#low arousal theory

[strawbeerossi]

Silencing Spencer Reid

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer likes how you listen to him ramble about things that interest him. He also likes your method of telling him to shut up.

Content/Warnings: Reader is a little mean because she has a headache, Spencer ramblings, oral (f receiving), face sitting (duh), degradation, pet names (pretty boy)

Word Count: 1.1K

Kinktober Day Eleven: Facesitting

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You liked listening to Spencer talk, something about his voice being calming to listen to. Listening to him ramble was like heaven, watching him get excited to tell you every bit of information that plagued his brain on one specific subject. Spencer was honestly grateful, liking the way you actually showed care to what he had to say and telling him your own thoughts. However there was another side of you that he liked.

“Spencer, honey, can you please just give me five minutes? I have a really bad headache.” you spoke as you were walking through your shared apartment, your boyfriend following behind you like a little puppy. “But you haven’t even heard the best part about this episode! I mean, you have no idea how crazy it is when he-” Spencer was cut off by the palm of your hand pressed against his mouth.  “I love you so much but you need to just.. Fuck, go sit on the couch for a minute.” You snapped. You knew you’d feel awful about it later but right now you were just frustrated. 

Spencer wasn’t negatively affected, instead a rush of blood rushing down to his cock. He was getting under your skin, just what he was intending on doing. All he needed now though was you to shut him up, to put him in his place. He’d been sexually frustrated all day and he wanted nothing more than to have your soaked cunt on his face, making a mess of his jaw while you used his tongue to get yourself off. The thought of your slick arousal on his tongue was enough to make him drool.

“But baby, don’t you wanna hear about my theories? I mean the show is so interesting and you know I’m passionate about this character.” He was rambling now, only blushing as you shot him a warning look, one that he was used to from the amount of times he attempted to test you. He knew the punishment would be severe but he didn’t care, he needed to taste your essence sooner rather than later. “Come on..” 

Whenever Spencer wasn’t getting the hint though, you were frowning. Now if your head wasn’t pounding, you would’ve realized what he was doing. Right now though, he looked like a brat who couldn’t seem to follow your damn directions. “Go lay down. Now.” You murmured, the male perking up at getting just what he wanted before scrambling off to the bedroom. You were joining him a few minutes later, already pulling your pants down your legs along with your panties. “Don’t get any ideas, brats don’t deserve to be touched or cum. You are servicing me tonight. That’s it.” The harshness of your voice had a whimper rip from his throat, his head nodding slowly. 

Contrary to most men, Spencer could spend hours lapping at your cunt. He enjoyed making you feel good, your fingers tangling in his hair while shoving his face deeper into your warmth. He could cum just from that alone. “I’m gonna sit on your face tonight. Got it, pretty boy?” Just from the look on his face, you could tell that he was eager to flick his tongue into your sweetness, having you rock your hips against his face solely to pleasure yourself. “Yes!” He was desperate, head lifting as his eyes were fixated on your bare lower half.

After getting your shirt off and throwing it on the ground along with the small pile of your other clothes. “You know, Spencer.. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted this.” You spoke in a low tone while facing him with a frown, body climbing onto the bed as you were crawling to get situated. With your knees on either side of Spencer’s face, you were glancing down at your boyfriend who had his usual doe eyes that were clouded over with arousal. “You need to listen better, you know. You shouldn’t upset me on purpose.”

Spencer didn’t have time to respond whenever he was face to face with your wet pussy, his hands coming up to hold your hips before gently tugging your lower half onto his mouth. 

His tongue was darting out to flick over your throbbing clit, your fingers tangling into his messy curls while you let your head fall forward with a soft breath. “Fuck, put that mouth to good use.” You spoke, the sinful sounds of suckling filling the room whenever he got the chance to take your bud into his mouth. When he’d pulled off with a pop sound filling the room, he didn't waste time to drag his tongue through your slit, giving himself a taste of what he was so desperate for. “Pretty boy, don’t keep me waiting.” You spoke, which he didn’t need a warning before his tongue was breaching your leaking sex. 

Pistoning his tongue into your sweet cunt, he relished in the feeling of your velvety walls constricting his tongue from the surprise of him getting right to work. He drank every ounce of arousal you gave him, eyes fluttering shut as his moans were muffling against your pussy. His hands were assisting you as you were rocking against the warm muscle working its magic, leaving you desperate for so much more. “Mmm, is this what you wanted? Me to ride that pretty face of yours? You could’ve asked, baby. You didn’t have to get under my skin and get yourself in trouble.” You tsked while glancing down at the fucked out face of your boyfriend underneath you. 

His vigor was making that familiar warmth in your stomach grow, knowing that you were close. Spencer had known your body by now, so as he knew you were close, he was focusing on your clit once more, sucking harshly as he had you letting out curses and sharp gasps as you were desperately rocking your hips against your partner’s face. “I’m gonna cum.” You whispered while both hands were roughly gripping his messy hair.

With a soft cry, it wasn’t long until your creamy arousal was flowing into his mouth, Spencer was eagerly licking up the sweetness as he was letting his head tilt back against the pillow with a deep groan. “Good job, pretty boy.” Your cooing caused a sheepish smile to spread across his face as he blushed.

“Go take a shower.” You hum, crawling off of his face while Spencer was pushing himself to sit up. His eyes were glossed over, his mouth and chin soaked, and his hair was all over the place from her fingers gripping and pulling it. “You look so pretty.” You cooed while making his blush deepen, drunk off of your pussy as he was slowly pushing himself to stand. “Can I please touch myself?” His voice was whiny, filled with need as he stared at you. 

“Nope. I told you, pretty boy, this is a punishment.”

[heizlut]

Hallo! I am very new to tumblr, so please excuse any mistakes i may make qwq

I really enjoyed your Venti and Kaeya story(ies)! Could you do something similar for Lyney with the addition of a breeking kink? He doesnt have cat ears or a tail like his sister- instead, the feline side of him shows through his obsessive need to breed :x

jshdhdhd i’ve been thinking about this like crazy and i’m so glad we got to clarify a few details over messages before i wrote this! again, welcome to tumblr! i’m so glad you stumbled across my page🫶🏼 (was also totally inspired by the yaoi when writing this lmfao)

Jinx

cw: breeding kink, textured feline tongue, hypnosis, rope-play, mentions of pregnancy

tags: sub fem!reader, dom!lyney with recessive feline traits, mostly proofread

a/n: here's a lil translation for the pet names- "mon chaton"= my kitten; "mon cherie"= my beloved; "bonne fille"= good girl; “ma bonne fille”= my good girl

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

Ever since becoming his girlfriend, Lyney found he had a particular jinx; all because one evening he fucked you so hard backstage before his performance, filling you so full of his sticky cum, and his show ended up being the greatest one yet. The next performance, he wanted to test out his little theory; fucking his cock into your tight cunt til his cum was leaking out and dripping down your thighs. Lyney had yet another show stopping performance.

When he told you his theory, you had simply laughed, “Seems like you just want to relieve some pre-show nerves. I doubt it’s some type of jinx, my love.” The cute little pout on Lyney’s face made it hard to take him seriously. You give him a kiss on the cheek, “I don’t mind this little routine though. If it means getting fucked so full of you before a show, I’ll do it.”

Tonight was a performance that Lyney knew he couldn’t fuck up. It was meant to be another show stopper with prominent Fontaine guests in the audience. You made your way to his dressing room as you usually did. Lyney was seated at his vanity touching up his hair when he saw your reflection behind him in the mirror. The corners of his lips curl upwards, “There she is~”

You smirk in response, “I have something special for you tonight…Master Lyney~” Lyney turned his body in his chair to face you as you begin to undo the buttons of your dress. The soft material slips off your body, revealing a red lacy lingerie set with a black garter belt that matched his. Lyney’s lips part, taking in every inch of you with his violet eyes. Lyney almost wanted to curse his innate feline genes for almost pouncing on you right then and there. The way you looked right now and using that title he'd teased you with before was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to be able to take his time with you, or at least as much time as he could before he had to make his way to the stage.

Lyney gets up from his seat, sauntering over to you with a sultry look in his eyes. His fingers reach out, tracing the lacy edges of your lingerie, "Look at my sweet girl dressed so provocatively... Wearing my extra garter belt no less." He runs his finger under one of the straps and pulls it back and releases, letting it lightly slap back against your skin. Your breath catches in your throat as he does so. Arousal pooling against the thin fabric of your panties when he leans in, his lips grazing yours as he speaks in a low tone, "I have something special for you too, mon chaton~" Lyney backs away from you, the lingering touch from his lips sets you ablaze with desire.

Lyney digs through his pocket and pulls out a carnelian pendulum with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Be a sweetheart for me and keep your eyes on crystal, yes?" You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, fixing your gaze on the pendulum. Your eyes follow the swinging pendulum as Lyney begins to speak, "Relax your mind and your body... Focus on the sound of my voice..." He continues on as you feel your mind go blank. He smirks at your dazed expression, now having you fully under.

He softly caressed your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your soft lips, "Be a good girl and get the purple rope, yes?" All you can do is nod and follow his instructions. Lyney's cock twitches as he watches you bring back the rope he requested. He takes it from you hands and moves behind you, his lips against your ear, "Arms behind your back, mon cherie~" Of course, you comply. His voice filling your mind like a sweet melody that was only meant for you alone. A tingling sensation pricks at your skin as the ropes loop through your arms just tight enough for you to be forced to stay in that position, unable to touch him.

Lyney's fingers trace your skin as he moves to the front of you, admiring how gorgeous you looked. He takes hold of the straps of your pretty bra between his digits, using his pyro vision to carefully singe them just enough to let a piece of them burn away. The straps fall loose to your back and he singes the front connecting the cups. Your perky breasts are left exposed to his lustful gaze as the bra makes a soft noise when it lands on the dressing room floor. You squirm a little in your spot as the need between your legs begins to consume you. Your eyes stuck on his violet ones that burn with deep desire, "Be still, mon chaton."

Your lips part as you let a soft moan slip when Lyney cups your breasts in his nimble hands. He squeezes and massages them, mesmerized by the way the plushness squishes between his fingers. He lowers himself and leans forward taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth; his rough feline tongue flicking and swirling around it. Your body tries to fight against the hypnosis, desperate to tangle your fingers in his hair as his rough tongue does its work on your body.

Leaving your breasts sore and swollen, Lyney kisses down your body softly til he's eye level with your clothed cunt. His eyes flit up to your face, pleased to see you looking so needy. He taps your thigh twice, "Spread out so I can enjoy my pre-performance meal." You comply, taking a small step to the side to give him more room. Lyney smirks, "Bonne fille..." He places his hands on your thighs and licks a stripe through your thin panties. He lets out a broken groan at the scent and taste of you as your arousal soaked the material. Lyney tugs at the panties until they rip and glide down, now hanging loosely around one ankle.

Your moans fill the small dressing room as he dives in between your folds, lapping up your juices with his rough tongue. His grip tightens on your thighs as you shake with pleasure; his tongue relentless against your sensitive clit. White hot pleasure courses through you as you cum on his tongue, making him snarl as he overstimulates you, unable to get enough of your taste. "Please, Master Lyney~!" you cry out, feeling as though your legs are about to give out from underneath you. The title you give him and the way you taste and smell kicks his feline instincts into full gear. Lyney needed to breed you.

Lyney straightens up and tugs you by your garter belt to his vanity. He bends you slightly and tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling your head up to look at the reflection of you both in his mirror. "Oh, mon chaton... See the way you look right now? I simply can't resist~", he chuckles as you whimper when you're forced to look at how dazed and desperate you are for him. He undoes his pants, tugging them down just enough for his twitching cock to bob free against your ass.

Lyney's hands travel down your curves and to your round ass, giving your cheeks a light squeeze. He spreads them apart, giving himself a better view of your leaky pussy. He moves his hips, letting his fat pink tip rub against your cunt and gather your arousal. Lyney stills himself, his tip pushed against your wet entrance as he leans over, locking eyes with you in the reflection, "Keep your eyes on us." Unable to do anything other than what he says, your eyes widen as a pretty cry leaves your lips as he pushes himself inside of you.

