so enthusiastic and willing that Wriothesley just wanted to use you, fuck you into the mattress, have you all to himself and claim you, rub the other guys’ scents off.

Sometimes it didn’t even feel like you were a criminal. How could someone like you be so submissive? So easy to make undone? So pliant and soft, devoid of the harsh traits one would expect?

Soft. You were so soft. Even now, beneath Wriothesley, you were soft and sweet and dripping wet, filled by Wriothesley’s dick, the lewdest sound as your bodies slapped together.

You moaned – loudly – as you always did, vocal encouragement that went a long way in making Wriothesley want rounds two and three. Maybe Wriothesley was the one who couldn’t get enough. You offered and… Wriothesley would take. He’d always take. Any time of day he’d drop everything and take you.

He kissed you on your sloppy, bruised lips, tugged hard on the back of your hair. Your eyes were filled with tears, another sign of your clear enjoyment as Wriothesley bit down on your exposed neck. Another bruise, another ring of his teeth, a mark of his.

“Yes!” you managed to cry out, even through the makeshift gag in your mouth, you couldn’t help it, begged for more, “Please, sir.”

Wriothesley growled, felt the request deep in his stomach, slammed into your warm hole. Listened to the slap, the squelch. Felt the way you hugged around him, clamped down when Wriothesley pressed your thighs up higher.

Was it healthy to want someone this viscerally? To have such carnal hunger for a single human being?

What would he do when your sentence was over?

He didn’t want to think about it.

***

Read it/Kudos on ao3!

[kd-heart]

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Podfic, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Genderbending, Oral Sex, Body Modification, As in literally a body being reshaped but in a sexy way, Transformation, More of Hob Gadling's magic vagina Summary:

"Is this going to awaken something in me?" Hob asks, but he does so with a crooked grin, as though the thought of being awakened in some way pleases him.

[A recording of a fic by @moorishflower​]