His fingers dig into the fat of your hips as he fucks into you deep and hard. Lyney completely loses it when he sees your eyes flutter and drool slips from the corner of your mouth as you keep your eyes on the lewd display. His pace becomes harsh as the tip of his thick cock bullies your insides over and over, "Need to breed you nice and full... Need to see your cute stomach swell with my children- Fuck, mon amour...-" His hips stutter when he sees the white ring of cum that had formed at the base of his cock. Lyney lets out a breathy chuckle, running his fingers though his hair, “Creaming around my cock? You must really want me to breed you, huh”

You’re so fucked out the only way you can respond is by moaning over and over. You looked angelic and so fucking slutty that when your eyes crossed in pleasure and your tits bounced in time with his thrusts, Lyney releases a whiny moan. With a final thrust, his hot cum floods your fluttering pussy. His cock throbs as he regains his senses, groaning as he pulls out and his cum begins to leak from your cunt.

As much as the sight of his cum leaking from you filled his ego, Lyney needed it to take. Quickly grabbing a silicone prop, he pushes it inside your pussy with a curved smile, "You shouldn't let my seed go to waste. We need to keep you stuffed full 'til my cum takes..." Your eyes meet his devious ones in the vanity mirror, still looking for more. A sudden knock on the door causes Lyney to snap from his thoughts as Lynette's voice sounds from the other side, "Lyney, it's time."

"I'll be there in a moment!", he calls back and then lets out a sigh. His gaze returning to your dazed one. Your were still under his hypnosis... Lyney's voice is saccharine when he speaks his next words, "Sit still at my vanity and don't even think about covering up or fucking yourself on the prop that's keeping my cum in you." A sly smile forms on his lips when you let out a small whimper when you sit, making the silicone prop push deeper inside of you. Lyney presses a slow kiss to your lips and smiles, "Ma bonne fille..." He readjusts his clothes and fixes his hair one last time before heading out for his grand performance,

And what a performance it was. A standing ovation, thrown flowers covering the stage, and raving reviews from the prominent figures of Fontaine; all thanks to you. Lyney walks back to his dressing room and his lips curl up when his gaze lands on your shaking, restrained body still sat as his vanity as your own arousal had pooled in the chair. You were his lucky charm, his special jinx; and oh how he would reward you for being so perfect.... Breeding you time and time again.

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

a/n: i turned myself on just writing this lol also plz if you’ve read the yaoi i referenced, let’s be friends lmao

[shadowdaddies]

is it okay if I request a lot?

Can you do a smut where it's just like lots of wingplay? With the same Summer Court female and Az? You wrote my last ask so beautifully it was amazing to wake up to, especially because you answered so fast!!!

honey it's okay if you request a LOT a lot, lol sometimes it takes me a little longer to get through my requests but I'm ALWAYS excited to see your ideas💜 and I love Az and the summer court reader, they're so sweet

A/N: this is a continuation of Part 1 but can be read separately

Wings of Desire (Pt. II)

Azriel x Reader

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, wing play, minors dni, not proofread sry

You lurched awake in the bed, covered in sweat as you quickly took stock of your surroundings. Only once you had confirmed it was just the same nightmare as always did you allow yourself to breathe. A shiver ran down your spine as cold caressed your cheek, a shadow dancing along the wall before slipping through the door. 

You shook your head, realizing that you must be imagining things after that horrific dream. Before you could get swept up in the memories you had recalled in your sleep, you looked around the space, grounding yourself in the present. A small smile graced your lips as you remembered where you were. 

It was cozy in the High Lord’s cabin. Despite the unfamiliar chill of winter, the house was as warm and comfortable as ever. The space next to you on the mattress was empty, however - different from how you had fallen asleep next to a certain shadowsinger. As if summoned by your thoughts, Azriel knocked softly on the door to your room. “May I come in?” his low voice sounded through the door. 

A small laugh escaped you at the ridiculous question. “I fell asleep with you in here. Of course you can come in.” Only a moment passed, but it felt like a century before Azriel slowly entered the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Realization dawned on you as you cocked an amused brow at the spymaster. “Would the shadow you left behind have anything to do with your concern?” You admired the blush that reddened his cheeks as your theory was confirmed.

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to stay in here with you while you slept, but that shadow insisted on staying behind with you.” He spoke as if the shadow were an unruly child, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of the feared Night Court spymaster having trouble controlling his shadows.

“I much preferred it when you were in here with me, if you would like to stay in here,” you whispered, looking at Azriel with hopeful eyes. Another one of those rare smiles flashed across his face for a moment, before he schooled his features into an indifferent facade. 

“Of course,” Azriel murmured, moving to settle into his old spot under the sheets next to you. His shadows danced as the male settled into the sheets, and you watched enraptured by their personality. They seemed to be more telling than their master when it came to emotions. One shadow - likely the one who had stayed with you through your nightmare - darted out to brush your cheek, twirling through your hair as you let out a loud laugh at its playful nature.

As if your laugh got their attention, more shadows followed suit. They all moved towards you, like puppies eager for your attention. They played with your hair and clothes, until they brushed the inside of your wings, eliciting a loud moan from you. 

Azriel shot up in bed, frantic as he studied your face. “Are you okay? They aren’t bothering you, are they?” It was your turn to blush now, embarrassed by the scent of your arousal, which the shadowsinger had clearly picked up on, if his darkening eyes were any indication. He was frozen above you, eyes searching yours for an answer to his unasked question.

You reached up, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of Azriel’s neck as you gently guided him towards you, your own eyes searching for any hesitation. Instead, Azriel eagerly leaned into your hold, lips brushing lightly against yours in a soft kiss. Shadows danced across your wings once more, this time eliciting a moan as you arched into Azriel. 

The energy between you changed drastically - turning from a chaste kiss to fervent need for more. Teeth and tongues clashed as Azriel climbed on top of you, both of you grinding against each other in a frenzy. You had never felt the need for someone like this, desperate to consume and be consumed as you ran your own hand down the outside of Azriel’s wing.

He growled into your mouth at the touch, and you smirked into the kiss - a silent challenge which he understood. Azriel quickly lifted your nightgown, leaving you bare and him only in his pants as he kissed his way down your body. He read you like a book, taking note of your reaction to every touch, knowing where to move next as you writhed under his hold.

The same shadows that had been teasingly brushing your wings now skated over your bare body, teasing your breasts and clit as Azriel licked a stripe up your core. Gripping your thighs, Az held you open as he ate you out hungrily, enjoying how you moaned praises at his touch. A scarred finger pushed into you, curling against your walls as Azriel sucked on your clit, his shadows oscillating against your wings. The overstimulation sent you over the edge with a scream, vision fading in and out as Azriel worked you through your orgasm.

The moment the smirking spymaster came back into focus above you, you shoved his pants down with your feet, ready to take control of the situation. When you tried to flip Azriel over to ride him, shadows wrapped around your waist, pinning you against the bed. Azriel smirked, shaking his head as he leaned down to suck on your neck. 

“Let me pleasure you for tonight, love,” he murmured, his deep rasping voice sending a shock of pleasure through you. Hazel eyes watched yours as Azriel pulled your leg over his shoulder, lining up at your entrance. A rough laugh left his lips as you wiggled your hips in encouragement, eager to be filled by him. 

Azriel pushed into you, making you feel more full than ever with his size. The both of you moaned at the feeling when he settled inside of you, waiting a moment to adjust before he began thrusting. Finding the spot that earned the most reaction from you, Azriel held you in place as he pounded relentlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs as he worked you. 

You clenched around him as you neared a second orgasm, and desperate to have him come with you, you reached your hands out to his wings. Fingers slid along the dark veins, satisfaction filling you as Azriel came inside you with a roar. Shadows were unleashed, again overstimulating your clit and wings as the both of you came together. 

Azriel fell to his elbows, hovering over you as he left kisses all over your face. Giggling under his sweet touch, you lightly pushed the shadowsinger back to look at him, shocked by the feeling that rushed through you as you looked in his eyes. “Mate,” you whispered.

A brighter smile than that which you had ever seen from Azriel graced his features. “Mates,” he confirmed.

[jischw]

1. Catherine of Aragon (married 1509-1533)

motto: HUMBLE AND LOYAL

Even allowing for tactful hyperbole, it is clear that Catherine, […] did have the kind of youthful prettiness and freshness of appearance that charmed observers, not only the family into which she would marry. It was partly a question of her complexion: her naturally pink cheeks and white skin were much admired in an age when make-up was clumsy in execution, easy to detect and much scorned. Ambassadors abroad, describing princesses to their masters, generally emphasized the tint of the skin, carefully noting whether it was 'painted' or not. A fair complexion like Catherine's was thought to indicate a more serene and cheerful temperament than a 'brown' one. Then Catherine's hair was also fair and thick, with a reddish-gold tint, her features neat and regular in a pleasingly shaped oval face.

Perhaps Catherine's fair colouring, so far from the conventional picture of a dark-visaged Spaniard, reminded onlookers of her one-eighth of English blood: […] 'there is nothing wanting in her that the most beautiful girl should have. '

If her complexion was her chief beauty, Catherine's chief disadvantage was her lack of height. All the grace of her bearing, inculcated over many years at the Castilian court, could not conceal the fact that she was extremely short, even tiny. Years later a loyal defender had to admit that she was 'in stature somewhat mean', while adding quickly 'but bonarly [bonnie] withal'. She was also on the plump side - but then a pleasant roundness in youth was considered to be desirable at this period, a pointer to future fertility. In contrast Catherine's voice was surprisingly low and 'big-sounding' for a woman; and that no doubt contributed to the impression of gracious dignity she left on all observers, making up for the lack of inches.

2. Anne Boleyn (married 1533-1536)

motto: THE MOST HAPPY

Anne Boleyn was not a great beauty. The Venetian ambassador […] pronounced her 'not one of the handsomest women in the world'. […] Anne Boleyn was only moderately pretty.

Some of this lukewarm praise may have been due to the fact that her looks did not accord with the fair-haired, blue-eyed ideal of the time. In theory, dark looks were regarded with suspicion and Anne Boleyn's looks were conspicuously dark: she was 'Brunet' […] Anne Boleyn's olive complexion’ […] her colouring 'rather dark' or sallow 'as if troubled with jaundice', or 'not so whitely as ... above all we may esteem.' She did have a few moles, although she was hardly disfigured by them on the contrary they acted as beauty-spots. Her hair, thick and lustrous as it might be, was extremely dark […] And her eyes were so dark as to be almost black. But then the theory of public admiration was one thing - blondes were supposed to be of cheerful temperament - and the practice of physical attraction was quite another. Clearly in adulthood Anne Boleyn exercised a kind of sexual fascination over most men who met her; whether it aroused desire or hostility, the fascination was there.

The black eyes were sparkling and expressive; and they were set off by those 'dark, silky and well-marked eyebrows' […] on the subject: she knew well how 'to use [her eyes] with effect', whether deliberately leaving them in repose or using them to send a silent message which carried ‘the secret testimony of the heart'. As a result many became obedient to their power. More prosaically, the Venetian ambassador called her eyes "black and beautiful'. Her mouth, described by him as 'wide' (another theoretical disadvantage by the standards of the time), was recorded by Sander as pretty. […] Anne Boleyn was 'of middling stature' (which made her of course a great deal taller than Queen Catherine). She seems to have been quite slight or at any rate not full-breasted - the Venetian ambassador remarked that her bosom was 'not much raised' […]. But a much more important aspect of her appearance when she first came to court was her elegant long neck; this, with the deportment she had learned in France […] gave her a special grace, especially when dancing, which no one denied.

The fresh young damsel had other qualities, some more obvious than others at the moment of her arrival back in England. She had 'a very good wit', wrote Cavendish in his Life of Wolsey, another source not prejudiced in Anne Boleyn's favour? The phrase, going beyond mere intelligence, carried with it connotations of spirit and adventurousness; in other words, Anne Boleyn was good company. Like many spirited people, she had another more impatient side to her: she would display on occasion a quick temper and a sharp tongue. But of these characteristics, deplored in a woman as much as skill at singing and dancing was prized, there was as yet no sign.

3. Jane Seymour (married 1536-1537)

motto: BOUND TO OBEY AND SERVE

From other sources, it seems likely that the charm of her character considerably outweighed the charm of her appearance: […] of middle statute and no great beauty. Her most distinctive aspect was her famously pure white complexion. Holbein gives her a long nose, and firm mouth, with the lips slighty compressed, although her face son a pleasing oval shape with the high forehead then admired (enhanced sometimes by discret plucking of the hairline) and set off by the headdresses of the time. Altogether, if Anne

Boleyn conveys the fascination of the new, there is a dignified but slightly stolid look to Jane Seymour, appropriately reminiscent of English medieval consorts.

But the predominant impression given by her portrait - at the hands of a master of artistic realism - is a young woman of calm good sense. And contemporaries all commented on Jane Seymour's intelligence: in this she was clearly more like her cautious brother Edward than her dashing brother Tom. She was also naturally sweet-natured (no angry words or tantrums here) and virtuous - her virtue was another topic on which there was general agreement. There was a story that she had been attached to the son of Sir Robert and Lady Dormer, a country neighbour, but was thought of too modest a rank to marry him; even if true, the tale brought with it no slur on Jane's maidenly honour. It was told more as a Cinderella story, where the unfairly slighted girl would go on to be raised triumphantly to far greater heights. Her survival as a lady-in-waiting to two Queens at the Tudor court still with a spotless reputation may indeed be seen as a testament to both Jane Seymour's salient characteristics - virtue and common good sense. A Bessie Blount or Madge Shelton might fool around, Anne Boleyn might listen or even accede to the seductive wooings of Lord Percy: but Jane Seymour was unquestionably virginal.

In short, Jane Seymour was exactly the kind of female praised by the contemporary handbooks to correct conduct; just as Anne Boleyn had been the sort they warned against. There was certainly no threatening sexuality about her. Nor is it necessary to believe that her 'virtue' was in some way hypocritically assumed, in order to intrigue the King […]. On the contrary, Jane Seymour was simply fulfilling the expectations for a female of her time and class: it was Anne Boleyn who was - or rather who had been - the fascinating outsider.

4. Anne of Cleves (married 1540-1540)

motto: GOD SEND ME WELL TO KEEP

Let us take the actual appearance of Anna of Cleves first: for this we are fortunate in having a first-hand description, written only a few days later by the French ambassador, Charles de Marillac, who was not prejudiced in either direction, towards her beauty or her ugliness. Anna of Cleves looked about thirty, he wrote (she was in fact twenty-four), tall and thin, 'of middling beauty, with a determined and resolute countenance.' The Lady was not as handsome as people had affirmed she was, nor as young […], but there was a steadiness of purpose in her face to counteract her want of beauty.

The 'daughter of Cleves' was solemn, or at any rate by English standards she was, and she looked old for her age. She was solemn because she had not been trained to be anything else and the German fashions did little to give an impression of youthful charm in a court in love as ever with things French, or at any rate associating them with fun and delight. […] Turning to Holbein's picture, one finds this solemnity well captured: a critic might indeed term it stolidity. Besides Wotton, in his report, had confirmed that Holbein, generally regarded as the master of the 'lively' or lifelike (not the flattering) in his own time, had indeed captured Anna's "image' very well.

Of course a beautiful young woman, however stolid or badly dressed, would still have been acceptable. Anna of Cleves was not beautiful, and those reports which declared she was were egregious exaggerations in the interests of diplomats […]. But was Anna of Cleves actually hideous? Holbein, painting her full-face, as was the custom, does not make her so to the modern eye, with her high forehead, wide-apart, heavy-lidded eyes and pointed chin.

There is indirect evidence that Anna of Cleves was perfectly pleasant-looking from the later years of Henry VIII. When Chapuys reported Anna of Cleves as rating her contemporary, Catherine Parr, 'not nearly as beautiful' as herself, this expert observer did not choose to contradict her; so that the boast was presumably true, or at least true enough not to be ridiculous.

5. Katherine Howard (married 1540-1542)

motto: NO OTHER WILL BUT HIS

No confirmed authentic picture of Katherine Howard survives. The fact that Katherine Howard is the only one of Henry VIII’s wives for whose appearance we must rely properly on contemporary descriptions, gives her career an appropriately evanescent quality. The same mistiness surrounds her date of birth. She was eighteen or nineteen when the King’s roving eye first fell upon her: that is, roughly thirty years younger than he was. […] Katherine was not only small, as Catherine of Aragon had been, but diminutive: parvissima puella – a really tiny girl. If King Henry was about thirty years older than Katherine, he must have been well over a foot taller. We need not speculate further about their respective weights. The French ambassador rated her beauty as only middling (the same phrase he had used for Anna of Cleves, incidentally), but he did praise her gracefulness, and he found much sweetness in her expression; her habit of dressing à la française (as opposed to Anna of Cleves’ Germanic fashions) no doubt commended itself to him.

Even if Katherine Howard was not a beauty, she must have had considerable prettiness and obvious sex appeal (as well as – or perhaps because of – her youth) since we know that she captivated the King instantly.

6. Catherine Parr (married 1543-1547)

motto: TO BE USEFUL IN ALL I DO

The woman who brought about this cheerfulness, the new Queen Catherine Parr, was herself never described by anyone as a beauty: even the term ‘of middling beauty’ used for both Anna of Cleves and Jane Seymour by Marillac was not applied in this case. ‘Pleasing’ and ‘lively’, ‘kind’ and ‘gracious’ were the most flattering epithets ascribed to her. It is true that a difference of age and status may have been responsible for this lack – widows of over thirty were not expected to be beauties – but when Anna of Cleves indignantly exclaimed that the new Queen was ‘not nearly as beautiful as she’, Chapuys, passing on the comment, did not see fit to contradict it.

Queen Catherine Parr’s only known authentic likeness, attributed to William Scrots, shows an amiable face rather than an intriguing one; the nose is short, the mouth small, and the forehead broad rather than domed in the way that contemporaries admired. Her hair was rather similar in colour to that of Catherine of Aragon: light auburn, tinged with what Agnes Strickland in the nineteenth century would call ‘threads of burnished gold’.

But if the new Queen Catherine was not a beauty, she was neither dull nor austere. She enjoyed dancing. […] She was well set up – the tallest of King Henry’s wives – and her height would have enabled her to cut a regal figure since her conception of her role as queen consort also included a great deal of ornate dressing-up.

Bibliography:

- Fraser, Antonia. The Six Wives of Henry VIII. New York Knopf, 1993.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Antonio Dawson: Miraculously 

“If my brother is being too pushy, I can tell him to back off.” Gabby offered as she watched her brother walk over to the bar to get another round of drinks. You looked over at Antonio. He fulfilled all your bad boy fantasies, tall, tatted olive skin, pierced, with an infinity for dark color and a leather jacket. He held a silent arrogance you had no doubt he could back up. He also had a charming devil-may-care way of talking and a panty-wetting smile. The attention and flirting was flattering. Normally you would jump with little thought but were still feeling the sting of your last bad relationship and had no want to repeat it, let alone with a friend's brother. 

“It’s not that,” You assure as you take another drink, “Antonio is very...” You eye Antonio appreciatively as he leans on the bar talking to a few of the firefighters while waiting for your drinks. You laughed as you returned eye contact to Gabby, and she raised her eyebrow with a mischievous look. 

“If you're interested, then what is the problem?” You sigh leaning back into the booth chair running your fingers through your hair to gather it up into a ponytail before realizing you don’t have a hair tie and dropping it back down. You bring your eyes back up to Gabby's analyzing gaze. 

“I just got out of a relationship a few months back, it was a bad one. Messed with my head more than I would like to admit.” Her brown eyes softened as she nodded for you to continue. You looked back over at Antonio, and she assured you he would still be awhile. He was a gossiper. “Okay, well the cliff notes version is this.” 

When Antonio gets back to the table, you have already headed to the bathroom. He sat down in front of his sister and raised his eyebrows, “So,” When Gabby wasn’t forthcoming with the information he pressed on, “I didn’t stand at the bar listening to Mouch’s conspiracy theories because I wanted to. I did it to give you time to find out if she was interested.” Gabby pressed her lips together in a thin line while looking at her brother, “I can’t get a good read on her and I know you found something out, so spill it.” 

“Antonio,” Her tone said that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Antonio curses under his breath but settles back into the booth in reignition. “No, she is interested but...” Gabby’s eyes glanced up to see you heading out of the bathroom and back to the table. “You need to ease up. She had a bad breakup and the guy she was with was a level one asshat that did her dirty.” Antonio let that information settle. He sat up a straighter confidence coming back to his posture. He had a chance and that was all he really needed. The rest was just minor details. Gabby quieted as she saw you heading back to the table.   

You sipped on the drink Antonio brought over and went along with his flirting. When your drink was gone, he offered to buy another round for you and Gabby. You declined saying you had to get home. “I can drive you.” You missed the exasperated look Gabby gave him as you shrugged on your jacket.  

“I don’t want to impose. Isn’t it out of your way?” You fought between wanting to spend more time with Antonio and knowing that it was a mistake to be alone with him. He waved away your concern and you soon find yourself in the passenger seat of his car listening to classic rock at low volume. When he gets to your apartment building, he parks the car and walks you up to your apartment door. It’s late and it would make him feel better to see you get into your apartment safely. You give him a smile as you stop at your door. “This is me,” Your breath catches when you turn to look back at him. He is bracing himself against the door frame angling into your space. The heat of arousal flickers through you as your back hits the door. 

It had been a long time since you had had any kind of sexual contact. Your body says that Antonio Dawson is the prime and only candidate to remedy that. The air sizzled and snapped with raw hot heat. He leaned in closer the smell of leather and musky cologne overwhelming your senses. He leaned in for a kiss, stopping just a few inches from your face. You shared his breath for a long moment fighting the urge to lean up. Warning bells sound loudly in your head, and you pull back. “I should go in.” Antonio for his part was graceful in the ordeal. He takes a step back giving you space. You unlock the door and turn back to give him a halfhearted smile, “Thanks again for the ride, Antonio.” 

“Anytime,” The door had barely closed, and Antonio was pulling out his phone as he was backing up. “Hey Gabby, yeah, I know, I know.”  

°。°。°。°。°。 

“You are coming, Antonio?” Jay asked as he leaned back into the unmarked police car. Antonio was still behind the wheel.  

“No, I have an... unsanctioned stop to make. I have to stop by a house and have a talk with someone.” Jay eyed Antonio perceptively before nodding.  

“This has to do with the chick at the bar?” When Antonio doesn’t respond, Jay continues. “That hot one, that you been flirting with for the last few months? Yeah, she looks like trouble.” Jay climbs back into the passenger seat. “I’m not going to let you get in trouble by yourself.” He leaned back in the seat and gestured for Antonio to drive.  

Antonio slammed on the wooden door with his fist. A loud echoing cop knock. When the door opened to reveal a less-than-outstanding white man in his late twenties Antonio couldn’t understand what you had ever possibly seen in him.  

°。°。°。°。°。 

You opened the door to see Antonio at your door. Your eyebrows furrow at him. He hadn’t given you a heads-up that he was coming. “I have something for you.” 

You followed Antonio out of the building and towards his car. You were trying to guess what he could have possibly got you. Then your heart started pounding as you heard a loud echoing bark. A familiar bark. A bark you hadn’t heard in four months. Tears welled in your eyes as you run the last ten feet to the car. You hear the click of the car lock, and you throw the door open and are engulfed by a mass of fur. You cling to the dog tightly getting licked furiously and drooled on. “When- How-Why?” You were at a loss for words as you looked at the man before you. “Gabby,” you said with a roll of your eyes as you bared half your face into your dog's fur. “But how?” 

“I had a little talk with your ex. He agreed that he reacted childishly in the aftermath of your breakup. He miraculously remembered where your dog had ‘run-off’ too. He also assured me that he is going to pay you back all the back rent he owes you from when he was living with you.”  

“Miraculously huh?” You asked tears still in your eyes, “Was that before or after you showed him your badge?” Antonio didn’t look ashamed in the least as he gave you a wink and slid his hands into his pockets. “Thank you, Antonio. You have no idea how heartbroken I was when I thought he was gone forever.” You hug him tightly. His embrace is strong, warm, and comforting in a way you haven’t had in a long time. When you pulled back you still had happy tears in your eyes. He brushes them off your cheek with a calloused thumb. “I have some cold beer in my fridge that needs drinking. What do you say?”  

My first Chicago PD story and it had to be Antonio. I hope you guys enjoy! <3    

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

[teyums]

we need softdom!neteyam 😩

pairing: adult!neteyam x fem!navi reader

warnings: mdni 🔞 softdom!neteyam, petnames, slight daddykink, description of events wc: 638

“Why don’t I take these off for you, hm? How’s that sound?” Neteyam’s sultry voice silks through your eardrums, your lips wetting with saliva as your eyes flutter to a close, arms thrown over your head and mind melting into a puddle of fantasies while you yearn for all he’s going to do to you.

Long fingers hook under the band of your loincloth, his breath warm as his open mouth ghosts over the unblemished skin of your neck. It won’t last for long, though. Neteyam takes pride in garnishing your skin with endless examples of his love for you— declarations the hopeless warriors who pine after you will be able to recognize with ease.

Your hips lift for him and your tweng is swiftly tugged down and off your body, a low hum of approval rumbling his chest. You’re silent in your compliance but immediate, and it makes Neteyam groan in anticipation, sharp canines grazing just below your jaw while the space in his own covering depletes with each passing second.

“You’re such a good girl for me, yawne (beloved). Such a good girl.” He purrs, a knee wedging between your trembling legs to part them as he hovers over you, watching you writhe beneath him in want, like you need his touch to be able to breathe.

He applies pressure just where you want it and a gasp sputters from your throat, back bowing and nails sinking into the smooth skin of his forearm. A large hand caresses your cheek, just before his thumb dips into the shaky ‘O’ your agape mouth has formed.

The sound of your delicious little mewls are muffled as your lips close, coming to a pucker around his digit, but it’s worth it when he sees the look in your eyes as you look up at him, wet tongue swirling around his thumb, just like it would to the tip of his cock and he’s starting to second guess his plan of taking his time with you.

Your swollen, slick-moistened clit rolls over the area above his knee and you squeal, brows bunching in the middle, a desperate plea for him to give you more than what you’re getting. The exigency for release is starting to become more than you can bear, your hips struggling to buck towards his as a strong hand keeps them planted.

“Shh, my love. Don’t worry, you know I’ll take care of you.”

You do know, and that’s exactly why you want it so bad.

He begins kissing his way down your torso, intense eyes never breaking contact with yours as he leaves a dampened trail along your stomach while he descends. He stops just at your navel, tonguing at the skin there because he knows it drives you crazy, and his theory is only proven when your hand sinks between his braids and keenly tugs at them.

“Neteyam, please…”

“I know, I know.” He chuckles lightly, licking his lips as he positions himself to lay on his stomach, a full view of your glistening cunt on display and you shudder when he growls. It’s primal, feral, and has your pleasure-famished hole clenching around nothing, to which his eyes glint with hunger in response to.

He’s got the underside of your thighs in his hands, keeping them open for him because he would hate to be interrupted when you involuntarily bring them to a close around his head. His nose scrunches slightly as he takes a large, long inhale, and he holds the intake of your enthralling scent in his nostrils before he exhales loudly, tail flicking behind him excitedly.

“I can smell you, sevin (pretty). So sweet… May I have a taste?”

You’re not sure why he asked, the answer is always the same. Maybe just to hear the impatient split of your voice when you muster out a response, or to witness the pool of arousal that seeps down between your legs and onto the cot because he asked you so nicely. You know he’s going to take it regardless, because the flat of his tongue is already lapping at the slick smeared on the skin of your inner thigh, eyes that of a man hungry and starved, and it only makes you wetter for him.

“Words, babygirl.” Neteyam demands, voice soft yet stern, and you whine, legs spreading further.

“Yes, daddy.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Forty-Seven

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues, conspiracy theories.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: BACK FROM HIATUS! SO, I'm not 100% my health is still very touch and go, but I am taking this very slowly. We are on the FINAL stretch for Roses... I actually now know how many chapters are left... I know its both sad and amazing... so hold on!

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

tags: @faceless-mirror @missduffsblog @tamtam-elizabeth @witchyweeb34 @tearfallpixie

@wild-child-7747 @shilohrosechicken @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @miamore0570 @emmmm127

@sunsshinesunny @spicywhenspeaking @dontdiganothergravetoday @chick-from-nz @latenightmusiclover

@anameunmusical

Chris woke slowly the next morning, he was more than happy to be in his toasty bed this early, he had no desire to change anything. Talia was snuggled against his chest and the feeling of her small warm body pressed against him made him smile softly against the top of her head. Breathing in, he sighed against her hair happily, it had been so long since it had felt so good to wake up like this. After a moment, Chris was reaching for Rick too, Rick, where the hell had he disappeared off to? Tilting his head, groaning softly, damn coffee addict, yeah, he probably knew where he’d gone at this hour, too fucking early Ricky, come on already, come on. Turning his head, he glanced at his bedside table where the alarm clock sat, the one he never set, who didn’t use their phone as their alarm clock these days? Sure enough, just as he suspected, it was way too damn early for this nonsense. He was going to kick his ass when he got back here, he’d have to have the best damn coffee in the world to bribe him, and even then, thin ice!

As Talia shifted against him, at first he just sighed against her shoulder, happy to hold her. A moment later, her ass was rubbing against him just a little bit too distinctly for him to think it was an accident. Chris smiled slightly, oh, she was being cheeky this morning, as he couldn’t help but let out a moan, the sound coupled with the press of a soft kiss of his lips to the side of her neck. His lips brushed against her skin as he enjoyed the blissful feeling of the morning warmth of her skin before he murmured low.

“Careful there, JellyBean, might actually think you’re awake doing that.”

Oh, he knew she was awake already with her movements against him, but he could play her game. Chris sneaked his arm around her waist, smooth wrapping himself around her body, pulling her back against him  properly, rolling his hips against her more. As he did, he knew she could feel his morning wood quite easily if she hadn’t already from the way she’d been shifting against him before. His rough voice whispering low, breath dancing across her skin.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

It was then, he heard what he heard an almost affronted gasp coming from her as she twisted around to look at him. The look on her face was incredulous.

“Christopher Cerulli!”

Chuckling to himself, shit, okay, he knew the moment she said that he was in for it, even if her tone was nothing but amused. There was also the way she was pressing her thigh right against his cock, waking his half aroused morning wood to full hardness, no question there, what she wanted now.

“Does it really seem like this is something that I can’t finish?”

Chris couldn’t help but moan at the way she continued to rock her hips, so her thigh would rub against his cock and show her exactly just how much she meant those words. With their bodies covered up under the blankets of the bed, they were pretty much wrapped up together, it would have been all three of them if Rick hadn’t absconded. Her warmth was kicking up his heat even more, and Chris couldn’t get enough of her.

“Someone is certainly cheeky this morning, Baby.”

Oh, how delicious she looked right now, with the way her cheeks flushed when he called her on it. Of course, pairing it with the way their tattoos flared up, and the way her hips stuttered in their movements against him, he had a feeling nothing about how she felt about him calling her on it, was truly upset. Smiling with a gasp at the feeling of both, he couldn’t help but thrust his hips a bit back against hers, pushing her back against the bed now, shifting over her finally. 

Chris brought his lips to hers with a groan as he felt the way her hands started running up his back, her nails scrapping slowly over his skin, digging in ever so lightly. He just savoured the way she started to draw patterns in his skin, she wasn’t even tracing his tattoos, considering she couldn’t see them from under him, no, she was just feeling his skin. She was enjoying his body, his touch, just as he was hers, her legs wrapped around him, as he shifted his hips, and his cock lined up and so slowly, pressed deep inside of her.

This was a blissful way to wake up in the morning, his body just rocking into hers, slow, and lazy, Talia was in no rush to speed up either as he kept kissing her. Humming against Chris lips as she let the kisses linger against his skin. Yes, he was so deep inside of her, but neither of them were in any hurry, nothing about this moment felt hasty, everything was so soothing, and peaceful. Yes, she’d been cheeky and goading him into it, but how could she resist him, when she had this gorgeous naked man laying with her in his bed. If Ricky had still been here, she’d likely be wrapped up in both of them right now, in one way or another. Resisting either of them last night had been impossible, this morning likely would have been no better.

It was funny, Talia usually thought she was a woman that had rather good restraint, but they were both proving her all kinds of wrong. It wasn’t just the effects of the tattoo either, right from just coming here, her afternoon coffees with Chris, she’d started falling right from the start looking back on them. She’d enjoyed each and every conversation with him, he had a way about him what just had her enthralled and wrapped up in his every whim. 

That much was more than just a little bit obvious now as his hips rocked into her body, drawing a moan out of her as his cocked stroked at her inner walls gently. 

“Fuck, Chris, just like that, Daddy, please.”

He’d curled his hips and now the head of his cock was just grazing her sweet spot inside of her. Sure, he could be hammering at it, and making her see stars, like fireworks going off, until she screamed the whole house down. Probably no doubt all his neighbours would know just what they were doing this early in the morning, noise complaints from the neighbours if they weren’t careful. Maybe her imagination was running away from her, it wasn’t like Talia had ever really been that adventurous before with her past lovers, but there had been moments. 

No, this was everything, the perfect feeling of lazy morning sex. A nuanced mix of gentle and slowly waking up to the world as it was brightening for the day. Oh, was Talia waking up with everything Chris was going to her. With every stoke of his cock inside of her, she was grasping into his body, gasping with little tiny whimper against his skin as she felt herself slowly inch higher and higher, tensing as her body coiled with her release. 

“Daddy, Chris, I’m so close.”

Moaning softly as her nails were digging in a little into the back of his shoulders, she panted against his mouth as he kissed her, teeth scraping against his lip, trying to ground herself. Arching up from the bed against him, her hips rising, with the ways her thighs had enveloped him, she was just rocking with him to get more friction. As much as she didn’t want to rush him, every morsel of her being was begging him, begging to let her fall, and to fall over that edge with her. 

Hearing her moan, and those soft little whimpers like that, it was killing him to hear her beg like that and only going so slow, but it was perfection.. There was something about slow morning sex that was just so addictive. When he was on tour, and having to get off whenever he could, searching for the quick release, and just find a moment whenever he could.. But this, there was power in this for Chris, for both of them, and oh how he loved it. 

“I know, Baby, I know, you are being so good for me.”

As he rolled his hips again, thrusting into her slowly, deeper again, pulling another moan from her with his words and he shuddered, she was like putty right now. Looking down at her, how could anyone have resisted this woman for so long? He wasn’t judging Ricky, no, it was all the idiots that had turned her down for years for no reason other than not being their soul mate. Not ever giving her a change, not getting to know her. Worse than idiots. 

Feeling her clench around him, no, he couldn’t hold back any longer, no matter how much drawing out the moment made it even better, fuck.

“Okay, now, now you can cum for me Baby, go on. That's it, cum for Daddy.”

Hearing her whine as she gave in, the way she clenched around him, seeing the pleasure across her face the way he hadn’t been able to just the night before, it was blissful. Shit, and her clenching around his cock so tight had his thrusts turning so erratic as he chased his orgasm before he was cumming inside of her. Both of them wrapped up tight with each other as he filled her with his release, moaning her name as he did. 

They laid like that, cuddled up together, just lounging in the basking in the feeling of the glow their bodies wrapped up together. Sharing lazy kisses, hands running up and down their skin as they explored. Chris wasn’t sure how much long after they were done that he heard the front door, about time, smirking against Talia’s lips, Rick had just gotten back.

When Ricky woke up, both Chris and Talia had still been completely asleep. Watching them for a moment, he knew he wanted to do something for them this morning, and he didn’t think his usual repertoire of burnt breakfast and coffee was going to cut it. Especially because one, Chris’ coffee machine sucked, something he’d reminded him of multiple time since staying here, and two, he didn’t know what he had to cook with. Fine, that made his choice easy, he’d got out and pick something up, quickly, hopefully before they woke up.

They woke up.

Oh, did they wake up.

He got back with the breakfasts and coffees to find them wrapped up in bed all cosy and warm, and very much finished having some early morning fun and smirked at the sight of them wrapped up in each other. Chuckling at them,

“Well, look at you two, seems like I missed out on all the fun.”

Raising an eyebrow as Chris just turned his head to him and threw back the covers, exposing their naked bodies to him,

“Let me remind you, you’re the idiot that left. Besides, nothing is stopping you from joining us for some more.”

Seeing that lazy smirk on his lips as Chris looked at him so tempting right then, Ricky just couldn’t help but groan at the prospect, but…

“And ruin breakfast?”

Chris just rolled his eyes, 

“Please, when have either of us ever turned down a cold breakfast?”

He wasn’t wrong, considering the multitudes of times they were dragging themselves up while they were on tour and living on the bus. Whether Talia knew what they were both thinking or not, she was giggling a little herself then,

“Not to mention, there is always reheating the food. Now are you going to join us or…”

Easier offers were never suggested with the two of them lying there like that, and Ricky couldn’t strip out of his clothes again fast enough now to join them in the bed. Neither Talia nor Chris seemed to mind waiting a little bit longer for anything to eat compared to being wrapped up in each other for a lazy day in bed. Why would they when now that they had Ricky back?

Dividers by @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

[atopvisenyashill]

DAEMON BALLFYRE THEORY

it’s an unserious name but a serious theory!!!

WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT QUENTYN BALL

If Daemon had ridden over Gwayne Corbray . . . if Fireball had not been slain on the eve of battle . .

-small mention from eustace in the sword sword

For his hot head and red hair. Ser Quentyn Ball was the master-at-arms at the Red Keep. He taught my father and my uncles how to fight. The Great Bastards too. King Aegon promised to raise him to the Kingsguard, so Fireball made his wife join the silent sisters, only by the time a place came open, King Aegon was dead and King Daeron named Ser Willam Wylde instead. My father says that it was Fireball as much as Bittersteel who convinced Daemon Blackfyre to claim the crown, and rescued him when Daeron sent the Kingsguard to arrest him. Later on, Fireball killed Lord Lefford at the gates of Lannisport and sent the Grey Lion running back to hide inside the Rock. At the crossing of the Mandel, he cut down the sons of Lady Penrose one by one. They say he spared the life of the youngest one as a kindness to his mother.

-egg says this in the mystery knight, bolded parts mine

Daemon was the name Daena gave to this child, for Prince Daemon had been the wonder and the terror of his age, and in later days that was seen as a warning of what the boy would become. Daemon Waters was his full name when he was born in 170 AC. At that time, Daena refused to name the father, but even then Aegon's involvement was suspected. Raised at the Red Keep, this handsome youth was given the instruction of the wisest maesters and the best masters-at-arms at court, including Ser Quentyn Ball, the fiery knight called Fireball. He loved nothing better than deeds of arms and excelled at them, and many saw in him a warrior who would one day be another Dragonknight.

The king sent the Kingsguard to arrest Daemon before he could take his plans for treason any further. Daemon was forewarned, and with the help of the famously hot-tempered knight Ser Quentyn Ball, called Fireball, he was able to escape the Red Keep safely. Daemon Blackfyre's allies used this attempted arrest as a cause for war, claiming that Daeron had acted against Daemon out of no more than baseless fear. Others still named him Daeron Falseborn, repeating the calumny that Aegon the Unworthy himself was said to have circulated in the later years of his reign: that he had been sired not by the king but by his brother, the Dragonknight.

-these are both from TWOIAF, again bolded and italicized parts mine.

WHAT STICKS OUT TO ME

Quentyn is married, a landless knight, and clearly older than Daena - it’s not just about a man “spoiling” a young, royal maiden but imo also that Quentyn specifically would get in a LOT of trouble because he is low class (see: Bonifer & Rhaella) and married to boot

He was master at arms, which gives him the ability to be in Daemon’s life without arousing suspicion from anyone, and also proximity to Daena to allow for an affair, even with her on the Maidenvault.

He’s name dropped SEVERAL times and he’s clearly very important to the founding of the Blackfyre Rebellion despite being both very lowborn and also dying in a kinda lame way (not even during the battle, just by a lone archer)

He wanted so badly to be on the kingsguard he forced his wife into the Silent Sisters, only to be denied by Daeron

He seemed to be on good terms with Aegon IV

Everyone seems real sure that the daddy was Aegon and we’re not given a reason why

Aegon doesn’t claim Daemon as his bastard until after (presumably) Daena has died

Also, Aegon doesn’t claim Daemon as his bastard until after all of the Great Bastards have been born

EYE think that Aegon IV was purposefully trying to have a bastard that could challenge Daeron, and that his affairs weren’t just like lust, boredom, wanting to disrespect Naerys & Aemon, etc. There is, imo, a shift in his mistresses being just, any woman he has access to - Falena, Bellegere, Cassella, and Meg - to woman who are highborn maidens from powerful families in Westeros - the Blackwoods, Brackens, and Lothstons. Even Serenei fits in here, given that Targ-looking wives from Lys & Volantis are not uncommon before or after Aegon IV. He’s even mentioned as still having a role in Aegor’s life by visiting him, potentially trying to groom him to rebel. But then everything with the Brackens blows up in his face (which is his own fault tbc), and Brynden is an emo fuck with red eyes, and Shiera is a girl. Then Daena dies…..and an opportunity opens up. Daemon looks like a Targaryen, no one knows who the father is, but for some reason everyone already suspects him (imo this is due to Rhaenyra’s boys looking like Harwin - like just a misogyny thing that SURELY Daemon couldn’t get his look from his mother alone, look at Rhaenyra’s kids vs Alicent’s), so publicly claiming Daena’s child at last gives him the perfect rival against Daeron.

ALSO, we have a few times in the story where someone joins the Kingsguard to be closer to a woman they want to protect - Aemon & Naerys, Jaime & Cersei, and Loras & Margaery. I think Lewyn & Elia likely fall under this as well. I think it makes sense Quentyn would see joining the Kingsguard as an opportunity to be closer to both Daena & Daemon especially given his low class status; skilled knights can rise to the Kingsguard even from lowborn or baseborn backgrounds. ALSO ALSO again, our only evidence of Aegon IV being the dad is, ya know, Aegon himself. Daena stayed silent her entire life on the subject. I like to think she had a reason for this - not that she protecting Aegon, but that she was protecting Quentyn.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Misattribution of Arousal

Fratboy!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Words: ~2k

Masterlist

This was just a some headcannons of working on a project with blonde!fratboy!Peter Parker, not super proofread. Inspired by this post with @reidslovely (thank you for the thirst). This one doesn't get too suggestive, but if there's enough want for another part to this, I could make another part that includes that

Thanks as always for reading!! Love to hear your thoughts (and thots) <3

You’d get paired up together for some project in the psych class you both have

You had only heard of Peter Parker from others: the other guys in his frat or on his basketball team

…Occasionally whispers between girls that had your face heating up

And so when your professor calls your name and Peter’s in the same breath and he turns around to flash you a smile and swishing blonde hair, you’re not sure whether you’re nervous about him possibly dropping all the work onto you or about being so close him in general

He’d be like 5 minutes late to meeting up with you at the library in a loose sweatshirt, huffing and apologizing about practice running long

Though you were a bit skeptical of working with him, you tell him “no worries” and mean it

While flipping through your notebook for project ideas, which involved doing a small presentation on a certain psychological theory and studies supporting it, he mutters something about it being warm in there

And removes his sweatshirt while you’re listing out ideas. “Internal/external attribution, different learning theories, misattribution of arousal, cognitive dissonance–”

“Misattribution of arousal?” he asks, his head released from the sweatshirt as his arms worked their way from the fabric

You keep your eyes purposely on your notebook, saying, “Yeah, when someone feels emotional arousal and–”

“And they mistake what exactly caused that arousal, yeah,” he finishes, sitting back down in a tight black shirt that beg your eyes to look at, and you suddenly internally agree about how warm it felt in here

Swallowing, you say, “Yeah, I can try to find some studies online for us to read” and pull out your laptop

“Oh, I know one. I read it the other week. May I?” he asks, motioning to your laptop 

You nod and start to turn it around to him to look up the study. When he reaches for it, his fingers brush against yours and are so warm. Your gaze drops down to where they touched just for a brief moment, watching the way they flex before they hide behind the screen

Rather than looking at the laptop, your eyes jump to his to find him already staring at you, a cheeky grin on his face

And then he runs his hands through his hair, the blonde strands flopping across his forehead in the softest way. You swear he did it on purpose

Looking away, you turn back to your notebook and don’t stray from it, not even when he says, “How cute…”

It takes everything in you, but all you mutter is “Hmm?”

“Your screensaver. It’s cute.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s my dog, Callie,” you explain, always loving that selfie of you two

He hums low in the back of his throat before saying the words that finally make you look up. “Yeah, she’s cute too.”

You aren’t quite sure how to respond, wondering whether he’s just being nice or if this is some playboy tactic he’s pulling

But the way he looks, his eyes glued to the screen as if he didn’t just make your cheeks hot (though his amused look betrays any innocence) – it all makes you care a little less about which one it is

And he definitely proves himself. Yeah, Peter parties and does great on the basketball team, but he knows his stuff

(It makes you feel a little bad for assuming otherwise, but he just seems happy to prove you wrong if it means it makes you like him more)

He turns the screen back to you, showing you the study someone did to test the theory of misattribution of arousal

An interviewer asks questions to random people on a low, stable bridge vs. a high, swaying one and gives them their phone number to call them after. Those on the high one called back at a higher rate, thinking the arousal they felt from the scary bridge was actually arousal/attraction for the interviewer

And you feel his eyes on you while reading, all too aware of how close his hands are to yours

“Yeah, that one looks great,” you breathe out, keeping your voice steady. You start a presentation and fill in little bits here and there

Peter has his feet up on the table, rocking his chair back as he explains ideas the two of you could include, and it’s the easiest (and most fun) time you’ve had on a group project

You aren’t sure when the topic switched, but you learn about his major that sounds mind-boggling difficult, his friends, his wonderful Aunt May, while you tell him about your life, both here at college and back home

And it’s only when the sun begins the dip lower, sending streaking rays of sunlight through the library windows, do you realize how much time has passed

You apologize, telling him you promised to have dinner with your roommate so you have to run, but he tells you not to worry. He looks up at you while you pack, his elbows on the table, staring up at you with soft eyes and that smile

For just a second, you debate canceling 

But you don’t. You two instead schedule a time to meet up again next week to keep working on it, and you find yourself excited. And surprised about being excited

And most of dinner involves your roommate excitedly asking questions about this study date with Peter Parker

Which you tell them it is absolutely not a date, obviously. You had only given him your number for the project. It’s just studying, even if he did set it up at the campus’s cafe

On your way there, he texts you, making your heart jolt when looking at his message 

“Hey study partner ;) what’s your drink order?”

You text him back your order, promising to pay him back when you get there 

To which he responds with: “no <3”

You try to insist again when you find him in the cafe, taking your things out while your drink and Peter are waiting at the table, but he doesn’t give you a chance. Instead, he just launches into conversation about a story of a chemistry mishap he had in lab the other day, leaving both of you in breathless laughter

But you internally promise to pay him back next time once your drink is empty and your smile wide. And you do, bringing his favorite drink to his fraternity.

Knocking at the door, you’re answered by a guy with dirty blond hair 

He directs you to Peter’s room, introducing himself as his roommate, Harry. And you find yourself feeling a little less nervous walking into a house of all these men

“He might be in the bathroom, you can just wait at the desk or on his bed for him,” he tells you when you find the room empty 

You thank him and set your backpack down on the desk. There isn’t much in there that surprised you, the place having few decorations and typical college kid things, except for a nice family picture of Peter with two older people, one of them you guessed to be his aunt 

He looks so much younger in it, same messy hair except it’s brown here. Same toothy smile though

You automatically turn around when the door opens wider, finding Peter walking in with a towel. Wearing only a towel

Your eyes catch his damp hair and water across his body, the planes of muscle you can’t tear your gaze away from until he lets out a surprised “Oh”

That makes you spin around, your hands coming up to your increasingly hot face, the image of his chest and arms unrelenting behind your eyelids

You rush out your words. “I’m sorry, Harry let me in. To study. For our study…thing. I didn’t mean to, uh–”

And he laughs, apparently finding pleasure in the situation

“It’s fine. But shit, is it that late already? Lost track of time, I’m sorry. I can just get changed quick and then we can start.”

You nod before letting out a meek, “okay.” And you tried, you really did, to not think about him as the sound of the towel hitting the ground hit your ears, but you weren’t successful

“Kay, all good to turn around,” he said, “you and your blushing cheeks”

You turn around and do your best to roll your eyes at his comment, to some success, but you see with his tight shirt is a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips

You’re supposed to focus on doing a project with this?? No way 

By this point, the project is nearly done, and the nagging thought of not having an excuse to talk to him after it’s all over is also present on your mind

So with all of this going through you while you sit down next to him on his bed, handing him his drink and taking out your laptop, your whole body feels on edge, your heart in your throat

You’re both working on a rough outline for what to say during the presentation, and Peter has to know what’s going on with you when he asks, “How are you feeling about all this?”

Your weak nod and meek, “Good” don’t convince either of you, and you’re secretly grateful when he asks, “Do you want to go over it together? Just practice once before?”

Glancing to his honeyed eyes for the first time since sitting down, you give a small smile and pull up the presentation to practice

Partway through, though, you stumble over a sentence, releasing a frustrated huff at the complex study you had to explain

And there Peter is, resting his warm palm against the back of your hand. “Hey, no worries. I can take that slide if you want, but I know you understand this one better than I ever could.”

His praise and soft look on his face bring your emotions back down, and you mouth a quiet “thank you” before trying the slide again without issue. Peter flashes you smile (nearly making you trip over your words again, but for a different reason this time)

You’re a bit jealous of the nonchalance he has, leaning back onto his elbow when effortlessly presenting his slides

He carries this calming energy to class, standing on one side of the screen in his ridiculously soft-looking flannel with you on the other side. Beforehand, your leg had been bouncing, your fingers fidgeting. But there he was, giving your hand under the table a squeeze before walking up with you for your turn to present

And all you have to do is glance toward him, and he’s already looking at you with a reassuring smile. It’s probably the smoothest presentation you’ve done, and your face is beaming by the time you end (and one of the better scores you get on a project)

The irony of the project topic isn’t quite lost on you, but you can’t say you’re too focused on it when Peter’s right there

After, though, you’re weighed down by the realization that it’s over and you’ll return to only hearing of Peter Parker through other people That is, until you’re walking out of the classroom when you hear his addicting voice say your name, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to

“Running away from me so soon?” he asks, grinning at you in a way that leaves your throat dry

You laugh through it and say, “No, uh, just going to get lunch before the line gets too long.”

And he’s leaning toward you, the warmth of his body rolling onto you in soft waves. “Well, would there be room for one more at your table? I could pay you back for the drink you got me.”

You can’t help the way your whole being lights up at his words, smiling through your sentence. “That was to pay you back for getting me a drink, Peter.”

For a second, you swear the moment you say his name, his demeanor changes before flashing back to his cool self. “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to pay me back again.”

--

Thanks again for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts on another part if there’s enough interest <3

[hellsbarnes]

Thotty thursday request, hangman and you screwing before training please!! I love your writing!

୨ 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙙𝙖𝙮 ₊˚ପ⊹ 𝙟.𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙣 ୧

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x aviator!fem!reader

summary: hangman and you get it on before training after two weeks without sex

warnings: nsfw, 18+, mdni, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie (please don't read if you're uncomfortable)

word count: 1k

author's note: welcome to my second thotty thursday fic, i hope you enjoy it and please remember to reblog and leave a comment, thank you!

“The dog fight’s in an hour, get ready,” Maverick had said as he dismisses the quick meeting that the he had called, it was supposed to be a lazy Saturday, the squad had their plans set but it wasn’t exactly a surprise, because the admiral had the habit of having Mav pull trainings on you all.

You groaned, you had plans too, most of it included screwing your boyfriend into next week because after two weeks of Jake being away for training, theory tests and so much more, it was safe to say your pussy was aching terribly for his cock to stretch you out and honestly you were already sick of that pretty pink toy you had buried in your cupboard.

Sighing, you headed to your room, putting on your flight suit, pulling your hair into a neat bun, tucking your lucky charm, a keychain that your boyfriend had given you into your pocket, you were about to leave the room when Jake walks in, he had already suited up and you couldn’t stop the smirk that formed on your face when you saw just how damn good he looked in his suit, and boy oh boy that coy smile he had plastered on his face as he walked towards you, a hint of the devil in those gorgeous emerald green eyes that could get you on your knees in seconds,

“Back again Lieutenant?” you asked as he slowly but surely backed you up and against the cold wall of the room, he leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his hands roamed your body, making you bite back a moan when he slides his hand over your covered cunt, his thumb pressing against your clit.

“You left me all hot and bothered baby,” he says, his voice low and gruff as he presses himself against you.

“Not my fault that Mav called for a meeting,”

“Wanna finish it Angel?” he asks, his mouth moving to your neck, the moan that you had stifled escapes when he bites down on the flesh.

“Of course,” you reply, pulling him close, moaning when he crashes his lips onto yours harshly, savagely, all tongues and teeth, he pulls you even closer, his hand working at the opening of your suit, pulling it down your shoulders as he massages your breast, making you whimper when he rolls your nipple between his fingers.

“Love it when you do that,” he groans against your lips as you smirk, your hand sliding down to palm him through his pants, easily popping the button and pulling his rock hard cock out from its constraints, pumping it up and down, your thumb swiping over his leaking tip, using his precum as lubrication as he gives in to your advances.

“Shit, not gonna cum like that sweets, come here,” he growls, pushing you against the wall as you work your legs out from the restraints of your suit, you whimper as Jake lifts your leg up, his cock pressing against the folds of your wet, dripping cunt.

“Please,” you moaned, feeling his tip push into you slowly as you bite down on your lip in anticipation.

“Tell me what you want sweets,” Jake replies, his voice smooth as he slides his cock up and then your slit, the thought of having him balls deep inside of you made you whimper.

“I need you to fuck me, please,” you beg, and that was all it took for Jake to slam into you making you cry out as he stretches you out so deliciously, it had been two whole weeks since you’ve had him and it felt like forever, he barely gave you time to adjust before he simply pulls out, thrusting back into your heat, making you moan as he moves, bucking his hips as his cock, now wet with your arousal slides in and out of your cunt with ease.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” Jake groans, lifting your leg just a little higher so he could slide in deeper and he did, ramming into you over and over again, your nails digging into his clothed shoulder as you hung on for the ride, your head falling back, your chest heaving as you gasped for much needed air, you could feel his grip on your thigh tightening and honestly, you didn’t give a flying fuck if he left bruises all over your skin, Jake loved marking you as his, and you loved it.

“Never fucked anyone else while I was away,” you whimper as he presses against you.

“I’m the only one who gets to fuck this pretty pussy,” Jake growls, making you moan, the sound of skin slapping against skin was simply pornographic and with the speed that he was going at, it didn’t take long for you to come undone, moaning when his lips grazed your neck, feeling his breath against the shell of your ear as he thrust into you harder, faster, his tip brushing your sweet spot each time he did, pushing you further to the edge of orgasm as your walls clenched down tightly around him.

“Want you to fill me up Jake, please,” you cry as he pounds into you mercilessly, not stopping as your walls clamped around his cock.

“Want me to fill this pussy up princess?”

“Give it to me,” You beg as Jake grunts, his thrusts growing more and more erratic, and it didn’t long for you to come undone, your pussy pulsating as you cum around his cock, a loud moan escaping your lips as you dive headfirst into euphoria, the feeling of your you coming was more than enough to send him to his own end, his cock throbbing as he empties himself deep inside of you, coating your walls with his seed, both of you breathless, panting hard as he pulls out of you, white stickiness sliding your thigh as he did.

“God, I love you,”

“I lov-“

“I swear if you two are screwing inside-”

“Fuck” you mumble under your breath when you hear Maverick outside, you glanced at the clock realising it was a close ten minutes before training began. 

“You owe me ten old man!” you hear Rooster yell. 

“Are you two done yet?!” 

note: thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy it and please remember to reblog!

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙙𝙖𝙮

[ken-dom]

Accidental Innuendo

Holland March x Jackson Healy

Summary: During a disagreement, Jackson is level headed. Holland is insane with lust

Author’s notes: As usual, I have my pals on the Goosecord to blame for this one, and to thank, too, because they’re endlessly supportive 🩷

Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, making out, a lot of cum (you know the Holland March drill)

‘I’m gonna need you to sit on it tonight, March.’

That was all it took. An innocent phrase that tipped Holland over the edge from Healy’s looking handsome today and I can’t let him know it felt a bit too good when he grabbed my arm to I need him right fucking now Jesus Christ-

Jackson was simply referring to a theory they’d been discussing (or, more accurately, bickering over) on their current case. They’d been going around in circles for half an hour, so, being the more level headed of the two, he had intended to send Holland off to think things through, clear his mind and come back to the matter fresh in the morning.

He was blissfully unaware that what he’d actually done was overwhelm his partner with a haze of desire so strong, Holland could barely wait for the car to stop before he jumped out.

‘Alright, see you tomorrow!’ Holland called, stumbling over himself as he made his way hurriedly down the path, swinging an arm into the air as a hasty goodbye salute.

‘Night-’

Jackson furrowed his brow, watching Holland scurry into his house, half worried he’d upset his partner, and half concerned Holland might do something unintentionally insane to prove his point.

Holland, however, had completely forgotten all about their disagreement. His mind was occupied with what Jackson had said last, regardless of the intention behind it. It really had been the final straw.

The second he was inside, he slammed the door shut, turned the lock, and freed his leaking cock from the uncomfortably tight confines of his trousers, wrapping his hand around his achingly hard length and stroking fast with a relieved sigh, precum dripping onto the floor.

There was no time to undress. No time for a build up, to get comfortable or tease himself or really even enjoy the journey. He just needed to cum. Right. Now.

‘Fuck- shit-’ he spat as he furiously pumped his cock, forehead pressed to the door with his free hand braced beside it to keep him upright as his hips stuttered and his legs rapidly grew weak beneath him.

Jackson was very much at the forefront of Holland’s lust-addled mind the whole time. The low, calm, even tone with which he’d asked Holland to sit on it, and the way it might feel if Holland did just that. He whined at the thought of being filled with his partner, those big strong hands gripping his hips, guiding him and bruising him and-

‘H-Healy- ah!- oh, Jesus-’

Jackson was still outside in the car, turning over Holland’s lighter in his hand. He’d left it behind in his quick exit, and while it wasn’t unusual for Holland to lose things and be generally forgetful, Jackson had noticed he’d been acting skittish around him all day. He was also sure Holland would have an infinite number of lighters around the house, but this one? The silver one engraved with a message from his wife was one he never left behind.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna have to go after him,’ Jackson reasoned quietly, climbing out of the car and strolling down the driveway to Holland’s front door.

Holland remained pressed against the other side of it, hand still wrapped around his cock as it softened in his grip. He was panting for breath, heart steadily slowing after his climax, shirt and jacket and tie covered in splatters of his thick ejaculate — and an extra offering of it dripping down the door and pooled on the floor between his feet, too.

He recognised Jackson’s unmistakable knock from the other side immediately, head snapping up as the sound vibrated through his body. Jackson had such big, meaty hands, and as Holland’s mind briefly wandered to them again, he felt a new stir of arousal in his soft cock and moaned far too loudly.

‘March?’ Jackson called, slightly muffled from outside. ‘You alright in there?’

‘Yeah,’ Holland squeaked weakly.

‘You left something in the car, could you let me in?’

‘Uh-’

‘Holland March, if you don’t open this door and show me you’re ok I’m gonna kick it down and see for myself.’

‘Shit shit shit-’

‘March, do you hear me?’

‘Argh, alright!’ Holland groaned, peeling himself fully away from the door and raising his arms in surrender. He hastily tucked his cock back into his damp underwear and fastened up his trousers, his whole body trembling as he reached for the lock and creaked the door open a crack, poking his face through the thin gap.

‘What is it?’ he drawled as casually as he could muster.

Jackson immediately noticed the disarray of Holland’s hair, the dazed, glossy look in his eyes, the flushed cheeks.

Something wasn’t right.

‘Open the door,’ he instructed.

‘No.’

‘Open it.’

‘No!’

‘Now, March!’

‘No! No no no no-’

Jackson pushed the door open with ease, sliding Holland out of the way with it.

Once inside, Jackson held out the lighter, which, with an almost undetectable sob, Holland took and slid into a pocket inside the breast of his jacket.

‘Thank you,’ he muttered, patting his chest where the lighter sat safe again, ‘now you’ve seen that I’m alive and returned my things could you please get out-’

Jackson wasn’t listening. His eyes had trained on where Holland had patted his jacket. ‘What is that?’

‘What?’

‘That shit all over your jacket-’ Jackson reached forward and collected some of the substance with two fingers, sliding his glasses down over his eyes and bringing it up to his face to inspect.

Holland froze to the spot, trembling uncontrollably.

Jackson didn’t say a word as his eyes narrowed and he pushed his glasses back up into his hair, rubbing the substance delicately between his thumb and forefinger. His expression was unreadable and made Holland feel extremely uneasy.

‘If you were so horny you could barely wait to get through the door, why didn’t you just say?’ Jackson said softly.

Holland grimaced. ‘Why the fuck would I tell you I needed to jerk off? I jerked off last night, you wanna know about that too, huh?’

‘Last night? Jesus Christ. And because I could have helped you out with it, you idiot.’

Holland’s eyes widened. Had he been so obvious that even Jackson knew? And he felt the same?!

Of course, he had been obvious, and all the pieces clicked into place so easily for Jackson once he realised what Holland had been up to behind that door.

‘Fuck,’ Holland breathed, still shaking, his senstive cock hardening again. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn’t zipped his trousers back up; it was a tight enough squeeze when he was soft.

‘Jesus Christ, March,’ Jackson shook his head, ‘come here.’

Holland stepped forward to where Jackson was leaning against the back of his couch, and then Jackson was holding him, their lips sliding together, a hand snaking between their flush bodies to feel Holland’s straining length.

It felt so safe, so heavenly, so exciting that, still in a post-orgasm haze, Holland turned dizzy and had to pull back for breath.

Jackson smiled, caressing his partners back lovingly, giving him time to ground himself.

He happened to glance over Holland’s shoulder while Holland was busy steadying himself against Jackson’s.

‘Jesus, March!’

‘What?’ Holland mumbled into Jackson’s neck.

‘You only jerked off once, right? You must have done, it can’t have been more than a couple of minutes…’

‘Look there’s no need to shame me, I’ve been worked up all day and then you told me to sit on you! I lasted last night alright? I went for-’

‘No, no, I don’t give a fuck how quick you came, March, and I told you to sit on it — the issue of our case, remember? But I’m more concerned about the puddle on the floor over there. And you’re hard again? How much you got in there?’

Holland, still dazed, straightened (with a little wince at the sensitivity of Jackson’s palm still pressed to his cock over his trousers) and glanced back. ‘Yeah,’ he shrugged, ‘that’s what it’s like.’

‘Fuck. I gotta see this for myself.’

And then Healy was all over him again, standing from his perched position on the back of the sofa to envelop Holland completely, shuffling them both toward the bedroom where he planned to lay his partner down, strip him bare and find out just how much he had to give.

[kristinamae093]

A Wild Ride

Series - TRR - AU

Pairing - Liam x MC (Riley Brooks)

Summary - A small rewrite of the diamond scene from Book 1 Chapter 11 (Drake’s birthday) and… beyond.

Word Count - 2503... ish 🙈

A/N1- Welcome to my first attempt at smut. Nobody asked for this, this is entirely unprompted and unasked for (except by me haha). This is just where my brain went, and well... don’t judge me too hard lolololololololol. I’ve debated posting this all week, but I’m finally going to relent and just do it and most likely hide forever. But I have to shoutout @ao719 who encouraged me, and read through my first draft. 💚 All errors in this final version are mine and mine alone.

A/N2- I am considering this a part of the Ghosted AU, but only for ONE reason, and that is to put it on the same masterlist. But this is a ONE SHOT and DOES NOT ADD TO NOR CONTRIBUTE TO THE STORY WHATSOEVER. This is literally just an excuse to try my hand at lemony writing, nothing more. 

A/N3- This is my sad attempt at a submission for the @springfeverpitch event. I have no idea if this even qualifies, but they said anything smutty, soooo…... I’m going to test that theory with this, LOLOLOL. I have no idea what 'day' it qualifies under, (4?) I’m honestly not even sure what this monstrosity should classify as. 🤣🙈🙊

Base in play - Briefly First, but mostly Homerun ⚾💭🫡

TW - ⚠️ NSFW ⚠️ - Language, smutty filthy lemons, brief mentions of blood (.3 seconds worth). *⚠️ 18+ ONLY ⚠️*

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Liam watched Riley as if she would give him the answers to all the world’s problems at any moment; she fully transfixed him. When he paid the operator of the bull, he assumed Drake would ride, since it was his birthday. But when Riley volunteered and bounced her way over, Liam knew already he was done for; the second she mounted that bull, he felt himself grow undeniably hard.

He observed with the utmost attention. The way her hips swiveled to keep in time with the jerky motions of the bull, the way her big, perky chest bounced from side to side as she tried to stay on the ride. She threw an arm back like a lasso; her cut off shirt hiking higher and higher up her toned midriff. He caught sight of her lacy red bra underneath, the sight practically enough to make him take her, here and now, for all to see. Everything about it was driving him mad with desire. 

At that moment, he would have cut off his right leg to trade spaces with the foreign object she rode. Give up the throne, throw everything away, all for her to tame him as if he were the rowdy steed beneath her. His mind swirled with fantasies as the saliva from his mouth fully dissolved.

When she flew off the bull, he was right there to help her up; after he had adjusted himself in his slacks. The two grabbed a shot, then another, and a couple more, adding to the already large amount of alcohol they had consumed. They finally made their way out to the dancefloor after way too many drinks.

It started slow and casual, nothing scandalous or arousing, although the chemistry between them made anything sensual. Then a particular song came on; Liam had never heard it, but the squeal that came from Riley and her excited bouncing told him she was familiar. He felt his cock stiffen a little more in the confines of his trousers as he watched her breasts bob up and down while she jumped; maybe it was the alcohol fueling his thoughts, but he couldn’t get the image of those tits bouncing in his face out of his mind. 

They danced face to face; Riley attempted to keep a respectable distance between them, as she knew they were in public. The court would not react well to them grinding all over each other. But Liam didn’t seem to have a care in the world, as he continued to pull her closer and closer. His gaze switched between gawking at her enormous bust poking out of her low cut top, and the way her hips swiveled and rotated to the rhythm. His hands probed her body, as if he needed to remember every crevice and curve. 

She swatted his roaming hands away. “What are you doing? We’re in public!” She giggled. 

Liam nuzzled her neck. “Don’t care.” 

Riley laughed harder. “Liam, what if someone sees us? Or you get recognized?”

“Let them watch.” He responded with a devilish smirk.

“I’m just saying the press would-”

Liam cut her off by capturing her lips with his own. Their tongues rolled together as they swallowed each other’s content sighs. One of Liam’s hands rested on her neck, the other falling to the small of her back and pulling her as close as possible. Their pelvises ground together, each letting out a soft moan at the friction. Neither cared at the crowd of other dancers surrounding them; the only thing that mattered was the two of them, and the undeniable sexual tension that seemed to have reached its boiling point. 

—-------

Liam returned to his suite, a little wobbly on his feet, and immediately went to take a cold shower. His mind continued to swirl with scandalous thoughts about Riley and the things he wanted her to do to him, and vice versa. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to invite her back and ravage her like he truly wanted to. But he realized there was a high probability the pair would get caught sneaking around, and that would only cause more problems in the long run. And, he didn’t want to be this drunk when it did happen. 

He finished his shower and put on a clean pair of boxers and pajama pants before he slipped into bed, pulling up the covers to envelop his body. He lay on his back and fell into a deep slumber as fantasies of Riley filled his mind. 

—-------

He awoke later with his senses filled by a fragrance of lilac and berry. He felt dainty hands lightly tracing the inside of his thighs, sending a shudder through him. A sigh escaped him as he felt tender kisses travel up his abdomen, soft hair falling to tickle his sides. He reached a hand out and threaded his fingers through long, silky, golden blonde hair as she continued her venture up to his neck. 

When she reached her quarry, she bit down hard enough to leave a mark and licked the affected area. She dotted kisses along his jawline to the other side and nipped his ear; Liam groaned and gripped her hips to grind her against his already freed erection. He had no time to ponder how he became disrobed, as he felt wetness gliding over his already aching member; she wasn’t wearing panties. 

“Riley…” He moaned. 

She raised her face to hover over Liam’s, “I saw you…” she whispered as she ghosted her lips over his. 

“Hm?”

“You were watching me ride that bull tonight… Wishing it was you… weren’t you?” She asked in between bites along his jawline.

“God yes.” Liam panted.

Riley’s face lit up with a cat-like grin before she grabbed his face to bring his lips to hers. Their tongues met and battled for dominance in a fit of passionate and desperate kisses. Liam slid his hands up her sides and realized she, too, was already naked. He massaged both of her large, supple breasts in his hands before breaking their kiss and bending his neck to take one into his mouth. He licked and suckled at it for a moment before moving to the other and showing it the same attention. After, he briefly lay back and marveled at her perfection, and those breasts that had been making his mouth water all night dangling in front of his face; just like he fantasized. 

Riley sat up, and he met her intent, lustrous gaze; her eyes clouded over with desire, hair askew, perky tits rising and falling with every labored breath, lips slightly parted. Liam watched, transfixed, as she ran her tongue over her top lip, and he thought he would cum on the spot. Liam reached out to embrace her and forcefully brought her lips to his; his dick painfully throbbing, aching to be inside her. 

She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled, the sudden, sharp pain causing Liam to moan. “You like that?” She whispered as she bit his lip. 

“Yes.” He breathed out, as he grabbed her ass cheeks in both hands and squeezed. She ground her bare mound against him and an animalistic sound escaped Liam’s lips.

“Tell me what you want, Liam…” she coaxed as she sat up and positioned herself with her dripping pussy over Liam’s cock. She rubbed herself against Liam’s shaft, her hand pushing him deeper through her wet folds. She ground back and forth on his length, driving Liam absolutely mad.

“You. I want you, Riley. Please.” He begged.

“No… Tell me what you want… Exactly what you want.” She slightly raised herself and let his tip ghost her opening, before she slid him back through the entirety of her core. 

Liam gasped and twitched beneath her. The things she was making him feel were overwhelming every single part of his being. “I… I…” He stammered between breathless pants and moans. “I want you to ride me.” He finally spit out. 

She bit her lip and whispered, “Your wish is my command.” and lowered herself down onto him, both moaning at the sensation as he penetrated her tight opening. Her mouth fell open into an O shape, a high-pitched whine coming from her throat, as she sunk her body down on his length. Liam’s eyes never left her face as her tightness enveloped him, taking him to such a high level of euphoria he thought he would die at any moment. She rocked herself slowly back and forth on his cock, feeling him stretch and fill her in all the right ways.

“Oooooh… God, you’re so fucking big Liam!” Liam felt his dick twitch at her words and ran his hands up her sides to massage her breasts in his hands. She placed her hands against his chest, pushing her tits together as she started bouncing herself on his length. He analyzed her with rapt attention, her expressions, the sounds she was making. Liam released his hold on her and put his hands behind his head as he watched her work herself on him with a deep groan.

She picked up speed and ran both of her hands through her hair. Liam watched where they connected, seeing her pussy grip around him, the proof of her arousal covering his member and thighs. He looked up and saw her massaging her breasts with a lust blown expression; she saw him staring and bit her lip with a loud moan, causing him to whimper from the sight. 

Just when Liam thought he couldn’t take anymore, she sat back and positioned herself with her hands on his haunches, giving him the perfect view of her taking all of him in. She started slowly, but soon built a mind-blowing pace, taking him almost all the way out before slamming her hips back into his. Liam heard her whimpers increase in pitch and knew her release was coming. He felt his own building but was determined to make her let go first. 

“Oooooh God… Oh! Don’t stop… Don’t fucking stop!" she cried out as their already frantic pace increased. She reached a hand down and wildly rubbed circles over her swollen nub. Liam clutched her hips with a white-knuckle grip and increased their speed, hammering himself into her relentlessly. He matched her rhythm perfectly, thrusting himself to meet her hips. She threw her head back with a loud shriek; her tightness pulsating around him, wetness coating his already glistening member as waves of pleasure overtook her. 

“Yes! God... YES! Liam… You fuck me so good!” She got out through gasps and whimpers as jolts of electricity continued to course through her. 

Between her clenching around him and the things she was saying, Liam was a goner. He thrust into her three, four, five more times until he pulled her down forcefully to receive his load with a loud, primal roar. His vision almost completely blacked out, stars invading his view. He had orgasms before, sure, but it was like his soul was leaving his body. It was so intense, so powerful and all-consuming, like nothing he had ever felt before. 

Liam lay with his eyes closed for a couple of minutes, catching his breath. He felt Riley grasp his hand and opened his eyes to look at her as she remained straddling him. She brought his hand to her lips and smiled before she tenderly kissed each one of his fingertips. 

Liam closed his eyes once more and let out a content sigh. Somehow, someway, the evening ended as he hoped it would; all was right with the universe at that exact moment. 

His peace was short-lived as he suddenly felt a sharp pain course through his index finger. 

“Ow!” He cried. “Did… did you bite me, Riley?”

“You liked it a minute ago.” She smirked.

“That was different. This felt like you were trying to take a chunk out of my finger!” 

She giggled, “You just… you smell so good… so… sweet… like nuts… and honey…” she replied as she turned her head and deeply inhaled his palm. 

Liam furrowed his brow. “Oh… um… thank you?” He responded with uncertainty. 

“You just smell so… heavenly… and... mouthwatering…” she mewled as she licked his palm. 

"I do?" Liam asked, completely confused by her sudden shift in behavior. 

"Mmhhmmm."

“Like… like what?”  

“Baklava.” She said as she chomped Liam’s thumb. 

“Hey! Riley, that… that hurts!” He tried to pull his hand away, but Riley’s grip tightened. 

“But I bet you taste soooo good, Liam! I just wanna eat you up.” She started gnawing on his wrist, biting harder and harder; he swore she was breaking his skin. 

“Riley! Riley! Stop!” He yelled as he squirmed underneath her, but she would not relent. He felt a sharp, piercing pain in his arm and watched in horror as she tore a piece of flesh from his body; blood squirting from the open wound and covering the both of them. 

She thoroughly chewed his flesh with a satisfied smile before she went back for more. “Mmm…. sho good.” She rolled her eyes as she swallowed another chunk of skin. She slurped at the blood that surrounded her mouth before she returned to his wound, lapping at it like a deprived dog finally given water. 

“Riley! Riley! Stop! STOOOOOOOP!”

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Liam flew forward in a panic; his breathing rapid and labored, his elevated pulse thundering in his ears, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. He frantically searched his darkened surroundings, looking to see if Riley was still there, but found no signs of anyone. 

He glanced down at his body and saw absolutely nothing; no marks, cuts, blood, or any signs of injury. He quickly pulled the blanket back and saw his pajama pants, just as they were when he had gone to bed.

Bastien heard Liam’s yells from his position outside and barged into the room. “Is something wrong, sir?”

“I…I don’t think so…” Liam answered unsurely as he rubbed his uninjured wrist. “Has… has anyone come in here?”

“No, sir. I’ve been outside your door since you arrived. Nobody has been here.” Bastien reassured him. “Why? Do you believe there’s been a breach?”

“No! No. Nothing like that. I was only asking. Thank you, Bastien.”

Bastien bowed with a bewildered expression, but left the room. As soon as he did, Liam stood up and made a quick dash to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror. 

He searched his reflection with intent; Liam saw that his neck and upper body were pristine and unmarked, no signs of the late-night fornication to be found. He checked other areas of his body, but no remnants of his wild encounter remained. He ran his hand through his lightly tousled hair and stared at his reflection for a long while, trying to make sense of what he could have just experienced.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh before he said, “I am never drinking tequila before bed again.”

[mai-komagata]

vulcan control meta

Ok, so some theories on vulcans based on last episode (i mean i always had these theories, just nice to see them more explicitly shown). It isn't an issue just of emotional/mental control. Humans can develop emotional and mental control. And i think characters like Amanda and Michael prove humans can do that too. The thing is, Vulcans have much better physiological control over their bodies. I expect much less of their nervous system is autonomic or functions sympathetically. For example: if vulcan spock wants to appear skeptical, he can raise one eyebrow and one eyebrow only. They don't even realize they do it this way. It's just how their muscles work. If human spock wants to display an emotion, his whole face twitches uncontrollably. A lot of that humans can learn to do, they can train themselves to move muscles separately. But I'm guessing that level physiological response comes automatic for vulcans. Likewise, their tone of their voice is likely normally monotone, unless they force it not to be. But muscles, although they might move in groups without thinking, they are still largely voluntary nervous system actions. If a vulcan doesn't want to feel pain, they can just ignore it. Its like they have the pain sensor, they understand it is painful, but if they know it isn't hurting them, they can ignore it. They don't have the same reflex reaction to pain. If they find something arousing, they don't react to it without voluntary control. It is something they turn on voluntarily if it is the right situation. It seems like they can control how their kidneys function, for example as well. If they need food, they don't necessarily experience that as a constellation of disparate symptoms that affect their whole body, either. They know when they are low on fuel and they eat. They can enjoy food just as much (like T'pring's dad clearly does), but they don't have to -- it is another physical stimuli they can detach from. So what is my point here. That vulcans aren't less emotional, or more emotional, or more logical *genetically.* But they control their reactions to stimuli (whether mental or external) voluntarily, in a way human physiology cannot -- I cannot will my vasopressin levels to be different. And their philosophy is a stoic philosophy that views their bodily reactions with detachment. A human can follow a stoic philosophy and practice and learn that detachment. But their physiological reactions are different, and some of these things come as second nature to vulcans. Human spock is a bit like he was drunk (well he also was drunk in one scene). For the first time, he isn't voluntarily in control of all his bodily processes, and used it as an excuse to indulge in that feeling. He doesn't need to learn how humans react to humor and do all those movements to pretend to fit in. they just happen. But he can rally and keep it together if need be, and he could longterm learn that control. But it isn't a better or worse way of living and they aren't better people for it (sometimes it makes them worse). It is just something that societally comes easy to Vulcans b/c of their physiology. That said, ultimately, Vulcans are telepaths. They engage in emotional closeness via telepathic communication, not physical displays, so they can create personal connections in spite of their lack of physical displays. Spock feels disconnected from his mother without his telepathy b/c that is how he has been close to her all his life. That isn't something that can be learnt, but it is a reason michael (and even spock, to a smaller degree) would adapt to live differently when not around vulcans all the time, b/c it would get lonely. Vulcan control isn't *desirable* in a non-telepathic society.

[weepylucifer]

for the drabble ask meme: 22 or 37 with Steban and Ulixes? :3

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

It is a night like any other - if anything, this night is more mellow than their usual meetings. Finals week has just come and gone and left the both of them too drained for heated debate or fervent analysis. They'd talked about this week's reading a little, messed around with the matchboxes in a way that was more playful than anything, and quickly abandoned the endeavor in favor of more or less... just hanging out. And Ulixes likes talking theory with Steban, and he knows it's important, but he also finds himself wishing they'd... just hang out more often. It's simple, it's nice. It's good to remember sometimes that they're not just comrades but also friends.

Steban is smoking a cigarette and telling a meandering anecdote about a class that Uli is not in, and Uli is absorbing maybe every other sentence of it, nodding and humming in the appropriate places. He cannot help this. Steban enraptures him endlessly, not his words this time, but the shape of him, his profile softened by the warm, low light of the reading lamp. The way smoke spills past his slightly parted lips, the flash of teeth that occasionally glints in the light as he speaks. His skin looks warm, his throat inviting where the collar of his shirt falls open, poised for ready, starving teeth to sink into. Surely Steban means nothing by it when he leaves the first few buttons of his shirt open like that, surely he's not trying to be alluring, to presume he is would be reading too much into it. Surely he's just too lost in thought or too sleepy in the mornings to do those buttons up correctly.

Great, now he's thinking about Steban in the mornings, hazy and soft with sleep, coming awake gradually and indolently, yawning, stretching. Maybe he sleeps in the nude. Maybe sometimes he wakes up aroused and takes himself in hand, when he's got the time. Maybe he does it in the shower...

Ulixes can't pretend these thoughts are new, or that thinking them even shocks him anymore. Those grooves in his mind are well-worn, paths smooth from frequent treading. It's already a habit to let himself get lost like this in ruminance upon his comrade's body, to perhaps even dream up scenarios in which he reaches out a daring hand and touches--

"Uli, are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Ulixes jolts out of his reverie. Apparently Steban has finished speaking and is now looking straight at him.

"You're kind of... staring at me," Steban says. "Is something wrong?"

Uh-oh. Oh no. Ulixes has been told his stare can be... disconcerting, with his glasses. The last thing he wants is to weird Steban out. "No," he says, hoping to salvage the situation, "Just... thinking."

"Ah," Steban says and nods and looks away, and for a moment it seems like he'll leave it at that, but then he continues, "No, actually, I think it's time we talked about this."

"What?"

"It's only, I've observed this before, and something is up, isn't it? I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice... it's been a frequent occurrence, lately, and, there's really only one conclusion to be drawn from it..."

Oh, god, here it comes. He has been found out. Ulixes feels his insides quake with fright, but he can't deny that some part of him is absurdly excited. Had wanted this to happen, even. Now the dice have fallen, his secret is uncovered, his love and devotion laid bare to the world, and now Steban will pass judgement, deem him worthy of his attentions or cast him away. Either way: after this, there will be no more guessing and fretting. Ulixes will know where he stands.

"...You secretly hate me, right?" Steban says.

What.

"What," Ulixes repeats.

Steban wrings his hands. He looks extremely concerned. "I mean... you look at me like that because I've done something wrong, don't you? Do you find me lacking, in terms of ideology? Have I done something to offend you? Is my theory unsound? Whatever it is, be honest with me about it, and I'll correct the behavior." He's almost crying now, Ulixes observes with a terrible start. "I know I'm difficult, but..."

Uli has to interrupt now. "You, difficult?"

"I know I'm not easy to get along with..."

"You are the easiest person in the world to get along with," Ulixes says, because that is his truth.

"I know I'm petty. I drive people away. Maurice... Felix and Zuzanna..."

"They just weren't the right fit for this group, that's not your fault..."

"But I don't want to... I can't drive you away like that," Steban continues. "For you, I'll critique and work on myself. You're my only... my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

His appeal concluded, Steban looks down and fidgets forlornly with the stub of his cigarette. This is a disaster, Ulixes thinks. He expected that Steban would figure him out sooner or later and that all he had to do was wait. He never fathomed that Steban would get it this wrong.

(But, having made a study of Steban's personality, perhaps he should have taken the possibility into account. He knows how Steban can get sometimes, when his gloomier moods do his thinking for him. Ulixes mentally slaps himself for not being more aware. If he doesn't take care of his comrade's emotional needs, then what's he even doing??)

The issue is so grave and demands so loudly to be corrected that suddenly, putting a hand on Steban's and saying "Actually, I've been secretly in love with you" is easy.

[asifyoudidntknow]

Differences

I randomly get these stories that just pop in my head and beg to be written down. Sorry if this doesn't sound half as good as the ramblings did in my mind. When it strikes, I just go with it.

@today-in-fic

Half the time with Phoebe he was drunk. For being a brilliant psychologist, Mulder spent quite a bit of time in the dark, dingy basement pubs surrounding campus in his early years at Oxford. Mulder took after his father when first moving to England by drowning his sorrows in whatever alcoholic beverage was of choice that week. He let Phoebe into his life during this low time and freely let her manipulate him. The sex was fun and spontaneous. She used it as a way to further fuck with his mind. The body games were just as much of a way she could twist his mind as it was about bringing herself pleasure. It wasn’t until the summer between his sophomore and junior year when he had a professor that gave extra credit by participating in counseling sessions so that senior degree candidates could hone their techniques that he truly saw how detrimental his relationship was with Phoebe. He went to see if any of these upperclassmen were any good and stayed when he realized just how beneficial the sessions were for his “love is blind”, fucked up relationship…a bonus being extra credit. That summer was a turning point for him. He started focusing more on his studies. He distanced himself from the pubs, as well as Phoebe. She didn’t seem to notice too much. After trying to drag him out a couple of times, she gave up pretty quickly and moved on to the next. Phoebe wasn’t in things for the long haul…easily bored is one way he would describe her. Easily bored and looking to climb the ladder at the Scotland Yard by any means possible.

Comfortable is how he would describe his relationship with Diana. Good. Nice. The usual. He and Diana got along. They agreed most of the time. She looked at his brilliant mind in awe. She almost envied how he came to learn and see angles no one else might. His ego was stroked every time she commented on how amazing he was at his job. The sex was comfortable. Good. Nice. The usual. He could be himself and she accepted him. She didn’t try to push or argue. She easily gained his trust. He readily accepted hers. They were both FBI agents so there wasn’t anything to hide. They could discuss cases, knew about what was going on in the building, could talk about supervisors and employees without having to explain much. She was giddy about all of the old cases he was discovering in the basement and supported his decision to pursue the X-files. So when he returned home late to his apartment one night to a note and Diana gone he felt lost.

Lightning is how he would describe his relationship with Scully. Fiery. Challenging. Passionate. Though, always with an undertone of respect. This wasn’t comfortable. It was bettering. There was growth because her mind was as brilliant as his. A match. A volleying. A constant rendering and honing of his ideas and theories. She’d pull him down while building him up. She let him become vulnerable on his own, but with his profiling skills it didn’t take long for him to know that her character was true and full of integrity. The bantering was arousing. He’d find himself picking up the phone at all hours after the workday and on weekends just to bounce ideas around with her. It was intoxicating. When the sex finally did happen it was very different than anything he’d ever experienced before. Out in the field they were able to anticipate each other, had a keen sense of proximity, knew when to lead versus follow and that seamlessly translated in the bedroom. Dazing. Merging. Pushing. Pulling. Completeness. Mulder could say now with absolute certainty that he’d never experienced being in love before. Nothing was as crushing, aching, or primal as this. He was sure of it. And he wasn’t going to lose it.